Hello everyone! 😊

How are you? Here I am with a new English project. This story is a translation of my own fanfic "Rosa y Espada", already finished in Spanish, and published on this platform as well as on Archive of Our Own. I have decided to translate my own story just to practice my English, and to have fun. I hope I have done well enough. Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors, idioms etc. I am still learning. Any suggestions and corrections are welcome! 😊

I started writing this story in 2011 (almost twelve years ago!). My purpose was to write a real Dramione story, as real as I could. Old school, we might say. I wanted to exploit their forbidden feelings, to find a way as realistic as possible to create a forbidden love story between them. That it was believable. I have no idea if I have succeeded, you will tell me ha, ha, ha... Grab something to eat, because it's going to be a loooong story 😂

They've always been my favourite couple in the Harry Potter universe, and I hope I've done them justice. But there will not only be love in this story. It will also deal with friendship, and war. There will be adventures, magical creatures and mystery, and, I hope, a lot of surprises for you. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

A couple of specific clarifications about the story, before you start reading:

―The story is set in a hypothetical seventh year at Hogwarts.
―The events of the last two books (sixth and seventh) have never taken place. Nor, therefore, has anything to do with "Harry Potter and the Cursed Child". The only detail from the sixth book that appears in my story is that Slughorn is the Potions teacher, and Snape is the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Basically, because I needed a DADA teacher ha ha ha.
―The seven Horcruxes don't exist; the only Horcrux was the diary, and Harry has already destroyed it in his 2nd year. So Voldemort is perfectly mortal.

I'll make some more clarifications at the end of the story, to avoid any possible spoilers about the plot 😊 What inspired me for certain scenes, and that kind of thing.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters, and most of the locations, belong to J.K. Rowling, they are not my invention.

And, without further ado, welcome to the story…

CHAPTER 1

Professor Bathsheba Babbling

The month of October had been unusually cold that year. The fall of the leaf was more than accelerated, and the icy blizzard made the windows of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry tremble. The howling of the wind could be heard from the corridors, in absolutely silent; but it was more difficult inside the classrooms, full of noisy students in the middle of their classes. Although, in the Ancient Runes class, in Room 6B on the sixth floor of the castle, nothing would have been heard coming from outside, even if the Whomping Willow had landed a right blow to the window.

"Pass it on! Here, here! PASS IT ON!"

"To me! To me!"

"No, to him!"

"It is falling, it is falling...!"

Hermione Granger closed her eyes and clutched the open book that was on her desk with both hands. She was using all her willpower to try to ignore the fact that a large black bubble had been flying from one side of the room to the other for an hour, passing dangerously close to her head from time to time. An ink bubble, for more information. Her seventh-year classmates from the Ancient Runes class had created that bubble by means of a spell, and they were having scandalous fun passing it through the air between them, with the help of their wands, while running around the class.

Hermione counted to five in her head, to try to control herself and not get carried away by the fury that was consuming her. She was going to end up bursting from the pressure she was holding. She was feeling her heart pounding heavily in her chest. And her right eye about to twitch. Her leg was already a basket case.

She decided to read again, for the fourth time, the paragraph of the book that she had been trying to assimilate during the entire lesson. Or rather, the line.

The Fwooper possesses the ability to vary colour…

"Here! Here!" her classmates kept shouting.

"Be careful!"

"Go, go…!"

Its colour variants make its image… The Fwooper possesses the ability to vary colour…

"Pass it on, pass it on!"

"I'll take it, pass it on…!"

The Fwooper possesses the ability to…

"That's good! Now to me!"

"HERE!"

Hermione swallowed back the angry roar she needed to emit and looked up, unable to believe they were actually playing that stupid game. She evidenced the obvious when she saw the ink bubble pass over her head, fortunately without touching it, and end up in the wand of one of her classmates, who immediately magically passed it on to another. Hermione closed her eyes again for a moment, taking a deep breath, and returned her gaze to the book, although this time she didn't try to continue reading. She felt like she was wasting time.

"It's maddening," Hermione thought, desolate, dropping the book and holding her head with both hands. "How long is this going to go on? And it's all his fault… It's all his fault…" She turned her head, looking over her shoulder, and focused on a certain person sitting at the back of the room. "Malfoy."

Sure enough, Draco Malfoy had to be behind the girl's torture.

