Complicated
by Squin
Part Two: To Be or Not To Be?
Harry and I came back from Hogsmeade earlier than everyone else – we didn't want to leave Hermione alone for the whole afternoon. We walk into the common room and she's sitting in an armchair in the corner with a book open in her lap.
She's not reading the book, though; she's just staring into space. Something's bothering her, I can tell.
Harry's noticed too, and he gives me a quick glance before he goes over with me and sits on the arm of the chair. Hey. We brought you loads of Chocolate Frogs, he says, handing her a brown paper bag.
She looks a little startled to see him, she must have been in her own little world. Oh, thank you, Harry, she says with a smile, which I notice doesn't reach her eyes.
What's up with her?
Probably got too much homework – she'd been off for a week, and everything.
You all right, Hermione? I ask her.
Oh, yes. Just – busy, you know.
I was right, then. She really needs to stop stressing about work, she really does. Not healthy.
says Harry, getting up, best if we leave you to it, I suppose. Don't work too hard, he adds with a smirk, knocking her on her shoulder.
I stick my hands in my pockets and watch Harry walk up to our staircase with another little glance at me that I can't quite make out the meaning of, then I turn back around to Hermione. She's definitely got something on her mind, and by the looks of it, it's not good.
Did Snape fail you on that assignment?
Hermione looks up at me blankly for a moment. Oh, no. We got full marks on it.
You got full marks, you mean. As if that brainless git Malfoy had anything to do with it.
That was meant to be a joke – or something – but she doesn't find it very funny.
No, Ron. Malfoy did just as much work as I did. Actually, he's a lot smarter than we gave him credit for well, I suppose we knew that, he's second in the Year.
Yeah, since you kick his bloody arse in everything.
Don't swear, Ron, she says curtly.
Crikey, I was just trying to cheer her up.
Anyway. Did you have fun in Hogsmeade? Hermione says, obviously changing the topic.
Oh, yeah, I say, sitting down where Harry had been. It's getting sort of boring, though. I mean, we go to Zonko's, and buy stuff. Then to Honeydukes and buy stuff. Then to the Three Broomsticks and drink Butterbeer. And then we come back.
Sounds like you need a new amusement, says Hermione, sounding a tiny bit amused herself.
Ah yes, but a wise old friend once said, it's not all fun and games anymore, I say in my best Percy impersonation. Or something like that.
Oh, I'm old, now am I? She says, smiling a little and whacking me on the arm.
No offence intended, of course, I say with a grin.
Of course, she says with a sigh.
This is annoying. My cheering up is not going to plan. She was supposed to laugh, or something. Not sigh.
What did I do? I say.
says Hermione, looking up at me.
To make you sigh. What did I do?
Oh, don't be silly, Ron. I didn't sigh because of you.
There's silence.
Then why did you sigh?
Nothing, Ron. Really.
There's more silence, but this time there's a strange feeling to it. I think she wants me to leave. She's staring at her book again, but not reading. I can tell by the way her eyes are just on one spot.
I realise that I'm just staring at one spot too, that is, Hermione, and take a quick look around the common room. Thankfully, it's empty except for a couple of younger kids playing chess in the other corner. Wouldn't want anyone to catch me acting like a pansy. I know I'm being stupid.
Then I see Crookshanks sitting on the windowsill. Can cats smirk? Because that cat is most definitely smirking at me. I stare at him with my best Stop Messing With Me stare but I think that just made him smirk more. Crazy cat.
Or am I crazy for giving a cat my best Stop Messing With Me stare?
Hermione says after a while, and I move my eyes from the stupid cat to her. Do think people can really change?
What do you mean?
she hesitates. I'm not quite sure, but if something happened to someone, do you think it could get them to change just about everything they think and feel?
This really confuses me. Did something happen to you?
No, no. Oh look, never mind, I'm just rambling. She gives me a forced smile and pushes herself out of the chair. I'll see you at dinner, she says, then heads off up the girls' staircase.
Crookshanks looks at Hermione as she's walking up the staircase, then back at me and gives me a strange look. It's sort of like a warning. What is that cat on? Then he scarpers up the staircase after her, leaving me sitting here, still really confused.
*
Hermione woke early on Sunday morning; the sky outside was still pitch-black and the only sound was the steady breathing of her roommates. She watched the late February snow as it fell outside her window for a quiet moment, before dressing and heading off to breakfast. With the castle still asleep, she would have some peace to think. Her mind was still clouded by a myriad of confused thoughts concerning events of the previous day, and she didn't feel like talking to anyone just yet.
