Chapter 18
Simple Plots
A dark corridor lit with a single candle stretched endlessly in darkness. It was impenetrable by the naked eye. The faded green and gold wallpaper peeled in the corners near trim boards. Each portrait was shielded in a white veil. It felt a mausoleum. The air stagnant as death, dusty and aged.
The mahogany wood creaked. Each step a betrayal of presence.
It was narrow and tight throughout the home. The stairs ascended in a sharp angle and descended in a seemingly slide down the levels of the townhouse. The railing, an ancient broken spindle nightmare. Chips in the woods. Long scrapes down the center steps.
The mumbling whispers of voices from within a grave. Their ghoulish tones set the hairs on the back of the neck stiff with a cold sweat.
Hell. It was a living hell as the night bled in through the walls. Surrounding. Suffocating.
Hermione kept her arms stretched out to keep the walls from caving in as she walked. It was the dead of night. Her mind kept her conscious in its constant state of tension. Of terror.
She roamed the halls in pitch black. Her heart sped as the shadows fell across her vision, blacker than black. Nothing but an abyss to stare into. What stared back worried her most. The whispers of the dead. The eerie emotion of the house. Burned out names in family wallpaper and haunted memories of a dead home. It was enough to stay her sleep for a while. A long while.
"The coming tides of cleansing," a voice whispered.
"The rise of the Dark Lord. It will restore the world under Morgana's rule."
A sharp hiss echoed. "Deattthhhhhhhh."
"The world will bathe in the blood of the filth, refresh grounds anew, rise a new era of the wizard."
Her feet hurried down the stairs. A sensation of hands clawing at her gripped her chest in panic. They were speaking to her!
She fell her hair pulled from the messy plaits. Her hands tensed against the railing. The next floor was a pool of darkness. It felt cold. Lonely. Cursed. She stared in through a faded black into the deepest depths of the hue.
A board creaked under foot. Whose foot?
Through the dark, a face appeared. It was scarred. Two hollow, sad eyes split through.
"Remus," she breathed. Hand on her chest.
He acknowledged her with a subtle raise of his gaze. "Not a restful sleeper?"
"Not recently, no."
His voice was something she remembered much brighter, with conviction. "Then our restless paths were bound to cross."
A few more steps he ascended. His body grew into the soft candle light. The man wore tattered and ripped clothing, relaxed. Nothing constricted. It must have reminded him of a full moon…
The limp strands of his hair fell as his head titled. "I have been meaning to speak with you. The time has never felt right. I don't suppose you would oblige me in a spot of tea?"
She nodded. "Gladly."
They pair walked down the stairs together. Their feet creaked the boards in a noisy chorus. It drowned the whispering voices to nothing but a figment of imagination. The air changed. Grimmauld Place filled with the smell of parchment and ink and strong tea and butter? Her stomach growled up in need.
The long stretch of corridor was no longer threatening. A comfort fell upon her mind.
No shadows chased her. Spirits of the grave no longer cursed her every breath. The threats of the collapsing walls were all in her head.
Hermione and Remus walked through a threshold. The air was warm. It smelled of a library.
Remus murmured "Incendio". Candles wicks grew flames under his spell.
She liked the aura around Remus, as he moved in a serene silence that was not unsettling at all. It felt comfortable. There was no expectation of conversation. He held the quiet with ease. She did not worry there was malcontent behind his lack of words.
A pot of steaming tea awaited a nearby table. Two cups awaited.
"How was your term? Classes going well?" He made soft conversation. Whatever he asked, he meant to know the answer. There was no lie in that truth.
There was a genuine softness in Remus. It was curious he was a Gryffindor at all. The wizard was timid. Strong, but timid. He held an inner peace that many in the house sought. She, too, held a bit of envy for that settled nature his soul had with him.
He was much like Neville Longbottom. Many questioned his place within the house. She wondered if he felt the burning question too: why me?
Hermione breathed through her nose. Her heart was ready to unload its problems across the floor for Remus' sorting.
He was the one member of the Order she was convinced was not rash enough to act upon anything she told him. If he was sworn to secrecy, she felt it would be honored.
Honor. That was Remus. She trusted in his spirit, Gryffindor or not. It was in her bones that he was the right one for the job.
"Harry struggled. Ron, too. They barely slept at all this term," Hermione admitted. "I thought – I thought Harry might be losing himself. In his grief."
"His burdens are heavy."
