This chapter is dedicated to The Salty Sisters Drama Club. I hope it isn't too disappointing!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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Valentine's day.
Sunday.
Such a fortuitous coincidence.
Terry had his fingers wrapped around Hermione's wrist as he led her down corridors and stairs, taking her to some wonderful surprise that she was absolutely going to love. He was sure.
He kept singing of his surety with a big grin, an expression she did her best to mimic in spite of her nerves.
Yes, she was awfully nervous: Surprises made her instinctively wary.
On the fifth floor, while he was telling her something about weather vanes, a figure – a veritable blur of black and white – rushed by, only narrowly missing crashing right into them.
Hermione dug her heels into the ground and spun around, just in time to see the figure skid to a halt.
"Granger!" Malfoy exclaimed wildly, "Theo – he's in the hospital wing!"
"What?!" she shrieked, pulling away from Terry, "What happened?!"
But he'd already taken off; was already turning the corner...
And she sped off after him.
With a roar in her ears – a thunderous mix of whistling air and thumping pulses and echoes of Pan screaming – she ran, chasing Malfoy's billowing cloak.
When she got to the hospital wing the doors were closing behind him, and she burst through before they could complete their venture. She ran to the bed at the far end of the room where Malfoy had stopped with his hands gripping the footboard.
"Oh, Salazar," Theo groaned when he saw her, "You as well?!"
Semi-recumbent and surrounded by many fluffy pillows, his head wrapped up in gauze, he was scowling petulantly. One leg was under the covers and one out, the latter encased in a heavy cast.
"What happened to you?" Hermione panted. Her hands flew to the base of her throat in alarm. "How did–"
"Who told you I'm here?" Theo interrupted with a snappy huff.
Her eyes darted towards Malfoy, who was still catching his breath and staring dumbly at the injured party.
"He did."
"And who told you?" Theo addressed Malfoy.
It snapped him out of his daze. "What the fuck happened?"
"Nothing."
"Clearly something did!" Hermione cried shrilly, "Do you not remember? How hard did you hit your head?"
"I'm fine," he ground out.
She took a step back. "I'm going to get Madam Pomf–"
"No!" Theo sat up immediately, "Don't! I fell, alright? It was a silly accident, and I'll be fine. Just fine." When he was sure that Hermione was staying put, he fell back against his pillows. "You both can go now."
"I'm not budging until you explain," Malfoy retorted firmly.
Hermione nodded in earnest agreement.
Theo's mouth was dramatically turned down and twitching. His eyes were narrowed, and brow was furrowed. If it wasn't for the fact that he was obviously quite hurt, Hermione might've laughed at such childish sulking.
"It's like I told you. I fell."
"How?" Malfoy demanded, leaning forward impatiently, "Down the stairs? Off a broom? Tripped over something?"
Theo crossed his arms and turned his face away. "Out of a tree."
It was the kind of unexpected revelation that was bound to be succeeded by a spell of flabbergasted silence.
"You fell out of a tree," Hermione parroted – just to make sure.
He grunted.
"And what, pray tell, were you doing up a tree?" Malfoy asked with perfect dryness.
Theo didn't respond. Hermione had to repeat his name four times, in four different tones of escalating desperation, before he snapped his face back towards her with barefaced fury.
"It's Valentine's day, yeah?" he all but shouted, "I wanted to do something romantic for Luna!"
She bit her lips between her teeth as she considered him for a moment. "Something romantic... up in a tree."
Her inflection made him unnecessarily indignant. "It – it – it means something to us, damn it. I'm not insane. That tree is special! I was conjuring a few odds and ends on the upper branches when Luna suddenly showed up early, and... and it startled me, so... so... uh, I–"
"You decided to give a very literal demonstration of how you fell for her," Malfoy drawled.
"Naff. Off."
Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh –
Malfoy had shed his strained stance entirely. He was now standing upright, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets. Amusement danced in his eyes as he brazenly faced Theo's ire.
"Break your leg, did you?" he asked with only the faintest hint of a laugh.
"And sliced open my head," Theo grumbled.
"So romantic."
"Do not push me right now, Draco."
As an ill-fated spectator to this clash of smirk and glare, Hermione stood silently to the side with her nails digging into her palms to keep her amusement contained. After what seemed like several hours, she was rescued from that bizarre impasse by the arrival of Luna.
"Oh, good," she said as she daintily settled on the side of Theo's bed, "You're both here."
