CHAPTER 9
Middle of February 1998
Hermione sat in Draco's armchair, staring off into space. It was Sunday mid-morning, the night after the incident, and Granger had woken up an hour ago. Draco had performed all the healing charms on her the night before, but there was still a lot to cover once Granger gained her voice back.
"Granger," said Draco, trying to start the conversation without frightening her away from it. He sat in a chair across from her, trying to non-intimidatingly get her to talk. "Granger, I know you've been through a lot, but I need you to tell me what happened."
Granger looked up at him from her curled up seat, looked away. There was a long pause before she spoke. "Thank you," she said quietly, hoarsely, "for not taking me to the Infirmary."
"That's where you should go," Draco said, trying not to sound too irritated. "I did my best, but this needs to be reported, and you need to be examined thoroughly."
Granger nodded distractedly.
"But first we need to know what happened."
She just closed her eyes.
"Granger. What happened?"
Granger remained silent.
Draco sighed. "Listen," he said as gently as possible, given the anger boiling in his blood. "It is my duty as Prefect to receive a report of the incident. If you don't want to talk about it now, we can wait. But getting information… will help us find out who did this and how to fix you."
Granger's face crinkled, as if she were holding back tears. "I… I don't know what happened to me. And that's what's terrifying about this."
Draco held steady. Gently, he pressed her. "You have to know something about what happened. What do you remember?"
Granger inhaled sharply, and Draco paused, waiting to hear her response. "I remember nothing. Confundus, or something similar, I've never had it done to me. I had my memories wiped, from the second I stepped into that classroom until…" she sighed. "I don't know when."
Draco nodded. "What classroom?"
Hermione shook her head slowly. "I was only going to take notes after I reported them."
"Who is them?"
"I don't know," Hermione answered sadly. "I didn't even see who it was. Just heard scuffling and voices."
"They wiped your memories so you wouldn't know who they were."
Granger nodded. "I think so."
Draco looked at her from his chair across from her. "Was there anyone with you?"
A pause.
She had come back alone, he knew that. But she was supposed to be with Patricia. What had happened to her?
"I was alone," Granger answered.
"Why in Merlin's name were you alone?" Draco said, his folded hands clenched, trying to keep his voice down. How could she be so idiotic? Going alone on a patrol, where kids with magic wands who don't want to be caught will do nasty things to get away with their shenanigans? Granger had even been the one to set the stupid partner rule. Granger had made a critical error, and she was the Head Girl, no less.
"I shouldn't have been alone," she said, before Draco could turn his lecture verbal. "That was me, breaking the rules. I should have told somebody. I should have told you. I don't know, I just didn't want to…"
"Didn't want to what?" Draco pressed.
"I didn't want to ruin anyone's evening," she snipped back. "You probably had something planned. I wasn't about to go find you to conscript you to patrol with me, last minute on Valentine's Day, when we all have better things to do."
Draco felt anger flare up in him. How stupid did she have to be, going by herself? And now she was blaming it on him, that he "had plans?" He stood up, about to walk out of the room.
"It was in the Dungeons," Hermione said, stopping him, though he still fumed.
"I knew that from the Patrol sheet," Draco said.
"But I don't know what happened after my senses were blocked. I'm saying, the spells that hurt me could have happened anywhere."
She was right. He turned around, lips taught in thought. "So how are we going to find out who did it?"
"I remember two things," Granger said. "Very vaguely. I'm not sure if they even happened."
"Well, by all means, Granger, that's the info I was trying to get all along."
"Don't be Malfoy right now," she said hoarsely, briefly coming back to her intense self before a look of sadness fell over her face again. "I think I remember," she continued. "Them whispering. It was foggy, and I don't know when it happened." She breathed. "One of them called me Granger. The other one called me Hermione."
Draco searched her face. If someone called her by her first name, it might be someone that knew her very well. Of course, it also could have been any one of the students at Hogwarts that called her affectionately by her given name-she did have a lot of fans among the younger girls at Hogwarts. Still, it seemed strange for an attacker to refer to her by 'Hermione.' It didn't solve anything, just complicated the matter even more.
