"So he just left?" Ginny asked incredulously the next evening at dinner, after the news had arisen that the Head Boy had gone missing, and hadn't been seen since the previous morning. Hermione had conveniently not bothered to mention anything.
"What kind of head boy just flies away from school?" Dean asked, and Ron snickered.
"A slytherin one, and a bloody coward," he muttered darkly, to the laughter of many at the table.
"I don't think he's being a coward," Ginny broke in softly, and Hermione almost thought she saw the slightest grin slip onto her features before it was gone again. "Ron, how often have you said you wanted to just leave this place? And you never have, so if you ask me, he was braver than you."
"Stay out of it, Ginny," Harry said quietly.
"I will talk if I want to," she retorted and Harry seemed to know better than to argue.
"Miss Granger, may I speak with you for a moment," Professor McGonagall was asking, so Hermione reluctantly stood up, following slowly. She wasn't prepared to be questioned on Malfoy's whereabouts, as she was sure this was about precisely that.
"Hermione, did you--?" Sally-Anne asked as she walked past, but stopped quickly as she noticed the transfiguration professor hovering over the other girl. "Oh, professor, I was just asking Hermione about our herbology assignment," she said, grinning lightly.
"Right, Sally-Anne, about that, I need to show you the plants later, if you'll meet me in the library and we can head out from there, in ten minutes," Hermione said politely, catching on, as Sal grinned and walked off. McGonagall quickly acted as if nothing had happened, and began walking briskly towards Dumbledore's office, Hermione trailing behind once more.
"I wasn't aware that Gryffindors and Slytherins took Newt Herbology together," McGonagall said conversationally, and Hermione winced.
"Well, it's more of a bonus kind of project, you know, like outside of class," she explained.
"Ah. Well, I'm sure that can wait, I'm sure you already know the purpose of this visit," she said quickly as she said the password to the Headmaster's office, and the two of them stepped inside.
Hermione's eyes widened as she noticed both Snape and Dumbledore already waiting in the office, and she muttered a small 'hello.'
"Take a seat, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, conjuring a chair for her, and she sat down on the edge of the seat.
"I assume you have no information about where Draco Malfoy might be?" McGonagall asked quickly, as if she had been waiting impatiently to ask all along.
"I saw him only briefly in the commons after lunch yesterday, but he said nothing about anything like this," she said formally, and Dumbledore sighed heavily.
"I told you it was a mistake to bestow this level of trust on someone like him, Dumbledore, he could be off preparing his side for war, for all we know," the professor said angrily, voice raising hysterically, though Snape was still curiously quiet.
"Professor, if I may, I don't think he seemed to be considering anything of that measure, I assume he was looking for more of an escape," Hermione broke in quietly.
"You can never tell how a mind like that controls itself," her teacher said condescendingly, though with a tone of pity.
"Minerva, if you are suggesting that the boy's nature may be to run and prepare for war, because of his house--" Snape spoke up for the first time.
"Not at all, Severus," she said, dismissing his thought.
"Minerva, is there a possibility that you may be overreacting? He is only 17, after all," Dumbledore said softly, eyes twinkling.
"Dumbledore, you remember his father at that age," she whispered harshly, as if afraid Hermione might hear.
"I do remember Lucius, and I will say that his son is immensely different in nature, and it would be cruel to compare him to his father."
"Bad blood all the same, Dumbledore, don't let yourself be blinded when you need to see what is happening right before you," she said angrily. Dumbledore opened the door of Fawkes' cage, and the brilliant bird flew out, resting on the edge of the desk.
"You may go, Miss Granger," he said gently, not looking directly at her. Hermione stood and exited quickly, walking towards the library.
"Did he tell you he was going to leave?" a voice suddenly asked in her ear, and she turned to see Sal waiting anxiously by the doors. Hermione sighed, beginning to walk away from the library, as it had been a mere cover-up.
"Yes, he told me," she replied, and was silent for a moment. "He said to give you his regards, and something about his father."
