The first three weeks of seventh year had ambled by in the slowest way Hermione could remember. Even fifth year, or OWL year, had not gone as impossibly slow. Everyone in their year had imagined that no year would give them more homework than they had received two years previously. None of them however, had been in seventh year before. Even Hermione, at the top of her year, was to be found hastily finishing an essay on the uses of fanged geranium leaves.
She sighed as she put down her quill and shoved the parchment into her bag, hoping to catch the last few minutes of breakfast. Ignoring Malfoy's comment about her being a procrastinator, she made her way down to the Great Hall, preparing herself for another long, monotonous day. It seemed new plans had been hatched for the day. She entered the room to a great silence, noticing a great number of students bent over the Daily Prophet, eyes wide.
Rushing over to Harry and Ron, she squeezed in and glanced at the copy Harry held. Taking a quick sip of juice, she nearly choked as she saw the front page headline, underneath a large picture of Fudge.
'Minister faced with Mysterious ailment'
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, as well as three other Ministry members, names not given at the time, have been attacked by something unknown, to the concern of the Wizarding community. Since the full return of He Who Must Not Be Named, it has seemed as if only a matter of time before something truly awful like this would happen, though no one had expected something of this proportion. Fudge and the others are currently in a private ward in St. Mungo's, though no healer has been able to determine what happened, at least until they return to consciousness. A further report will be printed when more information is known, or on the conditions of these people. [See page C8 for a full report on unexplainable conditions in the past.]
Hermione blinked as she looked away from the paper. Of course they had been expecting something like this of happening, but if Voldemort had been powerful enough to attack the Minister himself, it seemed as if nothing would be able to stop him from taking control of the Ministry.
She glared over at the Slytherin table and noticed with a shock of rage that they were the loudest table, for the first time she had ever seen. Many seemed to be having unimportant conversations, and only one or two had the Prophet propped open in front of them. Malfoy was whispering with a serious look on his face to Blaise Zabini, but smirked and looked vaguely in the direction of the Head Table.
Hermione followed his gaze and saw Dumbledore staring straight ahead, not speaking to anyone, even McGonagall, who seemed to be comforting a frightened Sprout. Flitwick and Sinistra were reading the paper, discussing something, while Snape kept throwing suspicious glances toward Dumbledore. Professor Cobbly, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was muttering to himself, making his hands into fists and releasing them. He glared loathsomely around at anyone who dared make a sound near him.
"Wow..." Harry muttered from beside her. She sighed loudly, with a flicker of her eyebrows in agreement. Definitely unexpected, after only three weeks of school.
"Yea," Ron spoke as if in agreement as well, and they were silent again. Neville was shaking violently and Parvati looked incredibly close to tears. Ginny was flipping through the rest of the paper, looking for any additional reports. Several others were reading the follow-up on page C8. The bell rang for the start of classes, but no one seemed very keen to move. A couple stood up half-heartedly, but most stayed sitting.
Dumbledore stood up loosely, without his usual poise, and several pairs of anxious eyes turned to him, though many were stubbornly not looking from their papers, as though something would change.
"Obviously the news of today came as quite a shock to many of you, though it should not prevent you from going to your classes," he looked as if he were about to continue on, but instead closed his mouth and sat back down, putting his fingertips together in thought. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged significant looks at his behaviour; it wasn't often that Dumbledore fell apart like this.
They slowly gathered their books and headed off silently to Defense Against the Dark Arts. In true tradition, their new teacher was slightly mad, though much better than several previous teachers. He had a strong habit of squinting out of one eye when he spoke about counter-jinxes, and enjoyed mentioning the curses he had used on his enemies at school. Other than that and the fact that he hurried through the corridors always with an ambitious look, he was rather a good teacher.
When they got there they sat down, pulling out their quills and wands, when Professor Cobbly stormed in minutes later. This morning his expression was almost maniacal, as he had mixed in anger and revenge with the ambition. Also to mention he had his wand raised in front of him, as if about to attack. Hermione noticed he was still muttering to himself, occasionally raising his voice so that she could hear him shouting things in profane language. Ron was snickering beside her, though Harry had remained silent.
The professor snapped back to his senses as the rest of the class filed in, and began the class. No student was particularly attentive, and they were all restless in their seats, anxious for more information. Eventually it became too much for Cobbly, as he dismissed them early, and they hurried out to discuss the morning's events.
A group of Slytherins stalked past Harry, Ron and Hermione, laughing loudly and having conversations. Harry glared after them; none of them were even concerned that the head of the Ministry was locked away in St. Mungo's. Malfoy sent a cold sneer in their direction, and Harry glared back, eyes expressing that he was fit to burst with anger.
"I thought," Harry began quietly, though Malfoy turned to him, eyes burning into his. "That your father wouldn't bother to attack his former boss, or is it just a sort of revenge?" He finished coldly, glare increasing. He felt a glint of satisfaction as Malfoy's smirk faltered slightly. It had been a great downfall to the Malfoy name when Lucius had been removed from the ministry for active Death Eater association.
"Upset your beloved minister's gone, Potter? He won't be coming back, trust me on that one. It's just too bad the screw ups didn't do the job right, or no one would bother to talk about it," he said, smirking evilly, as the Slytherins around him laughed darkly. Ron raised his wand and moved toward Malfoy, who sidestepped him, as Harry grabbed Ron's arm to hold him back. They laughed louder at this display, and some drew their own wands.
