Chapter 17: Hear No Evil

a/n: moving up the Dynamic Duo's Slughorn visit to before the Winter holiday break to push the plot forward in this story. My gratitude to StarDuchess for her amazing beta work.

Listen!
POV: Draco

Tonight I have prefect duty. And wouldn't you just know it, I would have a run-in with Granger's bumbling best friends as they make their way to Slughorn's chambers.

I'd just come from the threshold of the Potions professor's quarters intent on retrieving the bottle of mead that McLaggen, that self-serving git, stole from my trunk. Due to my unfortunate ancestry, however, I couldn't get past the professor's doorway.

Slughorn had caught one sight of my striking Malfoy features upon answering my knock and instantly decided I wasn't worth his time. I only had a moment to warn him that he should check for foreign substances before partaking of any gifts of libations since Hogwarts students were known for trickery played upon new professors.

He'd laughed me off and insisted that as Potions professor he knew what was what. And, well, that was that. He shut the door then, but not before I'd caught sight of the bottle of poisoned mead next to an open decanter. I've been worrying myself outside his door, kicking at the wall, straining my ears for the sound of a large, heavy body falling inside his room, ever since.

"Romilda Vane is my own darling, Harry! The apple of my eye!" I look up and stop my nervous movements as I hear the Weasel shout his undying love for a girl that barely registers in the outer reaches of my consciousness. He's making his declarations at the top of his lungs, and I wonder at the stableness of his mental faculties. "Romilda Vane is more beautiful than the moon, the sun, and the stars all put together! I think I shall write a sonnet. Do you have parchment and a quill, Harry?"

I hear Potter chuckle and laughingly reprimand his mate before they turn the corner.

"No, I don't. You know, Ron, you shouldn't open other people's Christmas presents," the Scar-Headed One scolds. "That was mine, and I would have warned you against them if I'd known you'd plucked them out of my trunk with my cloak. If only you'd just stop trying to eat everything in sight! You know I would never get you Chocolate Cauldrons for a Christmas gift!"

"I know you think it's a love potion that's infected me, Harry," the Weasel sighs dopily, "but this is true love. It's the truest love that ever there was."

Even I have to chuckle at the redhead's sappiness. Whatever this Vane chit gave Potter, it was one whopper of a love potion. I mentally remind myself to steer clear of any girls bearing chocolate gifts of the liquor variety.

The two Gryffindor buffoons appear down the corridor. I've already guessed that they are making their way to Slughorn's in search of an antidote. Potter stills as soon as he catches sight of me in front of the door he's heading towards.

"So, the Weasel's finally gotten over his thing for you then, Potter?" I sneer mockingly, observing the way The Boy Who Lived Just to Annoy the Living Hell Out of Me held onto his best mate. "You must be terribly heartbroken."

Potty is of smaller stature compared to the giant redhead, but he's managed to grab Weaselbee around the waist with one arm and tug with his other to propel them both forward.

"Out of the way, Malfoy, and shut it."

"Oi, Malfoy," Weasel says, moving in too close for comfort as they near. He fails royally at his attempted whisper. "Harry and you fancy the same girl, did you know that, Ferret? Isn't that irony?"

Ironic, I correct mentally, my scowl tightening.

"Hey, maybe we should all go out! I'll take Romilda Vane, of course," the Weasel continues with a goofy smile. Obviously, the love potion comes with some sort of added dope-ifying effect. "And you both could take--"

"Ron!"

"No, Harry, not me! I told you, I love Romilda! I was talking about the two of you lads taking Hermione!"

I roll my eyes skyward and shake my head in disgust at this ridiculous display.

"You're nutters, Weasley," I grind out, my acidic glare never leaving Potter's equally icy one.

"Yes, I'm barking mad, madly in love with Romilda. Have you seen her hair, Malfoy? Not quite as lovely as your girl's, but Romilda is all mine, don't you see? Speaking of that, have you seen her eyes, Harry? Hey, what House is she in again? I think I will serenade her! Are you sure you don't have a quill and parchment? I'm not sure I'll be able to remember all of my words of adoration for her."