The wizard was gentle in observation. He did not descend with a flurry of angelic belief that Harry was pure and a savior to the world. Remus knew what it was like to survive, the only one alive. It might not have been true. But Remus believed it. His life was endless loneliness without James Potter, Lily Evans, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. All stolen within a single night. Left with nothing but a fear in his heart of the growing power inside his chest where he lost all semblance of himself as his flesh tore away from his bones.
Hermione held her cup of tea in her hand. The warmth radiated throughout her fingers.
"Forgive me for saying so," Remus added, "but you did not answer the question. I asked after you." A knowing look overtook his eye. "Not Harry."
She felt a sudden sweat spread its havoc. The hold of her cup slipped in hand.
"You mean my letter."
"Excuse my rather ignorant reply. I was not comfortable in discussion of sensitive nature through a letter. The Ministry tracks them now. They're always watching. It is the Black in Sirius that has him unafraid of what the Ministry could do to the likes of us. I err on the side of caution."
Hedwig was being watched. Her letters read. It was how Umbridge got her information. Harry was an interesting person.
It was not safe to say that Draco Malfoy read her mail, too. He saw with whom she interacted with.
"My mail safety has been compromised," she revealed. "It was why I had the letter posted through Ginny. She ensured it was delivered without notice. I just didn't know what else to do."
"I was surprised. I am not ashamed to admit that." He pulled at a strand of his sleeve. "A gifted witch like you was quite the problem solver from what I remember. What kind of dilemma would you find yourself in need of my particular advice?"
A love for Draco Malfoy that impedes life within Harry's.
Her eyes fell to her teacup. Murky brown water stared up at her with a hollow comfort in its scent.
How much she missed him.
"I'm sure that you've heard - ."
"Of Draco Malfoy," he finished the sentence for her. "That I have. As has the entire world by now."
That was where he stopped. No question. No disgust. No rant or history lesson.
She breathed. "At the start of term, he approached me with a proposal. One that I could not refuse. He said that if I agreed to be his pet and keep his company, he would not bait Harry into fighting so that there was no encouragement for Umbridge to expel him. I agreed."
The sad lack luster green in his sockets looked on. Not a word was added. Again, no question.
He listened.
"At first it was hell. He tortured me awfully. I was miserable." She recalled that day in the lake with bitterness. He'd crossed the line with what he said. All because he knew there was something between them that was not always hatred. Suddenly, she remembered where she was. Her eyes had dribbled water down her cheeks in a slight stream. She wiped the back of her hand down their length. "Now, I'm not convinced his motives were based solely upon his need to hurt me. I think, I think he knows something. Something that would have my life endangered if he didn't do something to protect it."
Her gaze finally found his. She wished to have been a more noble witch of Gryffindor. It was despicable how she behaved during the course of the school term.
Galivanting with a known Death Eater relation without care was unfounded by an Order member. It was worthy of great shame. She forgot what side she was on and lost herself in between.
Remus laced his fingers together. "What is it that you ask of me? Permission?"
What was there to want in such a circumstance? A way to absolve Draco of future wrongdoing? The right to continue on with him even though their alliances were at odds with one another? What was there to be done for Draco's soul?
"No. I – I just wanted someone to know the truth in the Order," she revealed. "They might say things about me. One day. And, I just want someone who knows the truth of me."
He regarded her softly. The question in the air was clear. His mind arrived to it soon enough. It was not too much of a leap to arrive at the truth. She loved Draco Malfoy.
Once more, her eyes overflowed with tears. She was not even sure why.
Remus handed her a handkerchief. "Are you familiar with a bank robbery in 1973 in a small bank in Stockholm, Sweden?"
Her breath caught. "I beg your pardon?"
"A bank robbery gone wrong. Two men took four hostages and held them in a bank vault for six days," Remus explained. "When it all ended and the hostages rescued, none said they would testify. Instead, they fought to have the men acquitted of their crime. Even raised money for their defense."
Time slowed to a stop. Neither said a word. Breath was nonexistent.
"You mean to say that you think it's possible I have Stockholm Syndrome?"
He shrugged. "I know very little. What is my advice to the one experiencing it? But it is unwise to say that it could not be a possible explanation for the sudden change of heart."
Stockholm Syndrome.
Was it possible? Godric, could that be the source of her emotions? She was plagued with doubt. Severe doubt of herself.
Her connection to Draco went against everything she believed in. Hermione was dragged into a position close to him, but it was him, not her, that changed. He was the same spoiled prat he always was. There was not a thing that could change him that much. The wizard was meant to be a pain in the arse.
Hermione was pained. "My mind says no. It is not Stockholm."
