CARPE NOCTEM / THIRD TIME'S A CHARM / CH. 21.
Somewhere in the distance, a male voice broke through the wild rainstorm but Hermione wasted no time turning around. Her body was a quivering mess and her clothes felt too heavy on her shoulders; the swollen drops were falling upon her like a myriad of silver bullets, whipping, creating a matching sensation to the dander raging inside her chest.
She'd known for quite a while Draco's dear auntie was a raw epitome of insolence but had only now come to realise just to what grand extent. She wondered what evil, demonic force could have made the woman think it was okay to approach her like this—as though she and Hermione were old acquaintances meeting up for a chat over a steaming cup of cocoa; damn it, did she truly consider the girl to be so dreadfully shallow so as to expect her to forget about all the excesses—to be jumping at the opportunity to drink from the fountain of wisdom pouring from her noble lips? Clearly so—or perhaps—perhaps she just thought mudbloods as such were too dull to be capable of possessing higher values like pride or dignity; that maybe, they were too underdeveloped to even comprehend what self-respect actually meant.
Hermione's hands raked into the drenched wool of her sweater, the tensed knuckles turning white. She could feel her stomach twisting like a trapped animal as the pressure of bitter injustice settled inside its walls. From all of the insults Bellatrix had ever hurled onto her, this one by far cut the deepest—being thought of as dumb, just slightly smarter than a box of mountain rocks, was beyond anything Hermione could bloody abide. As haughty as it might seem, she had no problem admitting her intelligence exceeded that of half of the pureblood kids at Hogwarts and yet, in Bellatrix's eyes she still wasn't worth a pinch of recognition; she still refused to see that Hermione, despite being half-blood, wasn't dim-witted in the least—God, she had been there to witness how fast she got the hang of both Occlumency and Legilimency! She herself had watched her dodge all the spells at the ball, and that was just in terms of her magical abilities! What about her character? While she might have been a bit over too sensitive, she certainly wasn't any pudding-head and Bellatrix must have known that! They'd talked on numerous occasions—they'd fought on numerous occasions and Hermione had surely delivered satisfactory enough arguments to persuade the woman she was anything but simple-minded, that her feelings were just as intense as—
A jolt of electricity shot through her body as a mind-disturbing revelation fell upon her—Why on earth did she find the sole image of the witch thinking of her in such a poor way so frustrating? She couldn't possibly still long for her validation, could she? Of course not—there was not a single rational reason for such sentiment! Bellatrix was the vilest, the most self-centred, manipulative woman she'd ever encountered—her opinion meant nothing. Nothing!
Gritting her teeth, Hermione tightened the grip around herself as the rain mingling with the sharp wind pressed harder, moaning around the chimneys of the nearby houses. She couldn't see a solid three feet in front of her; the intrusive ponds were streaming down her face, making her palpebras flicker three times as often as they normally did; the soaked black sneakers striking puddle after puddle were the only sight she could behold. It would be impossible to get back to Hogwarts in such conditions without knowing the road by heart; one might as well stray to Scotland forests if paying zero attention to the subtle details indicating the direction of the castle.
Luckily, Hermione had been to Hogsmeade plenty of times to memorise where the oddly shaped branches meddled into the fence, marking a sharp turn, which had to be taken in order to reach the school.
It couldn't be that far actually...
"Granger, your coat," her attention had been brought back into focus by Draco's chasing voice. "You've left it behind!" The words drew somewhat closer but Hermione still chose not to react; she was well-aware 'your coat' was a metaphor for 'let's talk' and she didn't feel like talking in the slightest. Her blood was too hot with emotions to handle things objectively and if he knew any better, he'd let her cool down before provoking her into spitting senseless accusations she'd definitely regret saying once the row was over. They would discuss it, there was no doubt about that—but certainly not right now.
A single giant bough lying on the ground blocked her way but gave the breathless boy the advantage of shortening the distance between them.
"Come on," he rasped, clearly jumping over. "Hermione!" Finally reaching his target, he seized her arm but she jerked free as though burnt.
"Don't you dare," she snapped, turning around to face him—blinking, she'd noticed that he, too, wasn't wearing his coat, only had hers swung in the crease of his arm; his cheeks were blooming with faint pink spots and droplets of rain which were sliding down like petite waterfalls.
"I'm sorry!" He held out his hands. "Just... wait and let me explain!" Coughing, he reached toward his lungs. He was most certainly asking for a cold—they both were—but at that point, Hermione was too vexed to let it concern her.
"I don't want to hear it," she barked through the veil of water, squinting at the hazy figure in front of her. "You set up a meeting with that woman without my consent! What do they call it," she paused as though pondering hard. "Oh, I know—betrayal!"