"Did you hear any distinction in their voices?"
She shook her head. "It was too foggy by that point. They were whispering, and my hearing was already impaired. I couldn't determine gender or age or anything from it."
"What was the other thing?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning against the dresser.
"I remember thinking, I had to get back here," Granger said. "No matter what happened or if I blacked, I had to make it back to the dormitory."
"Why's that?"
"Because I knew, if nothing else, you'd know how to fix what happened, even a little bit."
Draco rolled his eyes to hide how her comment truly affected him. "Don't get sappy on me now, Granger."
"It's not a compliment," she said, unsmiling. "It was self-preservation."
.*.*.
Hermione, curled up in a blanket on Malfoy's armchair, started to close her eyes once the blond had exited the room. She let out a breath she had been holding for who knows how long.
She had never been attacked like that. She had fought strange mythical creatures, her own personal demons, and even other wizards before-seriously-but she had never been unable to remember what happened to her. That was the most terrifying part of her injuries, that she had no way of knowing what or who inflicted them upon her. Or how.
She tucked her chin under the blanket, curling herself tighter. She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be able to handle anything, defeat any bad guys, keep the school safe. Instead, she was the one at risk now. It was so easy for her attackers to incapacitate her-how could she have protected herself?
Normally she loved taking care of things, but this time, she didn't want anything to do with her position.
Perhaps that's why she knew she had to get back to the dormitory the night before. If she would have gone to the Infirmary, which was across the castle anyways, she would have been grilled by professors and the Headmaster, forced to try to remember what she could not. Here, even though she knew Malfoy would do that too, deep down she knew he would be able to take things into his own hands. He would ruthlessly be Head Boy when she just wanted to curl up and sleep, and forget.
Maybe that's why she had entrusted her life into his hands as she had unconsciously hobbled through the hallways at night.
.*.*.*.
It was time for Draco to play detective. It wasn't a fun game or a job he wished to take on. Normally he would just let Granger handle any mysteries that came up during paperwork (she loved puzzles, why would he deprive her of that joy?), but it was now his school-given duty to investigate this crime and dole out justice. Justice, plus a little extra.
He was furious.
Unfortunately, his list of suspects was headed up by the very people he had grown up with: the Slytherins. If anyone would curse the Head Girl just to avoid being caught past curfew, it would be a Slytherin.
Another trait of Slytherins-cunning perception-went on display as soon as Draco came stalking up to the lunch table, questions at the ready. The first to notice his pointed eyes was Daphne, who nudged Theo's side next to her.
"Hi," said Blaise as Draco slid into the seat across from him and next to Pansy.
"Good afternoon," he said, meeting the eyes of each of his classmates at the table, scanning each of their faces.
"You don't look too happy," Blaise commented, smirking. "Either you didn't do it last night, or you did. Hard to tell."
Daphne's eyebrows raised imperceptibly higher than they already were.
Draco shot daggers through his eyes at Zabini. "No, but there was a serious breach of Hogwarts rules last night that I had to clean up," he corrected, trying to see if anyone at the table had a guilty face. It would be hard to tell, normally, but he knew these douchebags.
"What kind of breach?" ventured Theo.
"Well, if you want to know, Nott," Draco said, "The Head Girl was attacked last night."
A pause and then an uncomfortable twitch from everyone at the table.
"I'm just wondering if any of you have any information. You know, some younger brats you've seen testing out their DADA hexes, any personal vendettas you might know about."
"Don't you have a personal vendetta?" scoffed Pansy behind her sleeve.
"Pansy, if you think I wanted to have to do all this work to figure out who incapacitated the Head Girl, you're dumber than I thought you were, and I already thought your IQ was pretty low."
She turned towards him, smacking his arm with quite a sting. "You fucking asshole. Take it back."
