Chapter Thirty

Phil tried his best, he really did.

He stood a pace behind Draco as they made their way to the office, and although Phil was quiet and allowed Draco time to think, Draco could still feel the boy's eyes on the back of his neck and it distracted him.

"Phil," Draco intoned. "Please."

"Sorry, Draco, it's just—"

"A meeting between a former Death Eater and a woman who fought tooth and nail to end not only one, but two wars against You-Know-Who in which said former Death Eater must somehow convince her that he wasn't involved in the assault of one of the the Golden Trio despite years and bloody years of trying to get them killed?"

"Oh, well, not quite how I'd put it, but there is that," Phil said anxiously. There was a pause, then, "I mean you are being rather hard on yourself. You did do the right thing."

Draco knew this, he did but would McGonagall see it that way? Would she understand that a man can change, that he could actually care about… He shook his head. "We'll see," was all Draco said in answer.

xXx

Headmistress McGonagall sat behind her desk, glasses perched at the end of her nose, lined face set to the utmost sternness. She looked hard and unmoving and Draco felt dread like cold fingers along his spine.

She stood, gesturing to the seats in front of her desk, three as if she somehow knew how many people Draco would bring with him. "Draco, Phil and ah, Miss Syliva, please have a seat." She sat and removed her glasses, sighing as she pinned them all with that look of hers. "Unfortunate that we must meet under such circumstances, but I have been informed of last night's events and have been led to believe that you three may be involved in some capacity."

When she said nothing else Draco took that to mean they should speak. "Yes," he began, and despite everything in him that fought against it, he fidgeted. "Hermione, I mean, Blaise...that is, he, well he…" His words felt like wool in his throat, gathering and clumping together until it was hard to know which ones to speak first.

"Blaise assaulted Granger last night," Sylvia cut in, to Draco's surprise, her statement harsh with emotion. "I was there at the Hog's Head when she walked in looking... lost." She straightened, tossing her hair and putting on airs, most likely to bolster herself, Draco thought, as he watched her speak. "She had a few shots of Firewhiskey and so did Blaise. I walked away because Blaise was being a right—" she stopped herself, remembering where she was and to whom she was speaking. She looked up at McGonagall sheepishly, but the Headmistress only nodded for her to continue. "Next thing I knew, Blaise was practically dragging her from the bar."

"You did nothing to stop him?" McGonagall questioned, not unkindly, but Sylvia flinched at the implied accusation.

"How was I to know he would try to… to—" She gestured into the air, unable to finish her sentence.

McGonagall's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, but then she turned her gaze to Draco and Phil. "And where do you two come into this?"

Draco spoke up. "I must have come into the bar shortly after they left. Sylvia was there and so was Phil. Eventually Sylvia got around to telling me that Blaise left with Granger." Here Draco couldn't keep the annoyance from his voice. It still galled him that she hadn't said something about it immediately, or thought to question it herself, a feeling he and McGonagall apparently shared. "I went after them soon after. Phil came with me. I heard a blast, some yelling, and that's when I found them." Unwittingly, Draco fell silent, his thoughts spiralling back to last night, the way his chest had seized at the sight before him: a small figure trapped beneath a large angry one. Struggling, hissed words.

Phil jumped in when Draco didn't continue, his eyes casting worried looks at Draco. "Blaise was atop Granger and they were fighting. Blaise had her pinned there, she couldn't get up. I think he had her wand too. Draco ran over and got Blaise off her. They fought and, um, yeah, they cast at each other. Blaise ended up knocked out, I don't know how. We got Hermione out of there," he finished, then added, for reasons Draco was unsure of, "I gave her my robe."

"What exactly did you cast at Mr. Zabini?" McGonagall asked, her aged hands folding and unfolding on her desk. "He's still alive, so nothing too grave."

Draco only just stopped himself from saying that he wished it had been something a little more long lasting. "A stunner," he began, then continued a bit sheepishly, "or two, a tripping jinx, Congfringo, Petrificus Totalus—but that missed—a stinging hex. I think it was the Bombarda that took him out, though it only clipped him. Then I may have excessively stunned him." He grimaced at the way McGonagall was looking at him. "Just to make sure," he clarified.