"Granger, simmer down!" Draco's free hand pointlessly pushed the wet hair away from his eyes. "'That woman' is my aunt! I know you're no fan of hers but God, don't you think you're overreacting a bit?! She was mean to you, yes, but so was Zabini—I don't see you storming off anytime he tries to talk to you," the boy fired back, a hint of irritation grazing his words.
"Excuse me?!" Hermione took a few steps forward, unable to believe he'd have the nerve to defend her. "Is this your reason for running after me through this bloody rain? To mitigate her actions?! Don't even BOTHER—you know nothing about her, Draco, nothing! Contrary to what you might believe, she's no gracious angel! Do you have any idea how many times she'd trampled me? God, I could hardly sleep with her around; you have no clue—"
"And whose fault is that?" Draco stuck out his chin, cutting her short. "Whose fault is it really that I have no clue, huh? I've asked, remember?" he barked but unlike hers, his voice still managed to maintain a certain level of control. "I've asked you countless times but you've never said bloody anything!"
"'Granger, what's going on—oh, it's nothing, don't worry about it!'" He imitated in a girly voice and Hermione suddenly felt like punching something—him preferably.
"'Why do you look like crying?—Oh, it's nothing!'" He waved his hand dismissively before raising his voice. "It's always the same nothing so do forgive me for not being a damn mind reader!"
"You should have known!" Hermione screamed the irrational words. Her chest was heaving as she leered into his face, the rain covering the angry tears running down her cheeks. "You should have sodding realised I didn't want to go home just because she looked at me funny!" Her blood was boiling so hotly she thought it would melt her skin, splash over and drown the boy in her fury.
"Have you ever wondered why I didn't say anything?" she continued, clenching her shaking hands. "Because she's your family! I knew you'd be disappointed if you knew so I kept my mouth shut—just for YOU!" Hermione surprisingly took another step closer, poking him in the chest. "I didn't want to ruin YOUR relationship!" She gave his soaked shirt a slap. "I didn't—" Another slap.
Her words died as Draco grabbed the back of her neck, pressed himself against her front and smashed their doused lips together.
Hermione yelped as the oddest feeling of pressure, wetness, and heat overpowered her senses, making her stomach twitch in protest; her brain shut down, releasing all the thoughts until there was nothing left but a tremendous desire to free herself from his grip immediately; her fingers curled into the sodden fabric, fighting against the strong hold, desperate to push the boy off but to no avail—the demanding lips parted, trying to deepen the kiss but Hermione kept her mouth pressed tightly together, giving them no chance.
Struggling, her hands finally managed to grab Draco's shoulders and roughly shove him off of her. Quick as lightning, she backed away, almost slipping on the wet ground; her horrified eyes pierced his form, staring in disbelief. She must have been dreaming...
This couldn't have happened—Draco would have never done that; he just wouldn't, Hermione's brain kept repeating, utterly ignorant to the evidence imprinted on her swollen, blunt lips.
He hadn't kissed her!
He-hadn't-kissed-her, and so Hermione needn't think about how much she hadn't liked it; she needn't think about how much she wished to disappear—to let the rain drench her form until she was nothing but water soaking through the ground underneath their feet. She was still yet to have her first kiss with someone she really liked—soft and tender, a bit of magic even without magic; something she'd remember with great butterflies even after many years! No, he hadn't stolen that precious moment from her with such reckless mistake; he'd certainly think first about the consequences this would mean for both of them...
'Oh Draco, what have you done?'
Hermione heard a murmur of something but her ears were too deafened by her own rushing blood to make out any sort of meaning. Her gaze followed the boy who'd strode past her, hurrying into the haze.
She didn't have the slightest desire to stop him; her whole body was trembling from the sheer variety of emotions mingling into one; she felt a lump growing inside her throat as the first wave of guilt splashed over her like the unceasing cloudburst—this was her fault; if she hadn't yelled, if she hadn't provoked him, this surely wouldn't have happened! She had let her own frustration take the reigns, driving her into shouting senseless absurdities, blaming the boy for never noticing his aunt was a straight-up bully.
Maybe she was thick, after all...
Hermione was standing there, soaked by the rain, broken and confused, without any idea what to do. She slowly cast her eyes around—Merlin, if someone had witnessed this fiasco—but the streets were empty. Naturally; she wouldn't be trotting around in the battering weather herself if it wasn't for the woman she was trying to get away from.
Sighing, she lowered her back to pick up the coat lying in the mud at her feet. Maybe she should head for the castle—the freezing winter had already numbed her limbs and after everything that happened...
She folded the dripping coat as best as she could and took the turn on the left, striding towards Hogwarts. Accompanied by the sound of her chattering teeth and her noisy traffic of thoughts, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering back to Draco—where would they go from this? She had to tell him she didn't feel the same way; she should have done so a long time ago, but no, she had had to ignore it and postpone until it was too late and such disaster must have happened!