I let out a scoff of distaste.

"Merlin, do something, Potter! The weasel's more pathetic than I've ever seen him and that's saying quite a lot."

Leaving Weasley against the wall, Potter pushes past me to beg entrance at Slughorn's door. I approach the loopy redhead while Potty is off on his task.

"What do you know of Granger and me?" I ask hotly, my face quite close to his. His eyes are glazed and I am not sure if I'll get a straight answer.

"Only that you gave her a flower, once," he answers dreamily, turning his face to look down at me. "I watched her. You didn't stay. Hermione smiled when she saw what you'd done. You know that, Malfoy?"

I register the shock.

He'd been watching! For a LONG time!

Long enough to think I have a thing for his bushy-haired friend. How dare he!

"You actually made Hermione smile, Malfoy. Amazing, that! But, of course, you would know that girls like flowers. Do you think Romilda might like flowers?"

I try not to preen at his unintended compliment. I focus instead on the aggravating fact that he'd likely been spying.

Wait!

He's been spying and...

I'm still alive?

I'm still alive!

Weasley hasn't tried to murder me?!

Strange.

Intriguing.

As I ponder the weasel's lack of attack upon my person, it dawns on me that he may be the cause of the disturbing onset of paranoia I'd been feeling all year. In fact, the more he babbles on, it becomes clearer that he's been watching me with Granger for quite some time.

Merlin! What had the oaf seen?! How had he even accomplished such stealth? The more I consider the surety of his secret surveillance, the more I realize I have no profanity in my vocabulary depraved enough to fully express my rage at Weasely for this violation.

"Weasley, how much do you know?" I seethe, barely reigning in the desire to hex him to kingdom come.

The ginger-haired giant merely looks confounded, mumbling something about Granger asking the same sort of thing, and I quickly realize I'm going to have to save that line of questioning for another day. Right now, I have to swiftly relay some rather pertinent information before Potter's imminent return.

"Listen, Weasel, try to understand what I am about to say. Fight that ridiculous potion running through your thick head, OK? Listen!" I order.

He nods, attempting to clear his head with a shake. His brows furrow in concentration before turning his gaze to meet mine. We are nearly nose-to-nose since he's slouched a little against the wall.

"Do not drink any liquor while you're with Slughorn, Weasley," I hiss quickly, looking furtively over at Potter still waiting for the Potions professor to answer his knock.

"Don't let Slughorn drink it. Don't you drink it. Do you hear? And, ..." I hesitate, momentarily relishing the wonderful idea of finally ridding myself of Potter, but decide against it after coming to the conclusion I wouldn't be able to stomach how horribly Granger might react to his untimely demise.

"Tell Potter not to drink it, either," I add reluctantly. "Remind Potter of the beozar. Weasley!" I watch as the boy in front of me loses focus. I nearly reach out to shake him to ensure he is lucid enough to receive the message.

"Weasley! Do you understand?!" I snarl menacingly, finally forced to place a hand on his immense chest lest he slump to the floor swooning about this Romilda bint.

He nods mechanically before I feel Potter forcibly move me out of the way.

"Leave off, Ferret!"

I turn with a sneer at Potter and take my sweet time making my way down the corridor.

As they step foot into Slughorn's quarters, I hear Weasely say in his poorly disguised whisper, "Harry, why do you s'pose Malfoy wants me to remember that beozar thing?"

"A beozar?! Malfoy's a right idiot, Ron. That's for poisons that might kill you! Eating it now might make you sick or something," Potter surmises with great irritation. "You've only been given a love potion. A beozar's not the proper antidote for that!"

"Gentlemen! Welco--" The sound of Slughorn's greeting and his door closing has me stopping in my tracks. With any luck, the potentially deadly substance that my aunt made me tote back to Hogwarts just might eat right through Slughorn's decanter and spill harmlessly to the floor. Then, all my worry will be for naught. Even so, I can't help but wonder if Weasley's idle query will have any play in assisting Potter tonight.

