Disclaimer: I own nothing. Unfortunately.
A/N: Ello there readers. Thanks for checking out my story. Please review if you feel so inclined, it's always appreciated. Perhaps it will even inspire me to update sooner?
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Hermione stared bleakly out the train window, watching the verdant English country side roll past in a green blur. Sighing irritably, she discarded the muggle novel in her hands and tucked it into her knapsack, thinking gravely of the year ahead.
What was supposed to be the most memorable and treasured time of her Hogwarts career was quickly turning into a mere obligation. For Hermione, who loved school dearly and cherished her magical education even more, these feelings of dread were entirely out of character, and she found it surprising that she disliked the prospect of facing her seventh year so greatly.
Swinging her legs onto the plush seats of the bench and leaning her head against the compartment wall, Hermione closed her eyes. This was the first time she had ridden the train alone, without Ron and Harry. She had only been on the train for a half an hour, and their absences were already painfully obvious to her, the thickening silence practically deafening as she sat there alone in the compartment.
Once again, she found her thoughts drifting back to the last six months of her life, and the strange way the events unfurled before them. It was now very clear to the wizarding world that Voldemort was once again on the rise— she was certain no one would doubt Harry ever again. But by the time the ministry had come to their senses, things had already spiraled into chaos. Dumbledore had died by the hand of Severus Snape, but not before taking the Potions master down with him. Many suspected a few of the other Slytherin students of being involved in the tragic incident, but as these accusations could not be proven, Malfoy, Zabini, and many others were allowed to return for their seventh year.
Hermione had noticed upon boarding the Express that many muggleborn students she had grown accustomed to seeing over the past six years were nowhere in sight, and she wondered if perhaps this was because of the recent turn of events involving the deatheaters and their Lord.
Merlin, it was going to be a lonely year, trapped in the classrooms with those bigoted purebloods. She hated to admit it, but she was very frightened of facing the year without Harry and Ron. She was a tough girl, there was no doubt about it, but she had always felt safer knowing she had the boys there to back her up. She was suddenly overcome with a bitter resentment— how could they just leave her? She was the bloody brains of their trio! How on earth were those dunces going to find the horocruxes without her? Her pride was badly damaged the last time they spoke, and she thought back to her last conversation with Harry, swallowing the bitter lump forming in her throat.
"You know how dangerous it is, Hermione. We're just trying to do what's best," Harry explained, cautiously resting his hand on his friends shoulder. She shrugged his hand off, shaking with a dangerous, subdued rage.
She would not cry. "God, Harry! Stop worrying about my bloody safety all the time! I am just as capable as you two, and I have put just as much of myself into the cause as Ron! You NEED me!"
"I know we need you, and that's exactly why you have to stay here. We need your help with the research, and you can't bloody well do that running around the English countryside with hexes being thrown at you on a daily basis!"
Hermione clenched her fists tightly, her knuckles paling. She very much felt like smacking something at the moment. Preferably, Harry's head. "And how am I supposed to attend Charms class while my best friend is risking his life out there, Harry? How is this helping anything?! I can't just let you two risk your lives, while I sit twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you to come back. I'm not a damsel in distress, Harry! I can handle a wand!"
"I know you can. In a perfect world, we'd all be attending our seventh year. But things are different now," he sighed. "Please understand, Hermione. We need you at Hogwarts. We need you to continue your research there, where it's safe."
There was a long, formidable silence as Harry watched his friend bite her lower lip, a habit she exercised often when she was at a loss for words. "Alright," she muttered finally, swallowing her pride and ignoring the voice in the back of her mind that spoke of the injustice of it all. He was treating her like a child… Like a silly little girl! But she was tired of arguing about this with him, and deep down, the practical, sensible part of her knew that what Harry was saying was true— she would be of more use helping them from the school. She couldn't let her pride get in the way of sensibility.
And finally her eyes began to well with tears, and she lurched forward at him for a tight embrace. He staggered slightly from the sudden impact, but finally wrapped his arms around her. It would be a long time before they'd see each other again, and both knew it. "Write to me, Harry. Don't you dare forget."
"I'll write as often as I can," he promised. She knew he wouldn't have many chances, but she still selfishly hoped he'd find a way. "Hermione, I need you to promise me one more thing."
"What is it?" She asked, stepping back to wipe her face and regain her composure. When she looked back at him, his brow was knit tight, a look of genuine concern darkening his emerald eyes.
"I want you to keep an eye on the Slytherins… Especially Malfoy. I don't trust him. Keep your distance, and don't talk to him unless you have to, but watch him… The ministry might have turned a blind eye, but he's up to something…"
"Alright, Harry." She sniffed. Harry rested a heavy hand on her shoulder, and placed something in her arms. She looked down. It was a small grey parcel wrapped in twine, a small bit of parchment tucked beneath. "What's this?"
