/
Hermione woke the next morning with the ghost of a scream on her lips after what had been a restless, and very brief, night's sleep. Unable to shake her panic and fear, she realized with a horrified jolt that, due to yesterday's unforeseen circumstances, she had completely forgotten to check on Felix.
No! Her thoughts shouted internally as she dressed in a flurry, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. No…
Hermione rushed from her dormitory without so much as glancing around the common room to see if Harry or Ron were there, barreling toward the familiar storeroom on the sixth floor.
Gasping for air, she tore open the door and was surprised to discover that Theo was already there. She immediately sensed something was wrong, horribly wrong— more than the growing ache tearing at her insides.
"We're even now, it seems," he said evenly without explanation, and Hermione knew at once he was referring to the cauldron of Felix Felicis he'd destroyed doing their Christmas break, when he'd forgotten to add the Occamy shells.
Hermione felt as though all hope had been drained from her soul, as though Dementors were near— she'd forgotten to check on the potion, and now it was destroyed.
"Nott, I—"
He held up a silent hand to stop her.
"I know Weasley was poisoned yesterday… I think I can figure out the rest."
"I'm— I'm sorry—"
"You managed to save Felix last time, but this time it was my turn— nearly set the entire castle on fire in the process… but anything for Felix, right?"
It was only then that Hermione noted that one lone cauldron continued to bubble merrily atop an even flame. She also saw the ends of Nott's hair and eyebrows looked a bit singed. Under different circumstances, she might've laughed at the sight, or at the rush of relief that now coursed through her veins.
"Thank Merlin," she sighed.
"You look like you got into tryst with a troll, by the way," said Theo, leaning against the table.
"Only one troll? Not as bad as I thought," replied Hermione, her relief already fading away as her mind replayed the events of yesterday.
She knew she probably looked as terrible as she felt, which was rather like a ghost, wandering aimlessly throughout the castle in a fruitless search to accomplish something she had failed to do in life.
"Long night in the hospital wing?"
"You could say that," she said, vaguely wondering not if Ron would be released today, but how many times Theo had been in Malfoy Manor's garden. She tried to imagine him and Draco playing Quidditch as Harry and Ron did at the Burrow. Strangely, she even considered what it might be like to visit the sprawling gardens herself on another vibrant summer day…
Hermione shook her head, willing herself to focus on Felix; the potion in the last remaining cauldron was— thankfully— still coming along nicely.
Soon, she thought, hanging onto hope even as she felt Theo's eyes scrutinize her closely. It'll be done soon.
"Something's happened," he said plainly. "And I don't mean with Felix."
"You mean the bit about my best friend's poisoning? Or that fact that I think we both agree on who was behind it? Ron would've died you know— if Harry hadn't found a bezoar."
A shiver ran down Hermione's spine; she resolved herself to visit Ron after she was through checking on Felix.
Theo did not refute her claim; Weasley's accidental poisoning had Draco's name written all over it, just as the fiasco with the cursed opal necklace had. But Theo still couldn't figure out how Draco had managed either feats, nor who exactly he was so obviously trying to kill.
Theo considered perhaps Voldemort had tasked Draco with murdering Slughorn, but that seemed to be a wholly pointless endeavor. The portly man was a skilled wizard— or at least he had been at one time, Theo reasoned— and there was no doubt the man about as many useful connections as Greystoke's library had books. Surely Voldemort would be more keen to enlist the Potions' professor than to wipe him out of existence.
Theo had also considered perhaps Potter had been the intended target; he reasoned Voldemort had already tried to kill the git before, so why would he stop now? But Theo also knew Voldemort would never willingly delegate the victory of Potter's murder, a task that had evaded him for years, to someone else— especially not to Draco, the son of an incompetent Death Eater.
So who the bloody hell is Draco trying to murder?
"Not just that— there's something else going on with you… I can tell. But how was Weasley poisoned, by the way? He's about as idiotic as they come, but even he wouldn't be daft enough to go around sampling Slughorn's potions' supplies… unless…"
Theo paused, an idea striking him. "…was it poisoned wine that got him? Or mead? But Slughorn said he prefers wine… mead's apparently more Dumbledore's thing… or at least that's what the slug was raving about during one of his wretched suppers."
Hermione placed her hands on the table, steadying herself.
She was spinning, spiraling, dizzy from Ron's near death, her conversation with Harry, everything she'd seen in Dumbledore's memory, everything the Headmaster had said to her, and what it all meant. The memory of the scent of Malfoy Manor's garden and the prospect of the answers the book's pages might contain made her heart race.
Her sleep deprivation wasn't helping matters much either.