For Granger's sake, I hope it does.

Listening
POV: Ron

"Ron, can you hear me?"

The voice to my right is raspy, as though he'd been asking me the same question for ages.

"Gods, Harry, is he going to be alright?"

"I swear, Hermione, it was Malfoy who did this to him!"

"Are you going on about that again, Harry?! You told me, that night Malfoy left before you even entered Slughorn's room! How could Malfoy have done this to Ron?! You and Slughorn were with Ron when it happened! If anything, Slughorn did this to him!"

I can hear Hermione's outright exasperation and Harry's barely reigned fury as they continue to argue. I want to chime in but my mouth won't move.

What happened? The last thing I remember about Malfoy was him snarling at me. I recall his chrome-colored eyes narrowing, demanding that I listen and remember something... what was it? I search the fuzzy corners of my mind... oh!.. the beozar! But, I'd been too busy considering how to send Romilda flowers and compose lyrics to a song.

"That drink Slughorn offered us could have killed Ron, Hermione! Are you going to continue to defend Malfoy? Because I want you to know that that loathsome git nearly killed your best friend four nights ago, and I'm going to prove it!"

"Harry! I love Ron, too, but he would want you to see reason as well! You're NOT being reasonable. You're letting your anger get the best of you, again! This is not you, Harry! Be sensible!"

"He was there, Hermione! Malfoy told Ron to remember the beozar!"

"And, if he hadn't, Harry? What then? Would you have remembered on your own? Even Slughorn was paralyzed with fear when he saw Ron convulsing and foaming at the mouth!"

Really? That happened to me? How gruesome!

"Malfoy reminding Ron is evidence enough that he knew. He knew, Hermione! He knew that there was poison in Slughorn's chamber and that we would likely be offered a drink of it! Otherwise why-"

"Exactly, Harry! If he wanted to kill Ron, why would Malfoy warn him? Your line of thinking doesn't make a bit of sense! You're accusing Malfoy of being a murderer, Harry! While I can agree that he can be loathsome, deceitful and cruel, Malfoy is sixteen, just like us, and he's NOT a murderer!"

I hear Harry's angry huff and the sound of his heavy footsteps stomping out of the space my bed occupies. I know when he's gone because I feel Hermione take my hand and smell her familiar scent waft over me as she lays her head against my shoulder.

"You are not allowed to die, Ronald Weasley," she scolds softly.

Her hand tightens in mine as I feel some wetness at my collarbone. She must be crying again.

"I haven't told you my secret, Ron," she pleads. "You have to come out of this. You can't leave me, Ron. There's no one else I can tell!"

I work desperately to make my eyes open or move my fingers to acknowledge I hear her, but to no avail.

"I hear your heart, Ron," she whispers. "Of the three of us, I think you've got the biggest heart. Have I ever told you that? You might not be refined, but you're thoughtful and kind. You might not be exactly my cup of tea where looks are concerned, but you are handsome in your own right. You've learned to tame that flaming temper of yours and you do make me laugh when I so desperately need it."

I hear her choking on her tears.

"Ron, I need you. Please come back."

I feel her place her wet cheek against mine.

"You're leaking?! Again!?" His sneering tone belies the concern I detect in his reprimand of my friend. "I thought we'd talked about you stopping the waterworks and finally getting some sleep?"

Malfoy. I hadn't heard him enter, sneaky little Slytherin!

"It's been three days, Malfoy." Hermione's teary reply seems to further agitate the ferret.

"He'll snap out of this, Granger," Malfoy responds impatiently. "You're not doing him any favors carrying on like this!"

"Malfoy, I repeat, it's been three days and FOUR nights! Ron's still laying here, not talking, not moving! Harry's anger towards you has amplified, though how that's possible I can't fathom." Hermione's back is up and the sound Malfoy emits seems surprisingly rather pleased. "It's as though the longer Ron is in his coma, Harry readies his tools, sharpening them even more to crucify you."

