-.-
Departures and Arrivals
By dinner a mere three days later, Ginevra Weasley's name was being whispered in hushed tones across the Great Hall.
"…completely bonkers. I heard they had to drag her screaming from the castle…"
"—hated Snape. Hardly a surprise she went off in there…"
"…happened at The Haunt, yeah? Mad cow couldn't even work her wand right… Didn't seem quite all there in the head anymore, if you know what I mean…"
"You've heard the news, My, haven't you?" Parvati asked eagerly, somewhat boldly sliding onto the Gryffindor bench beside what had Hermione had begun to think of as the upperclassmen Muggleborn Elite coalition: her, Colin Creevy, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ravenclaw Isadora Appleton, the latter of which would occasionally join My and/or Colin during meals and activities.
She arched an eyebrow with only a half-curious expression. "About?"
Parvati seemed astonished. "Why… Ginevra Weasley being suspended, of course!"
Of course Hermione had heard, though she feigned obliviousness to gather more information. In a morbid way, she felt like celebrating. Her curiosity about the caper was overflowing, especially since Harry and Snape had kept her out of it, likely deliberately, but she expected she'd learn more at the last-minute prefect meeting McGonagall had called for tomorrow morning. "No," she gasped in feigned disbelief, placing a hand over her heart. "What's she gone and done to herself now?"
"Went off her rocker mad in Potions yesterday," Colin enthusiastically recounted. "Breaking jars, overturning cauldrons, screaming threats at Snape and Evans and, er —" He nodded toward Hermione, "you, indirectly. Something about you stealing everything that was hers… The room's probably still a disaster area. Ridiculous. She literally attacked Snape, but I tell you, that man's a beast! She never stood a chance after that!" He laughed along with the rest of them.
Isadora shook her head. "Merlin, what a lowe."
In a rush, the Universe B insult Hermione'd never quite understood that was applied toward slightly mental women made sense to her. It must have been referencing the original conservative advocate, Sinistra Lowe…
Tom Riddle's executed wife.
She bit back a wave of infuriated nausea at the horrific injustice of history as Justin snorted in agreement. "Merlin's beard, I thought she'd been a raving lunatic when she went off on you Friday night, My, but that was just a preview. I've never seen a bloody thing like it."
"Thrown into the psych ward at St. Mungo's, I heard," said Colin.
"I heard she'd've probably been expelled if it weren't for her—" Isadora abruptly stopped speaking; she likely realized she'd been about to speak ill of Ginevra's father, who, despite the general depravity of his family, was still the third most powerful person in the Sovereignty. "…her, erm… connections."
What Potions, if any, might Snape have subtly used to goad Ginevra to her boiling point? Hermione wondered. Something untraceable, surely; perhaps a Flummoxion Potion with milkworm added? Or the Imperius Curse? But no, those would be too obvious. Or had he simply been his obnoxious self and had known which buttons to push? Merlin knew the redhead had hundreds….
"After her pitiful attempt for attention at the Haunt, I'm hardly surprised," she finally commented coolly. She sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "The poor dear. A sizable fortune, excellent title, power, connections… she had all the right ingredients for happiness."
Isadora lowered her voice. "Seems to me all she's cared about lately is revenge for besting her brother, My. For the House-Wizard." She scoffed condescendingly. "They may not be fusties, but they're still chavs, the whole lot of them. We've all been concerned about what she might do."
Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. For people who were so concerned about her, they certainly hadn't breathed a word of this to her before now. "Well, I've hardly been. It's all utter tosh," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "If she thinks that dismal creature's actually worth fighting over, she belongs wherever she's going."
"You wouldn't understand it, would you?" Lavender, who'd been quietly sitting beside Parvati, blurted suddenly. "That rat and his traitorous family are the reason Old-Bloods have to work so bloody hard every day to prove ourselves! For us there is pleasure in retribution," she ground out, her expression almost as crazed as Ginevra's, "something you don't have to care about, but just like a Muggleborn, you waltzed right in and took even that away!"
Silence descended upon the northwest corner of the Great Hall.
Everyone within listening vicinity had turned toward towards her, their mouths agape, though likely for very different reasons than Hermione's horrified expression.
How could anyone, anyone, find that justification for torture acceptable?It was one thing to feel anger about one's position in society. It was quite another to viciously and unremorsefully harm other living creatures because of it. After the ghastly things Ginevra had done to Draco and Merlin only knew who else, she bloody well deserved every inch of justice that was served to her with a side of insanity for good measure, whether in St. Mungo's or elsewhere.
