Chapter Twenty-Five: The Warning

Hermione sat in the common room, which had by now filled to the brim with students, and she chewed absentmindedly on her thumbnail. She hadn't spoken to Draco much in the days since Christmas, but that wasn't what had her so preoccupied; it seemed that Harry and Ron had a very eventful holiday as well. At least Ron's face had gotten a nice reprieve from Lavender's constant barrage of kissing - not that anyone could tell, now. She'd dragged him off to a corner of the room already and sat herself in his lap. Hermione made sure to shoot them a disapproving look every few minutes.

But even Ron - or "Won-Won," these days - wasn't at the top of Hermione's list of concerns. Harry hadn't wasted much time in sitting Hermione down and explaining that he'd eavesdropped on a conversation between Draco and Snape before the break. Hermione couldn't decide which she'd prefer, that Harry knew all about Draco's plans so he could pass them along to her, or that he knew nothing at all. In reality, Harry hadn't learned anything very new to Hermione's ears.

That hadn't stopped her from trying to argue him out of it. Really, her best friend was going to be the reason her boyfriend - er, something like that anyway - ended up expelled or worse.

Almost more interesting than that, however, was hearing about the Minister's visit at the Burrow. Hermione was astounded at the man's nerve… How could he expect Harry's help, after all the Ministry put him through?

"Oy, look here," called Dean Thomas. He stood over by the portrait-hole, where a conspicuously large poster had been plastered up. "Apparition lessons!"

All at once, students in the common room jumped up and crowded around. Hermione, meanwhile, just buried her face in her hands. She didn't want to worry about apparition, or classes, or Harry's stupidly dangerous potions book. She just wanted to go back to the beginning of Christmas break, where she could look forward to being with Draco each evening.

However much Hermione wanted to ignore her classes, though, they resumed as usual. It turned out to be a welcome distraction, since she hadn't been able to spot Draco during mealtimes. He didn't answer her messages, either, but she decided not to think too much about it. Thankfully her first patrol night came and went without any sign of being followed, either.

Finally, their first potions lesson of the term arrived, and Hermione made sure to get to class early. She'd even arranged her mess of hair a bit, so at least it was out of her face. By the time other students began filing in, she felt jittery with nerves, not really sure what to expect from Draco.

Unfortunately, she never got the chance to see; by the time most of her classmates had arrived, Slughorn came bounding into the room, clearly quite excited about today's lesson.

"Settle down, please!" he called, already scrawling away on the chalkboard. "Quickly now! Lots of work this afternoon! Golpalott's Third Law - who can tell me?"

Hermione's hand had, instinctively, shot into the air.

"But Miss Granger can, of course!"

"Golpalott's Third Law," she recited, "States that the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components." It was correct, of course, and Slughorn seemed delighted. While he went on about it, Hermione glanced over her shoulder - there, at the back next to Blaise, sat Draco.

He stared at Hermione for a long moment, then looked down to his desk.

"... And don't forget your protective gloves!"

Realizing that Slughorn had just given them their assignment, Hermione hopped out of her seat. She retrieved a phial from the front of the room and made it back to her table before anyone else even reacted, which gave her a pretty clear view. Draco hadn't stirred yet, much like everyone else. He still stared resolutely down at his notes.

That's not good, Hermione thought, growing worried. She'd hoped that he'd give her some sign that things were okay, but instead things seemed worse than expected.

Emptying the phial into her cauldron, Hermione noticed that Harry was staring, perplexed, at his potions book.

"Looks like the Prince can't help you this time," she said, though it felt half-hearted at this point. "You need to know the principles. No shortcuts."

As it turned out, she was wrong. After an hour of working furiously - and doing quite well, to boot - Hermione still hadn't quite achieved when Slughorn was after. By the time he called their work to a halt, Hermione was nearly finished, not that it mattered. Her jaw dropped when Harry presented his "antidote:" a bloody bezoar.

Clenching her teeth, Hermione crossed her arms. This was getting ridiculous.

…

Try as she might to contact Draco, Hermione couldn't reach him. He wasn't returning her messages, and he'd gone back to slipping in and out of class before she had a chance to say anything to him. She never saw him at meals anymore, either. The first week, Hermione tried to be patient… The week after that, she got nervous. What if he didn't want to see her anymore? What if he'd changed his mind?