A few house elves where scurrying about the Great Hall when she arrived, no doubt preparing the room for the morning meal. Hermione wandered over to the Gryffindor table, and saw Dobby polishing a golden fruit bowl with a mangy looking rag.
Good morning, Miss Hermi! squeaked the elf, as Hermione cringed inwardly at the shrill sound and the shortening of her name. You is up early, Miss Hermi! Dobby is not seeing many students up before the sun is even saying hello to me!
I'd imagine not, replied Hermione, forcing a smile and glancing around the room to watch the rest of the elves at work. It pained her to see a little elf dressed in a stained paisley tablecloth on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. They still weren't keen on the idea of compensation. She shook her head.
Dobby continued chattering away as he picked up a candelabrum and started rubbing it with his rag, but Hermione didn't catch a word he was saying. She was distracted by something in her peripheral vision – a figure in the doorway.
She swung her head around and saw the familiar back of a tall, blond-haired someone as he exited the Great Hall.
I've got to go, Dobby, it was nice talking to you again, Hermione called over her shoulder as she headed out into the Entrance Hall.
It was empty, Malfoy having left before she got there. She decisively made for the stairs to the dungeons, wanting to catch up with him before he made it to his common room. She hadn't been when Harry and Ron snuck in during Second Year, and if Malfoy had retreated there, she knew she wouldn't be able to find him.
The air was considerably colder underground. Hermione shivered and wished she had her cloak with her, while the musty smell and the gloominess made her wish she hadn't come down at all.
But she had to talk to him.
As she moved further away from the staircase, the light bleeding down from upstairs vanished into darkness. The flame torches that lined the walls of the dungeon corridor must have burnt themselves out during the night, and they hadn't yet been relit this early in the morning.
Hermione stood there waiting for her eyes to get accustomed to the gloom, as the eerie echoes of water dripping cut through the dark silence.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed forward into the blackness, trying desperately to think up an excuse to use if she was caught in the dungeons at this time of morning. Her footfalls echoed against the stone floor and walls, and she walked blindly forward with her arms out in front of her to keep her from hitting anything.
Stalking me, Granger? Malfoy's cold voice cut through the other sinister sounds in the darkened corridor from behind her, startling her to a halt. She hurriedly turned around.
Her heart beating frantically with alarm, Hermione saw him step out from the shadows. She must have walked straight past him.
I saw you – upstairs, she responded shakily, cursing herself for sounding vulnerable. I wanted to talk to you.
Did you, now? Malfoy replied with his characteristic drawl. His eyes pierced the darkness and made Hermione feel even more uncomfortable.
The two of them stood there in the dim corridor, the only sound coming from the constant drip-drip from an undiscernible location, and Hermione's breathing. Had she and Malfoy been in the deserted main street of a cowboy-era mid-western American town at high noon, it could have almost been a good old-fashioned standoff.
Malfoy moved first. As Hermione remained rooted to the spot, he cut across the corridor and walked a little way down it. Hermione turned and saw him muttering Alohomora at the lock on a narrow wooden door. He pushed it open and turned to her.
Ladies first, he said, holding his arm out to the doorway. The twinge of a smirk was just visible on his face as Hermione's eyes began adjusting to the lack of light.
Swallowing hard, she entered the room. It was even darker than the corridor and she felt her pulse pounding in her ears at the sound of Malfoy shutting the door behind him. It locked with a click.
Two flame torches hung on the walls of the room burst into life, casting a flickering glow onto the walls.
It was bright enough now for Hermione to see three pairs of chains and manacles hanging off one wall, a stone bench in one corner and a rack of rusty and painful looking weapons. It must have been a disused torture chamber. Not surprising at all that he'd brought her in here, Hermione thought to herself. The walls were glistening from dripping water and covered in brownish-green fungus that gave the room a positively wretched odour.
Nice place for a chat, Hermione muttered mordantly, trying to ignore the hairs on her neck pricking up.
Indeed, the perfect place for breakfast with the son of a Death Eater, Malfoy said expressionlessly, walking over to the stone bench and leaning against it. Hermione noted the mouldy leather straps and rusty buckles and vainly tried to find a more pleasant object to look at.
Finding nothing, she allowed her gaze to lock with Malfoy's calculating glare. Whether that was a more pleasant thing to look at was a matter of relativity.
So, what do you want, Granger?
Hermione wondered if his saying her first name yesterday was a slip of the tongue. A brief lapse in sanity. She regarded him for a moment and realised she had put herself in this position. There was no turning back now.
