Evaluate This

Chapter 21

Back to Neverland


Cornelius Fudge was a patient man they said. But truth is sometimes blinded by what they said. As it were, Cornelius was not a patient man at all. He appeared patient. Just as he appeared patient, Fudge appeared caring and above all else, harmless—not a wicked bone in his body. How well could one fool the entire wizarding world you ask? Just take a quick look at the real Minister of Magic, a man so evil, that hell itself spat him back out (yes, even the wizarding world adores Johnny), and you can see just how well deception can be played.

It was quite evident, now by the paper held in their hands that their dear Minister was quite a dark and conniving old fellow—one not to be trifled with by those considered sane. The two soon-to-be-caught miscreants, however, would most likely contest that they were not sane and quite happily not so.

After all, Fudge must remember that his entire reason for ordering the evaluations (which by any other name, determine your sanity—and if you are found to be sane, however unlikely that may be, you are soon to be acquainted with the world of insanity in short time) was to prove once and for all that the entire world was not in its right mind—and thus prove that Harry Potter and his followers were more than deserving of a padded room and thorizine drip.

Blaise knew tact when he saw it—admired it when it came from an admirable source—but he also liked to exploit…

And exploit he did.

Fudge was a conniving little bastard, Blaise concluded after not much thought. Much like Dumbledore, he mused, without the damnable twinkle. But of course, there were more differences between the two old biddies. And biddies they definitely were—Blaise would argue that point fiercely, even if the two were men, they were as annoying and interfering and conniving as a bunch of meddling grandmothers.

He cringed—his own grandmother would probably work hand in hand with the two, she loved nothing more than to screw with someone's life (and by screw up, he meant help), and that life usually turned out to be his. She'd affectionately called him an ungrateful little sod more than once—never really meaning her words, their spats more love than anything particularly nearing vile. Don't get him wrong, Blaise and his Grandmother got along about as well as Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. But it was with love, rather than hatred, with which they conducted their little charades.

A small squeak brought him back into the study, letter still between his lax fingers. His eyes roamed over it once more.

Merlin, did he have no respect for the Minister of Magic! Prying into the man's personal correspondences with the psychiatrists.

Obviously not.

In not so many words, the letter spelled out a rather unorthodox method of conducting one's business…

That business was going to be rather unpleasant for the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Let alone it being downright cruel—even Blaise would admit that—it was damn unhealthy too! How could he possibly cope in such a stress filled environment?

A cruel smile played on his lips, even as he tried to keep it at bay—fruitless effort that was.

He was mentally figuring how many years worth of allowance it would take to hire his own professional team of psychiatrists—with the intent of setting them on one Cornelius Fudge. Blaise was quite sure the man had lost his marbles…let alone ethics, morals, and basic humanity.

"What are you grinning such a feral grin about?"

Blaise glanced up, meeting Ginny's eyes with his own—knowing that the sadistic, feral gleam that was in his eyes (let alone on his face) was mirrored perfectly in her own. Two peas in a pod, them. He couldn't remember where he heard it—though he was sure it had been said more as a curse than compliment—but it fit.

"I was just admiring this here handiwork." He nodded at the parchment, and felt rather than saw Ginny sidle up next to him—a brief whisper of air, a touch of skin.

He shifted minutely, so that she could better read, the only light emitting from the end of their wands.

The flowing script itself told of the writer's devious intent. The curls and tails of the letters were sharp, where the quill had pressed hard—as if the writer's sanity was to question, and if that were to be questioned, you'd have to take in the context of the letter and question the individuals sadistic persona. All of which was conveniently hid away by the calm, composed, loving, caring, harmless exterior (all of course pre-packaged) that was Cornelius Fudge.

And they'd thought the psychiatrists were two in a million—Ginny reassessed that now, coming to the conclusion that there were many sick people in the world and trumped the number up to four. You couldn't leave out you-know-who, he'd cemented a place in that category years ago, but now you had to expand the occupancy of that list.

Now you might be thinking she should be including herself as well as the Zabini spawn…but Ginny liked to think that they were more—creatively demented—not raging sadist.

She finished the letter, taking in the Minister's signature—an overly large flourish that in no way imaginable could be made out to say Cornelius Fudge.