He accepted it. There was no flash of doubt in her judgement. He proceeded without another question on the qualifying criteria.
"Times like these are dangerous, Hermione. We cannot be too careful with ourselves. The world depends upon it," he said.
The beating of her heart stopped. She felt the request to stop seeing Draco rising. It had to come. It was the right order of business. She was unable to process it though. She could not. A life without Draco? That was torture.
"Voldemort's power is growing. His shadow spread," Remus said in a faraway tone. "It is now when our actions must be progress. A war is not won without risk. Our lives are the risk we take."
"Draco Malfoy has light in him. There is good in there." Her lips ached from all the biting. "I'd bet my life on it."
The wizard sipped from his teacup. The steam cloud rested across his face as he drank.
"Whatever information he can give me, I will deliver it to you," she explained. "Only you."
It was quiet for a time. Remus drank his tea. Hermione examined the room.
The office was comprised of a small desk. Cherry red. The wallpaper was of yellow flowers, closed in the dark of night. Come morning, they would bloom in full vibrancy, a spread of petals in dull yellow to shimmery gold.
Two overstuffed book cupboards sat in a corner. A lounge chair just beneath their height. It was complete with a candelabra atop a small oak table. Thick dark drapes hanged across the windows. Large tassels rested along each side. Their strands were frayed with age.
Remus rested in a rocking chair placed in front of a modest stone fireplace. The mantle was filled with pale candles, wax melted down their bodies and in a hardened pool around their base. Old ornate frames of Blacks long past resided within their glass. Dead center was a clock. It was simple. The face was plain grey with two little hands that were arrows to the roman numeral.
A set of tools rested in a round carousel off the side of the hearth. Their antique brass left them darker than the other fixtures. A crow head was crafted into each handle. Their dead black eyes looked on in hollow sockets as time passed in infinite loops.
Steam eventually stopped its climb through the air. Teacups cooled to lukewarm. The taste swirled across Hermione's tongue in gentle waves against her cheeks as she warmed what little she could with her mouth.
Remus' tea was forgotten. It was long abandoned in it's place atop a small table.
"Things have been different for you," Remus said as if lost in a trance. He was solemn. The chair rocked back and forth against worn boards. It was the steady beating of her heart that she heard. "Your fate rests differently than the rest of us."
She gripped the small teacup in her hand. "What do you mean?"
His breath was a soft exhale from between his lips. "I know you've heard whispers, rumors if you will, of a list. Voldemort's list."
Her blood ran cold. The dreaded list.
"It is said that your life shall be spared," Remus said.
"And spared means imprisoned."
"That is not confirmed."
"What else could it mean?" She blurted frantically. "I'm not aligned with him. I've done nothing worthy of being spared. I'm all that they detest. Muggleborn, smart, defiant. Sparing my life is only logical if they have use of me which they have to know I shall resist. It is not a difficult leap to imprisonment."
Remus' lips sloped downward. Wrinkles curled around his frown. "There are things we are not seeing. A motive, perhaps. A goal that we do not understand."
"That won't help me sleep at night."
It was a rather harsh statement. She did not regret it. Her tone, however, was harder than it should have been. Remus was not an enemy, but an ally. Their discussion was not an argument.
She bit her lip.
"No." He sighed. "I suppose it does not."
He was silent again for a long time. It was so long that Hermione believed he dozed off.
"Of all the ones to choose," his voice alive through the air, "what was it that decided upon me?"
"So many Gryffindors in a group makes us rather rash and perhaps, a bit stupidly brave that we can be blinded by our nature to not see the side of reason," Hermione explained. "I thought you would let me explain myself." She sighed. She had to be honest with him. That was the least he deserved. "It would be a lie to say that your circumstance had no part in it."
His eyes moved slowly to her face. "Circumstance?"
She nodded. "What happened, after that night in Godric's Hollow. The suffering you endured for your friends. How alone you must have felt…It is how I feel. At least, I imagine it is. I will endure anything for my friends and for the Order. My life will be thrown down to save Harrys with no question to it. But, what happens if I'm not fast enough? What happens if they overrule us? I'm taken. Without my friends or family. Not a comfort in the world. What happens when the darkness rules this world? I'll be left with no one. Same as you. Only. There would be no hope of their return. Ever." She wiped the watery line of her eyes. "Either way, I'm on my own."
Alone. She did her best work on her own.
