Alternate chapter title should be "Oh, the irony" just because I'm a big fan of irony… though my irony sensor has been a bit off as of late.
Disclaimer: Fine, I confess I am J.K…ing just kidding, people. I am definitely not J.K. Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter or anything of value for that matter. *hopes nobody sues*
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-When You Need It Least-
Prefect meetings and chance meetings in the common room or bathroom—McGonagall didn't approve of her idea to separate their one bathroom into two and then inexplicably stalked off—those were the only instances where Hermione and Malfoy would acknowledge one another's presence on purpose. They delegated certain responsibilities that required frequent discussions or personal sessions to their scapegoats—err… prefects.
On one particular meeting, the prefects and the Heads were discussing who would be doing what in preparation for the traditional Halloween Feast. It went without saying that Hermione and Malfoy avoided eye contact the entire time and only interceded on the other's speech to contribute ideas or point out inaccuracies in an attempt to remain professional.
Hermione began to wonder what had become of the humorous Malfoy in the beginning of the term. She let the memory pass and blamed the Veritaserum. The Veritaserum and Snape.
x
Yet another block of time had chipped away at Dumbledore's plans.
He was beginning to doubt the effectiveness, but decided that this was enough. He always believed that free will was stronger than Fate. It would be up to them to decide what they would make of it.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. That seemed to be a frequent habit of his now.
x
The Halloween Feast went as expected and Hogwarts saw its first snow in early December. Though unusually late compared to their other years spent at Hogwarts, it raised the spirits of students who relished in snowball fights, sculptures, and whatever else they could think of to do with snow.
She sat in the Head Common Room and stared out the window; she envied them. As she was already the least physically oriented person she knew, she spent her time watching others play in the snow rather than playing in it herself. A few minutes ago Ron and Harry, who acted as if they had not a care in the world despite the looming threat she that was You-Know-Who, pleaded with her to spend some time with them. Hermione would admonish the boys about their behaviors and warn them about Voldemort ("He hasn't gotten me yet!"), resulting in an argument where the boys would forget the reason why they were talking to her in the first place and stomp out the door, like their current situation. She would be left to worry alone and nothing would be accomplished; yet they would all be furious at the other party's actions.
Thoughts of the Yule Ball and longing for another one like the one in her fourth year would surface on occasions similar to this. Of course, that meant that there needed to be a Triwizard Tournament and she certainly did not want what happened then to happen now.
She shuddered when her mind came across the memory of Cedric Diggory's lifeless corpse and had caused her to conjure up an image of Harry in the same position with the same glossed-over eyes. Shaking her head furiously to dispel the image, her attention directed on the very much alive Harry below her in the courtyard.
They were always quick to recover after a row. The three had been together for far too long and through too much to not be friends. She waved to Harry, and sure enough, he waved back… effectively distracting him and leaving him wide open for an attack by Ron. She smiled and left the window seat.
What caught her eye left her breathless. It was such a long time ago that she had seen him outside of their formal settings; it caught her off guard.
"Malfoy."
She didn't mean to say anything, really she didn't. It just slipped out.
x
Draco stood there shaking out the snow in his hair. There was a snowball fight indoors that he had to resolve before the passages were safe again for him and other passersby.
Her voice signaled to him that there was another occupant in the room. He hadn't expected her to be in the common room at this time. It had been a rule of his to avoid her when possible and face his fears of acknowledging her when not. She should have been outside playing like all of the other unburdened students.
Cautiously, he nodded his head to her in acknowledgment, "Granger."
And that was it. He went to his room and shut the door, his calm façade giving way to hitched breathing.
x
The sixth and seventh years from all four houses were celebrating… with alcohol of course. This made Hermione's patrol that much harder since she had to worry for either dangerous or pitiful strays in the corridors.
She stumbled upon a girl who was pissed drunk—or rather the inebriated girl stumbled upon Hermione—in the last leg of her patrol and was currently escorting the girl to the Ravenclaw Dormitories, a tower located on the west side of Hogwarts. In other words, across the castle from where she was standing.
Carefully levitating the girl, Hermione started the trek through the empty hallways, assuming that most students were too busy getting smashed to break more rules by wandering out after bedtime, she dared to walk down seedy shortcuts.
Correctly solving the riddle—the only way to access the Ravenclaw Tower—Hermione was able to safely stow the girl in the girls' dormitories and considered it a job well done, ending her patrol.
She thought to quicken the long trek once again across the castle to her own Gryffindor Tower by passing through the seedy corridors once more. Though she didn't dorm there anymore, she was to celebrate with Harry and Ron before all three of them along with Ginny left for the Burrow the morning after.
There was no offense meant to her parents, but Hermione was adamant against going skiing in the South of France after her dismal experience in her first year. Between skiing and the Burrow, there was just no contest.
However, when Harry and Ginny decided to finally give it a go at a relationship, Hermione's repeated reassurances that there was nothing between Harry and herself—other than a platonic friendship, of course—did little to comfort Ginny as they had before. It didn't help that Ron encouraged Ginny's ridiculous idea of the two's alleged affair because of his grudge concerning Hermione's refusal of him when he finally gathered all of his courage to personally invite her to the Burrow last week. Though, she did accept Mrs. Weasley's offer to stay over the holidays, adding insult to injury. Another spat, of course. One easily amenable given their history, she presumed.
Molly's chocolate fudge and enchanted gingerbread men were definitely worth enduring the awkward or violent moments.
A persistent shadow was left unnoticed.
With the entrance to her own quarters to the right of her, she mused that she had somehow missed the portrait of the Fat Lady while lost in the thought of delicious holiday treats.
In the midst of righting her course, the wind was suddenly knocked out of her.
It was definitely male, she reasoned, yes, male and smashed beyond comprehension. Though through his fumbling with the front of her robe, it was clear what his intentions were, she thought wryly.
Her wand had been jostled out of her robe pocket from the forceful collision. Without it, she was easily overpowered. If only she had more experience in wandless magic.
She needed to concentrate, to not panic, to think of a way that might increase her chances of triumphing over her attacker's brute force. There was hope in the old saying: brains over brawn.
He pushed off her robe.
Shoved up against the left side of the wall she allowed only a view of the other stone wall decorated with various paintings expressing their shocked disbelief at the attacker's actions. Of course. The painting, the portrait, the entrance, her last-ditch chance.
Oh, the irony. Since their silent agreement, every time she opened the portrait door, she had hoped that he wasn't there. Now, she wished with all her strength that he was. Her virtue—possibly her life—depended on his presence.
"The Fallen."
Her attacker had heard and hissed, "Mudbloods do not speak."
In his fervor to rip apart her shirt, he hadn't noticed the portrait opening.
Hermione's eyes lit up and struggled to push against the person to gain access to a better view of inside the common room.
Seeing her almost escape from his grasp, he violently grabbed her head and slammed it backwards.
She thought of her tolerance was severely lacking when—for the second time since the beginning of the school year—she blacked out from pain.
Her last conscious thought, however, damned Draco Malfoy for not being there when she needed him the most.
…
I hope you guys enjoy these updates now because when school starts again I don't think I'll be doing much of it… :[