Purely Physical Chapter 12
The rest of winter break seemed to evaporate in front of her eyes. Christmas Day came and went quickly. She spent time with her boys, spoke with her parents, finished up her make-up work, exchanged presents, and did her best to stop thinking about the completely confusing boy she was obsessed with.
And now it was the last day before the semester started. Many people were already back at school, and the corridors were loud and noisy. Hermione wasn't sure if she really liked that; she had enjoyed the peace and quiet, not to mention the reprieve from all the gossip.
Luckily for her gossip was a fickle thing. It had been a good three weeks since she'd returned, and most of her classmates had gone home and had a wonderful time and forgotten all about some petty school gossip. She was no longer the center of attention. Now perhaps they were discussing Zacharias Smith and Ginny Weasley's little rendezvous in the middle of the corridor (Ron was steaming), or if Seamus Finnegan really was a fruit, and if so did he have something with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw? Hermione had to laugh to herself at the audacity of these rumors. Seamus Finnegan was most certainly not a fruit—not from the lewd and horribly teenager way that he observed his female classmates—and Terry Boot had been dating Lisa Turpin for the last two years.
She had risen early; it was only seven in the morning and her friends probably weren't even up. Just as she was idly flicking through her closet, noticing that she really didn't have anything that she liked very much, Ron burst into her Head Girl quarters. She spun around, startled. "Ron!"
"Hermione," he gasped. "it's happened."
Even though she still asked, "What?" she knew what. It was that mysterious something big they always talked about. Voldemort was going to do something, somewhere, somehow. And perhaps now he had. Worriedly she followed him quickly down to the common room which was thankfully deserted.
Harry was on the couch, clutching his scar with one hand and the Daily Prophet with his other. "Look at this," he shoved the paper in her face.
Hermione scanned the article, her shock deepening with every word she read.
MINISTER OF MAGIC MURDERED, the headlines screamed.
Last night the renowned Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, was found dead in his sleeping quarters. The Dark Mark was found hovering above his home in the Wizarding Estates. Aurors have deduced that there was no struggle; apparently the Minister was completely unaware of such a horrendous attack. A day of mourning has been set…
Hermione stopped reading and looked up at the boys, her face ashen. "I can't believe it," she finally staggered. She had met this man. She knew him. She'd seen him. She'd seen him walk and talk and breathe and be and…he was dead? How could…true, she didn't like him… but… to know someone that died…how awful…
"Avada Kedavra," Harry sighed. "Obviously Voldemort's work."
"This is ridiculous," Hermione said fearfully. "A brilliant move on Voldemort's part; he'll terrify everyone! How in the world could he get to Fudge? Fudge was so protected!"
"I know," Ron cut in miserably, "but Fudge didn't believe that he was back, did he?"
"He had to! He's been back two years!" Harry cried. "Fudge wasn't that much of an idiot, he knew about the skirmishes here and there and the weird muggle deaths every now and then. He knew!"
"Then why didn't he protect himself?" Ron roared, and suddenly everything got quiet.
The noise had woken the house up, as people began trickling down the stairs. "Oy, what's going on?" Dean Thomas looked sleepy.
"Fudge's been murdered," Harry replied shortly.
The news chilled everyone, Hermione was sure, as all the sleepy looks disappeared. "Murdered?" Parvati Patil echoed.
Harry pointed at the newspaper article. "Hedwig brought my mail early today," he explained. "I'm sure you will all hear of it at breakfast."
And with that he stomped out of the room. Ron made a move to go after him but Hermione held him back. "No," she argued, "he needs his space. Ron…I can't even begin to explain how I feel…but think about how Harry feels. Harry knows so many people that died. He really does. It…it must be awful. We've got to be especially sympathetic round him."
Ron nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
And he too walked out of the room.
Hermione knew Ron wouldn't go after Harry but suddenly she realized she was stuck in a room full of curious people. Slipping out herself she made her way to her quarters and sat down on the bed, not knowing what to think.
How could she have forgotten about Voldemort? Sometimes he truly took a backseat in her mind. How could she be debating about dalliances with Draco and finishing up her schoolwork when people were dying? How could she have forgotten? Was that normal?
Hermione wished desperately that she had a normal life then. She wished she'd never heard of stupid magic or stupid Voldemort or stupid house-elves. Being a muggle was so much easier.
