Disclaimer: I do not own anything!
A/N: I love this chapter very, very much. Please be kind hahahahah
Chapter Six: Sixth Year
Harry hadn't been the same.
As he shot his silent best friend a sideways glance, The-Boy-Who-Lived kept his face behind a mask of mild irritation and indifference. But Hermes had been best friends with the bloke for years. He knew of the inner turmoil swirling inside his heart, waiting for a trigger that would make him explode.
"Snape as the new DADA professor," Ron quipped with a frown, oblivious to the ticking bomb standing beside him. "I still can't wrap my head around the fact that smarmy git is teaching anything besides Potions. Honestly, after that Umbridge fiasco last year, I was hoping DADA would be better this year."
"At least we'll be able to practice with wands," Hermes offered, finally deciding that dwelling on Harry's worrisome behaviour would lead him nowhere. "Besides, you'd seen him duel back in second year. He is… capable, for lack of a better word."
"Duelling against Lockhart, Hermes, blimey," Ron said with a derisive snort. "Any wizard you pit against that slimy peacock would surely look capable enough."
The corner of his mouth twitched, reminiscing their second year DADA professor. Admittedly, he was blinded by his lies in his books; Merlin, that man could really embellish his words enough to make everything believable! Hermes had high regards for him, even briefly considering him as one of his heroes, until said professor was actually a fraud with brilliant skills on Memory Charm.
Hermes glanced at his silent best friend once more. "Do you think Snape is a good teacher for Defense, Harry?" he softly asked.
Harry rapidly blinked, snapping off whatever reverie he was in, and distractedly looked at Hermes. "Probably," he simply said. "I dunno."
Hermes glanced at Ron. The redhead merely sighed and shook his head, seemingly at a loss on how to interact with Harry nowadays too. Hermes was just thankful that Harry was still accompanying them anywhere they went. He worried what he would do if he was left alone, and made Ron promise that they'd be with Harry through and through whatever happened this year.
They finally arrived at the Great Hall. Ron was practically brimming with excitement upon the sight of the feast, briskly walking away from his best friends to start piling food onto his plate.
In spite of himself, Hermes smiled. At least Ron hadn't changed, despite the atrocities they had witnessed back at the Department of Mysteries.
Hermes looked down at Harry once more. He'd grown a few inches taller this summer again and was practically the same height with Ron. Harry, though, seemed to stop growing since last year. He was thinner, too, and Hermes frowned, vowing to force food into his mouth to keep him energised. With Voldemort now prowling the streets, Harry couldn't afford to get sick.
"Harry…" he said, but Harry already held up a hand.
"Save it, Hermes," he grumbled, mild annoyance flitting on his face. "I'm fine."
Hermes grabbed onto his shoulder to stop him from walking. The bespectacled wizard hesitantly glanced at his eyes, and for a moment, Hermes saw the genuine grief behind his emerald eyes. Swallowing a lump, Hermes hastily looped an arm over Harry's neck and crushed him against his chest.
"Harry," he started once more, "you know that we're willing to listen when you need someone to talk to, yeah?"
"Geroff, 'Ermes," he said, his voice muffled against his chest.
Hermes sighed and hesitantly loosened his grip. Harry playfully glared at him and muttered "Wanker" under his breath before slipping beside Ron. The curly-haired brunet fondly smiled at Harry's dishevelled raven hair, noting the hint of a smile on Harry's face.
Hermes then slipped on the bench beside Harry and started to pile food onto his plate. Ron was already halfway to finishing his second serving, hastily cleaning everything on his plate to get his third heaping. Harry, on the other hand, hadn't touched his food yet and was instead staring off at a distance.
"Harry," Hermes pointed out. "You have to eat."
But his best friend seemed not to hear him. He followed his line of vision and was surprised to see that Harry was looking over the Slytherin table, specifically at Iris Malfoy.
His heart skipped a beat, remembering their strange encounter back in fifth year.
"Walking away from everything… it's a death sentence."
He suddenly lost his appetite and scowled down at his plate.
Ever since sixth year started, it wasn't only Harry who was acting strange. Hermes found himself staring at the Slytherin, too, quietly noting that the dark bags under her eyes were more prominent. Her grey eyes were dull and empty, like she was walking the hallways like a zombie rather than confidently sashaying as a Pureblood Royalty. Weeks already passed since the start of school-year but the blonde still hadn't dropped a single scathing remark his way or visited him in the library without any decent excuse but to torment him.
It was… it was worrisome, maybe a tad disturbing than Harry's behaviour. At least, Hermes was able to keep an eye on Harry and butt in every time he thought Harry was slowly spiralling out of control. But Malfoy… Crabbe and Goyle still reverently stayed by her side, but there was a new addition to her little posse. Now, Zabini and Nott always accompanied her everywhere she went, seemingly protective of the strangely silent Slytherin. It brought Hermes some slight comfort that at least, Malfoy wasn't alone, even though she might have thought she was.
"What are you blokes looking at?" Ron asked, glancing at the direction of their gazes. His jaw dropped in surprise. "Malfoy?"
Iris' eyes flickered towards their group, and they all hastily looked away.
"Malfoy's seriously acting strange," Harry furiously whispered, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Drop it, mate," Hermes casually said, a hint of warning in his voice.