The other girl glared for a moment at nothing in particular, sighing. "That bitch," she muttered, and Hermione was thrown off.
"Who, sorry?" she asked politely, and the other girl gave her an obvious stare.
"Draco."
"Draco's a bitch?" Hermione asked genuinely confused.
"Yes, you don't think he's the least bit inconsiderate?" Sal replied. Hermione shrugged.
"I thought he just needed to get away for himself," she muttered. They both fell silent.
By the time Hermione had come to realize that she didn't particularly enjoy living alone in such a massive common room, the first owl had arrived. Hermione was almost shocked that it was indeed from her departed roommate, as she hadn't expected he would follow through with his promise and owl her.
The letter spoke of minuscule and unimportant details, but Hermione treasured it more than she would ever tell anyone, including the sender. With nothing but bad news surrounding them, the long letters with their tight black script had become something of a trend as they began to come weekly.
And every Tuesday morning Hermione had begun to wait impatiently over breakfast for the sign of Draco's black owl. He sent them on Tuesdays, because he knew she would need to be in a good mood for double potions that morning. She told Harry and Ron it was her subscription to a new magazine.
Hermione noticed the letters were always random, and became more in depth with each one sent. His words would jump around, often making little or no sense, as if he had too much on his chest that he had to get out in some way or another. And Hermione wrote back, telling of the news around the castle. She had little to say but he thanked her for the replies anyway.
He found it particularly amusing that Sal had called him a bitch. Though he spoke rarely of his past fling, Hermione had taken the hint that he wasn't keen on the subject. They didn't speak of Harry and Ron, of Dumbledore or Snape, but Hermione's life was revolving around those carefully written notes every week. Which was why it came as such a shock when the letter the week before Christmas never showed up.
And then Wednesday, there was no letter either. When Christmas vacation was nearly started, Hermione had nothing to occupy herself other than the horror struck news of attacks and near misses.
She would occasionally leaf through the stack of neatly pressed parchment, searching the letters for any reason for the missed owl. And in the meantime she read them over, until it was finally time to depart to Headquarters for Christmas time.
Hermione was worried that Draco would send her a letter, as all mail in and out was being closely monitored by Moody. If anyone were to see one, and then perhaps find the pile she kept hidden under a heavy book beneath her bed, she knew she could easily be considered a traitor by such a single-minded group.
Hermione wasn't enjoying the war training at all. In fact, if she were to be entirely truthful, she hated the sessions. Back in fourth and fifth year she had been keen on learning as many curses and hexes as she could, perhaps to show that she too was of worth. Or maybe it was only to show that she wasn't only brains.
But now she found herself dreading the activities that took up most of her Christmas holidays. Moody and the other aurors worked them relentlessly, not only with their wands, but physically as well, as they were usually tired, and no one was ever able to get a full night's worth of sleep. Hermione had noticed that Harry barely slept even when he had the chance, she once saw him sitting alone in the living room at 3 AM, staring into the floor.
She wished wholeheartedly that she could offer some words of encouragement to her best friend, but what was there to say that wouldn't end horribly awkward. Hermione Granger, who was usually skilled with language, had nothing to say. After all, what would she say? "You can kill him, Harry, just have faith." She knew the last thing anyone wanted to this about was the war that seemed to be trying to break into the house in its haste to make its way toward them.
Christmas was also a sober affair. There was little merry making, and presents were opened in a thoughtful, though uncomfortable silence. After lunch they were back to work, preparing their skills, as if that extra pushup could kill just one more death eater.
And that in itself was a whole different matter to Hermione. She was absolutely terrified of killing a human being, as if they were little more than a flea that a dog scratches off carelessly. She had read somewhere that certain psychological ailments can turn into physical problems, and wondered if she would be unable to fight at all.
And then 3 days before the return to school, Tonks knocked lightly on Hermione's door.
