Authors Note: sorry for the late update, but like the rest of the world I was too busy reading book five to worry about my own story. As ever thanks to my beater for making this readable and enjoy!

Chapter six

Studying herself closely in the full-length mirror, Hermione adjusted her hat for the tenth time before impatiently turning away, scooping up her bag. 'Honestly,' she thought, 'I am behaving as though this were my first date, rather than a private tutoring session.' True, she acknowledged, she was feeling very nervous, but standing in front of the mirror, gawping at herself would not help in the least. After all, the neatness of her appearance would not dictate how well she would do in her session now would it?

Straightening her shoulders, she swung her bag on to her back and marched out of the room, resisting the temptation to glance back at herself in the mirror. As she hurried down the spiral staircase towards the Gryffindor Common Room, she could not stop her thoughts straying to the ordeal ahead. In his note, Professor Dumbledore had not told her who her tutor would be, simply telling her to meet him in his office at 6:30 that evening. Hermione just hoped she was up to the task he had set her, and that his faith in her abilities was justified.

Reaching the portrait hole, she clambered through and set off for Dumbledore's office. Around her, students were making their noisy way back to the tower from dinner, pushing and jostling each other in their attempts to reach the portrait hole first. Ploughing her way through them, she tried not to think of the coming lesson, but focused her attention instead on the people thronging up the corridor towards her. All were talking in loud voices and some were gesticulating wildly as they talked. Finally, Hermione reached the Gargoyle and giving the password, waited while it moved aside to reveal the moving staircase leading to Dumbledore's office. Stepping onto the staircase, she swallowed down the nerves threatening to choke her, making a valiant effort to compose herself. As she raised her hand to knock on the polished oak door to the office, it swung open to reveal Dumbledore smiling down at her.

"Miss Granger, come in, come in!" So saying, he stepped aside and ushered Hermione in to his spacious office. "Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Nervously, Hermione sat down beside the huge desk, clasping her hands in her lap. A slight sound to her right had her turning her head to reveal a man lounging against one of the large windows. From what she could see of his profile, he was tall with a lean build. As Professor Dumbledore shut the door, the man turned to face the room. Tall and powerfully built, Hermione judged his age to be around fifty. He had dark thick hair, which curled slightly at the nape of his neck. His eyes were dark fathomless deep pools, which held a brooding intense look, giving Hermione the feeling of being able to look right through her. His mouth was set in a hard grim line and Hermione knew without being told, that this was a man not to be crossed.

Going over to the desk, Dumbledore lowered himself into the large leather chair behind it, regarding Hermione thoughtfully through his half-moon glasses before smiling.

"Well, Miss Granger, I'm glad to see you could make it this evening. I would like to introduce Quentin Trimble to you who has kindly agreed to tutor you. Quentin?"

Hermione stared open mouthed at the stranger, who stared right back at her. Then realising what she was doing, she quickly closed her mouth, and stuck out her hand, which the man took in a cool firm grasp.

"Miss Granger, it's a pleasure to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you, although I must say you are younger than I had envisaged."

"Erm well, I suppose so," Hermione began, and then curiosity getting the better of her, she blurted out, "Are you the Quentin Trimble who wrote 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection'?"

"The very one. So does this mean you have read that particular book?" he asked raising a sardonic eyebrow at her.

"Oh yes," she gushed, "it was one of the set books for our first year, but I've recently also read 'Dark and Light: The Origins of Complex Magic' and 'The Lure of the Dark'."

A silence followed this announcement and finally Quentin Trimble drawled, "Interesting. Both those books deal with highly complex magic, the likes of which are definitely not taught at Hogwarts. But then again…" he shrugged and turned to Dumbledore saying, "We had best get started, I don't know how long this is going to take. Where will the lessons take place?"

"There's a nice room I've had ready," Dumbledore smiled, "Follow me."