"I have more important things to take care of," growled Draco, turning back to the group. "Were any of you in the Dungeons last night?"
Blaise looked at Draco with a strange gleam in his eye. "I was in the Slytherin dormitories. But I didn't leave. We were there for a while. We, as in me and Tori-"
"Ugh, just stop talking about it already," moaned Daphne. "I was not in the area. I was upstairs. With Hannah's friends."
"So weird," muttered Pansy.
"I was also in the dormitory," said Nott, hint of confusion in his voice. Draco noted this as slightly suspicious, though he doubted Nott would ever get into any trouble of any kind. Unless he was with Blaise.
Pansy was last. She rolled her eyes. "Listen, Drakey-poo, I don't even know why you're asking. If anyone was getting some last night, they were in the Slytherin dorms. Not hiding in the classrooms down there. I'd say you're better off looking for some younger goody-two-shoes students, who live in the upstairs dorms. Probably a Hufflepuff couple looking for somewhere exciting to fuck."
Unhelpful. Draco stood up, not feeling quite hungry for the menu today. He started to walk away, but not before catching Blaise's eye. He was looking at him with amusement and a hint of mockery.
Whatever Blaise wanted to think, that was his issue. This was his motherfucking job. If Blaise wanted to translate that as having feelings for the Gryffindor, he was sorely mistaken.
.*.*.*.
Draco hit two birds with one stone by going down to the Dungeons: first, he needed to look for the room where Granger was attacked and see what clues were left behind before classes began again that week, but it was also convenient that the Slytherin dormitories were close by and he could grill any students who happened to walk by.
Nobody knew anything, or at least gave off that they knew anything.
After checking a few classrooms with a spell tracer and finding nothing besides the residuals at the desks from Friday's third-year Transfiguration classes, Draco pushed his way into B403. Draco cast the spell tracer and found, just behind the thick wooden door, the almost-imperceptible glimmer of a charm cast.
It could be it, especially if she was hit coming right into the door. There was no proving it, but maybe there were other clues that could solidify the hypothesis that this was the room.
He swiped away the spell tracer, stepping further into the classroom. The door creaked closed behind him, and he took in the layout of the room. Long tables instead of desks, set up for a discussion-based Wizarding Literature class. Ideal, he supposed, for a couple sneaking about. Better than the tiny chaired desks, anyways.
Draco illuminated the tip of his wand, peering closely around the tabletops. No fingerprints, no personal items left behind. On this second time around the room, however, he noticed one of the tables barely bumped out of its parallel to the tables beside it. Squinting, Draco got down, examining the legs of the table. The light of his wand caught on something glinting on the floor. He paused, looking for the sheen. Slowly moving back the way he came, he found the culprit: a piece of short hair, catching the bright light of the wand.
Gotcha, Draco thought, reaching down and picking up the piece of hair and holding it up in the light. The piece of hair that might give away who was in this room, if he played his cards right. This piece of hair.
This piece of short, red hair.
Draco's triumphant, smug expression turned heavy as he lowered the strand. He knew that red from anywhere. He knew that the owner of that red hair didn't have any classes in the Dungeon this term. And he knew that if what he was thinking was true, it would absolutely crush Hermione Granger.
Draco pulled out the report, teeth clenched. With more pressure on the quill than he should have used, he wrote what he had found. Ronald Weasley - suspect. He set the piece of hair on the report and attached it with a wordless wave.
Granger had said earlier that one of her attackers called her 'Hermione.' It made sense, if Weasley was really the one who did this. But why would he do it?
He wasn't alone. There was someone else with him, someone who called her Granger. Either Weasley did it, possibly because he didn't want to be caught with the person he was with, or the other person did, and he was being quiet about it just hoping she wouldn't remember. Either way, it was horrible for one of her closest friends to-
Draco stopped himself. This was no time for him to waste his anger sitting in this Dungeon classroom. It was time to find Weasley and ask him himself.
.*.*.*.
It wasn't hard to find him.
