Happy New Year to all! Out with the old, in with the not so old, etcetera ad nauseum ... So it's not quite New Years at Hogwarts. It's actually not even Christmas just yet. But it's getting there. It took me a little while longer to get this post up due to ... things ... But it is up now. So without further delay, I hope you enjoy the first chapter posted in 2017!

- Chapter Seven -

A Smarmy Failure

Harry, Hermione, and Ron stepped off the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross, ready to begin their holiday. The ride had been uncomfortable at best. Although Hermione attempted to join Harry and Ron in their compartment, the tension in the air was too thick to bear. Thus, Hermione spent a great deal of the trip either wandering aimlessly or looking for compartments where the occupying students were sleeping. She did not particularly feel like engaging in conversation.

Now that they had arrived in London, however, Hermione thought it best to exit the train together. No need for any parents to see that their little trio was fractured.

Little trio, Hermione thought, shaking her head while suppressing a smile as she stepped off the train.

How much she had hated it when Killian referred to things as little. Particularly when he would use it to describe something of interest to her. She knew he did it simply to bait her, but it aggravated her to no end. Now that she found herself using the term in the same way, Hermione could not help but be amused. At least, slightly. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her.

Several members of the Order were at the platform ready to greet them, waiting upon Harry's arrival to ensure he reached the Burrow safely. Dangerous times, as Professor Moody would often reiterate. Cannot take any chances.

After the customary greetings and brief catching up, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were ready to leave. Moody was already seething that they had wasted as much time as they had. However, Hermione's parents had yet to arrive. With Moody looking as though his mystical eye was ready to burst from his head, the veins in his forehead throbbing and he went on and on about being vulnerable and visible, Hermione assured them she would be all right on her own. She was safe at King's Cross and her parents would arrive at any moment. Regardless, Tonks decided to stay behind.

"Are your parents often late?" Tonks asked a good while after the others had left.

"They're dentists," Hermione answered with a grin. "The expectation is their patients be on time. They, however, can often run quite a bit behind schedule."

Several more minutes passed as the two of them bantered back and forth. Hermione had forgotten how much fun it was to share the company of Tonks. She was a strong, vibrant, confident woman. There were so many aspects of her character Hermione aspired to possess. Of course, there were also several of which she could lack and still feel quite fulfilled.

"Thank goodness you're still here," came a familiar voice near the hissing train.

Hermione and Tonks turned to see Professor McGonagall striding towards them with letter in hand.

"What's the matter?" Tonks asked.

"Oh, nothing dear," McGonagall assured. "I just received a letter from Miss Granger's parents. It appears they were called away for a conference and will not be home for the holidays." She handed the letter to Hermione, who took it and glanced over the script. "The letter only just arrived. It must have been delayed due to the amount of posts flooding the owlery this time of year."

"A conference?" Tonks asked, her face twisted in confusion. "At Christmas? Who is all bloody hell goes to a conference during the holidays?"

"It's not really a conference, per se," Hermione explained, her shoulders dropping, her eyes on the floor. "It's more of a holiday get-together for dentists."

"A what?" Tonks asked on, more perplexed than before.

"It happens every year," Hermione explained. "My parents have always been able to make excuses for not partaking. Apparently they could not get out of it this year."

Tonks continued to find no logic or reason in any of it. "Well if it's just a get-together, why can't you go too?"

"I could," Hermione answered. "But I made it very clear to them that if they ever went, I wanted no part of it. The last thing I want over Christmas is to be surrounded by people talking about bicuspids and canines. They understand," she punctuated with a laugh.

"I'm sorry, child," McGonagall said, placing her hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"It's all right, Professor," Hermione said.

"Well, hang on," Tonks offered. "The others have only just left. If we hurry, we can catch them. You can spend the holidays at the Burrow. I'm sure they'll have you."

Hermione thought for a moment. Already hit with the realization she would not be spending the holidays with her parents, she now faced the very real possibility of being with Harry and the Weasleys for an extended period of time. In recent years, this would have been an exciting proposition, even in light of the reasoning behind it. Given recent events, however, Hermione thought differently.

