Chapter 8: The Murder of Harry Potter
By: Callisto Callispi
A few days passed since their first detention. Luckily, Draco and Hermione's bodies were intact, and no blood had been shed . . . which was a good show of their tolerance towards each other.
But on this particular day, there was to be much rivalry, not just between Hermione and Draco, but between all Gryffindors and Slytherins in general. The two houses both buzzed with excitement. This was the day that the long awaited quidditch match between the Gryffindors and Slytherins was to be held.
One person who wasn't very excited (quite on the contrary, in actuality) was Hermione. She stared dully at her plate of hash and sausage, trying not to fall asleep. She had a long night. In addition to detention, she had to finish a half-a-meter length essay on the use of growth fungus for giants.
Attended: Transfiguration, Herbology, Ancient Runes, Metaphysics, History of the World of Magic.
To Attend: POTIONS. Ugh.
Potions was torture as always. The classroom was uncomfortably warm and darkened; the lesson was utterly dull. She could barely keep her eyes open, but Hermione always caught herself before nodding off. She couldn't lose anymore points from Gryffindor. She already had minus one hundred on her record. Ouch.
"Now," started the professor. "Does everyone understand how to stew lacewings?" He glared at everyone in the room then smiled unpleasantly. "Excellent. Prepare yourselves for a test tomorrow on the properties of lacewings and the method of stewing it."
The whole class shifted uncomfortably.
Snape's eyes roamed around the class. His eyes lingered a bit on Hermione but then shifted towards Pansy instead. "Now then, Miss Parkinson, please briefly explain how to initiate the preparations for stewing lacewings."
"U-um, well," stammered Pansy next to Hermione. "We will have to collect the lacewings --"
Hermione rolled her eyes. Brilliant. Couldn't have guessed that, you stupid cow.
"-- And then we will have to get a cauldron that can withstand extreme temperatures." She looked at Professor Snape hopefully. "Is that enough professor?"
"That was sufficient, Miss Parkinson," said Snape.
Pansy beamed.
"Now Miss Granger," Snape snarled. "Care to tell us why we use a certain kind of cauldron?"
"Yes, I would mind terribly. Tell those witless Slytherins to read the books and figure it out on their own."
Ah, how sweet those words would have tasted.
Hermione repressed a small sigh. "The best choice of cauldron would be a small, steel one without any iron ore in it. The lacewings would have to be boiled at extreme temperatures and the iron ore might and most likely will melt into the brew. It would be fatal to any human if consumed."
Even with that lengthy and detailed explanation, Snape still didn't seem to be satisfied. "How would one brew the lacewings?"
Hermione answered without trepidation. "One must pluck the stringy hair-like tentacles out to avoid poisoning from the plant itself since the tentacles release a venom when exposed to boiling water. It's best to brew the lacewings for at least fifteen days, for if the lacewings are added prematurely to the Polyjuice Potion, the consumer would have to go through an excruciatingly painful transformation stage."
Snape threw Hermione a seething look and turned to the class. She glared.
"You know," whispered Pansy, leaning over. "You are lucky that you are such a know-it-all, Granger." She looked over at Snape to make sure that his back was still towards their direction. "I suppose that mudblood hags must have at least one redeeming quality."
Hermione's hands shook. "I can see the green envy in your face. So your parents are witch and wizard. What else but that heritage do you have? Wit? Power? Not as far as I can see."
Pansy bit her lip in fury. She opened her mouth to respond to Hermione's barb but instead raised her hand. "Excuse me, Professor Snape?"
The professor turned around. "Yes Miss Parkinson?"
Hermione's brows furrowed. Was Pansy trying to get her in any trouble?
But Pansy didn't seem angry at the time. She was impassive as she addressed the professor. "May I be excused for a moment to clear my head? I smell something putrid and dirty." She turned her head to glance at Hermione. The whole class murmured.
However, Snape said in a pleasant voice, "Yes, go ahead, Miss Parkinson."
