"Missed me?" he asked, grinning and spreading his arms out, his palms open.
Hermione shook her head, her lips parted in surprise. His smile withered. "Well, that's insulting," he said lightly.
"Why should I be happy to see you again after what you did to me?" Hermione said angrily.
"You're too right, Granger." He looked a little sheepish, to Hermione's relief.
"It's just- How… I thought you transferred!"
"I did," he said. "But I had unfinished business here, so I had to come back."
"Why tonight of all nights?" she asked.
He grinned. "Couldn't risk not seeing you," he said, and there was something serious and unidentifiable in his eyes as he looked at her. "You're part of the reason I came back."
"Why did you?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I never did apologize for it, did I?" he asked.
"No," she said. "But you didn't have to come all the way out here to do that when you weren't sure how I'd react to seeing you again. A letter would have been enough."
"Well." He dug his hands in his pockets and took another few steps closer to close the space in between them.
She didn't know what to do; he was cornering her into the wall. She placed her palms on the wall behind her, ready to grab her wand from her pocket at a moment's notice. She stared up into his eyes, and gasped upon finding his face so close to her own.
"Is this how you choose to apologize?" she hissed.
Cormac shrugged. "People have their own ways of doing things."
Hermione pressed herself into the wall more deeply to avoid him. "You've got a funny way of apologizing. Get away from me."
"Oh, Granger, give me credit," he chuckled. "At least I'm actually doing it."
Upon this pause, he took his time looking her over from head to toe, drinking in her exquisite appearance. Hermione's face was on fire with the intensity of her blush.
"Potter is one lucky man," he commented softly, speaking more to himself than to her. He raised a hand and traced his fingers over her trembling lips. Hermione jerked away, glaring at him. "I'd give anything for another taste…" he whispered.
Another?
Warning bells were ringing in her head. Something wasn't right here. Hermione began to reach for her wand.
He seemed to have made up his mind and was leaning in closer; her breaths quickened and she stared wide-eyed at him in incredulity at his nerve. Hermione's heart caught in her throat. Moving jerkily out of fear, she reached up and shoved him hard.
"Stop it!"
He quickly straightened and took one step back, though it seemed to have taken quite a bit of effort to do so. His hands were at his sides once more and he was a respectable distance away, and though his face was void of emotion, she could feel the anger coming from him. Confusion wrapped its sticky arms around her once more and she wondered why he could possibly be angry right now. What was going on?
"I'm sorry," he ground out, running a hand through his hair as she stepped further away from him, grasping her wand.
"Is this a habit of yours, molesting me at dances?" she asked, her voice acidic.
"Oh, but you're so tempting," he said huskily, and she glared at him.
"Goodbye," she tucked her wand back into its pocket in her cloak and began to walk away.
"No," he said, and quickly, he snatched her arm and brought her back.
"How dare you-!"
He placed a finger on her lips, silencing the enraged witch.
"This isn't goodbye, Granger," he said gravely. "At least, not yet."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" she huffed, yanking her arm out of his hold.
"When is the next trip to Hogsmeade?" he asked suddenly, looking around them. He was running out of time.
"In a week," she answered testily. "Why?"
"Because I need to tell you something, and it can't be done here," he said.
She gestured to the space around them. "What's wrong with here?"
He crossed his arms and smirked, leaning against the wall. "Maybe I just want to see you again."
"Maybe I don't," she said, glaring.
"It's not a date or anything like that," he said impatiently, but then cocked his brow at her, smiling a crooked smile. "Unless you want it to be."
"I'm in a relationship, you insufferable arse," she spat.
He mockingly held up his hands in surrender and hung his head, shaking with laughter.
"So be it," he looked back up at her, "but I've important information I cannot relay here."
"Why not?" Hermione asked. "And information on what, exactly?"
"On the previous Head Boy," he said, watching the color drain from her face.
"Why should I care about him?" she asked, feigning indifference.
"Because he threatened me after my incident at the Ball last year, and I generally got the idea that you are in danger."
Hermione frowned. "He forced you to move, didn't he?"
