Disclaimer: How I wished I owned Harry Potter... just kidding, I probably would have butchered everything with my luck and skill.

Chapter 11: New Conviction

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As they stepped into the train, Hermione and Ron separated ways with Harry rather awkwardly, explaining that they had to head to the Prefect carriage.

"We'll be back soon," she assured him, trying to ignore the betrayed glint in Harry's eyes.

The two of them made their way to the front most cabin where the Head Boy was waiting for them. The carriage was far larger than the others, clearly able to fit in dozens of students in at once. Fifth year prefects began to file in as the train lurched into movement. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco walk in with Pansy Parkinson behind him. A sense of disbelief settled in the pit of her stomach as she wondered how on earth Parkinson had gotten the Prefect position; there wasn't anything above average about the girl except her dull stupidity.

Ron nearly tripped next to her.

Ignoring her sudden train of thought, Hermione turned to the blonde, giving herself a brief moment to study him. He had grown again, now standing nearly a head taller than her. His white blonde hair was a little longer, no longer slicked back tightly in gel, but tossed to the side, framing one side of his face. He seemed to have the strange skill to look more intimidating with every passing year.

Hermione tore her gaze away as the Head Boy began to instruct them on their duties for the year and walked around, passing out their patrolling schedules. She smacked Ron's hand as he tried to take it, quickly grabbing the slip from his fingers—there was no way she was going to let Ron hold onto their schedule since they received only one copy.

After a full hour of more explanations and agreements to uphold Prefect duties, they were released from the meeting. Prefects filed out of the compartment, heading to their respective places.

Ron grumbled as they followed the other students out. "I can't believe we have to patrol every week, how am I ever supposed to get my work done?"

Hermione shook her head. "Ron, even without the patrols, you never get your homework done on time."

"Yeah, well I did ask a certain somebody to help me—"

"Oh don't put this on me," she scolded, sliding the Prefect carriage door closed. "You know full well that you spend too much time with Quidditch, or Chess, honestly."

"It's not my fault, I—"

"Well, if it isn't Granger!" Pansy Parkinson called to her, scrunching her face in distaste. She was leaning against the side of the Prefect carriage, arms crossed. Ron stopped mid sentence, spinning on his heel in a defensive pose. "—And Weasley. There clearly must be some mistake here—you receiving the Prefect badge."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, wondering why the Slytherin hadn't gone to her own compartment. Now that she recalled, where was Draco?

Ron's face turned a nasty shade of red, making a motion to grab his wand. "I'd say the same, you lousy little—"

Not letting the insult slip out, Hermione grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back, pulling his hand out from his robes. She gave him a sharp look.

"Let's go," she demanded quietly, dragging Ron along. "We are not engaging in a fight before we even get to Hogwarts."

"You hiding, Granger?" she yelled. "Just like you did all summer in your pathetic muggle world?"

She ignored the girl. Hermione didn't realize until now, but it was extremely easy for her to ignore Parkinson's taunts. This only seemed to aggravate the Slytherin.

"Hey!" she shrieked. "I'm talking to you, Mudbloo—mmph!"

Several things happened at once. Ron tore his arm from her grasp at the blood insult, yelling in anger, and Hermione turned around after him. The Prefect compartment door slid open with a resounding bang, and a pale hand flew over Parkinson's mouth, clamping her against the door.

Surprised, Ron hesitated for a split second, but it was enough for Hermione to grab his shoulder again and pull him back. She sent him a glare, glancing over to the carriage door. Draco stepped out, and yanked his hand off Parkinson's mouth.

"Stop yelling, Pansy," he ordered coldly. "You're giving me a headache."

"But Draco!" she whined, pointing at her. "She was ignoring me and…"

The dark haired girl trailed off and audibly squawked when she noticed Draco's expression. He looked absolutely murderous. Hermione cringed back subconsciously, slightly alarmed. What had made him so angry? Did something bad happen over the summer?

"We're leaving," he spat, turning on his heel and walking the other direction.

Parkinson didn't hesitate. She sent them a nasty glare before waking after him, nose in the air.

"Come on, Ron," Hermione urged, after a silent moment. "Harry's waiting."

