Chapter 18: All That Matters
Most of the books on dementors, it transpired, were locked away in the Restricted Section. It took Hermione nearly a half-hour of pleading some rashly invented case about a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, but, to her surprise and enormous gratification, Madam Pince finally inched her spectacles down her nose, sighed deeply, and shuffled off to fetch the books for her. Hermione accepted them gratefully along with the librarian's dire warning about returning them in pristine condition-as if she needed to be reminded-and barricaded herself into her usual secluded corner of the library.
An hour later, she felt cold and slightly shaky inside, as if she were ill. She'd known dementors were horrid creatures, but that knowledge left her laughably unprepared to read page upon page about the way they leeched hope and happiness from the air around them, the way people lost their very selves if they lived among dementors too long. Worst of all, if given the opportunity they would perform the Dementor's Kiss, the only time they revealed whatever horrors lay under their tattered hoods. Victims of the Dementor's Kiss lost their souls forever, alive but no longer themselves, doomed to wander the earth incapable of joy or love or even thoughts of their own. She'd been on the point of slamming the book shut in horror and calling the whole afternoon a loss when a paragraph toward the bottom of the page caught her eye, detailing the effects of dementors on non-human animals. Little was conclusive on the subject, but study of the behavior of wild animals near dementor colonies earlier this century had suggested that their lower intelligence and lack of complex emotion made them less vulnerable to the damage wrought by dementors. She did shut the book now, but slowly, frowning in thought rather than in horror. If this bit about animals was true, were animagi then less vulnerable to dementors in their animal forms?
After their Transfiguration lesson on animagi at the start of term Hermione had looked at the Ministry's registry, more out of curiosity than anything else. They were extremely rare, but the Ministry appeared to rely on individuals to register themselves upon becoming animagi. It would be quite easy, as far as she could tell, to conveniently omit this process. And never mind dementors, as disguises went, the ability to transform into an animal at will could hardly be beat-far superior to Polyjuice Potion or Disillusionment Charms or Invisibility Cloaks, all of which were detectable by magical means. In the case of an animagus, there would simply be...nothing to detect. Quite suddenly, her heart sped up as she recalled a conversation with Harry and Ron shortly after their first Divination lesson. Ron had lost his mind about the Grim business, but hadn't Harry mentioned, in a bored, deadpan sort of way, that he had seen a great black dog near his aunt and uncle's house over the summer?
She shook her head. If Draco were here, he'd laugh and tell her how illogical she was being. Harry had never mentioned a dog again, and the one he'd seen was more than likely just a stray. Stray dogs had to be far more common, after all, than unregistered animagi or escaped mass murderers. But Draco wasn't here, and her heartbeat refused to slow. Abruptly, she gathered up her books and returned them to Madam Pince, then sped from the library as quickly as she possibly could without arousing suspicion.
She found Harry in the Great Hall, losing spectacularly to Ron at Wizard's Chess.
"I've got to talk to you," she said shortly, snatching him up by the elbow as Ron's knight bludgeoned his Queen into bits. Ignoring both Harry's confused stammers and Ron's yelps of protest, she dragged Harry from the Hall and out onto the grounds.
"After our first lesson with Trelawney, you said you'd seen a great black dog near your aunt and uncle's," she began, fighting to keep her tone level. Harry looked as though she'd poured freezing water down his back.
"Er...yeah," he said cautiously, eyes flitting away from hers.
"Was that the only time you've seen it?" she asked. There was a pause, during which Harry looked profoundly uncomfortable. Hermione sighed slightly. "I'm not going to tell anyone," she added, softening her tone considerably. "And I'll never bring it up again." Harry was quiet for a very long time, biting his lip nervously and staring off toward the jagged edge of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
"No," he said finally. "I've seen it again." Hermione's heartbeat thudded in her eardrums, and she fought to control her breath.
"When?" she asked. "I need you to tell me exactly when, and as much detail as you can remember." Harry did look at her then, deep suspicion settling into his eyes.
"Hermione, what's this about?" She couldn't tell him, but he'd know a lie right away and would refuse to tell her anything.
"I just wonder…" she paused, choosing her words very carefully. "I don't believe it's a death omen," she went on. "But I do have another thought. If it's true, I promise I'll tell you, all right? But now, I've just...I've got to know when and where you've seen that dog." Harry frowned deeply at her for what felt like a year.
