Seven days. Exactly one week. Then the NEWTs.
The examination schedule was handed out. They were spread over two weeks, with a two-hour written exam in the morning, and the practice in the afternoon. For Hermione, the first week would be rather full – Charms, Arithmancy, Herbology, Potions, and Ancient Runes all featured – while the second considerably lighter – Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts – with days off in between, owing to subjects she hadn't opted for.
XXX
Six days. Lessons had been scrapped; instead, all teachers had instated an open-door policy, allowing the final year students to come as they please with doubts and queries. Hermione attempted to make use of that system, only to be told –
"This is not the forum for you to come and simply reel off all that you already know, Ms. Granger."
"Okay, Professor McGonagall," she muttered and left a hapless looking Dean to his final ditch attempt at mastering human transfiguration."
She asked Hestia to help her navigate the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical. Thoughts of the lone E on her OWLs wouldn't stop haunting her.
Hestia was amused... wry, like. A look that said, haven't you had enough practice? But she obliged. She set up a few mannequins for Hermione to practice her spells on, and then aimed some spells at her to test the strength of her shield charms, after which she told her not to worry, and sent her on her way.
XXX
Five days. Hermione stood in a corner, back against the wall, arms wrapped around her waist. Her room fanned out in front of her like an arena, and all her stuff – the notes, the books, the notebooks – lay scattered around at various heights like the broken turrets of a once-great ruin.
She sauntered casually to her desk and leant against it for a moment. She hopped up on the desk and sat; hands clasped on her lap, legs urgently swinging, eyes roving over and across the room. She didn't know what to do. Go over the entire curriculum again from the beginning? Review the complex areas of each subject? Do a couple of more charms on her sock-bundle-makeshift-guineapig?
On the desk, to her left, was the most recent bit of post from mum and dad. She blindly reached towards it to pull out a packet of something called Ovalteenies and ate far too many as she continued to perplexedly survey her room. The generic, predictable display, the methodology of her routine, the god forsaken evil of banality... it all sickened her.
Five days. Five.
She picked up the latest edition of the New Scientist, and left.
There were some people in the common room, gathered around tables and sprawled on the rug, either actively engaged in study, or simply posing, ostensibly pinning their hopes on Dali's attestation: 'If you act the genius, you will be one!' Hermione could tell them apart with ease.
She sat at the table by the window and flipped open the magazine. There was a very highly strung, tightly wound, positively panic-stricken voice inside her head asking her what the hell she was doing.
I am reading a magazine, she told it.
The word MAGIC was printed on the cover (probably why her parents had thought to send it to her,) with a butterfly net. Speeding the world up means catching the light...
Five days.
She skimmed over the article about the increase in the sun's output energy and its implications. The voice in her head berated her for subduing her own output energy.
Five days.
However, she did eventually get absorbed into an article about fossils and the mysteries of the ocean bed. It became quite evident as she read that the scientists had stumbled upon a Grindylow.
As she fell deeper in to the pages, her brain quietened, rather enamoured by such a dose of fresh information. She read an alarming piece about the dangerous consequences of Global Warming, and a marvellous one about a breakthrough in tissue engineering technology. On and on it went. She got utterly engrossed.
Quite some time later, she was intruded upon.
"Why are you reading about livestock?"
She blinked up at Draco disconcertedly. He was kitted out to go flying, broom in hand, boots on, black slacks, and a fitted pullover. It was something between deep blue and Payne's grey, a colour she reckoned was absolutely perfect for him. And it was really rather snug, the way it tapered down from the width of his shoulders to his lean torso.
"Good lord, crawl out of your head faster," he barked.
Her eyes snapped up to his, but he wasn't looking mean at all; rather, he appeared imperiously expectant.
"Uh," she breathed, "Dolly the sheep has given birth to twins."
He sighed. "Okay, never mind. You are obviously barmy–"
"She was cloned using a cell from another fully grown sheep."
He considered her sentence for a long moment. "What do you mean cloned?"
"It might take some time to explain..." Hermione's eyes darted towards his broom.
He looked down at his broom as well. Then he carefully set it to lean against the table, and sat on the chair across from hers.
"Explain."
She could not explain the freakish thrill that ran through her at that moment. Her mouth was tremoring with the desire to smile so she bit down on the insides of her cheeks. Placing the magazine on the table, she looked down at it under the pretext of searching for... something or the other.
She did her best to elucidate. He was rather charmingly fixated on the idea that a microscopic cell could actually be isolated at all, so by the time she got around to talking about nuclear transfers and DNA, he was frowning intensely and listening closely.
"Do you reckon if we could somehow focus magic on something that small, we might be able to get the Geminio charm to work on living things?" he asked.
Hermione's brows shot up. "Er, I don't know. How could you possibly zero in on something so miniscule?"
