"Okay," said Neville as he brought out a small stack of parchment from his schoolbag, "I've gone over all of the scheduled routes and the partners and everyone else seems to be on board. I've talked to Harry and the other Quidditch team captains about when they want to book the pitch, and they'll get back to me later once they've agreed what day each team will go."

Hermione had to strain to hear her companion's voice; the din and bustle of the Gryffindor common room was giving her a headache. She nodded, however, and rifled through her notes.

"I've spoken to Professor McGonagall about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. The first one is in a week's time and we need to start collecting the parent consent forms. She also mentioned she wants to speak to us after Transfiguration tomorrow."

Someone passed by their table suddenly, accidentally bumping into Hermione's chair and she jumped and swiveled around but the person had gone. Hermione turned back to the table, focusing back on her parchment, silently willing her nerves to calm themselves.

For the next couple of minutes neither of them spoke another word. Neville glanced at Hermione. Though she appeared calm, he noticed the slight furrow of her brow, the way she constantly looked about them, as though expecting someone to sneak up on her.

He thought back to the first day of term when Harry had asked to speak with him in private.

"I'd really appreciate it if you kept an eye out for her, mate," Harry had said.

"Do you really think she'll need it?" Neville asked dubiously, half-jokingly. "After all, she is Hermione Granger."

Harry looked around them, making sure they were alone. He leaned in, his eyes urgent.

"She was having trouble with a certain someone last year," he'd said. "She's still shaken up about everything, and thinks he'll come back for her."

Neville had taken a second to string his thoughts together. He? Come back? There were only two people who'd left Hogwarts. His first thought was that Harry must have meant Cormac McLaggen, but he had seen the aftermath of McLaggen's attempted assault and how Hermione had handled it. He didn't think Hermione would ever let herself become afraid of McLaggen. Malfoy, on the other hand... He didn't know there was anything between them, and the sudden potential of it being a reality made him feel very uncomfortable, just as he always felt when in Malfoy's cold presence. He remembered the Yule Ball the year before and how uncomfortable Hermione had looked as she had been forced to dance with Malfoy. He hadn't watched them for very long but he had noticed just how intense Malfoy had seemed that night as he had looked at Hermione. Then, he had brushed it aside as mere contempt-Malfoy was probably as happy as Hermione was over the matter of them having to dance together in front of everyone.

Dread filled his stomach.

"Is this about Malfoy?" he asked quietly.

Harry's face had paled, but he had nodded.

"What happened?" Neville had asked, his voice low.

"I can't tell you," Harry had replied, his voice solemn. "She'd never forgive me if she found out I was asking you this."

"You said he'd come back?"

"That's what she's afraid of. She said it was the last thing he said to her. But it's never going to happen. He's too big a coward, and Hogwarts is too well protected. I know I don't have the right to ask, but will you keep an eye on her?"

"Of course, mate. No problem." Neville looked at him curiously. "But you're her boyfriend. Shouldn't this be your job?"

Harry's shoulders had slumped, and he looked away resignedly.

"Ever since he left and she told me, she's been distant. I think she still feels guilty even though what happened wasn't her fault. She's scared, but she's trying to hide it. Probably so I won't worry." He struck at the wall suddenly. Neville jumped.

"Calm down, Harry," Neville said nervously.

Harry shut his eyes, breathing deeply.

"I wish I'd known," he said. "I wish I'd known as it was happening so I could have helped her. I feel useless that I can barely help her now."

"What makes you think you're not helping her?" Neville had asked, frowning. "She seems relaxed whenever she's with you."

"I just worry that she's trying to downplay what happened so we can focus on defeating Voldemort," Harry admitted. "She keeps pretending she's fine but I know she's not."

"Give her time," Neville suggested softly. "She'll be okay."

Harry gave him a weary smile. "She will."

Now, snapping back to the present, Neville realized Hermione had caught him watching her and seemed confused.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head and began to stuff his things back into his bag.

"I need some rest. Have you seen Luna anywhere?" he asked, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Perplexed, she pointed to the farthest corner from them, where a Luna was curled up in a stuffy armchair, reading the latest edition of The Quibbler.

"Thanks," he muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow." And he was gone.

Sliding down a little in her seat, Hermione sighed, grateful she and Neville didn't have to patrol tonight. It had been a long day and she needed rest, but that didn't seem possible here. Normally she would wait for Harry and Ron, but at the moment they were with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team outside. She had no desire to sit and listen to their tales of stupendous plays and who had received which injuries, so she decided to leave for her room instead.

Standing up quickly she gathered her things and hastened to her dorm. Once she was inside the head common room, she carefully set down her bag by the umbrella stand. She rubbed her temples as she made her way over to the large table by the mini kitchen and sat down, reaching for an orange from the fruit bowl when something caught her eye.