"It was at that Quidditch match," he said finally. "The first one, against Slytherin? I saw it just beyond the stands before I fell." He paused. "I thought...it was like it was watching me. I know that sounds…" he trailed off. How it sounded, thought Hermione, was like her theory was beginning to hold water.
"Any other times?" she asked, unsure how she managed to sound so calm.
"Er...a few weeks ago, Ron came out after Quidditch practice to have a go on the Firebolt. I thought I saw it in the bushes on our way back up to the castle, but by the time I looked again it was gone." He looked at her for a moment, a strange sort of vulnerability in his eyes that bordered on fear. It broke her heart. "You don't think I'm going mad, do you?" he nearly whispered. Hermione shook her head.
"No, Harry. I don't."
The real question was, how many times had Harry not seen the dog? How closely had Sirius Black been following him, and how long would it be before he pounced? Was Harry, at this very moment, in mortal danger? She ought to go to a teacher at once.
And tell them what, though? Even as she paced back and forth across her empty dormitory, breath shallow and heart thudding with barely restrained panic, she knew how it sounded.
Oh, Professor, you've got to believe me! Sirius Black is an animagus! I read in a book that dementors don't affect animals as badly as humans, and Harry's seen a dog three times since August!
She let out a soft, involuntary scoff. It was Snape and the Sorcerer's Stone all over again.
She couldn't even be sure, this time, whether Harry and Ron would believe her. After all, she'd been wrong about the Firebolt.
She stopped dead in her tracks, halfway between the foot of Lavender's bed and the window overlooking the Forbidden Forest. Yes, what about the Firebolt? They'd found nothing wrong with the broom; they still hadn't a clue who had sent it or why. Unless Harry had some hitherto unknown rich uncle who hadn't bothered to introduce himself before sending him Christmas gifts, it was still possible that Sirius Black had sent the Firebolt. But, if there was nothing wrong with the broom, then why? He would've had to take an awful risk going into Diagon Alley to get it when he was supposed to be hiding out from the Ministry, and even taking into account the fervor for Quidditch that seemed universal in the Wizarding world, Hermione couldn't imagine a broomstick being worth the trouble.
Then again, hadn't Harry told her he'd seen the dog at Quidditch, watching him through the stands? If Sirius Black wanted to kill Harry, she couldn't think of a worse time to do it than a Quidditch match, surrounded not only by hundreds of witnesses but by teachers and dementors as well. And now she thought about it...his attack on Halloween night seemed similarly ill-thought-out. Surely he'd have had to pass the Great Hall-and therefore hear the sounds of the feast, and surmise that the whole school must be inside-but he'd chosen instead to go up to the empty Gryffindor Common Room.
Entering the boys' dormitory after they were asleep made more sense, she thought...except, why had Black allowed Ron to yell and wake the whole House, virtually guaranteeing Harry would slip through his fingers once again? Surely, a man capable of murdering thirteen people with a single curse wouldn't have balked at silencing a few extra thirteen-year-olds on his way to kill Harry?
Unless…
Quite suddenly the weight of her own thoughts made standing impossible, and she sank onto her bed, staring fixedly at the ceiling without really seeing it. If Sirius Black was trying to kill Harry, why did his every attempt thus far seem...well, spectacularly feeble? Nothing about his break-ins to Hogwarts reminded her of the terrifying madman screaming out of the front page of the Daily Prophet, the man who'd murdered twelve innocent bystanders just to get to his one intended victim, the man who'd done the impossible and broken out of Azkaban out of sheer determination to rejoin Lord Voldemort. This man would need to be clever, shrewd and coldly calculating, not reckless enough to barge into a crowded and heavily guarded castle seemingly without a plan, get caught, and leave without accomplishing his task. Twice.
If Sirius Black was trying to kill Harry, why hadn't he simply sneaked up behind him on that darkened street by his aunt and uncle's house? Why bother coming to Hogwarts at all?
And, if he really had to come to Hogwarts...well, all year Harry had soundly ignored concern about his safety from all who offered it. He'd sneaked into Hogsmeade, not once but twice. He'd been down to visit Hagrid after nightfall countless times. He'd stayed after Quidditch practice to fly around on that wretched new broomstick, wholly vulnerable with no one but Ron to protect him. If Sirius Black had really been following Harry all this time, why was Harry still alive?
The answer hit her, moments later, with the force of a troll's club.