Theo glowered. "Did you tell them?"
"Only Draco," she smiled, "Couldn't find Hermione anywhere."
She had a small glass jar in her hand that was full of a pale grey paste.
"What's that, Luna?" Hermione asked.
"It's a heal-all salve," she replied as she began unscrewing the lid, "Really works wonders."
The second the lid came off, a most intolerably ghastly stench exploded across the room. With various howls of distress, Hermione, Theo, and Malfoy recoiled.
"What's in there?" Hermione yelped, slapping her hands across her nose and mouth.
"Stink sap, mostly. It's loaded with remedial properties."
"No, it isn't!" Malfoy balked.
"Get that shit away from me!" Theo bayed.
Tut-tutting, Luna shifted closer to him. "Don't be a child, Theo. This will have you feeling better in no time."
"No!" he wailed, "NO! Luna – no – help me – OI! DRACO! Where are you going?!" (Malfoy was already halfway to the door.) "Hermione!" he gasped, "Hermione! Tell her – Hermione – please–"
Hermione's eyes had begun to water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" she mumbled, and backed away.
And away.
And away...
The twin doors slammed shut behind her and she finally allowed herself to draw in a huge breath.
"My god," she choked. A little ahead, Malfoy had stuck his head out of an open window, which seemed like an excellent idea.
She rushed over to his side to fill her lungs with fresh, cool air.
"Oh, I hope Pomfrey comes out before Luna can actually slather that stuff on him," she muttered breathlessly.
Outside, the forest with all its evergreens formed a woolly carpet, and she wondered which one of them was Theo's special tree.
"I hope she doesn't."
She turned to look at him and observed his profile, faintly lit by the misty morning light.
"You're terrible," she told him.
He rolled his eyes and pushed away from the window. Hermione watched him saunter off, his cloak fluttering around his ankles...
When, all of a sudden, she remembered.
Terry. Oh shit, Terry. Terry and his wonderful surprise.
She barrelled ahead. He'd probably... maybe... hopefully... be in the common room. She knew he was going to be upset and difficult – although why he hadn't come along when he'd heard that Theo was in the hospital wing was beyond her.
Unfortunately, her brisk march and Malfoy's long-stepped saunter appeared to have the exact same velocity. And so, they were walking side by side down the passageway. If she moved any faster, she'd be jogging. If she slowed down, she'd be wasting time. Why the hell couldn't he adjust his pace?
Hermione snuck him a look from the corner of her eye. He didn't even seem to have registered her presence, despite the fact that there couldn't be more than four feet between them. He was staring ahead in an abstracted sort of way, moving along mechanically...
She turned away.
(There were still four floors to go.)
She glanced back.
(He was looking at the large landscape painting on the wall.)
"I'm really looking forward to the next section of Delphi's diary," she blurted out, far too loudly.
Malfoy faltered, and looked down at her with a jerk. His eyebrows drew together in a soft frown. He blinked.
"What?"
"It's bound to be so interesting, you know?" she babbled, and her pitch went all over the place. "Particularly the bits about Apollo."
He cleared his throat. His mouth was thinned and his posture stiff – the general appearance of someone who wished to be elsewhere – but he squared his shoulders and said, slowly, in his usual clipped manner: "The alchemist?"
"Ah, yes," Hermione answered, still too fast and high, "According to muggle mythology, he's the sun god, and the place where she was located was his temple. Where he'd slain a serpent... a drako... incidentally."
"Fascinating."
"Isn't it? Muggle mythology has deified the entire ancient Greek magical community."
"Is that so?"
Once again, she stole a peek. His expression hadn't changed; it was like he was only playing along to keep from being overtly rude. Well, that just wasn't on.
With her eyes fixed steadily on him, she said, "The whole saga is compiled in an epic poem, Theogony, by Hesiod. I don't have the original, but I do have a book about it. I can lend it to you if you want."
Success! He turned her way with brows raised high, mouth pursed to the side with... surprise? Bemusement? Consideration? She arched a single brow in retaliation. If he dared to utter even a lone impolite word, she'd remind him that he'd had no problem reading her books before.
In fact, she sort of wanted him to refuse, just to get a chance to decimate him.
"Yeah," he said, "All right."
"Oh," she breathed. She wasn't sure how her face had reacted, but it triggered a tiny smile on his. A tiny victorious smile.