She spent all of her free time in the library, trying to research the "Half-Blood Prince" (much to Harry's dismay) but she hardly found a thing. The only relevant fact Hermione picked up had to do with an Eileen Prince, which Harry found laughable, claiming he knew that the Prince was male. He just knew. Thankfully that topic seemed infinitely more important than romance, as painful as it was to admit sometimes, but no matter how hard Hermione looked she couldn't find much of anything. By the end of January she'd ended more than one night by crying in some corner of the library, usually out of sheer frustration, but sometimes out of much more than that.

Then, finally, February arrived, and with it came apparition lessons.

Hermione walked down to the Great Hall with Harry, and when they entered to find the tables gone and all four Heads of Houses present, she realized she'd probably see Draco here. He wouldn't skip apparition lessons, would he?

"Good morning, my name is Wilkie Twycross," announced a small man, once they were ready to begin. Hermione stood on her tip-toes to see. "I will be your Ministry-appointed instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to -"

"Malfoy, be quiet!"

Hermione turned, noticing a very stern-looking Professor McGonagall. She turned the other way and saw Draco toward the back of the room, standing aside with Crabbe and Goyle; Draco's gaze fell on Hermione for a split-second, and his face flushed.

Twycross went on about apparition, and about how the school wards had been lifted for their lessons, but Hermione wasn't paying attention. It seemed strange that Draco would risk calling attention to himself like that.

Then everyone began moving. It looked like Twycross had called for them to begin, and students scrambled to find a clear space to practice in - everyone except Harry, who set off across the hall, weaving between other students.

Hermione realized at once where he was headed.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, trying to catch him. He moved quickly, though, and she found herself skipping around just to keep up. She knocked into more than one person and had to apologize over her shoulder. "Where are you going?"

But it was too late. Harry approached Draco, who had his back to the rest of the room and spoke angrily to Crabbe.

"I don't know how much longer, alright?" Draco growled. "It's taking longer than I thought it would."

Hermione paused, making brief eye-contact with Crabbe, who looked startled to see her and Harry there. She had to think up a diversion, just in case Draco said something stupid and gave himself away.

"Harry!" Hermione said, loudly enough for Draco to hear.

Draco whirled about, a confused look on his face. He took one look at Harry and sneered. Not that Harry noticed, since he had turned as well to give Hermione a particularly exasperated look.

"Quiet!" called the Heads of Houses in unison. Hermione, looking worriedly over to Draco, noticed that he had his wand in hand. Thankfully, Harry hadn't noticed.

Twycross went on about the "Three D's" of apparition, not that Hermione could concentrate. Now she was stuck practicing only a dozen feet away from Draco, and if that wasn't enough of a distraction, then she didn't know what was. This wasn't going to end well.

…

Draco leaned heavily against the Vanishing Cabinet, listening to the twittering of a bird inside it. He was so close to having the cabinet finished, and Snape had urged him to do a test, so that meant that someone at Borgin and Burke's would expect something. It was about time to try sending something alive, anyway.

The tittering continued for a few seconds more, then promptly ceased. Draco slowly opened the cabinet.

Empty.

Giving a sigh of relief, Draco shut the door again. He'd probably managed to fix it, then. Which meant he'd saved his own skin, but what about the raid on Hogwarts? What was he supposed to do about that? What if students got killed?

Feeling that relief fade away, Draco started toward the door. He wound around various shelves and furniture piles, his hands stuffed into his pockets, before the exit came into view. Once outside, he found the unrecognizable face of Goyle, who today had taken his polyjuice potion with the hair of a first-year girl.

"It's done," Draco said, and the previously-scowling girl only nodded. Crabbe and Goyle weren't fond of hearing themselves speak in the dulcet soprano tones of young girls, so they had a tendency to say very little while on watch. Even now, Goyle didn't bother saying goodbye, but merely turned and headed off down the corridor.

Now that we have that taken care of, Draco thought bitterly. He turned the opposite way and began walking toward the lavatory.

