Hermione woke slowly and groggily. She was vaguely aware of something obscuring her eyesight, but it wasn't until she heard a shout from her left that she became alert.
"Oh for god's sake, Malfoy – stop complaining!"
"Maybe I will… when you stop causing me even more pain, Davis!"
Hermione turned her head to look at the commotion; Malfoy was lying shirtless and on his front, sprawled over Hannah's bed. Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. Tracey Davis was standing over him, waving her wand slowly across his skin.
"What did you expect?" Davis asked scathingly, her long dark hair falling over her face as she worked. "Pain potion? A pretty Medinurse to give you a sponge bath? This isn't the damn infirmary, so I'm all you've got up here, Malfoy; basic healing and guaranteed no questions asked. I don't even think I want to know what went on in here last night anyway." She flipped her long, dark hair away from her face with her forearm and strode away from him. "You're done."
Hermione raised her eyebrows at Tracey's tone, but found that her forehead felt tight. She raised her hands to her head and found that a bandage was wrapped around it, partially covering her eyes.
"Don't touch that! Don't move!" Davis suddenly barked at her, and Hermione froze immediately. She didn't know Tracey all that well, but Hermione now understood that she wasn't someone to tell what to do. "You have a serious concussion and shouldn't move. At all." Davis was suddenly at her bedside, removing her curious hands from her head and tucking Hermione in some more.
Hermione was speechless. She couldn't remember getting into bed. Why was Tracey Davis there? She dared to move her head slowly to face Malfoy. But when she met his gaze, any words she could have said immediately died in her throat. Hermione's mouth gaped open and closed a few times, and he simply continued to stare blankly at her from his languid position. She felt like she couldn't breathe, but Hermione could feel that Malfoy didn't know what to say either.
"I'd listen to her, if I were you."
Hermione tore her eyes away from Malfoy's, ignoring the fact that she now knew his eyes were an icy blue. But they look grey in the light, she thought absentmindedly, as she spotted Blaise standing in the doorway. It was so similar to the way he had appeared the previous night that Hermione had to refrain from smirking in irony at how different things now were.
She smiled at him and he inclined his head in return. But before Hermione could speak, Malfoy yelled out in pain; he'd also tried to see who had appeared in the room, but had instead reopened some of the wounds in his back in the process.
"Oh for fuck's sake – Malfoy!" Davis yelled, and Hermione flinched. As she was coming fully to, the ache in her head was becoming more prominent.
"Just hurry up and heal me, so I can get the hell out of here!" Malfoy hissed in return.
"Oh, you're not going anywhere."
"What?" Hermione and Malfoy cried together. They shared a brief, half-hearted glare.
"Both of you are too injured to go anywhere for a while yet," Davis said calmly, as she prodded and poked at Malfoy's shoulder blades. "Ideally, you'd be resting for a day or two, but the ball is tonight, and I have a feeling that your missing of that would be noticed, so that's clearly not an option."
"So we have to stay in here all day?" Hermione asked incredulously. She was masking her panic quite well, if she thought so herself. Alone... in her bedroom... with Malfoy... all day? They had barely managed being in the same building together yesterday without trying to tear each other apart, so how the hell were they to manage the whole day? And then, go to the damned ball and pretend like everything was normal? Hermione's headache was suddenly getting a lot worse.
"I can at least go back to my own room, right?" Malfoy asked in a panicked tone. He tried to move away, but Tracey pushed him back down with a firm hand.
"I'm not going to risk moving you like this, or do you want to be permanently scarred?" Malfoy said nothing, but huffed at her stern tone. "I thought so," Tracey continued. "I'm pretty much done here and I honestly can't stand the tension in this room anymore, so I'm going to leave you to it. Neither of you dare to move or exert yourselves or whatever else you might feel the urge to do. I'll be up again around three to make sure nobody's dead."
"Thanks, Tracey," Blaise said as she swept past him.
"Here's a little sleep potion if they act up. Good luck." Tracey shut the door behind her, leaving the three remaining eighth years in a terribly awkward silence.