It had all started a week earlier, when a notice had been posted on the bulletin board in every House, notifying that the elderly Ancient Runes teacher, Bathsheba Babbling, had taken an indefinite leave to recover from an alleged accident involving a few pods of Snargaluff and an almost amputated member. The announcement also stated that Professor Binns would be in charge of looking after the students in Babbling's absence, while they attended to the many homework the mutilated teacher had left them to do, so as not to be delayed with the syllabus. But it had turned out to be a disaster.

Binns did absolutely nothing.

Hermione, with a sigh, returned her gaze straight ahead to the teacher's desk, where her History of Magic's phantom teacher was working on his own homework, tests, and papers, paying no attention to the students he was supposed to keep an eye on. He seemed oblivious to the fact that his students were closer to behaving like monkeys than human beings. Hermione had seriously considered, more than once, the possibility that her teacher was deaf, or blind, or both. It was impossible not to hear the screams, jumps and spells. They seemed to be in the middle of a Quidditch match, and not in a classroom.

Seeing that Binns was paying no more attention to them than to the windows or the chairs, Malfoy, cunning as a fox, hadn't hesitated to stir up the class and convince them all to do whatever they wanted. They played impromptu games like the flying ink bubble, Exploding Snap, Gobstones... Only Hermione, and a few girls and boys who had gathered in a corner, and that could be counted on the fingers of one hand, had kept out of that kind of revelry. In fact, Hermione was the only student who was sitting at her corresponding desk, with her book open, trying to assimilate what they were supposed to be studying on the syllabus if Babbling were there.

And, most surprising of all, was that no other teacher, not even the Headmaster, was aware of what was happening in that classroom.

Hermione, the first time they decided to go on such a spree, had instantly revealed herself. She had tried to use all the authority that her role as Prefect gave her to impose order, but to no avail. Malfoy was also a Prefect, and, of course, had taken a stand against her. If Hermione told him that he was grounded, Draco would tell her that she was too. If Hermione yelled a worse detention at him, Draco would come up with a more terrible one. They both came to a standstill realizing that they couldn't punish each other without it being ridiculous; and, as a rule, they couldn't take house points from another Prefect. Hermione found herself with her hands tied; those who were on Malfoy's side, and partying, were the majority of their classmates, and they had an unscrupulous Prefect on their side, so, if Hermione told anyone, they would all deny it. It would be her word against another Prefect; and teacher, since Binns didn't seem to be particularly against it. She desperately wanted to tell Professor McGonagall, or someone in authority, what was happening, but she burned with shame just thinking about it. In her wild imagination, she could hear the teacher's voice in her head and imagine what she would say to her: that she wasn't right for the position of Prefect, and, if she couldn't assert her authority, maybe she should quit. And Hermione would panic just thinking about it. The teacher in her imagination was right: she should be able to use her hierarchy to stop him. She couldn't be letting Malfoy manipulate her at he pleased. It was all truly frustrating.

"Damn stupid. I can't stop him, he has the same authority as me, and he knows it. I hate these things. Binns is the one who should stop them, not me. I shouldn't face this responsibility," Hermione grumbled in her mind, turning her face again and looking at Malfoy. The blond boy was still chatting very loudly with his colleagues, sitting on top of his desk with his feet on the chair. "Damn, I could curse that demon into a Pygmy Puff in less than three seconds…" She pursed her lips as Malfoy did an odd imitation and his companions roared with laughter. "What is happening here concerns the teachers, I can't force them to behave well if Binns doesn't... Yes, I'm a Prefect, but, for Merlin's beard, they don't give a damn. Or what am I going to do, punish them all?" She mused, practical, pinching her nose with her fingers.

She huffed and tried to continue her reading, trying to contain her frustration. But the screaming had reached such a point that she couldn't even hear her own thoughts. She seriously considered putting a Deafness Spell on herself. But before she could put it into practice, she felt herself being pushed forward, against her book, drawing a cry of surprise from her. One of the boys had bumped into her trying to catch the ink bubble. Hermione felt the flame from the bomb inside her reach the gunpowder.

She jumped to her feet, slamming her hands against her desk.

"DAMN IDIOTS, STOP AT ONCE!" she exclaimed, out of her mind.

