Hello! Just a heads up, this chapter has a bit of violence. This fic is mainly a soft, squishy story about love and friendship but there are bits of angst sprinkled here and there. There also will be some humor and fluff too and it's shaping up to be around 11 chapters or so. We'll see! My usual round of apologies for any mistakes (I read this thing multiple times but there always some that slip through). Anyway, thank you to everyone who shared their thoughts on this fic, as well those just taking time out of their day to read it!
If Hermione's plan was to ignore Malfoy until she learned more, it wasn't very practical. Her last class of the day was Potions with Slytherin and Hermione had to convince herself that Malfoy would never risk doing anything in front of their professor or classmates. It still didn't help with her nerves.
As it were, Professor Slughorn had them start the process of brewing Aliquis Visum—a potion that rendered one to see another's aura. Quite a fascinating potion. However, it required a large amount of Jumping Ginger root, all painstakingly sliced into thin wafers, which took up most of their class time.
As she pinned down an especially energetic root stalk, she peeked over her shoulder at the Slytherin side of the room. Malfoy's head was down, his expression serious as he carefully cut his ginger. She turned back to her work, squeezing her paring knife.
Taking a few deep breaths, she returned to cutting her ginger when she felt it. A whisper of a touch on her scar. It was so faint it was possible she imagined it.
Hastily, she glanced back at Malfoy. His head jerked forward, as if he were looking in her direction. A chill ran up her body. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. She set the knife down and held the squirming ginger. She focused on the wriggling sensation, the feel of it writhing under her hand and counted to ten.
It worked, until an overwhelming rage rushed through her.
She was furious—so furious, that for a moment, all she wanted to do was to seize her wand and curse Malofy where he stood.
Her breath caught. That's not...she couldn't do that!
She heard her name whispered next to her. She looked over and saw Neville's worried face.
"Are you okay?" he whispered.
Looking at his kind face, Hermione felt the rage whittle away—leaving her empty and shaky.
She nodded and tried for a smile, then returned back to her cutting, her heart beating in her throat.
A few day later on a blustery Sunday afternoon, Hermione and Ginny were in the library—their books and parchment scattered around Hermione's favorite table. Their homework was done, all piled neatly in the corner and Hermione was flipping through a book from a large stack, all specializing in curses and scars. They had been going over the books for several hours now so it wasn't surprising when Hermione heard a yawn from across the table.
"You look knackered," Hermione said, leaning back in her chair. "You should get some rest before dinner."
"No, I'm fine," Ginny said, trying to stifle another yawn.
Hermione gave her a look. "Right," she said. She leaned over and closed the book Ginny was reading.
"Hey," Ginny protested.
"You had prefect duties last night. Then three hours of quidditch practice this morning," she said. "You're exhausted and if you keep this up, you won't remember what you've just read. Trust me, I know."
Ginny snorted. "That's a lie. You remember everything."
"What? That's not—" Hermione paused, then grinned. "Okay, yes, I do remember everything. But in my defense, it's because I'm bloody brilliant."
"Oh, Hermione, what's it like being surrounded by us mere mortals?"
"It's the worst, but I manage like I always do," Hermione said, smiling. "Now, go. I'll see you at supper."
Reluctantly, Ginny gathered her things and stood. "Promise you'll bring some of these books back so we can go through them?"
Hermione smiled at her. "Of course."
After a couple of hours, three books and enough notes to fill an entire roll of parchment, Hermione began to wrap it up. She checked out some books and made her way to the Great Hall. Her head was swimming. Ginny was right, she rarely forgot things but sometimes her brain filled up with too much information and she could barely keep her thoughts in order.
She would have to let the information settle in her mind then she would go over her notes and see if anything useful jumped out. It was a slow and irritating process but, unfortunately, there were no shortcuts.
She took the stairs, deep in thought, when she heard someone call her name. She turned and saw Philip running toward. His face split in a huge grin.
He was gasping when he reached her. "Are you heading to dinner?" he asked excitedly.
She smiled as she looked down at his bright, happy face. "Yes, should we walk together?"
"Yes, please!"
She laughed at his enthusiasm—completely charmed. He thanked her again for helping him and reported there were no new incidents. Then, he recounted all his classes, his favorite subjects and his friends in a wall of breathless information.