He turned and led them out of the room, down the spiral staircase, past the Gargoyle and along the corridor. Hermione found herself almost having to run to keep up with the long strides of the two men, but half way down the corridor, Dumbledore came to a stop. He pushed open the door to a deserted classroom, which Hermione recognised as being the one that Malfoy had dragged her into, after her last visit to Dumbledore's office. Her heart sank; the room looked just as dirty as before – dust coated the windows, making the light, which managed to filter in through the filthy panes murky; cobwebs were everywhere, covering every surface, and the floor could hardly be seen beneath a layer of dust so thick it looked solid. Quentin Trimble too, looked around the dingy room in obvious disgust; only Professor Dumbledore was still smiling.

"Do not judge by appearances!" he said going over to a filthy blackboard on which he laid his hand and indicated that Hermione and Quentin Trimble do the same. Intrigued, both stepped forward and each reluctantly laid a hand on the grimy surface of the blackboard. Dumbledore took out his wand, and tapped the blackboard three times with its tip. Immediately, the blackboard as well as their hands began to glow a bright yellow, and then just as suddenly, Hermione felt a familiar tug behind her navel and her feet left the ground. She closed her eyes, but before she could consider panicking, her feet hit solid ground. Opening her eyes, Hermione found herself in a large spacious room which, as well as being light and airy, looked extremely comfortable. A large log fire dominated one wall giving out a welcome heat. The floor was covered with bright rugs in shades of deep blue and green. There were a few large very comfortable looking armchairs scattered round the room, each of which looked as though it could hold two people with ease. The walls were dotted with paintings of landscapes, and a few books were piled on a large table by one of the windows.

"As you've probably gathered, that blackboard is a portkey which will transport you to this room when you need to use it. It will recognise the palms of your hands and so only you can be admitted into this room. Miss Granger, I need not tell you how important it is that no one find out what you are doing, especially the whereabouts of this room. The actual location of this room is known only to me, and you leave it by means of that painting." He indicated a painting of a grey mountain, capped with white snow, over Hermione's right shoulder. "You'll be transported back to the small alcove just beneath the stairs leading to the hospital wing. Also, this room has a silencing, as well as a shielding charm on it, just in case anyone does come across it by accident. I think that's it. Is there anything else you require, Quentin?"

Quentin Trimble, who had been looking interestedly round the room, shook his head tersely before stalking over to the pile of books by the window.

"Well, if that's everything, I will leave you to get on with it. Go easy on her, Quentin – she is rather young. And Miss Granger, good luck, and don't worry if you can't meet the standards Quentin expects of you – he is known to be a hard task master!" So saying, Dumbledore touched the painting of the mountain, and disappeared.

"Well, don't just stand there, take a seat and you can tell me about yourself!" Quentin Trimble's voice cracked through the room like a whip, causing Hermione to start, before looking at him. He stood leaning against one of the large windows, a cynical eyebrow raised.

Going over to one of the large armchairs, Hermione sat down and to her relief, after a moment, he did the same.

"Now, before we start, there're just a few things I want to clear up; there's to be no formality here, you may address me as Quentin. Also, nothing said in this room will go any further, so you can scream and swear all you want," he shrugged and gave a smirk, "there's nothing I haven't heard before."

A silence descended between the two, as Hermione digested Quentin's words.

Looking exasperated at her prolonged silence, Quentin rolled his eyes and continued, "Well, Hermione? Is there anything you wish to say or to find out? You do know that if you don't ask, you won't know, don't you? So don't waste time standing on ceremony, wondering if you ought to ask a question." Satisfied that he had made his point, he leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out towards the warmth emanating from the fire.

"Erm, what do you want to know about me?" Hermione ventured timidly.

"Whatever you feel like telling me," he looked at her. "For example, how does it feel to be a Lestintia?"

Hermione bit her lip at the suddenness of the question, but then she reflected – this was not a man who minced his words. For a moment, she considered saying it was fine, and she had got used to the idea, but then a reckless rage took over her, and before she could think twice she let fly.

