The weeks of December passed quickly; anticipation for the winter break grew. Snow blanketed the Hogwarts grounds and the forest trees. Hermione was surprised to see that despite piles of snow, every plant in the forest was still alive and well.
Professor McGonagall explained that after thousands of years, the high concentration of magical creatures in the forest altered the plants' magical chemistry.
It was still shocking every time they went foraging and stalks of pink tulips erupted from snowbanks.
Every time they walked back to Hogwarts, he'd grab her hand and they'd split the earphones. He would sigh as if someone asked him to hand wash every dish used for the Halloween feast, but not even five minutes later, his thumb would be tapping her hand to the beat of the song.
One freezing morning she woke to see Ginny's bed empty. The sheets were hanging off the bed and her trunk was missing. Ron and Harry were absent from breakfast; the Gryffindor common room was quiet without the Weasley twins' usual ruckus.
Neville's soft brown eyes turned somber as he told her that had been attacked. He said that Harry told Professor McGonagall when it was happening.
Her stomach dropped.
"Oh, 's alright though, he's at 's being treated."
She gave a tight smile and excused herself to go to the Owlery.
Her uniform robes were no match for the frosty wind racing through the open windows. She wrote a letter to Harry and Ron as fast as she could. Naturally, she had a very messy cursive, one of her only academic flaws. She almost always had to rewrite everything but today she didn't. She wanted the letter to get to them as fast as possible.
She wrote that if they needed her, she would come as soon as she could. She sealed the letter with a red wax stamp someone else left on the stone table and sent it off with an owl.
Cold stone bricks bit into her palm as she gripped the wall beside her; her forehead pressed into the stone arch bordering the open window. She waited until the owl's flapping wings became a brown speck in the clouds before turning to leave.
It was hard to suppress the sour taste of exclusion, logically she knew it was ridiculous to be bitter. But with all of her friends fleeing together, she felt like an afterthought. Hermione wondered how long it would take for them to remember she was left behind.
She supposed this is what she gets for spending so much time away from them. She just had to work harder; she was careless before. Her friendships were slipping because she'd been distracted.
She took an unconventional route from the Owlery to the library. Her winding path led her through the quieter, darker corridors of the castle.
If Harry was looking on his map, her footsteps would be a chaotic mix of circles and abrupt turns. There was little rhyme and reason to her wandering.
It was a little disheartening to realize that although she and Harry had a very similar start in the wizarding world, he couldn't relate to her experience. They were thrown down a rabbit hole with no safety net in sight, and only one of them landed on their feet. The same gates that opened for Harry without a second look, she had to pry open with bleeding fingers.
The Weasley's treated Harry like one of their own. They invited him to the burrow; Ron treated him like a brother. He fit right in, but she had obligations to her parents that prevented her from freefalling into the wizarding community. She had obligations to her blood status that barred her from passively perusing friend groups and wizarding communities. She was split between the muggle and wizarding world like a wishbone, she could never fully be a part of one.
And so when was attacked, Harry was essential to their support system.
But she wasn't.
Harry fits like a missing puzzle piece into Wizarding society. He fit everywhere she didn't. She knew better than most of the hardships he's had to endure; during the Triwizard Tournament, she fell asleep with wet cheeks and puffy eyes every other night. But, in the most shameful part of her mind, she was jealous of how seamless his transition was, and how he didn't have to choose what part of himself to be.
The fast click of heels shocked her back to attention, the noise echoed through the desolate hallway intersecting her's. Like Filch, Umbridge's walk was too memorable to forget. She charged through halls with the self-importance of Napoleon marching to battle. Hermione jerked back against the wall, not desiring a confrontation with the horrible woman.
"Your father," a prim and nasally snarl sounded. A shrill squeak only the uniform required Oxfords could make, made Hermione cringe. Umbridge must be reprimanding one of the female students.
Though Hermione could peek around the corner and see who it was, she didn't want to chance being caught eavesdropping.
"Your father told me about the disgusting, impure acts you were involved in before I arrived at Hogwarts. And yet, I was still willing to take you under my wing". Umbridge was spitting words out as if she just realized the milk in her half-eaten cereal was curdled.
"I appointed you onto the Inquisitorial squad. I let you make something of yourself". Hermione's eyebrows raised.
"Only to find out…" her voice raised to a shriek, "...you were still whoring yourself around!" Hermione had never heard Umbridge speak like this before, even when she yelled at Harry in class. It triggered the same survival instinct Graham Montague's presence did.
A sarcastic snort sounded from Umbridge's companion. The ring of a sharp slap followed it. Hermione stifled a gasp, her hand tightened around her wand.
"You…" she breathed heavily, "... you will not take this away from me because you can't control your disgusting impulses. If I ever catch you again…" There was another squeak of an oxford shoe, Hermione's worry for its owner overrode her apprehension of Umbridge.