She laughed at him. "Are you sure you're really in Slytherin?" she asked, giving him a sly look. "You are awfully open with your thoughts and feelings."
It took him a moment to realize she was teasing him. He grinned up at her. "My housemates ask me that all the time! Sometimes I wonder too." He was thoughtful for a moment. "But I think we all have some qualities from each house, don't you?"
"Well, yes, I suppose you're right," she said, a little surprised. "Though I don't think I would've been sorted in Slytherin."
"What? Why ever not?"
"Em...well, my blood status," she said. She waited for him to understand but he only stared up at her with wide eyes. "I'm muggleborn."
He waved a hand. "No one gives a toss about that stuff anymore."
"I'm not sure about that, Philip," she said doubtfully.
"Of course, there are people who think blood status means something, but those people don't voice their opinions anymore," Philip said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Everything's changed now."
"Philip, I'm happy that's not an issue for you, but there are some in the wizarding community, particularly from the upper, pureblooded class, that think someone like me is less than...human," she said gently.
"Well, that's complete rubbish but I guess there will always be nutters in the world," Philip said. "In fact, there are a few muggleborn first years in Slytherin. Besides, Malfoy wouldn't tolerate any of that blood status nonsense."
Her mouth fell open. "M-Malfoy?"
Philip simply nodded.
She stared at him, too stunned to say anything else. What on earth. She was still speechless when they entered the Great Hall.
Philip turned to her. "I'll see you around, Hermione!"
"Okay," was all Hermione could manage.
"Maybe sometime you can sit with me at the Slytherin table?"
And just when she thought she couldn't be anymore surprised, Philip dropped that right on top of her. She stood there and blinked down at him, her mouth gaping.
He must've thought that was enough of a yes, because he grinned up at her and said, "Great! I can't wait. Bye!"
Wait. What?
She stared after him for a long moment, then drifted toward the Gryffindor table, taking a seat across from Ginny.
Ginny looked up at her. "Did the books finally break your brilliant brain?"
"Huh? Oh—I..."
Ginny waved her hand in her face. "Hullo. Is anyone home?"
"I just...I don't know what just happened."
"Okay," Ginny said, gesturing for Hermione to go on.
And Hermione did, explaining Philip's views on the new and improved Malfoy—which Hermione wasn't buying but she knew it would be stupid for Malfoy to pretend otherwise. But it made her theory about her scar even more doubtful—at least, where Malfoy was concerned. Then she mentioned Philip's invitation to dinner at the Slytherin table.
Ginny shook her head, looking just as puzzled as Hermione felt.
"I think you're right."Ginny leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Malfoy needs to be on his best behavior. Dad said that there were some rumors circulating—some of Lucius's allies are lobbying hard to get his sentence reduced and I'm sure Malfoy doesn't want to cock all that up for his father."
Then, Ginny hesitated, confusion clear on her pretty face. "But if that's the case, why would he risk provoking you with your scar?"
"That's what doesn't make sense," Hermione said. "Why risk it?" She glanced over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was laughing with one of his mates. Her stomach twisted and she looked away. She gritted her teeth. "We stick with the research. We will find something. We have to."
"Of course, we will," Ginny said. "We will!"
Hermione gave her a grateful look.
"In the meantime," Ginny continued, smiling wide. "I'm sure you'll have a great time eating with the Slytherins. So much to talk about with that lot."
Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled. "I didn't agree to that, you know."
"Does Philip know that?" Ginny asked, pointing her fork at her and swirling it around. "Somehow he roped you into what I thought would be bloody impossible—sitting and eating at the Slytherin table. Effective and sneaky. Very sneaky."
"Well, I guess we know why he was sorted into Slytherin now, don't we?" she said, grinning, remembering Philip's cute, hopeful face. "And the day I sit at the Slytherin table without magical inducement, is the day I starting dating Peeves."
"Awww, but you would make such a lovely couple." Ginny said, laughing softly.
Then, she gave Hermione a mischievous look—a look she had seen many times on Ron's face. "Better be careful, Hermione. Stranger things have happened."
A little over a week had passed and Hermione and Ginny still hadn't found a thing, although that could be excused by the lack of free time. With Ginny's quidditch practice and Hermione's workload, it was a wonder they found any time to anything other then go to class and sleep.
