I swear, sometimes it's like you want me to hate you. – Hermione Granger
Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at the head of the large conference table and surveyed the witches and wizards surrounding him. He didn't usually attend such menial events, but the rising issues within Muggle London had forced his hand. He ordered the Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Investigators to congregate together in order to properly work toward finding the culprit to the attacks.
He had read Theodore Nott's report so many times the parchment had thinned at the corners. It wasn't a simple matter to inform the Muggle Minister about the truth of the matter. In fact, it had been a humiliating experience he'd rather not repeat. Kingsley couldn't recall a time he'd been reduced to a stammering fool.
"I'm going to assume Investigator Nott's report has been read, reread and memorised." The Minister for Magic stood as his voice boomed over the idle chatter. "Is everyone present and accounted for?" Kingsley eyed the empty seat beside Draco Malfoy, yet the Hit Wizard remained stubbornly silent.
"Yes, sir. We've limited the audience to the Aurors, Investigators, and Hit Wizards currently assigned to the case. Smith is on convalescence due to a family issue, and Ms Granger, of course, is consulting with the Unspeakables concerning that Hex." Theodore Nott stood while he addressed the Minister, yet he noticed the stiffening of Draco's posture.
"It has been brought to the attention of the Ministry of Magic, the troubles in the Muggle World are directly related to Wizardingkind. Crimes against Muggles face much harsher penalties than in the days past, therefore we need to be diligent in our efforts to bring the culprit to justice." Kingsley wiped a large dark palm down his face and sighed. "Whatever is said in this room remains here. Quick Quills are not to be utilised under any circumstances. Notes are to be written on Charmed Parchment by Mr Malfoy, considering his partner is absent. I've been on the receiving end of enough anger today, let's not add Ms Granger's to it." The uncomfortable faux laughter didn't ease the Minister's angst in the least, but he launched directly into his agenda.
Draco Malfoy, however, wasn't paying attention to the continuous droning of the Minister for Magic. He gripped Hermione Granger's Spelled Quill and left the illusion that he was taking copious notes. He knew she'd be absolutely furious with him for nicking it, but Merlin, the Minister's meetings were always at least two feet of parchment filled with tiny writing, and he hadn't the patience nor the inclination.
He'd had a difficult time since being released from St. Mungo's, though he wasn't the sort of man to admit to such things. He was plagued by dreams he didn't quite understand, and it's not as if he could broach the subject with his mother. His very Pureblood mother that had been avoiding him for days on end and held no answers for him.
Draco knew Hermione Granger had been avoiding him. She hadn't stepped foot in his general vicinity in days. She communicated via owl and was barely civil. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. Draco knew she wasn't the sort of witch to skive off work, therefore it was easy to assume she was simply working somewhere else within the Ministry, and the Minister had not provided the answers.
"Malfoy, the Minister's released us for tea nearly twenty minutes ago." Theo clapped his hand onto his mate's shoulder and startled the man.
"I'm aware, Nott. I'm simply…thinking." Draco tapped the quill against the parchment in silent contemplation.
"Think later, come have a bite with me." Theo forcefully grasped Draco's shoulder, until the parchment was neatly rolled and shoved into an inner pocket.
"I don't want to go out," Draco growled, quite nastily.
"I figured as much. I've sent for some takeaway," Theo rolled his eyes, used to Draco's antics, and had planned for such.
They strode in silence toward the Hit Wizard offices, and Draco was pleased to see it was bereft of employees. He had worked alone for a few years, and he hadn't missed it nearly as much as he thought he would. Draco had grown used to Hermione's incessant chatter. He'd grown used to her riotous curls landing in his mouth. He'd grown used to more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.
"My mother is avoiding me and communicating in much the same way Granger is, and I don't like it. Of course, you and I both know it isn't my mother at all. My father never managed to properly duplicate my mother's handwriting, but it's easier to allow him to pretend he's fooled me," Draco propped his feet on his desk and paused, almost as though he were waiting for Hermione to reprimand him.
"Ah yes, the great and illustrious Lucius Malfoy. What did your father have to say this go 'round? Is he still angry with you for soiling your perfectly tailored robes with Mudblood germs?" Theo carefully removed the cartons of takeaway from a well-packed paper sack, and then there was a wand harshly jabbed into the small of his back.
