A/N: "Moggy" now has 14,500 hits. (So close! . )

About the "laying" thing… That still confuses me. Sometimes it's "lying", and other times it's "laying". I should find out why that is, exactly… The English language can be confusing. : P

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Chapter Fifteen

Solitude

Harry marched up the stairs, still holding the inkbottle and the book, with Ron following close behind, and Malfoy reluctantly coming after them, with his brown-furred cat. Harry stopped at the door to his room and fumbled with the handle.

"You're supposed to show me to my room," Malfoy said indignantly as Harry opened the door and walked inside, Ron leaning against the wall and ignoring Malfoy.

"Over there." Harry's hand appeared out of the doorway, pointing to a door diagonal from his current location.

Malfoy sauntered over to the door and quickly shut himself into his newly assigned bedroom.

It was a very small space. A bed, a wall mirror, a diminutive writing desk and dresser were the only things in the room. It was hardly what he was used to. It would have made a very good extra closet for him back home, though.

It seemed cluttered enough in there, but the fact that there were various things scattered all around just made it worse. Malfoy set the cat down on the bed. Moggy scuttled over to the desk, where she climbed up on a pile of books and mewed.

Malfoy turned after hearing a knocking sound. Xanthe was leaning against the doorframe, still looking quite casual.

"Everything alright?" she began. "I know it's a bit…"

"Of a mess?" Malfoy finished the sentence for her.

"Yes, that's it," Xanthe said. "This was where an old friend of Harry and Ron's stayed… You've seen the Ministry posters, haven't you?"

"How could I not? Bloody things are everywhere…" He took a seat the desk, picked up a book, and fingered through the pages.

Xanthe stood silent for a moment, as if she were waiting for him to say something. She could see the pages of the book over his shoulder. Arithmancy. Of course he wasn't interested in it, he was only making an excuse not to talk to her about what was going on. She was wondering when he was going to go back to his cool "I-couldn't-care-less" attitude… He hadn't quite been himself since he showed up, though she could see why.

"Well," she said. "It's all of her items. No one's cleared it out because they were waiting for her to come back. I'm afraid she might not back be returning… at least, for a while." She glanced at Moggy, whose amber gaze became frozen, fixed on the blonde.

"That's nice," Malfoy said. "Now I've got nowhere to put my things – ow!"

Xanthe whacked him in the shoulder, sighing. "A little more respect please, Draco. I was going to clean it out in the morning for you, but…"

Malfoy glared at her. Xanthe grinned, more in a mocking way than a cheerful way, then turned and walked out, saying, "If you need anything, you can just Apparate over to my apartment. Bye, Draco."

The last echoes of her footsteps as she walked down the stairs dispersed. Malfoy stayed glued to the spot. He looked over to Moggy, who still hadn't moved, except for her tail, which was twitching slightly.

"What's the matter, Moggy?"

The cat looked over to him, then turned and looked out the window in a sulky kind of way. He shrugged and went to shut the door.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She does know, Hermione thought. It was now well into the night. She had gone back to sit just outside of the kitchen door. She could just imagine all of them gathered there at dinner… Ron, Harry, Ginny, all the other Weasleys… And she would be with them, having fun, actually forgetting about Voldemort and all the work from the Ministry.

But then she just had to cast that damn spell on herself. How could she have been so stupid?

And then there was Xanthe. It had just hit her, in a wash of icy cold realization, that she really did know. Her inquisitive, intelligent side spoke from the back of her mind: How'd she find out? How? How? But she could not bring herself to really wonder that, because what she really wanted to know was why.

If Xanthe knew that Malfoy's cat was Hermione, why didn't she say anything?

Maybe it was because she thought they wouldn't believe her. That could be a plausible explanation. But even Hermione was closed to plausible explanations right now. She was weighed down with negative emotions, heavy with sadness, feeling betrayed.

If she had told them, they might have believed her, and then they would get her back, turn her back into Hermione, and she would sit with them again at dinner, and talk with Harry and Ron, and it would all be back to normal and over with…

But they thought she was dead. She was right in their midst and they really thought she was dead.

She yowled in frustration. All these thoughts were too much to bear. She had to avert her thinking from this. She had tried, but her mind seemed to resist it. She had to try harder.

Well, Hermione thought, forming the words clearly in her mind in a fortified attempt at clearing her thoughts. Well… I can tell them myself. I'm the brightest witch of my age. Of course. So I just need to think. Just need to think…

"You know, you don't have long to wait now. In fact, I think you'll find tomorrow morning a very opportunistic time for resolutions," someone whispered.

Hermione looked up through the shadows and blackness shrouding the house. She was just in time to see a slender young woman with long blonde hair ascending the stairs.