Sirius Black...wasn't trying to kill Harry. Was he? She collapsed back into her pillows with a groan. Of course he was. She was exhausted, that was all. She'd worked herself around the clock in the library this week, and it was loosening her grip on reality. If she could just get a good night's sleep, she'd be able to look at this logically.
She frowned up at the ceiling. No, she was looking at it logically. Sirius Black's actions simply weren't those of a man who wanted to kill Harry, no matter how thoroughly she examined them. He certainly wanted something at Hogwarts, though, and wanted it desperately enough to entirely abandon the clever planning that must have gotten him out of Azkaban. The question was, what?
Hard as she wracked her brains, she was no closer to an answer when sleep sneaked up behind to swallow her whole.
The next morning, she awoke with a plan already formed in her mind. It was a terrifying and difficult plan, a plan which both froze her blood and exhilarated her, but nevertheless it was a plan. For the first time in months, she could see a clear way forward.
She'd been so sure, last night, that there was no way to prove-or even gather further evidence for-her theory, but she'd been wrong. The answer wouldn't be in a book, and she wouldn't find it pacing her dormitory and driving herself mad, but nonetheless it was out there, well within reach. She just needed to find Sirius Black and persuade him to speak to her.
But first, she needed to get through exams. Individual days dragged on interminably and made her feel like Sisyphus from her father's ancient Greek stories, forever doomed to roll the same heavy stone uphill only to have it knock her back down to begin the whole excruciating process over again. The month of May seemed paradoxically to be flying by at breakneck speed, like a train she'd missed by the skin of her teeth and she was running to catch up, lungs bursting and blood rising in the back of her throat, but in the end it roared away and left her panting in the dust. All around her, classmates bemoaned the time spent in the castle studying while June ushered in lovely sun-filled afternoons outside, and Hermione found herself scarcely able to suppress the urge to smack them. Didn't they know she had four times as much work to get through in the same time? Couldn't they spare her their not-so-subtly boastful complaints about how very diligently they'd studied the night before as they yawned their way through morning lessons? And if Harry and Ron didn't stop playing Wizard Chess fifteen inches from her face while she drove herself mad poring over rune charts in the common room, she was going to lob Ron's beloved Chess set out the window.
Mornings therefore lately found her in a foul mood, but today she felt invigorated, even invincible. Something about knowing what she must do at the end of exams brought a welcome reminder that exams would, in fact, someday end. The feeling lasted through breakfast, but dulled a bit as she trailed Harry and Ron up the now-familiar path to North Tower for their Divination lesson, and was all but extinguished as they clambered into the fragrant, stifling classroom. Glowing softly on every table was a crystal ball filled with pearly white mist-quite pretty, Hermione thought vaguely, but she had the sinking feeling this wouldn't bode well for the next hour of their lives.
"We aren't meant to start crystal balls until next term," she hissed, unable to keep her tone entirely level.
"Don't complain, it means we've finished palmistry," Harry muttered back. "I was getting sick of her finching every time she looked at my hands."
Hermione sighed. She supposed Harry was right, but she could hardly see how an early introduction to crystal balls would bring about anything other than yet another heap of pure nonsense.
"Good day to you," came Professor Trelawney's voice, as usual, from the shadows.
"It will be, as soon as we're finished here," whispered Theo's voice behind her. Unspeakably grateful, she broke from Harry and Ron and joined him at a table toward the back.
"I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned," Professor Trelawney went on in a tremulous voice. "The fates have informed me that your examination next week shall concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice." Hermione couldn't suppress a snort.
"Oh, what an amazing prediction," she scoffed. "Who sets the exam, exactly?" Theo bit his lip, but he was grinning.
"The fates have informed me she's going to hear you," he murmured. Hermione couldn't bring herself to care. Last year she'd never have dreamed of openly mocking a teacher during lessons, but that was before she met Professor Trelawney. Now, though part of her mind screamed at her to return to her senses, a stronger part crackled with a glorious exhilaration she couldn't have put into words if she tried.
"Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art," said Professor Trelawney dreamily. "I do not expect any of you to See when you first peer into the Orb's infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes, so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of the class."
"Close our eyes and relax our mind?" hissed Hermione. "What a waste of time, I could be practicing something useful."