He was coming back from the Quidditch field with Potter and a few stragglers from the Gryffindor team-Draco would have rolled his eyes back in his skull if not for the more pressing matter at hand.
"Weasley," he said plainly, approaching, blocking the squad's casual stroll through the hallway.
"Uh, yeah, what do you want, Malfoy?" said Weasley, his own eyes rolling as if he were bored.
"I was looking for you," Draco replied, quite honestly.
"What for?" Weasley said, his attitude and spine straightening out a bit. Potter looked over at him, as if to simmer him down telepathically. It didn't work too well.
"I had a question for you," Draco said. "Actually, a few questions. If you wouldn't mind taking some time."
Weasely didn't move.
"Away from the others, if you would."
Weasley looked around at his crew, his anxiety only given away by the flash in his eyes when he looked at Harry. "Whatever you want to say, you can say right in front of us all," he argued bravely, only a twinge of red coming to his cheeks.
Draco shrugged. Okay, he wanted to do it this way. "How was your Valentine's Day, Weasley?"
The twinge of red turned into a full-on tomato blush. Potter's brows knitted together in confusion, actually a quite helpful hint for Draco. Potter had a hard time hiding his emotions, he knew from experience, and if Potter was in on whatever Weasley was up to last night, he would have let on. But, there was still time to see if it was just improved acting on his part.
"Why are you asking?" Ron deflected, voice only squeaking a tiny bit. "Are you interested, snake-face?"
Draco didn't laugh.
Weasley wrinkled his nose. "I'll catch up to you guys down the hall," he said to his entourage without breaking eye contact with Draco. The boys hesitated, but brushed past the redhead, muttering as they continued down the hallway past Draco's self-roadblock. Potter remained.
"I'll deal with whatever he wants, Harry. See you for chess in a bit."
Potter also paused, looking conflicted. When was the last time Draco had talked to Weasley without it being an annoying side leg of his real conversation with Potter? Hopefully the Golden Boy wasn't feeling left out.
"Malfoy," nodded Potter as he stepped away down the hallway, leaving just the two boys standing facing each other tensely.
"I ask," Draco continued, getting right down to business, "because there were some reports of suspicious activity last night. I thought I could ask you if you… noticed anything."
Ron's nose twitched again. "What kind of suspicious activity?"
"Oh, the usual Valentine's shenanigans. People sneaking off, love potions, some hexes thrown about-"
"Why are you asking me?" Ron cut in. "Unless it happened in the Gryffindor dorms, I wouldn't have seen anything."
Oh, sure. "You weren't anywhere near the Dungeons last night?" Draco said threateningly.
To his surprise, Weasley only laughed. "Hey, Harry,"
Draco turned his head to see Potter stop, not too far down the hallway, and turn around. "What?"
"Come back for a minute," Weasley said, then returned his attention to Draco. "Listen, I don't know who got into what last night but- Harry, did you hear about or notice anything weird happening last night?"
Potter looked at Malfoy, confused but blank. "No. We were in the Gryffindor dorms all night. Did something happen?"
"I'll ask again. Were you really just in the Gryffindor dorms all night? On Valentine's Day? No outings, no… Valentine's Day activities?" Draco turned to Potter, who he was now sure was lying.
Ron's face burned anew as his fist clenched. "That's my sister you're insinuating about, mate," he growled.
"Well, it's not my responsibility to be explaining myself to you," Potter huffed. "But Ginny had a girl's night event at her sister-in-law's. Ron and I were in the dorms with some of the guys, having our own celebration. Neither of us left, except Seamus for a bit to grab some more Butterbeer. I'm sorry, why are we being drilled about where we were last night?"
"Someone got hurt," Draco said plainly, not wanting to show his hand too soon.
Potter and Weasley exchanged a look. "Is it someone we know?" Weasley blurted.
Draco clenched his jaw. They were admitting they didn't know. Or, conversely, they were pretending not to know from Hermione herself, even if they knew about what had happened. "I was just wondering if you had heard anything. Being such upstanding, popular students and all."