There was silence. The game stopped. All eyes were on her. Malfoy had stopped gesticulating and was now looking at her in complete silence, his pale eyes narrowed with antipathy. The other young men who were on his side looked at her with obvious disgust, mockery or indifference; except for one boy who, if Hermione was not mistaken, was called Theodore Nott. He was looking at her. He simply was looking at her. Cautiously. She glared at them all, determined, gasping loudly in sheer rage.

A shrill sound broke the silence then. At last the bell had rung. At last, Hermione thought, she would be free, for the day, of that stressful class.

"WATCH OUT!" yelled a voice inside the classroom.

Hermione heard that scream, followed by a loud splash, and instantly saw everything black.

"… Slughorn's essay about Veritaserum, the paper about Sneezewort for Sprout, two scrolls for Snape about vampires, practise the Doubling Charm for Flitwick… Ah! And read chapters three and four of the book A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration for McGonagall..."

"Hey, Ron, what if, instead of listing all the homework you have, over and over again, you start doing it all at once? You've only written two lines!" protested Harry, sitting in front of him, and speaking as loudly as Madame Pince, the stern librarian, would allow. He put his own quill down on his finished essay, and picked up Ron's parchment. "And, furthermore, you have it wrong! Veritaserum is with V, not with B..."

"Really?" Ron wondered, scratching his chin with the quill. "Well, I've always written it with B..."

"That explains why you got a 'D' on your last essay for Slughorn," Harry teased, shaking his head.

"That's still too much homework," his friend insisted, almost anguished. "It's only been two and a half months of school!"

"Yeah, true, but we're already in seventh grade, and, at the end of the year we have to take the N.E.W.T.s, right?" Harry remembered, skimming over his finished essay. "They're hell-bent on preparing us as well as possible." He repeated the words that a stern Hermione had said to Ron more than once, each time he complained about the same thing.

"There's almost seven months left, as far as I know," protested Ron, annoyed. "And, from the amount of homework they send us, it seems that they want us all to become Minister for Magic..."

Harry gave him an encouraging half-smile, accompanied by a shrug, and then started to gather up his Potions belongings, to get the Herbology ones out. He covered the inkwell, to avoid accidentally spilling it, rolled up the parchment, and bent down to put it in the backpack that was resting on the legs of the table.

"Harry Potter," a hoarse voice suddenly whispered, loud and close.

Harry jerked upright, with such bad luck that he miscalculated and his head hit the edge of the table, making him see little lights. He stifled a groan and pressed down on the bruised area with both hands. He looked up, a bit teary from the pain, and saw Ron staring at him.

"Why did you call me that?" Harry wanted to know, looking at him expectantly. The place of the blow was throbbing painfully.

Ron blinked twice.

"What?" He replied, confused.

"What — what?"

"I mean… what."

"What?"

Ron let out a laugh. He turned his face to look behind him, then returned his attention to his friend. Still smiling.

"Harry, are you talking to me?"

"Who else?" He exclaimed in a whisper. And Ron's smile faded as he saw that his friend looked annoyed. "What do you want?"

"What do I want about what?" Ron insisted with confusion.

"If you don't want anything, why do you call me that?" Harry retorted, starting to get really irritated at his friend's behaviour.

"I didn't call you," Ron mumbled, exceptionally taken aback. He frowned. "Nobody has called you. You feel good?"

Harry blinked, puzzled now, and looked around. The library was quite busy, especially with fifth and seventh graders. Most of them seemed pretty harried; some had their noses buried in thick, battered books, and others strummed feverishly with their feathers. Neville stood out among them because of the desperation that emanated from his round, worried face. They all seemed very focused on their own business, and no one was paying them the slightest bit of attention. They weren't even looking askance at them.

Harry felt a nervous tickle on the back of his neck. Goosebumps rose on the skin of his arms. If Ron hadn't been, then who?

"You haven't heard anything?" Harry asked his friend, feeling a terrible suspicion. "Haven't you heard my name?"

"No," the red-haired boy denied, also beginning to look uneasy. "Nothing at all. Haven't you imagined it?"

"No — No, someone said my name just now. I heard it clearly," he replied firmly, feeling a small shiver. He put a finger inside his ear, making a gesture of rubbing it. His heart was beating out of sync. "My full name. And it was a voice… strange. Like… hoarse."