Their eyes gleamed in the wand-light, so feral and full of planning—you could practically see the clicking and turning of the wheels that operated their minds.

It was obvious, by way of the ripped envelope, that the psychiatrists had already gotten their orders.

It was a true pity that they were too stupid to deal with the letter properly—hadn't they taken Covering Your Ass 101? Blaise was rather disappointed in them, they should have burned it upon finishing, so no further eyes would read.

But…Blaise decided with a faint hint of his cocky grin, they'd had other things to deal with, courtesy of himself and Ms. Weasley.

And now, they would do what the psychiatrists should have done the moment they'd finished with the letter. Why exactly, you ask? Because playing with fire is damn fun.

"Permission to incinerate, Mr. Zabini?" Ginny's low tone brought chills down Blaise's arms—the girl could be scary. She pointed her wand, the tip not quite touching paper and waited for his nod.

They watched the letter as it was slowly burned into nothingness. The ashes floated lazily in the air, the ends still crinkling and withering away in a ribbon of fire-orange.

Blaise almost mewed in happiness. Instead, he gave into his body's urge to do something incredibly childish and stupid and pointless and…whatever, he just did it.

This particular insane urge happened to be to attack something like a barracuda (not that he had any idea how a barracuda attacked) Blaise made an insane karate kick and half chop at the desk, earning himself an exasperated sigh that all but said 'why the hell am I still hanging with this loser' from Ginny—as well as an aching foot.

Ginger hair was swept into a ponytail, revealing Ginny's sneer, previously hidden. Her words oozed sarcasm. "I'm sure you taught that desk a lesson. Hurt its feelings you did." Blaise was pretty sure he could coat layers with the sweet jam that was her sarcasm—he was also beginning to feel slightly nauseous at his current turn of thought.

Impatient, Ginny snapped her fingers once, twice—gaining the attention of a slightly green Slytherin. "Can we go now, or do you want to give the desk another first-rate swat for good measure?"

Blaise bared his teeth.

"Oh like you scare me. I bite back you know."

Blaise cringed. "I give, come on, lets go."

They hadn't much time left before the beginning of breakfast—to which they would show, holding heads high—and reap the consequences of their actions.

They might even try to look remorseful…

Blaise and Ginny caught the others eye—thoughts perfectly aligned and crude grins in place.

Remorseful?

Nah. (I think not.)


His hair was in need of a trim, Draco decided, as he lay sprawled on his bed, fingers meticulously combing through his baby-fine strands. He closed his eyes, letting only the feeling of silk strands seep into his senses. It felt good. He loved his hair; he loved hands in his hair. There was something pleasant and…erotic about having one's hair twirled and pulled and petted. The strands dropped lightly onto his pale forehead.

He was trying to forget about the previous nights escapades—trying to reestablish calm, and his endearing Malfoy demeanor. It was all done in vain, as there was nothing short of an Oblivious! or death that could remove those…memories. He'd yet to decide if they were good or bad—they had marks in both categories. But in short, it was a disaster.

His body had betrayed him in such a way he wasn't sure forgiveness would ever be possible, and to make matters worse—his treacherous body was still…feeling. And he didn't like this one bit, not one fucking bit. There was a tightness in his stomach, as if he'd done sit-ups (which of course he never did, he was natural perfect with a naturally fit body that came from doing nothing but sitting and eating sweets—wasn't life just grand?) and a tingling that traveled up from his stomach to below his ribs, where he had the most god awful pain sometimes. Swallowing, he'd also noticed, had become somewhat blocked, it felt as if something was caught down there…too deep to be pried out—and Merlin was that uncomfortable. In short, Draco Malfoy hated his body and it's constant reminder of the previous nights activities—and the fact that he felt something about the whole tirade.

Malfoy's do not feel. Lesson forty-two. They were stone, cold, and ice. None of these feelings had any right being in a Malfoy's body—let alone his body!

He'd wandered earlier, over the theory that the feelings were merely after effects of the body switching. After all, his fingers felt slightly numb—as if they no longer were his own. It had been an entertaining theory—for about ten minutes. The two idiots, he would never call them by name again, they had proved too stupid for that, let alone the fact that he'd already decided that their lives were ending, most likely sooner than they had planned.

