Warning: Use of language in this chapter.
"Are you sure there isn't anything I can get for you, Miss Granger?" Headmistress McGonagall asked her for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Tea, or some biscuits or an advance on any outstanding homework, maybe a book from the Restricted Section perhaps?"
Hermione shook her head, smiling brightly, gesturing to the cups of tea she'd amassed from Ginny and Neville, the historical wizarding magazine Dean and Seamus had dug out from under their beds, and the heart-shaped gingerbread Luna had somehow procured from the elves in the kitchen. "No, Headmistress, I assure you, there isn't a anything I need. And please, I don't want to be given any special treatment. It wasn't even really my cat, anyway."
Crookshanks stuck his furry head from out of the pile of blankets on the Gryffindor common room couch, blinking lazily and letting out a soft meow.
"Indeed. I hate to give such perpetrators credit, but that was some mightily impressive magic cast. A complete replication. I'd be proud if I wasn't so furious," McGonagall muttered. Pushing up the glasses, she gave Hermione a once over and, at finding her satisfactory, gave a nod, resolve steeling across her face.
"Very well, Miss Granger, I shall leave you in Miss Weasley's capable hands."
Ginny gave a self-depricating wave from where she'd been leaning on the opposite arm of the couch.
"I will look into this matter most thoroughly and let you know what I find."
The headmistress had almost made it to the portrait when she turned, looking at the young witch over her shoulder. "I'm glad that you're alright, Hermione," she said, and left the two in silence.
Ginny plunked herself into the small space beside Hermione, Crookshanks bounding inti her lap and purring demandingly. Running her hands through his thick fur, the girls face was thoughtful for a moment.
"That was weird."
"I know," Hermione replied. "I can't remember the last time McGonagall called me by my first name."
Ginny shook her head. "No, not that. This whole night, everything that's just happened. How could whoever did this have known you'd bail from the party early, that you'd be the one to find their morbid surprise? How did they even replicate your cat in the first place?" she wondered. "It's not like Polyjuice, where you just need a bit of hair. You'd need...well, the actual cat."
Ginerva Weasley was so much smarter than people gave her credit for. Hermione picked up one of her many cups of tea, warmth seeping into her fingers. Although, yes, her cat was fine, it had still been an unpleasant sight. "You're right, Gin. On all counts. But I don't know what to tell you: I haven't got any more answers than you have."
Something sparked in her friend's eyes. "You don't think..."
"Don't think what, Gin?" Hermione asked, picking up her unfinished thought.
"That Blaise might have had something to do with this. I think he'd be right at the top of the suspect list," she finished finally.
Crookshanks yawned, teeth bared, trying to pull at a loose thread in the sleeve of Ginny's sweater.
"It's a possibility," Hermione replied calmly, "but to say it's him outright would be foolish: there are still students here who don't like me, and have for years."
"Well, they'll just have to deal with me," Ginny declared fiercely, using Hermione's blanket clad shoulder to lever herself up and over the couch. She was still in her dress from the party, as was Hermione. Crookshanks yowled at being discarded so unceremoniously, slinking off into the rooms shadows. "I'm beat. Promise me you'll get some sleep? Don't let this get to you."
She nodded. "I won't. You know, you're an amazing friend, right?"
Ginny's smile gave her a soft smile. "Jeez, don't make me blush, Granger. It so doesn't go with my hair."
Hermione had only been in her room for maybe five minutes when she heard raised voices coming from downstairs. Grabbing her wand from her bedside table, Hermione bolted down the stairs, coming to a stop when she saw no one in the room. Ginny barreled into her a moment later, slippers squeaking.
Hermione raised a brow.
"What?" Ginny bit out defensively, crossing her arms. "They're my comfiest pair."
The 'comfiest pair' in question was a set of pajamas splattered with purple cartoon Pygmy Puffs. With big eyes and waving hands.
Hermione, wisely, kept her mouth shut.
Leaning against the doorway, the two strained to hear what was being said.
"I'm sorry, mate, but do you know how late it is? I don't think this is a good idea."
That was Neville.
"He volunteered to keep watch," Ginny explained beside her.
"While I find your concern most touching, Longbottom, I'm not fussed about myself at the present time. Please, I just want to make sure she's okay."