"I haven't heard anything like that, I assure you," Ron muttered now, growing concerned. Harry looked down.

"I'm not sure anymore, but maybe I've heard it inside…my head."

Ron's blue eyes widened instantly.

"Harry, you don't think —" He lowered his voice even more, and his friend almost had to read his lips, "You-Know-Who has gotten into your mind again, hasn't he? Was it his voice?"

"No," Harry said, with such certainty that he surprised himself. "No. His voice is different. And besides, the scar doesn't bother me at all." He rubbed it absently. "No, definitely not Voldemort." He ignored Ron's flinch and looked around again, still uneasy.

"Look, calm down, maybe you have imagined it," Ron repeated, forcing a friendly smile. "It happens to me sometimes, it's normal. I think we already have paranoia. We have live too many scary things."

Harry tried to return the smile, but was feeling his heart bounce inside his ribcage.

"Yeah, that's true. You're right, what nonsense. Must be that." He agreed, closing his books just to stop looking into his friend's eyes.

"And, hey, don't say anything to Hermione," Ron advised seriously, raising an eyebrow. "You know how she is with this kind of thing. She'll kick you all the way to Dumbledore's office."

"I know. Don't worry, I won't tell her anything," Harry assured, smiling with resignation.

Ron looked at him with some concern for another few seconds, but then his eyes widened as he saw something unusual over his friend's shoulder.

"What's wrong with her?" Ron exclaimed in a loud whisper.

Harry turned to look in the same direction as him, and felt astonished watching Hermione heading down one of the library corridors towards them; her face contorted with anger, stomping her feet, sparkling eyes and thick hair. When she reached them, she dropped her backpack to the floor, causing a thud that sent both boys jolting, and then flung herself into the vacant seat next to Harry. She seemed to be about to burst into flames.

"What happened to you?" asked Harry kindly, sensing that his friend was especially touchy at the moment. Sure enough, though his question was gentle, Hermione gave him a look that could cut through steel.

"What has happened to me? Oh, nothing at all! Just that I am surrounded by madmen. No, monkeys! Or chimpanzees! Because these beings cannot be qualified as people!" She muttered hastily, sarcastically, blushing even more, and making a visible effort not to scream. A vein throbbed on her forehead. "They do what he tells them to do! What bloody pleasure can they find in going on all these stupid festivities and doing whatever they want? How can they be so childish?" She finished, wheezing, gasping with rage. Ron raised his hand weakly, as if asking permission to speak in class.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but…you have an ink stain on your face. Black. Did you know?" He mentioned cautiously, pointing at it. Hermione snorted and brought her hand up to her face, rubbing it furiously.

"I know perfectly well, and, if I didn't have a wand, I assure you I would be all covered in ink. Because that's the only thing those immature idiots are good for: to have fun, and then have others pay the consequences... And all because of Malfoy; that pig, stupid, piece of —"

"Malfoy?" Ron snapped, suddenly outraged. He spoke too loudly, and someone at a nearby table hissed him into silence. "Has he done something to you? What? Where is he?"

"Wait," Harry interrupted, flinching as if he'd seen the light. "I know what Hermione is talking about... You just came from Ancient Runes class, right?"

Hermione sighed deeply, and nodded dejectedly. Ron gasped, suddenly remembering.

"Oh! I know that," Ron confirmed, hitting the palm of one hand with the fist of the other, proud of himself. "That business about your Runes' teacher not being there, Binns is taking care of you all, and your colleagues have revolutionized everything because, of course, we are talking about Binns," he finished, as if it was obvious.

"And Malfoy is behind it all, isn't he?" Harry added, suspicious and intrigued.

"He is the one who tells them what to do, and they all obey him. They're idiots," Hermione muttered, clenching her hands. She sighed again, almost a deranged growl. "I would love to stand up to him. Stop him somehow. But he's also a Prefect, I can't use my position to discourage him. I've tried, but he won't listen to me. Neither he, nor the others. I can't forbid them from having fun if Binns doesn't. And I don't want to get into any more trouble, he already makes our lives bitter enough." She crossed her arms, trying to breathe more slowly. She was almost talking to herself. "If I tell the teachers, everything will be worse. Malfoy's cronies will deny everything and I'll be seen as a liar. Besides, Binns is supposed to take care of us. It's my word against a teacher's!"