Lavender's brown eyes grew as wide as saucers. "I-I just — I meant — ob-obviously, I can… s-see where she was coming from?"
Despite her outrage, Hermione was the first to react, as she expected My would have been after a direct attack on her character. "Oh dear. It's clear from your behaviour that you must have had a miserable childhood. Must have been that Old-Blood upbringing," she remarked casually, though her voice was chilly. "I think this table's become a bit crowded, hasn't it, Justin?"
"Splendid observation, Lady Evans." The brown-haired Hufflepuff lowered an icy expression at Lavender. "I think you need to take a long walk and consider what you just said, Old Blood. It'd be rather unfortunate if the Phoenix got wind of comments like that, don't you think?"
Lavender paled. "But, I-I— I didn't mean…!"
"Oh, I think you did, darling." Isadora lifted her wand, pointing it at her. "Imperio."
Lavender's eyes instantly went blank.
"Very good," said Isadora. "Now, be a dear, and jump up on the table here so everyone can see you. That's right," she said as Lavender unsteadily climbed onto the bench upon which she'd previously been sitting. "Take advantage of this rare moment in the spotlight to remind you and your kind of your rightful place. Make it convincing."
Lavender pointed her wand toward the enchanted ceiling, and sparks flew from the tip of it. "Attention, fellow Old Bloods!" she exclaimed loudly, though she drew everyone's notice. "I am compelled to speak to you now, from — from the bottom of my heart —" she clutched at her chest, "with the very best in mind for all of us!"
Justin and Colin began chortling madly.
Tears welled in Lavender's eyes, and her voice began to waver with emotion. "We cannot allow the tragic, a-awful breakdown of p-poor Ginevra Weasley to pass w-without — without l-learning from it. She tried to compete with a Muggleborn—" Hermione jumped slightly as Lavender flung her arm out to point at her, "—and l-look where it g-got her. I-Insanity!" She choked back a wail, covering her eyes, and then shook her head fiercely. "We c-cannot forget that we should n-never compete with M-M-Muggleborns and Mixed-Bloods… w-we will n-never be g-g-good enough to have w-what is theirs."
The Muggleborns and Mixed-Bloods sitting around her shook with laughter, and Hermione hastily pushed a smirk to her face, even though she felt sick.
Lavender wiped tearfully at her eyes, then looked up determinedly. "And to prove that," she announced, "I'm going to end my relationship with my — my — Lord Won Won Weasley. I should've known it was doomed from the start." Her chin again quavered, and she blew her nose loudly into a napkin. "A lowly, pathetic Old-Blood like me could never rival My Evans, either."
As several people whom Hermione suspected were not Old-Bloods glanced toward Hermione and chuckled and hooted, she forced a pleased smile to her face to cover her vexation. Lavender had been the perfect distraction for Ronáld. Who knew if his attention would be drawn back to her, even if only worshipfully, if their relationship ended? But with that kind of declaration, there wasn't exactly a way she could step in and stop it.
Surreptitiously, she glanced down the table to see the reaction of the warped tosser himself, but thank Merlin he and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team still seemed to be absent. Harry had grunted in passing they were having an emergency practice to replace Ginevra's position on the team.
"That was smashing, darling; you're a natural," Isadora said patronisingly as Lavender climbed back to the ground. At the praise, the exuberant girl's moroseness disappeared, and she appeared pleased. "Now, when you finish your business with Weasley, sit down somewhere alone and repeat to yourself you're a failure of a witch until you believe it." Isadora waved her wand forward, as if shooing her on. "Off! Off you go!"
No matter how much Hermione disliked Lavender, she felt horrified and appalled as the woman obediently walked away.
Did no one else in the Sovereignty who claimed it was at the height of a "golden age" see that the societal structure was simply a house of cards waiting to topple? Lavender's aggravated injection had revealed a startlingly ideological anger behind Ginevra's seemingly irrational hatred: Here, even the oppressors were oppressed. It just furthered the cycle of abuse.
Justin finally stifled his chortles, holding his side, and sucked in a breath. "Disgusting ingrates. We've allowed them to sit here among us as equals, and still they aren't satisfied. Think we're stealing something that's entitled them." He shook his head, his lip curling slightly. "Blasted good thing the majority of them've been dealt with."