Hermione supposed the teachers felt like the returning 8th years were so hungry for an education that they willingly came back to Hogwarts to be bombarded by an avalanche of schoolwork. Assignments that would have normally been given weeks to finish, were now given days.
It was overwhelming and—oh, who was she kidding—Hermione bloody loved it!
In addition to all the schoolwork, Professor Flitwick had a group of 8th years from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor help him grade a mountain of essays, which took up most of Hermione's evening last night. It was a welcome distraction from the research and stress Hermione had been juggling.
She was busy picking at her eggs when the mail arrived. Smiling, she watched as the owls soared down, quiet despite their numbers.
Maybe it was time to get her own owl? She had left Crookshanks with her parents—her mum was so miserable with Hermione leaving, she couldn't bear parting with the cat. So, Hermione left him with a heavy heart, knowing her mum needed him more than she did.
When a large striped owl landed gracelessly on her plate, she changed her mind. It was carrying a letter and Hermione recognized her mother's handwriting. A smaller, dark owl fluttered down next her with another letter. It was Harry's new owl, Toto.
"How considerate of you," she said to Toto while looking pointedly at the larger one, who was now gobbling the rest of her breakfast. She handed Toto a piece of her toast.
Sipping her tea, she read Harry's first. Auror training was going well, for the most part. There was an unfortunate accident on an obstacle course, namely between a badly placed ladder and Harry's crotch. Hermione tried to hold back her laughter. Poor Harry...
Her parents' letter was filled with the usual 'I miss yous' but the tone was a little different from the somber letters she received before. Their new dental practice seemed to be picking up and her mum was spoiling Crookshanks rotten.
She smiled to herself. They were recovering—slowly but it was one less thing to worry about. She folded up the letters, rubbing them once before slipping them into her robes.
"Poor Harry," Ginny said to herself.
Hermione gave her a look. "The ladder and his crotch?"
Ginny bit her lip then started giggling. "I feel bad but—"
"But it's also really funny," Hermione said, giggling too.
Without thinking, Hermione's eyes drifted toward the Slytherin table. Her heart skipped when she met Malfoy's eyes. He had been looking at her. For how long? His face was open, grey eyes soft. Then, in the blink of an eye, his expression shuttered, morphing into the cold, indifferent look she was accustomed to.
She looked away quickly, her cheeks hot. In a rush, she gathered her things, stumbling over her words about the library before making her escape.
The next few nights, Hermione stayed up late reading in bed and trying to find any scrap of information about her scar. Dark rings appeared under her eyes and she had almost dozed off in Professor Binn's class. But every time she tried to fall asleep, she remembered the sight of Malfoy watching her and it disturbed her so much, she ended up reading until she passed out.
It was confusing. And she hated confusing.
It did spur on her determination. However, if she were being honest with herself, her determination bordered on obsession. The lack of sleep didn't help her mood either. Ginny was a blessing—always encouraging and lightening her mood.
The weather was bright and windy as she and Neville made their way down to the southern greenhouse Saturday morning. The stone pathway cut across a sloping field and the tall grass pelted Hermione's jeans as she trailed after Neville. When they rounded the castle corner, they could see the ornate, glass top of the greenhouse, sparkling in the sunlight.
Hermione pulled up alongside Neville. "What do you think Professor Sprout will have us do?"
Neville shrugged. "Not sure. She mentioned something about Purple Peppermint. I reckon she needs us to plant some."
That was a good guess. The eastern greenhouse was used as the classroom and housed most of the rarer plants. The southern greenhouse was bigger and was used for growing large amounts of starter plants.
Hermione always liked Purple Peppermint. It was fragile and pretty. The young sprout started off as a curlycue of pale lavender and then deepened into a rich, violet leafy thing as it matured. It would flower in its last stage of maturation, then, suddenly, the entire plant would burst into a glowing, iridescent mist leaving a sweet, minty scent in its wake.
"Did you know Purple Peppermint can be found in over one hundred potions?" Neville asked slyly.
"One hundred and thirty-two to be precise," Hermione said automatically.
Neville chuckled, shaking his head. "Merlin, I thought for sure I had you on that one."
He paused and looked at her closely, his eyebrows furrowing. "Are you feeling okay? You look..." His voice trailed off and Hermione guessed he didn't want to hurt her feelings about how she looked.