And that was Draco.
At the sound of his voice, the worry in his tone, worry for *her, her heart sped up, bounding incessantly against her chest. She willed it to calm the flip down.
"She's probably asleep," Neville murmured in defeat. Hearing his approach, the two backed away, trying to appear nonchalant and as if they hadn't been shamelessly eavesdropping. But not before Hermione heard Draco say, "I guess I'll just have to take my chances. It's either this or throwing rocks at her window the Muggle way, which I don't think anyone would appreciate. Especially if I broke one."
Seconds later, the portrait hole admitted Neville, looking tired but slightly amused by the current antics.
"I've got a very concerned Malfoy standing out in the hallway for you, Hermione. Do you want to see him, or do you want me to tell him where to stick it?" Neville inquired with a deep yawn.
Hermione gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's fine, Neville, I'll let him in. Now, Morgana, get some sleep: you look like you're about to fall over. I don't need a watcher, but I do appreciate it all the same."
"That's what friends are for," he replied simply and trudged his way up the stairs.
Hermione turned to Ginny. "I think it's time you made your grand exit, too."
Ginny pouted. "And be deprived of your likely deep and romantic conversation? Be deprived of watching Draco Malfoy, who once kicked a student out of his seat in the library because he was 'stealing his light,' fuss over you in a likes that could put my mother to shame?"
"Yes."
"Fine." Ginny pointed at her. "But I expect details aplenty tomorrow."
With that, Hermione was finally alone. Taking a fortifying breath, she opened the door to find a very rumpled Draco, his hair sticking up at multiple angles like a porcupine trying to break dance, as if he'd been running his fingers through it with stress. Repeatedly.
"Hi," she began. "Do you want to come in?"
Draco shook his head. "No, the corridors perfectly fine with me. I only wanted to see how you were faring, after this whole cat thing. If it was any of my pets, I can't imagine being in a particularly good state."
"You have pets?"
He'd never told her that.
A smile. "I did, when I was younger. I'd go around the garden 'adopting' creatures I found. And I did enchant my stuffed dragon to talk, once. And maybe spit fire."
It sounded just like him.
"I'm sure your mother appreciated that," Hermione mused, leaning against the wall.
Draco chuckled. "Yeah, for five minutes. Then she lectured me on proper uses of magic and being a walking fire hazard, but it was still a laugh." In a heartbeat, his eyes changed, face becoming more insecure and uncertain. "Things have been weird between us." Not a question.
They had.
Hermione nodded, pushing up off the wall, leaning her head back to look at him.
"I don't want things to be weird," he confessed, hands in his pockets. "I don't like things being weird between us. I miss having my best friend around."
And if that didn't break her heart, then nothing else ever would. Except if he left her. But at the rate she was going, the way she'd been acting, she'd be the one pushing him out the door soon, him no longer able to take it.
"I miss you, too," she told him, because it was the damn truth.
Draco tried to smile. "I've been told I can have that affect." Always deflecting, trying to make light of difficult situations. It wasn't a bad quality, but sometimes she just wished he'd actually say what was on his mind.
Now it was her turn to say what was on hers.
"But who are we kidding, Draco? We don't fit, our lives are just too different. If the rest of the world found out about us being friends, they'd tear us apart."
For a moment, Draco was motionless, features carved of marble. Then, he bent at the waist, his laughter echoing off the walls. The portraits told him to shut up, but he kept laughing to the point of tears.
"That's the biggest pile of crap I've ever heard, and I was there when Theo tried to get out of detention by saying it was his evil twin who smuggled in all the fireworks to the teacher's lounge!" Draco exclaimed, wiping at his eyes. "If you want to scare me off, Granger, you'll have to do a hell of a lot better than that."
Hermione hung her head. "It was worth a try."
"I know. I would have done the same in your shoes. You're really scared, aren't you?" he asked, as if needing verbal confirmation to believe such a thing. As if she was some fearless hero, and not a nineteen year old girl who didn't have a clue what she was doing. Hesitantly, tenderly, Draco reached out a hand, interlacing their fingers, his other coming up to raise her down-turned chin. "Let me help, let me protect you: I'd die before I let anything happen to you." There was no deceit, no ulterior motive, nothing but blind honesty and unwavering friendship, a promise that whatever happened, he wouldn't let go of her, even if it killed him.