"Hogwarts," McGonagall began after a pause, her voice tight, "has not ever, nor will it ever, condone fighting amongst its students. And to think, all of you 8th years! I do not know what caused this fight but I am deeply disappointed that I should have to summon you like a group of 1st years to reprimand you on the proper etiquette of an eighth year student. You have set a poor example for those of younger years who look up to you, and I will not stand for it. Fifty points from each of you," she stated fiercely.

Sylvia gasped and Phil's mouth fell open.

"But Headmistress, that's 150 points!"

"And I've barely done anything!" Sylvia protested.

"Be grateful that it isn't more!" McGonagall retorted, undeterred.

Draco felt himself going numb as McGonagall spoke, her words poking at something he'd suppressed deep inside of himself, something that whispered to him that he could never change. No matter what he did, or how much he tried to be someone better than 13 year old Draco Malfoy following blindly in his father's footsteps, he would find himself right back here: looked down upon by his betters. It hurt. It hurt more than he could say, more than he could possibly put to words. He would always be the same arrogant, selfish, foul, loathsome, evil little—

"And yet…" Spoken gently, Minerva's words brought their attention back to her. "It cannot be denied that without the interference of you three the events of last night would certainly have proceeded into the unthinkable, and for that you must be commended." She brought in a deep breath, thin frame expanding before she continued. "200 points," she gave them all a look, "to Slytherin, for helping a friend in need."

They sat in shocked silence; even Draco had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping.

"50 more points to each of you, for integrity," she finished, and for the first time since Draco had entered the office, she smiled. It was small and stiff, but there nonetheless.

"That means the same thing—oof!" Phil whispered, cut off by a pragmatic elbow to the stomach from Sylvia. Draco shot him a glare.

McGonagall chose to ignore him. "Is there anything more that any of you would like to share?"

Draco hesitated then continued. "Headmistress," he said gently, self-conscious of what he was about to say next. "I just wanted to apologize for what happened. I should have kept an eye on Blaise, he's been acting strangely for a while now and—"

McGonagall raised a hand, effectively silencing Draco. "Mister Malfoy," she said kindly, placing her glasses back on the edge of her nose and peering at him over them. "Mister Zabini is the only person accountable for his actions last night, and no one else. I understand that you feel responsible, but none of us can control the actions of others, try as we might. Perhaps you remember a certain Potions Master?"

Draco didn't mention that, in the end, Severus had done the right thing. "I suppose you're right," he acquiesced.

"If that is all," she paused, giving them time to interject, and when no one did she continued. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

They all stood to leave, looking at each other as if they'd just escaped a sentence to Azkaban by the skin of their teeth.

"Oh and do arrive on time for detention, Monday," McGonagall called after them. When they turned to look at her, she clarified. "One week. That is all." They were dismissed.

None of them said anything for a while as they made their way to the common room. Phil was the first to speak.

"A week's detention and 200 points to Slytherin. I don't know whether to be upset or elated," he said, sounding bewildered.

"Par for the course for McGonagall, I think," Draco said, feeling lighter than he had in days. "I say don't look a gift niffler in the mouth." He patted Phil on the back.

"I wonder what she'll do with Blaise?" Sylvia pondered absently.

"Oh, expulsion for sure," Phil supplied, unaware of the look Sylvia shot him. "If he's lucky."

"No," Draco said dryly. "His mother would never allow it." He thought of his father and how he would have handled it. Blackmail certainly, and a guilt trip big enough to choke on.

"I can't imagine the Headmistress would allow him to get away with what he's done," Phil said doubtfully.

"I didn't say he would get away with it, not with McGonagall's steadfast sense of Gryffindor justice. He just won't be expelled," Draco explained.