The idiots, he'd thought, had probably botched the spell somehow. It was a rather complex spell and he was still mildly surprised that they had been able to pull it off…or that they'd dared to try in the first place. Knowingly invoking the wrath of a Malfoy (and laughing while doing so), was practically a death sentence, one Draco had no qualms about completing either.

Inhabiting another's body was not completely legal, Draco knew, which was why potions such as the polyjuice had come about. There was something unethical and immoral that had made it, while still legal, highly frowned upon. Of course, that didn't matter to Draco—and it obviously meant nothing to Blaise as well. The redheaded Weasley, however, was something Draco found himself not expecting. She was just as crafty as a Slytherin, and somehow, just as moral-less. Who would have thought that the meek red head, a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake, would throw morals and ethics out the window without thought? He then wondered if she'd ever had those things to begin with.

And what of Hermione…

His stomach clenched and that damn knot in his throat grew.

No, he was not going to think about her. His body started that damn tingling again just at the thought of her name! Using the careful control he'd constructed throughout his years, he vanquished that thought and everything else, leaving his mind blissfully blank.

But that wasn't going to last, unfortunately, as he heard the most peculiar thing.

The sound was muffled, yes, but Draco would know that voice anywhere—especially that raised voice.

Hermione screeching was something he knew intimately.

The sound was indeed, he concluded with a smirk, a yelling Hermione, and for once, he wasn't the one causing that raised voice.

"I told you, no means no, get that through your thick skulls!" Hermione screamed, no longer caring about the textbook in her hand, having decided it was a handy dandy weapon, she threw it at the objects of her rage.

"Just hear us out!"

"Damn Hermione, that hurt!" Ron cried as the book caught him in the shoulder.'

"Serves you right Ronald, now both of you get out of here before I find something to impale you both on!"

"Cousin, just calm down." Charlotte tried once again to approach Hermione, but was brought two steps back by a well-aimed candlestick that had been confidently flying towards her head. "Stop throwing things like a temperamental child!"

"Get out and I'll consider it!" Where was Malfoy when she needed him, Hermione thought scathingly. Her eyes darted haphazardly around the room, taking stock of potential weapons and harmless objects with which to murder her soon to be ex-and dead-friend and ex-and dead-cousin.

The stupid blond haired prat had just known this was going to happen—no wonder he'd made himself scarce. This was all his fault to begin with! And the cowardly imbecile wouldn't even come out of his room to take the heat. Hermione wasn't exactly sure how this was Malfoy's fault, but she'd make quick work of that later. Once these two were good and dead—she'd drag him out to get rid of their bodies.

"Malfoy!" she screamed as she found a nice coaster and sent it off as if it were a Frisbee. "Get your ass out here or I'm going to push you out the highest fucking window in Hogwarts!"

The boy in question didn't move from his bed, cringed slightly (though he'd never admit it) and continued to eavesdrop with a leisurely calm.

"We only want to make a little extra cash Hermione, it wouldn't be that bad."

Hermione's lip curled in such a way that showed she'd been hanging around the Slytherin far too long.

"You want to market off my non-existent relationship with Malfoy are you fucking insane?" she spat scathingly.

Inside his room, Draco's ears perked—if they could have, they would have—he propped himself up on his elbows, eyes trained eagerly on the door in horror.

Charlotte made a small clucking sound. "As Ron said, Cousin, it wouldn't be all bad. I'm sure if you'd calm down a bit, you'd see."

Hermione was mad enough to chew nails. "I see…cousin" her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I see how very nice each of you would look in a pine box…maybe you could even share one, I'll just pile you on top one another and slam the lid closed. Then, after I've got you six feet below my feet, I'm going to dance the fucking Macarena over you and then blare god awful rap music at you until you scream for forgiveness."

"Tsk, tsk, dear me, I didn't know you'd be so upset about this."

"Oh that's fucking rich!"

"You didn't use to cuss so much, Hermione—I think Draco is wearing off on you."

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits, her breaths came in short spurts, and Ron was already backing out of harms way—and luckily for him—in the direction of the door.

"Get out." Hermione hissed.

Ron stumbled slightly, his head whipping around, making a quick estimate of the time required to escape.

Charlotte shot him a look—one that Hermione didn't miss—and Ron suddenly grew a tiny (and believe me, it was tiny) backbone, stopping in his retreat.