"That's a job for an Unspeakable, I suppose," he shrugged, "Perhaps some sort of device like that... micro...?"
"Scope," she supplied.
"Yeah, like that, but to channel the spell through."
"Even so," Hermione contended, "All you'll have is a duplicate of DNA. You'll still have to create an embryo and then... grow that embryo into a complex organism. Magic can't do that."
"Right." His frown deepened.
He was quiet, looking pensively down at Dolly the sheep's photograph.
"Wouldn't it have been useful, though, a while back?" Hermione asked.
"Huh?"
"When things were so explosive, and, you know. We could have cloned Theo and had one each and there'd have been no fighting."
"Hm."
"Although," she carried on, "And here's the second catch – People are so much more than their physiology. Theo-two would only be Theo if he'd have shared every single one of the original Theo's experiences and memories."
He didn't even spare her a fleeting glance.
She continued, "Without those, he'd be an empty Theo-shaped shell." (His frown returned.) "Of course, we do know how to extract memories, but watching them isn't remotely the same as living through them."
"You realise you've just been talking to yourself?"
"Well, I would talk to you, but you're too engrossed in admiring how cute Dolly is."
"Sheep aren't cute."
"Excuse me," she baulked, "They absolutely are! Look at her!"
He already was. Yet, Hermione unnecessarily jabbed a finger at Dolly's photograph.
"So fluffy. Such a sweet face."
"Lambs, Granger," Draco pressed, "Lambs are cute. Sheep are not. Trust me, I have been likened to both."
She hesitated a moment. "Who – who has called you a lamb?"
"My mother," he replied plainly.
Laughter burbled at the back of her throat. She regarded his fine, fair hair. "Mary had a little lamb, whose fleece was white as snow."
At last, he looked back up at her, fully. "Who the fuck is Mary now?"
"It's a line from a children's nursery rhyme."
"I'll bet there aren't any rhymes about sheep," he proffered.
"There is, in fact, one about a black sheep–"
"Ah," he smirked, "I've been called that too."
She grinned in earnest, finally. Just then, the common room door opened, and a troop of very disgruntled young men fell in. They crowed in righteous fury the moment they spotted Draco, and thronged around him. Many oaths and accusations were thrown – apparently the worst possible thing is losing a quidditch match against a "bunch of runty fifth years".
Much castigation was thrown Theo's way, who as always, had made no attempt to participate.
Theo – who had thus far been standing a bit to the side simply eyeing Draco's discarded broom – was spurred into action at the mention of his name. He dove into the kerfuffle with an indignant, "Oi, who're you calling a useless prick?!"
And Hermione left to have some lunch.
After eating, her sense of purpose and optimism had been renewed. As a matter of fact, she actually felt rather jolly and thought she'd return to her room to sit a while with Delphi's diary.
However, just as she made to go up the grand staircase, a voice called out her name.
"Yes, Theo," she turned around with a smile.
"Hullo," he returned cheerfully, "Let's go."
He took a firm grip of her elbow and began dragging her in the opposite direction.
"Where are we going?" She tried to come free of his grasp, but she couldn't.
"Lake," he answered, "It's a beautiful day."
"But Theo, I really would like to study," she whinged, "NEWTs are in–"
"A week, I know, but–"
"Five days!"
"BUT we also have less than a month here at Hogwarts. And we haven't had an afternoon of 'Theo and Hermione sitting by the lake' in ages! Please, just half an hour. Will that be so bad?"
No. Of course it wouldn't be bad. Hermione stopped protesting after that. "Lead the way."
Warm, bright, unadulterated early summer greeted them once outside. Hermione shed her robes the moment they reached the lake, and rolled up her sleeves. The grass was a lush green, but also warm and dry. It tickled her legs as she sat. Theo settled beside her with a contented sigh. He stretched out, resting back on his elbows.
There was gentle but persistent breeze and it kept catching her hair. Hermione twisted it up into a bun. She looked up at the canopy of green; the fresh leaves rustled softly, like crepe might rustle under the touch of frail fingers.
"Theo, my friend," she sang, "Why do you insist on playing quidditch when you don't intend to actually play quidditch?"
He grinned up at her. "Do you see how worked up those tossers get? Winding them up is such fun!"
"But why don't they refuse to play with you?"
"No clue!" he cackled.
"How hasn't Draco put his foot down?"
"He has no business telling me anything, after all the times he's forced me to go flying with him. He's resigned himself to it, I think. For the rest of his life, he shall have his game ruined by good old Theo. Unless, of course he cleverly avoids the whole situation entirely, by cosying up to a wild-haired vixen–"
"Oh, shut it," she hissed, her face at once aflame. She looked out at the lake. "What do you think of the NEWTs schedule?"
"Splendid," he declared, "Marvellous. I've never liked anything more."
