Something was wrong with Malfoy. She knew he was a Death Eater, knew he had been marked by the madman called Voldemort. She knew the only reason he was back at school this semester was because said madman had a plan to infiltrate the school, to bring down the headmaster, or Harry, or the school herself. She knew it fell to him because of his father's failures.
To say she knew these things would be an overstatement, if she ever voiced her opinions out loud, like Harry was liable to do whenever he wasn't in class, she knew Ron at least would call her a nutter. She had no way of truly knowing these things, but she knew them anyway, her suspicions rang true in her bones, just like the suspicions that a trap had been set for them in the Department of Mysteries.
The ugly, roped scar on her chest itched and she scratched between her breasts absentmindedly until Harry elbowed her. She unfurled her brow as she looked at him, the tension easing from between her eyes. There was a faint blush growing on his cheeks. She looked across to Ron, whose face was bright red, then down to her hand. It looked as if she might be fondling herself, she guessed.
"Sorry, scar itches," She apologized, but was determined not to feel embarrassed or self conscious.
Harry's face fell from sheepish embarrassment to guilt and horror.
"Is it bad still?" He asked, voice hushed so no one else at breakfast could her him.
"The pain doesn't flare as often, but it itches often, and it will never fade."
Harry's face turned from guilt to glaring, but not at her, inward. This was still a sore subject between them. She loved Harry dearly, like a sibling she never had. She assumed, mostly from observing the Weasley's at home, that siblings were allowed to feel this way. The bubbling hatred in her gut threatened to boil over for a moment. She thought she might scream at him in front of everyone, but it subsided when she looked into his eyes and say the tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks. She smiled grimly at him.
"I'm sorry, Hermione."
"I know."
She went back to picking at her toast and staring at the Slytherin table, only to notice that the subject of her previous thoughts had left the Great Hall, his breakfast plate untouched. She sighed and decided now would be a good time to ask, since Harry was already feeling guilty she wouldn't necessarily be guilting him into it.
"Let me tail Malfoy for a couple weeks. Exams are in a month and if you two really want to be Aurors, you have to work on your grades. An Acceptable doesn't really count as passing anymore."
Both Ron and Harry blanched, but Harry looked at her suspiciously.
"You don't believe me though, why would you tail him?"
"It's obviously the only thing I can do to get you two to study. Your extra-curricular activities with the Headmaster and whatever this mission is with Slughorn is already too much, you don't need to be tailing Malfoy in your spare time."
"I'd like to watch him myself," he stated firmly.
It looked like she would have to guilt him into this.
She stood up abruptly, gathered her things and motioned for him and Ron to follow. Ron didn't necessarily need to see this, but he would be upset if he was left out of the conversation. Hermione led them to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She didn't want to be overheard or spied on and she knew people avoided this place like the plague, as she learned in second year.
Myrtle was in one of the stalls when they walked in.
"Go awa--" she started to call but cut herself off when she saw the three of them.
"Oh, it's you three."
"Hello, Myrtle," She said pleasantly, "Could we please have the room?"
"You can't kick me out!" she shouted at them, a mixture of rage and indignance on her blue, translucent face.
Hermione could feel a tension headache at the base of her neck begin to build up.
"I need to help the boys with something," she started, trying to speak gently.
In a way she sympathized with Myrtle, especially when she thought of her first and second-year self. She was alone, her friendship with the boys was tenuous, and she was facing bigotry on hatred in what was supposed to be a safe place. She couldn't imagine what Myrtle had gone through fifty years ago.
Somebody cleared their throat and she realized she must have been silent for almost a minute, lost in thought.
"It'll only take fifteen minutes, twenty at the most."
She took a short breath before saying then next bit.
"And then I really need your help sorting out my hair."
She didn't know what Myrtle was really like, but Lavender, Pavarti, Ginny, and even Molly Weasley had offered to help her with her hair. They gave unwanted tips to sort out her curls and tutted when the humidity added even more volume to her hair.
A variety of emotions flickered across the ghost's face, shock, disbelief, happiness, and a couple others before her features screwed back up into the indignant rage from before.
"You're teasing me," she said, "You shouldn't do that, it's rude."
Hermione was going to take a pepper-up potion as soon as she got back to her room.
"I'm not teasing Myrtle, I promise, I just need to tell the boys off."
Her face crumpled and she was crying, but not her usual, over-dramatic tears. The ghost tried to smile at her before entering her stall and flushing herself down the toilet. Hermione quickly cast a silencing charm.
"Blimey Hermione, that was almost Slytherin," Ron said, clearly impressed on how she handled the temperamental girl.
"Well, I'm not manipulative," She managed to say while taking off her sweater.
She was proud her voice didn't waver or flinch at this obvious lie.
She started on the buttons of her school shirt.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry asked nervously.
She said nothing, casting aside the long sleeve button up, then gripped her white undershirt and pulled it overhead. Both boys immediately looked away. She was wearing a bra, not that there was much to cover anyways. She knew this was inappropriate, but the boys needed to know. Harry needed to know why she couldn't forgive him yet. Suddenly she was enraged that the boys wouldn't look at her, that Harry couldn't see what he caused.