Hermione growled, "Do you want a few well chosen, and unflattering pictures of you floating around the school, Ronald? I've got a few…from that night…" Her eyes filled with mocking laughter. "Don't you remember…Ronald…that night?"

Ron swallowed visibly. "N-n-no."

"Oh, I think you do. But let me replenish your memory. There was you…me…Harry…a bottle of vodka, a bottle of firewhisky, and a bottle of polyjuice…don't forget the game of truth, dare, or drink—and then, don't forget about the twins magical camera…or how interested I was in it afterwards."

Ron trembled. "You didn't!"

Draco crawled off his bed, edging to the door. This was interesting.

"Oh, but I did. And I won't hesitate to use them either."

Ron winced and shot a helpless look towards Charlotte, a lost little soldier waiting for instructions.

"Hermione, we've already got the pictures."

Draco blanched…pictures?

"We were only going to warn you before we started selling them…and to tell you we might have doctored them…slightly."

Draco felt sick. He'd seen what could be done with photos…he'd done it himself a few times. He was about to step out of his room, confront them all, and risk dying of a heart attack at the sight of Hermione when the conversation picked up once more.

"Oh and pray tell who would fucking buy them?" She glared at her cousin.

Charlotte examined her nails, checking to make sure they were in fighting condition. They were. "I've only been here…a few months and do you want to know what I've found out?"

"Life I've got a choice?" Hermione growled.

"You're learning. Now, did you know, that this things here's brothers have kept book on couples?"

"I am not a thing!" Ron scowled, but didn't move from his spot near the exit.

Hermione took a step back (as did Draco), "What?"

"Let me put it simply, there are bets on who will get together, when, how long they'll last…and a few other things that are quite…" Charlotte's eyes flashed. "Dirty if you get my meaning."

"Are you telling me that Fred and George have a bet running over Malfoy and I getting together?"

"In not so many words, yes."

"Where the fucking hell did that come from?" Hermione raged. Draco grinned, perfect question, he'd like to know the answer to that one himself.

Charlotte shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I wouldn't know anyway."

A curled lip from Hermione kept Ron from adding that they'd also been the ones to start those polls and gambling rings up anew—after hearing whisperings of big money on the Hermione Draco front. They'd been mighty busy since.

"Well." Hermione said tersely. "It all doesn't matter in the least. Malfoy and I are not together, whatever the picture are…" Hermione grimaced. The pictures were a wild card. "As for the pictures, you'll only look like idiots…" Her words trailed to a halt at the look in her cousin's eyes. Oh, Merlin, Hermione grimaced. "I'm not going to let you leave here alive." She whispered.

Draco felt his face pinch in frustration—for some reason, he could no longer hear them. Such a fucking great time for Hermione to calm down. What exactly was going on?

"I've already made a million copies Hermione, of you and Draco in so many amazing positions, we're even thinking of a calendar."

Gray eyes snapping wide open, Draco felt his stomach fall several floors. No fucking way in hell! If there were pictures of that night, he'd be the first, and only one to posses them. He thought, hardly hearing the thump that resounded from the common room.

Wrenching his door open he barreled out, before stopping dead in the common room.

"Oh, hey there Malfoy." The cousin of Hermione's grinned. "Nice to see you."

"What the hell are you talking about, pictures, positions, what calendar?"

"Losing composure there Malfoy? Never thought I'd see the day."

Draco sneered, pushing his hair back. "At least I have composure." His eyes scanned the room. "Where'd Hermione go?"

Ron's eyes flittered to the floor, then back to Malfoy. Draco looked and there, sprawled on the floor, was Hermione."

"I think she was a bit shocked at the whole calendar business." Charlotte shrugged. "And, I think it's time we go, right Ron?"

"Yeah. Totally."

Draco, who'd knelt down at Hermione's side looked up, "Oh hell no, you two aren't going anywhere!" He shouted, his wand out as he jumped to his feet. "You aren't going to leave until ever single picture is destroyed or in my possession.

"Make me." Charlotte hissed.

And Draco did.

It was a commonly known fact that no one likes to be upside down for very long—I think it has something to do with the uncomfortable, and possibly fatal, blood rush to the head. Add vast heights, a pissed off Slytherin, a wand, and a conveniently high ceiling and you might understand exactly what Draco did to make them.


