She was on the verge of hysteria after reading the entire Malfoy history at one go, seeking out one of Draco's mental ancestors who might have had the flask created. She eyed the expensive, probably Goblin-made artefact in front of her, squinting and trying to determine which century it was made in. It glinted back at her mockingly, as if saying: 'you'll never figure me out'.
Hermione scowled – even if going slowly but surely insane, she would not let a Malfoy heirloom outsmart her.
However, this task was tricky as she tried to search for especially insane people, or those who had great interest in dark arts. Turned out there were at least two mental Malfoys in every decade of the last thousand years or so –, so it was really hard to get them all checked and look into the biography of the most suspicious ones. She couldn't even complain about it as Draco was in lesson, she was the only one debating over it.
As deputy Head Girl she had the liberty to do whatever she wanted until she was still on the top of the classes – so she didn't worry much about a missed lecture. Even if Draco had the same opportunities (in theory) he was unable to, since his sentence made it clear – he should attend every of the lessons, unless being sick.
Rubbing the sockets of her eyes with her palms, Hermione sighed. Her part of their bargain proved to be more difficult that she'd expected at first sight. She should really go to the grounds for a refreshing stroll and knowing Draco – he would be snooping around the Forbidden Forest in desperate attempt to get a unicorn to give them blood –, she expected him to be there, too.
With getting a silk cloth – obviously Malfoy's, as he was unsatisfied with a rubbing cloth to pack his flask in it – she was ready to go. Hermione got her hands on that last day, telling him she'd really like to study the cursed object before starting anything.
She was walking in the speed of a dying snail as she dragged herself down on the few hundred or so steps, her bag weighting her shoulder, the six ancient books tucked inside, hidden by the undetectable extension charm.
Everything seemed peaceful – well until the shouting reached her ears and suddenly she rushed forward, recognising Pansy's voice out of the mass of shouting. Hermione dropped her bag when seeing the crowd circling the eight year Slytherins.
She pushed a few firsties aside, watching with bated breath the aurors forced the entire lot on their knees. Pansy struggled, barking on the men that they do not touch her or else, while the others were silent – bearing the treatment with straight back, gazing at the people daringly.
Hermione didn't know how so, but they looked graceful, even if there were at least two aurors beside each of them, holding them back from even moving a muscle in their little finger.
"What any of you did to harm Miss Granger?" demanded the head auror, studying the students with utter disgust etched in his features. He looked like a hog as he gritted his teeth, threatening to attack.
Wait. What?
It was Nott who answered him, his firm voice ranging on the ground, echoing in her ears for moments, "We're under no obligation to answer without our liaisons."
The man's eyes glinted cruelly as he bent down to be in eye level with him, Theo glaring in his orbs indifferently. It just seemed to egg him on furthermore, as he snarled at the boy, "If I tell you to speak, Mr. Nott, you see, you're obliged to speak."
Hermione frowned at the arrogant idiot, crossing her arms out of irritation, "Actually that's not true."
And just like that, everyone was observing her form. Some of the students even stepped back from her, out of fear. It was suddenly overwhelming to be in the middle of attention – but she couldn't let the idiots do as they wished. Anyway, where was McGonagall now?
"Care to enlighten me, missy?" asked the rude man, obviously not recognising her. She saw Draco huff a breath and Pansy stop fighting, only to snicker under her nose at the man's idiotism.
They must have been really in need of people in the Ministry, if this figure got to be an executive in the MLE's department. It was actually troubling.
The man sneered at her when she refused to be intimidated by their difference in height as he stomped forward, – he was a good five inches taller than her, his bulky figurine reminded her of Victor Krum. At least the Quidditch star had something to work with.
"Why, yes," she started haughtily in a way she'd seen the Slytherins speak in the last years. Gods, Draco's superiority must have rubbed on her, "According to the Book of Britain Magical Laws, seventh edition, law: hundred-and-eighty-six, a student of Hogwarts should only be interrogated by Ministry officials and obliged to answer if one Professor or parent is in presence, even though the individual is of age. So to speak, any of them is not under obligation to answer any of your questions. Besides, there should be proper interrogation held for the case with official documents that attests to this scene being ordered by the Wizengamot, – but as I see, this could only be as random as Divination is in general," and she rolled her eyes at the end, just for the greater effect.
At the end of her lecture, most of the people were frozen in their spot, some of them bearing an utterly dumbfounded mimic. She scoffed, just because she was able to quote something back and forth and add things that were for her advance? It was ridiculous – as if she hadn't been doing the same in all of her school years.
"Well, you might be their ally, then. Who are you then, little chit?" The head auror tried again with baiting her (it took him three minutes to recover), his condescending look only ruffled up her feathers more.
Oh, did he have the nerve!
Before Hermione would have been able to continue on Pansy just simply lost her shit, laughing freely at the idiot; her raspy, hoarse voice making some of the younger ones flinch back. It was not unpleasant per se, but not the voice a lot of them heard before.
"Is she mental?" the other official narrowed his eyes at the Parkinson, trying to drag her back on her knees instead of her hunched up position. As it seemed she was on the verge of spitting out her lungs with the vehemence she guffawed.
"She just likes laughing," Blaise commented with a grimace wondering if his girlfriend had gone mad for the rest of their remaining life. He winced when she didn't stop, "Now, this is more like a cry of a dying bird, Pans."
With some of the officials shrugging, their attention turned back on her, head auror quirking his brows at her, in manner of: 'I'm waiting'.
Hermione jutted out her chin arrogantly and attempted to go for a malicious smirk that Draco wore so often, it kind of stuck on her, too. "Hermione Jean Granger, at your services. And I assure you, who hurt me the most is long dead. Drag Bellatrix Lestrange out of her grave and she could tell you a nice story about an interrogation and the potion that's slowly killing me from the insides."
For a moment, everything had stopped; every move from the crowd, every voice muted to nothing, she wondered if the time did, also, – everything beside the replaying, boisterous laughter from Pansy. This time it was bitter.
Looking at her from side-ways, Hermione noticed: Pansy was crying.