Hermione was headed back to the Head's entrance suite at 10:20 the next morning, groggy from a night's sleep that was patchy at best. The mattress was too soft, the pillow too hard, the quilt too heavy and the strip of moonlight slicing through the gap in the curtains too bright. The letter from Ron seemed to dance behind her closed eyelids, his kind words snaking in trails across her mind's eye and coming to a halt with a sickening thud in the pit of her stomach. When she did settle, she dreamt of slender hands on her waist and swathes of gleaming silver silk.
Breakfast in the Great Hall on Saturday mornings was a relaxed affair. At the Gryffindor table, spooning her cereal with her latest book propped against the milk jug whilst trying to avoid dipping the sleeves of her robes into her bowl, Hermione felt a comfortable pang of familiarity. She missed sitting with Harry and Ron, but sitting alone was freeing. She was the only older student from her House up this early for breakfast, she noted; the other students at the Gryffindor table were Third Year or younger. Two tiny First Year girls were sitting a few seats up, buttering their toast and glancing at her shyly. Looking at the other House tables was the same; apparently the older students had opted to sleep in.
Glancing at the Slytherin table, she spotted only one taller, broader frame, dressed smartly in a crisp white shirt and green tie, the Head Boy badge gleaming on his front pocket. Malfoy stood out like a shiny Sickle, sat alone and apart from the other students who had banded together further along the table. From afar, she watched him bring the steaming teacup to his lips and take a sip. A stray lock of hair fell forwards as he swallowed and, as he jerked his head to flick it away, he locked eyes with hers. Stormy grey met honey brown; she couldn't see the colour from this distance, of course, but she could visualise it from memory and it made her stomach swoop. She looked away quickly, mortified to realise that the steady drip-drip from the spoon she held aloft on its way from the bowl to her mouth had bounced glossy droplets of milk onto the pages of her book during her momentary lapse of concentration. She finished her breakfast swiftly and hurried from the Hall without another glance at the table at the far end of the room.
A glance at her watch (her mother's; an elegant silver face on a simple rose suede band) told her it was only 9:30 AM. Still another hour until she was expected at McGonagall's. She was almost at the library before she realised where she was going, before the memory flooded her senses unbidden. Lips on hers, a large strong hand on the back of her neck and another at her waist, bookshelves pressing into her spine. No. She wasn't going to think about that. She turned and marched through the front doors, skipping down the stone steps and round into the grounds. It was a damp day and the September air held a chill; the silver light of the sun through the mist seemed to dance on the dew that clung to the grass. The lawns were empty from here to the Lake. She found a bench, tucked her cloak beneath her before sitting down and pulling the same milk-splashed book from her bag. She absolutely did not think about Draco Malfoy.
Saturday 2nd May 1988
'The sun rose steadily over Hogwart's, and the Great Hall blazed with light and life.'
Hermione stood with McGonagall, duplicating and transfiguring the one pocket handkerchief into dozens of large, thick blankets. By now, the sun had climbed in the sky but provided little warmth in the ravaged Great Hall; the windows glinted with broken panes and eddies of dust rose from piles of terracotta bricks where sections of the walls had been pulled down. Hermione looked around: in the afterglow of victory, nobody looked very cold, but shock would surely hit them soon. She returned to concentrate on the task at hand; the hum of voices rising and falling, the occasional cry of glee, did not help to soothe her fraught nerves.
'Alright, Miss Granger,' McGonagall said, holding out a stack of blankets for her to take. 'If you wouldn't mind distributing these. I will attend to our fatalities.' Her lips pressed into that familiar stern line, strong and resolute.
Hermione did as she was told and was met with gratitude. Neville patted her gently on the shoulder, Luna beamed her usual dreamy smile; Padma and Parvati Patil, still tearful at the loss of their friend Lavender, pulled her into a tight three-way hug, spilling over with thank yous as they knocked the blankets out of her arms in their eagerness. When they finally retreated, Padma tossing the blanket around her sister's shoulders, Hermione turned to continue the length of the hall.
Three glints of silver caught her eye. There was one last group of people, a family, sitting further along the Gryffindor table where a patch of ashy sunlight dappled the woodwork. The Malfoy family huddled together in their own little triangle; Narcissa sat tall and graceful, ever the matriarch, but Lucius was slumped and tired-looking with shadows crossing his sunken face, his grey eyes shooting upward glances to the other people in the Hall every few moments. She couldn't see Draco's face but she thought she saw his hands tremble. Even in despair, Hermione thought they were the most beautiful things she had ever seen, and cursed herself for the thought. Nobody paid them any attention.