"Tread carefully, girl, for I have seen that a great white sheet shall fall over your head when you leave this class," said Theo, in a very good imitation of Professor Trelawney's mistiest manner. Hermione grinned.
"Honestly, haven't you been practicing at all?" she whispered back. "It's obviously a fluffy white rabbit come to eat you alive." Theo laughed and started to reply, but at that moment Professor Trelawney had descended upon Harry and Ron, who were staring blankly into their crystal ball and giggling occasionally.
"Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy portents inside the Orb?" she said pointedly.
"I don't need any help," retorted Ron. "It's obvious what this means. There's going to be loads of fog tonight." Harry burst out laughing.
"Now, really!" Professor Trelawney's voice had lost its usual misty quality. "You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!" Theo buried his face in his hands, shaking with the effort of containing his laughter. Professor Trelawney, meanwhile, was approaching Harry's crystal ball, and Hermione felt as if someone had clenched their fist around her lungs. It didn't take any crystal ball or Inner Eye to tell exactly what was going to come next, and the mere anticipation set her teeth on edge. Sure enough, Professor Trelawney had gazed into Harry's crystal ball for approximately ten seconds when her head shot up dramatically.
"There is something here!" she announced to the class. "Something moving...but what is it?" Theo raised his head enough to roll his eyes.
"Could it possibly be-"
"Shh!" hissed Hermione, rather more sharply than she'd intended. If he said it, she'd have to smack him.
"My dear…" Professor Trelawney went on, pausing to allow her eyes to fill with tears as she gazed dramatically down at Harry. "It is here, plainer than ever before...stalking toward you, growing ever closer-"
Something inside Hermione snapped, actually audibly snapped.
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" she interrupted loudly. "Not that ridiculous Grim again!" There was a moment during which the air sizzled with electricity and the silence around them seemed to take on physical form. And then, Professor Trelaney's head turned, ever so slowly, to fix her with such a hard look that her insides quivered slightly, frightened and begging her to undo whatever it was she'd just set in motion. But it was too late.
"I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane." She sounded much more like Professor McGonagall than herself at the moment, but oddly, this gave Hermione the strength to square her shoulders, raise her chin, and get to her feet.
"Fine," she snapped. The word escaped her before she could pause to consider it, and it felt so irrevocable and permanent that she couldn't help repeating it. "Fine. I give up. I'm leaving."
She felt as if she'd lit a match and tossed it into the classroom behind her, the tide of murmurs spreading and rising like flames. She didn't pause or look around until she'd kicked open the trapdoor, climbed down the ladder, and proceeded, as if on a set of orders she wasn't consciously aware of, down the stairs, through the Entrance Hall, and across the grounds toward the lake. As soon as she'd stopped walking, her insides quivered again as she was struck by the stark reality, the permanence, of what she'd done. She'd walked out of a class. She'd interrupted a teacher mid-sentence and marched out of her class. It was in such defiance of everything she'd fought for, everything she was, that she ought to be in tears. She ought to be rushing about in a panic, seeking out Professor Trelawney to apologize profusely, begging her to let her come back, swearing on everything she loved that she'd never interrupt again.
Instead, she tossed a few stones into the lake, not in anguish, but simply to enjoy their graceful path through the air and the ripples they created in the glassy surface of the water. Her insides had stopped quivering, and she felt impossibly, unspeakably serene. The night she'd found out Buckbeak was to be executed, she'd felt so angry, unbearably defeated and small. She'd known right from wrong all her life, and that knowledge held her up, given her purpose, showed her what mattered. That night she'd been brushed aside so easily, rendered irrelevant despite her rightness, simply because the wrong side was more powerful. Now, though, she realized there was another side to the ugly reality that had been so brutally conveyed to her that night. If Lucius Malfoy and the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures had the power to simply decide what mattered according to their ugly whims, perhaps that meant that Hermione had power too. Power to decide for herself what mattered, power to choose what affected her. Power to never hear another of Professor Trelawney's ridiculous predictions as long as she lived.
In the distance the bell rang out, announcing the morning break. Perhaps she'd make her way back up to the castle. Then again, perhaps not. Perhaps she would stay out here forever, and damn anyone who tried to order her around ever again.
She shook her head slightly. She mustn't lose her mind, not with exams drawing so near. Gently placing her remaining stone back on the ground where she'd found it, she made her way, slowly and calmly, back up the grounds toward the castle. She'd scarcely cleared the entrance to the courtyard when Draco pelted around the corner, face radiating panic.