"Who got hurt, Malfoy?" Potter asked again, sincerity in his voice.
"I'm not at liberty to say. The situation is neutralized. I'm just looking for any hints as to what could have happened. Obviously you were the wrong students to ask. Good day." Draco turned to walk away, past Potter and down the dimming hall, when Ron called down the hall.
"We'll let 'Mione know if we hear anything."
Draco didn't look back to acknowledge, just pulled out the report from his cloak and clenched his quill.
.*.*.*.
End of February 1998
While Malfoy was away trying to piece together her story for her, Hermione was deep in a healing book pulled from Draco's shelf. She figured out how to heal the bruise and cut on her side, a minor mistake turning her skin purple for a second, and she was feeling much better physically now that her injuries were mostly gone.
It also gave her some hope mentally, knowing that she could take care of herself, and it had distracted her to learn something new from a book she had never seen before.
Hermione pulled herself out of the armchair in Malfoy's room and into the bathroom. She looked at herself deep in the face. She didn't look changed. She touched her forehead, where the charm had hit, and her side, where whatever injury had occurred to her. She looked untouched now, and she could almost convince herself that she was untouched. But she wasn't. Something had happened to her, and even if she could heal the aftermath, it still had happened in the first place, and she didn't want to think about it at all.
Sitting and thinking about it was what drove her mad in the first place, so instead of returning to her armchair, she pulled herself into the office, staring at the paperwork that had started to pile up during the past week, the paperwork that they hadn't done because of the incident. Gritting her teeth, Hermione sat down at her desk and picked up the stack of reports lying there. Next to it was a dispatch from McGonagall.
"Head Prefects, please report to me next week on the planning for the Spring Ball. Would love to hear your ideas."
Hermione felt the well of frustration rising up in her chest, and she took a sharp inhale to push it down. Shit, they had forgotten. Through all the paperwork and patrolling and… other distractions… Hermione had completely forgotten that this was on their list of things to accomplish.
Closing her eyes, Hermione gingerly set aside the dispatch and began working on the first report in the stack. Methodical, homework-like routine would help her forget.
Immediately, the portrait door clicked open and in blustered her coworker, quickly brushing past the door before saying her name.
"Granger?" From his footsteps, it sounded like he checked both rooms before coming to the office. He poked in his head, and she looked up silently.
"What in Merlin's beard are you doing? Paperwork?"
Granger nodded, cleared her throat.
"You know you don't have to do that. No, you shouldn't even be doing paperwork right now."
"No," interrupted Hermione firmly. "Don't coddle me, okay, it's not a good look for you."
Malfoy scoffed. "I'm not coddling."
"I need something to do, in order for me to not feel like I'm completely helpless and useless right now. Just let me do my thing, and I'll let you do yours."
Malfoy didn't look happy with it, but he didn't argue. Just swished out of the office and closed himself in his room. A few moments later, he came back to the door of the office.
"I'm taking a break, going to the field."
"Okay."
He looked like he was going to say something else, but stopped after a breath in. Then he shook his head once, turned, and left.
.*.*.*.
After every single sheet of undone paperwork was completed and filed, Hermione had nothing else to do. She looked around at the lack of clutter, and instead of feeling relieved, just itched for the next task. She remembered her blanket and mug left in Malfoy's room. Before she started work on the Spring Ball task, or whatever she could do of it, she would go push his armchair back in place.
Hermione bumped open the door, which had swung mostly shut, and padded inside to grab her things from that morning. Once she moved the armchair back against the corner, she moved to leave, only to be stopped by the raised surface on top of the dresser. Unable to avoid her curiosity, she slipped it off the top, finding a thin folder in her hands. Her file.
Swallowing, she set it back down on the top of the dresser. She didn't need to read her own report. She didn't need to read Malfoy's description of her state the night before.
She didn't need to, but she felt the need anyway.