Cormac said nothing; he only looked at her.
"Do whatever you have to do, but I don't want anyone else tagging along," he instructed. "I'm already compromising my safety and yours by being here. Meet me at the Shrieking Shack."
With that, he turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm.
"Wait-" she began, but he cut her off again.
"I can't tell you any more, Granger. I've got to go now."
"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked him softly, not relinquishing her hold on his arm.
"You don't," he said. "But I did apologize, and I hope that helps. You'll just have to trust me on this one." With that, he brushed off her arm and left, pulling his mask back on.
"Wait-!" she called, going after him, plunging back into the mass of magic folk, who were still celebrating the unmasking.
She could see flashes of him every now and then as she tailed him as best as she could, reaching out to grasp at his robe, his arm, anything. She had more questions, and by Jove, he wasn't going to leave her like this.
She wove through the throng of moving bodies, narrowly avoiding being hit several times by a waving arm or a moving passerby. Several times she had to duck to the side to evade having punch spilled on her dress.
He was uncommonly fast-either that or she was out of shape. With every step she took, she could sense she was losing him.
She didn't dare call him for fear of having him found out. Of course, he hadn't told her that he didn't want to be discovered, but everything else had led her to assume it was what he wanted. Why all the secrecy? If he had come only to see her, and had made sure of no one knowing of his presence, and had conducted their little get-together in the most secluded part of the ballroom, then that was the only reason.
She knew he knew that she was following him, though. Every now and then she'd catch a fleeting glimpse of him looking back at her from over his shoulder, the wolf's eyes leering at her. She didn't even know where he was headed; she didn't dare take a second to look around to ascertain where she was in fear of losing sight of him.
They were almost out of the ballroom now. As she pushed her way through the crowd, all she could see was the black of his costume and nothing more as he streaked ahead.
She heard rather than saw the great doors open, and she knew she lost him. He slipped out and the doors shut behind him.
She only had a bit more to go, though. Maybe she could catch him before he left the castle! With desperation, she forced her way through to skid in front of the doors when suddenly, someone caught her around the waist and she found herself swept against that someone's chest.
"What-?" she looked up, a jinx ready on her lips, only to falter and sag in relief.
It was just Harry.
Before he could say anything, she twisted and turned in his hold, looking anxiously towards the doors. He would be gone by now. She cursed to herself and sighed inwardly. This meant she would have to see him during the next Hogsmeade weekend.
"You all right?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Never better," she replied somewhat absently, reluctantly removing her eyes from the doors.
"Well, that's fantastic, because we should be heading back to the tower soon."
Hermione turned, raising a brow. "We?"
Harry sputtered. "Well I was hoping you'd stay the night at the Gryffindor Tower," he muttered sheepishly. "Ron and I miss you."
Hermione pretended to think it over for a second, before poking him in the shoulder and laughing. "Of course," she agreed. "But it'll have to wait until the ball is completely over. Neville and I do have to take care of a few things, you know."
"That won't take too long, will it?" Harry asked, stifling a yawn as he looked around.
"It shouldn't," Hermione said. It was true. As they spoke, students were leaving the room, shuffling with their tired feet or talking animatedly over who wore what disguise or simply yawning widely.
"As a matter of fact, I think our work is half-done," she said, sweeping her eyes around the room. Neville was already announcing it was time to go, and the room was nearly empty. The band was packing up-they would have to see them out in a minute or two, but it seemed the whole spectacle had wrapped up quite nicely.
She turned to Harry. "Why don't you run ahead to the Gryffindor tower? I'll meet you there in a bit."
"Why don't we just meet up at your dorm?" he suggested a little shyly. "We'd have more privacy there…"
Hermione hesitated.
"Of course," Harry continued, noticing her pause, "we wouldn't be doing anything you're not comfortable with."
"That seems a fine idea," Hermione conceded, and after she gave him her password, they parted with a quick kiss.
"Rest assured, my lady, that our efforts were not in vain! We have a success on our hands!" called Neville as Hermione approached him.