"What's up with Malfoy?" he asked, sounding more curious than angry now. "He didn't even try to be an evil git."

She shrugged, honestly unsure of his actions as well. "I don't know. But I'm not complaining."

"Right," he grumbled.

They arrived in a compartment Harry and Ginny had saved. She was introduced to Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw in Ginny's year who made Hermione question the girl's sanity.

Once the train came to a full stop, she and Ron left the group to supervise the first years. After they had finished guiding the new students to their respective places, the two rejoined Harry at the carriage.

"Hermione," Ron whispered, nudging her side with his elbow.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow at his attempt at discreetness. "What is it?"

"Shh!" he hushed her, darting a wary glance at Harry who was sitting on the far side, staring blankly at the front of the carriage. "Tell me, are there any weird horses around?"

"Erm… no," she blinked, feeling confused. "Why?"

"Well, you know just between you and me, I think Harry might be seeing things," he whispered worriedly. "He told me there are horses pulling the carriage… you reckon he could be losing his—"

She smacked his knee, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Ron, haven't you ever read Hogwarts: A History? Or even Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? There are Thestrals pulling these carriages. Harry isn't going crazy."

"What are Thes…Thes-a-what?"

"Thestrals," she repeated. "They're a breed of winged horses that live in the Forbidden Forest; Hagrid manages them. And as for why you and I can't see them… well, apparently you can't see them unless you've seen death."

Ron took a sharp breath. "Death? Like…"

"Cedric Diggory," she answered quietly, suddenly feeling grave. "And don't talk to Harry about it… it's only going to make him upset."

"All right…" Ron absentmindedly trailed off.

To add to Hermione's sudden distress, the night was looking bleak. Professor Grubbly-Plank was back and said Thestral manager was nowhere to be in sight. The Sorting Hat greeted the new year with an eerie song, sounding as if Hogwarts was about to meet its doom if they did not unite, and the Ministry was now interfering with Hogwarts through their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, a toad like lady by the name of Dolores Umbridge.

She knew the moment she walked into her dorm, the new year was going to be far from easy. Her roommates were skeptical of Harry's claims, not wanting to believe that Voldemort had retuned. Over the summer, the Daily Prophet had been trying their best to discredit her best friend by proclaiming him crazy, and assuring that Dumbledore was turning out to be an old senile man who was spouting nonsense. The claims were absurd and had absolutely no backbone, but when compared to the news of Voldemort's return, most people would rather believe they were delusional than admit the Dark Lord was back.

When breakfast was being served the following morning, McGonagall came around, passing out their timetables. Hermione took hers with haste, not even surprised to see a second one under hers. Except this year, Dumbledore didn't bother to write out his warning.

She scanned through her schedule first—History of Magic, double Potions, Arithmancy and double Defense Against the Dark Arts all on Monday morning. She didn't need to hear Ron's groan to know the year was going to be stressful. She ran through the rest of her classes—Charms, Herbology, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures. Glancing at Draco's timetable she began to chew on the inside on her cheek. He shared a few of the same classes as her, but had one free period during the time she had Charms, on a Thursday evening. She mindlessly rubbed the Time Turner that was underneath layers of her robes, and sighed.

Monday droned by in a blur. History of Magic was the same as ever, Snape was still being unfair to Harry, she sat next to Draco in Arithmancy, but the blonde didn't utter a single word to her, and Umbridge was an absolute joke. The woman shot down any actual practice of magic, and focused on 'Ministry approved' theory reading. Hermione adamantly refused to read her book, seething by the time class ended with the bell ring. Not even the Slytherins looked happy.

When Thursday came around, Hermione scurried off to the familiar empty corridor on the seventh floor, pulled out her Time Turner and flew back two hours. She had absolutely no idea where Draco would go today. Though their professor's have been bombarding them with more homework than ever, she silently prayed he would spend his free period in the library.

Thinking back to his schedule, she knew he was finishing up Transfiguration, and headed down to the first floor. After minutes of waiting, the doors flew open, letting the fifth year Slytherins shuffle out of the classroom. She spotted him, surrounded by Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Zabini and surprisingly, Nott. After observing Draco all last year, she had a decent grasp on his group of friends, and knew that Theodore Nott was never part of his group.