Neither of his two companions seemed sure about his judgement, but if Draco knew one thing it was how Blaise's mother worked.

xXx

Minerva McGonagall sat in her office, fingers pressed into her eyes under her glasses as she thought of what she had to do next: deal with Blaise Zabini's mother. Any other student, any other house, even, would have caused much less trouble for her than that of Zabini's mother. Once she would have thought the same of Malfoy's parents, but with Lucius still licking his wounds after such a spectacular and extraordinarily public defeat, and Narcissa trying her best to hold her family together, they were no longer the threat they used to be. Although she would be loath to test it, and Draco Malfoy had changed so much that McGonagall would be very much surprised to find him in trouble that had been of his own doing. Not something she would want to test either, mind. Draco was a clever boy, if his past revealed nothing else about him, and it would be a wonder to see what he accomplished now that he had turned his energy to something more positive.

Done lamenting, Minerva pulled a sheaf of parchment towards her and pulled her sensible raven quill from where it rested in her ink pot, and began writing out the letter that would summon the Zabini's to her school.

xXx

Blaise woke with a massive headache.

His body hurt all over and his mouth was dry as McGonagall's-ouch! Blaise poked at the teeth in the back of his mouth, feeling a few wiggle in their sockets. He peeled himself off of the cobblestones—how did he get there?—and cringed as pain shot up and down his spine. Everything tasted of long nights and blood. Stale.

Suddenly everything came back to him.

The shots. Granger. Draco.

Shite, and double shite.

It was still dark which was a small mercy. At least he wouldn't have to limp back to the school in full daylight. He wiggled his toes, flexed his legs, and found them still working although everything buzzed, probably the residual magic from the duel with Draco. Oh Merlin, Draco. Of all of the things Blaise had done over the years he had never crossed such a huge line. He wasn't sure he could just brush over this one with his usual blasé attitude. He knew what Draco felt for Granger, knew that he was trying to change his image and it seemed that Blaise's schoolboy antics had gone a bit too far. Even now he could feel the rift between them stretching wide and black.

A new pain blossomed inside him, one far more painful than all of his physical ones. Images spanned out before him of he and Draco together, taunting students, laughing in potions, in the commons. Years and years spent swaggering about the halls of Hogwarts, turning up their noses at any and everyone. Contrasting each other, complementing each other; dark and smouldering, pale and cutting. The Yin and Yang of Slytherin house. And the gods, if there were any, must have been laughing at him even then, knowing how true their colours would wear them as time spun itself loose. Here he sat, nursing his wounds, while Draco… while Draco would come out on top.

And that was just the thing, wasn't it, with Draco? Somehow he always had the upper hand. Even Potter, Draco's enemy in all things, had seen something worth saving. He had pulled Draco out of that Fiendfyre while Blaise scrambled like a rat to escape Hogwarts and the Carrows. Then there was Granger who had punched him so stunningly in third year, who was destined to marry that annoying weasel Ron, had also seen something in Draco worth pursuing. So much so that they'd had a break up over it. Well, not necessarily solely over Draco, but he had been the catalyst. Draco was different with her, someone Blaise had not known could exist inside of the Ice Prince of Slytherin. He was gentle with her, actually looked at her, cared for her in a way that he had never cared for his friends, never cared for Blaise.

A thought rocked through him swiftly and terrible. A thought that squeezed the breath from his lungs and made him grow dizzy and faint.

Blaise cared for Draco.

To most that would seem obvious, but to Blaise it was not. His family, if you could call it that, consisted of him and his mother and, of course, her many husbands, most of which had been in and out of Blaise's life before he could truly get to know them. His mother had raised him to be strong and confident and conniving. She had taught him how to manipulate people so subtly that it was undetectable. That had been their relationship; manipulation. Love had never been an element Blaise was comfortable with, which explained the long list of girls he'd played with and discarded over the years. All of them had been whims, a way to scratch an itch or further an objective, whether that be to move along a scheme he'd set into motion or simply to satisfy his needs as a man.

Most Slytherins never had friends as others understood the word. Friends to Slytherins were as much pawns as anything else. Draco had been that; a way to gain prestige and popularity and the threat to back it all up without Blaise himself ever having to lift a finger. Or so he'd thought. When had Draco crossed over into an actual friend in Blaise's mind? Perhaps after the war when they'd owled each other, sad and depressed over their lot in the war. They'd shared a hurt that few could understand. Mostly it had been Draco who had expressed his concerns to Blaise and maybe that exchange had changed things for Blaise. But Blaise had not escaped the war unfazed. The same link that allowed Blaise to wield power over the school was the same link that had cast him in with the Death Eaters despite having never sworn allegiance. He felt the backlash just as strongly, if not more so for the fact that he hadn't really done anything wrong.