Carpe diem.
Last week, I asked you if you were all right, she began, keeping her voice steady. Yesterday, you told me what was wrong. Today, I want you to explain that to me.
Malfoy stared at her vacuously. You shouldn't care, Granger. You've got your little clichéd opinions, go and be happy with them.
Hermione's jaw dropped open. She felt her cheeks flush with anger. Are you accusing me of being ignorant, Malfoy? she asked forcefully. Because you're certainly one to talk about being ignorant, aren't you? Looking at me like I'm some second-class citizen just because my Grandparents can't help me with my Transfiguration homework. You are the prejudiced bastard, not me, she spat.
Malfoy responded smoothly. Your mangy friend Weasley has sure sullied up that pretty little mouth of yours, hasn't he? He paused for a moment, a sneer tugging at one corner of his mouth. I'm surprised he can afford to pay you, though.
As she took in all the implications of his words, Hermione clenched her fists so tight she thought her fingernails might draw blood from her palms. Her stomach knotted. I am going to ignore that pathetic insinuation, Malfoy, she said tensely. Her breathing became ragged and heavy. I am going to ignore it because you are obviously suffering some sort of – some sort of crisis, and, on top of that, had no human decency in you to begin with! she screeched. I'm sorry I bothered to pay attention to someone who looked like they needed it – she continued, before Malfoy cut her off harshly.
I don't need your sympathy, Granger! he roared.
Hermione stared at him. So what do you want? she said quietly after a moment.
Still leaning against the stone bench, Malfoy didn't respond.
The silence was as bad as a thousand howlers opening simultaneously in the Great Hall.
Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes before turning her back on him and marching to the door. She reached for the latch.
You don't believe I can change, do you? Malfoy's voice was quiet now. There was almost a sense of defeat to it.
Hermione stopped and stared at the dark wood of the door. She didn't trust herself to turn and face him. Have you changed, Malfoy?
It was a redundant question. She knew the boy who came back to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays couldn't have been the one who had left. He was more reserved than he had been and he had started acting almost civil towards her, although he hadn't been showing it that morning.
Do you think I have? he asked by way of answering her.
Crossing her arms in front of her chest in an attempt to keep warm, Hermione turned around and looked at him. His face was impassive. Empty. What happened to you, Malfoy?
He didn't respond.
Did you get hurt?
Hermione bit her bottom lip. The question she had in mind was very personal. But she had to know. Do you – does your father She couldn't finish.
Beat me? Malfoy provided her. There was a trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.
Hermione nodded and looked away. The rack of torture instruments didn't make the situation any easier for her.
Malfoy snorted and then let out a short, hollow laugh. Why does everyone always come to the conclusion that I've been abused my whole life by my Death Eater Dad and living under the damn Imperious Curse?
Well something must have made you become the arrogant git you are, Hermione lifted her chin up and stared him straight in the eyes.
I haven't been under any sort of conditioning other than the dinner-table conversation of my parents and their friends, he responded curtly.
Hermione understood what he meant. That's almost the worst kind, she said quietly, looking away. He'd been brought up to act like a bastard.
Malfoy shrugged his shoulders and pushed himself of the bench. He walked over to the chains hanging on the walls. This must have been detention, back in the day Filch's little domain.
What made you change, Malfoy? Hermione asked, not wanting to avoid the issue.
Does it matter? He asked, turning to her.
Hermione started lightly, when a boy who's hated me for as long as you have starts bringing me flowers and asking me out, I think I have a right to know whether I'm dealing with a lunatic or not.
What looked like a real smile came over Malfoy's face. I guess that must have been odd, he said, looking straight at her.
Hermione returned the eye contact. So, what was it? Surely it couldn't be my astounding skill at brewing a Memory Potion that made you fall in love with m –
She shut her mouth in a hurry and looked away.
It felt like the temperature of the air in the room had risen by twenty degrees.
Malfoy walked up to her and stood barely three inches away. Hermione turned her head to look up at him.
You know when something happens and you just can't explain it – that X-File thing you said yesterday?
Unable to get her vocal cords to function properly, Hermione just nodded.
Well, this is one of those things.
Hermione was suddenly aware of Malfoy's face getting closer to hers. Her whole body tensed as she looked straight back into his eyes. He started to tilt his head just slightly and without thinking, Hermione felt herself leaning in.
That was when she panicked.
She pulled back abruptly and rushed to the door. After some tugging, the latch opened and she pushed the door, hoping to whoever could help her that no one saw a Gryffindor rushing out of the dungeons at six-thirty on a Sunday morning.