Someone stood up. Harry. Snape glared at him, stopping him cold in his position. Harry and Snape stared angrily at each other for a few tantalizing seconds and finally, defeated, Harry sat painfully back down.
Pansy slowly stood up and walked out of the room.
Hermione, on the other hand, stared down on her paper with her quill erect in her hand. That quill quivered. Her breathing was hot and painful. She felt boiling, angry tears prick her eyes, but for the sake of her pride, she kept them inside. She hated her.
After finishing his lecture, Snape assigned cauldrons and bags of lacewings.
Hermione sat down by herself with the bag of lacewings and the cauldron and started to compile her ingredients for the potion.
"Hey there," said a smooth voice behind her.
Hermione almost mistook that to be Malfoy. She whipped around to tell him to wank off, but then paused as she saw a completely different face. Blaise Zabini.
Surprised, she answered. "Yes?"
Blaise pointed to the bag of lacewings on her table. "Could I use some of your lacewings?"
She looked suspiciously at Blaise. "Why would you need it?"
Blaise's eyes narrowed. "We don't have enough. Is that fine with you?"
"Why don't you go to Professor Snape then?"
"I did," said Blaise. "He told me to ask you." Blaise grinned mischievously. "Besides, you wouldn't want your boyfriend, Potter, to fail would you? He's my partner."
Hermione glared momentarily at Blaise. "He's not my boyfriend. And take your stupid lacewings. How much do you need?"
Blaise gave a toothy grin. "Just one eighth would be all right, thanks."
Hermione carefully split the lacewings and handed it over to Blaise. He took it and said, "My regards to Pansy," and strolled off.
Hermione stared momentarily at Blaise then turned her head away to add the lacewings to her own cauldron. The water inside it turned into a sickly sort of purple as the lacewings released their juice. There was no smell, thankfully. Sighing and bored, Hermione stirred her lacewings steadily.
Pansy soon entered the classroom. "Thanks, professor," she said briskly and walked over to Hermione. "I have such a sensitive nose to disgusting, smelly things. I dislike pigs, cows, hens . . . strange how they sort of smell like muddy, muddy mudbloods, eh? Ha ha." Pansy sat down.
Hermione cursed. She should have pulled the chair away under her. Now that would have been a laugh.
X
Draco stole a quick glance over in Hermione and Pansy's direction. He tried to tell himself that it was Pansy that he had his eyes on, but they betrayed him and strayed over to Hermione. Draco was almost fascinated, really. Her pale left hand stirred the potion steadily. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration as she wrote down her observations onto the parchment.
"She's quite the one to look at, that Hermione Granger, isn't she?" said a masculine voice behind Draco.
Draco whipped around and glowered at the person who spoke. "Blaise Zabini."
Blaise, who seemed unperturbed by Draco's icy stare, continued. "So. Do tell: are you two an item? Have you been caught snogging yet?"
"Don't be stupid, Zabini. It doesn't really suit you," sneered Draco.
Blaise grinned a bit and sat down in Ron's seat (whose owner was seat speaking with Harry Potter at the moment). "So how is that detention going? Enjoying it?"
"I have a month left. Do you think that I would enjoy it?" said Draco acidly. "Now quite wasting my time. What do you want?"
Blaise's cheery demeanor seemed to take a plunge. His dark eyes grew serious. "It's about certain issues."
Draco narrowed his eyes. The subject of the 'certain' issue was undoubtedly the Dark Lord, Voldemort. "What about?"
Blaise grimaced. "He grows weaker and weaker with each passing day. He has resorted to drinking unicorn milk to sustain himself. It seems that this heir's ascendance to power will come sooner than expected."
Draco thought carefully about this. Blaise didn't know that Draco himself was the Dark Lord's heir. Draco neglected to tell him since, well, Blaise had been one of the hopeful, most likely candidates for this illustrious position. But . . . power. Draco desired it. However power also brought betrayal and murder. He had to tread carefully. "All right."