When he'd returned to school, angry and hurt and obstinate over his lot, he had expected much the same to be true for Draco. It had been, for a while. Watching Draco bullied by the school, scorned and spat at, had given Blaise the strength he'd needed to continue on, to defend his schoolmate against what seemed the world at large. Only to be judged and found wanting by that same friend as he sought salvation in the form of Granger. Only to be constantly dismissed and looked down upon in the same way that he and Draco had together looked down their noses at everyone else whenever they'd said or done something incredibly daft.

To be on the receiving end of that look felt like a grave betrayal, one that Blaise struggled to understand. So, it was no wonder that Blaise had come for Granger, who'd stolen his friend from him, his only true friend when all was said and done. Swooping in like a saviour on a broomstick to pluck Draco right out of Blaise's hands. It was a wonder that he was only just now beginning to understand why he'd felt so distanced from Draco and so resentful of Granger.

Finally, when he could breathe again, Blaise stood, legs shaky beneath him. He found his wand at the mouth of the ally, half in shadow, half bathed in moonlight. It was severely battered but not broken. It juttered in his hand as he did his best to clean himself up, but that was due more to his emotions running wild than anything else.

His trek back to Hogwarts was the longest of his life.

He wasn't surprised to see Draco's desk and armoire cleared when he finally arrived back at their dorm. The armoire doors were open, a grim sort of smile that seemed to mock him. Another blow that sapped what little energy he had left. He collapsed on his bed, barely able to spell the curtains closed around him before he passed out.

xXx

The next morning Blaise showered and healed his wounds as best he could. He refused to visit the infirmary, partly because he didn't want to risk bumping into Granger or any of her friends, and partly as punishment for what he'd done. He was no masochist but even he knew he deserved to simmer for a bit in the results of his behaviour. He was filled with regret. Sad to say it had much less to do with the damage to Granger and much more to do with just how royally he'd messed things up with Draco. And in the light of his new revelation… well. He made his way to breakfast and ignored everyone, which was not out of the usual for Blaise. What was strange was the fact that he ignored Draco, too. He forced himself to eat a little, before he allowed himself to look down the table at Draco. The anger he saw in those grey eyes caused him to choke on his pumpkin juice, but before anything could come of it Draco received a letter. A summons to the Headmistress, Blaise guessed, and he held his breath waiting for his letter to arrive. Nothing came. Blaise didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

It turned out he did not have to wait too much longer.

#

He should not have been surprised to see his mother waiting for him in McGongall's office that evening, the latest and longest lasting husband, a Frenchman named Cyrille Choffard whose skin was as dark as his mother's and whose wardrobe was extensive and exaggerated almost beyond anything one could call fashion, a step behind her. Today he had opted for something more muted for the occasion.

"Blaise," she said mellifluously, as she held out her hand for him to kiss.

He obliged, stifling the shiver that threatened to run down his spine. Blaise was afraid of his mother. It was no secret that all of her previous husbands had died under 'mysterious circumstances', and although the threat was never overtly spoken aloud between him and his mother, it was there, dangling above his head and poised to strike if ever he should displease her. The Zabini's had always toed the line between good and evil, as the terms stood, playing a long game of neutrality that at times became difficult to tread. Yet still neither of them had been convicted of anything, or even questioned unduly, and his mother somehow managed to convince men to wed her despite her reputation. It was no quandary to Blaise. Suadia Zabini was beautiful, foremost, and could sell water to a mermaid if she set her mind to it. She played well her role as the despondent, luckless, widow of seven.

"What have you been up to my sweet?" Mrs. Zabini turned her dark gaze to Minvera and affected a gentle frown. The skin between her eyebrows barely wrinkled at all. "I was in the middle of concluding a very singular and expensive art trade. When I received your letter I had to drop everything, no doubt guaranteeing that I'd never gain an audience with that man again," she finished, her voice tipping up in pitch in a manner that only the arrogant and wealthy seem to be able to achieve.