"The invisibility cloak and the marauder's map. You'll need them if you're going to be lurking about after hours," he replied.
Hermione shook her head, shoving it back into his hands. "Harry, I can't take this… You'll need it more wherever you're going. And besides, it's against school rules." She rationalized.
"Only you would be concerned with breaking school rules while spying on a deatheater," he joked. Then his smirk faded, and he grew serious once again. "He's not the schoolyard bully we met first year anymore.. He could be a deatheater. We can't afford to ignore the rumors."
"The Dark Lord would never recruit that cowardly ferret, Harry," she scoffed. Uncrossing her arms, she grudging took the parcel. "But I'll be careful. I promise."
"Ron left a note in there too, I think." He added, looking away guiltily.
She stiffened, her eyes growing hard. "Why isn't he giving this to me himself?" She watched as he shuffled his feet uncomfortably, his silence speaking for itself. "He's not coming, is he?" she asked finally. She suddenly recalled the night before, when Ron had been acting rather peculiar. She had known then that something was amiss.
"He told me he had already said his goodbyes last night. He wanted me to give that to you."
Hermione scoffed. "How thoughtful of him," she replied sarcastically.
"Don't hold it against him."
"I won't," she sighed, her hands brushing over the crinkled parchment. She looked up finally, giving him a watery smile. "Be careful, Harry."
With a sheepish grin, he gave her one last hug. "You too." He stepped back, and with a loud pop, he was gone. She stood there for a few more seconds, staring blankly at the spot where her friend had been only moments before. She took a few deep breaths, released a shaky sigh before turning over the letter in her hands. She ran her thumb over the scarlet wax seal and contemplated opening it. No, she thought… She would open Ron's letter when the timing was right.
Jarred from her trance-like thoughts by the sound of the slamming compartment door, Hermione immediately sat up to see who had entered. Ginny Weasley stood before her, the young girl giving her a small smile before taking a seat across. Her pale, milky complexion was splashed with freckles from the summer sun, and her coppery hair was even redder from all the flying she and Harry had done outdoors. With her willowy frame and saucy charm, it was no wonder Harry had fallen for the girl. Hermione wondered how Ginny was fairing with his absence, and felt grateful for her company at that moment.
"Those dipshits," Ginny muttered finally. "Merlin knows how they'll manage on their own." Hermione laughed, but there was still an air of somberness that enveloped them both. "So I heard my prat of a brother was too cowardly to give you a proper goodbye."
Hermione snorted. "He left me a note. I haven't bothered to read it yet."
"You should. Fred snuck a peek over his shoulder when he was writing it, and from what I hear, it's quite… informative," Ginny replied cryptically, pulling back her fiery hair into a messy bun.
"Well, I suppose I'll get 'round to it eventually," she sighed, gazing distractedly out the window. Turning back to the girl, she changed the subject. "Anyways, I'll be so busy with Headgirl duties this year that I won't have much time to write back. Speaking of which, we'll be having that meeting before we arrive at school, and I best get changed," she added a bit more cheerfully.
"Good luck with that," Ginny replied. "And Congratulations on making Headgirl by the way! Though I suppose it'll be less of a privilege sharing duties with that Malfoy git. I can't believe he managed to make Headboy this year,"
"Don't be silly, Justin Finch-Fletchley was made Headboy," Hermione replied incredulously. "As if the Headmistress would allow Malfoy to take the position."
Ginny raised her eyebrows, surprised that she hadn't heard the news. "Didn't you hear? Justin's mother is sending him to that muggle school this year. Apparently she got her hands on a Daily Prophet. I reckon a lot of muggle-borns have left Hogwarts, what with you-know-who on the rise again."
Hermione paled visibly at this, her stomach lurching. She felt sick. Why had no one bothered to tell her this until now? "There has to be a mistake," Hermione announced finally, regaining some of her confidence. "Headmistress McGonagall would never give him the position."
Ginny bit her lip, her warm brown eyes looking at her with sympathy. "It's true. I saw the badge myself. He nearly blinded me with it while getting on the train, he's flashing it so much. He's already threatened to take housepoints from the younger students, and we're not even at Hogwarts yet."
"Everyone knows he's a deatheater!" She burst indignantly. "I actually WORKED for my position! I earned this, damn it!" Hermione's shouts were quite loud, but at this point she didn't even care. Her position as Headgirl had been the one thing she had been looking forward to that year, the one thing she had been planning to pour her soul into while her two best friends were off fighting evil without her. And that prat was going to take that away from her or find a way to spoil it! A bitter loathing rose within her, her eyes lit with fury as she sat there fuming.