He nearly ran smack into her, but instead gently caught her and held her slightly off for a moment, studying her gravely as if trying to detect some sort of illness.
"Are you all right?" he asked, after a moment. His voice trembled slightly, and he sounded uncharacteristically uncertain. "Theo told me-well, I mean, Pansy told me, and then Theo said she was telling it wrong-" he broke off and shook his head impatiently. "It doesn't matter, I left right away and came to find you, I-my god, are you all right?" Hermione couldn't have explained it if she'd had all the time in the world, but something about the anxious look on Draco's face struck her as funny, and she stifled a laugh with difficulty. He didn't understand. And after all, why should he? She wasn't quite sure she fully understood herself, and though Draco might sometimes tease her, he knew how much her lessons meant to her. It was natural for him to assume she'd be distraught. Quite suddenly, a wave of affection for him nearly knocked her off her feet. He'd come looking for her as soon as he'd heard.
She seized him at once and pulled him into a tight hug, ignoring his startled cry. He returned the gesture after a moment, and when she looked up at him he seemed more puzzled than ever.
"I can't remember when I've been better," she said smoothly. He raised an eyebrow and froze as if at a loss for words, but his eyes also held a glint of something which, unless she was quite mistaken, looked rather like admiration. Another thought crept into the back of Hermione's mind then, bringing with it a slow but incredibly powerful tide of warmth filling her from her head to her toes. If she really had the power to decide what mattered to her…
For the first time, she didn't bother looking around to see who might be watching before she kissed him. He broke away after a few moments, and his puzzled look now radiated a quiet sort of hope and the ghost of a smile, as if he didn't quite dare let it show on his face.
"I-you-" he broke off. His hair had fallen in his eyes a bit, and she brushed it back.
"Is that all right with you?" she breathed. He froze for a moment, then seemed to come to his senses all at once.
"Oh, bloody hell, yes," he said earnestly, and the world spun deliciously and melted around them as he kissed her, sweet and tender at first, but building moment by moment, each giving away a bit of themselves and taking something in return. He lingered for a few seconds more as the bell split the air above their heads, as if unwilling to let go of the moment lest it disappear. She reached down and took his hand, giving it a light squeeze, and then, after a moment's thought, a kiss. He smiled and squeezed her hand in turn, and she could tell that he understood. He needn't be overly attached to this moment; there would be countless more exactly like it.
"C'mon," she said decisively, and they made their way, hand in hand, up through the castle to their lessons.
Everyone coped with exam week differently at Hogwarts. Blaise alternated between flipping halfheartedly through his notes and playing loud games of Exploding Snap with Vince and Greg, which normally ended abruptly with an older student placing specific and creative threats on their lives. Theo spent a great deal of time staring wistfully out at the lovely weather which taunted them just beyond the castle windows, only seeming able to concentrate after the sun slipped below the horizon. Pansy and Daphne commandeered a table in the corner of the common room, heads together, quizzing one another on Cheering Charms and giant wars and the ingredients to a Shrinking Solution. This year, there was one additional topic which flitted in and out of their harried conversations at odd intervals, usually introduced by Blaise as he threw down his quill in a dramatic show of frustration.
"I'm just saying you might've told us," he'd exclaim. "We would've been prepared."
This would normally be followed by a few increasingly pointed remarks from Pansy, which ranged from indictments of Draco's judgement in general to suggestions for which girls she thought were best suited to him. Blaise normally chimed in to comment upon the attractiveness and personalities of anyone Pansy named, whereupon Daphne would tell him off for speaking about girls as if they were objects. Theo was normally quiet during these exchanges, though he did often catch Draco's eye with a hint of a smile as if to say don't mind them.
Draco didn't. In fact, as news of his and Hermione's kiss in the courtyard traveled through the third year class, whispers and sidelong glances that ought to make him feel unbearably exposed simply felt beneath his notice. They were missing the point.
The point being, whatever the reason, Hermione had decided it was all right to kiss him and hold his hand, no matter who might be watching.
The point being, she wasn't ashamed of him.
The point being...she liked him the way he was. And if she liked him, then the way he was...must be all right, after all.
So, though their exams were grueling as ever and a deep resentment pervaded the castle over spending their days inside with June's radiant sunshine visible through the windowpanes yet just beyond their reach, Draco couldn't imagine anything shaking the profound sense of relief and excitement which carried him through exams and turned the week into a slightly disarming, but nonetheless blissful, blur.