"Potter's desire to mortally wound me is not too difficult to imagine, Granger." Though he means the words to be contemptuous, I can detect some hidden sadness in Malfoy's tone. "Seems there are a lot of people who'd like to see me dead. I rather think Potter's mode of bringing me to my ultimate end might just be the most merciful."

"Stop it!" Hermione nearly shouts, "I can't stand hearing you talk that way, Malfoy, even though I am still angry with you and wouldn't mind being without your presence for some time!"

I feel Hermione's weight lift off of my shoulder, but her hand remains firmly in mine. I can almost feel the indignation streaming off of her.

"Why, besides our sordid past, are you angry with me now, Granger?"

"You can't expect me to sit back and demurely accept your still unexplained reasons for having Snape pull me off the assignment, Malfoy. Besides that, this morose brooding isn't helping matters!"

"Like I told you nearly a week ago, Granger, the project is over. You'll get to take your exams. You're free of the oath's bonds, as am I. And, I repeat, all I told Snape was that I couldn't guarantee my ability to uphold my end of the vow regarding your protection." Admittedly, Malfoy sounds quite sincere in this explanation. "Considering the fact that I can hardly protect myself from an inevitably grisly death, Granger, I certainly don't want to be responsible for yours!"

His retort is bitter, but there is care there too.

I am confused because I've obviously come into this fight midstream. What I do immediately understand is that Malfoy fears for Hermione's safety. This is further evidenced in his tone. Being robbed of my sense of sight, I am able to latch on to a hesitancy beneath the sarcasm in the ferret's voice. He seems genuinely afraid for Hermione.

"Why do you think you're fated to die? You still haven't fully explained yourself, Malfoy!" she nearly shrieks in exasperation. "You have no right to determine whether or not I am able to protect myself! Or take on the role of my protector! I will not sit demurely by as you kick me off a project that I want to finish!"

Of all the comebacks I expect to hear from Malfoy, the one he offers her is not it.

"You're tired, Granger, and you're beside yourself with worry for Weasley," he says almost gently. "You're not up for this fight."There is some rustling and I feel Hermione pull a little furthur away. "Here, I got this from Mdm. Pomfrey. It's a sleeping draught. Use it. No arguments. Just for one night. You look like hell. The Weasel won't want to see you this distraught. Go, Granger. I'll stay."

There is a hesitant pause as I feel her remove herself from my side.

"You won't hex him, will you, Malfoy? And you'll still use your Disillusionment Charm?" she asks, seeming to capitulate.

This is new. Hermione listening to the likes of Malfoy? Maybe I've woken to find myself in an alternate universe.

"You ask me the same questions every bloody night. Weasley knows that you and I are... ahhhh... on friendlier terms. He has, by his own account, known for a long time and he hasn't hexed me for it. Now tell me, Granger, have I cursed him yet? Has anyone discovered my presence here, though I've been at his bedside longer than Potter's even bothered these four nights?"

"No," comes her reluctant response.

"Trust me, Granger," he adds with surprising patience. "I'll keep watch. No one will hurt Carrot Top, though the Weasel might have a heart attack to find me at his side if he wakes. For the record, I will not be responsible for his death by cardiac arrest."

I can almost hear the patented smirk as I listen to Hermione's soft chuckle. Even I almost want to laugh at that, though I bristle at the new nickname.

"Go rest your eyes, Bookworm."

"You should do the same, Ferret."

I hear him scoff at her as she quietly shuffles out.

There is a creak of a chair to my right. I assume Malfoy's taken his seat to keep his silent and undetected vigil.

It seems an eternity of wondering what Malfoy is doing as he watches over me. I am drifting in and out of consciousness when I at last hear him speak.