It was like the entire Blair situation all over again, only this time it was her in the woman's shoes.
The girl wondered if, despite the obvious, Draco had been watering the hope that maybe somewhere deep down she might have had some feelings for him, just wasn't aware of them—Hermione herself had been hanging on such hopes, thinking Blair might have been holding back just because of the friendship with her mom; or perhaps because she thought the girl was too young to understand what she really needed and didn't want to take advantage of her. Why else would it take her so long to draw back when Hermione tried to kiss her that particular night? Maybe if she hadn't panicked, if she had kissed the woman right away, the things would have been different now. The young witch had been pondering about different outcomes of that situation ever since she came back from Greece, analysing every look, smile, or touch the woman had ever granted her with, though always coming to the same conclusion: Bill.
Blair couldn't have possibly felt anything for her if she still loved that man…
Hermione's eyes burned in the fiery rain. If Draco had been experiencing at least a drop of what she had, having all these feelings she couldn't reciprocate…
The sole guilt crying in the pit of her stomach intensified. Maybe she should try—he was a good boy, after all; handsome, funny—he always knew how to make her laugh. She should give him a chance and maybe, she'd get rid of all those feelings she had herself.
Yeah, she could do that. It would be the easiest thing in the world—if only she didn't have a heart. Deep down she knew this would never make her happy, therefore she'd never make him happy and he certainly didn't deserve that.
It was about time she put all her cards on the table—she didn't have a choice now.
She must tell him everything.
And she definitely would have if only the boy hadn't put an end to their interactions.
Anytime Hermione tried to talk to him, anytime she asked him if they could get together at least later that day, he'd always have some silly excuse up his sleeve requiring him to dash off. It made her unbelievably upset because she didn't want to let this one silly mistake get in the way of their friendship. She really missed the boy and just like Blair hadn't shut Hermione out just because of her feelings, the young witch, too, had no intention of abandoning their bond just because of the way he felt toward her.
"Draco?" She approached him after one of the Potion lessons, precisely two weeks after the incident—she had tried giving him some space to process his shame and hurt but honestly, he didn't even seem like trying. "We need to talk," she told his profile as he shoved the potion book into his bag a tad too roughly.
"Maybe later, got to run," he dismissed, cold as ice, as usually trying to flee before Hermione had a chance to stop him. This time though, she managed to take a hold of his right sleeve, softly pulling him back.
"Harassing one of your classmates?" Snape drawled from the shadows, eyeing Hermione's hand with spiteful glee. "Twenty points from Ravenclaw! Just because you are a prefect, Miss Granger, it doesn't mean you're allowed to abuse that position for your own personal gain!"
The girl parted her lips, overwhelmed by all that hypocrisy. She let go of Draco's robe but her lips remained unmoving and so did Draco's; once free from her grasp, he simply took the quill from his desk and rushed away, not sparing her a single look, making it crystal clear the girl had lost another battle.
'Men and their egos…'
Lowering her head, Hermione ignored the smirking professor as she made her way out of the Dungeons, thinking how much she wished to have the power to halt people from pushing her away. She didn't want Draco to be upset over her; damn it, if she could like him back, she'd do so in a heartbeat, but she was no God to snap her fingers and alter her strange preferences whenever she felt like doing so.
"Get out of my way!" A deep male voice shrieked somewhere upfront, and she managed to step aside just in time to prevent a collision with a bunch of kids pushing each other, all trying to read from the parchment Filch had just nailed to the stone wall.
Knitting her brows together, Hermione moved towards the mass, hearing from each side: "What is it?", "Ouch, that's my foot!", "No, let me see!". Somebody pushed Colin Creevey out of the crowd's entrails and he landed on his arse right in front of the startled girl. "Have you seen already," he queried when she helped him to his feet, brushing the soft particles of dust from his bag.
"No, what's all the fuss about?"
"Oi!" Colin's eyes grew twice their size but before he could do anything more than gasp, his tiny form got pushed again. "Oh come on, guys." He let out, throwing his hands into the air.
"Don't get excited, leprechaun." Montague walked by with a nasty smirk, making Hermione severely tempted to stripe him off at least twenty points. "It's solely for the sixth years—like here, Malfoy's ex-girlfriend." He sneered even wider, high-fiving another Slytherin student as they strolled away, chuckling like the pair of pricks they were.
Hermione clenched her teeth but let the comment slide, knowing her reaction would only add more fuel to the fire. She didn't need any more scandals, not now when she—
"Have you two really broken up?" Colin interrupted her inner monologue, gazing at her with pure curiosity.
'Damned gossips!'