"Don't call her that." Draco's menacing words had the desired effect as Theo froze before he responded with a curt nod.
"I forget sometimes, how much that particular word adversely affects you. However, I do recall you uttering it at least once when we were children," Theo casually sidestepped the jabbing wand and spun on his heel with an offering of warm vittles. "One day you'll have to explain to me your strange Granger obsession."
Draco resisted the urge to throw his wand onto his desk, and gently placed it beside the paper sack. The waft of unfamiliar food intrigued him, but not quite enough to sample anything. He was far too irritated to even entertain the thought of food. It was easy enough to snatch a paper cup filled with a horrible cold concoction, which he immediately regretted.
"It isn't an obsession. It's simple observations. Did you know my bloody mother sent me to my fucking room like an errant toddler and entertained Ronald Weasley? Merlin only knows what the fuck those two chatted about," Draco snarled. "This is dreadful," Draco set the paper cup on the corner of his desk with a sniff.
"It's iced coffee. Apparently, it's all the rage. It wasn't yours. I noticed Granger has a liking for it and thought she might appreciate it after her meeting with the Unspeakables." Theo neglected to mention the fact she had asked him to pick up her order before her meeting, simply to needle Draco.
"Why do you know what she likes? I wasn't aware you were friends."
Theo ignored the way Draco pouted and plucked a pair of wooden sticks from the paper sack. He thrust them into his carton and delicately plucked a piece of chicken slathered in some sort of glaze. He didn't bother himself with details and chewed ever so slowly.
"You never did tell me what dear old dad had to say," Theo carefully patted his lips with a paper napkin he considered gauche, and waited.
"My mother," Draco emphasized, "sent me the Betrothal Contracts, despite the fact I told them I wasn't interested in securing Astoria Greengrass. My father is absolutely adamant. It's ridiculous. I'm not a child. If I don't want to marry her, I shouldn't have to. I'm twenty-four years old, but you'd think my nappies still required changing," He sulked with his hand against his cheek, and it didn't escape Theo's attention the way Draco toyed with Hermione's favourite quill.
"You could always tell your father the truth," Theo sucked his teeth for a moment and stroked his pointed jaw. "I'm sorry Father, I absolutely cannot marry Astoria Greengrass. I have an obsession with a Muggle-born witch and—"
"I am not obsessed," Draco's fist slammed against the dark wood desk and threw himself backwards in his chair. "It's not as simple as that. I don't know what it is. It's driving me absolutely mad really. I mean, we met when we were children. I didn't much like her then, and the fact she was lauded as the best at everything didn't make matters easier. I thought it would be miserable working with her, but it's not. I can't get her out of my head, Nott. I don't even like her, at least, I don't think I do. We're…we're friends and-and…we've—" Draco stuttered and then paused as he struggled not only express himself but be honest with himself.
"Kissed. Snogged. Slapped. Any and all of those really, Malfoy. I think you're fighting against the inevitable. I do believe there's attraction there, on both ends. I also believe you'd rather shag a Hippogriff than to admit to such things. I understand it. We were raised to believe we were elite. We're Pureblood and therefore we're the best. It is up to us to set the example and to continue our family's bloodlines. Your parents, specifically your father, simply wish you to live up to a legacy that no longer exists. If you wish to be treated as an adult, it's time to act as though you are one." Theo's pensive dark eyes flitted over Draco's head and he offered Ron Weasley a barely perceptible nod.
He knew the wizard was eavesdropping. Theo also suspected Hermione Granger stood in the shadows. He didn't particularly care for the twitching smirk Weasley sported. It was entirely too Slytherin for the hotheaded Gryffindor. There was a nefarious plot afoot and Theo couldn't wait to see it come to fruition.
"It's not about being an adult. I-I…I can't get her the fuck out of my head, all right? Is that what you want to hear?" Draco's breaths were erratic and he missed the muted gasp near the exit.
"I'm willing to listen, Malfoy," Theo was no longer concerned with their uninvited guests. His friend was struggling more than a little, and he had watched the downward spiral from afar last time. He couldn't do it again.
"She's been avoiding me, Nott! I'm not even certain what happened, and my mother refuses to speak of it. I thought it would get better if I didn't see her, but that's not the case at all. It's worse, Nott." Draco choked down a large quantity of iced coffee, but it didn't stave off the uneasiness lodged in the depths of his stomach. "When I woke in hospital, my nostrils were filled with this scent. I couldn't place it then. I still can't. I was under the misconception it was Astoria, and I won't be making that mistake again. She's the worst shag in the history of the world."