Hermione remembered much of Tom Riddle's animating final speech to them from days before, but one line seemed particularly appropriate then, about darkness spreading like an insidious curse in the hearts of Sovereignty youth, who had come to delight in witnessing the pain of other living beings.
Her heart ached for the innocence that had been lost, even amongst the most Elite of them all.
"—ou My?"
She started when she noticed that Justin, Colin, and Isadora had looked toward her, as if for affirmation. She glanced between them, then let a small, smug smile pull at her lips… as she usually did whenever she was in doubt of what someone was saying to her. "What do you think?" she countered ambiguously.
She let out a breath when Colin and Justin exchanged wicked grins, and couldn't help but wonder what kind of untrue gossip about My she had unintentionally implied now.
After Hermione left the Great Hall, she threw her Invisibility Cloak over her shoulders and located Lavender by the lake. She thought of her sitting there in the drizzly night, telling herself over and over what an awful witch she was, possibly until she went mad. Yes, there was a chance Lavender had tortured Draco and other House-Witches and Wizards as well, but… Hermione rather felt she'd be as complicit as any of the "Elite" around her if she knowingly left her to suffer.
It wasn't the way to build a better world.
She glanced at her watch. She had fifteen minutes before she needed to meet Harry and Draco in the Head Common Room, and a half hour beyond that before Filch would "deliver" Blaise Zabini. But if she ran she reckoned she could make it there and back.
She was well aware that what had happened to Lavender was something any of the Slytherins in Universe A would have dearly loved to do to her.
To no one's surprise, Harry wasn't pleased when she arrived a few minutes past their rendezvous time. His broad form, still fully bedecked in the reds and golds of his Quidditch uniform, cut an imposing figure against the finery of the Head Common Room.
"Where have you been?" he demanded. "Filch may be an idiot, but's he's a bloody well prompt one."
"I highly doubt it's going to take me twenty-five minutes to summon Draco, Harry," Hermione said dryly without slowing her pace, and bounded up the stairs to her room. This Filch, through creepily similar, was a bit more careless than he had been in her world, and she couldn't imagine the twisted old caretaker arriving anywhere that far ahead of schedule.
Once she reached her suite, she slung off her bag and pulled out Draco's House-Wizard lead. He had offered to wait with Blaise while Harry and Hermione went to the Chamber of Secrets to summon them there, arguing, probably rightfully, that Blaise would be more likely to trust his explanation of their somewhat bizarre situation than he would that of either Evans. Hermione thought bringing Draco back to the Head dorms for the exchange was probably a good idea anyway, in the rather off chance that Filch decided to conduct a House-Wizard inspection while he was there.
Originally, the Sovereignty-mandated inspections had been a bit more commonplace, Pansy had told her, but Filch had begun to shirk that duty in the past year or so, until they'd all but tapered off completely. He'd only stopped by once after Hermione had put an end to Pansy's nightly transfer to the "slave hold," to "see how the House-Witch was settling in." To keep him from getting anywhere near Pansy, Hermione had lied and told him she'd 'rented her out' for the day, to which the greasy-haired man had simply chuckled sinisterly and shuffled away, muttering something the sounded like, "Students these days…"
Still, because Hermione-in-My had acquired a bit of a reputation for her "hoarding" of Draco, she didn't think she could use the same excuse to explain his absence.
Holding up the lead, Hermione braced herself, expecting Draco to stumble after the externally-induced Apparation like he'd done previously, and clearly stated his name.
Immediately, the blond wizard popped into sight, pitching forward. Hermione swiftly reached out to support him, but he caught himself on the cane he'd brought with him before she could.
"Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly, a chuffed expression on his face. "Got it this time!"
He straightened… and Hermione stared at him.
For some reason, instead of his usual combination of Harry's old jumpers and slacks, he was dressed in a handsome grey button-up shirt beneath a dark blue pullover, tucked smartly into dark-washed jeans atop leather shoes. The Oxford's sleeves were unbuttoned and casually rolled back slightly, though hardly enough to reveal more scarred skin than he was comfortable showing. The entire ensemble could have easily fit in at a posh university campus, and had clearly been adjusted to fit his slender frame to a tee.
Sweet Morgana, he looked…
He looked brilliant.
It wasn't exactly the first time Hermione'd had the thought since she'd arrived in Universe B, but she had never seen this Draco so well-dressed, even if it was casual, and she'd never felt compelled to admire Universe A's Malfoy for his even more formal attire like she was now.