Or was it? She knew some who would argue differently, primarily people like Draco Malfoy. He certainly respected and milked his bloodline for all it was worth. And honestly, it did get him by.
Hermione didn't know what to do. How was she supposed to react? She did feel sad and weird and… oh, God, she never really knew anyone that died like that. It was fourth year all over again when Cedric Diggory had died and although Hermione had only spoken to the boy once, no one knew how horrible his death had been on her. Hermione hated death. It was part of the reason why she'd never leave Harry's side, the poor boy had been through so much and he'd seen so much rot and so much disgust!
Time seemed to be at a standstill. She couldn't stop thinking about Fudge. What was Fudge doing that day? What was the last thing he heard, the last thing he felt, the last thing he dreamt? Was his wife upset? Did he have any children that he'd left behind?
She felt sick. She wanted to throw up, but she hadn't eaten anything, so it wasn't of any use. Finally she left her room, right before lunch, and bumped into Lavender in the hallway. "Hermione," Lavender greeted with a small smile.
"Hello, Lavender," Hermione wasn't in the mood for small talk.
Apparently Lavender wasn't either. She brushed past Hermione and quickly made her way down the hall. It was obvious she was in a hurry.
As she walked down the hall she also bumped into some hurrying Hufflepuffs and Euan Abercrombie, a younger year. All of them seemed to be heading to the same thing.
Just as she was finally growing utterly curious she saw Harry making his way down the hall. "What's going on?" she asked.
He seemed surprised to see her. "What do you mean?" he demanded.
"What is all this?" Hermione gestured around her. "Where's everyone rushing off to?"
"To the emergency D.A. meeting that you called, obviously!"
Hermione was, needless to say, a little surprised to hear this. "I didn't call any DA meeting!" she protested. "Anyhow we didn't bother keeping up with the DA after fifth year anyway! And… lots of the people I saw weren't even in it!"
Harry looked puzzled. "Are you sure? Hedwig just handed me an owl from you—which was strange enough—but it was in your handwriting and everyone who wanted to support Dumbledore was to go to the room of requirement. Just like fifth year. And discreetly, as well, but I suppose if you noticed then it wasn't all that discreet. Everyone was going because… of the horrific news this morning. You missed Dumbledore's speech; the memorial services if anyone wants to attend are on Saturday and he's given all sixth and seventh years leave for that day. Hey… if you didn't call the meeting, then who did?"
"That's what I want to know," Hermione sighed grimly. "This is just ridiculous. Let's go see the idiot behind all this, shall we?"
Together they trekked their way to the room of requirement… which certainly didn't look like a meeting place. People milled about, but Hermione noticed that the environment wasn't friendly. The person who'd called the meeting did not have good intentions, it seemed. In fact…by the dark demeanor of the room, combined with it's thicker walls…it seemed like…
Oh no.
"Everyone," Hermione called helplessly at the top of her lungs. "I don't want the meeting here! Let's leave, RIGHT NOW!"
Perhaps the urgency in her voice wasn't enough because people seemed to be taking their own sweet time in leaving. She was so convinced that something bad was going to happen. The atmosphere reeked with the smell of something ominous. "Get out," she prodded, but her voice was drowned out by a loud chatter.
Turning to Harry worriedly she was shocked to find him gone. Perhaps he'd already left? Finally Hermione desperately cast a spell in the air. Something harmless, but enough to scare everyone as water began to spurt from the cracks in the wall and girls shrieked as they got a bit wet.
Finally everyone was out of the room. Removing her spell Hermione cast one dark glance around the room, shivered, and left. Who knew? Maybe she was being really paranoid, but she couldn't help it. She just felt something…something was wrong.
Now that they were all out in the corridor, Hermione addressed the group. "I didn't call a meeting," she explained, "so I'm sorry—there is nothing I can do. I hope you all will help out in the best way possible…but I'm not the leader of this group."
She'd definitely changed since her fifth year. There was no way she could lead a group against Voldemort now; no, she was becoming more afraid. Preposterous. What the hell was she doing in Gryffindor anyway?
The sorting hat couldn't decide for her. It had taken its own sweet time as it mulled over Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. Of course she had read about all four houses and immediately whined and said there was no way she would ever be in Slytherin. The hat had proclaimed her overly ambitious and somewhat cunning; she would have fit in very well. Perhaps her persistency and urge to argue with that hat had constituted as bravery, because even though she was sure the hat would yell out Slytherin just to spite her it had chosen Gyrffindor.