"Hmph. Do you feel prepared?"
"For what?"
"For the exams!"
"Oh. Eh!" he scoffed, "I'm alright. Doesn't really matter how I do."
She pursed her lips. They'd had this conversation thrice before and he always managed to prevaricate.
"Honestly, what do you plan to do after this?"
"No idea!" he said happily, "Not a damn thing, hopefully!"
"Theodore!"
"Oh, don't you -odore me!"
She huffed loudly to disguise her laugh. Shaking her head she said, "You are far too clever and capable to be a wastrel."
"You are far too young and pretty to be talking like McGonagall."
He lay down fully, and drew his forearm across his eyes.
"Come now, you swot. Relax. Fifteen more minutes and I will send you packing."
He kept her there for another twenty-five minutes, though to be fair, she lost track of time too. When she finally said it was time to go, he seemed inclined to stay back, but she pulled and pulled and pulled him up, insisting he needed to come up and study runes with her.
"I've invested a lot of time ensuring that you have a grasp on this subject," she chided, "I will accept nothing less than an Exceeds Expectations."
"Hermione, listen, seriously. You are McGonagallising at an alarming rate."
Warmth dissipated as soon as they entered the castle. She draped her robes over her shoulders and they smelled of sun and grass.
They went to the library, to their favoured table, where she kept him for forty minutes, going over the six main runic alphabets in painstaking details. He participated as required... barely. There she sat, bent over the table, scribbling on parchment, while there he was, lounging on his chair, tipped back on its two hind legs, calling out answers in a dispassionate sort of way.
She remained focused on her parchment as they walked and he was forced to guide her along, all way to the common room.
"Thank you," she muttered as he pushed her down on an armchair.
"Good look on you, Hermione!" Someone – Dean? – called out. She ignored him, too busy considering the subtle difference between the Anglo-Saxon Eoh and the Macromannin Eho.
People around her tittered. She scrutinised the Bryggen inscriptions.
She translated the Norse Poetic Edda in her head - Ok rað runaʀ þaʀ rægi[n]kundu …. And interpret the runes of divine origin –
"Ha! Impeccable! Could I try?!"
– The great epic Havamal, from the perspective of Odin... I know that I hung... um... vindga meiði... on a windy tree...
"...Hermione."
"Huh?"
Luna perhaps? She didn't look up.
"I think it looks terrific."
"Wha - okay. Thanks."
The Ljóðatal... lyrical charms... sva ec rist oc i rv́nom fác.. So do I write...? No, inscribe? No, no... definitely write.
She shook her head. A proper deluge of quills rained down around her.
"Oh shite, down she goes!"
"What the HELL?!" she shrieked.
She whipped her head around, and Theo and Dean stared back at her with wide guilty eyes and their wands raised.
XXX
Four days. Hermione, Draco, and Padma spent a large portion of the day in the library solving past Arithmancy Papers. They corrected each other's work; Hermione got Padma's, Padma got Draco's, and Draco got Hermione's.
"We're definitely all getting O's," Padma announced with great surety.
"Hopefully," Hermione mumbled.
There was a doodle of an owl at the bottom of her parchment. Small, angry-looking, with steam coming out of its overly fluffy ears.
When she sneered at Draco, he said, "Yes. Exactly."
XXX
Three days. She only left her room for meals. Everyone, everywhere was too loud.
XXX
Two days. Leave her alone.
XXX
One day. Fuck.
For the past two months, right up to the night before, people had accused Hermione of frightening single-mindedness, of an obsession of histrionic proportions. Yet, she woke up on that Monday with a sense of calm.
It was starkly different to how she had felt on the morning before her first OWL. It could've been the war, she thought as she showered, that had given her this new laissez-faire approach. She'd put in the work, she'd done all she could... and now, fretting was pointless. Only thing in her control was what she'd write.
She pulled on her robes over her uniform and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was white as a sheet.
Yeah, fine, sod it. She was apprehensive as hell. She was a bundle of nerves. Nothing had changed.
Of course, they've fucking changed. Everything has changed.
Draco's voice in her head. What a wonderful start to the day.
Eating breakfast was hard. Ginny sat between her and Neville, offering bracing words of encouragement. Now, Neville actually looked reasonably composed. It seemed like Hermione's 'hardened by the war' theory was applicable to him.
She didn't know what it was about tests that did this to her. She had nothing left to prove.
After breakfast, they waited in the courtyard, while the Great Hall was being rearranged for the exam. Theo patted her back comfortingly telling her to stop being silly and that she had to know she would do brilliantly.
"You really aren't even a little worried?" she asked feebly.
"No, you goose. Charms are easy-peasy. Besides, I have my lucky Hermione scarf, and my lucky Luna-Bracelet – Ah, look! We are being summoned."