Minerva gestured for everyone to sit, and took her seat behind her large desk. "I assure you Mrs. Zabini-Choffard-"

"Zabini will do," Blaise's mother interrupted with a smile and a gracious nod of her head.

"I assure you, Mrs. Zabini," McGonagall began again, an edge to her voice, "That the matter cannot be delayed and is of the utmost consequence. Your son assaulted a student last night during a Hogsmeade visit and had to be restrained by his fellow students to prevent further damage."

A puff of incredulous air escaped Blaise, and his mother looked at him, eyebrow quirked. They said nothing but Blaise understood his mother and so silently acknowledged with gaze alone how they would play the situation.

McGonagall continued. "Said student had to be seen by our Matron to insure her health. Saying nothing for what mental damage may have been caused by the encounter," she finished, tone clipped and righteous.

Saudia took a moment to compose herself, blinking rapidly in shock, though Blaise knew better. Her hand lifted to the tender line of her throat, fingers grazing the large amethyst that hung there. "I must say I am rather at a loss for words," she murmured.

Minerva looked unconvinced. "You understand that Hogwarts does not condone such behaviour in its halls and serious action must be taken, and quickly."

"Blaise will of course serve as much detention as you see fit, with no complaints—" Mrs. Zabini began, but she was cut off by McGonagall.

"Detention?" McGonagall said incredulously, her Scottish accent causing the word to lilt up harshly in register. "Mrs. Zabini, a year's worth of detention would not suffice to account for Mr. Zabini's actions last night," she continued sternly. "Detentions are reserved for minor transgressions. Talking back to a teacher is worthy of detention. Spreading a nasty rumour is worthy of detention. What we are discussing here is assault."

Saudia Zabini straightened in her chair, her eyes boring into McGonagall's over the desk. "What are you suggesting, Headmistress?" she asked cooly.

"Expulsion, and nothing less," Minerva said without hesitation, despite the look Mrs. Zabini was giving her. Blaise had seen many people quail before that look, yet McGonagall sat unmoving as stone. Blaise was impressed despite himself.

"Now, now that just won't do," Saudia said with a gentle smile, not unlike the one she'd given Blaise earlier.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think you have any grounds to determine whether or not-" McGonagall began, but Mrs. Zabini spoke over her.

"Did Draco Malfoy receive a detention?" she asked silkily, her brows lifted slightly.

Minerva sat unspeaking, shocked that Saudia knew more than she had expected. Really, she shouldn't be surprised in the least. Saudia Zabini had not garnered much attention during her time at Hogwarts but one could not miss the way her house flocked around her. And there were all seven of those husbands who had died so suddenly, bequeathing hundreds of galleons to her upon their untimely demise. There was more to Saudia than met the eye. "The fate of Draco Malfoy and any other student is not up for discussion," Minerva said tightly.

"I'll take that as a no," Mrs. Zabini said confidently. "Why, if I were to visit the Slytherin dorm at this moment, which is my right, not only as an esteemed alumni of Hogwarts, but as a patron who has made many substantial donations towards the wellbeing of the school, I'm sure I would find him tucked away in the commons enjoying his time freely." She turned to Blaise, reaching across Choffard to touch his hand. "Have you seen Mr. Malfoy recently today?"

Blaise had, in fact, seen Draco just before he'd been summoned to the Headmistress' office. It was only a glance, Draco entering his new dorm with Phil right behind him like some simpering lackey, but Blaise had seen him. "Yes, mother. He was in his dorm actually, laughing it up with Philip." So what if he'd embellished the truth a bit. Who was here to gainsay him?

"Ah," Mrs. Zabini turned back to Minerva. "I have it on good authority that he too was involved in last night's debacle. Tell me, Minerva, does Hogwarts allow its students to duel amongst each other at no consequence? My son could have been seriously injured. Allowing students to meander through Hogsmeade unsupervised, drinking, and doing Merlin knows what with no one to keep an eye on them seems like a grievous oversight." Saudia shook her head, tisking admonishingly at the Headmistress, whose face was lined with anger. "It would be a shame if the Prophet were to find out about it."