Harry glanced at him with a frown. "She isn't the same, I'm telling you," he insisted. He surreptitiously glanced around, making sure that no one was eavesdropping. "I think… I think she's been Branded."
Ron choked on his pumpkin juice. Hermes wound his arm over Harry's back to reach Ron's, thumping his back until his coughing fit stopped. "What the fuck, Harry?" Ron furiously whispered under his breath. "You mean like a… like a Death Eater?"
"That's preposterous!" Hermes claimed, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice.
"You know it isn't too farfetched, Hermes," Harry sternly insisted. "If Lucius was one… well, the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, yeah?"
"You don't have to follow his footsteps."
Swallowing down the irrational panic that rose through his throat, he shot a withering glare at Harry. "You can't go around accusing anyone acting shady they're Death Eaters," he shot back in annoyance.
"But she is acting really shady," Ron pointed out with a contemplating frown. "I mean… their whole family's practically shady. Both her father and her aunt are Death Eaters, too."
Upon the mention of Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry grew very still. Ron realised his slip and sheepishly met Hermes' disappointed scowl.
"Harry…"
"No, I know she's a Death Eater," Harry said with newfound intensity. He threw a glance at Iris' direction and growled. "I am going to prove it to you." He then viciously tore through his meal, suddenly invigorated with a new mission.
Hermes glanced back at his meal and hoped that Harry wasn't right.
"You will never understand."
Admittedly, Snape was a more brilliant Potions Master than Slughorn, but at least, the latter wasn't antagonistic to non-Slytherin students.
Professor Slughorn was a jolly, old man with a rounded belly and evident love for crystallised pineapple. He always had one on his desk and would munch on them from time to time. He was absolutely fair too, giving points to those who deserved it. Even Neville started getting higher marks for his Potions essays, with suggestions on how to improve.
Still, Snape was better at making Potions. Slughorn always followed every instruction, word for word, on how to make potions. Snape, on the other hand, made little tweaks that interested Hermes. He never shared his improvisations, though, deducting points hither thither when he found out that they weren't following the instructions to the dot.
As they strolled for another Potions lesson, a wonderful smell met his nose. He sniffed around, trying to locate the source of the scent, but couldn't find it anywhere.
"Merlin, why does it smell like a feast here?" Ron exclaimed, his blue eyes alit with joyous delight.
"No, it doesn't," Hermes pointed out matter-of-factly. "It smells like freshly mown grass." A small smile appeared on his face, remembering the summers where his father would prod him to mow their small garden back home, knowing it was the only chore Hermes adored.
Harry gave them a surprised look. "What?" he said. "I smell something wooden! Like… like the wooden handle of a broomstick."
"Hmm," Hermes murmured in interest, bringing his book down on their usual desk in the Potions classroom. Harry quickly claimed the middle seat, while Ron took the other side. The-Boy-Who-Lived placed his tattered Potions textbook in front of him, prompting Hermes to frown. "You're still using that?"
The bespectacled wizard protectively covered the book's ratty cover with his hand. "Why not?" he shot back. "It is helpful."
Hermes was about to tell him that he shouldn't trust strange books that easily, but Professor Slughorn took that moment to stride out of his quarters.
He beamed brightly at both Hermes and Harry. Harry shifted his gaze away in discomfort while Hermes quietly sighed under his breath. The professor was notorious for collecting students like trophies for future connections. Sneaky little thing to do, but then of course, he had been known as a brilliant Slytherin.
"Good morning, class," he boomed, greedy eyes searching through the room of Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth year students. Hermes guessed that when his eyes lingered longer than a minute, Slughorn might already be imaging what great connections that student would forge for him in the future.
"Today, we are going to learn about love potions," he continued, clasping both of his hands in front of him in excitement. Excited murmurs ran around the room as Slughorn pulled his wand. With a wave of his wand, the cauldron in front of him was uncovered.
The smell Hermes identified a while ago was now in full blast, recognising other pleasant aromas, before his eyes widened in realisation.
"Can anyone tell me what this potion is?" he asked.
Hermes' hand was in the air before Slughorn could finish his sentence.
A pleased smile grew on Slughorn's pudgy face when his eyes landed on Hermes. "Yes, Mr Granger?" he asked.
"Amortentia," he said without skipping a beat, "said to be the most powerful love potion in the world."
"Excellent, Mr Granger," he said. "Take twenty points to Gryffindor." He walked towards the cauldron of love potion and glanced around the room, his eyes twinkling under the dim lights of the classroom. "If I may, I believe Amortentia is one of the most dangerous potions in the world. Dagworth-Granger stated that powerful infatuations could be induced by the skilful potioneer, such as Amortentia, but never yet has anyone managed to create the truly remarkable, unconditional attachment – love."
He gestured at the cauldron once more, a warning in his eyes. "Amortentia, although the most powerful, cannot mimic true love but only a powerful infatuation – one that caused numerous deaths and tragedies in the past." He raised an eyebrow at Theodore Nott, who was snickering behind his hand. "You may laugh, Mr Nott, for it is absolutely preposterous. But, never underestimate a powerful infatuation."
This effectively shut up the Slytherin, now sheepishly glancing down his wooden desk. Hermes glanced at the other Slytherin sitting beside him, but Iris Malfoy wasn't paying any attention. Her eyes were gazing outside the vast window in the dungeons, seemingly lost in thought.
"Now, can anyone tell me how Amortentia works?" Slughorn quipped.