Abruptly, she realized what she was doing and forced herself to focus on his face.
Which didn't help matters much.
Heat rose to her cheeks. Before he could notice, she hastily took a step toward the door, stammering out the general message that Harry had just spat at her. "Sorry to, erm, leave as soon as you've arrived, but I really should go. Filch is bringing up Blaise from the dungeons and he could probably arrive at any moment if he runs early—"
Draco held out a hand. "Hermione, Hermione — slow down. We've still got plenty of time." His concerned gaze met hers. "Did something happen?"
She reckoned he knew as well as she did that when it came to executing a plan, she was usually punctual and collected.
His disarming presence soothed her nervous energy and twitchy feet, and she let out a long breath, bringing a hand to her forehead. He was right, of course. Even if Filch arrived at that very moment, it wouldn't have mattered if she wasn't there immediately — technically the sale was to Harry only, and anyway, My wouldn't have cared if she barged down into the midst of it and interrupted anything.
No, to be honest… until the old caretaker stepped foot into their common room, she'd much rather soak in Draco's rejuvenatingly positive energy than Harry's icy moroseness.
"Hermione?" Draco asked again gently.
His voice brought Hermione back to his original question, and she sighed. She wouldn't soon forget the expression she'd witnessed on Lavender's face when Hermione had lifted the Imperius Curse: At first confused, and then horrified, and then the Old-Blood Gryffindor had hunched over herself and began sobbing as if her heart was breaking.
Which perhaps it had been.
"Long story," she responded tiredly, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. After less than three months here, accounts of the Sovereignty's cruelty and persecution had simply begun to bleed together into one and the same narrative, and it was a struggle to keep herself from becoming desensitized to it. "You don't want to hear it, trust me."
Draco sat down beside her, tucking one of his long legs beneath him slightly so he could face her. "Perhaps not at this very moment, if it's long," he agreed after a moment with a small, appraising tilt to his head. "But Hermione… if you need to talk out anything, no matter how horrific or — or unthinkable or bloody infuriating it might be, I'll listen. I'm not a glass trinket to be coddled, and you don't have to try to protect me; you can tell me."
She looked up at him quickly. His expression was kind, understanding, but also determined and a tad bit frustrated. She suspected the latter might not've necessarily had to do with her.
"I know you aren't," she said quietly. "You and Harry Potter are the strongest people I know."
For a moment, Draco simply stared at her, his lips parted slightly. Emotion filled his eyes, but then he blinked rapidly and looked down; when his gaze returned to hers, it was composed. "Thank you for that, Hermione," he said, his voice a bit rough.
He reached forward, or perhaps she did; either way, their left hands found each other, and they gently entwined their fingers together.
"Ready to have Blaise back?" she asked, savouring the pleasant sensation of warmth that tingled through her at their contact.
Draco's tone lightened immediately. "Absobloodylutely. At last the time has come for the devious duo to wreak havoc upon Hogwarts once again!" he proclaimed dramatically in an accent she supposed was meant to be villainous. Then the right side of his lip quirked upward slightly. "Or rather… think about doing it, anyway."
"Yes," she deadpanned, "If all goes to plan, I'm quite sure Hogwarts will literally have no idea what's hit it."
"A ruddy shame, if you ask me. If a tree falls in the forest while no one's watching, it does make a sound, but if incendiaries incite unrest without public infamy, is it worth the effort?" he asked with theatrical contemplation.
She laughed. "Since the majority of incendiaries who're actually incendiaries appear to thrive off the attention their misconduct brings, I'd reckon not."
"I heard that sarcasm, Ms. Granger," Draco said, turning their holding of hands into a thumb war. "Implying I'm not an actual incendiary? How dare you take that dream from me."
Hermione bit her lip in concentration as she focused on evading his considerably longer thumb while simultaneously trying to pin it down. She replied in My's breathy, snooty voice, "Oh, but Draco, my dearest, I only have your best interests in mind. Incendiaries these days are so very proletarian. If you want this relationship to last, you simply must aim higher. Evil mastermind, at the very least; Dark Lord at the best."
"Evil mastermind," he echoed with a laugh. "I like that." He adopted an affected voice not unlike Ronáld's. "For your hand in marriage, Lady Evans, and quite obviously the sizable dowry you'll provide me for it, I believe I just might be able to bring myself to accomplish such a terribly laborious, villainous transformation."