She wasn't sure when she'd feel able to face Draco again. Meeting Theo's gaze now was hard enough.
"Theo… I—" she replied, idly realizing she had chosen not to use his surname for what might be the first time. "I— I can't talk about this right now."
Theo regarded Hermione in shock. She looked and sounded… defeated, lost. Very unlike herself; her brown eyes downcast.
She looks like Draco did this morning, he mused darkly.
Theo had woken that morning to the dulcet sounds of Draco's horrified screams.
Apparently, Voldemort had again entered his friend's mind, this time while he'd slept. Draco had of course been as reluctant as ever to explain much, but Theo gathered the Dark Lord's little nightmare intrusion was his special way of telling Draco to hurry the fuck up.
Luckily, it didn't seem as though Voldemort was aware of what Theo was now certain was Draco's failed poisoning attempt. The timing of Voldemort's intrusion had been merely coincidental… but that in no way dulled Draco's pain, nor their mounting fear.
"Granger… you didn't do something stupid, did you?" Theo glanced at her collar, and with relief, saw her platinum necklace was still gleaming there.
He was overcome by the urge to reach out, perhaps to place a steadying hand on her shoulder, to tell her she wasn't alone… but thought better of it.
Theo was reluctant to admit it, but it was getting more and more difficult to see Hermione as merely a means to an end, a shot-term ally… to pretend he didn't care about her. He'd come to accept the danger, and precariousness, of Draco's position— and by association, his own— but his chest constricted uncomfortably as he thought of the mounting danger encroaching upon Hermione as she continued not merely to associate with them, but to help them— and, perhaps most dangerous of all, the relationship he could see strengthening between her and his best friend.
Hermione sighed. She got the odd sense that Theo was holding back, that there was more he wanted to say, but she couldn't bring herself to ask.
"I've been doing stupid things all year, Nott. And there doesn't seem to be an end in sight."
/
The news that Ron had been poisoned spread quickly, but it did not cause the sensation that Katie's attack had done. People seemed to think that it might have been an accident, given that he had been in the Potions master's room at the time, and that as he had been given an antidote immediately there was no real harm done.
By the end of the week, however, it was clear to Hermione that nearly everyone in the castle was more interested in Gryffindor's upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff… everyone except Lavender Brown and Cormac McLaggen, who were utterly preoccupied with Ron's recovery and trying to take over Gryffindor's Quidditch team, respectively. They continued to harass her and Harry— respectively— with each and every opportunity.
"I know we should really use this time to brainstorm ways for you to get Slughorn to give you the rest of that memory, but tell me again… exactly why did you agree to let McLaggen fill in for Ron?" Hermione mumbled to Harry at breakfast in the Great Hall the morning of Gryffindor's match.
"Y'know, I'm not sure," Harry replied tiredly. "But I'm sure I regret it."
Could've told you that, Hermione mused darkly, a small part of her glad that McLaggen had seemed to move on from his interest in her. Clearly, Malfoy's threat had made an impression him.
Or he decided you're just not worth the trouble, she considered dryly.
"I'm not sure who's worse— McLaggen or Lavender," Harry sad quietly, scanning the Gryffindor table to be sure neither housemate was anywhere in sight.
Hermione sighed in exhaustion. "You know, if you'd asked me that a couple months ago I would've said McLaggen without hesitation. But Lavender's introduced me to a whole new sort of agony."
Harry coughed on his pumpkin juice as he tried to stifle a laugh. Hermione, however, grimaced at the recollection of Lavender's incessant questions and remarks about her Won-Won. Apparently, the git was pretending to sleep when Lav-Lav came to visit him in the hospital wing.
She remembered the conversation they'd had with their red-headed best friend the last time she and Harry had visited the hospital wing.
"You're only making it worse Ron," she'd admonished. "For me in particular."
"Just end it, mate. Get it over with," Harry prodded, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.
"I can't— you don't know what she's like—"
Hermione crossed her arms in irritation.
"I don't know what she's like? You don't have to share a room with her! It's torture! I'd rather Grawp was my roommate!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Normally I'd argue with you, but you've got a point. Lavender makes dating Grawp seem like it'd be more enjoyable."
"So you'll end it? She's being absolutely horrible to Luna, too—" Hermione interjected, scowling at the thought of the horrible gossip Lavender had been spreading about Luna.
"Luna? What did she do to Luna—?" Ron scrambled to prop himself up into a seated position in his hospital bed, as if readying himself for a fight in his pajamas.
"You know, general nastiness—"
"Bitchiness is the more appropriate term here," Harry chimed. "She's giving Parkinson a run for her money."