As usual, it was only Hermes' hand in the air.
"All right, Mr Granger," he said with an indulgent grin. "Do go on."
"Amortentia smells differently to people," he recited. "It will smell depending on what the person finds most attractive, knowledgable or unaware the person might be. A single drop is all it takes for the potion to take effect. The downside with this love potion, like any other love potions really, is that you have to continuously give it since the potion's effects wear off over time."
He beamed so widely Hermes wondered if it hurt his cheeks. "Blimey, Mr Granger, are you quite sure you aren't related to Dagworth-Granger himself?" he asked.
Hermes meekly shook his head. "I'm Muggleborn, Professor," he said.
"There's always a magical relative somewhere in the previous generations," Slughorn said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You might as well be with that delightful brain of yours. Take another twenty points for Gryffindor."
He clasped his hands again and placed it on top of his bloated belly. "Now, like what Mr Granger pointed out a while ago, Amortentia smells differently to people, too." He beamed brightly at Hermes once more. "Mr Granger, why don't you tell us what you're smelling."
He felt a little embarrassed as all eyes landed on him. "Err…" He took a sniff once more. "Freshly mown grass, new parchment, toffees, and… and…" He took a deep sniff once more, trying to identify the last smell he was getting from the love potion. "Something… flowery, but I can't really identify it."
As Professor Slughorn moved around and asked for the smells identified by his other classmates, Hermes tried to make sense of that mysterious scent he was smelling from the love potion. Freshly mown grass depicted home, new parchment was his excitement every time he had to do a new essay, and toffee as his most favourite candy in the world. The flowery scent, though… well, it was annoyingly familiar, yet he still could not put a name on it.
Slughorn then magically wrote instructions on how to make a love potion on the blackboard. It was a weaker kind than Amortentia, seeing that brewing it was highly illegal in the first place. Still, it would do the trick.
His mind was deeply bothered by the mysterious scent throughout the lesson as he mechanically chopped and stirred and heated. He didn't even mind Harry, who was obviously following wrong instructions from that old, suspicious Potions book of his and still brewing it perfectly.
He was distracted until the end of classes (still, he managed to brew a perfect potion which was perhaps a little behind Harry's, the Potions Prodigy).
Hermes was now putting the other ingredients back on the cupboard when Malfoy bumped into him. The jar of slugs he was holding came crashing down on the floor.
"Watch it, Malfoy," he said, brandishing out his wand and glaring at her back.
The Slytherin didn't seem to notice, her long hair billowing behind her back as she briskly exited the room.
And then… and then something flowery teased his nose and he paled.
Darting a horrified glance at the Amortentia potion that Professor Slughorn was already keeping, Hermes took another slow sniff.
"Holy Mother of – "
His words left him, too dumbfounded with his new revelation.
"Clumsy are we?" Ron snickered, sidling beside him as he deftly spelt the broken glasses together. "You're welcome, by the way."
Harry peered at his terrified face. "What's gotten into you?" he asked.
"I bet he's too shocked to discover that you're outshining him in Potions," Ron joked.
The-Boy-Who-Lived rolled his eyes, a small smile growing on his face. "Really, Granger, not everything should be about you," he said, playfully swinging an arm over his shoulders and dragging him out of the room, a snickering Ron trailing closely behind.
She failed once again.
The ominous Vanishing Cabinet stood tall and proud, as if mocking her that she had miserably failed. Her wand hand shook as she took a step back, heavy emotions stirring up her stomach. The iron cage standing beside the cabinet held dead birds, lying silently on the ground, unable to fly free anymore.
Iris couldn't understand why she kept on failing and failing. She had researched about fixing the cabinet extensively. She'd consulted experts, shipped dark artefacts that would instantly land her to Azkaban if discovered, and she'd thwarted all of her bloody schoolwork just to fix the damned cabinet.
'It cannot be fixed,' a voice whispered inside her head. 'It cannot be fixed. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead.'
The Slytherin took a deep shuddering breath and stumbled away, her eyes already clouding with horrified tears.
When she emerged out from the Room of Requirement, Crabbe and Goyle were questioningly looking at her for her next command. Just this once, Iris desperately wished they could say something, anything, to bring comfort to her heart. But as usual, the two brutes were mute and lost until she barked another order.
"Leave me," she whispered, facing away so as not to show her tears.
They didn't need to be told twice and immediately clambered away. Her heart dropped to her stomach at the thought that she was alone once more. Blaise and Theo were extra nice to her this year, coaxing her to tell them what her problem was, but how could she burden them more?
No, this was her curse to bear. Nobody needs to know.
Breakdowns had been explosive for her for the past few months. The trigger of it all started at that stupid broom cupboard, Granger's worried honey-coloured eyes piercing into her soul. Iris always wondered what if she grasped onto that hope he kept on yammering about, but extinguished any positivity before it festered and swallowed her whole.
No, nobody needs to know.
She blindly ran through the corridors, thankful that most of the students were still at the Great Hall finishing their dinner. Merlin knows what she would have done if somebody saw the mighty, arrogant, Slytherin Princess Iris Malfoy falling apart, despair in her eyes.
There was only one place where she knew she was safe from prying eyes. Moaning Myrtle was a pestering ghost, but she listened and empathised, telling her how she'd met a great tragedy too and even invited her over the female loo on the second floor if things didn't work out great for Iris in this lifetime.