"Merlin knows why I'm here, Weasley," Malfoy says half to himself. Surprisingly, there is little disgust in his tone. It must be well past curfew and I must be the only one in the hospital wing if he's bothering to talk to me. "I don't know why you haven't already hexed me into the next century considering what you might think I've been doing with your beloved Granger."

So, he believes that I don't have a mind that operates outside of Harry's, does he?

"I don't know if you've heard anything during these last few nights, Weasley, but whether or not you have, I have to admit you're the best therapist I've had all year. You beat Myrtle hands down. I mean, at least you don't try to do lascivious things to me against the bathroom wall as I release my bloody pathetic pent up emotions."

I hear his wry, humorless chuckle and shudder internally at the very idea of that screaming banshee within ten feet of me, much less rubbing up against my body. Malfoy lets out something that sounds very much like a pained whimper.

"I was wrong, Weasley. All this time. My whole life! My father, my entire family, EVERYONE I know is fighting on the wrong side of this war. You know what's worse? Your pureblood family, The Weasley clan, as poor and uncouth as you are, understood the truth of it all from the beginning. You've known that blood doesn't matter! You've known it all along! And, of course, it's all because of your little bushy-haired friend, the bane of my existence, that I've finally come to see the truth of it."

His voice is no louder than a whisper, but I can hear the anguish in it.

There is silence as I hear him utter another impossible confession, one I'm sure he would never speak in the light of day, nor to any other living soul other than me in my current state.

"Your Granger, she's quite spectacular, isn't she?"

My heart breaks a little for him. He has it bad and I'm not entirely sure he knows just how deeply he's fallen. I'm positive he doesn't realize the kind of vengeful rivalry he's inviting because of his new found feelings for our bookish miss.

"I've taken a page from Gryffindor's blasted book, Weasley, and I've decided to throw myself to the wolves. Literally, if you consider Fenrir Greyback."

There's a horrified pause as he and I both consider that gruesome fate.

"I know how to fix the cabinet, thanks to your brainy friend. It'll just take one simple spell and all hell will break loose. Not that I agree with this, mind you, but the dark powers are strong, Weasley, and I am... alone... in this. Whether I like it or not, the Dark Mark will be forced on me this spring."

I hear him let out a shaky breath. It's a distressing sound coming from Malfoy, who I never considered might actually feel... anything.

"All I can do is get Granger out of harm's way as I wait for the date they need that cabinet to be opened. I know what I have to do and I've been gearing up for it. I know you wouldn't agree with my reasoning; I barely can. But that v-Voldemort is one sick half-blood bastard! And, frankly, I'm scared out of my wits! Merlin, I'm thankful you can't talk. It's just that I need to confess to someone and you're ideal, seeing as you can't hear, see, or speak."

Coward! I want to hit him for his idiocy.

"I never claimed to be a hero, Weasel, and you're here due to my renowned cowardice. I should have stood up to my barking mad Aunt Bella. Then, all of this could have been avoided. She's a right bitch, that one! She planned the whole necklace fiasco and had me bring the poison you drank into the castle. Of course, if it weren't for that git, McLaggen, you wouldn't be here because I'd changed my mind about listening to her! That damn mead would have still been in my trunk!"

I mentally place a reminder to myself to ask Malfoy about McLaggen's role in my poisoning. It'll be yet another reason to hate that sodding, arrogant prick.

"In any case, this soul clearing is not to absolve myself. Merlin knows, I'll need a whole other lifetime for that if I succeed with what v-Voldemort wants me to do. But you, Red, offer me a unique opportunity to at last say aloud all that's been rattling around in my head. Maybe if I say it, though it might be wishful thinking, I'll be able to get a little sleep before I die."

I wish for the ability to roll my eyes and call the ferret out for the drama queen that he is. But despite my reaction to his words, I would do anything to be able to scoot closer to his quivering voice.

"I doubt there's a real possibility you can hear, Weasley, but even so, I want you to know that I am sorry. I am so very desperately and deeply sorry."

His remorse is palatable.