*
Oh, here she is, says Ginny, who's facing the door.
I swivel around in my seat to watch Hermione walk into the Hall for breakfast. Sure it's Sunday, but she's always here before I am. She looks a bit grumpy this morning. She's been acting funny since yesterday.
Morning, Sunshine, I say, grinning. She doesn't respond. I guess Raincloud' or something might have been a better nickname. But of course that sounds stupid. What's this, the Great Hermione Granger, late for breakfast? What is the world coming to?
Shut up, Ron, she snaps at me, sitting down next to me and reaching for the toast which is next to my bowl. The porridge is really dodgy today.
Ginny makes a tutting noise at me as Hermione takes two bits of toast out of the rack thingy with the tips of her fingers.
I ask Ginny before cluncking my spoon down and helping myself to some toast, but she just rolls her eyes.
Oh, here's your Daily Prophet, says Harry, passing it over to Hermione – she had missed the owl post.
Where were you, anyway? asks Ginny.
I just thought I'd sleep in. I didn't get much sleep last night. Hermione says, absentmindedly stabbing a piece of half-buttered toast with her knife.
Are you OK? I ask.
Yeah. Fine.
Yeah. Right.
I look across to Harry and Ginny who look just as bewildered as I feel. Dean and Seamus have noticed too, and they raise their eyebrows at me. I shrug back.
Then Dean gives me this Look that says, quite plainly, That Time Of The Month, and it's very hard to keep from laughing, when Hermione pushes her chair back and walks out without even saying anything.
I'm going to go see what's wrong, says Ginny – obviously missing Dean's Look, which is a good thing, she probably would've hurt him if she'd seen it – getting up, putting her napkin on the table.
It's OK, I say. I'll go. I leave without looking back at her, because she's obviously giving me a weird look. I'd be giving myself a weird look too. Why am I going?
Because I'm a nutter.
That's why.
Hermione's going to tell me to leave her alone and that whatever is wrong with her is none of my business.
I follow her out into the Entrance Hall and she gives me this really hollow look as I come up next to her.
You really don't seem fine, Hermione, I say as she opens the right oak door and goes outside. She doesn't have her cloak, and it's still really cold.
I don't have my cloak either, for that matter. She is one hundred percent mad, going outside in this weather. It's bloody freezing.
Hermione keeps walking, ignoring me, or maybe just not answering. She's walking really fast, trying to get away, but I know she knows it takes less effort for me to keep up with her. Her face is sort of screwed up in annoyance. I know I'm in big trouble, but I can't let her be alone when she's all worked up like this, she might get hurt. Or something.
She still doesn't reply as the both of us reach the shore of the lake, our breath rising in frost in front of our faces.
I say, a little puffed as we come up to a fallen log.
She sits down heavily, and wraps her arms around herself trying – stupidly – to keep warm.
Come on, Hermione, let's go inside. It's bloody freezing.
Ron, why'd you follow me out here? she asks, looking up at me. There's something in her eyes I can't quite figure out. She's confused. Searching for something. But I don't think she's looking for it in me.
I have to admit I have no idea how to answer that question. Why am I out here? I look at her and try to figure out what to say, but I can't. So I just sit down next to her on the log, trying really hard to ignore the fact that my backside is now soaked and freezing from the snow I'm sitting on. This girl is barking, I tell you. Barking, howling mad.
There are no birds, the wind is still and the silence is quite unnerving. I shiver and shuffle my feet in the snow, making it turn into muddy slush as it mixes with the dirt underneath.
I say finally. I'm sure whatever's wrong with you is none of my business but –
You're absolutely right, Ron, she cuts me off gruffly. This is none of your business, so why don't you just go back inside if you're so bloody freezing and leave me alone?
Now, I know I was expecting her to yell at me, but I don't know why I feel so hurt. I turn around to look at her. Her face is flushed red but her eyes are glistening with tears. Scared tears.
I start, but can't think of anything to say. I don't want to leave her here alone. I can't. Knowing how stubborn she is, she'll just sit here till she freezes to death.
She leans over and puts her face in her hands, elbow leaning on her knees. I can tell she's trying to wipe the tears out of her eyes.
I wish she would just tell me what was wrong. We could make it better. I could make it better.
We sit there a little longer, and Hermione sits up again, staring into space as snow starts falling.
Great.
I turn around a bit and look at her, the snow sprinkled through her hair. It's so cold it doesn't melt, just stays in pretty snowflake shapes.