"Just tired. Haven't slept much," she said. "Do you know if Professor Sprout asked any other houses to participate?"
"Uh, I think just Slytherin."
"Great," she muttered.
"They've been better. The Slytherins," Neville said. "I haven't had any issues with them. In fact, there's a cute 7th year who's..." He stopped short, looking flustered, then cleared his throat. "Has it been better for you?"
Hermione was silent as she stared at the greenhouse. Neville's face grew concerned. "Has it?" he asked again. "Because if you're having any problems, I'll help you, Hermione. You know that, right?"
She smiled up at him then, wanting to hug him but she didn't, knowing it would only embarrass him.
"Neville, you're a really good friend."
He looked away, self conscious, and fumbled with the door to the greenhouse. When they entered, Hermione's stomach dropped. There was Malfoy, standing by a large table in a black jumper and trousers—tall and lean. Next to him was another Slytherin boy, Theodore Nott.
She followed Neville to the other side of the room and stood next to a large work table. The wind billowed suddenly, rattling the glass windows. Hermione jumped at the sound and scolded herself. She hated being this on edge, especially in front of him.
She tried to make small talk with Neville but it was next to impossible with her frayed nerves. Instead, she forced a smile and pretended to listen as Neville described the properties of a new plant he had recently read about, unwilling to risk a glance in Malfoy's direction.
When Professor Sprout finally entered the room, Hermione's turned her attention to her teacher. That was a mistake. Without thinking, her eyes drifted to Malfoy.
He was watching her. Again.
She swallowed hard and looked away quickly, her heart beating in her throat.
Neville was right about Professor Sprout. Their professor conjured, what looked like, a thousand little pots as she explained the specific process of planting a Purple Peppermint seed. Hermione held back a groan. Some magical plants were resistant to magic and Purple Peppermint was one of them. They would have to do the planting by hand.
Who knows how long she would be stuck here with him.
Professor Sprout thanked them in her boisterous way and left them to do their job. Hermione flicked her wand and summoned their supplies, careful to keep her eyes on task. Rolling up her sleeves, she settled next to Neville and set to work, still conscious of the confusing wizard only a few yards away from her.
They had been in the greenhouse for nearly two hours. The wind picked up and the sun disappeared behind dark, ominous clouds. She could hear Malfoy and Nott chatting behind her, too quiet to hear—not like she was trying, of course.
Her neck was killing her and her hands were filthy. Taking a step back, she rolled her head, wincing at the pinch in the base of her neck.
"I'll be right back," she whispered to Neville.
She walked to the back of the greenhouse, her eyes only glancing briefly at Malfoy who was concentrating on his own work. She let out a breath. Then, she pushed through a heavy wooden door and left the muggy warmth of the greenhouse for the long, dark, chilly corridor that led to the bathroom. She didn't need to use the loo, she just needed to move her legs and take a break from the weird tension in the greenhouse.
Just as she reached the bathroom the door, she heard, "Granger."
Her heart stopped then picked up double speed.
Slowly, she turned her head. Sure enough, Malfoy was behind her, standing several yards away, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his trousers—a shadow of his old swagger back. She turned fully now, not wanting her back exposed.
"Yes," she said coldly.
"I wanted you to know, I met with McGonagall. We talked about the bullying," he said. "She suggested you and I keep each other informed about any further problems. Make sure we're on top of it."
He tilted his head, regarding her closely. Her gaze caught the edge of his Dark Mark peeking from his rolled up sleeve. It felt like a lead weight was stuck in her throat as she forced her body to be still.
"Okay," she said, her voice uneven. She cleared her throat. "Is that all?"
Pausing, he pursed his lips and looked down. "I suppose," he said cryptically. When he met her eyes again, his gaze was so intense she took a step back. His brows furrowed in confusion.
Then, it happened.
The pain hit her like a freight train, starting at her scar and blazing a path up her shoulder and neck. She cried out. Her legs buckled and she stumbled back into the wall. Her eyes stung with fresh tears.
She took a shaky breath, her gaze drawn down to her scar. Merlin, her scar! Even through her tears, she could see it glowing red in the dim light, the letters mudblood gleaming up at her. Her heart stuttered.
"Stop." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Please."