"I'll take that potion now," Hermione finally choked out.
Blaise ignored her. He walked through the room as if she hadn't spoken. With each step, the sound of crunching debris rang in Hermione's ears. Was he doing it on purpose? If so, what was his point? She was too tired to play games. But I suppose that's my own fault, Hermione thought weakly.
"This looks a lot worse in the daylight," Blaise stated from the foot of Hermione's bed. He then attempted to lean against one of the posts, but stumbled as it fell away from him. Giving Hermione a glare, as if it was her fault for his momentary loss of posture, Blaise stalked back over to the door. The splintered wooden pole clattered to the floor and the awning above Hermione drooped, dropping a small cloud of dust over the foot of her bed.
"I'm not cleaning a single bit of this, so you better hurry up and get better because I have a feeling that everyone will cover for you two only so much." He opened his blazer and pulled out several objects, enlarging one of them and placed them all on the dresser; conveniently the furthest away from Hermione and Malfoy. "Here's your wands, the sleep potion and a bag of your things I put together, Draco. If either of you aren't there tonight, I'm not going to be responsible for the consequences. You've got shit to sort out, that doesn't involve almost killing each other."
Blaise slammed the door behind him. The last piece of Hannah's wall mirror fell and crashed to the floor. Hermione and Malfoy both flinched at the sound.
Hermione shut her eyes; she wanted to melt into the mattress and never come out. I don't want to be here! she thought frustratingly. She felt like she'd never been so humiliated in her life, or regretted something so much. Cringing at the thought of apologising to Malfoy, Hermione sighed aloud.
"Malfoy..." she started, but he spoke over her.
"Don't even try it, Granger. We're well past sorry's now, don't you think?" He was facing her, and despite his relaxed position Hermione knew that he wasn't calm. "Both ways," he added hastily.
Hermione could barely stand to hold his intense gaze, but she knew she had to; he had a point. "You might be right," Hermione replied. "But we still need to talk about it."
"Am I fuck having a heart-to-heart with you."
"I don't want that," Hermione shot back. She could feel her temper rising, but the throbbing in her head forced her to calm down. "I just want to know what you know about my parents."
"Only if you tell me what you know," Malfoy responded immediately.
Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Fine," she said. Then she motioned with her hand for him to begin talking. Hermione's patience was running low, and she felt terribly tired. Ideally, she'd have this conversation another day but it unfortunately didn't look like she'd get another chance.
"That was all I knew," Malfoy said after a moment. "I'd overheard Weasley talk to Potter about it last week. She seemed to think that's what the meeting was about."
Hermione blinked at him for several moments. He must have been in real pain to give up what he knew so quickly and so willingly. She sighed. "You know... I'm glad to know that they weren't found by... well, you know... but I'm also sad to know that nobody knows any more than I do."
They were both silent for a few moments before Malfoy spoke again. "How can you lose your parents, anyway?" he said.
Either Hermione's head injury was worse than she thought, or she had finally become immune to Malfoy's scathing comments. Realistically and strangely, she now instead understood this to be his way of asking what happened without asking in the normal, caring way. God forbid a Malfoy to seem to care about something, she thought with an internal roll of her eyes. But she paused at Malfoy's expression. He appeared... genuinely interested. Would it really hurt to tell him?
"I cast a memory charm on my parents and sent them to live in Australia, with new names and identities in order to protect them while I was on the run. And we have yet to discover where they settled," she replied matter-of-factly.
"You... you obliviated yourself from their entire life? Their daughter? They don't know who you are?" Malfoy looked like he'd just swallowed something awful.
"Yes," Hermione set her jaw as though ready to defend herself. "And it worked rather well, don't you think?" Malfoy did not dare to reply to this rhetorical question, therefore another momentary silence passed between them. "Well?" Hermione broke the silence abruptly. Malfoy looked a little shocked at her array of emotions. "What would you like to know?" Hermione continued a little softer.
"So you believe me, then?" Malfoy said with a quirk of his eyebrow.
Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "Out of all of the things we've done to each other," she said with a small shrug. "Have we ever lied to one another?" She could see the frustration on his face as he tried to think of an instance where they hadn't actually been truthful with each other and smirked at his efforts. "So, what would you like to know?" Hermione repeated.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes before speaking. "I have a feeling that I know a lot less than I thought I did, so you tell me."
Hermione frowned. "I suppose I better start with Godric's Hollow..."
...
Malfoy closed his eyes at some point, but Hermione knew that he had continued to listen to her story. It had become more of a monologue of Hermione talking to herself by the end, but it was the full story nonetheless. Hermione spoke about every Horcrux; how it was made and how it was destroyed. She explained how the Hallows existed and how they tied in, and how Harry fit into the equation. She even mentioned Dumbledore's history – the true one. Some parts Hermione knew that Malfoy already understood or was there for, but she retold them anyway.
"You know..." Malfoy said, after Hermione had been silent for a while. "Even although Dumbledore was on the good side... he still followed that motto for all those years."
"What?" Hermione said, distracted by trying to wipe away her tears. It had been difficult bringing a lot of it back, but it felt good to have put it all into the one form. Maybe she'd write it down one day.
"'For the greater good'" Malfoy muttered mockingly, as he glared down at the floor between their beds.
Hermione stared open-mouthed at him, digesting what he had said. "I... I just realised I have some dittany in my bag," she said abruptly.
Malfoy's eyes shot up. "What?"
Hermione gave him a small smile and threw her covers back. She noticed that she was still wearing her thin, bloodstained pyjamas. Blaise was right; it definitely did look worse in the light. Pausing briefly to let the dizziness pass, Hermione leaned down to pull her small beaded bag out of her sock. It was a terrible habit she'd gotten into; still of the mind that anything could happen at any time.
"You still carry it?"
Hermione felt strange at the thought of him knowing so much about her. The feeling reminded her of the nervous excitement when she, Harry and Ron used to sneak out at night, and she didn't understand why she felt like that. She didn't reply as she raked around the inside of the bag, elbow deep. Hermione had recently reorganised the space, so the dittany bottle should have been almost immediately to the left… She grinned as her fingers found the small bottle and pulled it out quickly. She immediately tied the bag shut and stuffed it back down her sock. The fact that Malfoy of all people now knew where she hid it, made her a little anxious. But Hermione had a feeling that it also didn't matter.
"If you'd remembered about that earlier, we would have saved a lot of damn time."
"What?" Hermione teased breathlessly, as she attempted to stand up. "Do you not want to spend time with me or something?" She used the bed for support to stand.
Hermione could feel the familiar stiffness in her limbs after duels, and the stinging itch of healing cuts across her body as she made her way over to the dresser where their things were. Malfoy had sure gone a few rounds on her, but there was a specific glee to be felt seeing that he was in a worse condition than her.
"No, Granger, I can't bear to be apart from you for even a moment."
Before she could stop herself, Hermione giggled. "Oh dear, Malfoy, what would people think if they heard you say such a thing?" she said as she grabbed the two wands, the potion and the black leather holdall.
"Probably something like what Blaise said last night," she heard him mumble.
"Why? What did he say?" Hermione stiffened as she dropped the bag on the floor next to his head, and placed the wands and bottle of sleeping potion on the bedside table. Her hands tightened on the bottle of dittany in nervousness. She'd forgotten about wondering why Malfoy had come storming into her room in such a rage. "Was it what he said that made you come here last night?" she said uncomfortably.
Malfoy took a deep breath before he spoke. "Just heal me, Granger. Then I'll be out of your hair. Which is an effort in itself, I suppose."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue back, but realised she was too fed up and tired to argue with him anymore. She'd just ask Blaise; it would be much easier getting any kind of explanation from him than Malfoy.
She perched next on the edge of Hannah's bed next to him. Close up, Hermione could now see the extent of the damage. She forcibly swallowed the 'sorry' down her throat. No more apologising.