"Well, you know what? It feels absolutely bloody wonderful; suddenly being told that you have powers that only dark wizards are known to have. It feels damn bloody great knowing that you're different from all your peers – definitely something to gloat about. Oh, and to make it absolutely, positively perfect, these powers I'm suppose to have? I don't even know how to control them. So, yes – being a Lestintia is really the most wonderful thing that's happened to me…"

Hermione went on and on, giving vent to the frustration, anger, fear and worry that over the course of the last few weeks, had built up inside her. She felt like a dam which having burst its banks, was allowing all the water it had so diligently held back, to flow away. As she ranted and raved about the injustice of the burdens she was expected to carry, she could feel herself beginning to relax. Her breath was coming more easily, and she could feel the anguish and worry seeping out of her bit by bit.

Finally, after ten minutes of non-stop talking, she fell silent, spent. Collapsing back into her chair, she focused on Quentin's face, which she now registered was smiling.

"Hmm, that is a lot for one small person to carry around. Tell me, have you not mentioned any of your fears to anyone else?" Quentin asked.

"What?" asked Hermione incredulously, "And be told I am weak or not fit to help Professor Dumbledore? Not likely!"

"I see," he responded leaning back in his chair, "Well, I have to marvel at your self control, most people your age would've cracked long ago, but then as you so rightly pointed out, you are different and therefore it is not surprising to find you handling it better than your peers would have. I must admit when Albus asked if I would tutor you, I was rather surprised. He did not, of course, mention the fact that you are a Lestintia until I got here this evening, and I must say I'm impressed. It takes a lot for a person to be a Lestintia; I have only ever met one other before in all my travels, so meeting you, one might say is a bit of an eye-opener. Finally," he said raising a hand to forestall her,"it's not weak to admit you're afraid of something; on the contrary, it can make you into a stronger person. You have every reason to be afraid of your own talents – I would be, in your position, as you are dealing with the unknown. It's natural to be afraid of the unknown, and there's nothing wrong with allowing yourself the luxury of a tantrum or two."

He grinned, dispelling Hermione's nerves, and for the first time that evening she felt a sense of peace begin to take hold of her. Perhaps Quentin Trimble's bark was worse than his bite; his façade and demeanour making him appear much stricter than he actually was – Hermione fervently hoped so.

"I suppose you're right," Hermione conceded, "about being fearful of the unknown – I mean all these people expecting all these things from me, and being a Lestintia on top of it –" she sighed, "Well, it hasn't helped."

"No, I don't doubt that at all, but that's the point of these lessons – to help you make the best of your extra magical abilities. I'm determined that by the time this school year draws to a close, you will have mastered your extra powers, and then we can begin to think of you joining the Order. Now to begin with, I just want to go through some basic charms and hexes. I want to see how good you are at what you already know before worrying about the extra curricular elements."

Getting up, he walked to the middle of the room and indicated Hermione do the same. Once they were both standing facing the table with the books on it, he started testing Hermione on basic charms – Wingardium Leviosa, cheering charms (using himself as the subject), Summoning charms, locomotion charms, and finally the Banishing charm. 'It is a good thing,' Hermione thought, 'that I am so good at Charms; otherwise this could be very embarrassing.'

"Very good, yes, very good indeed. I see what Albus meant about your magical prowess. Next, hexes. I presume you do know some?"

Half an hour later, Hermione stood exhausted in the middle of the large room. Quentin had tested her on all the hexes she, Ron and Harry, had ever learned, and a few that the other two did not know. She wondered dazedly if he would let her curl up on the floor and go to sleep, but even as the thought entered her head, she pushed it away. Quentin was not the type of person who would let her give up because of a mere trifle such as tiredness!

He was talking again, and with an effort, Hermione focused on him. "Good, now for the next interesting bit. I'm sure you're tired but tough enough to handle this. No one said this would be easy. Stand there," he indicated a point ten feet away from him, "and now it is my turn to throw some hexes at you! Due to your tiredness and probable nerves, I doubt you've noticed that none of your hexes or charms affected me at all!"

Hermione felt the colour begin to suffuse her cheeks; he was right, she had been so anxious to get the spells and the wrist movement's right, she hadn't paid much attention to Quentin, and how the hexes were affecting him. He grinned at her horrified expression and carried on speaking.