"Are you threatening me, Mrs. Zabini?" Minerva rallied, her jaw working as her eyebrows shot up on her forehead, creating an alarming amount of wrinkles in Blaise's opinion.

"I wouldn't dare," Mrs. Zabini replied smoothly. "It just strikes me as…" She took a deep breath, searching for the right word. "Inequitable. Discriminatory even, to single out my Blaise for what he's done and not apply the same heavy handed discipline to everyone involved."

Minerva nearly scoffed. "Heavy handed—Mrs. Zabini, your son—"

"Has done no worse than Draco Malfoy. You said yourself that the girl is fine—"

"I said nothing of the sort—"

"And so I see no need to overemphasize his part in this matter disproportionately," Mrs. Zabini finished, with a lift of one shoulder.

The silence that followed was charged and heavy. Choffard shifted in his seat and Blaise saw his mother's hand come to rest on his thigh, nails just barely digging into the fabric in warning.

"What I mean to say, Headmistress," Saudia spoke up when McGonagall seemed unable to respond. "Is that I'm sure we can come to a compromise without dragging in the press or uprooting my son from a place I'm sure he has come to see as a second home." Blaise could tell she was winding up for a final blow by the curve of her smile, the tilt of her head. "Besides," she continued, sugar sweet, "I'm sure that lovely programme for the homeless and orphaned you've been petitioning Gringotts to fund could use a few galleons to get it up and running, don't you think? The goblins don't seem too keen on budging on the matter as far as I can tell."

Blaise knew from the look on McGonagall's face that his mother had won.

Blaise would not be expelled from Hogwarts. At least, not today.

xXx

Hermione gripped her fork tightly at the sight of Blaise Zabini sauntering in to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ginny looked over at her with concern, eyes flickering between Hermione and the far end of the room where the Slytherins were seated, her hand coming up to rest reassuringly on Hermione's back. Hermione could feel anxiety wash over her, along with confusion and some resentment that no one immediately jumped up and yelled "Get out of here, you awful, vile, traitorous bastard!" when Blaise took a seat and calmly started eating. Granted, Hermione hadn't told more than Madam Pomfrey, Ginny, and Draco about last night's events, but she still felt as if everyone must know.

"What's he doing here?" Ginny hissed, voicing Hermione's thoughts into her ear, glaring across the room to where Blaise was nonchalantly salting his eggs. He'd obviously done the same thing Hermione had, and tried to heal himself with magic before making an appearance in public, but she hadn't seen him near the hospital wing during her time there, so either he'd gone to the matron later in the night and she'd turned him away, or he'd not gone at all, and instead tried to hide the evidence as best he could himself. He'd done a half-way decent job, but he was no Madam Pomfrey, and bruises still showed here and there.

Hermione was about to answer when she noticed Malfoy and two of his friends stand up and begin to make their way toward the doors of the hall. An owl had come in a few minutes ago and dropped onto the Slytherin table near where Malfoy had been sitting, but Hermione had thought nothing of it until now. It was obvious to her what was going on now, considering that it was Phil and Sylvia who followed Draco from the room. They'd been summoned. Hermione knew that an owl must be winging its way toward her soon too, and scanned the vaulted ceiling as covertly as she could while trying to force down some toast and a half-cold cup of tea.

"Probably been ordered to the headmistress for a dressing down," a jeering voice muttered behind Hermione, and she turned on the bench to see who had spoken. Micheal Corner was giving her an odd look from his spot at the Ravenclaw table: a condescending smirk mixed with something like pity, though there was no concern in his expression as he continued. "And then likely expulsion."

Hermione frowned, confused. Blaise didn't look like he was headed anywhere. Then she realized Micheal must be talking about Malfoy. "Whatever it is you think you know, Micheal," Hermione retorted with as much dignity as she could muster, "you're wrong again. Just like you were last night."