Blaise stood up. "Good. I had better attend to my partner, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Become-a-Pain-in-the-Arse. That fool doesn't know the difference between the Hurtgort limb from the Jortgud branch. Come to think of it, I think Hermione Granger and myself are the only two students who do know."
Smartass little prick, Draco thought spitefully. He hadn't know that those two things existed.
Hermione left potions in a hurry after Snape dismissed them. She survived the two hours and was happy because of that.
"Hullo, Hermione!" said Hagrid as he caught her in the hall.
"Hi, Hagrid," she answered back with a small wave. But as she began to walk away, Hagrid stopped her and pulled something out of his pocket. It looked like a snitch.
Hermione smiled. "Were these the creatures you were telling me about?"
Hagrid nodded. "A snitcher." He pointed to its little, barely visible teeth. He held the little animal up, placing his thumbs over its little white wings so it wouldn't flap. Hermione petted it gingerly.
"Mind that these animals have sharp teeth. Gotta have it. The only way they can tear off stringy leaves from high trees. Did yeh know: snitches in quidditch got their names from these little 'uns?" Hagrid beamed as Hermione shook her head. "I wanted ter show the firs' years. Do yeh think they'd like em'? Just got 'em today."
Hermione nodded, and Hagrid laughed.
"With the quidditch match going on, thought today would be right to let the firs' years see 'em."
"Good timing," Hermione affirmed. "I'll stop by the hut later to give you my assignment -- I'm sorry that I spilled so much ink on it."
Hagrid laughed and assured her that it was no problem. "And yeh can help me with the Snitchers, locking and feeding 'em."
Hermione smiled. "No problem." She looked at her watch. "I'd better go, Hagrid. I'll see you later." She ran down to the Great Hall to grab a bite to eat before heading to the library to study. Since the quidditch match at hand was so early in the day, the whole school schedule was re-arranged and just plain confusing.
"Why are they re-serving this morning's sausages and cheese sandwiches during lunch?" Ron whined.
Harry chewed slowly. "The sandwiches aren't bad, but the sausages do taste a bit . . . stale, don't they."
Hermione rearranged her food with her fork, studying it thoughtfully. "Really, I wouldn't think of this as lunch but brunch?"
"Well, whatever it is, it won't fuel us very much for the quidditch match." said Ron. He nudged Hermione playfully. "Good thing Malfoy's playing in the field instead of in the stands, eh, Hermione?"
She glowered at Ron. "Ron, I don't know what you are trying to say, but if you are insinuating that I will blow up the Gryffindor stands again --"
Ron burst out into laughter. Hermione flushed deeply and continued to eat.
Harry grinned. "You know, I really wouldn't mind if Hermione have a duel with Malfoy again. It'd be nice to see her beat him."
The whole conversation immediately turned to quidditch. Hermione's head spun. As soon as she finished eating, she stood up and said loudly, "So," said Hermione loudly though it was physically impossible to divert a man's attention away from the prospect of sports. "I'll be leaving now, if you care, to the library."
Not even a turn of the head. She gave up. Swinging her book bag, Hermione stormed out of the Great Hall.
As soon as Hermione reached the library doors and opened it, a mist of serenity engulfed her. She entered the quiet room and looked over at the front desk. Remarkably, Madam Pince wasn't present. Slightly astonished by that fact, Hermione reached her table of the library and set her book bag down. She needed books on art.
One of her presentations for history was about how art from the medieval era impacted the lives of witches and wizards today (which was incredibly difficult to explain -- she didn't even have her thesis yet!). And Hermione had always like art. Her interest was only more amplified when she found that entrancing painting of the dragons on her way to Arithmancy that day. When she bumped into Draco Malfoy.
A cold chill slithered through her body. Hermione randomly grabbed an art book and flipped through it. The pictures were dull and gray, but it didn't matter as she hardly noticed any of it. Her mind was set upon those two dragons in the painting . . . and Draco Malfoy.