She exchanged good lucks with him and Luna at the door and walked a shaky course to her seat. The faint, ominous melody in her head belonged in the hall of the mountain king.
("Good luck, Draco," she mumbled, on the way. "Hm?" he replied absently.)
McGonagall stood in the front, watching everyone settle; behind her was an enormous hourglass, much like the ones that kept track of house points.
Hermione sat. She crossed her legs at the ankles and, keeping an immense white-knuckled grip on her quill, stared at the parchment on her table, lying face down. McGonagall flipped the hourglass over with a wave of her wand and announced, "You may begin."
"By Godric, Neville," Dean cackled, "That was your finest moment till date!"
"I beheaded a giant snake!"
"He asked you to make it rain! How did you manage to singe his clothes right off? Poor old todger!"
Just back from dinner, Hermione was making her way to her room, immersed in Early Numerology.
"Hold your hippogriffs, Hermione!" Ginny called.
She stopped. "What is it?"
"Come. Sit with us. Take a break."
She was perched on a table, and Theo, Luna, Neville, Hannah, Dean, and Susan were sitting around her. Draco was sitting on a settee. Lisa Turpin was sitting next to him.
They were all looking at her anticipatorily. Hermione swallowed with some difficulty.
"Nah," she muttered, "Much to do."
"Oh, try not to be a bore sometimes," Ginny chided good-naturedly.
"Why aren't you in your own common room," Hermione asked, peeved.
Ginny shrugged. "Why aren't you making us all go through the Charms exam, question by question, to see if we all got the same answer? Harry warned me that you'd do that."
"That was not well received," she replied primly, "So I stopped."
That's when Draco decided to run his mouth. "Isn't it bad enough doing the exam once?"
"Exactly what Ron had said," she bit back.
And she zipped away before he could react.
Arithmancy went well. There was no skirting around that fact. Time, her hand, her mind had maintained a steady, unflinching flow from the moment she'd dived into the paper, till she finally put down her quill.
She felt better about it than she'd ever imagined.
As students spilled out of the hall, Hermione made a beeline for Draco and Padma, standing on one side of the courtyard.
"Well, what did you think?" Padma asked at once.
"It was okay, I suppose, right?" Hermione ventured.
Draco gave her a look of mild exasperation.
"Come of it!" Padma jostled her shoulder amicably. "It was good!"
After Herbology (from which Hermione's main takeaway was that she would never ever have to be around those foul walking plants again,) and Potions (her Repleo draught had the examiner openly impressed,) was Ancient Runes.
Once again, Hermione was taken aback by the anti-climactic ease with which the exam went. The comparative aspect that she'd tied herself up in knots over didn't even figure; it was as straightforward as it could possibly be. Frankly, she was a bit annoyed by how unimaginative it was.
XXX
Since Runes had no practical aspect, the afternoon was to be devoted to the Astronomy written exam, after a short break for lunch. Instead of waiting for the Great Hall to once again be turned into a space for eating, Hermione and Theo went out to the lake, where Ginny, Luna, and Dean were waiting with a basket full of meat pies and fruit, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.
Draco was there too, but sitting apart, with star charts spread all around him.
"So, you aren't going to be all shirty and elusive today?" Ginny asked.
"No," Hermione answered abashedly, "I have a three-day gap now."
"How were the runes?" Luna asked as she pushed an orange slice into Theo's mouth.
"Splendid!" he maffled around the fruit, "Good stuff!"
"Yes, it was okay, I suppose," Hermione seconded.
It was only when Draco looked up at her that she realised she had been looking at him. She quickly averted her gaze.
The group indulged in idle chatter, that Hermione had a hard time following. She'd eaten just one small apple, but her stomach was rolling. Sleep deprivation, she imagined; it had been an impossibly long week.
About half an hour before the exam was to begin, Lisa came bounding across the grounds and dropped down next to Draco. She shook out a chart of her own and splayed it out in front of him, pointing urgently at something. He frowned and looked down at it – they both looked down at it, heads bent close together–
"Poor Draco," Theo's voice murmured softly right into her ear, "I'm sure he wishes Lisa was even half as proficient a study partner as you are."
She turned her head to gape at him and he was looking determinedly NOT at her. But there was a fucking smile playing about his lips.
She wanted the ground to swallow her up.
XXX
The astronomy practical was that night. The moon was a dim little wafer, and all the stars were out, glimmering brightly. It was being held in another tower, as the original Astronomy Tower had been retired from use due to the... events... that had transpired there.
There was, in the corridor linking that tower to the "eighth year" tower, a particular window that was framed by a small but very deep arched alcove. Two narrow ledges on either end of the window served as makeshift benches.
Hermione sat herself down on one of those. Only a morsel of candlelight made its way into that nook, but still, she sat on the bench that put her back to the new Astronomy tower, lest anyone coming from that direction saw her sitting and gawking their way like a ghoul. She placed her beaded bag just at the seam of the corridor; only someone keenly observant might notice it.