"Tracey did a good job getting all the splinters out," she murmured.
Malfoy grunted in reply.
"This might sting a bit," Hermione said, placing a shaking hand in the small of his back. He flinched at her touch, and she immediately withdrew her hand as if his skin had burned her. "Sorry," she mumbled. No apologising! she chastised herself as she realised her slip-up.
She popped the cork on the bottle of dittany and immediately began to squeeze evenly spread droplets onto his back. "So, what's Tracey's story?" she said in an attempt to distract him. "Why was she here?"
Malfoy hissed in pain as another drop of dittany landed onto his skin. "She's a half-blood," he breathed. "So she couldn't be part of the power groups in Slytherin."
Hermione frowned and paused. She wasn't particularly in the mood to hear another story about an unjust system in the Wizarding world.
"But that didn't stop her from becoming one of the most... Slytherin females in there," Malfoy continued.
Hermione resumed dropping and intermediately dabbing the excess with her fingers, since she didn't have any spare cloth to do so. "How so?" she asked.
"Davis taught herself how to magically heal pretty early on in first year, so you can imagine the demand there was for no-questions-asked healing in the Slytherin common room."
Hermione paused again. "Yes, I can believe that indeed," she said in a disapproving tone.
"So, Davis built up a bit of a name for herself, healing everything from black eyes to shoddy Dark magic attempts. But even although she had a no-questions-asked motto... it didn't mean that she didn't find out a lot in the process, regardless." Malfoy started to become a little breathless and Hermione stopped.
"Ah," she said. "So, Tracey knows a lot of things about a lot of people." Hermione was impressed; Davis had used her own stigma against the prejudiced prats in Slytherin and had beaten them at their own game by learning all their dirty little secrets while fixing them up. She appreciated the irony of one of the only non-purebloods in Slytherin being the one to become the most like their house traits. "But how do you know all this?" Hermione asked with a frown. She began dabbing away at Malfoy's back again. She was almost done, but didn't particularly want to stop.
"I was the connection to her father."
"Wha... who?"
"Dolohov."
Hermione bristled. She should have recognised the long nose and the black hair in his daughter, but then again, if she wasn't looking for it, it wasn't something easily seen. "Turn over," she barked.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm done, so turn over!"
Malfoy immediately pushed himself onto his elbows and groaned at the effort. Hermione felt a little bad for him, but it was minuscule compared to her finding out this information. Tracey Davis was Antonin Dolohov's illegitimate daughter? Trust the hypocritical Death Eater scum to keep his half-blood daughter a secret. Hermione couldn't imagine that Tracey would have liked her father all that much, but regardless, if she had been anything like him, it might have been catastrophic for them. Davis was a relatively invisible person on the Hogwarts spectrum; the makings for an excellent spy.
Malfoy grunted as he flipped himself over and sagged back into the mattress.
"His name protected her from you lot... and her lack of his name protected her from us," Hermione mumbled.
"And you see why now it doesn't particularly matter whether you're a mudblood or not when there's a half-blood in my house who's more Slytherin than the rest of us put together?"
Hermione stared at Malfoy, trying to discern what exactly he meant by that. She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm glad he's dead," she stated.
"I don't blame you," Malfoy replied honestly. "There's plenty people I'm glad are dead."
Hermione's hand gripped the bottle fiercely as she shook her head. "No, no, you don't understand... he killed Remus... not forgetting what the bastard did to me." Hermione pulled her shirt up and showed Malfoy the long winding purple scar that crossed her ribcage and side. She felt no shame in the act; he had to understand.
Malfoy frowned. "You shouldn't have survived that," he said, staring at her stomach. Hermione hastily pulled her top back down.
"You know what it is?"
He shrugged. "Dolohov created it himself. It's supposed to replicate death, so that the victim's loved ones think they're actually dead. They then eventually die. Especially if they're buried."
"Goodness," Hermione breathed in shock. She really shouldn't have survived that. "I was just out for a few days." She frowned. "But he had cast it non-verbally after I cast a Silencing Charm on him, so I suppose it would have been weaker."