"Worse than Pansy?" Theo chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows conspiratorially.
"I don't know? I never touched Pansy thank you very much. Regardless, it wasn't Astoria. Every time I close my eyes, it's Granger. I don't know if it's actually her, mind you, but my subconscious is a bit of a cunt lately," Draco stopped suddenly, fairly certain he'd heard a stifled laugh.
There was more, so much more he wanted to say, but wouldn't. Draco wouldn't speak of the numerous showers he'd taken with his cock pulsating in his hand as he murmured her name. He wouldn't tell Theo he had kept the pillow from St. Mungo's and Charmed the scent to remain. He wouldn't tell Theo how much he missed Hermione Granger, as it wasn't something he was fond of admitting, even to himself.
Draco wasn't aware of the slight scuffle near the back of the Hit Wizard offices. He didn't hear the muted disagreement that segued into spells being fired. He didn't hear anything at all other than the sound of his own breaths.
He blinked and she was there. She hadn't noticed him yet, as far as he knew anyway, and that was just the way Draco preferred it. He liked to watch her when she was completely unaware. He liked to study the furrow of her brow, the bounce of her curls and the way her teeth always seemed to find their way to worry her bottom lip.
"Harry, you might want to see to Ron, he's being completely ridiculous," Hermione Granger thrust a quill into her bun and marched directly to her desk. She left Ron bound in a storage closet, as she had lost her temper and tired of his habits.
"He'll unbind himself once he calms down. I'm going to assume he's still pretty set on getting back together then?" Harry inclined his head toward Theo Nott and completely ignored Draco Malfoy as he sauntered into the Hit Squad offices.
"He's completely lost the plot. He keeps going on and on about Molly expecting us to marry," Hermione shook her head in utter and complete exasperation with her former beau, only to lock eyes with the one wizard she had been avoiding.
She smirked at his empty paper cup and looked at Theodore, who merely shook his head. Hermione knew Draco detested her iced coffee, and why he would force himself to drink it was only a testament to how much he had missed her. Of course, Hermione knew better than to state such things in public, however, she would speak to him in depth at a later date.
"Sorry, Granger. You know how he is," Theo removed a paper cup of Lady Grey, and offered it to her with a wink.
"Impatient as ever. I suppose he didn't even bother to ask, he simply helped himself to my drink. You're no better, Theo. I'd pretend I was grateful for the favour, but it seems you've eaten my sustenance. You realise you're going to make this up to me?" Hermione dropped a cube of sugar into the paper cup and took a small sip.
"Dinner on Saturday?" Theo smiled slowly and enjoyed the immediate tension more than he probably should.
He noted Harry Potter's unease, yet strangely, his eyes were on Draco Malfoy. It seemed Theo was not alone in his observations, and he was more than a little interested to see how Mr Potter would react to the situation. Sadly, Theo was disappointed when Harry only closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He supposed the Chosen One's thoughts had segued to the bendy Lovegood witch, which was probably for the best.
"Sorry, I've already plans," Hermione refused to reveal her plans, and anyone looking at her could see her stubborn determination to remain secretive.
"Another time, perhaps?" Theodore Nott had always enjoyed pushing his limits, and only the sound of a paper cup crumpling as it was slammed onto the desk caused him to cease his barbs.
"Perhaps."
Hermione and Theo knew it was senseless chatter that would never come to fruition, but Draco Malfoy's pallor suggested otherwise. He had paled considerably, yet his cheeks were hued pink. His fingers trembled and he inhaled deeply, wondering if this was what Harry Potter felt every time someone else touched her. He wasn't fond of having anything in common with The Chosen Bastard, yet it couldn't be helped.
"D'ya think Ron will properly propose?" Harry coughed and his segue in conversation was awkward at best, but it cut through the tension easily enough.
Hermione laughed, and it really was a sweet, sweet sound. Her hand flung forward and landed on Draco's shoulder as she held herself aloft. It took her a few moments, but she managed to stifle her laughter, though she didn't remove her hand from his shoulder. In fact, she contracted her fingers and squeezed gently.