It was nearing midnight. The exam was probably over.
Hermione felt a bizarre surge of agitation. Her pulse was pounding at the base of her neck. In some sort of frenzy, she pulled up the edge of her skirt so it rose halfway up her thigh... and she stretched her leg out to lie delicately by her bag.
Shit, no.
It was far too high up.
She pushed her skirt down a tad. Just an inch above her knee. Skin hidden. The view marred...
She pulled it back up again.
She didn't know what the matter with her was, had no idea what had possessed her at that moment, but it was some sort of a clamorous compulsion that had every inch of her thrumming.
Footsteps.
She tensed.
Justin, and a girl and a boy from Ginny's year, went past.
Footsteps.
Pins and needles down her legs.
Some chap walked by. She didn't know who; whoever, whatever.
Footsteps.
The pins and needles were everywhere.
It was Draco, Lisa, Tracy, and Anthony.
She completely, completely stopped breathing. They walked by her; a low hum of conversation followed. She peeped out into the passageway to watch them go, to watch as they turned the corner and disappeared. The breath caught in her throat remained there, and it hardened into something solid and sour.
Footsteps.
She pulled her leg out of its awkward slanted position and–
The footsteps were decidedly not coming from behind her. The hard mass in her throat began pulsing, fluttering, and before she could so much as digest this information, he was there, standing by the opposite column.
Her body flashed hot. Or cold. She wasn't sure.
He looked faintly narked, but mostly stolid as he asked, "Now what are you doing here?"
She had been prepared for this question, and had made her mind to reply vaguely, flippantly about having set out for a solitary walk because it was so fucking chaotic in the common room. She'd imagined he would laugh – he seemed to like it when she repeated his own words back to him.
But looking at him obliterated all traces of flippancy. He looked as tall as he ever had. One hand gripping the strap of his bag, the other straight down his side. His mind-boggling, composure-wrecking focus was wholly on her.
All she could bring herself to say was, "How did the practical go?"
He furrowed his brow. His mouth twisted to the side for a moment, as he continued to wear down her sanity.
"Not bad," he replied at last.
"Not the most confident of assessments," she said with a forced, weak laugh.
"It's better than okay, I suppose."
"Huh?"
"It's what you've had to say after every fucking exam."
"Oh," she squeaked, "I didn't realise..."
He shifted his weight onto one leg and leant a shoulder against the pilaster. "Everyone else has."
"We have three days off now."
"I know."
Without any permission what so ever, her hand spasmed. His eyes dropped to catch the movement... and they stayed there, on her lap, where she'd daftly hitched up her skirt. At once she was mortified beyond comprehension.
"So many history books on your shelf!" she blurted, a bit shrilly, "Why didn't you opt for History of Magic?"
He didn't look back up, but his eyes shifted across the alcove. He moved then, smoothly: Like her, he deposited his bag on the floor, and took a seat on the opposite bench.
"I can read about history on my own. No need to subject myself to Binns."
His knees were inches away from hers, and the deep black of his trousers contrasted starkly with her unclad legs. His stature lent him a lap that was so much more spacious than hers. His legs were parted at about thirty degrees, reminding her of his door on the night of his birthday. Open just a tad, just a touch... before she'd pushed it open with her hand...
She peeked up at him. He was sitting back, an elbow was resting on the window ledge, and he was looking outside. Hermione reached over and pushed the window open. The night air felt like ice water on her heated skin.
"Beautiful night," she remarked raspingly.
"It's okay, I suppose," he drawled, "Same as any other night in these confounded highlands. Lake, forest, moon, stars, etcetera, etcetera."
She took a shallow breath and smiled out at the lake, forest, moon, and stars. "Are the wonders of nature too hackneyed for Draco Malfoy?"
"Seen it to death. There's a fucking lake and thicket around the manor too. I've had my fill."
"Seeking new horizons, are you?"
He didn't reply. She abandoned the scenery to observe him once again. He seemed to have had the same idea. It startled her to find that rare hint of openness back on his features; she truly couldn't figure out what it was about him that alerted her to the change. There was just something... something...
She didn't know. His eyes were lucent.
"You must enjoy visiting your mother then. Brittany, right?"
"Yeah, but I've been going there for as long as I can remember."
"I see. The glorious Scottish mountains, the robust English countryside, and the quaint French peninsula are too boring for you."
He smirked, and he shrugged.
"Have you been anywhere else?" she asked.
"Been around to other parts of France. Went to Venice once, when I was ten. That's about it."
All that money and he had barely travelled at all.
Almost as if he'd read her mind, he added, "My parents didn't care to travel."
"Would you like to?"
"I plan to."