I know I probably sound like a pansy, but it really does look pretty. Oh am I in big trouble now.
says Hermione looking up at me.
I say. Then I have an idea of something that might work. Or maybe it won't, it's quite stupid. Oh what the hell. You've got snow on your nose, by the way, did you know that? I grin, quite pleased with my brilliant wit. Of course.
She blinks at me for a few moments. She doesn't get it.
But then she smiles she smiles! And actually laughs! You've spent all these years trying to get back at me for that dirt' comment, haven't you?
She does remember that stupid snooty little comment she made to me on our first ride on the Hogwarts Express! Hah! I just look at her and keep grinning.
Come on then, Ronniekins, she says standing up, grinning too, and holding her hand out to me. Your mother would kill me if you got pneumonia because I was being moody.
I smirk as I take her hand and get up. Honestly, any Moodier and you'd have a magic eye and a wooden leg
Oh, God, she says, stopping in her tracks and looking up at me. That was a bad call, Ron. Very, very, bad.
I laugh as she smirks at me. All right. It was bad.
So you're OK? I ask her.
I'm fine, Ron, she says. Thank you.
But after that we trudge back up to the castle in silence. Hermione's got her hands in her pockets and is just looking down at her feet. I should've known I couldn't do anything to make her feel better. I really wish I knew how I could.
So no one told you life was gonna be this
way
Your job's a joke, you're broke, your love-life's D.O.A.
It's like you're always stuck in second gear
When it hasn't been your day, your week,
your month, or even your year
But, I'll be there for you
When the rain starts to fall
I'll be there for you
Like I've been there before
I'll be there for you
'Cause you're there for me too
*
Despite putting on an amiable attitude in the end to get Ron to stop worrying about her, Hermione went through the next week feeling incredibly lost. Her early-morning meeting with Malfoy had created more questions than answering them, and a maelstrom of bewildered emotions milled inside her. She became very quiet in classes, not answering questions with her usual enthusiasm and was very withdrawn.
What was just as worrying was that everyone else has seemed to pick up on her unsettled demeanour. And while it was comforting to know that her friends cared so much about her, Hermione didn't want to think about what they'd say if she told them she was a bit confused about how Malfoy had nearly kissed her.
And why she had almost let him.
AND not to mention why he had wanted to in the first place.
It was even harder to try and understand the whole mess while he was sitting right next to her. She looked up at the hourglass on the ledge above the door and willed the sand to flow a little faster, as futile as it was. The class had just begun.
Miss Granger, Snape's icy voice broke her reverie. It was amazing how without raising any volume he could send spasms of fear down a student's back by just his tone.
Hermione looked up and stared at him squarely in the eyes. She refused to have him belittle her. Having read all her texts over the summer she knew today's assigned potion backwards; she could handle any question.
If you wouldn't mind, I think it's time for a bit more class participation from you today. To the front please, Snape said curtly.
Hermione pushed her chair back, catching a few sympathetic glances from Harry, Ron and Parvati, who were sitting nearby. She heard a cold snicker coming from behind her that was distinctly Pansy Parkinson's.
Snape handed her a piece of chalk as she reached the blackboard. It was as cold as steel, like just about everything else in his classroom. She looked down at it. It was brand-new and a pale, creamy colour. It was the same colour as Malfoy's pale skin. Hermione wanted to wretch.
If you would list the ingredients required in a Mandrake Restorative Draught, please, Miss Granger, Snape said to her. Hermione looked up at him and blinked.
He smiled thinly and cruelly. I understand it's not in the course this year, but it will be valuable to examine the similarities and differences between this and the lesser restorative potions we're currently studying. And you having had some experience of it, I'm sure you'd –
There was a loud clash. Hermione turned around quickly to face the class again and saw Ron standing at his desk, his face flushed red and his empty cauldron lying on the ground where it had fallen.
What is it Mr Weasley? Snape growled at him.
Ron yelled right back at him. What does Hermione having had that stupid potion when she was – he winced – Petrified have to do with her knowing what's in it?
Hermione furrowed her brow as she looked at him, Harry tugging on his sleeve to get him to sit down. Why was that upsetting him so much? She did know what was in it, because she'd be given it. Wanting to understand as much as possible, she'd researched the Mandrake Draught the summer after Second Year, spending quite a bit of time at the National Wizarding Library in Diagon Alley, which was a large building two doors down from Gringotts.
Sit down, Ron! Harry muttered. He looked up at Hermione and gave her a What's Wrong With Him Look. Hermione shook her head slightly and shrugged, her eyes wide with equivalent confusion. The rest of the class sat staring at Ron in a perplexed silence.