She almost collapsed near the entrance of the abandoned loo but trudged on until she reached the sinks. Iris glanced at her tear-stained face, unable to recognise the reflection staring back at her. This wasn't her; the person staring back at her was terrified and gaunt, exhaustion and fear shining through her dull, grey eyes, with her hair dishevelled and dark bags under her eyes.
An angry sob escaped from her lips once more as she tightly closed her eyes, unable to look at her reflection any longer.
This was all of her father's fault. All of it. If he hadn't blindly followed a sociopath, she wouldn't be in this position in the first place. The betrayal of knowing that her great hero was actually a greedy, stupid man, blinded by promises of power in a man that did not care anything but himself. It still angered her how Voldemort revealed once she had seen him at their home, but Lucius Obliviated her memory so as not to spout the secrets being exchanged among the Death Eaters. It was only when Lucius got himself locked up at Azkaban when Voldemort knew it was finally time for Iris Malfoy to step up and be the noblest of all Purebloods of her generation.
She was chosen, he said.
It was a great privilege, he added.
And she knew, deep down, that if she were to refuse, terrible things would befall upon her family. Iris wasn't brave enough to pull away because she knew... she knew she had no other choice.
Her left arm felt heavy and itchy, and Iris was tempted to scratch it raw until that menacing Dark Mark was disfigured. She once prided herself to be scar-free; no taints nor disfigurements to be deemed as a worthy Pureblood bride. Now… now, the vilest tattoo she could ever imagine was stamped on her left arm, forever reminding her of what she'd become.
"Iris?"
Moaning Myrtle flew overhead, a look of concerned sympathy on her face.
"I wish to be alone," the Slytherin said, turning her face away to hide her despair.
"Maybe you need a friend today?" the ghost softly asked.
Iris took a deep shuttering breath. "Leave," she shakily snarled. "I said I wanted to be alone."
The ghost took offence and harrumphed loudly, wailing loudly how no one wanted to be her friend anymore and she was all alone, and dove into one of the toilets.
'Alone,' the damned voice in her head whispered in the dead silence of the bathroom. 'You have no one. You're alone. Alone. Alone.'
"Stop," she cried, her sobs turning guttural as she covered her ears. "Stop it, please. I can't… I-I can't do it. Please. Please, I can't."
She slid down the wet tiled floor, covering her face with both of her hands. She wished Narcissa was here with her now. Her mother had brought great comfort during the days after her Branding. Her mother had never shed a tear when Lucius was imprisoned. She had held her head high, looking at all the Death Eaters in the eye who wished to harm Voldemort's recruit. She had been fiercely protective of her, promising her that she'd conceive a plan, promising her that all will be all right in the end and she must hold on… hold on even though everything seemed hopeless.
Iris mourned all the days she ignored her mother, thinking that she was some docile Pureblood wife who only knew about keeping the house orderly and bearing an heir for her Pureblood husband. Iris should have looked up at Narcissa more; perhaps, if her blind idolatry to her father had never existed, she wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.
But, it was too late for regrets now. She was tasked to fix an impossible cabinet and to kill the only wizard Voldemort feared.
It was too much, and she was all alone.
"Malfoy isn't at dinner," Harry pointed out firmly, glancing at the Slytherin table.
"Not this again, Harry," Hermes groaned, also glancing at the Slytherin table to see that Harry was right after all. "Just because she's absent during dinner one time doesn't mean she's branded."
Harry looked at Ron with a frown. "You do believe me that Malfoy may be a… a You-Know-What, right, Ron?" he urged.
Hermes gave the redhead a levelled glare. Poor Ron had his spoon dangling in the air, a spoonful of clam chowder still left uneaten. "Think very careful of what you'll reply to that, Ronald," he warned, crossing his arms across his chest.
Ron scowled and almost threw his spoon back onto his bowl of soup. "Bloody hell, mates, I'm just trying to eat here in peace, Merlin!" he snapped, viciously grabbing onto his fried chicken and tearing it with force, emphasising that he didn't want to get in between their stupid row.
"Why are you even so adamant that she would never become one, Hermes?" Harry asked. "She's evil and scary and brilliant. Voldemort would want her in his circle of fanatics."
Hermes curled his hands into fists and frowned. "Because… because it's wrong," he lamely replied, not entirely sure himself. "She's just a child."
"Who's hurt a lot of people in this school. Especially you."
Harry had a point. Malfoy had been nothing but antagonistic to them throughout their life in Hogwarts. She had been petty and annoying and evil and scary and arrogant. If he were to point out someone who would most likely be a Death Eater in their generation, Malfoy would surely be at the very top of his lists.
But then, there were moments when the light would shine through her face, doing random things that didn't make sense to him, causing his heart beat faster than usual, and being all radiant and… and…
Hermes felt his cheek redden as a dark scowl settled on his face. Ever since he discovered that he smelled her hair in Amortentia, Hermes' head had been a jumbled mess. He could not understand how he could be attracted to someone with an evil spirit. Malfoy's sole purpose in life was to make his life a living hell, remember? It didn't make any sense.
Predicting a forming headache, Hermes knew that the only way to calm himself down was to surround himself with books. Books held answers and logic. In the library, Hermes could never feel confused.
"I'm going to the library," he finally announced, pushing his half-empty plate with a deep sigh. "I've lost my appetite."