For some twisted reason, the image of that painting illustrated a much clearer, brighter image of Draco Malfoy. But why? Did she really have to envision his cold eyes, so different from the warm and even fiery glow of the painting? Did she really have to so visually imagine his slender form? Did she truly have to try to decipher his ever so enigmatic attitude towards her? He was decent one minute and barbaric the other. It was starting to scare her in a way. A lone butterfly flapped its delicate wings in her stomach. She was on the verge of nausea.
Disgusted, Hermione squeezed the book into its right spot. Hermione Granger fantasizing about a Slytherin? Ridiculous! Mostly all her life, she pushed away fanciful thoughts and faced cold reality. But her delicate outlook on life was shattered the moment she stepped into this school. Here, she met her worst enemy . . . and her greatest mystery.
Draco Malfoy, how I detest you so . . . and yet . . .
Hermione grabbed another book -- a very big and heavy one. His name rang in her head. How perfectly it suited him. How malicious it sounded.
Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Enough to drive you insane. Stupid Draco Malfoy!
"Granger?"
His voice rang so clearly in the silence. Like a sharp knife, it tore through the veil of absolute silence.
Hermione dropped her book. A thunderous crash echoed through out the cavernous library. Then the hush.
"Draco?" she whispered.
The words slipped from her lips. Her unwilling tongue form the words. The very syllables.
Draco raised his eyebrows in complete amazement.
"I-I mean," she stuttered, straining to regain her collapsed composure. "Wh-what do you want Malfoy?"
Draco seemed tongue-tied at the moment but recovered quickly. "First off, I was wondering if you were going to pick up that book."
Hermione stared down at the ground and bent her knees to grab the gigantic book. She hadn't even realized she dropped it. Bugger that, she had barely noticed she even picked it out from the shelves.
"Second," Draco started once more, taking the heavy book from her and wedging it into its proper place. Hermione blinked, wondering if Draco Malfoy actually put something away for her. Then she immediately straightened as Draco continued. "I was wondering why you were standing there, so completely still, holding that massive thing."
Hermione really had no answer for that. Her mind was a boggle. "I was trying to find books on art." She eyed Draco for a minute. Her stomach was doing flips within her. Oh, how could she address by his first name! How mortifying!
He smirked at her. Hermione eyed him with annoyance. He had her trapped against the back wall of the library. Bookshelves bordered her sides and he stood in front of her with his hands lazily in his pockets.
"Can you move?" she asked sharply. When he didn't answer, she slipped past him, her arm slightly touching his stomach. Hermione blushed as she made contact with his body. A small shiver coursed through her as she made her way to her table and flipped through the stack of books that she amassed. "Why are you here, anyway, Malfoy?"
Draco chuckled. "To torment my favorite little Gryffindor. What else?" His eyes gleamed. "I heard what Potter said to you. Do you really think that you could beat me in a duel? Highly doubtful."
"Knock it off. You know I can slaughter you in anything," remarked Hermione.
Draco picked up a book of Hermione's. "I'd wager all the money I have in my main account at Gringotts. And mind you, there's enough gold in there to purchase a small country. Do you truly read this rubbish? A Historian's Bible to the Wizard's Pastimes. If I had just met you, I'd probably think that you pretend to read all this nonsense to uphold your image."
She ignored him. "How did you know I was here?"
Draco set the book down. "Please, Granger; I'm not an idiot, unlike Potter and Weasley. If they aren't with you in the dormitory, you're most likely in the library. Besides, I heard you yelling all the way from the Gryffindor table. Hard to miss that."
Hermione didn't answer.
"Well, Granger," said Draco, walking towards the exit. "I'll leave to your bookworm ways. Do be sure to come to the quidditch match. I want to have the satisfaction of having you see me catch the snitch before your boyfriend Potter does."
He ducked and exited quickly before Hermione could pelt more of her quills at him. Her notebook flew dangerously close to the back of his retreating head.