Harry's words then rang through her mind.

Nott's father was a Death Eater. She frowned. There must have been some kind of meeting over the summer. She had no doubt it wasn't a coincidence that the children of Death Eaters were suddenly moving in a pack.

Draco seemed to dismiss his little groupie with a wave of his hand. It took some time, but he was soon left alone in the hall. Hermione waited at the end of the corridor, trying to guess where he would go. He began walking towards her down the hall, running a hand through his hair and sighing softy. Just as he past her, Draco stopped. He turned on his heel and narrowed his eyes in her direction.

She cringed slightly. Again! How was he doing this every time? Hermione pushed herself against the wall and held her breath.

He titled his head as if analyzing a particularly difficult puzzle, but there was a clear glint of suspicion in his eyes. Crossing his arms, Draco slowly stepped to the other side of the wall and leaned against it, glaring at her side of the wall as if something offensive was written there. Hermione didn't even dare to move. For a full ten minutes, Draco just stood there, arms crossed, and a strange look on his face.

Hermione quietly resumed her breathing.

What was going on? Clearly, he turned because he sensed something, but how? Did he know she was there and was waiting for her to reveal herself? She glanced at him again. He was occasionally looking around as if he was waiting for something to appear.

As quietly as she could, Hermione tiptoed away, taking one careful step at a time before she was a good ten feet away from him. After a few more steps, Hermione rounded the corner and clutched her chest. Her heart was racing against her ribs, and her hands were slightly shaking with the adrenaline of nearly being caught. She didn't think she had been seen, but she was sure that something had triggered him to stop.

Making an impulsive decision, she released the disillusionment charm, took a deep breath and turned the corner again.

As she stepped towards him, Draco immediately looked up a strange look in his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked first. Her voice sounded higher than usual from the nervousness, and she silently hoped he didn't notice.

He pushed himself off the wall and regarded her with narrowed eyes. "How are you doing that?"

She froze. Had he caught her? Was he asking about the charm? She inwardly shook her head. It can't have been. He would have said something for sure while he was standing there.

"Doing what?" she inquired lightly, trying not to sound suspicious.

He paused, looking hesitant. "You… never mind. And what are you doing here, Granger? Don't you have class?"

She shook her head, feeling disappointed that he had taken his words back. A small part of her wanted to know what he was going to say, but the rest of her feared his sudden suspicions.

"I came to return your book." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the Purest of the Pure. Tapping her wand, she released the shrinking charm and held the book out for him.

He took it from her with a frown. "I don't have your book with me."

She shrugged. "It's fine. Just return it whenever… I do have another book for you though."

"You know," he breathed. "All this muggle fiction isn't going to make me understand you lot."

"This one's not muggle fiction," she revealed. "Actually, it was written by a wizard. A pureblood one at that."

His eyebrows rose. "Then there's a good chance I already read the book."

She gave him a curt shake. "No, I know you haven't. And to be honest… I don't think you'd want to read it."

"Why? Is it written by a blood traitor—trying to explain how fascinating muggles are?"

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "That's not it… I just don't think—" she met his eyes squarely. She couldn't make assumptions; she needed to know for certain. "—Malfoy, what do you think of me?"

"What are you getting at?" he growled, obviously confused with the sudden topic change.

"Well," she began. "Let's be real with each other. Do you think I'm lower than you because I'm muggleborn?"

He paused. "Yes."

Hermione inwardly frowned. His voice might have been firm, but his eyes were swimming in uncertainty. Just which part of him should she trust?

"Do you still think that spending time with me is going to taint you?" she pressed.

"Granger, we are not spending time together—"

She cut him off with a slight roll of her eyes. "Just answer the question, please."

He crossed his arms again. "I wouldn't know. You could be somehow doing something right now. Because that's what you muggle-borns do, you steal magic from us."

"Are you willing to test out that belief?" she challenged.

"What do you mean?" he sounded he cautious. "Are you really going to try and steal—"

"No!" she threw her hands in the air. "I already told you that it's not possible! I'm saying, if there's something that contradicts you, are you willing to face it?"