"Do you want us to help you?" Harry offered immediately. "We will come up with something…"

"We can kill Malfoy," Ron suggested happily. "Or torture him," he rectified, seeing the look the other two gave him. "It doesn't matter, the point is to make him suffer."

Hermione sighed, exhausted, and shook her head. Her thick brown hair swinging.

"Don't worry, guys, it's alright. It will be solved. It's not that bad, apart from doing whatever they want, and accidentally dropping an ink bubble on me, they haven't done anything else. They don't hurt anyone either." She drummed her fingers on the table. "It's just that it's very annoying. Hopefully it will be resolved in a few days. When Professor Babbling returns. Soon, I hope."

"If Malfoy is involved, it has to be annoying," Harry said, with tedium.

Ron nodded fervently and added:

"That guy is like a Billywig in the ass."

The corridors of the castle were pleasantly illuminated by the rays of the autumn sun. Outside, the cold was intense, but inside the school the temperature was quite pleasant. Most of the students had chosen to spend the half hour of break wandering the halls or in the library getting ahead with their homework.

"So, the 14th century Witch Burning is not included in the exam?" Ron insisted, rummaging through the dozens of scrolls in his hands, as they headed down a hallway on the first floor, heading for the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, which was on the third floor.

"And neither are the new spells of the first half of the 15th century?" Harry asked in turn, also visibly stressed.

"No," Hermione denied, patiently. "But the Goblin Rebellions in 17th century England are, and you've got it crossed out," she warned Ron, pointing to another of the scrolls he was carrying. "That's very important."

"Are you telling me that I got up this morning at five to study something that is not on the exam, and I haven't even looked at the most important thing?" The young Weasley despaired, looking at his notes, hoping to narrow the amount down with the power of his gaze.

The three friends went up some stairs to shorten the walk, although it was not necessary because they had plenty of time.

"In essence, yes," Hermione corroborated, now losing patience and exclaiming: "Didn't you check the program I left you? There it said everything that was included..."

"Do you think I am able to find something among so much paper?" Ron answered with another question, mimicking her tone, and waving the scrolls he was carrying in front of her nose.

"I guess we'll have to spend our lunch hour studying Transfiguration," Harry said with a shrug.

"What remedy," Ron sighed, staring sadly into space. "I'm not going to be able to enjoy the roast beef as it deserves... Why has McGonagall stuffed us with so much history this year? And so many midterms? Until now, we always had to study spells, spells and more spells... Why all this history? I got a Dreadful on my History of Magic O.W.L., geez! I don't want any more history!"

Harry laughed and patted his friend on the back, while Hermione shook her head in exasperation. At that moment, they were interrupted:

"Hey, Harry, Ron!" a voice called from behind them.

The three of them turned to find Demelza Robins coming up beside them, panting.

"I was looking for you," the girl said. "You wouldn't guess what happened... It turns out that the Slytherin Quidditch team have taken away the field reservation we had made for this Saturday."

"What?" Harry exclaimed, startled.

"They have no right!" Ron snapped, fuming, waving his already rather crumpled notes in frustration again.

"They have an authorization signed by Snape," the girl complained ruefully. "That's why they could."

Harry and Ron unleashed a series of expletives at their Defence Against the Dark Arts' teacher, and began discussing with Demelza their options for getting their reserve back. Hermione was half listening to the conversation. Not because what happened seemed fair to her, far from it, but because she didn't live Quidditch as intensely as her friends. And, besides, it wasn't the first time it had happened; the Slytherins always managed to take their field reservation away from them, even when they had days off to spare. They would find a way to fix it, they always did.

Thanks to not being so caught up in the discussion, she was able to pick up the strange sounds, like quick footsteps and alarmed voices, that were coming from an adjoining hallway. She turned around and could see several people running towards the supposed source of the sounds, looking scared and nervous. Hermione, worried, turned to look at her friends, but, seeing that they were still very entertained, she assumed that they would not miss her for a few minutes, and went on her own to examine the source of the disturbance.

She rounded the corner and saw that there was a small crowd gathered at the hallway windows, talking to each other and looking at something that seemed to alarm and confuse them.

"We should do something?" A young Ravenclaw was saying, looking concerned.