Picking it back up, Hermione cracked open the folder to the first page. Descriptions of her mental confusion and physical state. Hexed, it read.
Wincing at the descriptions of Malfoy's healing attempts, she turned the page. Maybe he found something today.
Room B403, it said in scribbled letters. Traces of some charm at the door-
Hermione froze when her eyes landed on the thin piece of red hair stuck to the report.
Ronald Weasley - suspect.
She threw down the folder as if it were burning her, grabbed the report page with Ronald's hair on it, and ran out the door as fast as she possibly could.
.*.*.*.
There's no way Ron could have done this. But there's no way Draco would have lied. It was an impossible dilemma, and she had to figure out what was going on here.
The problem was, who to ask when someone was being accused and someone was accusing. Malfoy probably hadn't meant for her to see the report yet. But he should have told her if he had evidence it could have been Ron. And Ron, bloody hell, shouldn't be suspect at all for any Merlin-forsaken reason.
It had been a while since she'd been to the Gryffindor dormitory, and this wasn't a pleasant return. Ignoring a few second-years who were just approaching the portrait door, Hermione furiously whispered the Prefects password and flew into the Common Room. Where would he be? She beelined it to the boys dormitory side, knowing she was Head Girl and could get into any part of the castle without the typical rule-enforcing spells to stop her.
After a short knock, she kicked her way into the dormitory that Ron was in, finding him alone in the 3-bed loft.
"What the hell?" Ron said, flipping around and almost falling off of his mattress. "What-what are you doing here?"
Hermione held up her wand at Ron's face, trying to fight back the hot emotion coming to her throat and eyes. "Tell me what happened last night," she said, thick through almost-tears. "Tell me the truth. Because if you don't, I might have to explain to your mom why you're a pile of ashes on the ground. And that would be hard for me because I love Molly."
Ron breathed, holding up his hands in surrender. Slowly, he shifted so that he was sitting on the end of his bed. "Hermione. Please, put down your wand."
She didn't lower her arm.
"Seriously, I can't talk with your wand in my face." Ron looked like he was on the verge of teams. "I promise I'll tell you what I can if you just… put your wand down."
Hermione tilted her head, then lowered her wand. "Malfoy talked to you," she said, the hot tears finally spilling out over her eyelids.
"He did," Ron said, setting his hands on the bed next to him. He waited, speechless.
"I was attacked last night," she said, "and I need to know the truth. Do you know who did it?"
Ron's eyes suddenly bugged as he stood from his seat. "You were hurt?" He moved closer to her, and she backed away. "Bloody hell. What happened to you? Are you okay?"
"I don't know, Ron," Hermione said, putting her hand up to signal for him not to come closer. "I don't know what happened to me, and I'm trying to find out."
Ron fidgeted, clasped his hands. "Oh, fuck. Merlin, Hermione. I'm so sorry."
"Tell me you didn't do it," she said, feeling like all the air was sucked out of her lungs. "Tell me I don't have a reason to suspect anything from you. Tell me the truth."
Ron opened his mouth, glanced down at Hermione's wand still in her lowered fist. "I'll tell you right away that everything I told Malfoy was the truth."
Hermione pursed her lips. "I don't know. What did you tell to Malfoy?"
"He didn't tell you?" Ron looked at the ground. "He was asking me where I was last night. I told him the truth. I told him I was in the Gryffindor dorms with Harry and Seamus and Dean and Henry."
"Is that true?"
"Yes, like I said, it's the truth," said Ron, wringing his hands. "... But it's not the full truth."
Hermione stared at him. "What?" she hissed.
"There's been something I've been meaning to tell you guys for a while now-like you and Harry-I'm so sorry I've been keeping secrets, I just didn't know how-"
"What are you talking about?" Hermione snapped.
"I've been seeing someone." He scratched the back of his neck. "Someone I maybe shouldn't be seeing."
"What kind of seeing-" Hermione's blood turned cold. Was he in actual, mortal danger? Was he being haunted or put up to something? "Are you-?" she fumbled, dropping her voice.