So she'd have to be the one to let go of him.
Hermione shook off his grip, retreating into the sleeves of her cardigan. "I know," she practically sobbed. "I know. Which is why I'm saying no."
Draco's face clouded over, dark and desperate. "If this is you trying to be noble..." he growled.
"No, it's not," she cut him off, "it's me trying to do what's right. Something's going on, Draco, something bigger than us. And I'm not talking about articles in the Prophet: something's coming. And I don't want you involved in it."
Draco protested, "I'm already involved."
"If I say you're not, then you're not," she insisted, stubborn to the bitter end. "It's late, you should probably get going before someone catches you out of bed and you have to scrub the dungeon. Merlin knows what that would do to the lungs."
And to her utter surprise, he told her, "Okay."
Stunned, she raised a brow. "Okay? Since when do you ever listen to me, not fight me on something when you think I'm being an idiot?"
The blonde gave her a bitter smile. "It's obvious to even the most casual of observers that you will not change your mind. So go ahead, do whatever it is you're going to do, I won't stop you. But don't expect me to cry at your funeral, Granger, because I won't even be there."
With nary a backwards glance, Draco strolled down the corridor, looking as if he hadn't just had a fight with his best friend and then basically told her he didn't care. How could he say that? How could he? That wasn't Draco, *her Draco...
But it was Malfoy. And with a few words, she'd unravelled the boy she'd come to cherish above all others into something she thought she'd never see again: the Draco that didn't care.
Finally settled in bed, Hermione's head was just about to connect with her pillow when a tapping at the window demanded her attention. Casting a look at her sleeping roommate, Hermione padded over to the desk, opening the window on silent hinges. A school owl swept in, ruffling the pages strewn about. Depositing it's cargo, it gave her a look and if to say, 'You should really be asleep instead of talking to your friends,' it flew out of the room and back to the Owlery.
Letter in hand, Hermione sat down on the bed, fingers breaking the seal with ease.
'Did they buy it?' Luna had written in her spidery script.
Grabbing her quill, Hermione wrote back on the enchanted paper, knowing the words would appear on Luna's counter parchment, 'Yes, they did.'
"Please explain why we're doing this, Draco? If memory serves, you literally just told Hermione last night that you wouldn't get involved, and then something about crying at funerals. If I'm honest, I wasn't paying attention: your personal drama is getting old and really starting to grate. Why don't you take up stamp collecting or bonsai pruning and leave Hermione to do whatever it is she's going to do?" Theo demanded as he and Draco made their way to McGonagall's office, footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted corridors. It was late enough in the day for most students to be studying, but not early enough Togo back to their common rooms. Also known as: the perfect time to sneak around.
"Because Hermione's being an idiot, and I'm mad at her, and I'm going to solve this thing so that the matter can be done with and we can all move on," Draco responded. He looked tired, Theo noted, hair not meticulously arranged, pale like he had spent the last few weeks barricaded inside his room. Wait, he had. Bloody brooder.
"I got that. I meant, why are we heading in the general direction of the Headmistress's office?" asked Theo as they rounded a corner
"Because we're going to break in, of course."
"Right, of course. So silly of me to have thought otherwise," Theo drawled with the outmost sarcasm. Then, he lunged at Draco's tie, bringing him to a standstill. "Are you fucking nuts?" he practically shrieked at the wizard. "Is this really your whole plan?"
"No, my whole plan involves a tutu and a trip to the Galapagos," Draco said, deadpan. "Of course this is my whole bloody plan! What else am I supposed to do? What else can I do? I won't stand by and watch while Hermione gets herself killed, just because she's too stubborn."
"She doesn't want to see you get hurt," Theo protested. To think that one day he'd be standing up for Hermione Granger. What a world.
"Well, I'm an adult, and I'll decide for myself what's too dangerous, and no one else. Not even her," Draco replied, voice steely.
"If Hermione ever finds out, she'll be hexing you for decades."
"So long as she's alive, I don't care."
"If McGonagall finds out, you'll be serving detention into your nineties."