"Look at it!" She screamed at them.
They both whipped their heads towards her chest and their faces drained of color simultaneously. She could feel their eyes trace every inch of the disgusting wound that marred the front of her. She spent so long looking at it in the mirror during the summer she had it memorized. She knew it hadn't faded any.
It started thin at her left hip, that part was hidden by her skirt still. The scar went out from there and curved, obscuring her bellybutton entirely, widening to exactly eight and a half centimeters, she had measured and documented every aspect of her scar, it had made her feel better. From her bellybutton, it traveled directly up to the center of her collarbones, thinning to one centimeter wide at the tip. It was still a purple-ish red color. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape, who she was still galled had seen her shirtless, both said that the color would fade into the bright white of regular scars, but because the magic was so dark, the scar would never truly go away and it could never be hidden by a glamour. As it was, the raised bumpiness would always be there and she hoped she would get used to wearing a bra over it, which is what causes it to itch.
If she never did she guessed she would just join the 'free the nipple movement', but on the other hand, she hated the way that non-silky fabric felt against her nipples.
She was shaken out of her thoughts by Harry's voice.
"Hermione, I--"
"Do you know what a Blood Eagle is?" She asked them, coldly.
They both shook their heads.
"It was a fabled killing method of Norsemen, there is not a documented case of one actually occurring amongst the muggles, but Dolohov," She spat his name like it was shit in her mouth, "Decided to invent a curse that mimics the outcome. The skin is flayed of the body, and the person is suspended in mid-air. Their rib cage is ripped open along the spine and the lungs pulled out and displayed like wings. They were to be left outside for the birds to pick at until the person died, either from blood loss or exposure."
She took a grim satisfaction from the sickened looks of her friends.
"I was lucky I silenced him, and that the curse hit my front and not my back. But the pain, it was unspeakable. Even now I sometimes wished that I died there."
"Hermione," Harry tried again, but she cut him off.
"No! It's my turn to talk Harry. I'd follow you anywhere, I'd do anything to make sure you succeed. Not because you're the chosen one, but because you're my best friend and I love you, but you need to listen to me. I know Sirius dying was hard, and that you blame yourself for it, even though it wasn't your fault. Sirius is, was, an adult and made his own choices, but Harry, and I'm not saying this to guilt you, but things would have been better if you had listened to me."
"Don't you think I know that? Do you think I wanted you there, wanted you hurt?"
"No, I don't," She sighed heavily, "And I forgive you, I really do. But I need you to promise to listen to me."
"I'm not throwing away the potion's text."
A flicker of irritation ran through her like a wildfire, but that was a battle for another day. Harry was pants at tailing Malfoy. It was just putting the blond boy on edge, making him as skittish as a rabbit.
"Give me the cloak and the map, at lease trust me that much."
Harry's eyes softened. He moved forward as if to hug her, then put his right hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly.
"Geeze Hermione, of course I trust you. I know I'm being hard to be around, paranoid and all that..." He trailed off.
"It's in your nature?" she asked teasingly.
He grinned at her.
"Well you ought to get to class, I've got to talk to Myrtle, so I'll meet you there."
"You're actually staying?" Ron asked incredulously.
She rolled her eyes. She loved him too, and the was thankfully, mercifully silent during her and Harry's exchange. She guessed he had some tact after all.
"We bought twenty minutes, now I have to pay."
Harry left first, Ron a second later after a second, long look at her scar.
"It looks kinda badass, you know?" He said before he left.
She changed her mind about him having tact. She knew she was nothing much to look at and this scar just made her ugly. She started picking up her discarded clothing when she heard one of the stall doors bang open. She froze with her white undershirt in her hands, wanting to lift it over her head but unable too.
Out of the stall strut Draco Malfoy, with bags under his eyes. She could tell he'd been crying. There was an uncomfortable and unreadable expression on his face, until his eyes glanced down to her scar. She was embarassed to have been caught and she pulled her undershirt on as quickly as she could. She wanted him to leave but he didn't budge.
"Never took you for an exhibitionist," He stated, eyes far away.
"I'm not, just needed to explain some things."
He was thin, thinner than she had thought from a distance. SHe could see the muscles of his jaw working as he clenched his teeth.
"He shouldn't've gone, it was stupid to put people in danger like that," He stated.
She was officially confused. She didn't know why he was even talking to her, why he hadn't teased her and called her a mudblood.
He turned to leave the bathroom, but paused before the entryway, turning back to eye her up and down as she was re-buttoning her shirt.
His Malfoy-esq smirk blossomed into a smile as he left the girls bathroom.
She was furious, furious at herself for putting herself in this position and furious at Malfoy for looking. She took several deep breaths and counted the things she knew about Malfoy.
Malfoy was a Death Eater.
Malfoy was planning something terrible at Hogwarts.
Malfoy didn't want to do it.
Malfoy wasn't evil.