"Seeing, as in… secretly dating," Ron clarified, face turning red.
"What the fuck, Ron," Hermione said, "What does this have to do with anything?"
"I wasn't just in the Gryffindor dorms last night."
Ron took a deep breath, looked to the ceiling, then reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out something small, opening his hand and revealing a small round amulet with an hourglass in the middle-the very artifact Hermione had gotten well-acquainted with in her third year. A Time Turner.
"I've been using this," he continued. "To see that person. And I was seeing that person last night… in the Dungeons."
Realization dawned upon Hermione and she felt a wave of panic rush through her. "Who attacked me?" she hissed.
"Hermione, I swear," Ron blurted, trying to grab her shoulders as she jerked away. "Neither of us meant to hurt you, neither of us thought you would be hurt-I had no idea you got hurt at all-"
"Just who are we talking about?"
"Please tell me you won't-"
"Who?"
"Pansy Parkinson, okay?"
Hermione's face froze in shock at this sudden confession. "You've been… seeing Pansy Parkinson? In secret?"
"Yes. And-I'm sorry."
"We're talking about the same Pug-faced Pansy. From Slytherin."
"Y-Yes." Ron confirmed, hanging his head.
"You're serious."
"You see why I didn't want you to know?"
Hermione chuckled darkly, hardly believing what she was hearing. She raised her wand, its tip nearly poking Ron in the chest as he backed away.
"So you're dating Pansy Parkinson. Now tell me about what happened to me."
Ron looked at her sadly. "I put you under Confundus," he confessed. "Didn't want you to find out that way. Didn't want to get in trouble. I swear, all I did was put you under Confundus and set you back to your dorm. Those were the specific instructions I gave you when you were confused. I-That's all I knew. Then I swore I was going to sit you guys down and tell you next week."
"I wasn't just put under Confundus," Hermione practically yelled. "I was attacked. I was hurt. There was blood on me. I was bruised all around my ribs and limbs. My head felt like it was being stabbed with knives," she described.
"That wasn't me," Ron pleaded. "And it wasn't Pansy. I even made sure you got up the staircase from the Dungeons. That's when we left, I don't know… I don't know what happened to you after that."
Hermione, through a shuddering sob, straightened her wand arm again with renewed vigor. "Show me."
"What?" Ron said.
"Show me your wand history," she said. "I need to know."
"You don't believe me?" Ron said softly. "You think that I would ever hurt you like that?"
"I don't know what to believe anymore, Ron. You left me in the castle at night with no way to remember, no way to defend myself, and no way to trust anyone. Even if you 'only' put Confundus on me, which I want to see, you still are responsible for whatever else happened when I was in that state."
Ron, with cautious movement, reached behind him towards his bed for his wand. "Okay. Here." He handed it to her, and she flicked it, whispering the Reverse Spell to see what had been cast on his wand. There it was. Confundus. Nothing after it, clear as day.
"I promise you, 'Mione, I'm telling the truth," he said, tear mark on his freckled cheek. "I wouldn't hurt you."
"You did," Hermione said, hushed. "Do you know how scared I was when I was going under?"
"I didn't know it would hurt-"
"It made me available to be hurt," Hermione corrected, shaking her head. "I can't believe you, Ron."
The door behind her creaked open, and Harry peered inside.
"Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting-"
Hermione shook her head vehemently, thankful that Harry had shown up. "No, Harry. Please, I have a favor to ask, if you're not busy." She looked back at Ron, then back to Harry. "I need you to walk me home."
.*.*.*.
Draco stalked back to the castle, drenched in sweat and the remnants of the frustration he had taken out on the Bludgers. He needed the time to think, to process, and he realized that telling Hermione right away might hurt too much. She needed to go to the Infirmary, even if she didn't want to. They needed to take this to higher administration. Then, she could know when it was truly set in stone what and who hurt her.