"I'll tell you the reason for the hexes not affecting me. Although I'm not a Lestintia, my magical abilities are strong enough for me to block the hexes you threw at me. Do you want to know how I did it?" Not waiting for an answer, he went on, "I refused to let them affect me. The body and mind are what you make of them, blocking involves will-power and determination. If you refuse to let a hex touch you, it won't, it is as simple as that," he paused, allowing Hermione to absorb these words. Continuing his lecture, he explained,"When your mind refuses to let the hex affect you, it puts up a barrier against it, and if this is strong enough, the hex can't get through. It's a bit like muggle Psychology. Anxiety Disorder, for example, is all in the mind; when a person is diagnose with the disorder, there's nothing physically wrong with them, the problem is with their mind – which for a variety of reasons, has been programmed to worry too much, thereby causing panic attacks and other not very pleasant symptoms. Muggle Psychologists treat the disorder with therapy – of which I believe there are a range – but all have one single purpose; to reprogram the mind into not worrying about trifles, thereby stopping the triggering of motor responses such as accelerated heart rate and so on."

"Yes, I've heard about that," responded Hermione pondering his words, "I mean according to my parents who are dentists, the mind is the most important part of the body, especially when it comes to control. Apparently, according to Dad, people can learn to ignore pain just because they keep telling themselves they can't feel it."

"Precisely," Quentin agreed, "the mind is the most important part of the whole body because it's the control centre. I aim to teach you to block hexes to begin with. After a while, every time you know someone is about to hex you, your mind will prepare you by putting up a barrier against it. It's this strength we must work on. I'm going to start with jelly-legs and as soon as I raise my wand, you're to tell yourself 'this hex can't hurt me', but make sure you believe it!"

So saying, he raised his wand and Hermione braced herself. Gritting her teeth in concentration, she thought 'this hex won't reach me, it won't!' The silence in the room made her glance at Quentin who was grinning back at her.

"I threw the hex at you a few seconds ago and it didn't even reach you! The beam of light fizzled out before it was within five feet of you. I'm very impressed! But I think that's enough for now," he sat down heavily, regarding her from beneath lowered lids.

"Of course, being good at magic does have its disadvantages and that's something I need to warn you about. I'm sure you are aware that there are certain people out there, mainly those of all-wizard backgrounds, who will resent someone such as yourself." Hermione nodded; an image of Lucius Malfoy's sneering face flashed in her mind's eye. "These people find it very hard to stomach the fact that you are more magically powerful than them. They have no qualms about doing anything to… er let's say, stop you?" Hermione nodded again trying to suppress a shiver at the memory of Lucius Malfoy's face when she had openly defied him in the bookshop. "Well, these days, they have no choice but to except those people with muggle origins, as it's becoming increasingly more difficult to have disease-free pureblood children. They're going to have to marry muggleborns such as yourself, to ensure their own bloodlines continue."

Hermione frowned. She had of course been aware of diseases such as Kurbs-Blood – there wasn't anyone she knew who didn't know what the disease meant. However, for people such as the Malfoys to actively encourage marrying a muggleborn – it was not only unthinkable, it meant that Kurbs-Blood was a more insidious threat – a greater cause of infant mortality, than the wizarding community would have people believe.

"Does this mean, that people like – oh, I don't know – the Nantons, for example, does it mean that they are looking to marry muggleborns, just so they can have disease-free offspring? That is… well, bad, for want of a better word."

"Exactly! That's exactly what I mean, so keep on your guard. You are a powerful witch, who would be an asset to any pureblood family," he warned. Noticing that Hermione's eyelids were drooping, he added gently, "Now it's getting late, so you'd better be off. We'll start training in earnest next week. This will give me time to do some research about the direction we'll go, now that I know what I'm dealing with. Would the same time suit you?"

XoXoXoXo

"Oh c'mon Hermione," Ron wheedled, "Just one flight, I mean it'll be so much fun! And since we all know how to fly now, it'd be pointless not to put the skill to good use!"

"No, Ron, I'm not flying around the grounds just for the hell of it. And anyway, I know that what you really want to do, is spy on the Slytherin Quidditch practice! How ethical is that?" At these words, Harry turned away from Hermione, focusing his eyes on a point above her head.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it spying," he began, "more like, checking out the opposition?" he grinned and continued, "and this way, they won't even know it's us sitting in the trees watching them making prats of themselves. Besides, it'll give us a chance to stretch our wings."