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed with a smirk.
"What? Don't act like you're not thinking it!"
Hermione bit her bottom lip, unable to argue.
"I'll end it," Ron said, as if convincing himself he had the strength to do so. "For Luna."
Harry and Hermione shared knowing looks.
But Ron had not ended it, at least not yet, and Lavender still seemed to find Hermione wherever she went: the library, the Great Hall, the loo, and even though her housemate was not a prefect, Lavender had even managed to sneak her way into the prefects' bathroom to find her— and it certainly didn't help matters that they shared a common room and a dormitory. Hermione couldn't wait until Madam Pomfrey released Ron. But the annoyance and distraction of Lavender was nothing compared to what truly weighed on her mind.
Sleep continued to evade Hermione, plagued by thoughts of poisoned mead, broken vanishing cabinets, the book Dumbledore had given her— the one she still had yet to read— a grave dug by hand, an enchanted rose petal, the cauldron of would-be Felix Felicis she'd ruined, and, perhaps worst of all, a set of familiar bright gray eyes.
"You really can't make it to the match today, Hermione?" Harry asked, and Hermione noted the disappointment in his tone with a pang of guilt.
She'd told Harry and Ron about her meeting with Dumbledore of course, but a very different sort of version; one that certainly did not include a memory of a younger Malfoy, nor her full suspicions regarding Malfoy's role in Ron's poisoning, nor who she felt was his intended target. She'd outright lied to Harry and Ron— saying Dumbledore had examined her platinum necklace, telling her the same thing Bill had— the safest way to remove it was to get Malfoy to do it himself. She also told Harry she had asked Dumbledore not to intervene, worried the headmaster's involvement might somehow only make things worse— which was another lie, of course.
"I'm sorry, Harry… but I have to meet Malfoy. We're so behind in Healing. He's absolutely dreadful— I've been doing most of the work myself."
More lies, Hermione thought, wincing internally. She was not planning to work on Healing at all; in fact, she and Malfoy were excelling as partners in the subject.
Reluctantly, she'd agreed to meet with him and Theo to take advantage of the nearly empty castle— and Harry's distraction— to work on the cabinet.
Truthfully, she wanted nothing more than to attend the Quidditch match, if only to avoid Malfoy. She'd done her best to avoid him all week, since Ron's poisoning, but Theo was already deeply suspicious of her change in demeanor, and Malfoy's searching glances had only increased with each passing day.
Nott and Malfoy aside, the book Dumbledore had given her continually nagged at her thoughts, and she was sure the smell of the rose petal from Malfoy Manor's garden followed her whoever she went, as some sort of cruel reminder; in any case, she could ignore it no longer. She'd decided to try to read a little before Malfoy and Nott joined her in the Room of Hidden Things.
"I'll see you after the match… to celebrate," she added with a smile, which, to her relief, Harry returned.
"Let's go see Ron first— he still thinks I'm keen to replace him," Harry said, sighing.
"Can't blame him— what, with all the brilliant tips McLaggen's been giving you?" She replied sarcastically.
"Sure you can't Confund him again, Hermione? Maybe the team could manage without a keeper altogether…"
Hermione and Harry visited Ron in the hospital wing after breakfast, leaving him only when Harry had assured Ron at least fifty times that he would never be replaced, especially not with McLaggen, who was a horrendous team player (and a raging prat).
With the match about to start, they rushed to the entrance hall, Hermione intent to see Harry off (and to ensure he was not looking at the Marauder's Map) before making her way to the Room of Hidden Things, as scheduled on their Protean coins.
"Good luck!" Hermione called just as Malfoy exited the Great Hall, crossing their path on his way to retrieve a Polyjuiced Goyle to keep watch before making his own way to the Room of Hidden Things.
He stopped short at the sight of Harry and Hermione together, irritation quickly bubbling inside him, even more quickly than usual.
Draco knew Hermione had been avoiding him all week.
He also knew she continued to work with Theo on whatever potion they'd been brewing practically all year, but she seemed to have suddenly lost all interest in the vanishing cabinet. She'd also been exceptionally quiet and curt with him in Healing all week; their witty, sarcastic, and often scathing banter— the challenge of which, to his own annoyance, he'd come to rather enjoy— had all but disappeared.
Draco reasoned her change in behavior must have something to do with his own colossal failure that was Weasley's poisoning. He knew she already suspected him of cursing Katie Bell, but he wondered exactly how she had come to conclude that he'd had anything to do with Weasley's poisoning. Fearfully, he considered that perhaps she had finally revealed the secret of her necklace— or worse, the vanishing cabinet— to Potter, or Weasley… or even to Dumbledore himself.