As she rolled her eyes, he added playfully, "The real question is, are you ready for Blaise?"
"Believe me, if… I can fend off every man and boy who's ever… leered at me, I can… fend off… sod it!" she exclaimed as his thumb abruptly held hers firmly in place.
Still, she couldn't help but chuckle. When she'd seen Draco yesterday after her first training with Riddle, he had summarized what she assumed was the reason for his strange behaviour after their summit meeting on Sunday:
Apparently, Blaise Zabini was a bit of a Casanova who had always found a host of Hogwarts girls, My Evans very much included, to be extremely fit.
It had actually been he, not Draco, who'd first volunteered to be the one to pretend to ask her to the Yule Ball. The entire prank, Draco had explained, was in retaliation against My and Seamus Finnegan, after the pair had irreparably sabotaged Greg Goyle and Vincent Crabbe's semester-long Muggle Technology project with neither punishment nor even deduction of House points.
The plan was for an Old-Blood conservative to publicly declare his love for My, implying that through her hatred and immediate scorn, she actually felt the same. Ultimately, after much persuasion, Greg and Vincent recruited Draco at the last minute for the starring role instead because they believed the embarrassment factor of romantically linking the Elite Muggleborn to perhaps the most disdained Fusty at Hogwarts was too good to pass up. Draco had said it was, in retrospect, "one of the stupidest, most foolish things" he had ever agreed to do... especially because it had secured his foremost position on Ronáld's long list of enemies, and had all but sealed his horrific fate after the defiance had been crushed.
Now, he shook his head disappointedly. "Life skills, Hermione," he chided. "A twenty second takedown? Completely unacceptable. After training tomorrow, report immediately to Thumb War Tactical Manoeuvres 101." His voice elevated, taking on Snape's nasally, acerbic tone. "Subject's current level of ability: Leaves much to be desired."
"Much to be desired my arse; I'm just warming up," Hermione retorted, snatching at his hand again.
This time, though, Draco simply patted it gently, as if to calm her down, and then interlaced his fingers with hers peacefully. "We'll hold round two tomorrow, I promise," he said, shockingly the one to return them to topic. "You say that about Blaise now. Wait 'til you meet him."
She let out a breath. "He can't be that bad if you're best friends with him," she pointed out.
"I'm afraid you may judge me a bit differently once you see him in action," he said with a somewhat rueful smile, shoving a hand sheepishly through his hair. "We didn't necessarily… see eye to eye about everything, but together we certainly kept life entertaining. We always fed off each other, in that respect." His eyes crinkled slightly in remembrance, but then his humour faded. "I just… I just hope he…"
He trailed off, his gaze distant. After a minute, he focused back on her sombrely. "You've said the other House-Wizards' conditions are… better than mine were?"
"Perhaps relatively; it's all despicably inhumane," she spat darkly, thinking of the countless House-Witches and Wizards utilized as mere props during Dark Arts classes, and the way she'd seen House-Elves oversee human kitchen workers like slave-drivers. "But… I've never run into Blaise during any of it, which leads me to believe he's at least been a bit more insulated from the students. And considering he's just one of many, and you were alone and a blatant target to virtually everyone… then yes, I'd say so."
Draco let out a quiet sigh, and nodded wordlessly. Reassuringly, Hermione squeezed his hand. "He'll be fine, Draco," she said firmly. "If not immediately, then with time. Just like you."
He nodded again, and this time glanced up at her with the faintest pull of gratitude at his lips. Then he drew her hand to his chest, wrapping his other hand around it as well. "When you get the chance, do thank Evans for all this for me… for Pansy," he said in a low voice. "Merlin knows he's got more galleons stashed away than Ebenezer Scrooge had pounds and I hardly expect this'll put a dent in it, but I'm fairly certain he'd try to Silence or suffocate me before I got out half an expression of gratitude."
Hermione nodded in agreement, though she wasn't entirely sure Harry'd react any differently to her. She'd chosen not to mention their epic fight to Draco — or anything about the Snape-Riddle-Evans debacle. She had come to cherish the limited time they spent together, and she didn't see the need to taint it with one more burdensome subject that was (as long as she had anything to say about it) dead and buried.
She couldn't help but sneak one more glance up and down his polished form, a bit of heat rising once more in her cheeks.
"You're looking… quite nice," she ventured, if only to vanish the worried expression from his face.
Not to mention you smell bloody incredible.