"Are you crazy?" A boy who was next to her, and who seemed to be her friend, reproached her. "Malfoy is involved. I'm not going down there..."

Hermione, surprised, also walked over to one of the windows. The gardens were almost deserted, except for the occasional isolated student, and a small group of people at one end of the lake. Those wore black and green robes, and one of the heads was blond and totally unmistakable.

Draco Malfoy was standing slightly to the side, watching as his companions surrounded another person, dressed in black and red robes, who was flying at the edge of the lake. Flying, literally. Without a broom. He was several meters above the ground, and was spinning like a spinning top, to the rhythm of the wands of those around him.

Hermione felt her heart drop. Before she could do more than gasp in astonishment, she felt long fingers close around her arm. She turned her face, startled, her heart leaping, and found herself face to face with a breathless Theodore Nott.

"Draco and the others have taken Neville Longbottom," he snapped, looking at her seriously. He was puffing, as if he had been running, but his tone was perfectly even. There was no contempt or disdain in his voice. "You have to help him."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, taken aback by the outrageousness of the situation. It was the first time that that boy, from her same Slytherin year, had spoken to her.

"But — whose side are you on?" She blurted out, scowling at him, deeply suspicious. She wasn't sure if that was the first question she should ask, but it was what came out of her mouth. "What are you doing? You're a friend of Malfoy's, I've seen you many times with him..."

"Draco is my friend, but I don't agree with what he's doing," Nott replied, just as coolly. He released the girl's arm, still staring at her. "And he doesn't listen to me. I think you're the only one who can stop him."

"He — Help!" Neville tried to yell, choking in mid-word, thanks to Goyle's wand flick, dangling him upside down. The boy's robes slipped off his body due to gravity and wrapped around his face, preventing him from seeing anything. Crabbe laughed out loud.

"Stop complaining, Longbottom! You're a crybaby!"

"Look at this, it's going to be great," Warrington exclaimed. He waved his wand, and Neville's clothes began to flutter as if they were full of mice inside. The boy screamed, watching his robes billow around him, as if it was caught in a terrible tornado.

The Slytherins around him roared with laughter.

"Throw him in the lake!" Zabini encouraged, amused.

Goyle complied, and, with a flick of his wand, the young Gryffindor plunged into the water, still coiled in his robe, which billowed around him as if it was alive. Neville gasped in the water, struggling to stay afloat as Crabbe created a barrier with his wand, clumsy, but effective enough to keep him from getting out. Malfoy was watching the scene a few paces back, arms folded, eyes beaming with satisfaction. It was obvious that he was the ringleader of the whole thing.

With another wave of their wand, they lifted the boy out of the water. And he was once again floating in the air, a heap of lifeless clothing, now dripping with water. He was coughing desperately, his tears mingling with the water dripping from his dark hair.

"Leave Neville alone!" Harry yelled suddenly, appearing in the distance, running at full speed and brandishing his wand. Ron and Hermione were behind him, wands in hand.

Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Warrington turned, hastening to point their wands at them. Neville plummeted to the ground, wrapped in his sodden robe. The three Gryffindors did not hesitate to defend themselves, and, after a brief battle of various charms, disarm the Slytherins with several skilled Expelliarmus.

Draco just watched the scene, not taking part in the sudden battle. In fact, he didn't even flinch. The snakes looked menacingly at the lions, and dedicated a great repertoire of insults to them, but, being unarmed, they could not defend themselves. While Harry and Ron were still pointing their wands at them, Hermione hurried over to Neville.

"Neville!" The girl gasped, kneeling beside him and putting an arm around his back. "Neville, are you okay?"

The boy did not answer. He had remained to kneel on the ground, scared to death, shivering with cold and spitting up water without stopping sobbing. Hermione stared at him in anguish for a few seconds, but then she stood up, pale as wax, suddenly shaking, and staring at the person responsible for it all.

"Malfoy..." Hermione stammered, almost speechless.

Draco returned a calm, almost wry look. He kept his arms folded, and seemed to have no intention of defending himself or fighting them. In fact, he seemed really relaxed.

"What's wrong, Granger? Are you feeling bad?" The young blond inquired sarcastically, still looking into her eyes. "You're shaking..."

There were hurried footsteps close across the grass, and Theodore Nott made an appearance. Few noticed that he had arrived, as Draco and Hermione were the centre of attention for everyone present.