Hermione woke with a splitting headache, unable to help it, a small cry escaped her lips as she sat up, hands pressing tightly to her forehead.

"Hey."

The word was tentative, and Hermione wasn't sure why exactly, or even whom, but she did know that if the light did not stop streaming in, she was going to claw her bloody eyes out. "Light." She moaned, trying desperately to communicate the fact that the burning, mind-numbing pain the light was causing her retinas.

All the thrashing and pointing and

However, she mustn't have been that bad, as the light suddenly dimmed and she cautiously removed her hands.

"Well, at least you weren't out very long."

She squinted in the direction of the voice and caught the telltale signs of blond before letting out an annoyed groan.

The bed tilted slightly as another weight was added.

"Please tell me that the last week has been a dream."

A small chuckle, and then she felt a warm hand smooth down her arm, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Sorry to disappoint you. But, I'm pretty damn sure it was all…" Draco trailed off, eyes settling on the closed drapes. He heard another groan, and then felt Hermione shifting, sitting up.

"What time is it?"

"Breakfast will be ending soon."

"And…" Her eyes enquired, while her mouth tried its damnedest to wrap her tongue round the words.

"Don't worry 'bout them." Draco drawled with a careless wave of his hand. "You'll find I can be very persuasive when I'm pissed off."

Hermione eyed him, washing over the way his body just flowed—and quickly beat herself over the head for doing so…and liking it. His body really did flow though—like water over worn rocks. It was a graceful thing—and just as chilling. You shivered when you touched, and there wasn't much short of staying away that you could do.

What she needed to do, Hermione decided, was to throw herself back into her work—get the faux-weddings underway…

And handle everything else they could toss at her with finesse.

But to start any of that, Hermione knew she'd have to get (and stay) at least a good two hundred meters away from the not-so-vile blond enigma.

"Then…" she started, hating the shyness she felt, and the heat that rushed to her cheeks—turning them rosy with embarrassment. "To breakfast?"

Draco smirked at her, beautiful as always and with grace he stood, holding his hand out for her—challenge evident in his shining eyes.

Hermione met it head on, grasping his hand and allowing him to help her up. She briefly attempted to brush his hand away as it settled on her lower back—but thought better of it. He was being the perfect gentleman, by playing the queen of rock ice, she'd only be giving in. So instead, she nodded politely with murmured thanks and watched as he fought the small twitch of amusement that played with the corners of his mouth.

"You can never win." He whispered, his breath hot against her skin—a soft play of moisture that tickled and touched in ways that would normally cause her to jump away, if not for the damn hand that kept her in place.

Hermione huffed at that, and turned so that they were face to face. "Back to never land again."

"I won last time." Draco reminded her.

Hermione acknowledged this with a terse nod and a dismissing look. "That you did. But now I'm on to you…and I've got ammunition this time."

Draco tried hard not to look amused—and failed miserably. "My game?" he let out a quick laugh. "And what pray tell is this so called ammunition?"

Hermione smiled sweetly and pulled herself up, using her hands to better steady herself (and it only just so happened that the rested on Malfoy's shoulders. Complete coincidence, I assure you) and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. It was chaste, a kiss shared between friends and relatives.

Draco felt the pressure from her hands—felt the warmth that spread down his shoulders and through his chest. He could feel her breath, and then…her lips. It was all rather intoxicating and he wondered if he was drugged. Things weren't meant to feel like this—they'd never felt this way before. Surely there was some explanation for why her smile, her walk, her words always filled him with…

All that warmth and all those fuzzy (good for nothing) thoughts evaporated in an instant. Hermione's voice, in all its velvet calm, had spoken the one and only word—name—that could empty his veins of life-blood, refilling them with something close to liquid death.

"Pansy."


The Great Hall had not been emptied of students—even though breakfast had all but ended minutes before. There was no chatter, no clinking and clattering of silverware. There was no rhythmic chomp-chomp-chomping (a sound that few could decide came louder from a certain red haired Gryffindor, or two voluptuous Slytherin side-kicks) of food being chewed. Instead, there was a simple, lazy silence. One that hinted that the students—young and old, victims or not—knew of the past nights…endeavors, conducted by a rather unperturbed, and slightly uninterested couple.