She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, folding her arms. "I hardly think it is any of your business, Colin," she retorted, slightly cocking her head. "Better invest that attention into keeping track of time! Got Potions next, haven't you? Should really hurry up before professor Snape makes you try out expired potions for running late. You've got precisely twenty seconds not to miss the start," she motioned towards the Dungeons she'd just left.
Colin gulped, clearly uncertain whether to believe her or not, though as she glanced at her wrist, he quickly turned around, rushing down the stone staircase without anymore to say.
The girl formed a small smile, recalling Draco telling her memorising everyone's timetable was a waste of time; now he would see it wasn't—he'd see if he had decided to do her the courtesy of letting her talk. Hermione cast around, hoping she'd be lucky enough to see his blond hair somewhere near, but there was no sight of him.
Disappointed, she sauntered along the corridor, almost cleared of all the students now, eyeing the shining parchment framed in silver steel and nailed against the stone wall. 'Advanced lessons in Defence Against the Dark Arts.' The title read. 'Monday & Friday, at five o'clock...' Hermione strained to read through the moving sea of hair. '...for the students of the sixth year... to prepare for the N.E.W.T... sign up with professor Prewett.'
Her heart jumped—finally some good news; something to take her mind off Draco. Defence Against the Dark Arts was particularly difficult this year—even for her. It was hard to admit but she'd noticed having a tiny bit of trouble with getting a knack of non-verbal spells. She wasn't the worst but certainly wasn't the best either. The shielding charm was slowly becoming her nemesis and she just hated the fact Harry Potter had managed to master the spell before she did.
Considering she still had some time before Herbology, she decided to pay Professor Prewett a visit. Instead of going outside then, she directed her steps towards the moving staircase; on her way up, she bumped into the Patil twins, who now, after they heard Hermione and Draco were 'no longer together,' lost all the unwanted interest in her. They barely gave her a sad smile as they passed by, probably analysing another unfortunate Hogwarts' pair, Hermione reckoned as she continued walking up.
By the time she reached the third floor, a long queue ending two doors away from Prewett's office had formed, consisting of three quarters of her classmates. Afraid anyone else might get ahead of her, the girl swiftly stood behind Neville Longbottom, who was jovially talking to his best friend, Dean. Observing his careless smile, she couldn't help noticing a huge difference between this Neville and the Neville from her dreams; the boy in front of her seemed quite confident and phlegmatic; nothing could ruffle him—even professor Snape had stopped trying a long time ago. She wondered what could have possibly happened to the other Neville to make him so nervous and distracted all the time; surely, it couldn't have been all due to the strict raising methods of the other grandma Longbottom; Hermione knew the boy lived with his nana who as the rumour had it, was stricter than Professor McGonagall herself—blimey, the discipline which must have reigned in their household...
"Hey," Neville startled the spaced-out Hermione as he turned to her, most likely sensing the persistent gaze etched into his form. Letting out a soft exhale, the girl quickly halted her musings, smiling at him. Glancing away so as to not weird him out, she considered the number of people in front of them. She could see the line had already shortened up by half; soon it was Dean slouching over the teacher's table, scribbling with a quill, and then Neville.
"Ah, Miss Granger, I didn't think you'd miss this opportunity," professor Prewett greeted as she sauntered into his office. She smiled, pausing by the table to have a look at the names on the parchment; there was already too many of them but as she swiftly skimmed through, Draco's was nowhere to be found.
"Having a change of heart?" The wizard implied, kindly making the girl aware she was taking a bit too long.
Hermione moved her head to the side and took the quill into her hand, dipping the tip into the atrament. "Not at all! I'm really looking forward to it, thank you for doing this for us, professor," she let out sincerely as she drawled the last wave on the letter r.
"I'm afraid I can't take credit for that," the man sighed, feigning disappointment, which earned a perplexed look from the bushy-haired girl standing beside him. "There's going to be someone else teaching you! Someone awfully famous, a writer you've certainly heard of! I'm sure you'll all be delighted." He winked, smiling with just the right corner of his mouth, motioning to the next student to approach.
"Who..?" The curious voice of Gryffindor's Fay Dunbar asked as she took Hermione's place in front of his desk. They were both looking at the professor with wonder but he only clasped his hands.
"Holy crickets, when did you kids stop being fond of surprises?" He shook his head, beckoning another student to come up. "Just you wait, I promise, they're worth your waiting!"
The following week no one talked about anything but the extra lessons—or more specifically the extra 'teacher'. Students speculated at length about numerous possibilities and the most popular one resulted in Gilderoy Lockhart, the famous writer, traveller, and the most charming fellow on the entire land, as Padma put it at breakfast, flashing one of her dreamy smiles. Hermione scrunched her nose at the statement. She dropped the half-eaten toast, sulkily heading for the exit; she hadn't had a decent conversation for three long weeks and it was slowly starting to get to her. She didn't even mind the irritated look on the girl's face as she walked past her.