"Oh," she whispered, and bit the corner of her lip, "Is that your plan for after..." she trailed off.
He shrugged again, "Not sure I have a solid plan for that yet–"
"Oh no," she groaned, "Not you as well!"
He grinned at that, sitting up a tad straighter. "Theo getting on your nerves?"
"You have no idea!"
"I have no idea what it's like to have Theo on my nerves?" he scoffed.
"Alright, maybe you have some idea," she allowed.
She put her elbow on the window ledge, (a bit further down, so she had to lean ahead towards him,) and rested her chin on her hand. She smiled at him. He eyed her wrist for a passing moment.
"What do you want to do?"
"Law, apparently."
"You say okay, I suppose with more conviction," he noted.
"Heh," she chuckled abashedly, "Can't be helped. The whole system is too outlandish to inspire much confidence."
"How so?"
"Fresh out of school and I'm supposed to just join the DMLE? No need to actually learn about the Law or pass some sort of exam–"
"And what, pray, are the NEWTs?"
"Just testing my magical skills!" she said, flustered, waving her hands about. "But not if I know anything about the law!"
"Well, they will train you first."
"You know, to become a muggle lawyer, I'd have to study for at least another three years – five if I wanted to become a full-fledged barrister – do a legal practice course, and then attach myself as an underling in a firm."
"Seems a bit excessive," he muttered dryly with a smirk.
"It's the bare minimum required to ensure basic competence. Law isn't a joke, Draco!"
"No, good heavens, of course not."
"This is why the ministry is crammed with idiots, and why so many of the higher-ups are bloody inept. Nothing works, does it?"
"No," he clicked his tongue, "Nothing."
Blinkingly, she took in the wry turn of his mouth.
"Are you mocking me?"
He grinned. "You're all ruffled like an angry little owl again."
She sucked in a quavering breath. Prat.
"I see where you're going with this, Granger," he went on.
She slid a bit closer to the edge of her bench and returned her chin to its perch on her hand. I'm listening, she hoped to convey.
"It's all leading to the grim eventuality of you taking on the mantle of Minister for Magic."
She lightly turned up her nose. "I can't see myself doing a worse job than any of the fools who've been utterly unworthy of the post. Kingsley not included... for now."
"Will that be your campaign slogan?" he asked, bending forward slightly, "Can't muck up more than they have: Vote for Granger!"
She glowered. "I know I wouldn't stand a chance. Nobody is interested in merit – it's all just one big popularity contest, and I am well aware that I am not very imposing or charismatic."
"That's right," he agreed, "You aren't."
"Well, you aren't either," she sniffed.
"Oh, please." He leaned in close, decidedly close, with a blistering half grin on his face. "I am very imposing and charismatic."
She swallowed. "Draco Malfoy as Minister for Magic?"
He laughed softly, almost under his breath. "That'll be the day, eh?"
"No," she whispered, "That'll be the apocalypse."
"I thought we'd just been through that."
"Pshaw, no. That was just a teaser." She lowered her head marginally and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "The real end of the world will come about under your leadership. No death or destruction, no violence... just devastating mediocrity."
He was so goddamned close that, when he grinned, fully and broadly, she was able to absorb every detail: The depth of the creases flanking his mouth, the way his eyes gently narrowed, the profoundly subtle dip along his cheekbones. In the umbra all around, just his eyes, his hair, and one side of his face were luminescent. The light ran along the line of his jaw.
So very close.
She slid her leg forward and the cuff of his trousers brushed against her ankle. A perceptible shudder racked through her body. She glanced down and saw her leg right next to his, so much slighter, bare and wan. With the most meagre of movements, she would be able to feel the material of his trousers along the entire length –
Gah.
When she met his gaze again, he wasn't grinning anymore. His face was blanched of all expression, but at that proximity she beheld a certain sharpness in his aspect; a blazing hard directness that seared through her skull, went down her throat, and secured a death grip on her windpipe. Crazy, thrashing orbs of some sort formed in her chest and her stomach.
"Would you like to head back?" he asked.
That same searing hardness had infiltrated his voice as well. Hermione felt its resonance in the air around her, smarting against her skin.
"Yes," she gasped, "Uh... yes."
She carefully extracted her leg and stood up, even as he slowly straightened and leaned away from her. As she got to her feet, her shadow passed over his face like a caress. For a moment, she lingered, peering down at him. He didn't return her stare for very long.
He bent to collect his bag, and she moved out from the alcove, into the corridor. Forthwith, the world around her was better lit, less overwrought.
Then he stepped out, slinging his bag on his shoulder. Their eyes met as he walked closer; he was moving far too slowly again. Her hands were clasped in front of her stomach, and the orb within was dense and churning. He swept past her, down the passageway – and after an uncomfortable gulp of air, she moved along as well.