The teams were settled along the field, eyeing each other with distaste. The crowd cheered maniacally in anticipation, rooting for either the Slytherins or Gryffindors.
"Captains shake hands," ordered Madam Hooch. She put the whistle in her palm.
The great competition between Slytherin and Gryffindor didn't lessen over the years. If anything, it probably got hotter and fiercer.
Harry stepped up as the team captain and shook hands with the Slytherin captain, Timmins Comfrey. Though captain, it was clear that Draco Malfoy had the greatest respect on the Slytherin team. According to the rumors, he gave up the captain position so that he could have more time for his school work and whatever else he did in his spare time.
"Now, I want a good clean game," said Madam Hooch, staring intensely at every one of their faces. She really meant it this time. No one could forget that incident a year ago when a Slytherin keeper jumped on a Gryffindor chaser's broom after the chaser managed to buy thirty points in two minutes. She blew the whistle and released the snitch. The players kicked off and soared in the air.
The crowd roared as they soon saw robes of green and red in the air. The players whipped around back and forth, up into the air and plunging back down. The broadcaster and announcer was Louis Jordan, the retired announcer Lee Jordan's younger brother.
"Quaffle is held by Gryffindor chaser, Isabelle! She's heading towards the Slytherin goal posts! She throws . . . annnnnd SCORE! Ten points for Gryffindor!"
Cheers and boos thundered through out the lonely forest surrounding the school.
"Slytherin now in possession. Tours to Imite! Imite to Tours again! Tours spins, avoiding the bludger! But the quaffle is out of control! No, Gryffindor player Romania Fields gets it! She is speeding to the Slytherin goals! She throws! No! It's blocked by the Slytherin keeper, Calvin Deutsch! But it's rebounded off the rings! Tours come up! He and Romania fight for it! Go Romania! Romania gets it and she throws! YES! It makes it into the goals! Ten points for Gryffindor!"
The cheers increased and so did the boos. Slytherin was in possession once more.
Harry dodged another bludger. He swore that he saw a flash of gold speeding in the right-hand direction but when he turned his head, another flash of gold was heading in the left-hand direction! What was going on with the snitch!
That was it. That was a real streak of gold. Harry kicked his broom and he went after it.
"It seems that Harry Potter has seen something! Oh no! And I think that Draco Malfoy has spotted something also! Both are going at top speed! But . . . WHAT! Why are they going in the opposite direction? Could one be mistaken!"
Murmurs of confusion rose in the crowds.
"Hermione! Look!" screamed Parvati, pointing to the sky. Harry swerved. He was in the direction of Draco. The snitch seemed to be between Draco and Harry.
They both flew after it.
"The Seekers have both spotted the snitch! It's now just a race to see who gets there first!"
It looked as if Harry and Draco would collide. But both veered their brooms away from each other just in time and plunged to the ground.
"Come on, damn it," Harry heard Draco whisper.
This just made Harry go faster. He reached out. Just a bit further! He grabbed the snitch! Gryffindor won! But surprisingly, Harry heard a yell of triumph behind him. Draco also had a snitch in his hand!
Harry's jaw dropped. "What! What the hell! Malfoy, what are you playing at?" Harry sputtered.
Draco smiled, victorious. "Looks like the famous Harry Potter lost his quidditch match. Slyth --" Draco was cut short as he also saw the snitch in Harry's hand. Draco's jaw dropped.
"What? What is going on!" yelled Louis Jordan over the microphone. "It seems as if they both caught the snitch! But how is it possible! Oh my gosh, look up at the sky! Snitches galore!"
The confused and outraged crowds looked up. And there they saw an amass of golden little flapping balls fluttering in the sky. Hundreds of them! Some students screamed and ran inside. Some laughed and pointed.
"What the fuck!" Draco roared, looking up.
Madam Hooch whistled madly. "Every player get down! Right now!" With her wand, she paralyzed the bludgers. "Down here! Yes and that means you two also! Hurry up, Malfoy, Potter!"