The slimy bugger had been in on the game all along.
"Brilliant," she declared through gritted teeth. She let her hair fall around her face as she rooted around in the beaded pouch that she'd pulled out of her pocket.
And through it all they hadn't stopped walking, maintaining a consistent distance-time ratio.
"Here."
She barked like she was giving an order. He accepted the book with grace... Grace that was negated by the smugness that the curve of his mouth conveyed.
"Thank you, Granger," he pronounced slowly.
"You're welcome."
"Do you generally carry this book around with you?"
"I carry all my books around with me."
"Really?"
She glared up at him; he was watching her doubtfully... sardonically. She shook her pouch and it made a racket like a giant, loaded trunk would.
"Undetectable Extension charm."
He pushed the inside of his cheek with his tongue, eyeing her little bag closely. "Is that legal?"
Infinitely more so than a Dark Mark.
"Yes," she snapped.
"Right."
Finally, they arrived at their common room. The door opened and they parted ways wordlessly. Hermione shook her head to set it back on track.
She scanned the room from corner to corner, but Terry was nowhere to be found. She repeated the search twice – just in case – but the only people around were Justin, Susan, and Michael, conversing by the fireplace. She inhaled deeply and made her way up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.
"Terry?" she called through his door when her first two knocks proved to be fruitless. "Terry?"
He opened the door after her fifth knock, and stood before her all dour and stony faced.
"What is it?"
And though his disposition was exactly what she'd expected, it riled her up.
"Theo's fine, by the way. Thanks for asking."
He sneered. "What happened to him?"
"He had a bit of an accident. Broke his leg."
"Hm. Well I'm glad he's going to be alright."
There was a long bout of awful silence as they stared each other down, after which, in a show of exemplary inner-strength, Hermione forced herself to smile.
"So shall we go see about that surprise now?"
"No. I'm not in the mood."
"I see. May I come in then?"
"Why?"
"I think we should talk."
He laughed bitterly as he stepped aside to let her pass. She slipped in and stood by his bed – the bed she'd rolled around in just the night before – and he slammed the door shut. He settled way on the other side of the room, on a chair by his desk.
"Look," she began, "I'm sorry your plans got derailed. But you have to understand... Theo was hurt. Of course I had to go to him."
"You didn't just go to him, Hermione," Terry growled, "You ran off without a bloody word!"
"I thought you'd come along as well!"
"Sure, because that's all I'm supposed to do, yeah? Wag my tail and follow you around?"
"What?! You're being ridiculous!"
"Oh, am I?"
"YES! Theo's my best friend! I would've–"
"I thought Potter and Weasley were your best friends."
She slowly closed and opened her eyes. "They are."
"Ha!" Terry snarled, "They're all your best friends, eh? And they're all blokes."
"What's that got to do with anything?" she demanded disbelievingly.
"You don't see why I would find the whole thing dodgy? These blokes for whom you're constantly ditching me–"
"Ditching?" she shrieked, "He was in the hospital wing! Did you expect me to ignore that?"
He jumped to his feet and took four furious steps towards her. "What about the time you told me to fuck off and went to meet Potter and Weasley in Hogsmeade?"
"That is not how it happened!"
"That is exactly how it happened. Do you really expect me to believe that there's nothing going on between you and all the many blokes you put before me?"
"Are you mad?" she sputtered, "Are you absolutely insane? Harry's with Ginny. Theo's utterly besotted with Luna. And – and – um."
"Yes," he rumbled lowly, "Go on. What about Weasley then? Everybody knows you both have been dancing around each other for years."
She felt her fists tighten and her eyes narrowed into slits as she hissed, "There is nothing between me and Ron. Nothing."
"I saw you, you know. That day in Hogsmeade. The way you jumped into his arms..."
"I was seeing him after ages! Am I not allowed to hug my be – my friend?"
"That wasn't a hug, Hermione." He spat her name out like it was a slur. "You threw yourself at him."
"What absolute rubbish. You're making a fool out of yourself."
He wilted. It happened in a flash: All traces of truculence dissipated out of his frame, and he slumped.
"You don't even listen to me when I talk," he whispered hoarsely.
She flinched. "That's not true."
"Please don't deny it. I'm not an idiot... you certainly aren't... and... I know it. You know it. I talk and you smile and nod along like you're indulging me, but it's clear as day that you aren't paying attention. Do you have any idea how shitty that makes me feel?"