Micheal snorted, rolling his eyes. "Haven't you heard what everyone's saying, Granger?" he sneered at her. "Malfoy got into some huge fight last night. Apparently over some girl. Curses were flying, along with barbaric rolling around in the dirt." He paused, studying her face with a practiced contempt. "I guess you weren't enough for him if he was duelling over some skirt in Hogsmeade. Apparently he's not as much of a gentleman as you keep trying to make everyone believe." He eyed her beadily, curling his lip. "Once a snake, always a snake. And I for one plan to crush the head of that one with my heel at the first opportunity."

Hermione turned away. She'd known rumours would be flying by the time she came down to breakfast, there was no way all of last night's events would have remained secret, not with the way she'd acted in the bar, with Sylvia there to whisper and gossip about it after she left, not with the spells flying in the alley, and especially not with the way Draco had carried her down the street, wrapped in Phil's cloak, battered and distraught. But somehow she'd not expected people to blame Draco, when Blaise was so clearly the one at fault.

The next fifteen minutes passed slowly, as Hermione tried to focus on eating and unsuccessfully ignore the whispers around her. She heard her name batted around, some people saying they thought they'd seen her near Malfoy that evening, and maybe she knew what had happened, others saying that they'd heard she'd been right in the middle of things, and still others commenting that they'd heard her yelling at Micheal (those comments earned the speaker a tight smile from Hermione, who didn't care at all if people were gossiping about her giving the jumped up Ravenclaw a dressing down), but the fact that no one seemed to be calling out Blaise chilled her.

Just then a fluttering sounded overhead, and fluffy, young owl plopped down onto the table between Hermione and Ginny's goblets of pumpkin juice. It hopped toward Hermione and proffered a small, scaly leg with a scroll tied to it. Hermione removed it with trembling fingers and read it quickly, glancing at Ginny when she was finished.

"McGonagall wants to see me," she whispered, feeling the trembling in her fingers begin to spread to the rest of her body. She really didn't want to recount last night's events again, even though she knew she must.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Ginny offered, starting to rise next to Hermione, and Hermione nodded gratefully, reaching for her bag. It was the weekend, but she'd planned to spend the day in the library, working on an essay in some corner far away from the watchful eyes and gossiping mouths of her classmates, and hoped that this meeting wouldn't take too long.

Striding down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, Hermione held her head high, looking straight ahead, and only letting out the breath she held when she and Ginny reached the empty entrance hall. The walk to the headmistress's office was a silent one, and Hermione was relieved that they hadn't run into anyone along the way. She'd been avoiding Harry, and especially Ron, afraid of how to explain things to either of them, not to mention worried about how they'd react. Harry had just been starting to see that not all Slytherins were bad people, and Ron… well, Merlin only knew how he'd react. Lost in thought, Hermione pulled up short in front of the familiar stone gargoyle.

"Catnip," Ginny said quietly, reciting the password McGonagall had listed at the bottom of her message, and the gargoyle moved aside with the grating sound of stone against stone, revealing the spiral staircase the lead up to the office.

Hermione lifted a hand to the griffin door knocker and gave a short rap; a moment later came the smooth, Scottish voice of Professor McGonagall calling "Enter!", and the girls made their way inside the large, round room. McGonagall didn't look at all surprised to see Ginny hovering next to Hermione, and simply nodded at some chairs in front of her desk. There were three, a reminder that Draco and his housemates had been in this room not that long ago.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall said briskly, her eyes kind in her lined face. "I've heard about the unfortunate events of the previous evening, during the Hogsmeade outing, from Madam Pomfrey, as well as Mr. Malfoy and two of his housemates. I want to express my deepest regret for what transgressed, as well as assure you that measures have been taken to punish the offenders."

Hermione looked across the desk at the headmistress, mulling over her words. She was glad that Blaise wasn't going to get away with his attack, but at the same time she hoped that he wouldn't decide to try and retaliate at a later point because she'd turned him in. "Thank-you, professor," Hermione murmured at last, not quite meeting the old woman's eyes.

"Was Zabini expelled?" Ginny demanded, bluntly, though McGongall didn't reprimand her for her rudeness.