Hermione glanced at the tabletop on her left and saw one remaining untouched pot of tea on an empty tray. She touched her fingertips to the wand in her pocket, wordlessly conjuring three cups and saucers from the kitchens, and tossed a bowl of sugar lumps onto the tray as she picked it up.
Narcissa eyed her warily as she approached. Hermione tried to tone down the expression of fierce determination that felt familiar on her features as she met her gaze. Narcissa's face held a steely glint as she kept her brow level and her jaw tight and lifted, but her eyes caught Hermione off guard.
'I…' she began, then faltered. She glanced down as she saw Draco twitch in her peripheral.
'Yes, Miss Granger?' Narcissa asked in her low tone. Her eyes were unnervingly soft. She was reminded of her own mother, and how she would look at her face, smoothing her hair back from her forehead as she tucked into bed as a little girl. She looked so very tired.
Hermione cleared her throat and tried again.
'I thought you might be in need of refreshments,' she said simply, setting the tray on the table, refusing to allow her hands to shake; there was no tell-tale rattle and she rippled with secret delight.
Narcissa looked at the tray before her, with its obscenely bulky tea pot in its frilly knitted cosy, and its chipped mismatched teacups. The steam circling from the spout looked invitingly warm. She looked back up at the girl in front of her; Hermione thought her eyes seemed wetter than they had a second previously, but she blinked and the implication was gone.
'Thank you, Miss Granger,' she said. Her arm moved over the table to lay her hand over her husband's. 'Miss Granger has brought us tea, darling. Isn't that nice?'
Lucius looked up slowly, unfurling his bowed head from his neck. He met her gaze briefly and, with effort, Hermione stopped herself from flinching from the cruel sneer she expected to receive. Instead, he looked forlorn. He looked back down to the tray and moistened his lips.
'Thank you,' he said. Hermione could scarcely believe it.
Narcissa looked across the table at her son expectantly.
'Draco,' she nudged after a few seconds. Draco slowly and deliberately turned his exquisite blond head a few inches in Hermione's direction, his eyes still on the stone floor.
'Granger,' he uttered.
'Thank her,' Narcissa commanded quietly, a warning rippling the surface of her composed exterior.
'It's fine,' Hermione said. This family was ridiculous. 'Goodbye, Mrs Malfoy. Mr Malfoy,' she added as an afterthought. 'Enjoy your tea. Don't let it get cold.'
The castle rang with the 10:30 chimes as Hermione reached the Head's suite for the Prefects' meeting. As she had hoped, she was the last to arrive, and was able to avoid the rest of the group's greetings as McGonagall opened her office door right on time to silence them and beckon them inside. Ginny appeared at her side.
'Can you believe McGonagall made me a Prefect?' she hissed in her ear.
'She must have heard tell of your legendary Bat Bogey Hex,' Hermione whispered back and the two slipped into hushed giggles. McGonagall silenced them again with one raised brow as they took their seats. She could see Malfoy's blond head at the very front edge of the crowd; he was inciting some surly murmuring from some of the students.
'Oh, what's that prick doing here?' Ginny muttered. Hermione shifted in her seat, acutely aware of the Ginny's likely response upon discovering who was Head Boy. She did not seem to have spied his badge just yet but it appeared Ernie Macmillan had. He looked even more pompous than usual but his face wore a deep scowl which he kept aiming in Malfoy's direction.
'Good morning, Prefects,' McGonagall opened to the group, 'and thank you for sacrificing valued time catching up with your peers, or indeed a much-needed lie in, to come here this Saturday morning.'
A chuckle of assent passed through the group and Hermione allowed her thoughts to drift whilst still following McGonagall's thread. She was thinking about the red-haired girl beside her and the blond boy at the front of the room, regretting her evasiveness last night and this morning. Why she had headed straight for the Prefects' suite and not to Gryffindor Tower, to her friends, after her meeting with McGonagall, she did not know. And her early rising and wandering this morning instead of seeking out Ginny and Luna, opting instead to be alone… she couldn't explain that. Her only reasoning was that company often equalled conversation, and conversation led to questions. She knew what Ginny's questions would be and, right now, those questions would lead to lies and omissions. She did not want to lie to her best friend.
'…will come as no surprise to many of you that I have named Miss Granger as our Head Girl.'
Hermione blinked glassily at the sound of her name and quirked her lips in a small smile, hoping that nobody would expect a speech. A small round of applause followed her words.
'Congratulations again, Miss Granger,' McGonagall said with a smile, before clasping her hands in front of her, billowing sleeves falling over her wrists as she stood tall. 'I hope you will all extend the same support to our new Head Boy, Mr Malfoy.'
There were no dramatic gasps of shock but there was no applause either. Ernie Macmillan hissed in outrage.
'Professor!' he managed to spit out, his intonation that of a whiny child who had had his broomstick confiscated.
