I don't own any rights to Harry Potter, I did not creature any of the characters, place names (cept for London and Yorkshire and Kings Cross, I didn't create those either, but neither did JK Rowling) or magic spells or any other things, you all know JK Rowling did. Worship her as I do.
"Really, Hermione, Hogwarts will be fine for one night without you." Ginny insisted, twisting her legs under her on the sofa.
Most of the students had headed up to bed already, it was quite late. The fire in the common room hearth had dwindled, but the house elves would not come and tend to it while the group of students remained awake.
Hermione forced what she hoped was a comforting smile. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyways. I'm so far behind on my homework as it is. I'll make a round or two of the halls, and then I'll come right back. And you don't need to worry about me." Ron was watching her with pursed lips, his hands kneading together in his lap. They'd been at this argument for all most an hour now, and Hermione was growing weary.
"Hermione, if you'd just left Ron or I come with you..." Harry trailed off, knowing he had repeated himself too many times now as it was.
Letting out a deep sigh, Hermione gripped the over stuffed arms of her chair and pushed herself to her feet. "I have neglected my duties as Head Girl. Wait up for me if you want, but if I catch you out in the halls I will have no choice but to take points from Gryffindor."
Four pairs of eyes followed her to the portrait hole. Harry and Ron looked very upset, but Ginny, sitting between them, had a hand on each of them, holding them back by their knee caps. They exchanged looks with each other before turning angry, but defeated eyes on Hermione. Ginny herself looked very calm, all most as if she knew Hermione needed the time alone to settle some things. And then there was Neville. Hermione had paused, one knee up in the hole, when she locked eyes with him. He had a faded smile on his lips, Hermione did not doubt at all that Neville new she was leaving to clear more than her head. Ever since she had met him and his parents in St. Mungos, she knew he understood the human heart more than anyone could really understand. He loved his parents despite their insanity, and she knew that he could be sure that somewhere deep inside his parents, they still loved him. Love was a strange thing that could breech so many walls.
Even ones as strong as Draco's. Maybe he did love her, maybe he was just that good at pretending. She had an anger gnawing at her stomach, she needed to understand. Or for it to end. If he had left Hogwarts, it would be over. Not a satisfying ending, for sure, but at least it would be over. But then somewhere in her chest heaved against those thoughts of finality. She didn't know what to do or what to think, but she couldn't just leave it be. She itched to see him again.
Thrusting herself through the portrait hall to escape more herself than her friends, Hermione fled down the hall, her own footfalls lost to her ears. She wished that someone could just tell her the answer to this, that here was a book buried in the library that could satisfy her questions. But she knew there wasn't. This she had to figure out on her own.
The portrait that opened to the student records was fairly inconspicious on the third floor. An old wizard was loaded up with scrolls and books, some had spilled from his arms and lay scattered at his feet. Hermione watched him in his eternal; and hopeless struggle to gather everything in his arms for a moment before she cleared her throat, lifting her shoulders to stand straight.
He looked up from stuffing scrolls into his pockets and blinked at her suspiciously, before carefully asking "Password?"
Hermione glanced around her for a moment before speaking "Demosthenes" quietly. The portrait nodded and it swung open to allow her into the wing. Closing the hidden door behind her, Hermione was absently impressed how the room practically took up no more space than a broom cupboard until someone was actually inside. Then it took up nearly as much area as the library. Records of every student to ever attend Hogwarts over the hundreds of years sat in books piled on to and around shelves.
Luckily, she did not need to go searching through every book. Stepping around to a large desk with one book settled in the middle of the otherwise vacant surface, Hermione sat down on to the edge of the stool and leaned over the book. "Malfoy, Draco." she spoke to it, watching it glow slightly.
When the light had faded, she opened the cover to find an image of Draco gracing the first page with brief information about his parents, date of birth and area of study. The picture was glaring up at her, angry that someone like her was viewing his personal records.
She watched him glower at her for a moment before she flipped the page. His first year grades were listed along with brief write ups from each professor. On the page following that were a list of incidents he had been involved in that year, Hermione say her own name glowing along with Harry's and Ron's. She knew if she read any glowing name aloud the book would transform into their records, but that wasn't what she wanted.