Malfoy however, Hermione quickly noted, was not looking perplexedly at Ron. He was looking at him pensively. She wondered what he was thinking when he turned to her, and smirked. Hermione cringed.
She was still cringing when Snape howled five points away from Gryffindor and ordered Ron to detention later that night.
Ron sat down and stared at his desk as if his eyes held enough anger to burn a hole in it. His ears blazed red.
Snape turned to Hermione.
She turned around and shut her eyes, taking two deep breaths to try and calm herself. What did Ron think he was doing? She could look after herself!
She lifted the stick of chalk, which was no longer cold, but warm and slightly damp from her clammy, agitated palms, and listed the ingredients on the blackboard in her neat cursive. When she had finished she turned to find Snape staring at her list in an almost perfect attempt to hide his shock. His eyes, however, betrayed his disbelief. The Mandrake Restorative Draught wasn't even on the Seventh Year curriculum.
Very good, Miss Granger, Snape said without sentiment, still re-reading the list of ingredients, which Hermione knew was infallible.
Not expecting any points to be awarded, she walked back to her desk without being told to.
Neville's jaw was hanging open, Lavender actually smiled and Dean gave her a big grin and a thumbs-up sign.
Harry smiled too when she got closer to his and Ron's desk. Ron, however, was looking at her with a similar statement to Neville.
Hermione smiled widely at him. Didn't think I knew everything? she whispered.
Be seated, Granger, came Snape's voice, and Ron didn't have a chance to answer.
Snape held the Gryffindors back after the class to clean out all the cauldrons – including the Sytherins' – and Ron for his detention after that.
As the rest of her housemates trudged out, Snape went into his office to put Ron's wand away for the detention. Hermione went past Ron on her way to the door. He was at the front of the classroom having been instructed to clean the blackboard with an ordinary duster to start with.
You didn't have to stand up to Snape for me, she said quietly. I can handle him.
Well sorry, muttered Ron irately. I'm sorry for always butting in on your business.
Hermione looked at him, his ears turning red again, and just sighed. What on Earth was wrong with him? Not knowing what else to say and not wanting to get into more trouble when Snape returned, she walked out of the classroom without a word.
The rest of her classmates were a fair way ahead of her in the dungeon corridors. Run, not walk, was the unwritten motto for non-Slytherin students at the end of potions lessons.
Hermione walked slowly as she came to the narrow wooden door of the room where she spoken to Malfoy that last Sunday morning. She stopped and put her fingers to the latch.
Locked.
She certainly hadn't been expecting anything other than that. It wasn't that she was disappointed. She could easily unlock it herself. But she didn't want to. She simply stood with her hand leaning on the door for a moment, then turned back to look in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons which were somewhere down the cold stone corridor.
She shivered and shook herself to her senses. She was being silly.
Rather than going all the way up to Gryffindor tower and then back down again, Hermione decided to go to the library for the forty-five minutes or so they had before dinner.
Walking down the deserted portrait-lined corridor, she stopped and looked up at an empty gilded frame she hadn't noticed earlier. Of course the Hogwarts paintings did as they wished, but Hermione had probably walked through this particular corridor more than anyone else in the history of the school. She knew all the paintings, and they all knew her.
The frame wasn't exactly empty. In it was a swirling pool of blue and violet – clouds? The colours were iridescent as they moved and eddied. And the mist wasn't just flat, either, but three-dimensional.
Harry had told her about Dumbledore's Pensieve, and while she hadn't seen it herself, Hermione thought the mist in the portrait-frame certainly looked a lot like light made liquid – or wind made solid.' Was this painting a giant Pensieve?
Hermione stared at it, quite enchanted. Almost hypnotised, she dropped her backpack and reached her right arm up to touch it.
Weren't you ever told not to touch strange things? came a familiar voice from behind her, causing her to jump around, holding back a startled gasp.
Malfoy stood there, casually leaning against the oak frame of a napping Agrippa's portrait on the opposite wall. There was, as so often there was, the slightest twinge of a smirk on his lips.
Hermione wondered how he'd got there. The corridor had been empty. His ability to sneak about was becoming quite disconcerting.
She frowned at him then turned back around to the golden frame with it's strange morphing clouds. What is this? she said after a little while, still staring.
A painting, Malfoy replied curtly.
Hermione felt the blood rush to her face as she scowled to herself.
Dickhead.
She didn't reply, but instead lifted her hand up again and gingerly put it though the frame.