All fourteen players assembled down on the ground and arguments began.
"Gryffindor should win!" declared Timothy. "We were twenty points ahead!"
"That's dung! Draco caught the snitch first! Or whatever that was! Slytherin gets the 150 points!" said the chaser called Tours.
The Gryffindors cursed the Slytherins and vice versa. Hysteria reigned among the players. Only Harry and Draco refrained from arguing -- they merely watched with scowls plastered on their faces.
"Enough!" screamed Madam Hooch. But they ignored her. The argument was loud enough -- the screaming of the students and the professors weren't helping to calm anyone down. Madam Hooch was red in the face. She looked almost like a tomato. "Be quiet! Danvers! Imite! Romania!" They still didn't listen. "STOP! I said ENOUGH!" She blew her whistle repeatedly. The arguing ceased hesitantly. The opposing team members were glaring daggers at each other.
"Just report to the Great Hall and have your dinner there. The professors and I will have a meeting and settle this fairly. Now off with you lot." She got her own broomstick. "And make sure you get to the Great Hall right away. No shortcuts, Potter, Weasley, Malfoy. I've got to help straighten up this riffraff."
Madam Hooch flew away on her broom and magically helped the professors on the ground paralyze the snitchers.
The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams looked at each other disgustedly and they each flew off towards their own section of the quidditch fields. From there, they each exited.
As the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall, a mix of applause and boos greeted them. Harry and Ron headed over to the Gryffindor table. They found Hermione chatting idly with Lavender. When she saw the two coming over, her eyes lit up. "Hey, you two!"
Harry and Ron walked over and plopped down in their seats.
"What a stupid twist of events," grumbled Ron.
Hermione offered some pumpkin juice to both of them.
"Thanks," said Harry. "Have the professors told you anything about the quidditch match? And what were those yellow flying snitch look-alikes?" Harry demanded, pounding his fist angrily on the table.
Hermione sighed. "I haven't heard anything, and those yellow things were snitchers. Hagrid was showing them to the first years . . . I don't know how they escaped. What time is it? Oh gosh, seven o'clock already. I wish they'd serve dinner already. I have to get to detention and I don't want to go on an empty stomach."
Harry and Ron sat glumly at the table.
Soon their dinners appeared in front of them. It wasn't luxurious enough to be called a feast but it would do. Harry grabbed food from all around him and started to eat. So did Hermione, more fervently than him.
As she chewed fervently on a piece of chicken, she spotted Blaise Zabini heading this way with a stack of papers in his hand. When he reached the Gryffindor table, he handed a few pages to Harry.
Blaise took one deep breath and said without pausing, "Hello, fellow Hogwarts students. I have the delightful job of going around to tell every quidditch team captain that the game was postponed due to the confusion of the snitch issue. It turns out that our Professor Rubeus Hagrid's snitchers somehow got loose during the game. Because of that, the game between Slytherin and Gryffindor will be postponed." He gasped for air after reciting that speech in a quick yet monotonous voice and turned to leave after nodding his head toward Hermione. She blushed furiously as Ron and a few other Gryffindors stared suspiciously at her.
"Er, hold on," said Harry. "So how are the points arranged?"
Blaise stared at the pumpkin goblet next to Harry for a few moments. "I am but a messenger," said Blaise finally. "I don't know about the game. Probably will be settled in the next match. Well, I must be off. Got to deliver this message to the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs like I'm the damn postal service instead of a student trying to finish his metaphysics essay on time." And Blaise strolled off.
"A very peculiar fellow. Sometimes, he doesn't act Slytherin," said Dean as he sat down next to Hermione.
Hermione drank from her goblet of pumpkin juice. Harry took a swig from his own while scrutinizing the new schedule and wrinkled his nose. "Ridiculous! The next quidditch match is a days after we come back from winter recess. Can you believe this! Absolutely no one will be focused right after vacation!"