"You're lucky to be alive, Granger," Malfoy muttered as he began to unravel the bandages covering parts of his arms. Hermione was then made suddenly aware of their position; sharing a bed, both not entirely dressed...
She fumbled for her wand and flicked it at him; unravelling all the bandages for him. Hermione then began to quickly drop more dittany on the places where her Slicing Charms had hit him. "You should be fine to go in an hour or so, but I'll give you the sleeping potion so that it works faster," she said, sitting back. Too familiar. Way too familiar...
"Why, is there only enough for one?"
"I shouldn't sleep yet. I'm still concussed," Hermione replied. She didn't meet his eyes.
"Right," Malfoy replied coldly and clearly confused. He shuffled down the bed in an attempt to get comfy. "It feels better already," he said, rolling his shoulders.
"That's the point," Hermione said, reaching for the little violet bottle. She uncorked it and handed it over to Malfoy. "Drink."
He stared at the bottle for a few seconds, as if he was deciding whether to drink it or not. Hermione stood up when he gulped it down a moment later. "How long will I be out for?" Malfoy asked, rolling onto his side.
"A few hours probably," Hermione said with a shrug.
"I know we said no apologies..." Malfoy began to say drowsily as she turned away. "But I'm sorry I almost made your head explode."
Hermione smiled down at her bedcovers, before turning back around to reply. "Well, for the record, I'm sorry I almost Crucio'd you, too."
But when she did, she saw that Malfoy was already asleep. Hermione sighed. She threw the burgundy cover from her own bed over him; Hannah's was wedged tightly somewhere under his legs.
Hermione wanted to do nothing but sleep, however, as that was no longer an option, she instead dropped to sit on the edge of her bed, staring into space.
But Malfoy's soft breathing soon grabbed her attention. There was a strand of his hair over his face moving gently as he breathed and Hermione was transfixed. It was certainly a strange situation as she found herself staring. There was something profoundly... intimate about seeing someone sleep. An immense amount of trust was required in order to do so. Yet, there was Malfoy allowing Hermione to see him in such a vulnerable state.
His open and relaxed expression drew Hermione in. What would Malfoy think if the situation had been reversed? What would he have thought of a slumbering Hermione in his own room? Hermione blinked and shook her head. She thought she had known Malfoy. But if she really had, they still wouldn't be in the same room nor would she have still been wondering why he had stormed into her room to attack her mere hours previous. If Hermione had known Malfoy like she thought, she never would have forgiven him like she had.
Suddenly unable to look at him any longer, Hermione tore her eyes away and stood up quickly with goosebumps on her arms. She walked over to the dresser and picked up the last remaining intact brandy glass. She looked around for the accompanying bottle and found that it had rolled off and away under her bed.
"Accio," she murmured lazily, and the bottle flew straight into her hand. "Of course you survived." Hermione stole one last glance at Malfoy's sleeping form before shrugging. "Today couldn't get any weirder anyway," she said before uncorking the bottle and pouring herself a glass.
She toasted the wrecked room, took a gulp and got to work in fixing her dorm room.
...
Hannah felt like crap. She'd had barely any sleep, and that was even after Blaise had forced her to crash in his and Malfoy's room in the early hours of the morning. She'd sobbed for a while in the common room, but had quickly gotten her act together. You're overreacting, Hannah told herself, curled up in Blaise's bed. You've seen worse happen to nicer people! They're fine now! Tracey has healed them, so you've got nothing to worry about!
But Hannah couldn't help but replay the image of Hermione and Malfoy collapsed on the floor, drenched in each other's blood. Neville and Blaise had separated them after they'd passed out on each other, and then lifted them onto the beds. Tracey had arrived not long after to stop the bleeding.
That was especially something Hannah didn't understand. How they could have gone from almost killing each other one minute, to comforting one another the next simply made no sense to her. But she wasn't going to look into it too much. Her brain hurt enough as it was.