"If it's all the same," she said, attempting as best she could to hide her interwoven emotions of disappointment and hope, "I'd like to stay at Hogwarts."

"And why would you want to do that, dear?" McGonagall asked.

"With everything that's happened," Hermione explained, "maybe I could have a holiday from all of it. Spend some time away. Read some books. Think. Breath."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, Tonks folded her arms, and the two of the glanced back and forth between each other and Hermione.

"I think your friends would be upset to miss you," Tonks pointed out.

"Do they have to know?" Hermione asked.

Tonk rolled her head back, shifting from one foot to the other. She then looked at Hermione, cocking her head and making a face that resembled some blend of a scowl and grin.

"Makes sense, actually," she finally conceded. "World being as it is, safest place to be is Hogwarts. But you wouldn't know, because you're off somewhere with you parents," she punctuated with a bump to the shoulder and a wink.

"It's settled then," McGonagall said, putting her arm around Hermione and pulling her close to her side. "However, as I have no intention of taking a train … Goodbye, Nymphadora."

Tonks' scowl returned. "Don't call me—"

But her words were cut off as Hermione felt a familiar tugging force as she and Professor McGonagall Disapparated from King's Cross and Apparated a moment later on High Street in Hogsmeade. It was not quite like the time she had travelled with Killian in this manner, no sensation of being pressed through water, but familiar just the same.

"Now, Miss Granger …" Professor McGonagall said simply as she began up the path towards the school, "… off we go."

With a sigh and a smile, Hermione followed the Head of Gryffindor House back up to the castle, a little lighter in her step than she had been on the way down.

Shortly after, Hermione was back in her room, unpacking her bag and putting things away. As she did, she thought about the sudden turn of events. She thought about the previous year, when she and Killian sneaked away to find time together on a frozen pond a short stroll from Grimmauld Place. That moment, frozen in time, as the afternoon transitioned to evening under the fresh falling snow was etched in her memory like a painting lush with color and detail, every brushstroke a masterpiece in its own right. Now, here she was, a year later. And somewhere within the surrounding walls, Killian was there, as well.

In the early evening, Hermione found herself wandering the halls. She convinced herself it was merely to be out of the common room, where she had spent most of the early afternoon. Why she had done so, she could not be certain. The surroundings, empty of the bustle of everyday students, seemed so peaceful.

She had spent the holidays at Hogwarts before, but never without Harry and Ron. So this time was quite different. For the immediate future, there would be no interruptions of Draco conspiracies, no annoyingly cutesy Lavender Brown wrapped around Ron, no gossip about Victor Krum or Cormac McLaggen, and no talk about any Chosen One. Just long, hallowed, empty quiet.

She had skipped lunch entirely, the formality of things having fallen away with the majority of the students being home with their families this year. Contrary to Tonks' assertion that Hogwarts was the safest place to be, it appeared, based entirely on the lack of students within the school at the moment, most parents disagreed. The few students who remained followed a lenient schedule for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, even being allowed to take their meals to their common rooms if they so wished.

Now hungry, however, Hermione ventured to the Great Hall to find that most of the students had joined together at one of the center tables, forgoing house affiliation. There were of course, those who preferred their own house, but they were the minority. Even with them mingled, all four of the tables seemed bare.

Glancing around the Great Hall, Hermione saw that Killian was nowhere to be seen.

Of course, she thought, her hunger pangs suddenly fading away. Stupid. Absolutely stupid.

No longer interested in eating, Hermione decided to head back to Gryffindor Tower. Why had she spend the entire afternoon locked away in her common room? Why had she not looked for him right away? Why had she not tried to send him word that she was there? Doubt perhaps. Fear that Killian would not be happy to see her. He was, no doubt, hiding away somewhere, avoiding others as he so often does. Perhaps he wished for the solitude and she would be infringing upon it.

Regardless, searching for him at this hour would be a fool's errand. Certainly by now he was locked away beyond the Slytherin wall in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

As she kept along towards her destination, Hermione's eyes were on the stone floor, watching it as it passed beneath her feet with each methodical step. Perhaps Crimna would be in the girls' dormitory turning down the sheets for the night. Perhaps she could get a message to Killian. Perhaps then he would know—

As Hermione turned the corner, she felt two hand cup her cheeks as lips press to hers in a whirlwind of motion and sensations. She could hear his breath as he tasted her, the familiar scent of his skin bringing about a sense of comfort and desire. Upon instinct, she closed her eyes, her hands guiding his down to her waist as they leaned back into the shadows.

