DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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The professors were all going to think that Harry was suffering from severe incontinence with the way he was constantly asking to use the john. Hermione, of course, knew he was really just slipping away to check the Marauder's map for Malfoy's whereabouts.
It was as she had feared – Harry was obsessed to the point of madness. He was always, always searching, his eyes darting wildly hither and thither, and he was always, always disappointed. If he found Malfoy doing regular, innocuous things, he'd shove the map away and run his hands through his hair in frustration. If he found that Malfoy had pulled one of his mysterious disappearing acts, he'd shove the map away, yank his glasses off, and rub his eyes in an utterly harrowed kind of way.
That was the position Hermione found him in as she returned to the common room after an evening of studying about medicinal herbs with Padma. She sat down next to him on the sofa, and waited patiently for his face to emerge from his hands.
"Hello," she said pleasantly.
"Hi," he sighed, slipping his glasses back on and giving her a look of pure despondency.
"Malfoy's gone missing again, has he?"
"Yes!" cried Harry, suddenly full of heated agitation, "It's so bloody maddening. I've scanned every inch of the castle; he's nowhere. I can't have missed him! I can't... I mean, I don't think I could have..." he trailed off and stared into the fire. Then he turned back to look at her. "Hey! Why don't you have a gander? See if I've missed any–"
"No."
"Hermione, come on...!"
"Absolutely not," she pressed, "I will have nothing to do with your fanatical mission, Captain Ahab. You're wasting away your time and sanity! Give up, already."
"How can you say that?" Harry demanded, "You know that Malfoy is up to something shifty and dangerous; how can you happily sit on your hands while he goes about doing... it?"
"You've told Dumbledore, Harry. Why not let him deal with this?" Hermione adapted a gentle, pacifying tone.
Harry was not pacified. "Fat lot of good that did. Dumbledore didn't give a shit."
She didn't say anything. Hadn't he understood how Dumbledore functioned by now? He was all about maintaining a facade of absolute calm, when in fact his mind was whizzing, covering every corner. Hermione often wondered how much the old man really knew... how much he had planned, foreseen, or manipulated...
Since the post-triwizard horror show and the shambles at the ministry, she had had plenty of harsh thoughts about her headmaster. While she knew he cared about Harry, she hated how he was only providing him with information in bits and pieces, at a pace that he seemed to think would best serve the course of events. He had an agenda – that much was obvious. Certainly, his motive was to see the end of Voldemort... but this determination made Hermione very nervous. She didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice, and... he clearly wasn't infallible. Sometimes, she wanted to barge into his office and insist that he tell her everything.
Harry was lost in his thoughts as well. His forehead was creased with aggravation and preoccupation. Hermione felt terrible.
"Show me the map, Harry," she said softly.
He jerked in surprise, and after considering her for a short moment, handed over the yellowed bit of parchment.
Hermione bent over the sheet, and let her eyes sweep across it, registering every black dot present. Not one was marked 'Draco Malfoy'. She sighed, straightening her spine.
"He isn't there."
"I knew it," Harry growled, scowling down at her lap.
"Crabbe is over there, between the sixth and seventh floor... and Goyle's... there! Fourth floor corridor..."
"They're hardly ever together, the three of them. Which would be weird but, well... not everybody remains friends forever, right?" and suddenly, Harry was morose, "Look at you and Ron– " She felt her face heat up. "–Are you sure Nott doesn't know anything?"
"Yes, Harry. He's got nothing to do with any of... whatever's going on."
"Alright. Mischief managed," he intoned bleakly. He was so transparently glum, which was a very unsettling anomaly. Harry almost never let his emotions show.
They fell into their own minds again.
"Who's Captain Ahab?" he asked, out of the blue.
Hermione felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She told Harry the story of a bitter, manically obsessed man, out on a debilitating and vengeful quest to slay a great white ferret.
It was wonderful to hear him laugh.