The large letters that made up the headline of that days' Daily Prophet stared up at her ominously.

MISSING: Susannah Hastings

Hermione grabbed the paper and looked at the picture of a young woman with dark, serious eyes and a thin, angular figure standing beside a rather handsome man who Hermione deduced to be her fiancé due to their matching rings and the intimate embrace he held her in. Susannah smiled radiantly at the camera, her light brown curls swaying in the breeze. Hermione lowered her eyes to read the article.

As of October 9 th, (insert year here), Miss Susannah Hastings, daughter of Henrietta and George Hastings, has been declared missing.

Miss Hastings was last seen in Diagon Alley, by her friend Miss Melinda Rodet, who reported nothing had seemed amiss with her friend.

"She was in high spirits," Rodet recalls, "she'd been looking to buy a gift for Reginald, her fiancé, before their wedding next month." Outraged at the implications that Miss Hastings may have been a runaway bride, Rodet said, "Susannah loves Reginald with all her might. There's no way she ever would have left him like this willingly."

Miss Hastings' parents are beside themselves with worry; a reward of 500 galleons is being offered for information or the safe return of their only daughter.

This is the second disappearance within the month. The first disappearance was that of Annabelle Farway, who still has not been found. Ministry Aurors are asking that anyone who might have information on the attacker please step forward.

The article went on, giving information on who to contact if anyone had seen either member of the missing party. Hermione dropped the paper back down on the table and stood up, appetite gone. It must have been a slow news day at the Prophet Headquarters if they actually wrote about this. She knew for a fact from the Order that there were more than these two disappearances. At least three other people had disappeared beside the two unfortunate women listed in that day's paper, but no articles had been written for them, which perplexed and outraged her. She had only heard this news from the Order.

It was an unsafe time; all these people were vanishing left and right. The Aurors worked day and night to solve the strange cases but would any of them ever be found? Hermione frowned. Who could be doing this? It couldn't be Malfoy, could it? What would he be kidnapping strangers for, if he was the one doing it?

It couldn't be him. Couldn't it? He had committed a horrible murder and was high up on the Wanted list. Most everyone still grieved for Dumbledore and were angered that the culprit hadn't been caught. If they caught sight of Malfoy they would not let him go easily.

He wouldn't dare return, would he?

That only left Voldemort and his torrid Death Eaters. Hermione shivered and went into her room to change into warmer clothing.

They were all innocent people, why target them? Even children were being taken, but everyone knew Fenrir Greyback was behind this. She fervently wished those children were safe and sound and would be rescued. But that was a false hope.

After she climbed into bed Hermione made sure her wand was secure under her pillow. No one would ever know how comforting it was to know Malfoy was not sharing that space with her anymore, that he would never have access to her rooms again. She thought back to all the times he had intruded without her knowing and clutched her wand tighter underneath her pillow. All summer she had had nightmares of being held in her sleep by someone she could not see, but well knew it was Malfoy. Every morning she would wake and inspect herself over to make sure the mysterious bruises and marks were not appearing on her body again. She used to be a deep sleeper-now any faint sound in the dead of night would have her lurching awake in bed, fearing that he had returned.

Neville had always been a perfect gentleman, she never worried about him, but the close proximity of her wand helped her sleep better. That, and her door was always locked no matter what.

When she closed her eyes at last Malfoy's smug face greeted her there in the darkness. Hermione ground her palms into her eyes to rid herself of the image. Her skin crawled. She turned to lie on her side, her eyes open in the dark, remaining that way for hours, unable to sleep.

Every time she closed them she fancied she could feel his arm slithering around her waist from behind, and any faint trace of sleep that had been inching forward before would rush away.

Beyond frustrated, she sat up in bed, brought her knees to her chest, held her head in between them.

She was so tired of this.

You did this to me.

Suddenly it felt like there was someone beside her on the bed. Either she had imagined it or it was simply a draft but it felt like someone had just breathed onto her shoulder, and at once Hermione shot up and out of the bed with a pounding heart, wand raised and pointed accusingly at the bed, which was empty after all. It took a moment for her to calm back down and settle into bed again, but when she closed her eyes again he was still there, waiting, his eyes rarely blinking, his smile taunting, victorious. She willed it away.

Rot in hell, bastard.


"For homework, simply practice what we learned today. By the end of class tomorrow I want to have seen each and every one of you successfully change the color of your hair," said Professor (and Headmistress) McGonagall, looking sternly around the large classroom. Her students, frustrated with the complexity of the spell, stared incredulously at her.

Enough of that. I know you'll manage it, she thought.

Her sharp eyes landed on her favorite student, who sat seriously at her desk, humbly helping each peer who sought her help. She felt a sense of pride for the young woman, taking in her now-raven tresses. So far, she was the only one who had succeeded in the color-changing spell.

