A/N: Thankyou for all your reviews! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Eight

21st October 1998. Sunday.

Draco rounded the corner on his way to the library, when he saw Hermione standing at the other end. If asked, he could not have explained why the expression on her face made him stop walking, but he felt compelled to do so anyway. He moved back so that he watched her from around the corner, his body otherwise hidden. He only hoped she would not notice him from where he stood but again, something in her face told him he would not be noticed.

His eyes narrowed; she was talking to someone who was just around the corner beside her. Draco could barely see Hermione from where he stood and so couldn't see the person she appeared so deep in conversation with, but it was obvious that that's what he was seeing. For it was true that she looked oddly transfixed by what the other person was saying, but Draco himself could not make out any words. Who could she be talking to? He had rarely seen her so attentive to what another person was saying.

He found himself wondering why he was watching her. His own thoughts annoyed him; why, after all, should he be the one to notice that her skin looked oddly white? That her hair hung limply around her face as she glanced down slightly, her brow furrowing with confusion? He squinted as she reached out and felt an uncomfortable twinge in his gut as her arm retracted. She held something distinctly silver; it glittered in a way that reminded him chillingly of his dream. Draco felt the beginnings of a chill at the bottom of his spine as she slid it wordlessly into her bag.

"Aren't you going for dinner, Hermione?" Aela enquired innocently, stirring Hermione out of her trancelike state. She had stopped twirling the knife around her hand but held it still in the same place. Hermione felt as though she could feel the weight of the one she'd been given bringing her bag down heavier on her shoulder.

"Madame Pomfrey said I probably blacked out because of something I ate," she lied smoothly, her face blank. "I don't think eating anything else would help me."

Aela smiled widely, and Hermione could tell at once that she should not trust her. However, she once again had that feeling that Aela was drawing her in somehow, and she was helpless to resist. She also had the unsettling feeling that someone was watching her, but she attributed this to Aela's general personality.

"That's probably a good idea. If I were you," Aela continued, resuming the spinning of the knife in her hands, "I'd just go and have a lie down."

Hermione nodded, fascinated by the motion of the knife and at the same time wondering how Aela managed to handle it so deftly that she did not draw a single drop of blood. Before she turned to leave, Hermione asked, "What House are you in?"

"I'm in Slytherin," Aela replied after a heartbeat's hesitation. Her eyes twinkled subtly, her wide grin unnerving.

22nd October 1998. Monday.

Draco's attitude towards Hermione had shifted noticeably since the last time they'd spoken, she noted in Potions. He seemed distant; while perhaps normal for Draco himself, it was a sudden change from the almost friendly demeanour he'd shown towards her in the previous few weeks. As she gripped the edge of the mahogany desk while her vision blurred unsteadily, she felt his eyes on her. When she could see again, she risked a sideways glance and found his face unreadable, focused on the open book before him.

She coughed, eliciting no response. Her fingers slackened their grip on the desk slightly, her knuckles flooding with colour.

"It says here," Draco mumbled, "we need one of the ingredients from Slughorn's private stores."

Hermione leaned across and read the section of the book Draco was referring to. "Powdered bicorn horn. I'll go and see if he has it on his desk."

She stared at him briefly before she went, wondering confusedly why he was behaving in this way. She felt slightly awkward, like he'd discovered a well hidden secret that he shouldn't have. He stared fixatedly at the book, in a way that made it obvious to Hermione that he was avoiding making eye contact with her. She frowned, puzzled.

As she departed, Draco lifted his eyes and watched her go. He noted the lankness of her hair, having lost a fair amount of its bushiness. It also seemed slightly thinner than usual, as though it was slowly falling out. He wondered vaguely if she was sick, but pushed it to the back of his mind as he concentrated once again on the complex instructions in the book before him.

Cut the hellebore stems into sections of five. Add one by one then stir twice in an anti-clockwise direction.

He read this sentence as Hermione returned to the desk clutching a jar of powdered bicorn horn in her hand, as tightly as if she thought she would drop it. She put it on the desk in front of her and leaned over Draco's shoulder to read the same instruction as he'd just read.

"Pass me the knife," she said, pulling the hellebore stems towards her. "I'll cut these."