Sure, she'd been told not to touch strange things. She'd also been told there was no such thing as magic.
A warm tingling sensation passed into her fingers and down her arm and she quickly snapped her hand out of the mist.
The tingling stopped just as quickly.
Hermione turned back to Malfoy with a searching glare.
His smirk widened. Cool, huh?
Hermione rolled her eyes, picked up her bag again, and walked away. That made two prats she'd walked out on in the space of ten minutes.
But before she had gotten very far, Malfoy's voice came back from behind her, almost scathing in tone. It was nice of your boyfriend to defend you against Snape this afternoon, wasn't it?
Hermione stopped and turned on her heel to face Malfoy, rolling her eyes and letting out a frustrated groan. Malfoy's references to Ron were starting to get on her nerves, though she couldn't quite understand why they were grating on her that much. She considered herself immune to his insults after all these years.
Don't you know what friends are for, Malfoy? Snape was out of line in asking me to do that and everyone knew it. Just shut up and leave me alone, she scowled. And leave Ron out of it.
Malfoy just continued to smirk as he walked over to her, grasped her shoulder and pulled her back in front of the frame.
she glowered at him again.
Not answering her, he lifted her right hand back into the glowing swirl of colour. The tingling returned.
It's a portal, he said. See that glowing purple ball in the middle? Grab on to it.
Hermione turned up and looked at him, frowning.
Go on, said Malfoy with a little nod towards the swirling in the frame.
Looking into the swirls, Hermione saw a light she hadn't noticed before. It was deep violet and about the size of a tom bowler marble. She reached further in for a moment and then hesitated.
To where, exactly, was this thing a portal? Considering the company she was in, ending up in a graveyard full of Death Eaters was a most distinct possibility.
But before she could pull her had away from the orb, Malfoy wrapped his fingers around hers and covered it with them.
The tingling spread through out her body from her arm. It wasn't at all like the almost violent navel-tugging felt when using a Portkey, but rather a gentle pull.
Hermione kept her eyes open and looked around as everything went purpley-pink.
Then suddenly the colours around her went back to normal and she found herself standing next to Malfoy in a normal-enough looking corridor.
The strange picture was next to her as well, but it was on her right instead of her left. It was as if they'd been transported to the other side of the frame.
Hermione turned around and walked a few steps down the unfamiliar corridor.
Are we still in Hogwarts?
Were you expecting to be in France? Malfoy asked mockingly.
Oh shut up, Malfoy.
You asked me a question.
Hermione rolled her eyes again.
Since changing staircases and hidden corridors were a everyday feature of Hogwarts, Hermione wasn't too concerned about finding herself in this particular one. She was more interested in how she got there.
Looking back into the frame, she saw the library corridor through the mist. A young Ravenclaw walked past, oblivious to the fact she was being watched by more than just paintings.
It's like a one-way mirror, Malfoy answered Hermione's question before she could ask it.
How did you know about it? she asked, still examining the mystical substance in the frame, trailing her fingers through it.
I made it.
Hermione turned sharply and looked at him.
Malfoy shrugged. I was playing around with some spells a couple of summers ago. It's just a lame version of a Portkey, really. Obviously it doesn't take you anywhere fun. But to most people it just looks like a normal painting. They wouldn't see the actual thing.
A visibility spell?
Ten points. There's on the object and one for the observer. It's all pretty much automatic, but I can override it, like I did just now to let you see it.
Hermione was impressed. Visibility spells were from Seventh Year Charms, and, as a Sixth Year, Draco generally shouldn't have the ability to cast one – let alone one complex enough to allow some people to see things others couldn't.
But she decided not to show it.
So, it's just a doorway to a corridor, then? she asked nonchalantly.
I guess so.
Hermione looked at him searchingly. Why wasn't he bragging about it?
Why did you show it to me? she asked after a little while.
Malfoy shrugged again. I thought you might be interested. You seem it, so I was right.
It's fascinating, Hermione said as dryly as she could. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the library. She turned back around to the frame but saw nothing but a normal painting in the same gilded frame. A girl who looked like she came from Ancient Greece was feeding a Pegasus.
Wh – where is the swirly thing? she spat.
What, this? Malfoy asked as he brought his hand up and waved it in front of her face.
The painting vanished, and the eddying colours reappeared.
You can do wandless magic?! Hermione breathed out in shock as she started at Malfoy.
I can do a lot of things, he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
Well. Then. Hermione searched for something to say. Good for you.