This had become a kind of routine of his, not that he'd admit it to anyone else. He barely even spoke to Blaise and Pansy anymore, and had spent all his free time in the Room of Requirement for the last month, so he needed an outlet of some kind… That, and if Moaning Myrtle ever told anyone about his visits, they'd probably never believe a word she said. He needed that on his side.

Somehow, to Draco's great chagrin, he'd actually befriended the whiny ghost. He couldn't stand to listen to her prattling on, but thankfully Myrtle seemed desperate enough to keep him around that she actually shut up sometimes. She had a habit of asking the right questions, at any rate.

Running a hand through his hair - which had gotten long, he really needed a trim - Draco spotted the lavatory door up ahead. Taking a moment to glance up and down the hall, which was empty, he took a deep breath and went in.

"Draco? Is that you?"

Almost shyly, Myrtle peeked her glowing-white face over the door to a toilet stall.

"The one and only," he said, taking up his usual spot against the wall. Sinking to the floor, Draco sighed, rubbing tiredly at his face.

"Still worried about failing your project?" Myrtle asked.

Draco gave her an annoyed look, noting a bit of condescension in her voice. "No, actually. Just finished that bit up…"

"So what is it?"

Clenching and unclenching his jaw, Draco mulled over his long list of worries. He hadn't been too specific on anything, and didn't plan to either. He wasn't sure how much he could even say, at this point.

Appraising Myrtle, who even as a ghost seemed more nerdy than spooky, Draco shrugged.

"Girl problems, among other things," he answered honestly, though sure he would regret it.

"Girl problems?" Myrtle repeated. She floated down to sit beside Draco, even venturing to rest her head on his shoulder - or, more accurately, rest her head where his shoulder would be, could she actually feel it. Draco cringed, not that she saw.

"Yeah. Girl problems."

So he couldn't talk about Voldemort. Even though the Dark Lord had Draco far more concerned, he could at least vent a little about his next-biggest stressor.

He hadn't spoken with Hermione since Christmas, and he hated it. Each day it made more sense, which almost made it easier… Almost. But, each day Draco could see more clearly, and think more logically, and he knew this was the right thing. If he kept Hermione close, she'd get hurt. He couldn't have that.

"Do tell," Myrtle urged.

"Right," he said. "Er - it's nothing, really." When Myrtle didn't immediately jump in with questions, Draco cleared his throat. "I mean… I fancy her, and I know she fancies me. We just can't be together." Each word stung as he spoke it, but it was Draco's embarrassment of saying those words to Moaning Myrtle that made him duck his head. His face felt hot, suddenly.

If the Dark Lord could see me now, Draco thought sullenly. Voldemort would sure lose confidence fast, if he only saw how pathetic Draco had become in the last year.

"Oh, how romantic," Myrtle gushed, floating up a few feet in her excitement. "You can't be together? Why not?"

"It just won't work," Draco admitted. "It's dangerous. We're - we're from two different worlds. The others won't like it. They'll hurt us."

"They will? Sounds awful..."

"Yeah," Draco said. "Awful."

He sank down lower, ignoring that his back had bent at a painful angle, and how cold the floor felt against his backside. Anything beat the discomfort of standing in Voldemort's presence… And Draco had exactly that to look forward to, didn't he? In fact, with the Vanishing Cabinet fully restored, Draco now had to face Snape in order to pass the message along. How long until Voldemort called Draco to another meeting? Would he even wait?

How long until another attempt on Dumbledore's life was made?

"You know," Myrtle said, now lounging at Draco's side again, "If you were to die, I would gladly give you my toilet." Lowering her voice conspiratorially, Myrtle went on. "It's the best one."

Unable to find the right words to respond with, Draco only mumbled unintelligibly; Myrtle didn't notice, though, and giggled to herself. She, at least, seemed quite pleased.

…

Hermione strode through the dark corridors, hugging her cloak tightly. The only light came from her wand, which she held low, trying not to disturb the portraits. She'd just finished her patrol, and after saying good-night to Belen down in the Entrance Hall, had headed back up to Gryffindor Tower.

The castle felt still tonight, more still than usual, and it made Hermione uneasy. Something wasn't quite right…

She stopped in her tracks. To her dread, and to prove her suspicions correct, she heard distinct footsteps somewhere behind her. They stopped too, but not until Hermione heard them loud and clear.

