Hi! Hyaci here! I wanted to apologize for not getting this fic finished. Truth is, I was writing this fic as I went along, and suddenly had a dry spell. I'd written myself into a corner, and then lacked the creativity necessary to extract myself. Hence the year-long wait. So here's a short chapter to get the plot moving again, hopefully I'll be able to keep up this time :D

Chapter 10: The Narrow Escape

"Or," Harry said, his voice dangerously soft, the barest beginnings of a threat.

Hermione stiffened, though she continued scrawling out her notes as best she could. "Or?" There was steel in her tone- artificial, an armor of sorts. Trepidation ripped through her despite her outward display of nonchalance- never had she considered any other outcome than that of Harry being cowed into submission. That he might have a found a loophole or solution was a possibility both exhilarating and terrifying.

Mostly the latter.

"Or," he repeated, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to even quieter volumes. "I could call Snape right now." His eyes flickered to the robed man pacing at the front of the room, spouting a sneering litany about various rare ingredients.

She dropped her quill abruptly, turning to him. "I haven't done any black magic yet," she said cautiously and coolly. "They won't be able to pin me down for anything."

A confident smirk graced his face, and he raised an eyebrow. "Still, the fact that you have my wand would be incredibly incriminating, in and of itself."

Lips thinning, she glared at him darkly. "I could just say you'd lost it," she retorted, "and that I was going to return it to you." She was grasping at straws now, still reeling from the mistake Harry had caught her in.

The laughter he issued caused her blood to boil rather unpleasantly. "They'd take your word over mine? The boy who lived? Please," he scoffed, gesturing with his hands in a decidedly muted and arrogant fashion, "That is not how this is going to pan out. You'd be labeled, someone to be watched. They'd catch out all your other lies too, I'm sure. That'd put a damper on your plans, now wouldn't it?"

Furious chocolate eyes narrowed as they clashed with gleeful green ones, meeting with a solid, if indefinite, metaphorical spark. With a flourish, she turned back to her notes, flipping her hair so Harry wouldn't see her face. It was perhaps rather childish, but it did afford her a sense of security.

"I'm waiting," he murmured in a sing-song manner, the Slytherin in him milking his upper hand for all that it was worth. He enjoyed it, the bastard. The stupid crooked smile she had thought pleasant before was now earth-shatteringly smug. A face she had thought was passable mere moments ago was now quite annoying. Deposed from her position of power, Hermione realized- perhaps for the first time- that she was a very sore loser.

Because she had lost, there was no way around it. She had tried to play her hand in the most elaborate way she could, but she was so caught up in herself, she had been outplayed, and left in a sticky entanglement.

Then it struck her. She'd have to return his wand- his points there were very solid. But the cloak was another matter entirely. Such cloaks were always used for clandestine purposes, and she highly doubted that he would admit to keeping one, especially due to the fact that people were theorizing he'd be the next dark lord ever since he had been sorted into Slytherin. She had been caught, and the messy situation was still there to be dealt with, but if the cloak was valuable to Harry, she might be able to restore the balance that she had been too quick to demolish.

Perhaps, fates allowing, she had a trump card.

She slid her hands into her robes, fishing around for the tell-tale smooth coolness that was his wand. With tense fingers, she pulled it out, and after a few covert glances to ensure no others were watching or prying, surreptitiously sliding it to him.

Harry immediately snatched it up, relief oozing from every pore. He cradled it close as if it were a long-lost friend, a separated lover. His thumb rubbed the handle in a gentle caress, before he stowed it away in his pocket.

"And the cloak?"

And Hermione's lips- visible as she turned towards him once more- twisted into a sickly sweet, satisfied smile that undoubtedly chilled him- perhaps not down to the bone, but at the very least to a visceral level. She noted a fidget that he, for all his bravado and composure, had neglected to disguise.

"You're not supposed to have one, against school rules," she said slowly, relishing each word, biting them out with malice. "And you can't prove you've ever had one anyway. Since you have your wand," at this she eyed the sliver of holly still visible with a sort of resentment, "You can't call the teacher, and therefore have no leverage."

Harry's eyes lit up indignantly. "That cloak was my father's!" he hissed, anger easily conveyed by the raw emotions that were only beginning to pervade his voice. "All I have left of him. What kind of person are you?"

Jackpot. The cloak was his father's; there was no way he would risk anything happening to it.

She understood how he felt. All her life, the only mementos she possessed of her parents were the merest whispery tendrils of memory, pulling at her from an inaccessible childhood, one nearly completely erased by infantile amnesia. If she had a keepsake of any kind, she would hold onto it as tightly as she could. No, understanding was not a problem- Hermione wholly empathized with him.

But, as is the case with most, self-preservation won out over empathy. The balance in their relationship was fragile, and was hung by the merest of threads. She was utterly, dangerously close to having no clout whatsoever. And if this was what it took to maintain her position, her sympathies could be allowed to play no role.

"It was your father's?" she asked, affecting a smirk as he narrowed his eyes in well-founded suspicion. "Well, it's mine now."

A loud chime- emanating from the clock tower, but magically amplified and dispersed across the school- signaled the end of class, and severed their conversation. With an easy smile, Hermione stood and pulled her bag over her shoulder. She brushed past Harry, rather roughly, and was out before he could react in the slightest.

Something had changed, Marietta was sure of it.

Harry and Hermione had always been a tightly knit pair. It was rarely that she ever saw one without the other. Sometimes, it had seemed to her that the two were some sort of package deal. Yet now it seemed that the amiability between them had cooled significantly, replaced by a cold, methodical politeness.

Perhaps casual observers would have been unable to catch the hints, but she was one of their mutual friends, and was often in the company of both. After a while, the difference was simply undeniable. Hermione was reserved and polite when she conversed with Harry Potter, more taciturn than ever. He, on the other hand, seemed to brew with anxiety something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"You're imagining things," Ron had told her when she came to him with her suspicions, his expression extremely assured as he- in a shocking but not unexpected breach of etiquette- licked chocolate fondue from his bare fingers before returning them to the communal bowl. "They're acting the same as ever. I would know. I'm Harry's best friend: he tells me everything." Cue more disgusting, stomach-churning finger licking.

Sometimes (alright, often), she wondered why they allowed the revolting idiot to hang around them.

Cho was less oblivious, when cornered one day and informed of her conjecture. "Something's definitely off," she had replied decisively, after observing the two others a full day. The two of them, she noted, were not acting completely improperly, but were displaying behaviour strange enough to warrant note. "Harry's definitely frostier than usual, and Hermione seems a bit standoffish as well."

Marietta had observed similar behavior patterns exhibited by her peers in the past. "Do you think," she posited, "That Potter was sweet on her, and was rejected?"

Her companion hesitated. "Perhaps," Cho allowed, but then her Ravenclaw rationality won over. "It would explain so much. But let's not make snap judgments, Marietta. Don't assume anything until we know all the facts."

She was silent for a long while, and the two of them stood still together at a vantage point, watching Harry and Hermione walk- together, but also distinctly apart- down the hall. The quiet and tension between them was so thick, it was almost tangible.

"Perhaps we should try to observe more then," Marietta suggested, brows furrowing in thought.

The Asian girl beside her nodded solemnly. That would be an acceptable course of action.

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