"You're contradicting me right now."

"Yes, but you don't consider my word to be reliable," she countered. "Someone else."

Hermione could practically see the clogs in his head turning. His grey eyes regarded her carefully. "So this new book. It tries to explain how muggles are right in their word, doesn't it?"

"No," she corrected. "It explains how purebloods are wrong."

"And the difference is?"

"Because muggles are wrong too. Purebloods believe that we stole magic, and muggle-borns believe that we were somehow chosen by magic. We're both wrong. This is an entirely different theory."

"And you believe it?" he asked with an eyebrow raise.

She nodded resolutely. Draco paused for a second than snorted softy.

"It's nonsense, Granger," he finally said. "You're supposed to be smart, not going around thinking absurd claims to be true."

Hermione's heart caved. She lowered her eyes in defeat and inwardly sighed. So he wasn't ready.

"I suppose," she mumbled. "But, I'll have the book if you ever want to read it—"

"Don't bother."

"Just consider it, please," she asked again, raising her eyes to meet his. "It doesn't have to be now, but later in the year, if you change your mind…"

He scowled. "Don't count on it."

She sighed. "Oh, all right."

"Now are we done here?" he asked. "I believe I just wasted my free period standing twenty feet from my last class."

She inwardly smiled. She felt a little bad knowing that Draco also probably had tons of homework, and she was on borrowed time while he wasn't.

"Sorry, yes. I suppose I should get going as well."

He simply grunted and walked around her, his shoulder barely grazing the edge of her robes. After his footsteps faded with distance, Hermione finally glanced at her watch, eyes widening. He was right. Over an hour had gone by. She frowned—to be fair, the first twenty was spent just standing in the corridor, trying blend in with the wall.

She replayed their conversation as usual, picking up small indications of his facial expressions or his body language, and filed it away in the 'Draco Malfoy section'—which was growing bigger and more complex with every meeting. She sighed for the umpteenth time as she recalled his rejection. He just wasn't ready.

Deciding to kill the remaining time in the library, she headed to the third floor in thought. Excitement filled her chest as she remembered the summer's discovery—there were a few genealogy books that she had to look into.

.

The only good thing that occurred the following week was Ron's success in making it to be Gryffindor's Keeper. The common room was bustling with noise and shouts of cheers that night, Hermione had hardly the chance to get her work done.

Sirius made a surprise appearance through the fireplace at midnight, shocking the three of them. He warned them about Umbridge and watching out for the pain in Harry's scar before leaving them with a quiet 'pop'.

Her partially good mood plummeted when she read the Daily Prophet headline, naming Dolores Umbridge the newest 'High Inquisitor'. The despicable toad held immense power over the other staff given to her by the ministry, and Hermione was crumpling the paper by the time she finished reading the article. This was completely outrageous! She speared her eggs with her fork and handed the offending article to Harry and Ron.

Umbridge visited during their fifth year class on numerous occasions, with the subtly of an elephant. The vile woman was obviously looking out for Harry and gave him weeks of detention at a time for the smallest of reasons. Hermione clenched her fists in fury after she found out about her special detention lessons that comprised of carving sentences into her best friend's hand. How could she? Sure, Harry didn't have the best temper, in fact, he was blowing up more and more recently, but the woman was worse than Snape—which was saying a lot.

Every Monday, Hermione sat quietly in her class, the 'ministry approved' text already read from cover to cover. She crossed her arms in frustration; oblivious to the wary looks Harry and Ron gave her.

This wouldn't do. She was not going to spend an entire year reading out of a theory book, unable to preform a single defense spell. To hell with the Ministry's ignorance, Voldemort was back and they needed to find a way to defend themselves with every spare moment.

She racked her brain for possible situations. Umbridge would never move her sorry arse to teach them anything useful, so it was up to them—they needed a new teacher. She briefly considered asking Dumbledore, but dismissed the idea the next second. The Headmaster already had too much on his plate. Professor McGonagall popped into her scenario but was dismissed with similar issues. Umbridge had a keen eye on the professors; it was no surprise though when Trelawney was put on probation.