Her heart began pounding.

Alright, stay calm, she told herself. She hadn't been followed - at least, not to her knowledge - since Christmas Day with Draco. Clutching her wand tightly, Hermione ducked and pantomimed tying her shoe, hoping her pursuer wouldn't know she'd caught on.

Initially she'd thought that it must've been Snape, but then it wouldn't make sense for Snape to follow her now. He'd just interrogate her outright if something was wrong, and he'd never allow himself to be heard accidentally. No… The footsteps did sound heavy, not light and feminine, but Hermione also had to think of them as clumsy. Definitely not Snape.

Heart still racing, Hermione weighed her options in her head. Fight, or flight? Draw her wand, or run for it?

Taking a deep breath, she sprang to her feet and set off down the corridor.

Whoever followed, they managed to keep up. Hermione sprinted up a flight of stairs, then down the third-floor corridor, hoping to hide out in the hump-backed witch again. If it had worked the first time, then maybe now -

"Ooof!"

It felt like she'd run headlong into a wall - ableit a fairly cushy wall. Before Hermione could react, a hand covered her mouth, and another, strong as a vice, wrapped tightly around her waist.

"Got her!"

Flailing her arms wildly and attempting to scream, Hermione felt her attacker lift her off the ground. In a moment of sheer panic, she realized that her wand was gone. Had she dropped it?

"Quick, in here," said another voice, deeper than the first. Hermione found herself dragged down the corridor a ways, and her limbs began tingling with the adrenaline of fighting back. Then she heard a door slam shut, along with the squeal of desks sliding across the floor, and her attacker dropped her onto the hard ground.

"Lumos."

A flash of light blinded Hermione, and she covered her eyes. After a moment, exactly what she expected faded into view: a disused classroom, desks pushed aside. She sat sprawled in the middle of the floor, staring up at two rather hulking individuals.

"Crabbe?" she asked, genuinely surprised. "Goyle…?"

The two larger Slytherins stared down at her, both wands drawn. Hermione wasn't sure what to feel; with a wand, she'd have no problem taking them out, but she didn't have hers at the moment. Perhaps she could still outwit them.

"What do you want?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"We want you to stay away from Draco," Goyle answered, his voice low and guttural. "And we're not the only ones."

"Draco?" Hermione repeated, blinking.

"Yeah," Crabbe added. "He's better off without you, mudblood."

Hermione grit her teeth, but didn't say anything.

"You really had us going, for a while there," Goyle said, apparently eager to keep the silence filled. His wand shook in his hand. "Thought you two called it off, but then you covered for him the other day."

"The other day?" Hermione said slowly.

"Apparition lessons," Crabbe said, staring stupidly down at her.

"Oh," Hermione said. "I see..."

She studied the two boys carefully. Neither seemed very eager to be there, and Goyle wasn't the only one with trembling hands. Someone much scarier must've put them up to this, she decided, since they didn't seem very confident in themselves.

Crabbe gave Goyle a significant look.

"So, is that all?" Hermione asked, dusting off her robes. "I'll have my wand back, then."

"You will, will you?" Crabbe said, a note of anger in his voice. Then, to Hermione's surprise, he smirked at his friend, his shaking a little less apparent now. "Hear that, Greg? The mudblood wants her wand back."

Goyle didn't seem impressed with this, either. "I wonder what makes her think she deserves a wand..."

A sense of unease settled over Hermione. She hadn't intended for them to get comfortable with their little stunt. If she weren't outnumbered two-to-one, she would be hissing and spitting in retaliation to their taunts, but as things were she couldn't quite find her voice.

Crabbe stepped forward, and Hermione instinctively shrank back. She didn't like this.

"Look at that, Vince," Goyle said, also looming nearer. "Looks like she's learned her place, after all. Won't be acting so high-and-mighty anymore, will you?"

Then, out of nowhere, Goyle drew back his foot and kicked Hermione in the side.

And explosion of pain in her left rib made Hermione cry out, and she fell over, clutching at herself. Finally giving up on sorting this out herself, she took a deep breath and screamed, not hearing the "muffliato" Crabbe cast over the room. She screamed again, until Crabbe placed a foot on her hair, trapping her against the floor.