At least she had the lessons to look forward to.
When it came to day D, there was almost a raw taste to the excitement transmitting among the sixth-years, who could hardly wait for the torturous History of Magic to be over so they could gather up on the third floor to start with the extra classes. Hermione alone was so restless she couldn't even pay attention to Professor Binns going on and on about Herpo De Foul. (She'd already written an essay on him, so there was hardly any harm in her lacking attention.)
The clock marked about ten before five p.m. when the students finally repleted the dimly lit classroom with their frenzied whispering and the electric anticipation almost tangible in the thick air. Their heads were turning in all directions as if pulled by an invisible thread, each trying to spot 'the professor' first.
Hermione was standing right next to Ernie Macmillan who was practically shaking, holding Hannah Abbott by her hand. Draco, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.
There was a synchronised sound of breath hitching as a soft, stealthy puff of mist started dragging across the floor, making the students head to the save corners of the four walls. Upon casting around, the young Ravenclaw realised she was the only one raising an eyebrow at such dramatic intro.
A complete silence fell onto the group. Hermione was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. From a psychological point of view, 'the writer' must have been slightly narcissistic to have chosen such a theatrical entrance. Pity.
"God!" She grunted as her and many other students' hands jolted towards their mouth, startled by a loud sound resonating through the entire classroom like a revolver shot; a sudden grim smoke in the middle of the room revealed a tall blond man of about forty; his hair was a blinding gold, his choice of attire practically the same. He took a moment before cracking a smile as the space filled with clapping and whistling.
"Thank you, thank you!" the man winked at the shrieking girls, grinning even wider. "But let me introduce myself first." He jogged up the small staircase leading into the abandoned teacher's office and looked at them from above, pausing—again. "Gilderoy Lockhart." He let out finally, making a small courtesy. "Yes," he added as he straightened his back, flipping his golden locks. "It's me—" his hand pressed boldly against the golden vest. "The writer of eight bestsellers and the five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award."
This was too painful to watch. Hermione was finding it hard to believe anyone from Hogwarts would hire this self-loving fellow to teach them; she didn't want to be rude, he surely was gifted, however, if the rumours regarding the man were anything to go by, she'd better run like hell—and she did; though it was more of a tiptoeing than running, her feet inconspicuously moved towards the exit, ready to call it a day. She traded places with a smirking Cormac guarding the tattered doors like Cerberus himself. She tugged on the handle, quietly pushing the wood to reveal the empty corridor.
She gasped for air as she felt the hot blood freeze in her veins—the passageway wasn't empty at all; as she pushed the door open, she came face to face with her.
Bellatrix—she was there, she was there, exactly where Hermione was—at Hogwarts, the only place to actually guarantee a decent amount of safety.
Clearly not anymore. What a fool she was to think her insolence could have passed without any consequences...
Standing stupidly with her palm still on the handle, Hermione couldn't tear her eyes from the frightful yet striking woman, who too paused as soon as she noticed the petrified girl; her crimson lips parted and immediately curled into a faint, surprised smirk while her head tipped slightly to the side—she was looking every bit of herself, just like Hermione wanted, just like she told her to.
She was dead, dead meat.
Gulping, the girl backed into the classroom, almost crashing into McLaggen, who swiftly ducked away. Bellatrix followed her in, her dark eyes gleaming.
"...about me, as hard as it is to believe there is someone even more charming than—" The writer's rich voice outshouted the ringing in Hermione's ears.
Bellatrix averted her attention toward him. "Yeah, all right, Lockhart, you've said enough," she said dismissively, lengthening her steps. She passed by the dumbstruck Hermione, walking toward the man who climbed down the stairs, ready to greet her.
What the hell was going on?
Somebody seized Hermione's arm, pulling her into the mass of students. Looking over her shoulder, her widened eyes fell upon Lavender Brown's face observing that of hers with concern. "Are you all right?"
Hermione had to take a moment to answer. She blinked, forming a very unpersuasive smile. 'Just don't say you feel queer. Give it a few hours and all of a sudden you'll be pregnant.'
"Sure, I'm fine, don't worry, Lavender," she replied finally, softly releasing her hand from the girl's grip, turning to the pair of wizards in the middle of the room.
"Madame Lestrange, ladies and gentlemen," Lockhart announced, making the students applaud again; Hermione noticed with great distaste it was especially boys who clapped with unusual eagerness. Bellatrix, too, didn't seem pleased in the slightest; it was almost as if the attention irritated her; she crossed her arms over her chest, looking incredibly unconcerned, gazing at the stained windows.
What was she doing here?