But alone was a stance she hated. Her against the world. She did not thrive on the idea of no support. It was just another sinking feeling of being singled out in a world that she did not truly belong to, like in the muggle world where she was a witch with powers and in the wizarding world where she was muggleborn and disadvantaged at every opportunity.
Hermione knew that the path she'd chosen was a lonely one, but just herself? She was not ready for that. Perhaps, that was the appeal of Draco Malfoy. It was not his beauty or his attention or the care he took. Draco was apart of a world she was bound to be latched to, whether she liked it or not. If she had one friend amongst a den of enemies, the time might not feel so depressing. Maybe, he would bring her comfort.
The night fell into a silence once more. It was early in the morning. The sound of Remus' chair the only sound throughout the house.
A deep sadness hit her chest. Her heart broke for the loss of the love of Draco. She was not in love. It was her protecting herself. Her mind had riddled out a problem and sought the next possible solution that would make it less troubling. How had she done that?
All again her vision turned cloudy with color. Her nose started to drip. She was overcome with the sharp wave of heartbreak.
She wanted to be alone.
Her hands set down the tea. Only a soft clink of the porcelain as it hit the wood. "Thanks for the tea," her lips murmured. Its strength was smaller than the boards under foot.
Remus hardly acknowledged her at all as he rocked. His hum the only reply.
She exited the room, careful not to disturb the peace, and once the door was latched behind, she ran through the dark halls up to her room and locked the door behind her. Her breath rattled out her chest. Each breath hurt. The burn in her throat watered her eyes and flared her nostrils.
Her back pressed against the door. The course wood poked through the loose weave of her jumper to the bones of her spine. Tears overwhelmed her. They spilled down in silence. The breaths of her roommate the only sound that filled her ears.
Somehow, Hermione was able to crawl beneath her blankets and find rest. She rose in the morning with a bright sun igniting the room. It was a room that Ginny and Hermione shared within Grimmauld Place when they visited. Sirius offered them a bigger guest room fitted with two double beds, a personal fireplace, an attached loo.
The wall paneling was of rich wood. Each panel was lined with white trim boards. The silk drapes were thrown wide open. It mattered not. Each mattress was encompassed in bed curtains of thick brown. Hermione and Ginny left their beds in open air. It eased the flow of sunlight in the mornings, which helped them both rise.
There were few things ever updated within the wizarding world. All too often styles were the same as they had been for a century. It was a difficult sensation to shake when laid beneath a comforter that was bound to have scores of wizards and witches sleep beneath it.
Sirius had done one thing to update the room. New sheets. Of course, they were a blaring statement of brown and beige, fitted to the room, however the cheetah animal print was more suited of a different room statement. The girls had laughed when Mrs. Weasley's eyes bulged when she spied the sheets. Her lips mumbled something to Sirius of appreciation, but her face said otherwise.
Hermione rolled onto her other side in search of a coolness in her pillow. On the other bed was a crossed legged Ginny. Her face was speckled with green. The witch had a book within her hands as she waited for the face mask to set.
Her eyes sped through the page. An entire page was devoured in no time.
"A Witches Guide to Quidditch Playing?" Her eyes were rubbed vigorously. She thought she had misread the title. "Gin, what in Godric's name are you reading that for? You know how to play Quidditch. Better than most."
Ginny frowned and placed the book aside. "Just thought I'd see what it had to say."
Godric, Hermione's eyes burned. She blinked many times to bring moisture to their dry bodies. All her tears were cried out last night.
She rose in her bed. "Does this have to do with you replacing Harry on the team?"
Her friend continued to frown. That was not something ever associated with the witch. She was a confident witch, strong and unyielding in the face of a challenge.
Hermione pulled her legs from the sheets and slid onto the floor. Her feet traipsed over toward Ginny. She held her friend in a side hug.
"You'll be brilliant," she reassured her.
"One mistake, and they'll boo from the stands," Ginny said. "They'll compare me to Harry. Every move I make will be subpar to what he could have done. It will never be about my skill."
They faced each other, crossed legged.
Ginny wore her oversized T-shirt as a nightdress with only some boy short knickers beneath. The bare of her legs exposed the bruises from practice. The house team had lots of training to do since Harry and the twin's expulsion from the game.
It did not bode well for Gryffindor's Quidditch season. After personally seeing the fluidity of Slytherin's team in practice, there was little that would match them. Especially without Harry there.
But it was not Ginny Weasley's fault. She did not get Harry kicked out of Quidditch.
Draco did. Well, Harry did too for being so hot-headed. Derogatory comment or not, Harry should have known better. For Merlin's sake, loads of people saw it happen!