As he entered the castle, the heat from the hallways surrounded him, kicking him back into work mode. He rehearsed how he would get her to Madame Pomfrey when he got back. Not that his healing spells weren't good, but rather that she needed it to not be in her hands. Or his, for that matter. Not that the person responsible wouldn't be getting a few extra punishments from the Head Boy behind the scenes.
A raucous laugh from down the hallway brought him back to his surroundings. A group of sixth-years were lounging in the hallway by one of the statues, trading candies or something or other. Malfoy nearly tuned out until he noticed Justin Long among the crowd, wearing his Prefects badge obviously upside down. He rolled his eyes. It wasn't even worth pointing out.
The group quieted as he passed, which Draco thought suspicious. His first thought was that they weren't passing around normal Wizarding candies, but rather those Muggle drugs Granger was telling him about. They were becoming more popular with the student crowd nowadays. Thinking quickly, Malfoy dodged into the nearest classroom, casting a listening spell so he could hear through the thick stone wall.
"Anyways… then we just left her there. I'm surprised it actually worked," said one of the boys quietly.
"I still think it was a dumbass move to try it on a person for the first time. I mean… what if you killed her?" another voice said.
"She wouldn't have died. I'm not that stupid. The book didn't say anything about it being lethal."
"But on her, of all people?"
"I barely recognized her. But it was too easy. She was already under Confundus. It's not like she would have felt it or remembered."
"You're insane, Long."
Draco clenched his jaw. Long. It was him. He wanted to rip the Prefects badge off of his chest right then, and shove it down his throat.
"What are these pills supposed to do anyways?"
"Make you feel happy, dude. Ecstatic. The Muggles know what's up sometimes."
"The only thing they're good for other than killing."
"Fine. Gimme."
Draco had heard enough, now that they had hopped on a subject change. He could care less about their drug trade happening. He had a single-minded focus, and it was to get Justin Long out of here.
For getting expelled, incorrect use of magic was grounds enough. For getting your magic removed completely, experimenting with spells on random passersby was a basis.
But before he disappeared down the hall, he flicked his wand to crumble a stone out of the wall and fling the debris at the group of guys down the hall. He heard shouts of alarm and pain as he sprinted towards the direction of their dormitory.
.*.*.*.
As soon as Draco was back to the dorm, he was calling out Granger's name, desperate to find her. The second she approved, he could take it to McGonagall-have the proper steps taken to ensure Long never messed with Granger, or magic, again.
But she wasn't there.
"Fuck," he muttered to himself, double checking in all the rooms of their relatively small dormitory. Where could she have gone? What would she go out to do? A sudden thought that she might be at the infirmary wing terrified him, and he was about to make sure this wasn't the case when the door clicked open for him.
Standing in the doorway was Hermione, accompanied by Potter, and she was crying.
"Granger? Potter?" He took in her state, eyes glancing down to the folded paper in her hand-the paper, he hadn't even thought about, that he had left in the file folder out in the open.
"I found out what happened," she reported, holding up the sheet.
"You weren't supposed to see that until-it doesn't matter, I also know what happened."
Granger looked at him. "You know that Ron-"
"Justin and his friends were the ones-"
"-is sleeping with Pansy-"
"-who hexed you in the hallway-"
"What?" they both said simultaneously.
"I know who put me under Confundus," Hermione said.
"I know who did the hexing," Malfoy said lowly, and Hermione's eyes went wide.
.*.*.*.
Justin was well on his way to the prison at the Ministry-parents had fought, offered money, threatened lawsuits, but the matter was beyond Hogwarts' realm of jurisdiction. He would go on trial next week. An unsettling peace fell over Hermione when she knew Justin was out of the building, and also, the knowledge that this was just a battle won in a larger, darker war.
When Malfoy told her the updates, that Long was gone, she just nodded.
"What are you thinking about?" the Slytherin asked after Hermione didn't respond.
"To be honest," Hermione said, "Right now I'm thinking about how my ex is snogging your ex on the side."