"Oh Harry, I love you, but to answer your inappropriate question, absolutely not. Knowing him the way we do, could you really imagine Ronald Weasley providing the slightest bit of pomp and circumstance? I'm not that sort of witch regardless, but he'd leave a box on my desk with a half eaten chocolate frog and a smudged note. Besides, I don't think I've got anything to worry about. Molly can make all the plans she wishes. It doesn't bother me. In the end, it's my decision, and as much as I love Ron, he'll never change, and neither will I, which makes us ill-suited at best." Hermione's thumb stroked the back of Draco's neck, and Theo pretended he couldn't see the intimacy of the situation.
"I suppose this is a bad time to tell he's bought a ring then?" Harry winced but felt it was far better Hermione be prepared than caught completely unaware.
Draco Malfoy pushed away from the desk. He didn't pause, even as Hermione's hand fell from shoulder. The room was stifling and he needed an escape. He couldn't sit there and listen to Hermione Granger and Harry Potter discussing her impending proposal. He refused.
"Malfoy, wait!" Draco heard Hermione call after him, but he strode toward the door as quickly as his feet would take him.
"I'll see to him, Granger." Theo sighed and shook his head, yet quickly gave chase.
Hermione paused for a moment and then began shoving the takeaway cartons into the bin. Harry stood idly by and watched her. He was procrastinating and they both knew it. They pretended they couldn't hear the raised voices in the corridor until finally, Hermione turned to Harry.
"Go home." She spat and it was then that Ron ambled from the storage room.
"That wasn't very nice, Hermione," Ron grumbled, but he didn't even mean it. He knew she would be angry with him for his eavesdropping tendency, but he never could resist needling her.
"I'm going to see to Malfoy. Harry, go home. Ron, see to that owl, would you?" Hermione gestured toward the imposing eagle owl that swooped through the Hit Wizard offices. It definitely was not an ordinary sight, as the Ministry used Charmed parchment for interoffice memos, but she didn't take a moment to dwell upon it.
While Hermione rushed into the corridor, Ron was carefully untying an awkward package from the leg of the angry owl. He was nipped a few times and cursed under his breath, but he managed. He tore the heavy paper off the package and opened the small box.
"What is it?" Harry tried to look over Ron's shoulder, but Ron snapped the box shut.
"It's a note from Lavender, it says go home," Ron shoved Harry in jest, but in the end, Harry sighed deeply and headed for the lift.
"I'm really unhappy," Harry finally admitted. He kept his eyes on his shoes and half shrugged before the door swung closed behind him.
"I know, Harry. I know," Ron Weasley shook his head, but there was nothing more to do.
Ron turned the box in his hands slowly and suddenly, he wondered what his brother George would do. He chuckled and the twinkle of mischief shone in his blue eyes. He rummaged in his pockets and nearly chortled with glee, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself.
He whistled a jaunty tune and casually placed the box on Hermione's desk. Ron considered eating half the chocolate frog he'd dug from the deep recesses of his pocket, but decided against it. Instead, he propped it against the box with a slow smile. He didn't write a note as was expected of him. Ron Weasley simply shoved his hands in his pockets and turned toward the exit with a bounce in his step.
The horrible owl screeched and Ron cringed at the sound. He cursed under his breath and glared at the beast. He and Narcissa hadn't discussed a bloody reply. He'd done exactly as she'd asked. He knew Hermione better than anyone did and simply leaving the box where it could be found wasn't remotely brilliant.
Ron angrily groaned and scrawled a barely legible reply. He didn't go into detail. He knew the Malfoys would discover the truth soon enough. Ron had never been one to be concerned with the details anyway. All he knew was that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger needed to sort their issues. He also knew they wouldn't do it unless they were forced into it. He wasn't the one doing the actual forcing, he was just sort of giving it a bit of a push, and there was nothing wrong with that. At least that's what he told himself as he headed to the pub.
While Ron was channelling his inner prankster, Hermione was keeping her distance from an irate Draco Malfoy. Theo had managed to corral him into the empty office near the lift. She could hear the raised voices from within and hoped it didn't come to blows. She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and utilised her Gryffindor courage to push open the door.
"I don't want to talk to her! What good would that do? What exactly would that accomplish?! I can't even formulate my thoughts to speak to you , and you want me to just—I don't even know what the fuck you want, you bastard," Draco's temper was truly getting the best of him, and he was incapable of controlling the vast range of conflicting emotions coursing through him.