An inexplicable chill ran up Draco's spine at the word knife. He was about to make a biting remark that she already had one in her bag, but bit his tongue to keep from saying it. That would have required an awkward explanation of how he'd come to know that. Still, though, something about it unnerved him. It was most likely the dream he'd awoken from the day before; Hermione's desperate plea for help reverberated horrifyingly in his head, and he felt suddenly cold all over.

"Draco?"

Her voice shook him out of his thoughtful reverie, and he wordlessly slid the knife to her at her prompting. He kept glancing, inexplicably once again – he found his actions and thoughts quite inexplicable in general recently – towards her while she was using the knife, as though he was standing guard… making sure that nothing bad was going to happen. What could possibly happen, though, he had no idea. He frowned, something else he seemed to be doing a lot recently.

He had the vague, fleeting suspicion that something was not entirely right.

Hermione and Draco went separate directions as they left the room, bidding each other a quiet, slightly tense goodbye. Hermione was quite perplexed, to say the least. She didn't have very long to dwell on Draco's odd – oddish? - behaviour, however, because Aela was waiting for her around the corridor from the Potions classroom as she emerged. She offered a sickly sweet smile as way of greeting.

"How was Potions, sweetie?" she asked, and Hermione could not tell if it was real or merely in her imagination that her voice was dripping with malicious sarcasm. Aela fluttered her eyelashes innocently, and Hermione decided it must have been in her imagination only before answering.

"It was… fine," she replied with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. She made no conscious effort to keep the conversation going, but found that Aela remained by her side nevertheless.

She really was a strange girl, Hermione decided. There was something almost ethereal about her; she seemed to float alongside her as she walked with her heavy – it seemed to her – footfalls. Her hair, once again, emitted the same kind of eerie, silvery glow that it had when Hermione had first seen her. Was that really only yesterday? Her eyes glittered in a most unsettling way, as though she was constantly ready to make a cutting remark, or was always one step ahead of you… forever knowing something that could bring your world crashing down around your ears.

"Draco wasn't his usual self in Potions, was he?" Aela remarked offhandedly.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, staring at Aela, utterly startled. "How do you know that?" It came out as a whisper, though Hermione, if pressed, could not have explained why. She felt shaken; her hand trembled slightly. She clenched it into a fist in annoyance.

Aela rolled her eyes as if Hermione was stupid. Her answer sounded as though she was explaining something very simple to a very confused child: "I'm in Slytherin too, aren't I? He didn't seem his usual self today."

"Oh," Hermione said mechanically. She breathed out heavily. "Of course. I forgot, sorry."

Aela smiled, satisfied, and turned and continued to walk (float?) away. Hermione frowned as she started after her, still not entirely convinced that everything Aela said rang entirely of truth.

When she got back to her dormitory that night, Hermione saw that she'd received a letter during the day. She furrowed her brow slightly, wondering who would have written to her. She threw her heavy bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed to read the letter. Her stomach gave an unhappy grumble. Before she unfurled the letter, she punched her stomach hard, whispering, "Shut up. You're not getting anything."

Dear Hermione,

I know it's early to be asking but Mum wanted me to ask you soon if you wanted to visit for Christmas. Harry's going to be here too, and Ginny said she hasn't seen much of you this term so it would be nice if you were around.

Sorry to hurry you, but Mum wants to know as soon as possible if you'll be able to come, so if you could reply within a week, it would be helpful.

Ron

Hermione didn't even reread the letter; she was so consumed by the anger bubbling up inside her like fire. She felt touched, as always, by Mrs Weasley's kind invitation to spend the Christmas holidays at the Burrow, but had to seriously consider whether she could last the whole holiday without punching Ron square in the face.

How dare he treat her like this? In such a carefree, offhanded manner, and after the way he treated her over the summer? He had some nerve! She noticed bitterly that there was no mention of him wanting her to be there over Christmas, only that other people might like to see her instead. She was sorely tempted to politely accept Mrs Weasley's offer just to spite him. She may not normally have been a spiteful person, but Ron Weasley just knew how to push buttons sometimes.

With a pang of horror, Hermione remembered Mrs Weasley's penchant for feeding her guests until they were full to capacity. For a moment, she was struck by blind panic; sheer terror. How could she deal with that? She subconsciously cupped her hipbones in her hands, allowing the forgotten letter to fall onto the bed, completely at a loss as to what she should do.

A/N: Please review! Hopefully things will be speeding up soon, and I mean the story as well as updates!

WD,
xo.