It was truly mindboggling that the wizarding world couldn't come up with a single decent mode of transportation. Broomsticks were a safety hazard, the floo network was messy and potentially unreliable, portkeys induced motion sickness and vertigo simultaneously, and finally, apparition... a slippery, monstrous menace that could go straight to hell.
This was the sentiment that united the entire lot of sixth years' after their third lesson. Not a single student had managed to apparate successfully, though twelve people had splinched themselves, the latest being Justin Finch-Fletchley. Hermione watched him limp into the Great Hall during dinner, looking exceptionally sulky.
"Nobody," grumbled Seamus, "Nobody told me it would be this difficult. That Twycross... I could give him a clatter."
"Yeah," Dean seconded, "Fuck his three D's!"
Ginny smirked. "What? All at once?"
Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, spilling more than half of it down his robes.
On the twenty-eighth of February, at twelve PM sharp, she began looking for him. However, much to Hermione's dismay and irritation, Theo Nott was nowhere to be found. At twelve-thirty, she gave up, and dejectedly went to attend her Transfiguration lesson.
She finally saw him two and a half hours later, when he burst into the potions classroom, looking flushed and dishevelled, like he had come running all the way from Albania. Taking his usual seat next to Malfoy, he looked confused at Hermione's look of displeasure when their eyes met.
After class finally ended, Hermione indicated with a gentle tilt of her head that he should follow her, and stalked out of the room. He caught up with her as she reached the stairs, and silently ascended alongside. They were on the second floor when Hermione finally spoke.
"Where have you been all day?"
"With Luna. She said she had something for me, and it ended up being in the sodding forest. Of course it couldn't be somewhere sane and normal, and just... well... there was tree climbing involved... ah, but, anyway... did you need me for something?"
As they walked into an empty classroom, Hermione gave him a look that screamed 'obviously'. She rummaged around in her bag, and pulled out a neatly wrapped package.
"Happy birthday," she stated.
Theo grinned as he took custody of his present, and began tearing into the paper with gusto.
"You don't have to open it right now..."
"Yes, I do! I simply have – wow! This is beautiful, Hermione! Thank you! Did you make it yourself?" he chirruped as he held up the jade and indigo scarf.
"Yes," Hermione said, timidly, "It's imbued with six different protective charms. Not fail-safe, by any means, but it should hold against basic hexes. It's also temperature sensitive; it'll keep you cool in the summer, and warm in the winter..."
"You are brilliant," Theo declared. He wrapped the scarf around his neck, and beamed at her. "How do I look?"
"Very smart," Hermione laughed. "There's also this," and she pulled another box out of her bag, "I had my mum send it over – it's from my favourite bakery back home..."
Inside the box was a small frosted chocolate cake. Setting it down on a desk, she conjured a candle and lit it, then took a small step back waiting for Theo to do the honours. He was still wearing a humungous grin, and with dancing eyes he bent his head to blow out the tiny flame.
"Happy birthday," Hermione said once more.
With large slices on conjured plates, they stood by a window and ate while watching storm clouds gather outside.
"Mother of Merlin, this is glorious," Theo groaned.
"Isn't it? I'll have to take you to this place someday. They have the most incredible assortment of baked goods. You might die, but it'll be a good way to go."
"Definitely."
"So," Hermione's grin felt a bit wicked as she said, "Theo and Luna were sitting in a tree...?"
He flushed instantly, but his high spirits seemed to be preventing him from projecting a convincing look of disapproval.
"Yes. But we were not engaged in any scandalous activity as you're so inelegantly implying."
"That so?"
"That is so."
She laughed, and Theo marched off to help himself to more cake. He came back with a slice considerably larger than the first.
"This is truly," he said between mouthfuls, "One of the best birthdays I have ever had. The entire morning in the company of the girl that I, uh, with Luna... Cake and presents with my best friend... and there is, without a doubt, a bottle of firewhiskey and sweetmeats from the Malfoy kitchens waiting for me in my dorm. There's also a good chance Narcissa would have taken the trouble to ensure that..."
He went on talking for a while, but Hermione had stopped listening, her brain stuck on a word. She didn't know how much later he picked up on her inattentiveness, but she resurfaced when he tugged at her sleeve, asking, "Where'd you go off to?"