"You've got to do something, Malfoy. This is thoroughly unhealthy," Theodore Nott highly considered hexing his mate, but it wasn't the time to allow his temper to rise to the surface.
Draco stared passed Theo and swallowed hard. He wasn't used to being out of sorts, especially where a woman was concerned. Hermione Granger was the unattainable. It was one thing to steal a kiss when Harry Potter's wife was on a rampage, or even in comfort during a life-threatening situation. It was quite another to jaunt down the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley with her on his arm as he spat in the face of his legacy.
It wasn't his mother that was the problem. It was never his mother. It was his father. Even after all these years, nothing scared Draco more than the wrath of Lucius Malfoy. It wasn't the fear of being disowned. It wasn't even the memories of Voldemort that caused him to break into a sweat. No, it was the sound of his father's cane slapping against the marble just before it struck him.
"Theo? Is he all right? He doesn't look well." Hermione didn't waste a moment and strode through the office.
Theo shrugged. He knew his response wouldn't mean a thing, not really. Hermione had always done exactly as she wished as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned and he never saw a need to interfere. He watched the beads of sweat gather on Draco's brow and back stepped toward the door. He wasn't needed any longer, and besides, he was aching to have a conversation with Ronald Weasley.
He didn't have a problem with the angry ginger and while Draco had forged an unwilling sort of friendship with the youngest Weasley brother, Theo hadn't. Theo had witnessed much throughout the years, and he knew Ron had Slytherin tendencies just as much as anyone else. Theo wasn't the sort of wizard to let uncertainties lie. He needed answers in order to feel whole, and Ron Weasley was the only wizard capable of providing them.
"Get out, Granger," Draco's cheeks were reddened from the heat of his body and the tension in his limbs. He dropped his head and stared at the lines of his fingers pressed into the dark wood of the desk.
"No. I'm not going to just leave you like this. You're my partner. Talk to me, Malfoy," Hermione crept closer and pulled his fingers from the desktop. "You're unwell."
Draco's shoulders sagged, but he allowed her to slip between his tense body and the desk. His lips parted when her cold palms held his cheeks. His eyelids fluttered shut when Hermione wiped the sweat from his brow. He swallowed hard when he realised he could feel her body heat perilously close to him.
"I'm not unwell. I'm fine, Granger. I'm sure you've more pressing things to do than spend your time tending to someone that doesn't need tending," Draco's tone was scathingly biting, but Hermione had suffered much worse.
"You're being stupid," Hermione frowned and her palms flattened against his chest. "Look, I'm tired of playing this game with you Malfoy. There's obviously something wrong with you and if you don't wish to speak to me about it, fine, but you've got to talk to someone. I'm sure even Ron would be willing to listen—" Hermione squeaked as hard, unyielding fingers dug into the meagre flesh of her hips.
"I don't fucking want to speak to Weasley. What is it you'd like me to say, Granger? It seems Nott didn't have an answer either. Would you like to hear of my nightmares? Would you like a detailed account of my thrashing in my sleep and waking hoarse? How about my frustrating attraction to a woman I can't fucking have, how about that?" Draco Malfoy's grey eyes were wide with realisation at his words, but he grit his teeth with determination.
"Wh—why wouldn't you be able to have her? That's silly, isn't it? I mean the war is over. You work for the Ministry. You're nothing like the spoilt wanker you were as a child," Hermione winced from the sensation of the hardwood digging into her arse.
"I don't even enjoy admitting my attraction to myself, and I can't imagine she'd be satisfied with that. My father would have me fucking killed. I'm still terrified of him, did I ever tell you that? Despite the fact I've overcome much, my boggart is still my father, even after all this time. I'm aware it's pathetic, don't look at me like that, Granger. He'd never accept her, and I'm still a spoilt child seeking his father's approval. I'm fucking pathetic, but it doesn't bother me anymore. She'd never have me, and I wouldn't expect her to," Draco stared at his fingers and slowly released Hermione's hips.
"You are not your father. You no longer have to live up to his debased expectations. You're actually a respectable member of society, and if the witch of your choosing wouldn't accept you, the issue isn't with you, it's with her. Unless of course, she was betrothed or married or something of the like, I mean—" Hermione paused lamely and allowed her words to trail away into nothingness.