Something with an unforgiving grip caught hold of Hermione's heart. She tried to swallow but it was impossible. "I – I didn't mean to–"
"I know." His face crumpled. "I've seen you with your... friends. You're considerate... attentive... engaging. I wanted to be with that person so badly. But now I know... it's me. I just don't interest you."
"Terry..." she croaked. What should she say? What could she say?
"Please leave," he murmured, and turned right around.
She stared with glassy eyes at his back for five beats of her racing heart. Then she left.
It wasn't long before everybody knew that Hermione Granger and Terry Boot had broken up. The result of that juicy bit of gossip was the usual, robust supply of whispers and stares.
But that wasn't what bothered Hermione the most. It was the fact that she didn't feel like she'd been in a relationship at all. The whole thing felt like a far-off, fuzzy fragment of life that she could only vaguely remember living; and all the conversations, the walks and kisses and lying naked and spent were things she could easily bundle up and add to her metaphorical cabinet of experiences.
Terry avoided her at all costs, and she responded in kind. In the week that followed, she saw him in and outside class, and when their eyes would meet, he'd look away quickly... crestfallen... and she'd let out a shaky breath.
She knew that look. Terry, Ron, Padma.
Hermione Granger, leaving a trail of broken hearts in her wake. Ugh. Who'd have ever thought...?
xxx
Ginny tried to talk to her about it. Hermione took to steering clear of her as well. Theo, bless him, never did. He sat with her, easy and companionable, accepting her reserve for what it was.
(The one time she'd broken and rasped, "I feel like I'm an awful person," he'd nudged her shoulder and told her that she knew that wasn't true.
"I can collect signatures if you'd like. There isn't enough parchment in the world.")
She got O's in all her homework assignments.
(Three days after the 'break up', Padma – with seemingly authentic regret – "suggested" that she stay away from their study group.
"Just for some time? He's not quite in a state to be around you right now.")
She pushed herself every morning, to run faster... for longer...
And on Friday, she overdid it. It was already ten minutes into breakfast when she burst into the common room, a frazzled mess with shaking legs, one shoelace undone, hair half tumbling out of its ponytail...
"Granger."
She stopped and spun around. "Malfoy?"
Well of course it had to be him when she looked so terribly frightful.
He loped over leisurely, as though he knew she was in a hurry. Then, with a look of inquisitive distaste, (like she was some sort of strange specimen,) he handed her a book with a picture of a black-figure amphora on the cover.
She held the book against her chest and asked, "Did you read it?"
"Of course I bloody read it."
"What did you think?"
While he appeared to mull over her question, she rocked back and forth on her feet. It was true that she was running dreadfully late, but she was simply too curious...
"I think," he said slowly, "That it's fucking hilarious that they made that sleazy old lush Dionysus the god of wine. Years from now, future generations will be reading about Horace Slughorn, god of crystallised pineapple."
Hermione nearly dropped the book, surprised by the loudness of her own laugh. "They will read about how our lives were thrown asunder by the prophesies of the oracle in the North Tower attic."
His lips curled up microscopically. "And about the king of the gods, with his long white beard and dubious morals."
"And about the demi-god who was the hero of the age–"
She bit her tongue. Perhaps she was veering towards dangerous territory?
His expression was utterly blank.
Gesturing awkwardly towards the girls' dorms with her thumb, she mumbled, "I have to... erm..."
He shrugged one shoulder.
She scarpered.
As she zipped through her mundane morning tasks, she couldn't stop dithering between relief and annoyance. On the one hand, she was glad she'd stopped when she had. Yet, she was equally irritated that she hadn't pressed on and initiated a conversation about how happily the gods mixed and mated with mortals.
She should have done it. She should have asked whether he'd consider her to be a goddess or a mortal. She pictured his disgust and dismissal. She pictured brandishing her wand and showing him where she truly belonged.
She imagined him rolling his eyes and calling her the goddess of musty books and horrid hair. She imagined calling him the god of asinine smirks and posturing.
The overgrown path circling the Shrieking Shack looked very different when stripped of snow. Tufts of yellow grass and clumps of weeds knotted around thorny bushes. The trees were as chalky and dry as ever.
Hermione strolled along in a mawkish mood. This is where Terry had kissed her for the first time. This is where she'd been so captivated by the joy of physical intimacy that she'd let things get too out of hand.