"You knew I was here?" Hermione asked.

"Only just," Killian admitted. "I hadn't left my common room today. Only did so now because I was hungry." He ran his finger across Hermione's forehead, clearing her hair from her eyes. "I was heading back there when I saw you entering the Great Hall. So I waited here."

"Why?"

"I assumed you would be looking for me," he said with playful arrogance. "When you realized I was not there, you would leave."

"I could have just been looking for food," Hermione teased.

"Yet, you left with none," Killian pointed out.

"I could have gone in another direction."

"This is the most direct path back to your tower," Killian went on. "And, as luck would have it, it happens to be under the mistletoe," he added, looking upwards.

Hermione looked up as well and saw a bundle of leaves and berries strung together within braided ribbons that draped the corridor. As she attempted to respond to Killian's comment, he stole her breath once again.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his arms tightening as his lips slid to Hermione's ear. "And you're hungry," he went on with a laugh, as Hermione's stomach unconsciously grumbled. He then grasped Hermione by the hand and began down the corridor.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked. "The Great Hall is the other way."

Killian snagged a satchel from the floor near them and slung it over his shoulder. "I've already filled up," he explained, opening the satchel and removing an apple. "I admit I'd believed at the time I was hoarding for myself alone. But I imagine we can share. You don't eat much, do you?" he concluded with a grin, handing the apple to Hermione.

Together they slipped through the halls of Hogwarts, finding a secluded area to settle in near the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. Hermione sat down as Killian looked up and addressed the stone carving.

"Let us know if anyone comes along, will you?"

Laughing and tugging at Killian's pant leg, Hermione made herself comfortable. Killian found his place beside her and did the same. He then opened his satchel and removed several bits of fruits, vegetables, and baked goods. He even managed to swipe a sealed carafe of pumpkin juice. After setting the spread, Hermione and Killian relaxed under the watchful eye of Gregory's frozen stare.

"This is almost surreal," Hermione said, lying on her back and resting her head on Killian's leg as she stared into the vaulted ceiling while Killian gently stoked her hair.

"Only almost?" Killian asked.

"We're in the middle of a hallway in Hogwarts," Hermione explained. "Right out in the open. Not hiding, not whispering, not rushing away."

"Well," Killian counted, "we are relatively alone in the school at the moment. Most of the parents didn't want their children staying here during the holidays. Not safe and all of that."

Killian's observation was in direct contrast to Tonks' assurance that Hogwarts was the safest place to be with everything that was occurring in the Wizarding world. Two different opinions; one from a confident, loyal member of the Order, the other from frightened parents whose faith has been tested over the previous years.

"But we're here," Hermione said. "I feel safe."

"That's because you're foolish," Killian teased.

"You're not going to let me have this moment, are you?" Hermione snipped, playfully slapping at Killian's leg with the back of her hand.

Killian caught her hand within his, grasped it, and began to massage her palm with his thumb. "And make it that easy for you?" he asked in return. "Never."

"Is it wrong to dream?" Hermione asked musingly. "Pretend this is just a normal day at school, no one is staring, no one cares. Pretend as if there is nothing wrong with it at all."

"There is nothing wrong with it," Killian assured. "There is something wrong with the world, but I promise you, there is nothing wrong with us." He ran his fingers across Hermione's cheek, directing her eyes towards him. "And you should feel safe … You are safe … Whenever you're with me. Just as I'm safe when I'm with you. As for a normal day at school," he added with a grin, "I'm fairly certain they would be staring regardless. After all, we're sitting on the floor in the middle of a hall when we should be in class. That would, no doubt, draw some eyes."

"And we nicked food from the Great Hall," Hermione added.

"We?" Killian asked, his eyebrow raised. "Who is we? I don't recall any help in that."

Hermione laughed and rolled off Killian's leg, reaching for his satchel.