"She won't find out. There's only way we're going to get anywhere with whatever's going on, and the first thing to do is take a look at that cat, find out who's magic conjured it."
"But to break in, it's wrong. Wait, 'we're'? Since when am I involved in this? I won't be the Scully to your Mulder: my calves don't do well with pencil skirts, and don't even get me started on tweed blazers."
"What are you yammering about?" Draco asked, genuinely bewildered.
"We really need to get you in front of a television," Theo muttered as they found themselves at the base of the gryphon staircase. Draco gripped him by the forearm, halting his progress.
"I know things haven't always been great between us," his friend began, contrite, "but you're the only one I can trust, Theo. I need you with me on this."
It was strange, to feel needed. To feel wanted. Growing up at Hogwarts, he'd always been secretly jealous of the Golden Trio and their close-knit bond, how they did everything together and we're always there for the other. Although he knew now that that hadn't always been the case, that there'd been struggles and disagreements like any other relationship, Theo still wanted that kind of friendship in his life. And maybe he could start with Draco.
Giving him a pat on the back, Theo threw Draco a broad grin. "Then you've got me. So long as I'm not the distraction."
"Don't worry," Draco chuckled, "you're not. You're the Lookout."
Theo couldn't refrain from rolling his eyes. "Great, such nobility in standing around like a palm frond jumping at every other noise," he ground out.
"You won't be doing any palm-fronding if we can't work out the password."
"Didn't Hermione tell you what it was?"
"Yes, like before Christmas break. And if McGonagall has got important evidence locked away, she would have likely changed it and given it only to a select few individuals."
"Agreed. So we're looking for something obscure, and not easy like 'One, Three, Five, Seven, Eleven."
"How is that easy?"
"First five Prime Numbers."
"You really need to stop hanging out with Hermione."
"Knowledge is power, mate. Now, let's think. An old witch with a fashion sense of 'If it's not green, or tartan, don't wear it,' loves Gryffindor, was Dumbledore's best pal, gave Harry Potter a biscuit for telling Umbridge to basically get lost..."
"She did? Merlin, I wouldn't have joined the Inquisitorial Squad if I'd know McGonagall would be handing out free shortbread."
"Shut your pie hole, Draco, that's not helpful."
Draco smirked. "Well I'm sorry, Theo dearest, that I'm unable to get into the mind of our Scottish Headmistress who's biggest claim to fame was probably that she got Sean Connery to sign her Highlander movie poster."
Theo stopped in his tracks. "That's it."
"That was a joke, Theo," Draco frowned.
Spinning on his heel, Theo took a breath and cried out, "'Who wants to live forever?" at the top of his lungs.
The gryphon moved, revealing the spiralling staircase.
"Remind me never to doubt you again, Theodore."
"All will be forgiven. If you don't call me Theodore."
McGonagall's office was neatly organized, not a quill or page out of place. Standing by the open doors, Theo looked on as Draco shamelessly rummaged in drawers, pulling things out and putting them back in. Theo had suggested to Draco to use his magic, but the Malfoy had countered with the fact that she would expect that, and that doing it the Muggle way would leave the least traces.
After a few minutes, Draco came across a black box, sealed up tight. Grinning triumphantly, he placed it on the desk.
"Well, at least we've found it. Only trouble is, how do we open it without magic?"
An idea struck him. "Is there any paperclips on the desk?" Theo asked, coming over to examine the box.
"Paperwhat?"
Theo rolled his eyes. "Right, sometimes I forget you're still catching up on Muggle advancements. Paperclips, metal squiggly things that you use to hold documents together. I thought Hermione would have had some."
"Hermione's very particular about her stationary: you don't touch anything on pain of death."
"Now I see why you like her, Mr Meticulous. Okay, how about this." Grabbing a quill from the bottom of his robes -he always carried one, just in case- Theo picked up what looked like the broken-off arm of a pair of spectacles and jammed them into the lock. Putting his ear to it, he was soon met with a satisfying click. "Open sesame," Theo joked.
"How did you learn how to do that?"
"The first thing I did after I inherited Nott Manor was buy a television. You'd be surprised what you can learn from mass entertainment. Now, hurry the fuck up so we can get out of here: the portraits are starting to give me the creeps."