Harry gave him a confused glance. "Weren't you just pestering me to eat as much as possible because Voldemort may come in anytime and we need all the energy we could get?" he asked.
Hermes gave him a small smile and shook his head. "I have my handy toffees in my pocket, Potter," he lightly joked. "I'll get by."
Before either Ron or Harry could protest, he slung the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and walked out of the Great Hall.
Hermes busied himself into thinking what his plan would be in the library tonight. He had finished all schoolwork needed for the week. Now, he had to mentally project his timetable for next week so that he knew where he would sit closer.
Imagining the nice, hidden corner near the Potions section immediately went out of his head once he caught sight of Iris Malfoy's billowing, shiny hair. Her face was half-hidden as she hastily ran down from the moving staircases. Her usual cronies were not there; even Blaise and Theo were nowhere in sight.
A part of him knew it wasn't a good idea to follow. Malfoy might even accuse him of stalking her if she caught sight of him. But, curiosity got the best of him, and before he could properly dwell on his actions, he was blindly following her wherever she was going.
His eyes bulged out from their sockets when he recognised the abandoned girl's loo on the second floor. Memories of a ruined Polyjuice Potion and a teasing Moaning Myrtle rushed back into his mind as he slid behind one cubicle, trying to discover what Malfoy was up to.
He froze when an unmistakable sob echoed in the dark, dank room. He at first thought it was Moaning Myrtle, but when another came, he realised such anguished cries came from Malfoy, seemingly unable to stop.
He heard Moaning Myrtle above the uncharacteristic noises Malfoy was making, but the ghost was harshly pushed aside and Iris Malfoy was left alone once more.
He sneaked a peek and saw her helplessly crying on the wet floor and something foreign in his heart rose and gripped very, very tight. Hermes didn't know what to do as the Slytherin blonde slowly broke down before his eyes.
He tried to see if she was hurt or she was in pain, his brown eyes immediately darting all over her face and her body just to see if she was well.
All breath seemed to be knocked off his chest when his eyes finally landed on her bare left forearm, the Dark Mark glinting menacingly at his direction.
Her wand was instantly on her hand when she heard a gasp.
"Who's there?" she snarled, blood freezing at the thought that someone had witnessed the great and mighty Iris Malfoy breaking down. She hoped against hope it was Moaning Myrtle, but the said ghost was nowhere to be seen.
She stilled, the unmistakable sound of footsteps pattering against the puddles on the wet floor. She blindly shot a hex before she saw the intruder's face, but a shimmering Protego erected a blue shield to cover him.
Her heart lodged into her throat upon seeing Hermes Granger, the expression on his face indecipherable. Iris desperately tried to scramble back onto her feet, shouting various hexes and curses she could think just to immobilise him. The plan was to hex him unconscious so that she could Obliviate his memory of ever seeing her like this, but damn him, he deftly sidestepped her poorly aimed spells or hastily spelt shield charms just to keep him unscathed.
Iris shakily took a step back, her back meeting the hard brim of the sink, and was horrified to note that he was mere meters away. Granger was heaving deeply, exhausted by his constant barrage of defensive spells, and she finally saw the thunderous expression on his face.
Before she could think of an escape plan, he shot forward and grabbed onto her left arm.
His expression was murderous, trained intently on her left forearm, and that was when Iris realised that her left sleeve wasn't covering that vile tattoo on her arm.
Iris took a shaky breath and felt nauseous, desperately pulling her arm to shield her embarrassment away, but Granger held on tighter.
"You're… you…" He looked sickly himself, but there was still a murderous glint in his eyes. His honey-coloured eyes shifted quickly to her glistening greys, and Iris wondered if all the secrecy and sneaking around this school-year had finally come to an end. She felt remorseful about what happened to Madame Rosmerta, to Katie Bell… to freaking Ronald Weasley, all because she needed to fulfil Voldemort's order. A huge part of her felt terrified of the idea of being punished for her wrongdoings but there was small, tiny part that felt relieved because finally, finally it could all end.
"This cannot be," he whispered breathlessly. "You're just a child."
With a jolt, she realised he wasn't furious at her but of what had happened to her. He was angry she was suddenly branded like a cattle, ready for slaughter. He was mad that a sixteen-year-old… a bloody sixteen-year-old suddenly found herself in a situation that no child should ever undergo.
A horrified sob escaped from her lips and tried as she might to keep them inside, they continued to pour out with a vengeance.
"You don't deserve this, Malfoy," he said, his fury melting into something akin to sympathy, and her heart started to hurt.
Iris slumped forward, her other hand grasping onto her heart, because it was painful.
It was painful to breathe, painful to feel.
"I-I can't do this," she earnestly cried. "I can't. I can't do this. This is too much. Too much."
She gasped when he pulled her towards him and tried to shoot another spell in his direction, but instant warmth spread throughout her body when her head landed on his chest, his arms tightly wrapped around her.
He whispered senseless babbles against her ear; she was too distraught to understand. But he was warm, so warm and safe and Iris grasped onto the back of his muggle sweater, holding on to him like he was the only thing keeping her from spiralling out of control.
"I've finished my essay."
Hermes rapidly blinked and looked down at the parchment in front of Harry. "Hmm… okay," he said, idly lifting his quill and dipped it into the inkwell. He glanced at the library window and caught sight of a familiar blonde hair, but when it turned out to be a fourth year Ravenclaw, Hermes sighed, abandoned his quill all together, and placed his chin on top of his upturned palm.