"You've been sneaking out and stealing your brother's brooms to fly as long as you can remember. You've loved the game even longer than Harry. There is little you cannot do. You never let any challenge stop you before."
One finger started scratching at the dried face mask. Ginny was a nervous picker. She'd itch and scratch and bother anything when she was anxious, but it happened so rarely, that it was noticeable.
Hermione bit her bottom lip. Her advice did not seem to help soothe the anxiety.
She tapped the book. "Did you find anything good?"
Ginny's face instantly curled in distaste. "Not unless 'follow male leadership. Their experience and prowess within the game harbors much needed information that witches simply don't have' is good." She flung the book to the floorboards. "It's hopeless. I'm never going to be able to do this."
Horrified at such a terrible, awful book, Hermione's mind reeled with frustration. How could they market such filth in the realms of knowledge? Was nothing sacred?
Of course, then she was reminded of what truly mattered. Her friend needed help. She wanted to have her own spot on the team that was not overshadowed by Harry's ejection.
To say it was an easy task was an understatement. Gryffindor still grieved for the loss of three really good players.
"Why don't you ask Harry?" Hermione offered with a smile.
Ginny grimaced. "I'd rather not."
"No. Honestly. You should ask him. Only he knows the pressure of the position. And if you work with Harry, perhaps have him out there on the Pitch as you learn how to play with the team, everyone else will feel like they have his support. That might make things meld easier."
"But I don't need his support to be on the team! And I shouldn't need it to be accepted."
"I agree," Hermione said softly. "But there are few options. It's either do it on your own and to hell with what the stands have to say, which I say is an excellent choice because they aren't the ones flying on the brooms, are they? Or, you have Harry give you some pointers and help you integrate into the team, which is also a good option because he's had many seasons to work with the team. You're thrown in mid-season to cover for him without all the practice he's had. It's going to be tough."
It was a time that Ginny thought quietly. The choice was rather large.
Hermione understood that it was a question of integrity and pride. As a witch, she fully supported Ginny's wish to do it herself. There was strength within a witch to do just as the wizards did on the brooms. But part of her realized it wasn't necessarily about being a witch. It was the fact that the whole team practiced with Harry. They were a team. Throwing someone new into the mix without any warning was a difficult change in team dynamics. There were witches on the team bound to coarsely clash with Ginny on the sole idea that she did not belong.
Ginny fell back atop the mattress. "Perhaps you're right."
Hermione rubbed Ginny's knee in comfort. "I'm sorry. At least Harry is your friend. He'll help you if you ask."
"When did everything get so difficult?" Ginny groaned.
Hermione echoed a hollow laugh. "I know, right?"
It was quiet for a time between the girls. They awaited the sounds of the house to echo with life. Breakfast was only served once in Grimmauld Place so it was done at a time when the late risers were finally awake.
There was still a silence that creapt through the halls. Ron and Harry were bound to be sleeping. As were the twins.
The soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen sounded like Mrs. Weasley. It was possible she fussed with the elves over some matter. She was a witch that was used to running her own household without outside help. No matter how much Sirius assured her that the elves would handle any request made, Mrs. Weasley preferred to do it herself.
Hermione watched the world move on outside the bright window. It overlooked the streets of muggle London. People so happy, so oblivious to the world that was right in front of them. If they only knew what danger lurked…
"Scourify." Ginny held the wand to her face. All of a sudden, the bits of green mask were peeled from her skin and vanquished to someplace else.
They sat a little while longer in silence before it got the better of Ginny. She sat up from the bed with a curious look on her face.
"Have you gotten another one of your massive headaches?"
Hermione got tense at the question that required her to lie. "None."
"That's good." The witch ran her fingers through the flat red strands of her hair. "Has Malfoy crawled back to you yet? You know he's going to. It's practically been killing him to stay away. You can just see it in his eyes."
She casted a doubtful gaze. "And when do you ever see his eyes?"
"In the Great Hall. You know he sits in line with us so he can see you." When Hermione made no effort to reply, the witch continued, "Did you tell him? Is that why you got that headache? Because you two fought?"
No matter how hard Hermione made the desire to not talk about it known, the harder Ginny pressed.
It was only natural to be curious. Hermione had told Ginny that she loved Draco and then Hermione was laid up in hospital with a migraine and stopped seeing him all together. That was enough to put it together.
Harry and Ron just guessed that Draco was mean enough to drive her away. Like that was possible. How could he be any meaner than he had been in years past?
"He apologized," Hermione stated. "That's all."