Her life had become a never-ending sequence of putting unpleasantries to rest. Of little rituals and ceremonies, funerals and shopping expeditions to bury things and move on. Move on, move on, move on.
Get tortured, move on.
Devastate your parents, move on.
Lose a friend, move on.
Break a heart, move on.
Keep Calm and Carry On.
Wartime propaganda as a motto for life after war.
Forward March!
"I don't think our friendship will last very long if we study together," Ginny groused.
"Pshaw, hush."
Hermione's hand was pressed against the space between Ginny's shoulder blades. She pushed the reluctant girl across the library, to a corner far away from where her old group gathered. Except that the corner table that was nearly always unoccupied, wasn't unoccupied at all.
"About time you showed up!" Dean hollered.
"Shh!" Susan reprimanded hotly.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, head girl–"
Hermione gaped at them all – Dean, Susan, Neville, Hannah, Luna, Theo, Mandy, and Malfoy.
"What is this?"
Theo stood up neatly and drew her to an empty chair.
"We've formed a study group," he explained, "But the thing is, we're pants at studying. And being in a group. And studying in a group. Help us, won't you?"
"Nicely done, Theo," Ginny grinned, "Very subtle."
"What–"
"Don't listen to her, Hermione," Theo decreed while gripping her chin and twisting her face away from Ginny, "Everyone here would love it if you'd teach us your ways."
"THEO'S PUT A STICKING CHARM ON ME!" Malfoy yelled.
"SHH!" Susan hissed.
"He's a liar," Theo averred.
Hermione aimed a venomous, wide-eyed look at Theo. "You're being deliberately patronising to anger me. You think I'll be so affronted that I'll make you study as punishment, to call your 'bluff' as it were, and thus realise your purpose of distracting me. But honestly, sod it. As much as I want to storm away in a strop, the N.E.W.T.s are a mere hundred and thirteen days away. Let's begin with Transfiguration."
There were a couple of sniggers nestled amid the flurry that followed as everybody pulled out books and parchment. Theo was beaming.
"All right," Hermione announced, "Theory of Human Transfiguration and its Limitations, page–"
"Theo, you better let me go RIGHT NOW, or else I'll–"
"PAGE SIXTY-FO–"
"SHHHH!"
"...Sorry, Susan."
On the morning of Xenophilius Lovegood's wedding, Hermione changed the colour of a russet sundress to pale Naples yellow. She gathered her curls into a low bun, pulled on a short cream coat, and went down to the common room.
"You look lovely," Theo told her warmly. He was in bright yellow dress robes, with the scarf she'd given him worn around his neck like a cravat.
"You as well," she smiled, "Hufflepuff colours suit you."
He scoffed, pinching her upper arm lightly before leading her out.
The corridor was flush with yellow fabric. Luna, charming in a simple, flowing tunic reached up to kiss Theo's cheek. Dean was in mustard, Neville in chrome, Ginny in lacy gold, and Malfoy in ochre, with a tan leather cloak.
He let out a low whistle and smirked at Theo. "Don't you look like the consummate Hufflepuff."
Hermione bit her lip and refused to meet Theo's eye as he scoffed. Again.
The sunny, chattering, rustling congregation went down to the headmistress's office, from where they'd be flooing over to the Lovegood residence.
It was a tight fit up the revolving staircase. Hermione was sandwiched between Ginny and Neville. She kept her hands on the latter's back to keep him from falling back onto her. Her left side was pressed against Malfoy's arm. She didn't dare move a muscle till they spilt onto the thick carpet of McGonagall's office.
"Good morning," she greeted from behind her desk, and as Hermione participated in the reciprocatory buzz, she wondered why on earth anyone would consider yellow tartan as appropriate wedding wear.
xxx
The woman Xenophilius was marrying was called Jamila, and she had a round face with a beautiful smile, nestled in a halo of tight black curls.
The ceremony was lovely. In the midst of a field of bright grouse flowers, man and woman made tender vows to forever cherish each other. A glowing thread bound their wrists together.
There was no stuffy formality to be found: No rows of chairs, no alter, no aisle. Just a gathering, a couple, and their commitment.
Hermione stood between Harry and Ron, awash with muddled emotions. A pang in the heart always found a way to pollute happiness. Unfortunately, they weren't like oil and water that never mixed; and the resulting blend tasted a lot like ennui.