She was still in her robes from yesterday, having drunkenly fallen asleep fully clothed, only then to be thrown unceremoniously out of her own room. A couple of hours had passed since Blaise had last come to see Hannah, informing her that he'd left Hermione and Malfoy to 'sort their shit out', as he'd put it. Blaise had been very pleased to inform her that he'd also given them a good telling off. Hannah was sure she would also find it funny after she got over the shock, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon.
This year wasn't supposed to be dangerous. It was supposed to be bloody quiet, if not good. But that looked like that wasn't going to happen. Hannah sighed and checked Blaise's clock; it was just after midday. Surely it would be safe to return to her room now? With a huge sigh, Hannah threw back the covers and climbed out of the warm bed.
Shoeless, she walked out into the stone corridor and made her way around to Room 4 without seeing a single person. It was eerily silent in the eighth year dorm, and Hannah thought it was fitting. She didn't really understand why she felt so emotionally drained and betrayed in a way, by Hermione and Malfoy's actions last night. But whatever it was, it was time to move past it, because if they were fine with it, then why the hell should she not be?
Hannah paused with her hand on the doorknob, and took a deep breath. However, her decision to enter was made for her, as the dark wood door swung open and out of her hand.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, and jumped back.
"Hannah!" Hermione exclaimed, looking equally as surprised. "Are you okay?"
Hannah blinked at her. "Am I okay? Am I okay?" she repeated incredulously. "Should I be the one asking if you're okay? Because from what I saw, you're lucky you're bloody alive!" Hannah started to breath heavily. She was angrier than she'd thought.
Hermione's eyes darted nervously. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't think." She was looking at the floor, which made Hannah frown. Hermione was acting downtrodden – which was something Hannah had never seen on her. But then again, they actually barely knew each other.
Hannah sighed and ran forward, throwing her arms around Hermione. "I'm just glad you're fine now. You are fine now, right?"
She felt the vibrations of Hermione's chuckle. "Yes," she replied. "I am absolutely healed." Hermione stepped back with a smile on her face, and she truly did look healed. Apart from the white bandage on her head and the magically healed scrapes on her arms, Hermione looked entirely normal. She'd obviously showered and fixed herself. Even the room behind her looked clean and tidy.
Hannah's grin slid off her face. "Oh dear," she said, pushing past Hermione into the room. "You really did kill him, didn't you!" she exclaimed, running over to a very still looking Malfoy.
"I gave him a sleeping potion, Hannah," Hermione replied calmly, as Hannah poked his arm that was hanging off of her bed. She then noticed the rise and fall of his chest and stepped back, embarrassed.
"Oh, well, sorry... uhm... yeah."
Hermione shrugged. "I'm surprised he took it to be honest," she said with a frown, looking down at him.
"The sleeping potion?"
Hermione nodded and crossed her arms. "He's distrustful."
"But tired as hell, I'd bet," Hannah replied. "He's injured and had a long couple of days. Speaking of, why haven't you collapsed into your own bed yet?"
Hermione pointed to her bandage. "Can't sleep with a concussion. Do you not learn first aid in the wizarding world?"
Hannah shrugged. "If people want to learn Healing, they do it in their own time."
"So I've heard," Hermione mumbled. "He'll be waking up soon, and I was on my way to the kitchens. Want to join?"
Hannah blinked at her. "You know where the kitchens are?"
"Why, don't you?"
"Of course I do, I was just curious how you did."
"The Weasley twins. You?"
"I'm a Hufflepuff."
They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into similar peals of laughter.
"Come on then," Hermione said, putting her arm through Hannah's. "I'm bloody starving and I don't want Malfoy to wake up in here alone. Who knows what he'd do. Plus, Tracey will be back soon, so I don't particularly want to be out of bed when she does."
"She'll notice that you've cleaned up."
"I could have easily done that lying down."
"Got an answer for everything, don't you?" Hannah laughed.
"Of course I do," Hermione replied, grinning.
Hannah laughed again, pulling the door softly shut behind her as the two girls entered the corridor with a happier outlook on the day than either of them had woken up with.