"Speaking of," she said as she flipped it open and began rummaging through its contents. "What else do you have in here?"

Grasping and disregarding several variations of nourishment, Hermione found a small, leather bound book. Larger than a journal, but significantly smaller than the tomes shelved away within Hogwarts' vast library.

"What is this?" she asked, simultaneously opening the book and flipping through the pages. "Holiday reading?"

At first, Killian seemed as though he was going to reach for the book, but did not. Instead, he rested back against the statue of Gregory, folding his hands behind his head. "Something like that," he answered.

"The Genimus Serpens Ensis," Hermione said, reading the cover aloud before returning to her skimming. "Council of Elders … brother dragons, Tyne and Renfyre," she read on, squinting her eyes as she struggled with the words. "The Bon … Bondya dor … Rydre … Am I even saying that right?"

"Bon-dee-ah dor Rye-der," Killian pronounced with a grin, gently drumming his head against the smooth stone behind him as he stared at the ceiling. "But close."

"What is all of this?" Hermione asked on. "Reads like history, but …" she paused as she came to a particular page. "Hang on, is this Volda—"

"Yes," Killian interjected, taking the book from Hermione and flipping through the pages himself. "My sister sent it. Thought I would find it an interesting read."

"Aren't these children's stories?" Hermione teased, referring to both her own limited knowledge as well as Madame Pince's description of the Voldavia tales.

"Some would say," Killian said.

"And why would your sister believe you interested in such a genre?" Hermione teased.

"Perhaps she believes me to be immature," Killian answered. He then sat forward and returned his gaze to her. "Hermione, there's something I need—"

"Are students meant to be wandering all of the halls?" came a voice from further down the corridor.

Hermione and Killian turned to see a man descending a nearby staircase. He was young, with dark hair and a long black overcoat draped over his arm. He wore round glasses, giving him a very studious and proper appearance, and carried a bowler cap in one hand and a walking stick in the other. Most noticeable on his person, however, was his dark purple gloves.

"I understand the school is on holiday," the man continued as he strode towards them. "Still, I imagine there would be some form of order and control."

"Like strangers wandering the school?" Hermione pointed out as she and Killian got to their feet.

"Very true," the man agreed. He then turned to Killian. "Would you like to introduce us?"

Killian sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hermione, this is Master Liam Buckley," he said with reluctance.

"Mr. Buckley," Liam corrected with a tip of his head.

"Of course," Killian conceded. "The one straggling behind is Miss Aeris Baethen."

"I'm hardly straggling," came the voice of a young woman with long burgundy hair pulled back in a tight braid. "I'm merely taking my time."

Aeris soon joined Liam's side and greeted Hermione more personally. She was vibrant, confident, and beautiful, wearing an ebony cloak and, like Liam, deep purple gloves that ran nearly the full length of her arm. Hermione also noticed she was wearing a delicate silver broach intricately detailed in the shape of a curved leaf inlaid with a violet crystal. At that moment Hermione realized Liam was wearing a similar lapel pin, although the crystal contained within was a deep blue.

"Killian," Aeris greeted with a smile much like the one Killian wore when being cordial with someone he would rather be less than. "You look well."

"Are you affiliated with Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, seeing that although Killian appeared to know these two individuals, he did not seem particularly interested in their presence.

"No," Liam clarified. "We are affiliated with Killian. His father, to be more exact. Happened to be passing by and decided to see in on him." He looked to the book in Killian's hand. "May I?" he asked as he reached out.

Killian handed the book to Liam, who then thumbed through several pages.

"Not the type of literature one would expect within Hogwarts," Aeris said.

"My sister sent it to me," Killian explained. "To help pass the time over holiday."

"Have you finished?" Liam asked.

"Yes, actually," Killian answered. His tone was polite and casual, but Hermione could see beyond the simple niceties.

"Perhaps we can return it then," Liam offered. "We'll be seeing your sister later in the week."

"Certainly," Killian agreed. "You would be doing me a favor."

"Perfect …" Liam put the book within his coat and turned to Hermione. "It was a pleasure," he said, tipping his head again before returning his attention to Killian. "Mind yourself, would you please?"