"If I could change everything about how I got here, to this moment of having to contemplate actually doing the Dark Lo-- v-Voldemort's bidding and feeling so... incredibly horrified and guilty at the prospect of..."

Blimey! Is the sod... crying?!

"If there was any other way, Weasley, I would try it. Since I've run out of options, even if it means I perish, I will go to my grave knowing I am keeping my mum safe and my deeply misguided father alive. Most of all, I've got to do this to ensure that Gra-"

There's silence and a watery sigh from him as he seems to be trying to pull himself together. On a ragged breath he continues.

"I'm doing this so that Hermione is protected. You'll do that for her, Weasley. I know you and Potter will keep her safe, even if I end up dead, or worse, working for the other side. I promise to do what I can from that side of the fence."

Of course Malfoy would consider going rogue, arrogant prat. For someone so cunning, you'd think he would have already thought of the safer and more sensible alternative that I've already mapped out in my head. Maybe dealing with this new thing called emoting threw Malfoy off his game.

As I continue to absorb his unexpected, heartfelt confession, I feel the sudden ability to at last wiggle my fingers and toes. I'd been trying to move since my brain registered Harry's voice earlier. As Malfoy finishes his haunting speech, I silently open and close my lips and touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

The ferret must not be looking my way.

"Malfoy," I croak.

"Weasley?" his shocked gasp of a reply has me grinning. His Disillusionment Charm fades as he loses the ability to focus on his magic.

"You've got options," I continue in a gravelly voice, my blue eyes meeting his stunned silver ones, "and, Malfoy, you've found yourself a new ally."

Hear me...
POV: Hermione

"Ron?"

I watch his eyelids flutter open and am greeted with his warm blue gaze coupled with his familiar smile.

"Malfoy told me you woke up last night," I say quietly, still getting used to the unfamiliar use of that name associated with any sort of kindness.

"I did," Ron croaks. "I think it was because of all the bellowing between you and Harry. But, I think the Ferret's blubbering was what finally snapped me out of it. Did he tell you any of it?"

I shake my head, my mind expanding to take in the knowledge that Ron and Malfoy had a bit of a heart-to-heart without hexing one another, all likely due to the fact that Ron hadn't had the full use of his limbs at the time. I smile wanly.

"Are you ready for more secrets, Ron? Or shall I wait until you're in better form?"

"I've been faking sleep for the better part of the afternoon, Hermione," Ron's guiltily look has me smothering a giggle. "My girlfriend keeps coming 'round, you see, and you know I'm no good with weepy females. Besides, I could do with a little excitement. Harry hasn't even had a chance to visit, him spying on Malfoy while trying to keep up with Dumbledore's assignments, and all."

I snort my displeasure at our bespectacled friend.

"You should try to forgive Harry, Hermione. He's a mess and he isn't able to talk to me like he does you. I can't imagine how he's keeping from going mental, considering all that he's got locked up inside."

I nod non-commitally. There are things I want to say during this visit and discussing our green-eyed friend is not one of them.

I cast a Mufliato around us. I've been using this one a lot lately.

"I thought you didn't approve of that charm," Ron notices. "You used it that last time on Malfoy, too."

"Times change, Ron," I reply sadly, "As do circumstances."

"What are you talking about, Hermione?"

"You've been wondering what's been eating at me all year, right, Ron?"

He nods and I continue.

"I found out over the summer that my parents are not my birthparents. I am of magical blood, as it turns out." I laugh hollowly at the irony of it all. "My real parents? Aiden Mustildae and Caroline Geonicy. A half-blood father and a pureblood mother. Doesn't that beat all?"

Ron looks as though he's been stupified.

"Well, I might as well tell you the whole of it, since you're taking this so well," she says slowly. "Remember when we spoke in the library? According to the book you saw me crying into, I'm the niece of the great and vile Dark Lord. I'm of Slytherin blood, Ron."