She sifted through more and more pages until she reached his seventh year page. All his grades were currently blank, and there were, as of yet, no comments about his performance. Sucking in a breath, Hermione glanced around the stiffly silent room. She knew she was doing something completely against the rules, and it was never easy for her. She also knew that when she turned the page all of what had happened to her would be written up. As well as what had happened to Draco after the fight.
She could feel the texture of the old parchment as she ran her finger along it, slowly pushing the paper away so it flipped over of it's own accord.
Draco Malfoy has exhibited the most extreme form of maliciousness seen in Hogwarts for decades, it began. It went on, describing, gratefully, only the public acts between he and Hermione that had been witnessed. As it is, no formal compliant has been lodged by miss Hermione Granger or on behalf of her wishes, so we have no option other than to let Mr. Malfoy remain in attendance until circumstances prescribe otherwise. it finished.
Hermione leaned back on the stool, bracing her hands on the edge for support. So he was still here, but had been hiding. He was probably mortified, some part of Hermione found sympathy for him. All though outwardly, a satisfied smile spread across her lips. "Good, maybe he knows how I feel." she said to herself, watching the candles burn on the chandelier above her.
"What do you feel?"
Hermione yelped, her foot kicking involuntarily, sending the reference book sliding across the floor. She leapt from the stool to face him.
How she had missed him, she couldn't know. He was always so good at sneaking around, finding her whenever he could take a moment of her time for himself. But this was different. There was no welcome in how he stood in front of the door, as tall and forbearing as she had ever seen him. His arms were crossed over his chest, he looked very dishevelled and ... lost? He wore no cloak, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loose around his neck, his collar was sticking up into his hair. And his hair, it was a mess. She had never seen him looking anything but perfect. His eyes were dark and tired, and even in the dim light she could see an ugly bruise on his cheek.
"Draco?"
"I said, what do you feel?" he said, more force behind his voice now. "What could a mudblood like you possibly feel that would be anything like what I feel?"
"You actually have feelings?" she countered acidly, but then winced at her tone as it came out. No, he didn't know how she felt. This was all a game to him, wasn't it? He didn't care about her, he didn't love her. She was just stupid. Her skin bristled as she stepped towards him, intent on the door. She had been a prat to think that he cared, and had been a fool to care for him. How could she have forgotten the tone he would speak to her in, the way he turned his nose up at her? Even in their most intimate moments there had been an absence to him, but she had tried to deny it.
Hermione reached for the door handle, thinking she would just leave. Leave it all as it was, maybe it would just fade away. She certainly couldn't talk to him. He wasn't going to let her just walk away, though. His hand snaked around her wrist and shoved her forward, Hermione's chin thumped against the door painfully as he twisted her arm around against her back. She was pinned with her face against the door. "Draco, let go of me!"
He was standing against her, his long legs holding her in place. His knees pressed into the back of her thighs. She had never forgotten how he felt so close to her, how much bigger than her he was. But this felt nothing like that night. There was no comforting warmth between them now.
His cheek resting against the back of her head, he could never get enough of the smell of apples in her hair and skin. "I asked you what you felt, Hermione. Answer me." his voice was flat and low as he dragged his free hand through her hair, never gentle as his fingers ripped through the little tangles in her curls.
Her scalp was hurting, but not nearly as much as her arm. The muscled burned from being twisted unnaturally, she was breathing heavily through grit teeth against the pain. "I feel betrayed. I feel violated, I feel like a complete git!" she snapped at him, her knees failing her as she squirmed against his grip.
Draco pushed her arm upwards, Hermione cried out and rose to her toes, trying to ease the pressure. Draco slipped his hand to her cheek, ignoring the wetness slicking her skin. He was hurting her, he was making her cry. Good. Releasing her arm, he turned her to face him. Her brown eyes were wide, but she wasn't scared. He'd never seen such rage in her before, nor so much sadness. She was unashamed of her tears, and in that moment he finally realized he didn't understand her. He thought he had, she was just a stupid mudblood after all, wasn't she?