"Of course," Killian answered, his eyes narrowing, then tension in his jaw evident.

Liam turned and began down the hall. Before following, Aeris looked to Hermione.

"Gryffindor?" she asked, admiring the house badge on her sweater.

"Yes," Hermione answered.

Aeris glanced back towards Killian, then approached Hermione and leaned in with a smile.

"Keep him out of trouble," she whispered.

"Always," Hermione assured.

"Good," Aeris said simply, then turned and joined her counterpart as he walked to the stairs leading down to the main foyer, their footsteps growing fainted with each passing stride.

When the corridor was silent once again, Hermione turned to Killian, who was gathering up the remainder of their food and putting back within his satchel.

"Friends of you father?" she asked.

"Politics and proper social mingling," Killian answered dismissively without even looking up. Each item he stuffed in his satchel was done so with more force than the previous.

Hermione walked over to Killian and placed her hand on his back. He paused, his shoulders slouching as he took a thoughtful breath. She then walked around her Slytherin and looked up at frustrated expression.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Of course," Killian answered, forcing a grin. "Do I not appear so?"

"Well," Hermione began cautiously, "… you just crushed the biscuits in your bag."

Dropping his shoulders further, Killian lowered his head.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing is wrong," Killian answered.

"Does this have anything to do with—"

"No," Killian assured before Hermione could even complete her thought. "This has nothing to do with anything happening here. Not Katie Bell, not Yaxley …"

"Then what is it?" Hermione pressed on, now grasping at Killian's shirt, adjusting the buttons and straightening the collar; an easy excuse for physical contact. "Whatever it is, you can tell me," she continued, he hands now resting on Killian's chest. "You know that, right?"

Killian grasped Hermione's hands, pressing them together within his own. "I do," he said. "But … I can't."

A thousand thoughts went through Hermione's mind in a fraction of second. Images of scenes in movies and books where one member or the other in a conversation storms off in anger because they did not have their question answered or the request acquiesced. The forced drama, the manufactured crisis created by nothing more than lazy writing or some belief that the human ego was so weak, so fragile that something as simple as hearing I can't tell you would be enough to send one over the edge.

Hermione always found those characters to be ridiculous. She believed, were she in their place, she would react differently. When faced with the reality of it, however, it was quite different. In part, she was correct. She did not get angry, she did not storm off. As she had believed, there was more to her and Killian than some dramatic literary cliché. Still, the words stung. So perhaps her ego was not as strong as she had imagined.

In that moment, when Hermione proved to herself that she was better than any hackneyed fictional character, she heard the hesitation in Killian's voice, saw the subtle differences in stature, and felt the sliver of pain and frustration buried behind his arrogant grin. More than that, she trusted him. Plain and simple. While her curiosity begged for more, her heart knew it was not needed.

"Will you ever tell me?" she asked as she placed a gentle hand to Killian's cheek.

Killian slid his hand over Hermione's. "Yes," he answered without hesitation. "I promise, one day, I will tell you everything."

Without a word, Hermione stood up on her toes, kissing Killian gently for as long as she could hold her breath and keep her balance. A simple kiss, just enough to feel the sensation of his lips against her own. It was significantly less than their level of physical behavior, but he pursued nothing more than what Hermione offered, simply placing his free hand on her waist, squeezing just enough to let her know it was there. He knew it was more than just a simple kiss. It was Hermione's promise that when one day came, she would be there.

Her calves burning and her balance failing, Hermione dropped down to her heels once again. Wearing an expression Killian reserved only for her, Hermione's Slytherin slung his satchel over his shoulder, his hand still in hers.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," Hermione said in return, smiling and feeling almost silly for the exchange

"So where shall we be off to?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "Somewhere else we're not supposed to be."

"Very well," Killian agreed with a laugh. "Lead on."

As they gathered up the remainder of their things, Killian made a point to address the statue of Gregory the Smarmy.

"You're fired, by the way," he poignantly chastised the granite effigy as Hermione joined him, placing her head on his shoulder. "Terrible lookout."

"Agreed," Hermione concurred playfully. "Now, come on," she went on, taking Killian by the hand and leading him off into the darkness of the corridor.