Blaise and Ginny sat, feigning nonchalance (or possibly not feigning, as they really didn't care and were more than quite happy with their escapades), between a rather irate Harry Potter, and a dozing Miriam.

Harry, much like Hermione and Draco, had not taken kindly to their well-intended prank, but being the kind soul that he was, had yet to kill them. Though that didn't mean he was letting them off the hook—oh no, they were on a hook (deeply so), he was simply providing them with a grace period, if you will.

At the moment, he was imagining them both, in a gory (but happy for him) scene which included the aforementioned hook, and a slow-roasting fire. His inner voice cackled manically—and scared himself just a bit. So he sat there, Ginny to his side, imagining…while his hand twirled the steak knife tentatively. He wondered briefly if the House Elves were a bit too interested in serving his every need. After all, it was a steak knife at breakfast. What the hell was he going to do with it? Slice and dice the mush he called egg? Of course, Harry knew what he could do with it and his green eyes glinted dangerously before he set it aside (thankfully) a safe distance away.

He wasn't sure why no one was talking, but the silence was not stark, it was comfortable. It was as if, tension that had been building (since the beginning of the year) had eased away…giving them a much-needed reprieve.

The teachers, Harry noticed now, giving his murderous thoughts their own much-needed vacation, looked bored out of their god-given minds. He couldn't imagine that they were having any more fun than the students—and they couldn't even throw themselves in to their work. It was cruel, Harry decided, and completely unneeded. Enough was enough—couldn't the evil nitwits see that they were already suffering?

Trelawney—who for some unknown reason had taken to breakfast like moths to light—was tilting forward, second by second, coming closer to her plate of scrambled egg until they were one and the same. He thought he saw a light yellow, mushy, blob disappear into a nostril—and shivered. That was just disgusting! Harry glanced down the rest of the table, none of the teachers seemed to care that one of their own was inhaling their breakfast via their nose. Snape looked as pleasant as usual, even had his little 'I love life' rainbow pin fastened to the front of his robes. Harry was pretty damn sure that that was a result of the evil genius at his side and her counterpart, the Slytherin scoundrel.

A throat was cleared and the heads of the students lazily turned.

"I'm sure you've noticed certain peculiarities that took place yesterday, Mr. McGale and I want to assure you that it will not happen again."

The students remained silent, their thoughts along the lines of "And we care?"

"The culprits…" Ms. Danna was cut short as Professor Snape finally snapped.

"Will be pitted, skewered, and disemboweled! Please…" He continued in his normal snarky tone. "Be in my classroom by midnight tonight, or I will drag your carcasses there."

Harry couldn't help but notice the deep scowl on Ms. Danna's face.

"That is enough, Professor Snape. And might I say—I had such hope in your therapy. I must agree with your new attire. It suits you."

Snape's black eyes flickered to his shirtfront and his lips curled in what Harry was sure a silently muttered curse.

"As I was saying. We are here, to first and foremost protect you all from the evils that that lie outside these walls…and inside.

Did that mean that they would be protecting them against them? Harry thought, a smile forming on his lips. He was pretty sure they meant no such thing.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger. How nice it is of you to join us."

All heads swiveled to the two, who looked a little worse for the wear—a little bed mussed.

Harry followed Hermione's glare to where it rested on Ginny who's smile stretched from ear to ear. Now that had to hurt, Harry scowled.

Hermione's hardened brown eyes shifted to him, and he watched them visibly soften as she gave him a small smile before starting off towards him. Her steps were confident, as if she had no intent of looking back.

But a certain blond had other thoughts and Harry could see how this one was going to play out. The Slytherin, his enemy, would grab her shoulder…whisper something in harsh, cold tones. Hermione would smirk (mental note to self: spend some time with Hermione as she was around the Slytherin way too much) and shrug. Malfoy would get upset. Hermione would tell him not to cause a scene. He'd get more upset. And then, Ms. Danna would call the two Heads for a brief meeting. NOW! Which would cause even more of a scene. And to top it all off, there would be the grand finally of something concerning Blaise and Ginny.

And there was.


Charlotte wondered if she'd ever get those brain cells back. She was pretty sure that the fucking blond Slytherin had lowered her IQ by several points—she might even be in par with the idiot redhead beside her. Now, how dense do you have to be to just let someone draw his or her wand and hex you to death? Really, the boy hadn't even twitched and it had been millenniums past too late.