The silence as they trekked back to their tower, was almost painful. Hermione wanted so badly to say something, but alas, the lump in her throat was back. The tingling effervescence of the hour converged around her and nothing felt real anymore. She didn't dare look at him, keeping her head down. Even his shadow looked stoic.
In due time, they arrived, and took pause in the empty common room. It felt almost like a face-off – a hint of that familiar challenging air that he elicited. But it wasn't the same as before, oh no. She didn't feel up to this at all, she didn't know how it was to be combatted. The stifling, crushing, churning, rolling uncertainty coursing through her body had got too much to bear. His face was too much to bear. She needed to be able to breathe again.
"Well, goodnight," she soughed.
"Yeah," he muttered, "Goodnight."
She spun around on one foot almost like she meant to apparate, and set off marching towards the staircase leading to her room. Three – four – five steps later, she heard a rustle, and heard him, his footsteps, as he went towards his own room.
Once inside, she sort of just... stood... for an interval. Very little about the state of her insides changed. She felt rattled to the core. God, fuck, what had happened?
She dumped her bag and, in a tizzy, tore off her shirt and her accursed skirt. How, she thought, HOW, as she yanked out a t-shirt from her wardrobe and pulled it on, how had he been so close?!
It was the hour, the exams; both their brains were fried. Hers certainly was and it had cooked her from the inside. She sat up in bed, propped up by plenty of pillows. Legs crossed tightly, she picked up A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration from her bedside table and set it on her lap.
Mad. Everything was.
In that moment when she'd stood up and lingered, peering down at him and he, still sitting, looked up at her... what if... suppose she had reached out and pushed back the hair hanging down his forehead, what if she'd raked her fingers through his locks, and what if he'd put those hands of his on her waist and pulled her into the gap between his legs –
MAD.
She squeezed her eyes shut. The orb in her stomach went ballistic. Had she known indulging her fucking compulsion would lead to this –
She had anticipated a conversation. Some badinage to lighten the strain of the past week –
What the hell had just happened?
She opened her eyes. The book remained closed. It was a very long night.
All weekend, she kept mostly to herself. It was generally understood that Transfiguration was very important to Hermione Granger, so she was left to swot in peace.
Her focus had, in fact, been resuscitated by constantly thinking about how dreadfully disappointed McGonagall would be if Hermione didn't ace her exam. She had an image of the old Professor's crestfallen visage in the forefront of her mind, firmly imposed over any other visage her brain might try to conjure. When reading the same text over and over again got too wearisome, she went about her room transfigurating anything into anything. She was little Nell Trent, wandering through a shop full of odds and ends.
Monday had been divvied up between History of Magic and Divination. The turnabout for both those subjects wasn't very high, and most people were busy with their Transfiguration books.
Neville and Dean cornered Hermione during breakfast and begged her to help them practice. Consequently, she ended up sitting in the common room for a solid two hours, quizzing them. She was pleased to note that Dean had improved his human transfiguration skills, and while the end result was still a tad wonky, the general gist of his intentions was realised.
At the end of those two hours, she returned to her room for one final careful and thorough revision of the curriculum.
XXX
Hermione was certain that McGonagall was going to have no reason to look crestfallen. While she may have been palaverous in the written test, she was sure there were no inaccuracies, and, as she walked out of the Great Hall after a satisfactory display of her wandwork, she allowed herself a great big sigh of relief.
She sat on the steps of the central courtyard, waiting for her friends to get done. So often she'd sat there, on days sunny and cold, wet and windy, bleak and buoyant. The time Harry was stiff with panic at the prospect of facing a dragon. The innumerable times he and her and Ron had simply been, right on that spot, talking, laughing, pondering, bickering. The time she'd been pretending to read, fully aware that across the quad, Victor Krum was staring at her. The time she listened to Ginny whinge about Harry's lack of interest. The time they'd stood there watching Fred and George fly off after a glorious display of rebellion. The Christmas evening with Theo, when he'd shown her his S.P.E.W. badge.
How easily the most mundane of places became distinguished: little shrines of precious memories.
Luna was the first to join her.
"Lost in thought?" she asked brightly as she sat beside her.
"Reminiscing," Hermione replied with a smile.
She waited for Luna to attribute that to some imaginary beastie, but the other girl remained quiet.
They both sat in companiable silence until Draco made an appearance. He didn't sit, opting instead to lean against the balustrade by the steps. He contemplated the bright blue sky with squinted eyes and asked, "How'd it go, Granger?"
She flushed. Her eyes fluttered to the ground and she grinned. "Rather well."
She didn't let herself investigate his reaction.
Theo arrived very soon after. He sat between Luna and Hermione, and as always, was perfectly cognisant of the atmosphere. He didn't say a word.
They left once Dean and Ginny had finished. Their journey up the castle was also largely silent. Ginny diverged from the group to head to the Gryffindor tower, mumbling about needing a good long nap.