"Hermione, you've received mail. Mad-Eye was determined to open it but I said that was for you, and he finally caved. I think he may have read the letter though; he looked a bit suspicious," she muttered, handing Hermione a heavy package with a letter attached to it. Hermione grinned and thanked her, knowing full well that Tonks probably had to duel Moody in order to give the package to her unopened.
She set the box on her bed, turning to the parchment, stopping cold when she noticed her name scrawled in loopy but neat writing on the outside.
Hermione,
I must apologize one thousand times for the recent lack of mail. If I had an adequate reason I would tell you, however I don't. I have been caught up in certain issues that require I lay low for a while, but now I'm somewhere where I can escape it all for a while. I am trying my best to throw caution into the writing of this letter, for I know it will most likely be under harsh scrutiny once you receive it. I hope your Christmas was enjoyable, mine was intensely boring, but at least I haven't been stuck in any one place. I can't say when I might see you again, only that I hope for it to be soon. I've done quite a bit of thinking while I've been gone, and though I realize my actions weren't very responsible, they have cleared out my head of a great number of uncertainties. And I realize that I am late, but I hope you enjoy your Christmas present. I picked it up from an antiques dealer in New York City, who assured me it was two hundred percent authentic. Have an excellent new year.
Sincerely,
You know.
Hermione set the letter aside, trying to control the euphoria that was growing within her. So he hadn't forgotten about her after all. She thought it was completely unjustified that he would buy her a gift, but it didn't stop her from being curious. She carefully removed the brown paper, folding it up before she looked at the parcel and paled drastically.
It was a thick tome, entitled Hogwarts, a History: First Edition and she quickly flipped open the cover, a thick layer of dust emerging. The inside of the cover had another short note.
Hermione, You will find that this book has been penned by Godric Gryffindor himself, over 1000 years ago. I thought you might find it slightly interesting. And if not, then you can spend the next ten years trying to decipher his writing.
With all the love and compassion that I possess,
Draco Malfoy.
Hermione scanned the first few pages wide-eyed, noticing that it was indeed hand-written, with occasional notes from the other founders. She started reading until the writing became much too blurry, and she was forced to wipe her tearing eyes before the ink was smeared.
She shut the book, holding it for a moment, tears threatening to overflow her eyes at one thought.
Love and compassion.
He had said that. Or written it at least. Her mind tried to explain that it was a kind way of ending a message, though a small part of her, trapped deep inside, wanted to scream, 'love and compassion!' to anyone who would listen. She was just so confused.
There was a knock on the door, and Hermione quickly set the book and letter beneath her bed, just as the door opened. It was Harry and she smiled in greeting; he gave her a nervous smile in return.
"Hey Hermione," he said softly, moving to sit next to her on the bed. "You're crying, what is it?" he asked with genuine concern in his tone. It might have been that Hermione was already emotional, or that fact that Harry cared so much about her, but a new wave of tears came on.
"Oh, it's nothing Harry, I just had some excess emotions I needed to get rid of," she said with a smile. He laughed, nodding in understanding.
"It's been crazy, hasn't it?" he asked.
"I'd call that a supreme understatement, Harry," she replied. "How do you get through all of the training?"
"You promise not to tell?" he asked, lips twitching into a grin. She nodded, feeling like a young girl who was about to learn a huge secret. Which, in a way, she was. "Every time I get nervous or scared, I just think of my parents, because no matter what happens in this thing, they are up there watching out for me." Hermione gave him a sad smile. "And if that doesn't sound like a certain article, I don't know what does," he added, and they both laughed at the memory of that Rita Skeeter article back in their fourth year.
"Remember when that was such a big deal?" she asked ironically, and he nodded.
"Remember how it was life or death who we went to the Yule Ball with as well?" he said and they laughed once more.
"Things will be fine, Harry," she confided to him, though she wasn't at all positive. "I have confidence in this."
He said nothing, just sat quietly until there was a call for dinner, and they both walked downstairs in silence.