"Erm, I... I was just..." she felt ridiculous and childish, but soldiered on, "You said, um, 'best friend'?"
"...Yes...?" Theo's expression communicated a tacit 'and your point is...?'
"I though... Malfoy..."
"Well, yeah," he rolled his eyes, "Draco is my brother, and I care about him more than life itself. But lately, he's been more than a little preoccupied and absent. Not that I blame him, mind you. Not in the least. Nonetheless, he's not been... around. Now you," he smiled down at her indulgently, "you are my tiny, mad-haired salvation. And I love you to pieces."
Warmth bloomed somewhere deep in her chest, and suffused her entire being. She stared up at him with wide eyes, utterly bowled over. Nobody, besides her parents, had ever so blatantly declared their affection for her.
"Speechless, are we? It's okay. I understand. You're overwhelmed. I have that effect on people. You needn't worry though; I know you love me, too."
Still gripped by her awe, Hermione couldn't find the words to vocalise her concurrence. So instead, she simply nodded. Vigorously.
Hermione sat up in bed that night leafing through a book on concealment charms with total determination. Yes, she was focused. Her mind was completely occupied. Full. Focused. No, wait... she'd already used focused. She was absorbed. Engrossed. Immersed. She was not thinking about inconsequential trivialities, like the fact that there was to be another birthday the next day, and that there was another boy who'd be coming of age... a boy who had not – and wouldn't ever – tell her he loved her, in any capacity...
Fuck, shit, dash it all.
She wondered what Ron had planned for the day. He must have been terribly upset that the weekend's trip to Hogsmeade had been cancelled... perhaps, if the weather allowed it, he'd have a small picnic by the lake, with Harry, Ginny, Dean, Neville, Seamus... Parvati... Lavender.
Hermione put away the book, extinguished the orb of light she was reading by, and lay down in the dark, focusing on breathing.
Why oh why couldn't she feel this way about Theo? But then... he was besotted with Luna, and that would be a whole other terrible situation in itself. Why couldn't she feel this way about... god, one of the many single, decent boys in her year? About... about Padma. Or better yet... why couldn't she just not feel this way at all? About anyone. Ever.
Honestly, such maudlin yearning was tarnishing her brilliance. She had turned away from a book she'd normally have finished before falling asleep, so that she could... what?... Moon over the cruelly tantalising way in which red hair gleamed in the sunlight, when a tall figure with lovely broad shoulders would throw back his head and laugh?
Fuck. Shit. Dash. It. All.
She closed her eyes, and begged for sleep.
"Yes, I thought as much."
Hermione spun around and blinked at Ginny's look of exasperation.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said I thought as much. I was damn near certain you'd choose to hide in some sad corner instead of going to the Great Hall to eat breakfast."
"I am not hiding in a sad corner," Hermione groused from the sad corn - shadowy crook where she'd been standing for the past fifteen minutes, "I'm not hungry."
She was ravenous.
"He hasn't come down yet, you know."
"Who hasn't?" Hermione asked mulishly.
Ginny narrowed her eyes. "My idiotic brother, that's who. I reckon he's still in bed, cuddling and petting his presents. So? Will you please come eat breakfast with me? I promise I'll leave with you if he shows up."
Hermione huffed, but let Ginny lead the way downstairs. She needn't have worried – Ron didn't make an appearance... nor did Harry. She tried staunchly not to wonder what that was about.
Ginny offered to accompany her to the library after breakfast, on the condition that Hermione proofread her Muggle Studies essay.
But they never made it to the library. Professor McGonagall, pale and grim, waylaid them in the entrance hall.
"Ms. Granger, Ms. Weasley; come with me please." With no further explanation, she began a brisk march up the stairs.
"Um, Professor," Ginny ventured, after exchanging an apprehensive glance with Hermione, "Is something wrong?"
"I'm afraid so," she replied sombrely, "Your brother was poisoned earlier this morning."
Hermione felt the bottom fall out of her world.