Suddenly, there was a rapid snapping of fingers within his line of vision. He scowled and waved Ron's hand away. "Bloody hell," he murmured.
Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances.
"Something's definitely wrong, all right," Ron said with a reverent nod, looking at Hermes as if he was sick and dying.
Harry's wand was then pointed at his face. Before Hermes could react, Harry already murmured a soft 'Finite Incantatem'. "Nope, definitely not bewitched, too," Harry told Ron. "So – "
" – it's a girl, then – "
" – definitely a girl, mate," Ron said, a huge smile spreading on his freckled face. "Definitely a girl."
He felt his cheeks burning before he could compose himself. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" he hotly asked, trying not to meet Harry and Ron's gazes in case they read what was going through his mind and went absolutely ballistic.
"Distracted blokes like that usually think about… bloke stuff," Ron said matter-of-factly. A sneaky grin appeared on his face and playfully bumped shoulders with him. "Naughty stuff, perhaps?"
Hermes' eyes widened while Harry snickered under his breath. "Hermes Granger, finally coming to the dark side?" the Boy-Who-Lived asked.
The curly-haired Gryffindor scowled and roughly pushed Ron away. "What the hell are you talking about?" he said, sheer annoyance on his face. "I'm trying to study here."
"Oh Merlin, he got it so bad," Ron gleefully exclaimed, grabbing onto Harry's arm like an excited puppy. "He'd been merely trying, Harry. Trying!"
Hermes groaned and ran a hand through his face. "Quit it, you gits," he said through gritted teeth, angrily grabbing onto his quill again and resumed scribbling on the parchment with dizzying speed.
At the corner of his eyes, he saw Harry and Ron exchanging another puzzled glance.
"So… it's not a girl, then?" Harry quipped.
"No, of course not," he snapped a little too quickly. "I've been trying to come up with a decent end of semester project for Potions class that will be important during our NEWTs next year. Sorry if I've been a little distracted about it."
"Oh," Ron said, making a face. "Boringgg." He grabbed onto the new edition of his Quidditch magazine and lazily browsed through it.
"Have you finished your essay, Ronald?" Hermes grumbled under his breath.
The redhead waved a dismissive hand. "Later, I'm on a break," he said with a disgruntled sigh.
Hermes glanced at his parchment and rolled his eyes, noting that Ron had only his name, date, and the title of his essay written on it.
"You've barely written anything," he pointed out.
Ron groaned and completely covered his face with the magazine. "It took me ten minutes to come up with a decent title, Hermes," he complained. "Give this bloke a break."
Hermes sighed, too tired to argue, and corrected a misspelt word on Ron's title with a wave of his wand.
He then looked back at his essay and forced himself to finish it, blocking other dangerous thoughts that had nothing to do with his essay.
To his surprise, Harry placed a hand on his parchment, halting his writing. Hermes frowned and lifted his eyes.
Harry looked serious right now, all hint of his playful teasing now gone from his eyes. "You really okay, mate?" he asked, his emerald eyes turning worried.
For a moment, he allowed memories of last night to slip into his mind. He remembered Malfoy's anguished cries. He remembered the stark, menacing tattoo against her fair skin. He remembered the feel of her against his arms, trembling and desperate and so… so terrified.
Hermes swallowed a lump and put a shutter against all those thoughts. "Yeah, Harry, I'm okay," he said with a weak smile. Harry had too much on his plate right now; Dumbledore's been snagging him during late nights, showing memories about Slughorn and Tom Riddle. Harry was hinting that Dumbledore was about to reveal probably one of the most important details to Voldemort's power, if only they could talk to Slughorn about that vital piece of information.
So, no, Hermes could not tell Harry no matter how much he wanted to. Ron, on the other hand, would never understand. With his emotional range of a teaspoon, he'd throw a monumental fit and demand to throw Malfoy in Azkaban. Harry… Harry would be more understanding, perhaps. But with Sirius' death…
Harry still looked wholly unconvinced but finally nodded his head and went back to the textbook he was reading.
Hermes took a deep, stuttering breath, willing his mind to be free of any other thoughts of Malfoy, before going back to his essay.
Harry and Ron bid their goodbye later that night since they had to go to Quidditch Practice. Ron was finally Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, which, admittedly Hermes tweaked a bit in favour of his best friend. His other opponent, Cormac McLaggen, was loads better than Ron but Merlin, he was insufferable. It gave Hermes the satisfaction to see the huge disappointment on the older Gryffindor's face. Harry had been hinting ever since that he knew Hermes had something to do about Ron's position, but he never confirmed anything.
It was nearing curfew when Hermes finally decided to return to the Common Room. Blessedly, he was able to finish his essays and was on time with his schedule. He had successfully blocked anything about Malfoy, but Hermes feared he wouldn't be lucky anymore now that he had nothing to distract himself with.
As he fixed his things, Hermes started to wonder what was the sole reason why Malfoy was branded. It was clear to him that she was unwilling. Hermes feared for Harry's life; if Voldemort had a follower inside the walls of Hogwarts, it would be disastrous. It wasn't difficult for him to finally pin all the strange happenings that befell on Katie Bell and Madame Rosmerta to Malfoy. Only an affluent Pureblood family that dabbled on the Dark Arts would have access to accursed objects like that necklace.