"Hermione, this has nothing to do with ethics, does it?" Ron asked, giving her a shrewd look, "You're scared aren't you?"

"Scared? How ridiculous can you get?" she defended herself, "What would I be scared of?" But even as she tried to deny Ron's claim, she could feel the colour creeping into her cheeks, staining them a deep pink.

"Oh I don't know," Ron looked thoughtfully at the sky, "Perhaps you're afraid of heights?" he teased. "Look, we'll be with you, and nothing can happen to you, if we're there as well. You need to get over this fear – what's the point of turning into your Animagus form if you're too scared to fly in the open?"

"I know," Hermione sighed, "but well, just looking down makes me feel queasy," she finally admitted.

"No one's saying it's going to be easy for you, but Ron's right, you have to get over this fear, and once you're over it, well imagine!" Harry made an expansive gesture with his hands, encompassing the three of them.

Hermione knew, of course, that they were right, but talking about her fear of heights was one thing, and actually facing it, was a completely different thing altogether! Ever since their first flying lesson, she had avoided getting on a broomstick as much as she could. Flying, she thought grimly, was one of those things you just couldn't learn from a book – damn.

"Well, if we're going to do it, we'd better go now, or their practice'll be over," Ron said, and turning to Hermione, he added, "Coming Hermione?"

Gulping, Hermione nodded dumbly before turning to face the window.

"Just keep calm, and spread your wings, your instinct'll do the rest," Harry assured her. "There's a large oak tree just behind the Quidditch pitch in which we can sit to watch. Remember – look carefully at what the Chasers are doing. Hermione, we'll both try and keep close to you, the tree isn't far and once you're in it, you'll be safe."

'It's just fine for him' Hermione thought, sarcastically, opening her bedroom window, 'he is a natural on a broomstick – I'm not!' Not giving herself any more time to panic and back out of the scheme, she stepped back from the window, closed her eyes and transformed. Immediately, she felt her body shrink, and tentatively raised her wings flapping them as Ron and Harry had shown her previously. She felt herself lift off the ground and with care, made her way over to the open window. Taking care not to look down, she flew through the window, catching her breath at the scene laid out below her.

Fang lay on the ground outside Hagrid's hut, with something dangling from between his teeth. Hagrid himself, was bent over what looked like a pile of crates attempting to lift them up without them toppling over. Behind them, the trees in the Forbidden Forest swayed in the slight breeze of the cool clear March day. Turning her head, Hermione could see the Quidditch pitch. There were indeed people training on it, although she could not make out the colour of their robes. Turning in the direction of the pitch, she made for it, taking care to fly round it rather than through the middle, thereby avoiding any stray Bludgers. Reaching the large oak tree situated at one side of the pitch, she landed gratefully on one of its wide branches, which she gripped with her talons. A rustling on either side of her, made her turn her head to see Ron and Harry making themselves comfortable on branches similar to her own. The foliage, now green and lush, hid them from view and all three had an uninterrupted vista of the Quidditch pitch and its occupants.

Hermione watched the Slytherin Chasers practicing throwing the Quaffle to each other, attempting what looked like the Hawks-Head attacking formation, if Harry's descriptions of the move were anything to go by. She had to admit that they were very good; their speed enhanced by the latest Nimbus broomsticks, once again purchased for them by Malfoy's father at the start of the year. Malfoy himself was weaving in and out of the others in search of the Snitch, which had taken refuge behind the right ear of one of the Chasers, whose name Hermione couldn't remember. As she watched, Malfoy zoomed towards the Chaser and his target, but the Snitch evidently, not wanting to be caught, flew off again, followed by an angry shout from Malfoy, who followed in hot pursuit. Beside her, Hermione was aware of the branch beneath her, shaking slightly as Ron did a jig of delight on his branch, causing the leaves on it to rub against her. Gripping her own branch more tightly with her feet, Hermione felt a pang of envy hit her; 'It must be nice,' she thought gloomily, 'not to be afraid of heights; in the secure knowledge you wouldn't panic if you looked downwards'.