Thank Merlin. She would've died if she were in Slytherin; they'd have mauled her to death by now.
Clearing her head Hermione stepped out of the room, still puzzled and frankly very scared. Making sure that everyone else had dispersed—including Harry, where had he gone off to?—she stepped back into the Room of Requirement, and met face to face with a girl she'd barely seen in the last few years.
"Millicent," Hermione nervously nodded.
"Hermione Granger. Gyrffindor through and through," Millicent replied, not without a vicious edge in her voice.
Hermione smiled faintly; if only Millicent knew what she had just been contemplating. "I suppose," she shrugged the comment off awkwardly. "I take you called this?"
"Hmm…and failed, miserably, thanks to your cunning."
Hermione was slightly taken aback. Perhaps her view of Slytherins had really been limited to three people: Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy. Malfoy—horrid, mean, enigmatic, nancy boy, but smart. Crabbe and Goyle—horrendously stupid. Perhaps she'd assumed that everyone save Draco was stupid in Slytherin…but Millicent certainly didn't seem to be.
When Hermione didn't respond Millicent sighed softly. "I was so very sad to hear of our dear minister's death," she began.
Fighting the urge to laugh, Hermione nodded tentatively. "As was I…but Millicent, why on earth would you wish to call people under my name? If you want to arrange for people to meet and discuss ways to overcome, er…You-Know-Who, then why can't you do so on your own? Why would you involve me?"
Millicent laughed derisively. "Surely you didn't believe, even for an instant, that my intentions were good?"
Hermione felt uncomfortable, being put on the spot like that. Finally she just decided to be honest. "I was too surprised to even form an opinion."
"Really?" Millicent grinned. "Let me see. You walked in here, saw from the surroundings that I wasn't about to call a friendly little meaning, used your pretty little head and got everyone out, and then turned to me not knowing what to think? Of course you thought I was behind this! Don't be stupid, Hermione."
Hermione bristled. "And don't be condescending," she replied haughtily. "All right. So what've you done? You called people here for what purpose exactly?"
"I would've done away with them," Millicent said softly, "had you not interfered. And you would be the first to go."
"Oh, please," Hermione snapped, although she was definitely shaken, "as if a seventh-year student could take on so many others."
"Certainly," Millicent gestured around the room, "A few Unforgivables could take care of that, no?"
"I haven't the time to deal with this," Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to go, sure she could figure something out later. Perhaps Millicent was all-talk and nothing else. Hoping this was the case Hermione stepped toward the door.
Too late. Millicent shut it with a simple swish of her wand. "You aren't going anywhere."
"I don't want to have to do this," Hermione turned back towards Millicent, drawing her wand in the process. "I really don't."
"Relashio!"
"Stupefy!"
Hermione's Stupefy met Millicent's curse right in the middle; obviously, Hermione's was stronger because eventually the Relashio was thrust off towards the side and the Stupefy hit her full-on.
The minute the spell hit Millicent Hermione felt awash with guilt. She hadn't just used that spell on a student, had she? Oh why hadn't she used something of lesser… consequence, perhaps Petrificus Totalus?
Nauseated once again Hermione left Millicent unconscious with every intention to go and find a teacher. It didn't matter that she would be blamed—and rightly—for making another student unconscious. No one would believe her if she claimed that Millicent's potential curse would've caused the room to erupt in flames, and would have been rather detrimental to the school in general.
In that split second, bravery deserted her, and she bolted. She had to find Harry or Ron or just anyone that she could talk to. As she started down the hall she bumped straight into someone who for once hadn't been on her mind—and she wasn't pleased to see him. "Draco," she acknowledged briefly, making to move past him.
He smiled, something she might've recorded as strange had she not been so utterly preoccupied with other, more important things. "Hermione."
"I really can't talk," she hedged, once again trying to move past.
Draco would have none of it. "Where are you going?"
She gave up. "I just found Millicent unconscious in the room of requirement. I was off to tell a teacher."
Lying had never come easily to her; never. She could feel a blush touch her cheeks as the words haltingly came out of her mouth. He didn't believe her at all. "You caused Millicent to be unconscious? What'd you do, hit her with a stunning spell?"
Miserably Hermione nodded in the affirmative. "Self-defense," she added, "and it was the first spell that popped into mind… honestly, I'd have used something less…er, harmful, if it had come to me. I'm sorry! I react quickly!"