When he finally walked out of the library door, Hermes firmly promised himself he would seek out Malfoy once more and demand answers from her. Maybe, he could also persuade her to ask help from someone like Dumbledore. It wasn't too late for her, never for her, and Hermes would be damned if she ended up following the footsteps of her father.
He yelped in surprise as a sudden hand grabbed his arm and pulled him inside the broom cupboard near the library.
"Malfoy!" he hissed, because of course it would be her.
Said blonde was now crammed against him, her grey eyes looking anywhere the dim cupboard but him.
Hermes stilled and immediately pocketed his hand, grasping for the wooden end of his wand. Truthfully, he had been on guard for the whole day, wondering if there would be nasty hexes or memory charms thrown his way. It was bloody suspicious that none had come, especially because this was Iris Malfoy.
"If you breathed about what happened last night to other people, I swear Granger you will not live another day," she said with a thinly veiled threat in her voice. She snapped her grey eyes back into his and pierced him with a stern glare. "Forget everything that happened last night. Nothing happened."
He expelled a soft sigh and shook his head. "Something happened, Malfoy," he whispered as calmly as possible. "What happened last night… what I saw last night" – she stilled in the cupboard – "it's not something I can easily forget."
"Then try, for Merlin's sake," she hissed.
Hermes darted a glance at her covered left forearm, a look of sadness seeping through his eyes. "I can't, Malfoy," he repeated. "I've seen it. I can't just turn a blind eye."
She was starting to panic, a wild look now in her eyes. "So what? You'll report me to the ministry? Rat me out to your precious Dumbledore?" she harshly whispered, starting to quiver in the dark. "'Oh, Headmaster, I just dropped by to tell you that Malfoy's a Death Eater. Oh, yes, Professor, I'm talking about the daughter.'"
"No," he hastily replied, shutting her up. He pinned her with a stern glare. "Not like that." He tentative placed a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to stiffen under his touch. "You have to tell someone, Malfoy. This is… it's too much of a responsibility, and before you can act all defensive and spout stupid lies, claiming that you can handle everything, I don't think…" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them once more, Malfoy's eyes were connected with his. He couldn't understand the emotion in them, but at least she wasn't angry anymore. "I don't think the girl I held in my arms last night is handling everything alone."
Silence fell between the two students except for Malfoy's suddenly ragged breathing.
"Dumbledore cannot help," she finally dully replied.
"Yes, he can," he insisted, hope blooming in his heart when she didn't turn around and walk away. "He will help you."
A soft, hollow laugh escaped from her lips. "And steal him from your precious Potter?" she bitingly asked. "Dumbledore has too much on his plate right now, Granger. He needs to set his priorities and I'm sure I am not part of it."
"How can you say that about yourself?" he asked, growing annoyed. "You're still a bloody student here in Hogwarts, Malfoy. Of course Dumbledore will do everything he can to help you."
She stared back at him, a small sad smile on her face. "You put too much faith in such a manipulative fool," she whispered matter-of-factly.
"Malfoy – "
"Shut up, Granger," she grounded out. "Shut up. Just shut up."
She was quivering like a leaf once more and Hermes wanted to scream. It was obvious that whatever she was tasked to do was taking a toll on her. It… it angers him how the confident, snarky blonde he grew up with was vastly different from the frightened child with too-wide eyes in this broom cupboard.
Iris suddenly grabbed onto both of his arms, much to his surprise. Slowly, she placed her head against his chest and took a deep, shaky breath, finally wounding her arms around his torso.
"W-what are you doing?" he stuttered, cheeks flooding with embarrassment and an emotion that always seemed to stir up when she was in the vicinity. Her flowery scent filled his senses, it was dizzying.
"Shut up, Granger," she weakly repeated, tightening her arms around him.
Her shoulders were trembling, her breaths turning harsh and ragged. Hermes concluded this day had been bad, too. Perhaps, worse than last night and Malfoy… Malfoy didn't want to feel alone.
He lifted his arms and hesitantly wrapped it around her shoulders. Iris froze for a moment, stopped breathing altogether, before she released a soft sob and held onto him tighter.
It took mere minutes, perhaps an hour, Hermes wasn't entirely sure, before Malfoy reluctantly pulled away from him and stumbled out of the broom cupboard. Light immediately flooded into the dark shed and Hermes had to shield his eyes briefly to let his eyes adjust with the sudden change.
When he looked back at Iris, now bathed with light, she had schooled all of her features until there was calm indifference on her face. The only indication that she had been crying was her tearstained cheeks.
"Tell no one about this, Granger," she warned. With a quick flick of her wand, the remnants of her breakdown were gone. Her grey eyes glistened as she stared at him one last time. Malfoy then blinked and her eyes turned steely once more, before she finally turned around and left without a single glance back.
She knew what she was doing was dangerous and downright stupid, but Merlin help her she couldn't stop herself. Now that she was able to get a taste of it, Iris found herself seeking for it again and again.
During moments when she felt like the world was crashing down on her, she would desperately tear throughout Hogwarts to look for Hermes Granger, drag him into an alcove or an empty classroom, and calm herself down by wrapping her arms around him.
Merlin, they weren't kidding when they said Hermes' hugs were miraculous. Every time he calmed down from his initial surprise, he would expel a soft sigh and wrap his arms around her too, pulling her close. Instant warmth spread through all the nooks and crannies of her body and she would only pull away until she collected herself and walked away without any word.