Hermione was so busy watching Ron, she had no time to see the small black Bludger coming straight for her; Harry's harsh cry was lost in the pain of impact. One moment, Hermione was frowning at Ron, and the next she felt a sharp pain in her side and she was falling! She had a terrifying glimpse of the ground coming towards her at an alarming rate before she passed out.

XoXoXoXo

"Shit! How'd that happen?" The voice was coming from somewhere above Hermione's head. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see a ring of people surrounding her. As ever when looking at something up close, she could not make out their features, which looked blurry, as though she were peering through a particularly foggy window. She could, however, make out the green of their robes; the Slytherin Quidditch team was surrounding her. At the same time, she became aware of the pain crippling her right side, and would have moaned in pain if she were in her human form.

"Well, what the hell are we gonna do with the stupid bird? We can't just leave it lying here; I say we finish it off, one quick Avada Kedavra, should do the trick," the speaker was a tall burly boy – one of the Chasers, Hermione thought hazily.

"Oh c'mon, that's a bit unfair. I mean it wasn't the owl's fault it got hurt now, was it? I say we take it to Hagrid and leave it there. He'll look after it!" Hermione swivelled her head to see Malfoy staring down at her. As he spoke, he bent down and gingerly picked her up, avoiding touching her right side. "By the looks of it, the Bludger hit the wing – look, it's all crushed!"

"Hagrid? That moron looking after an injured bird? Are you joking?" Hermione recognised the voice of James Hatfield, a Slytherin sixth year prefect. "If you want to do something useful, I suggest you take the dammed bird up to the hospital wing, so Pomphrey can deal with it. Hagrid'd probably eat the thing for dinner."

"I don't know what all the fuss is about," chimed in another voice Hermione didn't recognise, "I say leave the stupid thing here and let's get on with our game. We have to beat the bloody Gryffindors next week. Who cares about the bird? Chuck it into the forest and be done with it!"

"Oh c'mon, Tom, that's a bit mean!" snapped James Hatfield, "I don't know why the Bludger went after the bird, but we have to do something. Slytherins aren't that heartless, whatever the rest of the school may choose to think."

"Also, I've a nasty feeling that this owl belongs to that Brocklehurst girl," Malfoy said. "She'd kick up a stink if it went missing, and considering the fact our parents move in the same social circles, it would be better if we got it looked at. Anyway, this is a rather fine specimen of an owl, and I for one would feel bad if we did nothing to help it, considering it was our fault it got hurt in the first place."

"I hope for your sake Draco," one of the other Slytherins joined in, "none of the Gryffindors see this sentimental side of you – they'd rip you to shreds! You're beginning to sound like a girl, gushing over a bird," he teased,"Honestly! But then, you always did have a soft spot for them, didn't you?"

"I'm with Draco on this one," piped in another voice Hermione didn't know, "Let's take it to the hospital wing and be done with it. At least that way our consciences will be clear and we can rest easy."

"What I'd like to know," said the Chaser who had suggested using the Avada Kedavra, "is why the Bludger went after the bird in the first place. I mean they never go after birds – only humans. I bet it was the bloody Gryffindors – they probably did something to it so it'd hit the bird and interrupt our practice session. Yeah, that's just the kind of thing they'd do – even more reason to get rid of the stupid bird!"

"Stop being so dramatic!" snapped James Hatfield, "You know as well as I do, the Bludgers've been locked up in Hooch's office, and it takes a lot more power than any of the Gryffindors possess, to tamper with them. This is just one of those freak accidents. Rather than stand around arguing, let's decide what to do with the bird, and get on with our practice. Merlin knows we need it!"

"Well, I'll leave you all to your argument. I'll take the owl up to Pomphrey. Anyone want to come along?" Malfoy asked the group.

"No, you go alone. The bloody bird doesn't need a bloody guard of honour!" the Chaser bit out spitefully.

Malfoy turned with Hermione still cradled carefully in his arms and made his way back towards the castle. Above them, Hermione could see Ron and Harry circling overhead, and then following them. But she knew that apart from watching and waiting, there was nothing any of them could do about the situation. As she watched, they disappeared from sight and she hoped they would transform and head straight for the hospital wing.