The couple kissed and the circle of flowers around them exploded. Petals danced, flitted and darted about like humming birds. Applause broke out. Mrs. Weasley was smiling through her sobs, Luna hugged her father, Ginny leant against Harry's chest, George and Angelina held hands – it was all love, joy, and yellow flowers. The cold, the ominous clouds above, the threat of a downpour couldn't touch them.
During the reception, plain wooden tables and chairs were conjured, along with a counter laden with food that Hermione wouldn't risk tasting. After a painful incident involving Ron and a mystery pie, they took to surreptitiously vanishing everything they put on their plate – after all, they had to at least give the impression of eating.
"The whole point of a wedding is good food," Ron thundered, "What's this bloody thing about then? Why am I even here?"
"But what about embracing spontaneity, Ron? What about being one with the–"
"Hermione," he begged, "Don't."
It went along in that manner till late afternoon. Luna brought out a music box which emitted a lilting melody of flutes and lutes.
Xenophilius and Jamila danced as the sun began its decent, scorching the field with its parting hues. Little by little, more people joined in. Arthur spun a flustered Molly round and around. Ginny dragged Harry off, George held Angelina close as they swayed leisurely.
"When did that happen?" Hermione whispered to Ron.
"Huh? Oh that. Dunno. When I got back from China, they were already a thing."
"It's nice." She smiled as she watched George rest his chin on Angelina's shoulder and close his eyes.
"Hm. Yeah."
It got darker, and the dancing didn't stop. Fairies – swarms and swarms of fairies – rose from the blooms and stalks, flashing, twinkling, whizzing...
Seamus had somehow procured a bag of chocolate frogs to assuage those (i.e., Ron,) who claimed they were on the brink of starvation. The pack of hungry hounds crowded around this unexpected treat, and Hermione broke away in search of company that wasn't so single-minded.
She found a table occupied by Theo, Luna, Neville, and Malfoy, and promptly sank into the lone vacant chair left among them.
Neville's brow puckered as he looked at her, and then at the spot that she had escaped from. "What's going on there?"
"Don't ask."
"Theo, let's dance," Luna sang and fisted the sleeve of his robes.
"What, again?"
"Yes, again."
He chuckled. "As my lady wishes."
The three that remained sat mutely for quite some time. Harry and Ginny made a short appearance. Silence reigned still. They left.
"Oh, what's the time," Malfoy whinged after forever and a minute had gone by.
Hermione checked her watch. "Quarter to six. Still forty-five minutes before we can esca – er – leave."
His answering exhale was heavy with frustration. "Fan. Tastic."
"I've got cards," Neville supplied with a feeble smile.
The mindlessness of Exploding Snap was exactly what was needed. Six rounds and many singed fingers later, it was time to leave. She lost twice, Neville lost four times, and she was absolutely positive that Malfoy had cheated, though she couldn't figure out how.
He was grinning in a full, demented way as they stood to go, and even had the audacity to wink at Neville who was pouting over the burns he had suffered.
xxx
Terry was in the common room when she passed by in her stupid dress. She kept her head down and sprinted up to her room to change for dinner.
That new-fangled study group met again the next day, to tackle shield charms. Hermione Granger was in lecture mode: poised, articulate, absolutely not officious.
"And so," she concluded, "The most powerful form of the shield charm is Protego Horribilis, and–"
"Diabolica." Malfoy popped up like a fetid blister.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Protego Diabolica is the most powerful form of the shield charm."
To properly communicate her disparagement, she lifted her nose into the air. "It isn't exactly a defensive spell."
"That's not the point. If we're comparing the various kinds of protego–"
"Well fine!" (It wasn't easy being forceful while maintaining a low volume.) "The most powerful, defensive form–"
"Purely protective and non-offensive, Granger. Vicious it may be, but Diabolica is still quite useful defensively."
"If," Hermione seethed, snapping her book shut with unintended violence, "Malfoy is quite finished being pointlessly pedantic–"
"Pointlessly?" His eyes widened as he gasped facetiously. "Attention to detail is very important. It's the difference between an E and an O."
She turned sharply to the boy sitting beside her with a fist covering his laughing mouth.
"Theo," she railed (softly,) "Let him go. Please."
"You heard the queen," Malfoy jeered, "Let me go."
Theo cackled. "I'm sure you've heard the old adage, Draco; fool me twice and all that. So." He rubbed his hands together with glee, "What's it going to be now? Herbology?"