"Never was I in doubt, kind sir, not even for one moment," she responded.
There was no one around to listen to their strange banter. Whenever Neville was in a really good or playful mood, he would resort to speaking like this; and so dear was he to Hermione that she couldn't help but play along.
"Never in doubt!" he cried, waving his wand so that all the garbage was cleaned up off the floor. "How could that be?"
"Well, you see, with minds as great as ours, there should be not a flicker of doubt," Hermione answered levelly, magicking the décor away.
They worked quickly as they continued their silly speeches, and within a matter of minutes, their work was done.
Gone was the beautiful and opulent opera house, and back in its rightful place was the Great Hall. Hermione hummed with contentment and tucked her wand back into her cloak. Neville stretched, rubbing at his sore shoulders.
"Guess we should call it a night, eh?"
Hermione nodded.
"Unwavering Loyalty," Hermione mumbled to her door. She stumbled inside and kicked off her shoes as she began to untie her cloak.
She was so tired; she let it fall into a silky puddle on the floor as she moved on and found Harry lying down on the sofa in front of the fire.
"Still awake?" she giggled, and he grunted in response.
"Give me a moment," she whispered.
She slipped inside her room and slipped out of her dress, sighing as she felt the soft fabric whisper against her skin. She brushed her teeth and washed her face and pulled on the first pair of pajamas she found.
She cracked open her door and found Harry sound asleep, his mouth slightly open. She prodded him awake.
"Whassat?" he slurred, adjusting his glasses.
"You're welcome to sleep in my room," she said, biting her lip. "Or you can sleep on the sofa if you like."
He sat up slowly, looking her in the eye. "Are you sure about this?"
She nodded, and then turned around and walked into her room.
She climbed up into her bed and lay down on her side, watching as he, clad in his own pajamas, crawled up beside her.
He settled himself behind her and wrapped his arms around her, burying his head into her hair. Hermione was acutely aware of how close her bum was to his crotch, how the warmth of his body bled into hers, how wonderfully tight his arms were around her. She closed her eyes and smiled when she felt him press soft, feather-light kisses onto her neck.
"I love you," he murmured into her skin.
She stared at the wall on the opposite side of the room.
"I-I love you too," she whispered.
He didn't hear her. He had fallen asleep.
He brushed raindrops off his coat as he entered the Manor quickly, heading towards his study. Blaise was already there, sipping brandy as he played a game of chess against himself.
The fire was blazing away and he stood in front of it, warming his cold body. He shrugged off his coat and tore off the mask and gloves.
Already, he was changing.
He was stretching upwards, his skin growing paler and his features finer and handsomer. His eyes, once a light hazel, were drained of color till they resembled an icy, churning ocean. His hair was a pale blond, reaching a little past his ears, and there was a slight wave to it. His lips regained their fullness, his chin was pointed once more, and his nose was long and fine.
He took in a deep breath when it was over; using the Polyjuice Potion was not pleasant.
Blaise had been watching with mild interest, but now that his friend's true form was revealed, he pushed the chess set away and finished his drink.
"How'd it go?"
Draco turned; the grin on his face was absolutely feral.
"She bought it."
They awoke when the sun's rays shone through her window and the freshness of the new day filled the air around them.
She blinked and stretched, arching her back so that her bum pushed backward, unaware of the sleeping male behind her.
And squealed when she felt his arms tighten around her, drawing her back into his hardening body.
"Morning," he groaned, kissing her shoulder.
"M-Morning," she gasped, her heart still racing.
"Shall we head down to breakfast?" he asked, tracing patterns on her skin with his thumb.
"Yes."
Neither of them moved, however. They were perfectly content to stay where they were and bask in the sunlight.
"So who was that mysterious wolf-man of yours yesterday?" he asked, lips brushing against her skin.
Hermione closed her eyes. "A fifth-year Hufflepuff," she lied. "Though he's rather keen on not having his identity revealed, so there's no use trying to get me to tell."
"Bollocks," Harry chortled as he slid off the bed, stretching.