"Even my Hug of Warmth tamed the ferocious Dragon," he joked one time, earning a weak glare from Iris.
There were other moments when he would incessantly urge her to seek help from Dumbledore once more. Those were the days when she hated herself the most, because Hermes Granger had no idea how much he could sway her with his promises and curly hair and bright, honey-coloured eyes. She had almost cracked, but would remember her mother, and Iris would again merely shake her head and walk away.
She was still in disbelief that nobody knew about her Dark Mark. Granger was too much of a goody-two-shoe to keep this secret to himself, but surprisingly, he did. Iris knew Potter was extra observant of her, obsessively following her every move, so she didn't understand why Granger did not at least tell Potter about her secret to appease his grieving best friend.
"Not my secret to tell," he simply answered one time.
Iris hated herself so much. She must have really messed up this time for her to start seeking comfort from a mudblood. But then, Granger wasn't a mudblood to her at all. Not anymore. She wasn't entirely sure when this happened, but… but it was jarring, how a person she believed to be beneath her in all ways, a person she knew was of dirty blood, was someone who gave warm hugs and warm looks and Iris… Iris did not know what to do.
She pulled him into an empty Charms classroom in the last week of June. She had finally finished fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. Iris already alerted Voldemort and the other Death Eaters of her accomplishment. The Dark Lord complimented her, told her she was better than her father, and ordered her to prepare.
Granger was unusually quiet tonight. Perhaps, he felt she had bothersome thoughts that day and chose to keep quiet.
She immediately wound her arms around him and placed her head against his chest. Warmth spread through her and she closed her eyes, deeply inhaling and taking in his familiar scent. During their last Potions lessons, when Slughorn introduced the Amortentia to his students, Iris was able to identify the scents she had smelled from the love potion except one. She smelled her favourite apple pie baked by her Nana, of the detergent that they always used at home, of broom polish, and… toffee. It had confused her a lot with the last scent because she disliked toffee; it was too sticky, too sweet. But on the day Granger hugged her back on that bathroom, she discovered he smelled of his favourite sweet.
"Will you quit being stubborn now and ask help from Dumbledore?" he attempted for the umpteenth time.
In spite of herself, a small smile appeared on her face. Trust Granger to be unceasingly persistent even when things were dire and impossible. "You know what I'll answer to that stupid question, Granger," she answered, voice slightly muffled by his uniform.
He expelled a humongous sigh and absentmindedly placed his chin on top of her head. "Typical stubborn Malfoy," he whispered, a hint of fondness in the tone of his voice.
Her hold on him tightened, numerous what ifs running through her head. What if he wasn't a mudblood? What if she wasn't a Pureblood and a bloody Death Eater? What if Potter accepted her friendship during first year? What if she finally relented to his plea to ask help from Dumbledore? What if she ran away from home, ran away from Voldemort, ran away from everything else?
What if… what if tonight, she told him how she really felt about him?
A wry smile appeared on her face.
Of course, it was too late for what-ifs now.
She held him tight because she knew she might never get this opportunity in the future anymore. She held him tight because she knew, after everything that would happen tomorrow, he might not look at her the same anymore. She held him tight, because in the midst of war, there was a huge chance not both of them would emerge alive.
Iris slowly lifted her head so that her grey eyes would connect with his brown ones. There was sheer worry in them because he knew that something was wrong. Of course he knew something was wrong—brilliant Hermes Granger, too perceptive and intelligent and so… so kind.
Her eyes glistened as she placed a gentle hand against his cheek. She wasn't entirely sure how he could see her right now; all the walls she had built to hide her emotions were already tumbling down.
"Be safe, Granger," she murmured. "Please."
She stood on her tiptoes to give him a meek kiss on his cheek. His cheeks flooded with red as she gave him a sad smile.
She lingered in his arms for a bit longer, stealing minutes she knew she would never have after this day, before completely pulling away.
As usual, she never looked back.
Harry was weeping over the dead body of Albus Dumbledore. Ginny was beside him, trying to give him as much comfort as she could.
Hermes shook, eyes glistening with tears and shock, still in denial of everything that was unfolding before his eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen. Dumbledore was supposed to live and guide Harry until he finally fulfilled the prophecy and vanquished Voldemort once and for all.
McGonagall looked distraught, raising her wand in the air to honour their beloved Headmaster. The others soon followed as Hermes shakily pulled out his wand and raised it in the air, too.
A tear slipped down from his eyes as he sought the Astronomy Tower and thought he saw a brief flash of blonde and then… and then it was gone.
A/N: Drop a review!
I've been incessantly highlighting Hermes' Hug of Warmth so of course, of course, Iris will inevitably receive it hahaha.
Just so you know, Half-Blood Prince always held a special place in my heart. The Harry Potter series had been black and white to me for the first five books, but after reading the sixth book, I've been introduced to various shades of grey. I've never really minded Draco in the first five novels, dismissing him as a mere bully, but after reading everything that had happened to him in the sixth book, I really, truly wanted him to be happy in the end. I'm still super annoyed the redemption arc he deserved was never realized ughhhhh. It was one of the most frustrating things in this beloved series, to be honest.
Oh well, we have fanfiction for that and Redeemed!Draco had always been one of my favourites.
That's it for now!
With love,
WickedlyAwesomeMe