"This doesn't make any sense," Draco lamented for what felt like the thousandth time as he and Theo made their way back to the Slytherin common room, passing by blissfully ignorant students. He'd never been one of those. Not even the sight of Kyle chatting with a group of kids could rouse him from his state of utter confusion.
"You've said that already."
Draco's glare could have melted lesser people. "It was clearly done with magic, so why aren't there any traces of it?"
"I don't know, maybe they wiped it or something, like a killer wiping down a crime scene so police don't identify their fingerprints," Theo suggested, pushing him out of the way before he could trample a first year.
"You really need some hobbies besides watching Muggle TV, Theo," he snarked, anger rising. Couldn't he see how important this was?
The Nott heir jabbed him in the chest. "Hey, be thankful of my watching. It helped you out, didn't it? And gave me some good ideas for our graduation bash."
"You're right, I'm sorry. It's just..."
Draco stopped in his tracks, unable to finish his sentence. Squaring off on the staircase in front of them, both their arms folded, was Hermione and Blaise. Blaise looked worry-stricken while Hermione simply glared, but there was something in her face that belied her expression, something resigned and forlorn.
It was Draco's turn to drag Theo, not even caring as he bumped his friends elbow into the hard brickwork.
Wordlessly, Draco undid the Muffilato spell she'd put in place, casting an Amplifying spell so they could hear their fraught conversation.
"What did McGonagall say?" Blaise demanded, his eyes boring into Hermione's. "Does she know?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, she doesn't. And I'll remind you to not question me in future, Zabini: I didn't have to agree to help you," Draco heard her say.
"Why did you then?"
"You know why. We both have people we need to protect, people that he could come after."
"I still can't believe you figured it out," Blaise mused with a disbelieving shake of the head.
"Knowing my history, you shouldn't," Hermione retorted primly. "If this is going to work, we have to be honest, and we have to be smart. Whilst the WWWE may give us a slight reprieve, the worst is still yet to come, and who knows what you could be asked to do. I don't even know if the precautions I've put in place will be enough."
Blaise put his hand on Hermione's shoulder, and a part of Draco recoiled, flinching at the fact that she'd take comfort in him, or that the Slytherin would even comfort her in the first place.
"If he does anything to hurt him," Hermione cried, "I don't know what I'd do. It would kill me."
"I know. You think I don't feel the same way about her? 'Love makes you do the wacky.'"
"Did you just quote Buffy at me?" Hermione asked with a laugh.
"I did. Doesn't make it any less true."
"No, it doesn't. Personal drama aside, we have to ensure this holds. So, you work from your end and I'll work from mine?"
"Agreed."
"Excellent." The two broke apart, beginning to go their separate ways. "Oh, and Blaise," Hermione called sweetly, "if you hurt her, there won't be a single thing in the world to save you from my wrath. Clear?"
"As the crystal goblets my mother drinks from," he said with a backwards salute.
"Such dramatics," she remarked with a shake of her head, and walked off.
"Draco? Draco, are you okay?"
The wizard shook his head, feeling the world slip out from under him. Blaise and Hermione, working together. Blaise and Hermione, trying to protect people from someone. In that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that his heart was breaking. Breaking, breaking breaking inside his chest. Hermione. Hermione was in love with someone. Someone who wasn't him.
Author's Note: Just to clarify: yes, Blaise loves Luna, yes, Hermione loves Draco, yes, they're both trying to protect them from Lucius Malfoy. More details will be revealed in the next chapter, I guarantee you. What did you think? Are you happy with how this story is turning out? Did you like Draco and Theo, sleuthing duo? Please, if you've got the time, leave a review and share your thoughts. I hope you're satisfied with the linger chapter, and they will most likely be this long in future. Is that okay? Also, yes, I know, McGonagall probably hasn't watched Highlander and it's not the only Sean Connery movie but it's a family favourite and I was going to go with the lyrics to 'American Pie,' but I thought this was more fitting. And, of course, I don't own the lyrics 'Who want to live forever?' nor the Buffy quote.
Already working on the next chapter!
Until next time.
All my love to you all, hope you're staying safe, Temperance Cain. 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