"So what does that mean? Does he love you back?"
Good question, Gin. Please ask him.
"He's a complicated wizard, Ginny. He doesn't express himself like that."
A swift derisive snort was made from the redhead's nose. "Oh, yes. I know Malfoy to be a silent contemplative type."
Hermione could not help but chuckle. "I just meant that he shows how much he cares in actions, not words. We sat on the Hogwarts Express back to London together."
"What?" Ginny's mouth fell open.
"I sat on his lap – "
"What?"
"In the Slytherin car," Hermione finished.
Ginny was so overwhelmed with the news that she sat with her mouth open, wide-eyed, and totally aghast at what to say. Her hands hovered in the air, in question.
It took several long moments for the witch to recover.
"Did my mind just stroke off for a minute or did you say that you sat in the Slytherin car, with all the other Slytherins, with Draco Malfoy, on his lap?"
Bashfully, Hermione shielded her face from her friend's gaze. "No. You heard correct."
"Oh My Godric! This is huge." Ginny grabbed Hermione's wrists. "How could you not tell me this? This is so huge. I can't even think."
"Swear you won't tell Ron or Harry."
"Witch, like you even have to say that. You know I won't." Ginny gave a warning look. "Now, what's the plan?"
Hermione blinked. "Plan?"
"Yeah, your plan. You've got to have a plan," Ginny said. "You aren't going to stay in his group of friends forever, are you? You've got to get him over to the Gryffindors. You know. Where you belong."
Her flesh sensed the rising tension. She expected it to come. Gooseflesh puckered her skin as a lump rose higher and higher in her throat.
What could she say? It hurt to lie to her best friend. Godric, how she hated it. She hated herself for it.
"It's too early to think about stuff like that," she said with the most forced tone of normalcy as she ever managed. "We need to figure things out first before we think about that."
"He's got to be scared out of his mind now that he knows he's liked you all these years." Ginny chuckled. "Merlin, I wish I could have seen his face. Was he horrified?"
Hermione's jaw fell slack. "Ginevra Weasley!"
"Not that it's a bad thing. I just warrant it's a bit of a shock to hate someone then find out all the while, it wasn't hate." Ginny fell quiet. She smiled about something, clearly delighted. "Does this mean that he's going to turn to the light? I mean, he's got to, right?"
That was exactly what she wanted to avoid. How could she answer that without poising the possibility that it might not happen like that?
She swallowed that lump down. Her nerves could not rule her.
"Actually, we don't talk about things like that."
Her friend's body snapped to attention, a sudden rigidness throughout her limbs in the blink of an eye. "What?"
"It's not like we talk about Voldemort or the war. Godric, we'd only fight then."
"So he's still…dark?"
"He might be." Hermione shrugged, unable to meet her friend's eye. "I don't doubt he is."
Ginny grabbed hold of Hemione's hand. "How? How can that be? How can he love you and still be what he is?"
"I don't know. Really, I don't." She put her face in her hands uncertain if it was the weight of the world that rested there or just her mind. "He did all this for a reason. There is something he knows that makes him protective. No wizard is widely protective for no reason. He's got to know something. A plot, perhaps, to compromise my safety?"
Ginny grabbed hold of Hemione's shoulders and wretched them back at forth like a shaken vending machine. Hermione felt her brain literally hit the insides of her skull.
"Your mind isn't letting you see the truth, Hermione. You're all wrapped up in logic and rational that you are incapable of seeing the truth. The wizard has been in love with you for years," Ginny said loudly. "It was only last term when everyone noticed your smokin' hot bod next to Viktor 'Prince Charming' Krum's that wizards started to notice. He laid claim over you and protect that claim so that no one else climbs up in there before him."
That. Was. Ridiculous.
"It cannot be that simple." Hermione shook her head.
The witch in front of her face nodded. "It really is."
"No. There's got to be more. Some plot. Something that encouraged him. Wizards always have motivating factors."
"Yeah, it's called a cock," Ginny said.
"He's a complex wizard!"
"He's a wizard."
Hermione wagged a finger. Her mind had the clarification that would make all the difference. "He's a Slytherin. Simple plots are not their style. They love long, elaborate, purposeful actions. He wouldn't risk his life and the entire fortune in those vaults for a witch. He's got the entire world to choose from."
"Clearly you don't know what kind of witch you are." Ginny raised a brow. "Face it, Mione. He's hooked on you. The only reason he chose to do anything about it is because he knew that it wouldn't be long before some other wizard started thinking the way he's been thinking since first year."