"Do you understand me?" The words were slow and sharp, Umbridge had reeled herself back into the posh, stiff persona she wore like a glove. But Hermione wasn't fooled, she had heard her unravel.
Hermione looked around the corner, no longer caring if she was caught, "Yes," Pansy Parkinson gritted out.
…
After the sharp click of heels on stone faded away, Hermione turned the corner. A tall feminine figure stood with her forehead against the wall. Her chin-length midnight black bob curtained her face from view. But Hermione knew if she could see her face, it would be scarlet red lips, round green eyes, and probably a swelling cheek.
On paper, she could have been Theo's sister except his skin had a honey 's skin was all-porcelain and pink flushes. His features were sharp and statuesque, hers were soft and innocent. She was widely regarded to possess the disposition of the Evil Queen but had the complexion of Snow White. That was until she discovered makeup last year and painted her face in beautiful eyeshadows and glossy lipsticks. Her youthful face was aged a few years by product and contour.
Suddenly, the Slytherin girl swung and punched the wall.
The pain must've been immense, she screamed in a window-shattering pitch. Hermione ran over to her after a moment's hesitation.
"Try and calm down, let me see your hand," Hermione braced herself, knowing the prejudiced and egotistical girl would not easily accept help.
"Get the fuck away from me," she panted, tears sliding down her flushed cheeks, her upturned nose was scrunched, her jaw was clenched and her lips were sucked in. She looked all rage and grief, "How much of that did you hear?"
"I didn't mean to. I was on my way to the library." Hermione promised, staring at the wall near Pansy's head instead of her calculating eyes and wet cheeks. Crying always made Hermione nervous, she would rather jump off the astronomy tower than sob in front of someone. She was mortified of the few occasions she couldn't hold back tears in front of her friends.
"FUCK!" She shrieked, grabbing her hair and ducking her head down. She made to kick the stone wall before stopping herself, clearly remembering the epic tragedy of her hand moments prior. She took a deep breath, "You cannot tell anyone about this Granger."
"I won't. I just came over to check on your hand and…" she paused, knowing this would not be received well, "and to tell you that Umbridge can't hit you. You should tell Professor Snape."
Pansy laughed, a sound hollow and mocking. "Don't worry about it Granger, just don't tell anyone about what you heard." A sympathetic twitch of scarlet lips left Hermione baffled.
"I could… I could take a look at your hand if you want." The suggestion was loaded with uncomfortable concern, this was the first conversation they'd had that wasn't filled with insults and mockery. As anxious as it made Hermione, she suspected Pansy wouldn't be heading over to Madame Pomfrey later.
Pansy looked skeptical; her knuckles were swollen and Hermione knew the bruises would be severe. Finally, after offensively long hesitation, she relented and held her hand out.
Hermione held it flat and cast a spell to see if any of the knuckles or fingers were broken. Pansy must've known how to throw a punch because her knuckles weren't even fractured. She whispered Ferula and wrapped the bandages around her knuckles. She then conjured an ice pack, "For your face," she gave Pansy a quick closed-mouth smile.
She tried to give the ice pack to Pansy's uninjured hand only to realize her fist was clenched firmly at her side. Between the gaps of her fingers, Hermione could see something small and red. When she noticed Hermione looking at it, she shoved it in her robe pocket.
"Thanks, Granger," she gave a small smile, grabbed the icepack, and then turned on her heel abruptly, marching out of sight.
Weird, Hermione shrugged and made her way to the library.
…
There were still a couple hours before lunch, and Professor McGonagall graciously decided to make Hermione and Malfoy spend them foraging. Even though the train was leaving right after eating lunch.
It was a good thing Hermione had packed four days ago in preparation.
The atmosphere in Hogwarts was lighthearted and cheerful. Most students were excited to go home to presents and family.
Usually, she was swept away in the excitement too, but her heart was heavy with concern for and her friends. Seamus and Dean shouted at her to join their game of fuck, marry, kill, but the only options were Wizengamot members. She almost threw her goblet of pumpkin juice at them when they started chanting her name.
She and Malfoy walked through hallways decked in festive garlands and floating lights, students streamed by in herds. Laughter and chatter echoed throughout the castle. Someone in the distance who sounded suspiciously like Theo, sang horribly off-key. Everyone was in a good mood.
That was, except Malfoy.
His posture, normally stick-straight, was slumped and his shoulders caved in. His black boots dragged along the stone floor. These mannerisms might be standard for teenagers, but his usual walk looked effortlessly graceful, as if he was ice skating. His lips were stuck turned down, and his eyes were forlorn.
And he snapped at her more than usual.
Especially when she asked if he was excited to be home for the winter break.
So now both of them were on edge. She was anxious for her friends and 's health, and he was troubled by something unknown.
She waved to Hagrid when they passed his hut to walk into the forest. He was stringing up small animal carcasses, she cringed and looked away. Malfoy scoffed, she knocked his shoulder with hers. They glared at each other for a moment before disappearing into the trees.