"That was for making me look bad," Goyle muttered. Though he didn't explain what he meant, Crabbe understood only too well. Having Death Eaters for fathers meant suffering severe punishment when a mudblood beat you at exams.

Trying to pull away - and feeling a stinging pain all along her scalp when she did so - Hermione went still. She drew ragged breaths, realizing now more than ever just how bad this was.

"What do you think?" Crabbe asked, aiming his wand down at Hermione's head. "Merlin knows this stuff's an eyesore. Should we cut it off?" He punctuated his threat with a twist of his foot, which yanked painfully at her hair.

"No," Hermione said, feeling desperate. She craned her neck, trying to relieve the pressure on her scalp, and reached up to claw at Crabbe's ankle. "Please - don't -"

The Slytherins laughed. The sound was dense and dumb-sounding, Hermione thought, but she'd never heard anything so terrible. Her eyes burned, and soon fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. She'd spent her entire life being buck-toothed, ugly, know-it-all Granger, she couldn't become the freak without hair -

Goyle crouched down, tracing the tip of his wand along Hermione's bangs.

"I don't know, Vince," he said, "I think she could try harder to convince us."

A sob escaped Hermione's throat, and she covered her face with her hands.

"Please," she begged, coughing and sniffling pathetically. This was met with only more laughter.

Goyle's hand shot out, clapping Vince's shoulder. The pair froze. Even Hermione held her breath, long enough to hear the echoing footsteps out in the corridor.

"IN HERE!" Hermione shrieked. Before she managed to say anything else, though, Crabbe had clapped a massive palm over her mouth.

"They can't hear you, idiot," he hissed, though he still seemed wary. Then, a moment later, he drew his hand away with a look of disgust. "Gross," he muttered, wiping his palm with his robes.

"We should get going," Goyle said. "What if that was McGonagall?"

The two stood quickly, and Goyle already wrung his hands together nervously. If Hermione wasn't still terrified out of her mind, she might feel amazement at how quickly the Slytherins shrank back into cowardice.

Crabbe sneered down at Hermione, unsatisfied. He watched as she rolled over, trying to pick herself up, then he kicked her fully in the stomach.

"C'mon," Goyle said, grabbing a fistful of Crabbe's robes. "Enough of that."

Hermione clutched at her middle, still trying to drag breath back into her lungs. She collapsed onto the ground.

"Remember this," Crabbe warned, though Hermione didn't look up. She heard the distant clatter of something light and wooden hitting the floor. "And remember, leave him alone."

"Or it'll be worse," Goyle added.

The boys shuffled out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind them. Hermione lay still after they'd left, desperate to make sure they'd actually gone before she tried moving. Barely able to think, she counted slowly to one hundred.

Trying to lift herself up, she felt a surge of pain in her side and fell back to the floor.

My wand, she thought, looking around the dark room. Where is my wand?

Again, she tried to pull herself up, but the pain only seemed more intense this time around. Hermione cried out, holding her left side. Surely something had broken. She needed help.

Breathing deeply, Hermione patted her robes. She didn't have her wand, but she had something else.

Pulling a tiny piece of parchment out of her pocket, Hermione prayed that Draco hadn't gone to sleep yet - or, for that matter, that he hadn't thrown his parchment away. If he had, then she'd been spending the night on the cold floor, hoping someone would stumble upon her in the morning.

As soon as the tiny quill transfigured, Hermione picked it up with a shaky hand. Working carefully, but still hardly legibly, she wrote.

Help. Third floor. Classroom.

It wasn't much, but it was all she could do. Breathing shallowly, and blinking back a fresh set of tears, Hermione curled up on the floor. And she waited.

Author's Note: So... this definitely took a turn, didn't it? I'm curious to hear your reactions to this chapter. I wrote this, and the next one, and have been debating on whether or not I wanted to take the plot in this direction. I decided to keep it.

For anyone interested, I seriously recommend looking up these chapters in HBP. It's amazing to look at Hermione's reactions when Harry goes off about Malfoy - she's a devil's advocate to the extreme, always defending Draco and telling Harry off. I love it. It makes this feel more plausible.

Thanks for reading on. Leave a review and let me know what you think! We broke 200 together, which is exciting.