XXX
When she re-entered the common room that evening after supper and a quick jaunt to the library to pick up a copy of Defensive Magical Theory, Hermione found Theo, Dean, and a few others circled around a table. They had a number of paper cut-outs of magical creatures that (a few nifty piertotem locomotors later) they were making fight against each other.
"Studying," they told her, when she asked.
Their silly sport had amassed an audience; nearly everyone was sat around, watching. Hermione dithered for a bit. There were another two days before the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, and it felt silly to go hole herself up in her room just yet. She caught Neville's eye and he waved her over. She joined him and Hannah on the sofa, and immediately Ernie was on her, asking how much she was willing to wager on Dean's Occamy defeating Anthony's Chimaera.
She shooed him away. A great big roar erupted when the lion's maw tore off the serpent's wings.
Draco was sitting not too far off. He had a drink in his hand and his legs were parted at thirty degrees.
On Friday, the twenty-fifth of June, the day began with a spell of light rain. No longer than an hour at best, and no more than a bit of pitter-patter.
The Great Hall was buzzing during breakfast. The fifth, seventh, and "eighth" year students were collectively aching for the afternoon to come and free them from their prison of anxiety and drudgery. Hermione kept her attention on her book. She was not going to let the air of impatience around her ruin the final paper.
XXX
If the ease of the previous exams had amazed her, Defence Against the Dark Arts left her damn near stumped.
The written bit was all well and good, but when it was time for her practical, the examiner – a tall, middle-aged woman with short black hair – exclaimed: "But surely, we don't need a test to see if Hermione Granger can defend herself against the dark arts!"
What followed was a discomfiting discussion about the system and procedure, and Hermione was perfunctorily made to perform a few spells that were barely paid attention to.
She went straight to the lake. Now that the rain had abated, it was like it hadn't happened at all. The earth was scarcely damp, the sky was cloudless and clear. She breathed in deeply. In the acute stillness of the moment, the lake was nearly crystalline.
"Hermione!" roared a faraway voice.
She turned around and saw Theo and Luna flat out sprinting towards her, and even from a distance she could tell they were jubilant. She laughed and waved, and when they reached her, they collapsed on the grass, panting and beaming.
"Blimey, we're done!" Theo gasped. He reached out to tickle Luna's side and she broke out into wild giggles.
Everyone came out that afternoon: Everyone.
Fifth years, some sixth years, seventh and eighth years. They spilled across the grounds, a heady mass. Some were lounging and lolling; chatting and sharing food, some were tossing a quaffle around, some splashed about in the shallow end of the lake. Even the professors made an appearance, nodding around and offering felicitations.
Hermione sought out her friends after a long, sentimental chat with Hagrid and found them sitting in a circle by the edge of the forest. Neville and Hannah, hand in hand, were walking... weaving in and out of the forest. Ginny lay on her stomach, legs in the air. Dean was drawing. Draco was perched on a fallen branch, with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced, as he listened to Theo talk. Both Theo and Luna had remained as they were, tangled up on the turf.
She saw more people setting out to join them – Susan, Justin, Ernie Michael, and Lisa. Hermione moved quickly, as quickly as she could go without breaking into a jog.
"Hi," she breathed when she got to them, and deftly sank down on the branch next to Draco. He might have observed her as she sat, he might not have. She didn't look.
"Ginny," she went on, "You must go speak to Hagrid, he will be most terribly hurt if you don't."
Ginny groaned, "Yes, I'll go. I will. Don't make me move just yet!"
Susan et al also arrived then. Turns out, they weren't there to stay, but were seeking players for a Hangman Tournament.
"C'mon," said Michael, dangling a reusable hangman before them like bait, "Six teams, fifteen rounds, and then a final–"
"Two galleons, per win!" Ernie trumpeted, "Lose once, lose it all; winner takes it all!"
Hermione blinked. He might have a problem.
Dean and Luna left with them.
Watching them leave, Theo grinned. "Luna's got this in the bag. She always wins at word games."
(Ginny unenthusiastically dragged herself off to meet Hagrid.)
"How many of Luna's words can be found in a dictionary?" Hermione asked.
"Very few," Theo admitted, "But they can be found in the Quibbler. And nobody rubbishes the Quibbler anymore."
She shook her head with mock solemnity. "Such are the state of affairs – The Quibbler remains our most esteemed publication."
"My word, Granger," Draco piped up, "Does that mean you will have to start your own publication? Not only will you singlehandedly save the bureaucracy, you'll restore journalistic ethics as well?"
She shot him a glare without heat. "Seems like."
She turned away to find Theo grinning at her – at them both – and she was thrown back to the night on which he'd begged her to allow him a life of peace with his two best friends. She felt an absurd sort of smile spill across her face in return.