"... together we'll teach you the most ancient of spells..."
Teach?! Was Bellatrix here to teach? No chance… She wasn't generous like that!
"...the most mysterious of charms you haven't even dared to dream of…"
An audible and most certainly intentional yawn escaped Bellatrix's lips, earning a perplexed chuckle from Lockhart.
"Am I boring you, Bellatrix, dear?"
Without even looking at him, the woman shook her head, the thick curls bouncing against her shoulders. "Oh not at all, dear! Yawning's just my ultimate expression of interest."
A great number of students started coughing just to halt the inappropriate laughter. Hermione had to bite her inner cheeks not to do so herself; she had no intention to acknowledge Bellatrix's sense of humour for she wasn't funny in the least, just straight-up abrasive.
"Please, you cannot possibly expect anyone to stay conscious while listening to this cheap stagecraft." Bellatrix went on blatantly, rolling her eyes. "I'd suggest we rather show them than being all talk... I'm afraid they're a bit too old for fairytales," she finished, eyeing the man with a challenging look before forming one of her angelic smiles.
Hermione's eyes jumped to Lockhart, curious as to what his reaction might be and she almost sighed out of pure indignance.
Like a lovesick puppy, the man was bloody smiling back.
The young witch could not believe this; Bellatrix had just humiliated him in front of the entire sixth year, shattered at least half of his authority already and her batting her eyelashes was all it took to compensate the shame?! Incredible, what a bit of beauty could do, Hermione thought, frowning at both of them.
"Well... of course," Lockhart paused, scanning the students with a lost look of someone who'd just got the earth snatched away from beneath their feet. Biting his lower lip, he gestured vehemently. "All right, listen up, everybody. Grab a partner, we'll start with the..." His questioning eyes went to Bellatrix.
"The Shield Charm," she filled in with a risen eyebrow, drawing more strangled laughs. Hermione was positive all of it came from the male part of the group; the girls were too busy scowling at the witch with the same distaste as her—for utterly different reasons, of course, but it still counted just alright.
"Ah yes, the Shield Charm!" Lockhart's hand shot to his forehead, softly slapping the skin."We've had a rap with Professor Prewett who told us it is quite a trouble even for the best of you so we've figured, what better start..."
Hermione stopped listening; she gulped, her betraying eyes straying to the unimpressed Bellatrix—what was she up to?
Weeks after their affray she'd decided to magically appear just to teach the poor students the secrets behind the Shielding Charm? Likely story! This was no coincidence, Hermione was certain of it.
'She could help you! She knows everything about venor floccus!'
The girl inwardly snorted as her brain reconstructed Draco's desperate attempt at making her stay and listen to his aunt back then at Three Broomsticks. The entire concept was positively absurd; Hermione couldn't imagine a single parallel universe where Bellatrix would fancy helping her willingly!
"We'll demonstrate, first," Lockhart tore her inner monologue apart. "I, of course, have a to be a gentleman and let the lady win." He flashed a smile at the girls, taking off his golden cape in one swift movement.
Hermione almost laughed. Despite her great aversion toward the woman, there was no denying her magical abilities were anything short of incredible; such compassion wasn't needed and Bellatrix's bared teeth suggested quite the same thing.
"You don't have to be gentle with me." She challenged with a dangerous smirk the girl knew far too well by now. "I'm positive I could take you down either way."
"You're one dangerous woman, Bella." The man murmured quietly but the cringing Hermione and a few other students unfortunately managed to catch the remark, too—Lavender Brown in particular: Hermione heard her gasp. She turned to her, catching the girl exchanging significant looks with Parvati Patil. Rolling her eyes, she leaned over and whispered: "For quick reference, she's married so knock it off."
"Oh, so a love affair," Parvati peeped back quietly, narrowing her eyes at Hermione's mocking expression. "This is straight up flirting, look at their body language!"
"Exactly," Lavender nodded, gazing at the young Ravenclaw as though it was the most obvious thing.
"Body language?" Hermione whispered, irritated. "Seriously? If that gaze meant attraction, she'd be fond of every single person in this room! Just look at her, it seems more like 'I want to kill you' than 'screw you'."
Parvati's and Lavender's eyes went unbelievably wide after that statement; they'd never heard Hermione use that kind of language before but they better get used to it—she had had them up to here with Draco and she had them even higher now.
"It looks like you're jealous," Parvati suggested slowly when she recovered from her shock.
'What?' Hermione felt the heat burning inside her cheeks.
"You so are!" Lavender agreed with a such smirk that the young witch had a sudden urge to slap away. "Understandable. You want Mr Lockhart all to yourself, but—"
"Are you truly that thick?! First you started accusing me of dating Draco and now—" Hermione splashed to the horrified girls but before she could finish, she heard a soft cough behind her back.