He laughed. "You don't have to persuade your innocence to me, Hermione. I believe you."
She shivered, feeling suddenly very much at unease. His voice was oily and slick; maybe he was planning something as well. This whole day had been horrible. First Fudge's death, and then Millicent's little drama, and then Draco's oddities…would it never end? "Okay," she agreed, "but I will definitely get into trouble for this. Oh, Merlin, and it's not even like my record's squeaky clean!"
"Don't worry, Dumbledore loves you. You shan't be expelled."
"Expelled!" she gasped. "You can't get expelled for hitting someone with a stunning spell, can you?!"
"No, of course not, not at all," he assured quickly. "I was just stating that in worst-case scenario. The worst-case scenario for this is that Dumbledore will let the Head of Millicent's House give you a suitable punishment…and you know who that is, don't you?"
"Shit," Hermione swore, as it finally sunk in. "At the mercy of Snape. God, I'm doomed."
Draco grinned. "You'll escape alive and unscathed—for the most part. Now what're we going to do about Millicent?"
"We?" she was puzzled. He was volunteering to help her… because he felt guilty, still, about infusing her mind with DX and giving her nightmares? And how long did these stupid things last anyway?
"Sure, I'll help you, I've nothing better to do," he replied crisply, though not bitingly.
"Er, okay, then." Hermione was determined not to let his behavior get to her. "I was actually going to find Harry and… but I suppose you won't want anything to do with those two?"
Draco frowned, the unease and discomfort evident on his face. Obviously he still didn't have any problem showing his feelings towards Harry and Ron. "Potter and Weasley? You're right. I'd rather not. I won't go with you then, but I suppose if you, er, need anything I'm, er, I'll be around."
He seemed nervous. Shy. Hermione grinned. He was definitely feeling guilty and like he'd admitted, it was new to him, and he didn't know how to go about making amends. "Thank you," she said warmly, trying to put him at ease. "It's not a problem."
Hurriedly she walked down the hallways, deep in thought. Tomorrow the term started—although there was talk about it being pushed back because of Fudge's unexpected death and parents might want to come and visit with their children, or send for them for a bit. But Hermione knew Professor McGonagall would never approve, and Hogwarts would merely give people a week or two to go visit family and attend Fudge's funeral services while continuing schooling for those who did not wish to or could not attend. Hermione wasn't sure whether she wanted to go or not. Funerals were depressing.
And try as she might, Hermione couldn't stop thinking about Draco. She knew it, then. She was in love with him. So in love with him that she felt sick thinking about him and oh she wanted him so very badly. And more than she wanted him she wanted him to want her, confusing as it was. But even more than that she wanted him to open up; to be happy… whether that happiness included her or not. She just… oh, she couldn't even describe it. Sometimes it was euphoric and blissful and sometimes he caused her deep distress that she'd felt adolescent hearts could never experience.
But she did experience it, she certainly did.
And if loving him made her sick and her heart would give pangs every time she saw him in the distance then did she really want him at all? Did cool, collected Hermione want to even acknowledge that she was madly in love with… him?
Could she ever let herself really let go, really go with the flow?
Was she capable of not being in control? Even though she'd gone through so much over the last month—from her first out-of-control-out-of-the-norm running away experience to DX to Draco Malfoy… she still didn't know. Try as she might, sometimes she just couldn't figure out who she was.
A/N: Not exactly a cliffy or an interesting place to stop I know but I felt it fit for now. Chapter lacks in major Draco/Hermione interaction but next chapter I will try to focus solely on them; can't promise a thing. Blame the muse ;). I've decided to add more plot to the story, for me, that makes it more plausible because Hermione cannot always be thinking about Draco; it kind of bores me to have to write just about that. But don't worry romance-lovers… umm this is still principally a romance. Just with plot.
Ok what else… thank you all soo very much for your soo very lovely reviews! I'm sorry the chapter was so damned late in getting out… but I have copious amounts of schoolwork combined with managing my school's cross country team not to mention lovely standardized tests and the scrap of a social life I have to maintain… and of course my creative writing class. But enough bitching. I apologize for being late and sincerely hope it won't happen again.
Anyway leave the e-mail and specify if you want to be on the mailing list in your review…speaking of, please do…I love knowing what you people thought about the story.