His irritation disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, however, when he realized Hermione was intentionally skipping Gryffindor's Quidditch match… to help him.
He smirked with deep satisfaction as Potter eyed him suspiciously.
"Where're you going?" Harry demanded of Draco. Draco barely refrained from rolling his eyes.
If only you knew… he thought, being sure to shoot a very pointed glance Hermione's way. To his pleasure, he saw she was wholly uncomfortable with the exchange.
"Yeah, I'm really going to tell you, because it's your business, Potter," he replied with a sneer. "You'd better hurry up, they'll be waiting for the Chosen Captain—the Boy Who Scored— whatever they call you these days."
"At least I still get to play— seems to me the Slytherin team couldn't wait to get rid of you—"
"No spectating for you today, Granger?" Draco interrupted, ignoring Harry's remark. "Can't bear to watch your hero get slaughtered by Hufflepuff?"
Draco watched with curiosity as Harry's expression transformed to one of confusion; the look he gave Hermione clearly questioning, suspicious.
A wave a satisfaction again washed over him.
"Malfoy, why doesn't it surprise me that you've obviously forgotten we're supposed to meet to finish our assignment for Professor Tonks?" Hermione said quickly. "Oh, right— because you're useless. If it weren't for me you'd have already failed out of Healing."
So that's what she's been telling Potter? Suppose it's not a complete lie, Draco considered reluctantly, remembering that he had in fact been complete shit at Healing before her intervention.
He went along with her lie, and used the opportunity to further annoy Harry.
"Whatever you have to tell yourself to make it through the day— you're as delusional as the rest of your pathetic house. Run along now, Potter, or are you worried I won't take good care of Granger?" Draco grinned devilishly as Hermione glared at him.
Harry bristled.
"If you so much as—" Harry threatened, reaching for his wand.
"Harry, you need to go! The match—" Hermione pleaded. Draco saw this comment seemed to sober Potter, but it was also apparent he was reluctant to leave Hermione with him, his eyes darting worriedly between them.
"Go!" She urged. "I can handle the ferret."
Draco scoffed.
"See you after the match," Harry assured Hermione as he pulled her into a markedly purposeful, lingering embrace, his unblinking glare never straying from Draco's face.
Draco's jaw clenched at the sight of the exchange.
"Good luck!" Hermione called again as Harry exited the castle's towering entrance doors. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Smooth recovery, Granger. Very convincing," he said sarcastically the moment Harry disappeared. "Good thing Potter's a witless wonder—"
"Good thing we don't have time for me to stun you right here and now," she replied angrily, promptly turning her back to him as she marched up the stairs. He caught up to her quickly however, easily skipping two or three steps at a time.
"How about a nice 'Obliviate' instead? I need it after watching you let Potter act like he owns you."
"I don't—"
"So you think that little embrace he gave you was just for luck?" Draco interrupted as they walked through a deserted corridor. The castle was markedly quiet, most students and professors at the Quidditch match. "Spare me, Granger. You may not have the self-respect I was idiotically starting to give you credit for, but I know you're not stupid."
She didn't so much as glare at him as she continued her march around a corner and up another set of stairs; further proof something was amiss… something more than their baseline level of dishonestly.
"I'm starting to wonder if you want Harry to figure out what you're up to. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be heading down to the dungeons to get Crabbe or Goyle? We're wasting time—"
Draco stopped abruptly, holding out his arm in front of her as he did so, not unlike the way he'd stopped her from retreating from Borgin and Burkes.
He stared into her golden brown eyes, and with disappointment he saw she would not meet his gaze. "Why have you been avoiding me all week? What are you up to?"
Hermione looked up at last, and he was confused to find he felt relief wash over him at the interaction. He was even more perplexed to see her expression was not one of anger, but one of conflict, trepidation… concern.
Because your idiocy nearly killed my best friend! Her mind screamed in anger. Because I'm sick of lying— because I have no bloody idea if what I'm doing is right or wrong— because you're as lost as I am—
"I hate to break it to you, but I long for the luxury of avoiding you, Malfoy. And I haven't done anything. Now move— we've already wasted enough time."
"Fine," Draco relented, stepping aside to let her pass. "But I know you're lying to me."
He wasn't actually sure she was lying to him, but, at the very least, it certainly seemed as though she was withholding information from him… and he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.
At least she seems to be withholding more from Potter these days, he thought with pleasure.
"And I know you're lying to me… and to Nott too, by the way," she replied calmly. "How is that any different than normal?"
/
A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!