"Miss Idontknowyourname," Hermione turned around, seeing Lockhart's azure eyes staring directly into hers. "Do you realise you're interrupting my lesson? If you're not interested, dear, there's a door, I wouldn't want to waste your time, though I suppose boy problems you may discuss later."
She blushed even harder and carefully avoided looking at Bellatrix; she was in no mood of seeing that signature smug expression of hers just now.
She was torn between her curiosity to know what would happen if she stayed and the urge to take the chance and leave while she still could. If she left, Bellatrix might go after her; if she stayed, she could leave in the safety of some small group of people...
"I'm sorry," she apologised to the man after considering her options. "It won't happen again."
"It's all right, it's all right," Lockhart smiled schizophrenically at her. "Just wouldn't want you missing out on the glorious fight you're all about to witness."
"Ready?" he asked as he got back to Bellatrix. Hermione dared to spare her a look and saw her merely tipping her eyebrow at the ridiculous question—of course she was ready, she was always ready to beat the crap out of everyone, Hermione had experienced that first-hand.
Her eyes snapped back to Lockhart, who was standing with his back and knees slightly bent, grinning as though trying to charm the dark witch with his dazzling teeth while Bellatrix didn't even look like dueling; her posture wasn't any different from her usual one and her wand floated loosely in her pale hand.
The whole room was so silent one could hear a hair fall; everyone's eyes were flashing between the pair, waiting as to who would strike first.
It was Lockhart.
There was a movement in his hand but barely a millisecond had passed and the tip of the wooden stick didn't even had a chance to form a flash of light when it flew out of his grip and the force of the spell itself knocked the man down to the ground—and Bellatrix wasn't even looking.
"Damn, she got him good," someone whispered through the concerned girlie gasps as the man struggled to stand up.
The moment of surprise caught Hermione off guard, too, and she couldn't halt the tide of admiration washing over her, drowning her in. Bellatrix possessed, without a doubt, prodigious skills and the triumphant look on her face was just the most beautiful thing to—
The girl quickly shook her head. 'Stop thinking about her like that!' Angry with herself, she immediately focused on the man who had finally managed to scramble back to his feet.
"As I said, let the lady win," he chuckled nervously, smoothing his hair. Bellatrix's jaw seemed to be tensing and the girl too felt a strange feeling of unfairness settling inside her chest; there was no need to take away from the witch like that. Attributing her victory to the fact she was a woman and he was just being polite was, according to her, completely and utterly sexist.
"Everyone's got a partner?" Lockhart shouted, his eyes searching through them.
Gulping, Hermione brushed off her musings, her eyes feverishly tripping over her classmates. She didn't know who to ask: Ernie had already teamed up with Hannah and Padma, out of pure sulk, chose Seamus Finnigan over her. Merlin, even Loony Lovegood had managed to find someone.
She cast a desperate look over the few remaining students, afraid she'd be forced into partnering up with Bellatrix.
To her relief, she saw that Fay, the girl she'd met earlier that week in professor Prewett's office, was also without a partner. Their eyes found each other at the same time and both girls smiled as they approached each other.
"I see we're both the last resorts," the girl whispered, rolling up her sleeves, and Hermione merely nodded her head, waiting for further instructions.
"All right," Lockhart began after making sure everyone had someone to practise with. "What I want you to do is to use whatever simple spell you can think of, nothing dangerous or any funny business, mind you, and your partner's job is to try and deflect it. Remember, we're using non-verbal spells here! I don't want to hear any whisperings!" He gave them a searing look. "Everybody knows what to do? Brilliant! On the count of three!" His voice resonated louder. "We'll have a go, looking around, correcting, giving some tips."
'Oh no.'
"One..."
Hermione's eyes locked with Fay's. "You try the Shield Charm first," the Gryffindor whispered and Hermione didn't argue even though she'd prefer it the other way around.
"...two..."
She could feel the tips of her fingers tingling as she aimed her wand at Fay.
"... three!"
The room stayed quiet; maybe a few giggles had slipped past lips at the odd silence. Hermione waited on pins and needles, shifting on her feet but Fay's wand was stubbornly still even after half a minute.
"Well, maybe we can try it the other way around," she suggested after more of Fay's unsuccessful tries—the girl shrugged, visibly unsatisfied with herself.
Hermione, though, didn't have much luck either. Every time she tried firing a spell, something blocked it and the same thing kept happening over and over again. She had a pretty good feeling as to who the source behind her failure was, but anytime she glanced at the dark witch, the woman seemed to be wrapped in correcting some of the students way over there at the opposite side of the room.
"Maybe we should swap again," Fay insinuated, looking much more relieved when she saw Hermione couldn't perform the spell, too.