Malfoy was rooted were he stood, his eyes wide, mouth gaping.
For a moment, the pain receded then another wave punched through her. Everything was on fire. Her vision flickered. She was going to be sick. She was going to pass out. Even her tears, now dripping down her chin, burned.
"Granger." He took a step toward her.
She clutched her arm to her chest, scrambling away from him. "Stay—Stay away from me," she whined.
He stopped, his hands held up in surrender. His face—it didn't make sense. He looked panicked, worried.
Maybe he wasn't doing this to her. Maybe this wasn't his fault.
Then, in that moment, something else came forth—an icy, heavy sensation, radiating from her chest. A rage, so intense, it made the pain from scar seem quaint. It spread past her ribs and belly, flowing down her limbs, languid and biting, making space for it—as if it was some thing slithering into place, shoving her aside, relegating her to a passenger in her own body.
She felt her heartbeat slow down, thick and heavy.
She felt words forming in her mouth, bitter enough to choke.
"You." She felt her hand rise—felt it wipe the tears from her face. "It's you."
The pain eased to a dull pulse. She peered down at her scar. It was now a deep burgundy color, steam rising from the letters. Her stomach twisted at the sight. She wanted to flee. She wanted to find a small space and hide and never come out.
Instead, she raised her arm and brandished her scar to him. Malfoy swallowed and took a step back. His expression flickered, wavering between shock and fear.
"You're doing this to me, aren't you?" She planted her feet and drew her wand. "Now you have to pay the price, Draco."
He backed up, shaking his head, his hand inching toward his own wand in his trouser pocket.
As fast as a viper, she slashed her wand upward. Malfoy's body leapt into the air, torso suspended toward the ceiling, arms and legs dangling uselessly. He grunted as he struggled to reach his wand. She whipped her wand to the right and he flew down the corridor. Another sweep of her wand and she was propelled behind him, her toes skimming the stone floor.
Her hair lashed her face, everything around her a blur except for Malfoy who flailed in front of her. He smashed into wall and Hermione was right behind him. Her forearm slammed into his chest, pinning him, her wand inches from his face.
"Tell me what you did," she snarled, shoving her entire weight behind her forearm. "Tell me what you did to me or I'll turn you inside out!"
"I don't...I'm not trying to hurt—" he choked out.
"You're a liar," she hissed. She dragged the tip of her wand to his temple. "You will tell me now."
"I swear on my mother's life, I'm not lying!" he gasped. "Why would I? My family—we're on probation. Any little thing—any accusation—and my mother and I will be hauled off to Azkaban!"
"No, that's not..." She shook her head. "No, you hate me. You've always hated me." For a moment, the fury waned. What he said made sense. She knew this.
"I don't hate..." His voice faltered, expression strained. "I don't know what's happening with you. I think, yes, it may have..." He swallowed hard. "... may have something to do with me."
Unbidden, the cold fury surged again. She dragged the tip of her wand to his throat, teeth bared, her face inches from his. "What do you mean by that?"
He took a breath as if steeling himself.
Then, her scar prickled. Her stomach churned. The pain was coming back. Already, she could feel her nerve endings catch fire.
"No," she whimpered.
Her wand shook against his throat as she tried to brace herself—scorching pinpricks creeping across her arm and chest.
"Granger, I can—"
She dug her wand into his neck. "Shut up! You lying bastard, I—"
It was then that it happened, before she even realized it, Malfoy had slipped his cool fingers around her wrist and, in a flash, the pain and anger evaporated, leaving her gasping and trembling. They stared at each other, her wand still pressed into the soft flesh of his neck.
"Hermione?" a voice called out.
Dazed, Hermione turned toward the voice. It was Neville, standing a few yards away, looking stunned. Behind him, just outside the greenhouse door, was Nott.
Nott fumbled for his wand. "What the bloody hell—"
Neville drew his first, pointing it at Nott. "Don't," he said quietly.
Nott froze, eyeing Neville warily.
Hermione stumbled back from Malfoy, her heart pounding. Her reaction, her lack of control...she could've hurt Malfoy. She could've done worse than that. She wanted to. There was a heaviness trapped behind her sternum. An ugly feeling.
She ran past Neville and Nott, stumbling through the greenhouse. She burst outside into the fresh air, the wind whipping around her as she choked back tears.