"I haven't spoken with Mr. Zabini yet, Miss Weasley, but rest assured that his actions will not go unpunished."

"Expulsion is probably too good for him anyway," Ginny growled under her breath. "You ought to send him to Azkaban after what he pulled."

Hermione cut in then, as Professor McGonagall's earlier words had suddenly registered fully. "Wait, you said 'the offenders'. There was only Blaise who—who attacked me," she faltered, still unable to really think over much about what had happened.

McGonagall gazed at Hermione and Ginny over her glasses, much the way Professor Dumbledore used to do. "Mr. Malfoy and his friends were guilty of their own poor choices last night, granted they were not to the same level as Mr. Zabini. However, such a misdemeanour as duelling a fellow student is strictly prohibited, and must be punished. Mr. Malfoy's housemates didn't attempt to stop him, and thus are guilty by association. However," McGonagall continued, seeing the horror and desperation on Hermione's face, "that is only to uphold school rules. I assure you that all three Slytherins who aided you in your time of need have been commended for their bravery and compassion, and consequently also properly rewarded. So you needn't think that I'm unfair and biased toward your house, Miss Granger."

Hermione felt her heart slow down, and the anxious flush on her cheeks faded somewhat. "Oh, I see," she said a little lamely. McGonagall offered her a thin smile.

"Now," McGonagall continued, her expression growing grave again. "Madam Pomfrey assured me last night that you were not harmed in—that is, not brutalized in such a manner that—"

Hermione could see the headmistress struggling to confirm events in a clinical manner and hurried to speak. "No, professor. Blaise… he only, well, grabbed at me and… held me down as he insulted me…" She broke off, knowing that it had been worse than that, but not wanting to go into all the gory details. "Draco and Phil arrived before he could decide to do anything worse to me."

"I see," McGonagall said crisply, holding Hermione's gaze until she looked away. "Your parents will receive an owl about what happened, of course, with the school's deepest apologies that it happened under our watch." She looked at Hermione steadily, and Hermione could see sorrow in the older woman's eyes. Such treatment of women shouldn't still be a problem in a civilized world, but alas, they both knew that there would always be men who abused their own power. "And now, I must ask if you still wish to attend Hogwarts? Do you think you can still feel safe completing your studies here?"

Hermione's head jerked up in surprise. "What? Leave Hogwarts?" she gasped, shock coursing through her. Where would she go if she left Scotland? Beauxbaton's? She could speak French, after all. Certainly not Durmstrang, despite everything Victor had told her about its better qualities. Perhaps one of the North American schools? Catching herself, Hermione shook her head. "No, I want to stay, professor. Please. Hogwarts is my home. I didn't let Voldemort run me out of it, and I won't let Blaise Zabini push me out either!"

There was a glint of pride in Minerva McGonagall's eyes at Hermione's response, and she gave a curt nod. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Granger," she replied, crisp as ever, but with a faint there-then-gone-again smile. "I assure you that Mr. Zabini will be put on notice that he is not to so much as talk to you, should the pair of you be in the same proximity, and the other professors will be made aware of the bare facts that you are not to be left alone with him." She paused, her lips thinning as she mulled her own words over before continuing. "I know your attack was a terrible thing, Miss Granger, but you can rise above it. You have friends to support you, and a spirit I've only seen blossom in adversity."

Hermione felt her heart lighten at her favourite professor's faith in her. She could heal from the attack. It hadn't been her fault, she was coming to understand that fully now. Pomfrey had mended her injuries, and time would heal her soul. "Thank you, professor. And you, Ginny," she added, glancing at the girl sitting steadfastly beside her, gripping her hand in support. "All I want to do now is move on with my life. I put the war behind me, and I can get past this, too." She said the words aloud to try and convince herself, as much as Ginny and Professor McGonagall, but though she knew it wouldn't be easy, Hermione knew that it was possible. After all, she had Ginny by her side. And Harry. Even Lavender.

And, of course, there was also Draco now.

xXx

Please Review! :)

P.S. Welcome back my co-writer, back from hiatus and writing a good deal of the Draco pov content for the foreseeable future again. Yay! :)