Hermione laughed. "Calm down. You're starting to sound like Oliver Wood."
"That's good. Wood was a damn good captain," said Ron.
Hermione looked down at the food in her plate. Something was bothering her. What was it? Then it hit her like a sledgehammer. She stood up suddenly. "What time is it?" she demanded.
Dean raised both of his eyebrows. "Uh . . . five 'till eight. Why?"
Had it been that long already? "Oh my god, I'm late!" she almost screamed as she grabbed her book bag and dashed to the exit.
Oh god, oh god, screamed Hermione in her mind. She ran so fast that she barely missed Blaise walking back towards a spot on the Slytherin table scattered with loose parchment. She missed him enough that he and she didn't collide but hard enough to bump him into a table. Blaise held Hermione by one arm and steadied the goblet of apple cider that he almost knocked over.
"What's wrong with you?"
Hermione turned on her heel looked over at Draco. "Malfoy, you better get down to Filch's dungeon, now!" And without further remark, Hermione sprinted out of the Great Hall.
"What is she talking about Draco?" asked a Slytherin girl next to Draco.
"I haven't the slightest. She's quite mad some --" Draco paused. The detention! Swearing loudly, Draco raced out of the Great Hall, almost knocking over Blaise Zabini again who was currently drinking from the apple cider that he almost spilled before.
X
They entered a split second before Filch walked in the room and collapsed on their chairs, trying to catch their breaths.
"You juveniles and your crackpot sports," cursed Filch as he slammed the door open and entered. "You know I have been doing all day? Catching those disgusting little creatures that Hagrid calls his snitchers! You know how hard that is?"
Hermione and Draco didn't answer.
"The quidditch field is especially dirty from the pandemonium today. Litter thrown here and there and everywhere! I expect you two to clean that all up at once. Maybe after you experience the hardships of a custodian, you'll discourage your brown-nosed classmates to not litter so. I'll be lenient. I'll grant two nights to finish up. There should be bags to store the garbage in. They are in the center of the field. I suggest you work from the center."
Hermione looked at Filch. "Uh, are we allowed to use magic?"
"Heavens no! This is a punishment, if you hadn't noticed. Now off with you two. Finish as much as you can and make sure you do a ruddy good job of it. I can lengthen your detention if I choose," he threatened.
Hermione and Draco stood up, both sighing. They soon reached the quidditch field, and looked on wonder at the once green pitch. Goodness, it had been polluted. Candy bar wrappers and bags of paper were thrown everywhere.
"Well, Granger," said Draco. "Ladies first." He gestured her over to the quidditch field.
"Thanks a lot," mumbled Hermione. She cringed as she picked up a piece of soggy paper. How disgusting. "What's the news on today's game? Surely you've heard something."
Draco cringed as he looked at the trash. "There's a rematch scheduled soon. I forgot the date but the game is to start with the same points. I suppose that's fair enough, though I say that since I caught the snitch first, Slytherin should have been awarded the 150 points." Draco smirked at Hermione. "I told you I'd catch it first."
Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "For your information, Draco Malfoy, you did not catch the snitch first. Neither you nor Harry did."
"Ah yes. But I would have gotten the snitch first anyway. Such a shame that blundering oaf Hagrid let the snitchers out. He just took away Slytherin's finest victory with his stupidity."
Hermione glowered at him. "You take that back! It wasn't Hagrid's fault! And he didn't let them out. The locks were probably unlatched or something. I personally don't understand how those snitchers got out! I even helped Hagrid secure them into place."
Draco laughed. "All right, I take that back. It's your fault, then."
"No!" said Hermione, outraged.
"Calm down, Granger. Take a joke." Draco picked up some more trash. He looked up at the dark, night. How pretty was that? It was full of glittering stars.
Hermione and Draco worked in silence. The night air was a bit chilly but not so cold that it caused discomfort. This was the perfect autumn night. Draco thought that he could even hear the faint twinkling of the stars then.