She gave an inaudible sigh of relief and then sprang off the bed, preparing her mind for the day. It was Saturday, and though she had a small pile of homework to finish, she was set on taking the day off to think about things.
Harry was already in the common room, his hand on the doorknob. Quickly, Hermione looked around, and her eyes landed on Neville's door. Was he inside? She didn't know when he had come back from the ball, or if he'd met up with Luna somewhere else. The thought made her giggle.
"You can't leave looking like that!" she gasped, gesturing at Harry, who looked down at his t-shirt and pajama bottoms.
Before he could grimace, she had waved her wand and muttered a simple incantation that had transformed his nightwear into regular clothes that were suited for the weekend.
"Thanks," he grinned and crossed the room to give her a peck on the lips. "See you at breakfast?"
Hermione nodded, smiling. Once he'd left, she ran to shower. It had been an interesting week, to be sure, she surmised as she pulled off her clothing. She knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate on her homework with the mystery of Cormac and what he had to tell her prodding at her mind, so she resolved to do nothing today. She deserved a break, did she not? After all, she'd practically worked herself to the bone along with Neville, preparing for the ball.
As she showered, she let the hot water run over her skin and closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion seep out of her. The wonderful hot steam swirled around her as she grabbed her bottle of shampoo, squirting some into her palm. She lathered it into her hair and massaged the substance into her scalp, relishing the floral scent.
Once she was out of the shower and wrapped in her fluffy purple towel, she padded back into her room and to her dresser, but nearly yelped in surprise when she saw her reflection. Picking up a wet strand of her hair, she laughed to herself. She'd forgotten she'd charmed her hair into a different color. With a flick of her wand, the problem was resolved and she set about to get ready.
Perhaps coming out here wasn't the best idea, Hermione thought to herself as she stood at the entrance of the school's courtyard.
It was a lovely place to come and relax, of course, with its arched stone wall surrounding the perimeter of the area and an assortment of (dying) plants arranged so as to give the spot a cheery look. A medium-sized fountain sat in the center, where one could sit on the bank and chat with friends. There were stone benches scattered about to maximize comfort and no matter where you sat, you would have a clear view of the Quidditch Pitch.
But there was no one out here.
Perhaps it was the cold. Though she was swathed in her warmest jumper and her second-favorite pink scarf (she had lost her blue scarf sometime last year), she shivered with the cold anyway as she walked further into the recesses of the courtyard.
As soon as she had procured a seat, she lifted her legs up and sat Indian style, bringing her bag into her lap. Wrapping her arms around it, she lifted her knees slightly and placed her chin on the top of her bag.
She needed to think.
Should I go see Cormac? She thought.
If I go see him, I'll find out what exactly has happened to him since he left, and how Malfoy's been involved. Maybe what he can tell me can help us track him down, so he can be sent to Azkaban, where he belongs.
But how will I hide this from Harry and Ron? They'll want to know who I'm seeing. And what if Cormac is lying? He probably doesn't even have anything to tell me. He said he wanted to see me again. Maybe all this is a ruse.
She sighed as the questions ran through her head, making it impossible to focus.
Well, you do have a couple of days, a thoughtful voice in her mind suggested. You have a while to make a decision…
Fine, then, she resolved. I'll think it over.
That being decided, she pulled a heavy, worn book out of her bag and settled it on her lap, caressing the weathered pages softly. The title, Hogwarts, a History, stared back up at her, and she smiled at it, recalling the day she had gone to Diagon Alley to buy it.
She had been only eleven then, brimming to the top with happiness and wonder as she discovered the new world she was meant to be part of. The moment she had pulled down that book (with effort, for it was heavy and she was small and not very strong,), she had known that she would love the book. And she was right, of course. Whenever she was troubled or needed peace, this was the book she came to. This was how she coped. Harry and Ron had teased her mercilessly over the years, about how she preferred books to actually company, but she didn't mind, for it was true. Books were always there to listen, with their solemn pages, and they never judged you. Seven years she had had this book, and though it was fraying and worn and the binding was tearing, she would never buy a new one. Some things were just too valuable to replace.