"I know I'm not my father, Granger," Draco dropped his head to her shoulder and inhaled deeply against her skin. "I know he wouldn't actually kill me, but he'd definitely think about it." The mirthless chuckle against her skin gave Hermione pause.
"I'm sure he wouldn't be the first," Hermione's voice lowered to little more than a whisper as she sensed the intimacy of their current positions. "I should—I should probably be going."
Draco shivered lightly as the sensation of her warm breath washed over him. It was difficult for him to draw a proper breath as his nose dallied behind her ear. He enjoyed the gooseflesh littering her skin from his hot breath, and he was incapable of resisting the urge to taste her throat. His tongue flicked forward and he tasted the sunshine.
"Do you really want to leave, Granger?" His sultry voice caused her to tremble, but Hermione managed to shake her head.
"I should go. This—this could be an after effect of the Hex and you're obviously not in your right mind." Hermione's voice shook and still, she couldn't manage to extricate herself from his sinewy arms.
Hermione yelped in alarm when he set her on the desk and forced her thighs apart. He wedged between her legs so easily she wondered how her skirt hadn't torn. It was a heady sensation to feel his tongue against her throat. The mark on her neck tingled, which made other body parts she'd rather not discuss feel exceedingly hot.
"After effects my arse. St. Mungo's cleared us," Draco mumbled against the inviting sinew of pulsating skin.
Hermione whimpered with every sweeping pass of his tongue and he grew to crave the sound. He wanted to sink his teeth into the exact same spot until it drew blood. Strangely, he wanted to taste it against his tongue. Instead, he settled for a palm beneath her blouse and a breast in his hand.
"Mal-Malfoy," Hermione stuttered. "This isn't you. It's the V-Veela blood in your—in your veins."
Hermione clung to every ounce of logic embedded in her brain and sought to rein in the wizard currently manipulating her breasts. She didn't want him to stop. It felt better than she thought it should and Hermione knew her knickers were soaked through.
"You're right. You should go." Draco panted with the exertion of keeping his hands from pushing her onto the desk and hastily dropped his hands. "If you don't, I'm apt to have you, right here, right now."
Hermione gasped lightly as she sensed his inner turmoil. She patiently waited for him to retreat, and relaxed when his hands shifted from her hips to her waist. Of course, the tension immediately returned when Draco cupped her breasts with a stifled moan.
"Malfoy, stop. You don't want me like that. We'll suss it out." Hermione pushed against him and was relieved when there wasn't resistance. She felt his eyes on her as she stumbled from the office, but she didn't turn.
"You've no idea how much I wish you were right, Granger," Draco whispered to himself, as Hermione was gone.
The corridors and even the Hit Wizard offices were empty. Hermione rushed to her desk to collect her belongings. Her heart pounded furiously, while her thoughts were laced with more confusion than she could manage on her own. She needed a stiff drink and a good friend, but both of those things were in short supply.
She sunk into her desk chair and resisted the urge to smash her head onto the mahogany. She groaned and covered her head with her arms. It was madness. There had to be a logical explanation. Hermione refused to believe simple magic tendencies were wreaking such havoc. She and Draco had never had a sexual relationship or even alluded to such. It was impossible for him to claim an attraction sourced from nothing other than the blood roaring through his veins.
Hermione stood abruptly and slapped her palms onto the haphazard stack of parchment laid across her desk. A small white box bounced and drew her eye. She was always a curious sort, therefore it was second nature to open the lid.
"You've got to be bloody kidding me." Hermione deliberated hurling the box across the room, but she didn't.
Instead, she studied the contents with narrowed eyes. It really was quite beautiful, which was what surprised her the most. It wasn't something Ron had chosen alone, that much was obvious.
It was going to be difficult to return it, but she was absolutely not going to marry Ronald Weasley. Hermione was undeniably convinced she had made such things completely clear. They weren't even dating! It was absurd! Then again, Ron had a tendency to embrace the absurd.
With a sigh, Hermione stroked the tasteful diamonds and felt the jolt of magic spark against her fingertips. She plucked it from the box and sighed. She knew she should place it back into the box and hurl it directly at Ron's head, but that's not what she did. Hermione slipped the ring into her pocket and hurried from the Ministry lest she be discovered.