"Merlin, Hermione!" Ron's eyes are wide. His vast blue orbs darken in alarm. "No wonder you've been acting this way! Does Malfoy know? Is that why he hasn't been his usual vicious self towards you?"

"What? Malfoy?! No!" I shudder. "And, I don't want him to know! Ever! Let him keep thinking I'm a Mudblood. I don't want to discover what he'd do if he found out I didn't have Muggle parents after all. I don't want him to know that I, in fact, have a stronger claim to Slytherin house than he does!"

I let out an anguished cry and bury my face in my hands. I am horrified that the weight of this has reduced me to this sniveling wisp of girl. I can't stand what I've become!

But all the questions... they're eating me alive!

"Why did my parents switch me, Ron? Didn't they want me? What's wrong with me? I was only a little baby! Am I destined to be evil, just like Tom Riddle?"

"Calm down, Hermione," Ron soothes. "You don't know what the history is. You're the first one who reminds us not to jump to conclusions! Get a hold of yourself, and when I get better, we can do the research together."

I shake myself out of the mini-panic attack and stare at my ginger-haired friend. When had he become so self-possessed?

"Did Harry tell you about Voldemort's bloodline, Hermione? How do you know about Riddle?"

"What? How does Harry know about that?" I inquire curiously. "Harry hasn't spoken to me about any of this. I know that Tom Riddle is a direct descendant of Slytherin by way of the Gaunts because Malfoy figured it out. He's the one who told me."

"That explains Malfoy's about-face, then," Ron says, rubbing his fingers against his eyes, moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Logical as that prat is, he must not be able to stomach fighting for the cause of Purebloods, knowing that they have a half-blood as their demented leader."

I stare at him in disbelief. "Malfoy told you this?"

"In a way. He thought I was a vegetable at the time. Made his confession thinking I couldn't hear it."

"What else did he say to you, Ron?"

"Malfoy said a lot of things, Hermione," he finally replies after a few moments of contemplation. "The most important was that he wants to see you safe. What he's chosen to do, things like kicking you off of Snape's project and stopping himself from studying with you in the library, well, that prat doesn't even realize it, but he's doing it all out of his... ahh..."

I cast him a look of warning.

"His... ah... tender feelings for you," he finishes lamely.

"That's a load of-"

"He's trying to protect, you, Hermione, because he cares!" Ron interrupts impatiently.

I begin to protest again, but Ron interjects before I can get a word in.

"And Merlin help me, Hermione, but I happen to agree with Malfoy's line of thinking."

I huff my disgust at all of this sudden misplaced chivalry.

"I won't have Malfoy or you, or Harry, for that matter, treating me like some helpless, cowering female who needs a knight in shining armor, much less three," I say forcefully. Itching to whip out my wand, I stare at him in outrage. "I can take care of myself, Ron! Besides, I am much smarter than the three of you dolts put together! I admit, I'd rather not go it alone, so don't make me! But, you and I, and even Malfoy, we'll figure out a plan so that we can all stay safe. I daresay we might want to leave Harry out of this for now, considering..."

My voice drops off as I sense Ron tense. I look up and our eyes lock in silent battle. He knows my stubbornness can outlast his. You have to admire him for trying, though. As expected, Ron's the first to give in.

Slumping in defeat, Ron says, "Fine, Hermione, agreed."

"Gods, Ron!" I say nervously gripping his sheets. "I can't believe I'm even entertaining the idea of helping that arrogant prat out of his big mysterious mission that he's convinced will bring him sure death. Didn't I wish him dead most of these last six years?! What is wrong with me?! I suppose my desire to assist Malfoy must be because I am a..." I scowl in the manner of what must be a trademark of my ancestor's house, "bloody Slytherin."

Ron's head perks up the minute he hears my assumption. "No, Hermione," he says with conviction. "You're not holding a hand out to Malfoy because you're a Slytherin. You're doing this because you're a Gryffindor, through and through."

I smile, lift the Muffliato, and give my best friend a quick peck on the cheek before heading to Arithmancy.