She wanted to kick herself. Instead she reached back into the frame for the glowing purple ball.
Malfoy said as he grabbed her arm.
Hermione twisted it out of his grip.
We had something we were supposed to do.
Hermione frowned. There weren't any assignments. Were there? A sense of alarm started to fill her, but she didn't have time to process her Things To Do list. She didn't have time to process much at all, actually.
Because before she could have said essay', Malfoy cupped her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her hard on the mouth.
Hermione squirmed, but he reached one arm around her back and held her to him.
Mpfump – op! she gagged out as she pushed him away by slamming hard on his chest with both hands.
She stared at Malfoy for a split second, blinking in shock.
Then she slapped him. Hard.
The impact sent him stumbling backwards and in the instant his head was turned away, Hermione reached out and grabbed the glowing orb in the frame.
Moments later she was back in the library corridor, and from there she ran to Gryffindor Tower – the only place Malfoy wouldn't be able to follow her.
*
Stupid detention. Stupid Snape. Stupid me for saying that stupid thing to stupid Snape for stupid Hermione.
Aaaaaaaargh.
I don't even know why I did that, and now everyone thinks I'm a flaming nutcase.
I make sure not to hurt my fingers any more as I climb into the portrait hole. Stupid Snape made me gut rats and separate various bits of their stupid insides to use in various bits of stupid potions.
Luckily, the rats were frozen so they didn't smell. Unluckily, my fingers are just about frozen off so they don't do much at all, except smell.
I am so stupid.
Stupid stupid stupid.
Hermione's sitting on the windowsill and staring out. What is wrong with her? Will she just stop moping around?
I suppose I should apologise for being a stupid stupid prat.
But I really had to say something to him. It wasn't that I didn't think she knew the potion.
Well it was that too.
But it was more just stupid Snape bringing up when she was Petrified.
God.
That was the scariest thing I have ever had to live through.
Scarier than being bitten by a dragon. Scarier than being trapped in that stupid plant trying to get the Philosopher's Stone. Scarier than knowing you're about to get smashed to smithereens on by an abnormally large chess piece. Scarier that crashing a car into a psychotic tree. Scarier than being about to get killed by giant spiders. Scarier than being trapped in a cave with that smarmy git Lockhart while your sister and best friend are being attacked by an evil monster. Scarier than being dragged away by a killer dog and facing a killer escapee while you have a broken leg. Scarier than werewolves. Scarier than Demontors. Scarier than knowing Death Eaters are attacking innocent people. Scarier than being put to sleep to be a hostage. Scarier than your best friend vanishing and then coming back with a kid's body and news that a psychotic evil megalomaniac was back. Scarier than everything that happened last year.
I know it doesn't make sense. We've been though some scary shit over the past few years. But
I close my eyes and gulp, trying not to start bawling in the middle of the common room. Yeah, that'd be a good move. They don't think you're enough of a stupid dunderhead already.
I say, wringing my fingers together to try and get the blood flowing. I can't actually feel them though. The Slytherin match is in a week. Harry's going to kill me if my fingers fall off and I can't hold on to my broomstick.
She doesn't respond.
I say again.
She looks up.
I'm sorry for yelling at you this afternoon
*
That's fine, Ron, Hermione said to him as she returned to staring out the window. She felt sick to her stomach. But it was a strange sort of nice-sickness too.
She hardly heard his apology, and barely noticed him muttering something about his fingers and going up to his dorm before dinner.
She knew she couldn't eat anything, and tried to think of an excuse for when he and Harry came back down to get her.
*
To Be Continued in Part Three
Author's Notes – I'd really, really, really love feedback on how this is going: good, bad, whatever -- so please leave a review! I also apologise profusely for the dodgy Moody call, I just realised I needed an HP-pun somewhere to really mark my place as a ff. writer of substance *wink to LoPotter and Lady Norbert, HP-pun experts* Hee hee! Aaaaaand, if you'd like me to let you know when I've posted the next chapter, just leave a note in your review or email me, schquinnay@yahoo.com.au, and I'll add you to the mailing list.
Credits – Songs/Quotes (in order of appearance)
-- JK Rowling, Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire, Bloomsbury, London, 2000. Quote
re Pensieve p507.
-- I'll Be There For You – The Rembrandts (1996)
Disclaimer – All characters and events you recognise from Harry Potter
belong to JK Rowling (aka The Goddess)
I own nothing except the dodgy plot. Cheers :o)
The Harry Potter Plot Bunnies -- Making the world safer for people who don't exist http://www.geocities.com/plotbunnies