But that was okay. She could deal with him. She could deal with the fact that they were both bruised from the pooling of blood in places blood shouldn't pool. She could even deal with the blond for acting the way he had. But she could not deal with her lost intelligence. OH no, that she could not.

Which is why she, along with pumpkin head, were currently in the dungeons, in a certain room where Neville went to pieces, and in a certain irate teachers personal potions cabinet.

They would be so dead if caught, Charlotte knew, which was why her faithful lap dog was here. To fend off said angry potions professor if he showed up—giving her time to escape. And if he didn't show up—then the boy would prove useful in carrying everything she was steeling.

Yes, she valued her brain cells. Each and every one of them—she'd go so far as to name them all. It was important to her, they were all important; she didn't think she could survive each day…

She knew she couldn't survive.

She needed them.

And thus, the loss seriously pissed her off.

Blondie was about to find out it did not bode well to piss one of the Morana.

Or date one either.


"You wanted to speak with us?" Hermione made herself as comfortable as possible as she was seated next to Malfoy.

Ms. Danna nodded curtly. "Yes, I needed to speak to both of you first, and then just you Ms. Granger. Firstly, I wanted to know if you had any idea who is responsible for cursing us?"

Hermione stiffened. They didn't know?

"You were cursed?" Malfoy asked, his voice full of false concern.

Ms. Danna waved her hand dismissively. "No need for details. If you two know of anyone who could be responsible, report their names now."

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know of anyone who would do anything as horrible as to curse you."

You could hear Malfoy's jaw hit the ground and Hermione had to suppress a smirk.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He made an effort to pick said jaw up before nodding, his mask in place. "I'm afraid I agree with Granger. I don't know of anyone who has the balls to hex you."

The psychiatrist's face pinched unpleasantly before she gave a curt nod. "Very well. You are dismissed Mr. Malfoy."

Draco stood languidly and left.

Ms. Danna sat, shifting through papers before folding her hands. "We have made a change."

Hermione blinked. "A change?"

"Yes, the marriage licenses—we've thought of something that will suit the purpose of this exercise better. They have been transformed. As coordinator, I thought it best to inform you. However, you need not inform the other students as they will not notice a change."

Nodding, Hermione asked what kind of change had been made.

"Nothing too seriously. A simple, twist…I suppose you could say. You see, while the licenses will remain—they are less binding…quite the opposite, you could say."

"Um…"

"I'm sure, Ms. Granger, that with a little research you'll become informed. Good day."

Confusion abounding, Hermione said her goodbyes and stepped from the office.

Did the psychiatrist just give her a hint into their diabolical plot?

Or did she…

Hermione shuddered.

Or did she know something.

She took a deep breath. She had consulting to do today, a therapy session to attend, a blond to avoid, and a cousin to kill. No, Hermione thought, scratch that, research to do, then a cousin to kill.

As she walked, she could feel the slight pressure of the amulet as it pressed against her bare skin. She wondered if Charlotte ever felt overwhelmed by it all…

Life had a way of catching up with you—and then leaving you behind to choke on its dust. Choices you had once thought easy made suddenly shed their exteriors to show their true selves. People who you once saw as black or white…suddenly developed patches of gray.

And sometimes, ignited with color.


A/N: This is only half beta-ed. I didn't want to bother sending off the last part of this crap. So…if you find any mistakes, I take full responsibility. Complain to your hearts content. I also apologize if Professor Trelawney's name is misspelled. If this offends you, please tell me the correct spelling and complain as loud as you want. I'm afraid I lent my Harry Potter books to someone who is more enthused by them than I am, so don't just tell me to go look it up.

A/N 2: While I know where this is going, I hate to say that I've lost a lot of interest in the story—and, pending a huge uproar from you all, the updates will probably remain infrequent. I don't want to give up on it yet, though. So, I'm going to try (TRY) to update every two weeks, not every 3 months.

Please review. Perhaps one of you can suggest something brilliant that will motivate me!

Oh yes, I wanted to ask you all.

Should the story center only around Draco and Hermione, or should I continue giving odd little bits of all parties involved?

So cast your say! If you don't review, you can't complain later!