After what felt like an eternity but was only about ten minutes, Malfoy pushed open the door to the hospital wing with his foot and deposited Hermione on one of the beds. She felt her heart lift as Ron and Harry's voices floated to her from Madam Pomphrey's office and a few seconds later, the three of them emerged from it.

"Malfoy, you bloody git, what've you done?" Ron began, "What happened to the owl?" He gestured to Hermione as he spoke. Ignoring Ron, Malfoy turned to Madam Pomphrey, explaining briefly what had happened on the Quidditch pitch.

"Hmmm, let me see," she murmured, "well, you can all three go now, by the look of it, the bird's wing is broken. Mr. Potter, call in tomorrow, so I can have another look at that wrist. Now be off, the three of you. And Mr. Weasley, your language leaves a lot to be desired!"

Hermione watched the three boys leave the room, shooting malevolent glares at each other. Then, Madam Pomphrey began to prod and poke her, muttering to herself all the time. Eventually she jabbed Hermione's wing with her wand, and it mended instantly. Hermione could feel the pain receding and for the first time since the Bludger had hit her, could think clearly. She would have something to say to Ron and Harry when she got out of the hospital wing, but first, she had to figure a way to get out.

As though Madam Pomphrey could read Hermione's thoughts, she said in her motherly way, "Now, I'll leave you. No doubt you're anxious to get away." So saying she bustled out of the room.

Hermione wasted no time in making for the open window. Flying through it, she made for the side of Hagrid's hut, away from prying eyes and on landing, transformed herself back into her human shape. She could immediately feel the stiffness in her arm, but ignoring the discomfort, she set off back to Gryffindor Tower. She could not believe what had happened, but at the same time was finding it extremely difficult to suppress a smile. Imagine – Malfoy having a soft spot for birds!

The grounds were very quiet, bathed now in the golden glow of the moon. Reaching the oak front doors, Hermione pushed them open and made her solitary way back to Gryffindor Tower. As she walked, she replayed the last hour in her mind, promising herself to hex Ron and Harry into next year as soon as she set eyes on them.

The first thing she saw on entering the Common Room, was Harry and Ron's anxious faces; both leaped up at her entrance and followed her up to her room.

"What happened, Hermione? How did you fall off the branch?" Harry asked.

"A Bludger knocked into me. Honestly, I never want to go through that again! One of the Slytherins was all for hitting me with a curse to finish me off so they wouldn't have to bother with me!"

"Bloody Slytherins," Ron muttered, "they should be got rid of – the lot of them! We saw you fall and watched while they all argued over what to do with you – Merlin, that was scary!" Hermione noticed that his face was drained off all colour and smiled reassuringly at him, her earlier feelings of anger dissipating at his obvious distress.

"Well, it was Malfoy who insisted they take me up to the hospital wing. I'm surprised Madam Pomphrey agreed to look at me."

"Oh she isn't bad," Harry explained knowledgeably, "the thing with her is, she hates to see anything in pain and will help it if she can, I once saw her mending the leg of Millicent Bulstrode's cat. That was the day Lockhart deboned my arm, remember?"

"How could we forget?" Hermione rolled her eyes, "But what excuse did you use to go to the hospital wing? You know what Madam Pomphrey's like – she'd never allow anyone to loiter around there for no reason."

"Oh, she was more than anxious to let us stay," Harry told her grinning, "On our way up to the hospital wing, I accidentally on purpose banged my wrist, and consequently, it needed looking at!"

"I see," Hermione murmured, trying to keep down the lump that had welled in her throat, "Well, thanks – it was really nice of you."

"Well, you didn't think we'd trust Malfoy alone with you, would we? I mean he's such a bloody git!" Ron exclaimed hotly. Hermione simply shrugged resignedly, she didn't feel up to arguing with him just then.

XoXoXoXo

"Yeah, as I was saying," Mandy Brocklehurst gabbled leaning forward slightly, "Mum and Dad are really looking forward to meeting you. We're hosting a ball, but we've been invited to loads more. It'll be really great – just bring anything you like, I'm sure it'll be fine."