'Macmillan?' McGonagall's tone was icy. Macmillan sputtered for a few seconds, gesturing feebly in Malfoy's direction before McGonagall fixed him with a stern stare. He fell back against the back of the chair in defeat, sulkily crossing his arms across his chest. Malfoy had adopted a similar posture, flopped carelessly in his seat, examining his fingernails, that stubborn lock of hair falling again into his eyes as he bent his neck.
Hermione looked over at Ginny surreptitiously. Her friend betrayed no outward sign of dismay to the untrained eye, but Hermione was not untrained. Ginny was too still, her eyes fixed resolutely at a spot just above McGonagall's shoulder, and a pink flush was creeping over her shirt collar.
'My decision is final,' their professor was saying. 'I don't expect you to agree. I don't expect you to understand. But I do expect you to try - and, above all, I expect you to be civil.'
She paused for a moment as if to allow anybody to object - as if any of them dared - and when nobody did, she seemed to uncoil, her shoulders sinking by an inch as she exhaled through flared nostrils.
'Good. The Heads are on patrol duty tonight. The rota going forward can be found in the Prefects' Quarters and is non-negotiable except for under extenuating circumstances. Appeals for this can be made to the Heads, who will defer to me in cases of conflicting interests. The same goes for any other problems you may have with your duties. Are there any other questions?'
There were not, but the silence in their stead was surly. Just as many students that had been glaring daggers at Malfoy were now directing their ire at McGonagall.
'Excellent. In that case, you are dismissed. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, and Granger, Malfoy - I expect to see you on patrol duty immediately after the feast.'
There was a rumble of dissent as the students got to their feet and gathered their things. Ernie Macmillan was first out the door, bright red in the face, shouldering the door frame clumsily as he muttered something about "owling the Ministry right away". Hermione stood and swung her bag over her shoulder; she was about to leave when she noticed Ginny hadn't moved.
'Ginny?' she asked gently. Ginny didn't give any sign of having heard her and Hermione was about to reach out to touch her shoulder when her chin jutted a fraction of an inch in her direction, her blonde lashes closed.
'You knew?' she asked so quietly Hermione had to read her lips. 'You knew he was Head Boy, didn't you?' she clarified when Hermione didn't answer.
A moment's hesitation.
'McGonagall told us both last night after the feast,' she admitted.
'And you didn't think to tell me?' Ginny asked, more loudly. She faced Hermione head on now and her light brown eyes seemed to blaze. 'After everything he's done, you didn't think to warn me before I came here today?'
Hermione faltered. How could she answer? She hadn't known Ginny had been made Prefect. She hadn't had time to tell her before McGonagall began the Prefects' meeting. She hadn't gone to the Common Room last night to tell her because… why?
Because you hid, said a nasty voice in her head.
No, Hermione volleyed back at it.
Because you wanted to be alone with him, an even nastier voice countered.
'I'm… I'm sorry, Ginny, I-'
McGonagall appeared at Ginny's side and placed her thin hand, laden with jewelled rings, on her shoulder. She smiled at Hermione with warmth and - horribly - sympathy.
'Miss Granger,' she said, 'Miss Weasley and I had planned to have a little chat, if you would be so kind…' She gestured to the doorway, signalling her to leave. Hermione hiked her bag higher up her shoulder.
'Ginny?' she tried once more, but her friend had turned away from her again. McGonagall ushered her gently to the doorway and gave her another sympathetic smile.
'Come and talk to me later, if you wish,' she said quietly, before closing the office door with a hushed click. Hermione felt the familiar, humiliating sting of tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She exhaled a shaky breath and brusquely wiped at her cheeks with the heel of her hand before turning to leave. She hadn't made it one step before coming to an abrupt halt, for there was Malfoy leaning back against the opposite wall with his hands in his trouser pockets. The front of his hair was pushed off his face and his wand was tucked inexplicably behind his right ear.
'What doyouwant?' Hermione spat. Malfoy pushed forward off the wall with a few steps forward and crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione absolutely did not take note of the effect this had on his biceps beneath his crisp white shirt.
'Thought you could do with a friend, Granger,' he replied without a trace of sarcasm. If anything, he lookedconcerned. It took her a moment to fathom her thoughts.
'And what would that have to do withyou?' she replied sharply. She stormed past him, barging his arm with her shoulder accidentally on purpose as she headed for the spiralling staircase, hopping down them two at a time in her haste to run away.To hide, said that nasty voice again.
'Shut up, shut up, shut up,' she muttered to herself under her breath, hair flying behind her as she sped down the corridor with loud, lithe steps, ignoring the tingling in her shoulder where her body had momentarily touched his.