"I'm shaking with rage," Hermione replied, still livid. "Few people have managed to make me tremble with rage."

"Really?" Draco pretended to be surprised, with open mockery, outlining a contemptuous smile. "Wow, I didn't think I was that important to you... I would blush, Granger, if you didn't disgust me so much."

"Draco..." Nott mumbled, moving to stand beside him, warning him in vain not to provoke her like that.

Something snapped inside Hermione. She felt as if the rage that was bubbling inside her had suddenly reached a boiling point, and burst to the surface. She was not going to tolerate it. She wasn't going to tolerate one more taunt from him, especially after what he'd just done. She advanced towards him with a contorted face, raised a hand, and brought it down with all his might against the Slytherin's face.

Draco's face turned abruptly as he felt Hermione's hand hitting against it. Everyone present gasped in astonishment. The girl, breathing hard, and the sore hand with which she had just slapped him still outstretched, stared at an immobile Malfoy while he reacted. It was already the second time she had hit that boy in her life. The first time, it was from hearing him cruelly taunt Buckbeak the hippogriff, and also Hagrid. After she'd slapped him, a stunned Draco had sped away, failing to counterattack. But they were no longer thirteen like then. And Hermione knew it. And Draco too.

The boy slowly turned his face forward, directing a now glowing look of anger at her. Glowing with spite. He was no longer smiling. In fact, he ran his tongue over the corner of his lip, where it probably hurt. The girl didn't back down an inch. They both challenged each other with their eyes, challenged each other to take the next step. Air blew out of Draco's nose in an angry huff, and then he rushed at her in an impulsive gesture.

And, although she did not move, he did not reach her.

"Draco, no!" Nott exclaimed, reacting and grabbing his arm just in time. Pulling him back with all his might. "You've gone mad?"

Harry, in turn, had also jumped up in front of Hermione, arms outstretched as he saw Malfoy's intentions.

"Don't lay a finger on her, you stinking cockroach!" Ron roared a few feet away, grabbing Neville's arm, who was threatening to collapse at any moment, and pointing his wand at the Slytherins at the same time.

"Let's get out of here, Hermione," Harry gasped. He seethed with fury, but he tried to be coherent. He grabbed Hermione by the sleeve of her robe and tugged on her, at the same time that he gave Malfoy a murderous look. "Let's go before I kill him. We have to get Neville out of here."

But the girl didn't move from her position. She was still looking at Malfoy, who was still being held firmly by Nott, with hatred and a clear air of defiance. As if daring him to lay a hand on her. Draco wouldn't take his eyes off her either. He seemed to want to set her on fire with just the power of his gaze. His cheekbone was turning red.

"I'll be sure to inform the Headmaster immediately of this," Hermione said, firmly, despite the fact that her voice trembled with anger, ignoring Harry.

The Slytherins, except for Malfoy and Nott, started to come forward, furious, but Harry pointed his wand at them.

"Hermione, let's go," the dark-haired boy insisted, fearing that everything would get out of hand. He pulled the girl harder, and she, after giving Malfoy one last look of contempt, followed him back to the castle, stomping her feet.

The Slytherins watched them go, not moving, but with very similar grimaces on their faces.

"What a punch she has dealt you!" Warrington was the first to speak, moving closer to Malfoy as the others picked up their wands from the grass, still outraged. "But, why have you let them go? We weren't done with Longbottom yet..."

"Because they're bloody rats, and, if we'd resisted, they would have told the Headmaster," Malfoy explained impatiently, jerking out of Nott's grasp without looking at him.

"But the Mudblood said she's going to tell him right now," Warrington replied, looking confused, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction the girl had gone.

"I know what she said. But I also know that she won't dare; or rather, that cowardly Longbottom won't let her. He will be afraid of reprisals..."

"But Granger isn't afraid of that," his colleague replied sceptically.

"No, not her," Malfoy admitted, his eyes blazing. "Granger has a saviour complex…" He rubbed his sore cheek with a furious hand. It was already the second time that Mudblood hit him. "I'm not going to forgive her for this so easily. If she interferes in our affairs again, she won't get away. We will make her regret it."

The others recovered their smiles and exchanged malevolent glances. Nott just look down and snorted in hidden resignation.