As it transpired, that thing arrived on Thursday evening, the night before their last day of exams. Draco and Hermione sat out on the grounds underneath a large willow tree, watching its tendrils sway gently in the breeze as the sun slipped lower in the sky. They supposed they ought to be studying, and had brought a few books out with them as if to reinforce this fact, but neither could bring themselves to crack the covers. It was only Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic tomorrow, and at the moment, neither felt remotely intimidating. Crookshanks flitted around them, occasionally straying a few hundred paces but always returning to stare dolefully at them until they beckoned him over or he grew bored. Draco had snapped off a willow branch and was attempting to taunt him with it, but thus far all he'd managed to do was earn himself a few disdainful looks and a halfhearted attempt at a hiss.
"Play, you useless animal," he groaned in frustration, when his attempt to drag the branch like a snake through the grass elicited nothing.
"Has it occurred to you that my cat doesn't exist for your amusement?" Hermione's tone was lofty, but she was grinning.
"Why does he exist then?" Draco retorted, letting the branch fall lazily from his hand. "Pets should be amusing or useful, and as cats aren't particularly useful, they should amuse me."
"Well, it's a good thing you don't have one, then," said Hermione wryly, scooping up Crookshanks and scratching him behind the ears.
"You don't think I'd be an excellent cat owner?" Draco asked, pretending to be scandalized.
"No, I don't." The mischief creeping into Hermione's eyes suggested there was more to this sentence, but she didn't elaborate.
"And why not?" he demanded finally. Hermione paused, then bit her lip in a clear attempt to suppress a laugh.
"Well…" she broke off, then shook her head and burst out laughing.
"What's funny?" snapped Draco, genuinely baffled. Then, after a moment, "Seriously, Hermione, if you don't tell me now, I'm going to start practicing my hexes on you."
"I don't understand," gasped Hermione. "Do you want a cat?"
"Definitely not."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
"Because you said I wouldn't be good at something, and refused to tell me why!" He was trying to sound indignant, but the grin spreading across his face made this difficult to impossible. Hermione released the now-struggling Crookshanks back into the grass and they collapsed, laughing, into one another's arms. Their eyes met accidentally, but as usual, it was impossible to look away. He waitied until he felt certain he'd break open and die from the warmth filling his heart, then gave her the softest, lightest kiss he could. She held his eyes for another moment as they broke apart, then frowned slightly.
"You don't...really think that, do you?" she said uncertainly. "That he's useless?" Their discussion about the cat seemed to have happened years ago, and it took him a moment to work out what she was asking.
"Er-no, not really," he said finally. "I'm sorry, did...did it bother you?" She furrowed her brow as if thinking very hard about something.
"No, but I…" she paused. "You'll think I'm mad."
"I already think that."
"Shut up."
"Right, I'm sorry. Go on."
"Scabbers has gone missing," she said quietly, now looking out over the grounds toward the horizon. Draco was grateful she'd looked away; his heart was suddenly hammering frantically as if fighting to escape his chest, and he was sure it showed on his face.
"Er-how long-I mean, when was the last-"
"He hasn't seen him all week," Hermione interrupted. "And of course he's convinced Crookshanks ate him, so he's not speaking to me…" she paused. "Harry thinks so, as well. He says I've got to look at it logically, which is just...rich coming from him...but, well...there's got to be another explanation, there's just got to." She settled back against him with a groan of frustration, and he drew her close to his chest at once, careful to keep his head above hers to hide his face from view. Yes, Hermione, he thought. There was another fucking explanation. Sirius's words echoed soundly through his head and his lungs felt as if they'd been punctured, sharp and throbbing and useless for their intended purpose.
"He was about a million years old, wasn't he?" How he managed to sound halfway normal was beyond him. "Besides...well, even if he's right...you're worth more than a pet."
That bit was true. The sun had sunk below the horizon before they made their way back up to the castle, and Draco staved off panic by the skin of his teeth until he was alone and free to pace about the common room, somehow filled with more frantic energy the more he moved. He had to get to Sirius, but a horrible voice in the back of his head reminded him that, if it had been a week, it was likely already too late. He collapsed onto the sofa, barely stifling a scream.
How the hell was he supposed to get through the last day of exams now?