Hermione frowned worriedly at Mandy, "Well, if we could go into Diagon Alley at some point, I can get something from there. My old dress robes won't fit me anymore, and judging from the number of parties we seemed to have been invited to, I'll need at least three sets of new ones!"

"No problems, Hermione!" Mandy smiled, "we'll go to Diagon Alley at the start of the hols. I'm sure mum won't mind you using her designer to make the dress robes!"

"Well, if you're sure it's alright. I'd hate to impinge…"

"Don't be silly, she'll only be too pleased to help. I don't know if you have heard of her designer – Madam Tooley? Anyway, she makes all our robes and has a real talent in design. She knows exactly what colour will suit each individual."

"Talking about clothes again Miss Brocklehurst?" the scathing voice behind Mandy made both girls jump and whip round to see Draco Malfoy leaning indolently against a bookshelf, his habitual smirk playing around his mouth. "Honestly, what would old Pince say? Her two favourite bookworms sitting in the library discussing clothes!"

"What do you want?" Hermione snapped, shooting him a glare that could have done credit to a Basilisk. Trust Malfoy to turn up like the proverbial bad penny!

"Oh, nothing really," he replied casually, "I was just wondering what you two were doing, discussing clothes when there's work to be done," he waved an expansive arm over the jumble of books and parchment strewn over the table between Hermione and Mandy. "As a prefect, it's my duty to see people are using the library for its intended purpose, and not as a place for gossiping."

"Oh no, we weren't gossiping," Mandy muttered, her cheeks going a bright shade of scarlet, "we were just discussing the holidays. Hermione's coming to stay with me and we were just making plans." As she spoke, Hermione noticed her gaze was riveted on her hands, which were fiddling with one of her quills.

"Really?" Malfoy drawled with interest, "Is this true, Granger?"

"That Malfoy, is none of your business," Hermione snapped in response, "now why don't you run along and do some of that work you were going on about!"

"On the contrary, Granger, it is very much my business, for if you're going to be staying with the Brocklehursts, it's only right that we invite you to dinner at least once, at our Manor – you know, as a token of welcome into the wizarding community," Malfoy looked intensely at her.

Hermione stared back at him, not trusting herself to speak. A riot of emotions was running through her – anger and indignation, mixed with a feeling of an unease she could not explain. "I'll write to mother to let her know. We'll look forward to seeing you at the Manor," with a curt nod of his head, Malfoy turned on his heel, and strode out of the library robes billowing.

"Oh my god," Mandy gasped, "I don't believe it! The Malfoys are going to invite us to dinner?"

"What's so special about that?" Hermione finally found her voice to ask.

"Special? Honestly Hermione, it's special because in the wizarding community, people only ever invite you to dinner, if you are close friends, or if they want to impress you, or get to know you better. Wizards have parties and things, but these are very formal and loads of people are invited, making it impossible for the host to spend much time with all of them. But at a dinner! Wizarding dinners are totally different. For one thing, dinners to be much more informal. Oh mum and dad will be pleased at this! For years, they have been secretly hoping that –" she blushed and lowered her gaze, "well, that there may be a match between Draco and me, I mean…"

"And so far, the Malfoys have shown no interest?" Hermione asked, with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"No, not at all. Perhaps now, things will change. I mean, he's very good looking, don't you think so?" Mandy asked her friend shyly.

"Oh I don't know!" Hermione muttered and shrugged, pulling a heavy book towards her and bending her head so that Mandy could not see her expression. She could feel a tight knot of dread forming in her stomach. What was Malfoy up to? She was sure his family's desire to spend an informal evening with the Brocklehursts had nothing to do at all with Mandy, but herself. The question was why? What was it about her that interested the Malfoys so much? She could clearly remember Lucius Malfoy's seemingly casual questions about her future, and his pre-occupation with her reasons for visiting Diagon Alley.

'Whatever it is the Malfoys want from me, they will not get it!' Hermione promised herself as she pulled a list of runes towards her, preparatory to translating them.