"What's up, Granger," Zabini, who was waiting for his partner to shrug off a Petrificus Totalus, called out. "Seems like the breakup took away your powers."
Hermione ignored him. Somebody had just paused behind her back and her stomach made a tiny flip as she inhaled a familiar, pleasant scent; her hand trembled as she raised her wand again. She didn't want Bellatrix to see her not being good at this. Waiting, her breath quickened but the girl opposite her didn't strike.
"Loosen the grip, deary," Bellatrix advised after a while, approaching Fay, and to Hermione's dislike her porcelain hand reached to hers, her fingers sliding over the girl's, making her relax the hold.
Hermione seethed; the Gryffindor's girl was a half-blood, too, and for some reason, it was no problem for Bellatrix to touch her while she couldn't even shake Hermione's hand!
"Thank you," Fay almost whispered, giving the woman a smile before looking back at Hermione, whose face was as stiff as a stone.
"Ready?" she mouthed and Hermione tipped her chin down, completely aware of Bellatrix's eyes on her but she was determined to stand her ground and ignore her for all she was worth, bracing herself. She really wanted to use the non-verbal spell, she really did, but if she failed to defend herself, if she— the spell finally shot toward her but instead of using her wand, Hermione jumped aside in a strange pirouette and immediately felt like an idiot.
"Highly miserable and ... muggle-like," she heard a silvery voice, knowing very well she totally deserved that. Embarrassed, she waited for more acid comments but none of that came. Glancing up, she realised Bellatrix had already moved ahead to Nott and Avery.
Her ashamed eyes paused on the latter boy, who was inconspicuously eyeing the woman's cleavage and she felt a sudden urge to pacify him but quickly snapped out of it. This was absolutely ridiculous—she had feelings for Blair, goddamnit!
Why the insane jealousy then?! the inner voice nagged. Perhaps just the remnants of the first revelation of her sexuality, the girl tried to reason out; she was a teenager after all, the raging hormones were nothing unusual, didn't have to mean—
The moment of distraction cost Hermione a crash with an unusually forceful spell; a flash of blue light hit her stomach, sending her flying into the air with a couple of somersaults; she slumped onto the wooden floor face down, her head bouncing off of the hard surface.
A sharp, throbbing pain perforated through her entire front, paralysing her limbs for what felt like an eternity; it was like she'd just smashed half of her body and she wanted nothing more than to stay lying there forever.
"It's all right, I'll take care of it." Hermione heard it as if through a couple of plastic wrappers.
Her head was burning, everything was impossibly hot and she quickly needed something cold to press to her face. Struggling, she tried to move, propping herself on her hands, but they were shaking so badly there was no way they could support her. Trying again, her lips parted to get in some oxygen but she got more than that: a full taste of a warm metallic liquid inside.
"Get up, Muddy!" It was clearly Bellatrix whispering in her ear. "See? This is what happens when you're too confident, saying the wrong things to the wrong people..."
For Merlin's sake, had the witch just hexed her?! Could she really have attacked her with so many people around?!
"Had your five minutes of fame," she continued, "you may stop being an attention-seeking piece of garbage now."
'Damn you Bellatrix Lestrange, damn you, damn you, damn you!'
Hermione felt a pull at her back as if she had a tiny little hook etched in between her shoulder blades, making her leap to her feet; the sudden movement made her head spin and she had to fight for balance, for the sharp pain was hitting her with a full force now.
Hissing, her trembling hands reached toward her features; she couldn't see properly: her eyes were flooded with tears but it didn't take quantum physics to figure out she had become the object of everyone's attention. Despite the pain, she could feel a great deal of humiliation washing over her as she realised she was on display in such condition.
"There's nothing to see, carry on with your practice," Bellatrix pointed after a while, probably after she made sure everyone had taken a good look at the injured girl.
How she hated her for thi—Oh...
Hermione let out a soft gasp of surprise as she felt a faint pressure of hands on either side of her upper arms.
Was the woman touching her and not actually causing pain? It was gentle, unbelievably gentle, and she couldn't believe how a simple unexpected touch could make her stomach jump like this.
What was wrong with her?! She was hurting all over, bleeding all over—which she had this woman to thank for and she seriously felt all giddy just because her hands rested on her?
"Come, deary, I'll take care of you!"
'Sure you will—Oh God, help me someone!'
"Doh!" She tried to protest with her nose full of blood, but she stood no chance as the woman propelled her forward; she couldn't do anything but trust her since her eyes couldn't see more than the swell of her own eyelids.
'You are doomed, Hermione, so doomed!'
A/N: First of all- HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Second- You're amazing, and I LOVE YOU. Seriously, thank you for everything, I appreciate you on such a level you cannot even imagine!
Third- Hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Cannot wait to hear from you!
Love, AP