"I wish I had my broom right now," Draco suddenly said.
"Oh?" asked Hermione, curious. "Why is that? To sweep this mess up?"
"Of course not," said Draco. "So I could ride it and go away from here for a bit. It's a nice night."
Hermione laughed softly. "Take me with you, then."
Draco looked at Hermione, wondering why she of all people would want to leave Hogwarts. This ruddy castle was her haven, no doubt. Draco wanted to ask, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't need to know such things, and she wasn't worth his curiosity, was she? Despite his misgivings, however, Draco managed a small smirk and muttered inaudibly, "I'll take you."
They picked up the candy wrappers, trying not to glance at the outside ruins of what used to be the Gryffindor quidditch stands. The headmaster seemed to have gotten the foundation and most of the outside construction patched up, but chips of broken marble and stone were still scattered about the edges of the stands. Draco and Hermione worked silently, though Draco itched to start up some sort of a conversation. It wasn't as if he was that talkative, but for some reason, being alone with her under the stars like this made him feel almost whimsical. Draco stole a glance at Hermione once more. Her eyes were big and bright and he never noticed what such a deep color they were.
"How did you receive your name?" Draco asked suddenly.
Hermione looked up. Her brows were furrowed. "What?" she asked.
"I said: how did you get your name? You know. Her-Hermione?" Draco said.
Hermione looked at Draco strangely for a fleeting second before she answered cautiously. "Well, there was this woman in the Greek myths. She was the daughter of Helen of Troy and King Menalaus . . . do you know the story?"
Draco nodded. "Yes."
Hermione shrugged. "My mother studied Greek mythology -- she loves the stories."
Draco didn't answer. He just looked at Hermione. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
"Malfoy," she whispered.
Draco opened his mouth to say something. But he couldn't get a word out as a piercing yell erupted the silence. It was Professor McGonagall.
"Miss Granger!" she shouted from the Ravenclaw stands. "Mr. Malfoy! Please come here this instant!"
Hermione looked at Draco before sprinting over to her professor. "Yes professor?" Hermione asked between gasps as soon as she was within ear-shot of the professor. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she stared at Professor McGonagall's face. She seemed on the verge of tears . . . and this professor never ever cried.
"I need to speak to you, Miss Granger. Both of you please both come up this instant. Mr. Malfoy, you are excused from this detention tonight. I wish to speak with Miss Granger in private. Please head over to the Slytherin commons. I expect that you have much schoolwork to catch up on."
"Er, all right professor. Thank you." He turned away and walked away, throwing Hermione one last confused glance.
"Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, "I'm terribly sorry to surprise you. But you have to have knowledge . . . " Professor McGonagall's glittered. "I wish I didn't have to be the bearer of bad news but --" Professor McGonagall choked back a slight moan.
"Professor." Hermione said slowly. "Please tell me what is wrong? Is anyone hurt? It isn't Ron, is it? Harry?"
A stray tear escaped. The professor's voice was weak. "Harry Potter . . ."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Harry? What happened to him? Is he all right? Is he hurt? He isn't dead . . . is he? Is he!"
The professor fervently shook her head. "No. He's not dead, Miss Granger."
Hermione's breathing became ragged. "Please tell me professor. What's wrong with him?"
The professor opened her mouth but no words came out. She tried to regain her composure but it faltered once more. "Harry, Harry Potter. He's in the hospital wing right now." She licked her lips as if the words wouldn't come out.
"Tell me, please, professor what hap --"
"Harry Potter has been poisoned. The poison is running through his system quickly, and it has just reached his heart. He is dying, Miss Granger. He's dying!" Professor McGonagall cried.
Hermione just stood there numbly for a moment, facing her professor. She didn't believe what she said. She couldn't. Harry. Dying. It couldn't be true. But the look on the professor's face assured her that this was fact. Hermione's knees gave out and she fell to the floor. Her arms were limp and her tears fell freely from her face. It couldn't be true . . . and yet, she knew it must be.