The idea then came to her. She glanced over to her green-eyed friend with wide eyes. He wasn't looking at her, but had his face resting in the palm on his hand, looking incredibly bored, probably staring at the same page for the last half-hour.

Harry.

He was perfect. Sure, he was having temper issues recently, but she couldn't really blame him. When it came down to it, he was the best in their year at Defense. Hermione didn't even feel bitter anymore with the fact. Her mind began whirling with vision. She could only hope he would accept the position.

She cornered Ron alone after class and informed him about her idea. He seemed surprised, but ultimately agreed with the plan. He would be there when she asked Harry to teach them.

As Hermione sat in Arithmancy Monday before dinner, she glanced at Draco from the corner of her eye, watching him jot down the sequence Professor Vector had written on the board. It was the third week in, and she hadn't gotten the chance to talk to him the past two weeks.

Feeling a rush of boldness, she tore a piece of parchment from her roll and picked up her quill. She scribbled a short question.

What do you think of Umbridge?

Taking a deep breath, she slid the paper towards him, watching from her peripheral vision. His hand stopped moving as his eyes shot to the parchment pushed towards his side of the desk.

For a minute, he did nothing. Hermione knew there was a good chance he would ignore her, but to her surprise, he scribbled something on the parchment and shoved it back to her.

Still in mild shock, she looked down.

A real joy.

She frowned. Tearing another piece from her roll, she elaborated on her previous inquiry.

I'm talking about her teaching style. Are you honestly satisfied with her 'Ministry Approved' course? We aren't learning a thing!

She slid the new parchment to him, still frowning. He replied much faster this time.

Snape could do better.

For once, Hermione agreed with him on it. Snape may have been an extremely biased professor, constantly favoring the Slytherins and calling out Harry on a weekly basis, but he was still an efficient teacher. Sighing softly, she tore another piece and wrote back.

It's ridiculous! She's a complete farce—her and the Ministry. How are we supposed to defend ourselves if we don't learn anything? Others agree with me too, we need to actually learn something this year. Time is of essence!

He raised an eyebrow at her before writing his reply.

Careful there, Granger. You sound as if you're about to create some rebel group against Umbridge. Unwise.

Hermione's eyebrows twisted. He was as sharp as ever. She knew she was walking into dangerous waters, letting Draco get a glimpse of her plan, but she felt strangely at ease. Instinctually, she wasn't doing anything wrong—or so her gut feeling told her.

Maybe I am. It'd be a whole lot better than rotting in her class every Monday without practicing a single spell. I know you're not bad at Defense either.

He paused a second longer than normal before writing.

Was that a hidden invitation to your secret cult? Did you forget who I am?

She stared at the letters for a minute. Was this a challenge? She could take back her words and deny his claim, or she could cordially explain her entire plan. She didn't hesitate any longer; it felt right to ask him for his thoughts. Dipping her quill in ink, she gave him her reply.

No I didn't forget, but I trust you and I value your judgment. Is that so wrong?

He gave her a strange look. After a minute, he leaned closer to her with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"It is wrong," he hissed under his breath. "My father is quite well acquainted with Umbridge you see, so don't take it as a surprise if she finds out your little plan."

Hermione clamped her hands against the table, staring back at him with matched intensity.

"You wouldn't tell her," she replied calmly. "If there's one thing I didn't forget about you, Malfoy, it's that you wouldn't place yourself in such a position. Self-preservation, right?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Besides," she continued quietly, keeping her eyes sharp. "The Malfoy I know has a sense of dignity. Umbridge isn't worth your time. Do you think differently?"

"Granger, you—"

"Anything interesting to share with us?" Professor Vector's voice cut through. "Miss Granger? Mr. Malfoy?"

Both their heads snapped back to the front. The dozen other students in the class were looking at them with curiosity. Hermione felt her face burn, it wasn't everyday that the teacher called her out for not paying attention.

"We apologize, professor," she replied in an even voice. "Malfoy and I were just discussing the theories behind that sequence."

She raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"

Draco didn't answer. She inwardly sighed knowing that he wasn't going to help her out of the situation in any way. Hermione quickly glanced at the sequence on the board, her mind already whirling with possible theories.