But no, she wasn't. She did feel. She felt just as strongly as he did. His breath had caught in his throat as he stared at her.
"Really, Hermione, Hogwarts will be fine for one night without you." Ginny insisted, twisting her legs under her on the sofa.
Most of the students had headed up to bed already, it was quite late. The fire in the common room hearth had dwindled, but the house elves would not come and tend to it while the group of students remained awake.
Hermione forced what she hoped was a comforting smile. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyways. I'm so far behind on my homework as it is. I'll make a round or two of the halls, and then I'll come right back. And you don't need to worry about me." Ron was watching her with pursed lips, his hands kneading together in his lap. They'd been at this argument for all most an hour now, and Hermione was growing weary.
"Hermione, if you'd just left Ron or I come with you..." Harry trailed off, knowing he had repeated himself too many times now as it was.
Letting out a deep sigh, Hermione gripped the over stuffed arms of her chair and pushed herself to her feet. "I have neglected my duties as Head Girl. Wait up for me if you want, but if I catch you out in the halls I will have no choice but to take points from Gryffindor."
Four pairs of eyes followed her to the portrait hole. Harry and Ron looked very upset, but Ginny, sitting between them, had a hand on each of them, holding them back by their knee caps. They exchanged looks with each other before turning angry, but defeated eyes on Hermione. Ginny herself looked very calm, all most as if she knew Hermione needed the time alone to settle some things. And then there was Neville. Hermione had paused, one knee up in the hole, when she locked eyes with him. He had a faded smile on his lips, Hermione did not doubt at all that Neville new she was leaving to clear more than her head. Ever since she had met him and his parents in St. Mungos, she knew he understood the human heart more than anyone could really understand. He loved his parents despite their insanity, and she knew that he could be sure that somewhere deep inside his parents, they still loved him. Love was a strange thing that could breech so many walls.
Even ones as strong as Draco's. Maybe he did love her, maybe he was just that good at pretending. She had an anger gnawing at her stomach, she needed to understand. Or for it to end. If he had left Hogwarts, it would be over. Not a satisfying ending, for sure, but at least it would be over. But then somewhere in her chest heaved against those thoughts of finality. She didn't know what to do or what to think, but she couldn't just leave it be. She itched to see him again.
Thrusting herself through the portrait hall to escape more herself than her friends, Hermione fled down the hall, her own footfalls lost to her ears. She wished that someone could just tell her the answer to this, that here was a book buried in the library that could satisfy her questions. But she knew there wasn't. This she had to figure out on her own.
The portrait that opened to the student records was fairly inconspicious on the third floor. An old wizard was loaded up with scrolls and books, some had spilled from his arms and lay scattered at his feet. Hermione watched him in his eternal; and hopeless struggle to gather everything in his arms for a moment before she cleared her throat, lifting her shoulders to stand straight.
He looked up from stuffing scrolls into his pockets and blinked at her suspiciously, before carefully asking "Password?"
Hermione glanced around her for a moment before speaking "Demosthenes" quietly. The portrait nodded and it swung open to allow her into the wing. Closing the hidden door behind her, Hermione was absently impressed how the room practically took up no more space than a broom cupboard until someone was actually inside. Then it took up nearly as much area as the library. Records of every student to ever attend Hogwarts over the hundreds of years sat in books piled on to and around shelves.
Luckily, she did not need to go searching through every book. Stepping around to a large desk with one book settled in the middle of the otherwise vacant surface, Hermione sat down on to the edge of the stool and leaned over the book. "Malfoy, Draco." she spoke to it, watching it glow slightly.
When the light had faded, she opened the cover to find an image of Draco gracing the first page with brief information about his parents, date of birth and area of study. The picture was glaring up at her, angry that someone like her was viewing his personal records.
She watched him glower at her for a moment before she flipped the page. His first year grades were listed along with brief write ups from each professor. On the page following that were a list of incidents he had been involved in that year, Hermione say her own name glowing along with Harry's and Ron's. She knew if she read any glowing name aloud the book would transform into their records, but that wasn't what she wanted.