Ginny eyed her cautiously, tilting her head to look into her face. "You alright?" When Hermione didn't respond, she continued, "Well, I wouldn't worry too much. I'm sure he's just as thrilled about you two working together as you are. Once you split up the duties I bet you'll hardly see one another."
Standing up suddenly, Hermione hardened her gaze. "I'm going to go talk to someone about this," she said finally, stepping out of the compartment and marching down the isle of the train before Ginny could stop her. Scanning each room as she stormed by, she finally spotted a flash of silver ducking into the compartment ahead, and with a surge of utter conviction, she flung the door open.
"Granger. What an unpleasant surprise," he drawled in his familiar monotonous tone. He sat leaning against the wall, a bored expression fixed over his pale features. His mercurial silver gaze was fixed steadily upon her, eying her up and down as if assessing her. He looked away dismissively, unimpressed. "Still the ugly little mudblood I remember. You look positively uncivilized," he sneered.
"And you're still the same pretentious bigot," Hermione scathed, crossing her arms in the doorway. "I just wanted to let you know that you might scare a few first year Hufflepuffs, but you won't be pushing me around this year. I plan to keep my position, and I won't let you, or anyone else, compromise it in anyway. And when the prefects meeting begins, you will let me do all the talking. Your dirty money might have bought you the title, but I want this to be perfectly clear to you Malfoy— I EARNED my position, and I won't let you ruin this for me." she finished spitefully.
Malfoy was towering above her seconds later, staring down at her coldly. At 5'4, Hermione barely reached his chin, but she did not back down. Her stony expression and confidence easily added a metaphorical foot to her height. He gave her a hard shove, making her stumble back into the door.
"Don't act so high and mighty, you little mudblood bitch," he snarled under his breath. Her confidence flickered a bit, but she continued to look him straight in the eye. "You think you can show your ugly muggle face in here and insult me whenever you please? You're awfully brave without Potty and Weasel tailing your arse every second." A cruel grin played upon his features then. "And where are they, Granger? Stop spreading your legs for them? They start looking for a quick fuck elsewhere? You probably begged them to take you with them. I bet you—"
Her hand came from nowhere, leaving a stinging red outline against the paleness of his skin. "How dare you!" She screeched, her tone edging on hysterical.
Malfoy was dangerously quiet before he finally spoke. "I let you get away with that third year, Granger, but I'll be getting you back for that one."
She could feel his hot breath hit her cheek as he continued to glower down at her furiously. It was then she suddenly realized they were alone, his Slytherin posse nowhere to be seen. They were only inches apart, when Malfoy suddenly slammed his fist against the wall behind her, making her flinch slightly. Her reaction quelled his temper a bit, and he smirked, watching her mask of bravado flicker.
He leaned in closer, and she couldn't help but flinch slightly. She turned her face away uncomfortably as he whispered each word callously into her ear. "And for Merlin's sake, take off that hideous muggle clothing." And before Hermione could catch her footing, he threw open the compartment door she was leaning against, making her fall to the ground in a heap. "Your muggle heritage isn't something to be proud of. Put on some bloody robes, you'll be an embarrassment to the entire school," he finished coldly, slamming the compartment before she could manage to summon a witty quip in her defense.
She flushed a deep scarlet, both from fury and humiliation. Pulling herself back onto her feet, Hermione looked around her. From the looks of it, no one had witnessed their little confrontation. She stood inches away from the door for a few moments, silently seething. She would get him back, she convinced herself. Spinning around sharply, she marched back to her own compartment, swarmed with thoughts of revenge.
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Hermione continued to stab her piece of turkey, pushing her food around her plate as she glowered sulkily at the Slytherin table. She had always enjoyed the sorting feast, but her earlier conversation with Malfoy had managed to ruin her appetite every time it resurfaced in her mind. Even staring at him right now as he sat there laughing with his fellow housemates made her stomach queasy. The bastard.
"The turkey's already dead, Hermione. No need to stab at it," Dean joked through mouthfuls of treacle tart. His alarmingly horrid table manners reminded her of Ron, and she thought briefly of the letter from him she had yet to open. She brushed her hand over the pocket of her robes where she had tucked it earlier, and decided she would open it that night in her dormitory.
She gave Dean a small smile, and took a timid bite of her mashed potatoes. "Just a bit queasy from the train ride over, I suppose," she replied.
Ginny, who sat across from her, looked at her knowingly. "Don't let him get to you, Hermione. He's not worth it."
Taking her friend's advice, Hermione joined in on some of the conversation around the Gryffindor table, listening halfheartedly to what was supposed to be a humorous anecdote about Dean's summer in muggle America. She tried to sound enthusiastic as he continued, but couldn't help but drift back into her private thoughts.