...
It didn't matter how beautiful Ginny looked in her gown, Harry had decided that no ball was worth the trouble. He hated the restricting clothes and the polite forced conversations, but he hated the dancing most of all – especially the dancing. However, at least this time he didn't have to worry about asking someone to be his date.
He and Ginny hadn't had 'the' conversation yet, but after his birthday celebrations, when he'd finally emerged from Grimmauld Place (from where he'd escaped to after the battle) and stopped his moping, they'd just fallen back together, if such a thing existed. She'd in fact been the one to ask him to accompany her to the Welcome Ball, as Professor McGonagall had titled it.
Personally, he simply found it a waste of time and a huge security risk, as most of the attendees were coming from outside of Hogwarts. But then again, most of them were Order members, and nothing could go wrong in a room full of Order of the Phoenix members, right?
Harry was fidgeting with the cuffs of his dress robes as he sat watching Ginny dance with Dennis Creevey. He'd taken a large stretch since Harry had seen him last, and was now eye level with Ginny. She had told him that Dennis hadn't taken his brother's death well at all and was particularly struggling to keep it together. Harry had forgotten that Colin and Ginny had been in the same year. Somehow, it made Colin seem older. Harry simply got angrier at the injustice of it all every time he thought about it.
He'd been sitting at the round table for most of the night. Ginny hadn't seemed to mind about being a dance partner short; at least she understood how useless he was at it. But the longer Harry had been there, the more he had noticed. It had been more to impress Kingsley and prove to the other Aurors that he deserved to be there, but Harry had been doing a lot of studying in preparation for starting at the Ministry the following week. He knew that Hermione would be proud, but telling her would have meant telling Ron too, and Harry didn't think he was ready for that yet.
Since defeating Riddle, Harry had somehow become relatively unapproachable, but not that he was complaining; it had given him more chances to people-watch and brush up on his observations.
Therefore, after having sat on the sidelines watching the ball attendees for the last half-hour, Harry had noticed a lot of things. Several of which disturbed him. Early on, he had noticed Hannah Abbott's frequent worried glances in Malfoy's direction, which was interesting since Harry knew of no reason why Hannah would have been nervous of his presence. Soon after, he had seen Malfoy's stiff and laboured movements, as if he was injured. But Harry didn't particularly care about that; there were bound to have been confrontations regarding Malfoy's return anyway – however, Harry did wonder what Hannah had to do with it. He'd also noticed Neville's glares towards Ernie, who Hannah had arrived with, which amused him a little.
Then, Harry had seen Tracey Davis stare intently at Hermione with a frown on her face several times throughout the night, which worried him. But Harry knew that if it was a personal thing, Hermione was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. He would mention it to her later anyway.
A figure then appeared in from of him and blocked his sight of Ginny, startling him out of his thoughts. That was definitely something he still had to work on before training.
"Are you going to sit there all night like the git you are, or get up off your ass and actually ask my sister to dance?"
Harry squinted upwards and saw Ron grinning down at him. Ever since he and Hermione had gotten together, he'd become insufferably cheerful. Regardless, Harry found that better than the alternative.
"I'm saving all my moves for the last dance," he replied, pushing Ron's arm playfully.
Ron dropped down into the seat next to him, and relaxed into a similar position, with his elbows on the table. "You'll probably need to prise Dennis off her in order to do that."
Harry snorted and opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as Hermione suddenly appeared in front of him, holding a glass out.
"You look like you could do with a drink," she said, smiling.
Harry took the tall glass out of her hand. "Thanks," he said and immediately took a large gulp of the champagne. He didn't like it that much, but it settled well, and it was alcohol, so it would do.
"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" Ron said as Hermione handed him a second glass.
"Only about a hundred times, Ron," she replied, unable to keep a grin off her face.
Harry immediately averted his eyes and took another sip of his drink. He was well versed in when not to look at Ron and Hermione. Unfortunately, he'd had a long learning experience.
"I think I'm going to go to the ladies, excuse me boys," Hermione announced suddenly.