She sifted through more and more pages until she reached his seventh year page. All his grades were currently blank, and there were, as of yet, no comments about his performance. Sucking in a breath, Hermione glanced around the stiffly silent room. She knew she was doing something completely against the rules, and it was never easy for her. She also knew that when she turned the page all of what had happened to her would be written up. As well as what had happened to Draco after the fight.
She could feel the texture of the old parchment as she ran her finger along it, slowly pushing the paper away so it flipped over of it's own accord.
Draco Malfoy has exhibited the most extreme form of maliciousness seen in Hogwarts for decades, it began. It went on, describing, gratefully, only the public acts between he and Hermione that had been witnessed. As it is, no formal compliant has been lodged by miss Hermione Granger or on behalf of her wishes, so we have no option other than to let Mr. Malfoy remain in attendance until circumstances prescribe otherwise. it finished.
Hermione leaned back on the stool, bracing her hands on the edge for support. So he was still here, but had been hiding. He was probably mortified, some part of Hermione found sympathy for him. All though outwardly, a satisfied smile spread across her lips. "Good, maybe he knows how I feel." she said to herself, watching the candles burn on the chandelier above her.
"What do you feel?"
Hermione yelped, her foot kicking involuntarily, sending the reference book sliding across the floor. She leapt from the stool to face him.
How she had missed him, she couldn't know. He was always so good at sneaking around, finding her whenever he could take a moment of her time for himself. But this was different. There was no welcome in how he stood in front of the door, as tall and forbearing as she had ever seen him. His arms were crossed over his chest, he looked very dishevelled and ... lost? He wore no cloak, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loose around his neck, his collar was sticking up into his hair. And his hair, it was a mess. She had never seen him looking anything but perfect. His eyes were dark and tired, and even in the dim light she could see an ugly bruise on his cheek.
"Draco?"
"I said, what do you feel?" he said, more force behind his voice now. "What could a mudblood like you possibly feel that would be anything like what I feel?"
"You actually have feelings?" she countered acidly, but then winced at her tone as it came out. No, he didn't know how she felt. This was all a game to him, wasn't it? He didn't care about her, he didn't love her. She was just stupid. Her skin bristled as she stepped towards him, intent on the door. She had been a prat to think that he cared, and had been a fool to care for him. How could she have forgotten the tone he would speak to her in, the way he turned his nose up at her? Even in their most intimate moments there had been an absence to him, but she had tried to deny it.
Hermione reached for the door handle, thinking she would just leave. Leave it all as it was, maybe it would just fade away. She certainly couldn't talk to him. He wasn't going to let her just walk away, though. His hand snaked around her wrist and shoved her forward, Hermione's chin thumped against the door painfully as he twisted her arm around against her back. She was pinned with her face against the door. "Draco, let go of me!"
He was standing against her, his long legs holding her in place. His knees pressed into the back of her thighs. She had never forgotten how he felt so close to her, how much bigger than her he was. But this felt nothing like that night. There was no comforting warmth between them now.
His cheek resting against the back of her head, he could never get enough of the smell of apples in her hair and skin. "I asked you what you felt, Hermione. Answer me." his voice was flat and low as he dragged his free hand through her hair, never gentle as his fingers ripped through the little tangles in her curls.
Her scalp was hurting, but not nearly as much as her arm. The muscled burned from being twisted unnaturally, she was breathing heavily through grit teeth against the pain. "I feel betrayed. I feel violated, I feel like a complete git!" she snapped at him, her knees failing her as she squirmed against his grip.
Draco pushed her arm upwards, Hermione cried out and rose to her toes, trying to ease the pressure. Draco slipped his hand to her cheek, ignoring the wetness slicking her skin. He was hurting her, he was making her cry. Good. Releasing her arm, he turned her to face him. Her brown eyes were wide, but she wasn't scared. He'd never seen such rage in her before, nor so much sadness. She was unashamed of her tears, and in that moment he finally realized he didn't understand her. He thought he had, she was just a stupid mudblood after all, wasn't she?
But no, she wasn't. She did feel. She felt just as strongly as he did. His breath had caught in his throat as he stared at her.