"Fuck off Weasley, Potter doesn't need you to be his faithful lap dog all the time," Malfoy muttered darkly, as he led the rest of the Slytherins away, leaving Ron to turn a violent shade of crimson. Hermione looked as if she were about to charge Malfoy herself, but instead took a deep breath and moved to comfort Ron.
The three travelled to Gryffindor Tower with the intent of working on their charms essays. Harry had been entirely too captivated with the floor to be believable, in the thoughts of Hermione. She watched closely as he determinedly ignored her concerned gaze. She sighed heavily, and looked away. If Harry was in such a mood as to keep quite this secretive, he wouldn't have liked her questioning him.
They took seats at an old, battered table, and Hermione pulled out parchment and a quill to begin her homework. Harry and Ron followed suit, though Harry didn't write a single word. His quill began to drip ink upon his parchment before he noticed Hermione and Ron both watching him. He blinked noticeably, and stared back at them, as if he had done nothing. Hermione shook her head lightly as Harry began his essay.
"What did he mean, 'do the job right'?" Harry's voice broke the silence ten minutes later. Ron appeared clueless, but Hermione knew he was dwelling on the words of Malfoy. She shrugged loosely, as unsure on the matter as anyone. They went back to work.
Within another half hour, Hermione had completed her essay, though Ron and Harry were both still struggling on the first few inches. Ron continuously glanced over at hers before she put it into her bag, pulling out a book. Harry made occasional disgruntled noises, and crossed out numerous sentences, having barely increased the amount of writing at all.
"Can I see your essay just a minute, Hermione? I need to check something," Ron said uncertainly, and gave a significant glance to Harry.
"Ron, this is the fourth time already this year you've wanted to copy my work," she said disapprovingly, scowling. "How do you expect to get any NEWTs if you don't actually do any work?"
"That part's easy, I don't plan to get any," he said grinning, though it faded from his face as he saw Hermione's expression. Even Harry looked slightly shocked at this piece of news.
"May I ask your career plan, Ron?" Hermione asked, trying to stay calm and friendly, though she was desperately fighting to hold back her anger. Here she was, unable to continue on with one of the many professions she would have loved more than anything, while Ron sat with no goals, and no plans for the future. Ron shrugged uncertainly, muttering something indiscernible.
"Perhaps, you should consider your future the next time you go to steal someone else's report, or at least be grateful you have a future," Hermione burst out, before leaving the room quickly, to avoid the stares around her. She hadn't told anyone about what she had overheard, as she didn't figure many people would care, what with their own worries.
"...Doesn't have to be such a bitch about it," she heard Ron mutter to Harry as she ran out.
She stood with her back against the portrait, breathing heavily, desperate to stop the tears threatening to fall. She couldn't believe how immature Ron was being; he didn't even care about his NEWTs, though Hermione knew he'd regret it someday, if he became a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron. And for Hermione, it was her last year ever, if anyone was going to blow it but have a great time it should be her. After all, she had worked so hard to get what she had achieved; head girl, smartest in her year.
A surge of anger filled her. Why wasn't she daring enough to truly enjoy her final year? She began walking, and before she even realized where she was going, she was outside the door to her common room. She sighed, perhaps not quite daring enough to confuse her subconscious. It had managed to trick her into walking all the way towards her own common room.
Muttering the password, Hermione stepped in, to sit on the couch. On a radical streak of adrenaline, she ignored the many books calling out to be read, and instead pondered what other alternative there was. Homework, of course, but that was worse than reading. At the moment, she wished to be rather opposing towards her own self. She became restless, as she stared around the room, willing something to jump out at her.
Malfoy. It hit her like a ton of bricks, why hadn't the thought passed her before. Who in the entire school was the least like her? Of course, there was only a rare chance that he would have been up in his room, oblivious to her apparent insanity. She supposed there was only one way to find out. She gave a tiny flick of her wand, with a half smile on her lips, to await a loud bang.
She sat with bated breath, as only moments later Malfoy wandered down the staircase, and raised an eyebrow as he saw her.
"What the hell is your problem, Granger?" He asked, though he seemed almost slightly amused as he saw her grinning, wand held up, and the incredibly large pile of books on the floor.
"I needed to ask you something," she replied simply, giving a light shrug. A look of confusion passed his aristocratic features, before it disappeared and he regained his neutral disposition.
"Ask Potter," he said shortly, about to retreat back up the staircase still only just behind him.
"You're the only one who would give me an honest answer," she said truthfully. He seemed deep in contemplation, before he nodded ever so slightly, eyes burning into her soul.
"Am I a bitch?" She asked, almost timidly, as he reacted quite openly to her question. His lips parted slightly, and he appeared almost incredulous, as he tried to think of an answer that would both confuse and insult her. Failure to do so caused him to sigh heavily, but his lips twitched.
"You know I'd love to say yes, but why get your hopes up, right? No, you aren't... a bit high strung maybe, but not a bitch," he said simply. She blinked, truly shocked at his answer. "You did want honesty, didn't you?" He asked, as he saw her expression, and she nodded lightly. "But why ask at all? I daren't say the golden trio have been quarreling?" He asked almost mockingly, and she didn't have an answer.
She was deep in thought, usually he would use something like that to his advantage, to irritate and ridicule her for all it was worth. He must have been in a good mood, she figured, as he shook his head and went out.