"The number seven," she began, "considered to the most powerful magical number, however I argued that it is also the most unpredictable. It appears in the sequence in the forty-ninth position which is a product of two sevens. Based on Wenlock's discovery of the properties regarding the number, it is arguable that this numerical composition itself is highly irregular but will produce a heavily accurate prediction when set correctly."

"Excellent observation Miss Granger," Vector nodded in approval. "Take ten points to Gryffindor."

The class turned back around. Hermione released a quiet sigh of relief and settled back into her seat. She glanced at Draco from the corner of her eyes, slightly startled to find him frowning.

Not trusting to keep her voice quiet, she tore a piece of parchment and picked up her quill.

What is it?

He shot her a look of annoyance before writing his answer.

You cheat, Granger.

Confusion filled her. Cheat? Furrowing her eyebrows, she replied.

Cheat on what?

He snorted.

Your memory ability, using it to your advantage like that. So this is how you manage to get top marks, relying on your special little skill.

Hermione nearly tore the parchment apart. How dare he assume she was relying on her memory? Not once had she done that! Furious, she glared at him, tearing a large piece and huffing. She wrote a long explanation.

Listen here, Malfoy, it doesn't work like that. I can only memorize. Nothing more. When I commit something to memory, I'm really only memorizing the visual components, symbols, images, marks. I can't actually memorize the meaning, or understand what I just saw. That's another ability in itself. Remembering the meaning of a sentence versus the letters that make up the sentence are two entirely different things! I can't actually use it to my advantage because understanding something and simply memorizing it is not the same thing.

She shoved the slip across the desk. Draco glanced over, his eyes moving through each sentence. Looking up, he smirked.

"Whatever you say."

She took a steadying breath. She knew he was just trying to taunt her, but if he really believed her marks weren't the result of her determination and hard work, she just couldn't let that go. Taking another breath, she pursed her lips.

"What are you doing Thursday?" she asked instead, careful not to get called out again.

He looked disappointed by the lack of response. "Practice. Why—do you have more books you want to force through my head?"

She shook her head quietly groaning.

Quidditch. She had forgotten all about it.

"No, the only book I have left for you is the one I told you about last time," she paused. "That's the last one."

It was her trump card. Once he read the book, he would either accept it or reject it completely. And she knew after that, nothing she said or did would get through to him. Hermione also greatly hesitated in giving him the book, knowing the timing could either make or break it.

He didn't answer. Understanding that pushing the conversation on him would do no good; she turned to her neglected notes and began writing down the sequences.

A half hour later the bell rang, indicating the period over. Hermione jotted down the homework and began organizing everything back into her bag. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she turned on her heel to leave the room when a large hand caught her shoulder.

Snapping her head, she saw Draco lower his face. He wasn't looking at her.

"I wouldn't use Faris from now on."

His breath tickled the side of her neck and Hermione fought the urge to shudder. She opened her mouth to ask, but he pulled his hand back just as quickly and walked away.

For a moment, she stood rooted in place, staring at his retreating form. She frowned. If he had warned her not to use her owl, it could have only meant one logical thing. Was someone monitoring the owl postage?

Umbridge.

She pursed her lips. That evil hag was trying to control the entire school. Hermione had her speculations after Harry's encounter with Filch, but she didn't think all the owls would be subjected to search. After the initial frustration began to die down, a warm sensation began spreading through her chest.

He had willingly warned her.

She breathed. Maybe hope wasn't lost after all.

Holding onto that one thought, she released steadying breath and walked to her next period. Merlin knew she needed to stay calm before sitting four hours in that woman's class.

A/N: ...I am completely amazed by all your reviews and responses from the last chapter! Wow, you guys always blow me away with all the love! I also want to reassure my reviewers who were confused by the last chapter—please understand I'm no Biology expert. I do Art and Animation. But Cato's theory will be explained more in the (waaaay) later chapters, so don't worry about the details as of yet. I will say though, that his journal and research is incomplete, and it will hopefully be continued by a certain witch.

Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter. Send me your thoughts. I really do fangirl over each and every one of them.

El