She suddenly remembered what Harry had asked of her before he disembarked, and realized that her earlier confrontation with Malfoy completely disregarded everything she promised. Instead of watching Malfoy discretely from afar and staying invisible, she had gained his attention quite effectively. Although this was entirely counterproductive to her original intention, she tried to think on the bright side.
When she had first discovered that Malfoy had been given the position of Headboy, Hermione had been disgruntled to say the least— but as she gave this prospect a second thought, she realized that this could be used to her advantage. Both Headgirl and Headboy had their own private quarters, with an adjoining common room in between. While this would be inconvenient in some ways, it would also allow her to keep a closer eye on Malfoy and his doings. She supposed that his promotion as Headboy was really a blessing in disguise, though she still felt a bit victimized by the universe at the circumstances.
Lost in thought, Hermione once again found herself staring fixedly at Malfoy. He was drinking deeply from his goblet, glancing at Pansy Parkinson every so often as she gabbed adamantly about Merlin knows what. As if he had suddenly sensed her eyes upon him, he looked up from his plate, staring straight at her with a stony expression. She quickly turned to her right, hoping that she looked deeply involved in the Gryffindor conversation.
"—And then me mum took one look at the cellphone contraption and said, 'My god, Seamus! What in Merlin's name are you doing with a muggle sextoy?!'"
The whole table burst into side-splitting laughter. Hermione giggled along with them, and looked up again across the room. Her cinnamon brown eyes clashed with his steely gaze, sparking a strange sort of electricity in the air. His stare emitted a frigid sort of cold, making her shudder as though a chill had suddenly enveloped the hall. She gave him one last look of disdain before turning away, trying to look like she was enjoying herself as she chatted away with her friends.
"Malfoy's staring at you," Ginny whispered suddenly, looking at her inquisitively. "What happened between you two on the train, anyways?"
Hermione stared down at her plate, her turkey now torn into an unrecognizable pile of mush from her nervous fidgeting. She refused to look over at him again, and retained her pleasant smile as she turned back to her friend. "Oh, nothing really. I just told him how it was going to be between us from now on," she replied vaguely.
"Well, whatever you said must have really pissed him off," she commented, taking a generous bite of her dessert.
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Draco Malfoy was incredibly pissed off.
It wasn't as though he hadn't expected the silly mudblood bint to get her knickers in a twist when he became Headboy, he knew she would, but her accusations had managed to infuriate him nonetheless. He continued to watch her coldly with a furrowed brow, clenching his utensils with an unnecessary amount of strength.
Everything about her made him livid. Her stupid bushy hair, her shrill, pretentious tone when she spoke to him, the infuriating way she managed to outdo him in every single class— hell, even the way she ate pissed him off.
He watched disgustedly as she picked at her food and smiled generously at one of her male housemates. The bloke was obviously trying to impress her, but her replies seemed halfhearted as she gazed elsewhere around the Great Hall. He wondered if the male Gryffindor would be replacing Potty and the Weasel as her bodyguard that year, and what their relationship might be. He couldn't imagine any relatively sane bloke wanting to actually shag the mudblood, and the idea of her and Weasley going at it was vile enough to make his already pallid complexion a shade even whiter.
He continued to observe her. It wasn't as though she was entirely unattractive, he reasoned. If she learned some basic grooming skills and tamed that wild animal atop her head every once in awhile, he supposed she would prove somewhat presentable. Not gorgeous, of course, she would never attain the subtle, poised beauty of a pureblood witch, but she might pass as acceptable if she actually tried to look decent.
Yes, he thought, she wasn't disastrously horrid looking. He recalled her doe-eyed gaze from earlier on the train ride, her warm, honey-brown eyes wide with surprise when he had shoved her. Her cheeks had been tinged scarlet from her fury, giving her an attractive sort of glow when she had looked at him defiantly. His eyes had lowered briefly to her muggle attire, the jeans and simple v-neck hugging her curves in all the right places. He had never hated her, or himself, as much as that moment, when he had briefly found her attractive. He had sneered at her as she wriggled uncomfortably under his gaze, and thought of a million ways he could humiliate her, punish her for patronizing him and for instilling that brief moment of lust. It was unnatural and grotesque that a person of his blood status had even thought of her as remotely feminine. She was a mudblood, and no beauty potion or charm in the world could ever change that.
Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she looked over at him, meeting his stare head on. He felt like killing her, right there and then. Stupid mudlblood bitch, how dare she stare at him so unabashedly! She wasn't even fit to lick the bottom of his shoe, and there she was, alternating from staring at him and chatting with that Gryffindor bloke.
He looked away finally, turning his thoughts to more important matters. It would be easy enough to ignore her. A mudblood wasn't worth fretting over. He had more important things to concern himself with, and as long as Granger didn't stick her nose where it didn't belong, he would have no need to deal with her. Hopefully, she knew her place.
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