Dean Thomas had managed to set his hair on fire. She wasn't surprised. The boy seemed to have an affinity with the element. Longbottom was partially successful; he had streaks of golden yellow hairs mixing with his dark locks. She hid her chuckle with a well-timed cough. Two students had managed to change the texture of their hair-one student with wavy hair had turned it pin-straight, and the poor young man who'd had a good crop of wavy hair had become the laughing stock of the classroom when he'd managed to add several inches to his hair. So much so that at the moment it hung down to his toes and still growing rapidly. He'd been dispatched to Madame Pomfrey at once.

Merlin knows what she'd do with the hair.

The bell rang, dismissing the students, and they all scrambled up and out of the room within seconds.

Only Longbottom and Granger stayed and she strode to her desk, pleased, as they walked up.

She couldn't have chosen a better Head Boy. He'd surprised them all, having grown from a frightened, clumsy, and witless boy to an intelligent, confident and capable young man. (Yet at times, his former self still could appear.)

Last year's Head Boy, Malfoy had done well, which had given her hope. A very intelligent young man, he would be able to go very far, anyone could tell that much. But there was no chance of that as long as he was still on the wrong side. She had appealed to Dumbledore a year ago, that his was a case worth saving. Perhaps he had not been totally corrupted yet. Perhaps the boy could be saved. They had purposely chosen him, thinking that maybe the honor of it and the exposure to someone of the opposite side could whip him into shape, perhaps even change him.

All for naught, she thought drily in her mind, and grief flooded her for an instant as she thought back to what had happened in the past year.

She had been too late. Her best friend was gone, and all by her own suggestion.

At sensing the moisture in her eyes she frowned and blinked the tears away, banishing them from her tear ducts. It would not do to cry. That would not help anyone, and now was not the proper time to grieve. She had done enough of that over the summer.

They had approached her desk, and she raised her hand just as Longbottom opened his mouth to speak.

"What do you two think about having a Masquerade Halloween Ball?" she asked. "Something to lift the air of mourning."

Neville's eyes lit up at once. "It seems a wonderful idea, Professor."

"How much time do we have to get everything ready?" Hermione asked.

"It will be on the thirty-first," the Headmistress said. "You have more than enough time to prepare, especially seeing as it's you two working on it." She bestowed upon them a rare half-smile. "I will be giving the announcement at dinner tomorrow," she announced.

"If you don't mind my asking, why not earlier, Professor?" Neville asked.

"Because if she announces it during breakfast, that's all anyone will think about for the rest of the day. It's best they get the initial excitement out of the way before they get to class," Hermione interjected.

The Headmistress nodded.

"Will that be all, Professor?" Hermione inquired.

"Quite. You are dismissed."


"First things first," Neville began as they made their way towards the Head Common Room, "shall we allow the usage of masks?"

"I suppose so," Hermione said slowly, "Although we'll have to remind everyone to behave. There's no denying someone will try to pull a little mischief."

"Right," Neville agreed. "Oh Merlin, look at my hair!" he cried as he caught his reflection on a suit of armor they had been walking by. "You didn't tell me I look like a bloody skunk."

Hermione stifled a laugh and inspected his handiwork as he turned to her with pleading eyes.

"Could you fix it?"

"Weren't you paying attention?" Hermione teased. "McGonagall said the effects of the spell last for a few hours."

Neville groaned, still pulling at his hair.

"Oh, just relax!" Hermione chided, trying to pull him away from his reflection. "It doesn't look that bad," she lied through her teeth, "and I don't think Luna will mind."

"It's true, she's seen worse," he laughed. "But I admit I envy you and your flowing raven locks." He snagged one of her curls and held it up to his own hair, smiling.

"I'm sorry Neville," Hermione choked out through her laughter. "I don't think curls are very becoming for you."

Suddenly she stopped, her eyes wide with realization.

"Hermione?" Neville asked, releasing her lock of hair. "Are you all right?"

"What happened to him?" her eyes were oddly vacant. Worried, Neville touched her shoulder.

"Who, Hermione? Who are you talking about?" he asked.

"Cormac," she whispered. "Cormac McLaggen."

Neville scowled. "Him? Why are you asking about him, Hermione? What's wrong?"

Draco watched her through hooded eyes.

"Speaking of your attacker, Granger, have you heard of him lately?"

She looked at him for a moment, horror dawning upon her. "What did you do?"

"You'll find out in due time, pet."

Hermione looked up at him. "Has anyone heard from him at all since last year?" she asked.

Dumbledore's murder had left them not much room to think of anything else over the summer. Hermione had been swallowed by her fear of Malfoy's threat of returning to even remember the one about Cormac.

How could I have forgotten it? I've become too stupid.

Neville shrugged. "He was expelled, wasn't he? That's all I know."

Hermione nodded, feigning a look of relief on her face. Inside, her mind was in a frenzy.

Something wasn't right.