"Do you want me to escort you?"
"Ronald, that's entirely unnecessary. I'll see you in a few minutes." Hermione then kissed Ron on the cheek, gathered up her dress, and left.
"I never realised… she's just amazing… you know?"
"Yeah, Ron," Harry replied absentmindedly. He suddenly noticed Davis exit the Hall right after Hermione and couldn't believe that her staring was simply a coincidence anymore. "I'll be back in a minute," he said after putting his glass down behind him and standing up.
"Well hurry back then!" Ron called after him, as Harry began to stride across the room to catch up with the two girls. Harry waved his hand at him without turning around.
He was sure it was nothing, but it would never harm anyone to check. As he sped walked out of the large doors, he caught a glance of Tracey's red dress sweeping around the corner of the Entrance Hall, towards the unused classrooms. Curious, Harry jogged a little to catch up.
Stopping to glance around the corner, he saw Davis slip into one of the classrooms down the corridor. As soon as she had shut the door behind her, Harry sprinted quietly along the dank and dark passage. What was going on? Was Hermione in danger? Why would she come down here? What does Tracey Davis have against her? Harry's thoughts circled around his brain as he came up to the door. Go in, or listen to what was going on inside first?
Harry decided on eavesdropping; he didn't even have any proof that Hermione was in there in the first place and he didn't particularly want to walk in on Tracey and her date or something else of the sort. He dug around the inside of his robes pocket and pulled out a favourite Weasley product of his.
As soon as Harry pressed the artificial ear to his own, he heard Davis' voice as clear as if she had been standing next to him. He pressed the ear closer and stepped forward.
"-it off. Let me have a look," he heard Tracey say.
Harry jumped when he heard the next voice. "I applied some dittany not long after you left, so he should be fine," Hermione replied.
"I should definitely have a look then," Tracey replied.
"Excu-" Hermione started angrily, but a third voice spoke over her.
"I told you I'm fine, but if it makes you feel better, you can look, right?" Malfoy replied, clearly annoyed.
Harry dropped the Extendable Ear in shock. Hermione was in a deserted classroom with Tracey Davis and Draco Malfoy? Yeah, now he was definitely going in. Harry grabbed the doorknob and turned it so aggressively, that when the door opened it swung so wide that it clattered against the wall beside it with a loud bang.
However, Harry was clearly not prepared for what he saw. He blinked several times just to check that what he could see was real. Malfoy was leaning forward onto one of the desks on his elbows, with his robe off and his shirt pushed up to his neck – held in place by a startled looking Hermione. Davis was standing right over him, with one hand on the reddened and seemingly injured bare skin on his back, glaring at Harry.
"He-Hermione!" Harry exclaimed.
"Oh dear," Hermione mumbled. She suddenly looked at the hand holding Malfoy's shirt and quickly pulled it away and into her chest.
"Great. Now we're going to have to explain to Potter about this fucked up situation," Malfoy said while standing up and yanking his shirt down.
"I wasn't done!" Tracey barked.
"You are now," Malfoy replied calmly as he began buttoning up his shirt.
"Hermione?" Harry repeated. He was in a daze, not understanding what the hell was going on at all. "Explain."
Hermione looked at Malfoy before replying. "Well… uhm… well, we got into a little bit of an argument last night and Tracey fixed us up… but we're totally fine now, I promise. He even helped me get dressed earlier."
"He what?" Harry spat.
"Not like that!" Hermione hissed in return.
Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Hermione, sit down and tell me what the hell has been going on. You two as well," he said, pointing between Davis and Malfoy.
Malfoy scoffed. "I don-"
"SIT THE FUCK DOWN, MALFOY!" Harry yelled.
Then, surprisingly, the three other teenagers sat down in the dusty chairs in the front row of the disused classroom obediently and without saying another word.
A/N: This chapter was 18 pages long on my laptop, jeez. Is the long chapter thing a good idea? Or would you prefer I broke it up more and posted more frequently?
Please review!
Holly - xo