Draco's eyebrows few up. "'Nice?'" he echoed, sounding miffed. He stood, took a step back from the bed and held out his arms. "I've poured more hours into building this look than it took you to put on your My face this morning, and all I hear is… 'nice'?"
Hermione restrained a snort of laughter at his use of "My face," and sighed dramatically. "Oh, alright. You look…" With pointed slowness, she analytically traced her gaze from his feet to his face, "…passable, I suppose."
He groaned. "I've no idea why I expected you'd work with me on this." Hermione grinned, and he plopped back down beside her, their knees pressing together comfortably. "Though if we're to give credit where it's due, the transfiguration work was Tom's doing, not mine." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit self-conscious. "Apparently it was the opinion of the masses that I appear the least House Wizard-like as possible for Blaise's first impression of all of this — to help reassure him you and Evans really have given us our freedom, or as close as we have to it at the moment." He frowned. "Of course, that could've simply been their polite way of informing me that my appearance until now has consistently been House Wizard-like…"
Hermione hated that 'House Wizard-like' was even an adjective… and that she had immediately known exactly what he'd meant by it. "You don't think he'll assume it's a trick?"
"Oh, he'll assume it's all a trick, at first. I would. But if Pansy and I could eventually come around to it, so will he." He shook his head. "But you know how Pansy gets when she decides to help dress you. My father just made it worse. Dress trousers! Ties! Tweed jackets! The bloody top hat and dress coat off the back of Sirius Black himself!" He gestured wildly in front of him with each exclamation, as if pulling said items from an invisible closet. "Of course, I rather think I'd've looked like a pompous arse to anyone coming off House-Wizard row, so I managed to talk them down to this," he explained, and indicated his current attire.
Hermione grinned affectionately, rubbing the soft fabric of his sweater's sleeve between her thumb and forefinger. "You're so different, you know… You and the Draco Malfoy I grew up with. He would've nabbed the suit in an instant, and it would've taken a thorn bush up his egocentric arse for him to give a damn as to what anyone else thought about it."
"Then my other self's a self-righteous prick, and I'm rather glad he isn't sitting here with you right now instead of me."
Her lip curled, and she snorted scornfully. "I hardly would have let him!"
"No?" Draco studied her for a moment and then let out a hearty laugh, his eyes twinkling teasingly. "Hermione! And all this time I thought you just wanted me for my body!"
Hermione considered all the ways she could have answered that, and then grinned slyly, struck by a My-like wave of deviousness. She rested her hand on his torso, and then, slowly, ran it up along the pullover's tight cotton weave, finally kneading her fingers into the material at his chest. "Well, not only your body…"
When Draco didn't respond immediately, she glanced up at him with a mischievous smile. It faded when she saw that the impish amusement in his eyes had vanished. Instead, they shone with the soft intensity she recognized so well, that deepened their colour from light to dark grey and made her feel as though through them he had access to the deepest, darkest corner of her soul… and accepted everything he saw there.
Slowly, almost tentatively, the same thumb that had pinned hers down reached up and gently traced its way down the healed skin of her cheek, where he'd so carefully smoothed bruise cream only days earlier.
"Have I ever mentioned," he began, his abruptly rough, throaty voice contradicting the soft warmth in his eyes, "that even in the middle of a battlefield, with —" his lips stretched in a boyish grin,"—with dirt on your face and your hair half-wild… you will never have to worry about appearing the least bit House Wizard-like?"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "I wish… no one would ever have to."
"So do I," Draco murmured. She shivered, inadvertently leaning into his touch, as his warm fingers gently ran along her brow, tangled through her hair and then traced down the side of her face to her jaw. "It isn't… even about appearance though — not really," he said quietly. "It's about the spirit and fire that you haven't let die inside you even in the worst kind of darkness… when it can be almost impossible to notice it's still there."
Hermione's heartbeat increased erratically, and she opened her eyes, staring at him. He cupped her cheek, her gaze earnestly holding hers. "Because of you," he said, "because of this, and what we're all doing here… perhaps someday soon everyone else who's had their humanity utterly ripped from them will remember that fire, that dignity, is still inside them, too."
Tears abruptly stung her eyes, and she was slightly alarmed by how much she suddenly wanted everything about him then, badly. Yes, her crush on Ron had once been strong, but she honestly hadn't thought it was possible to physically ache for someone like she was now.
Almost subconsciously, her gaze shifted to his lips. They were strong and they were perfect and they were only inches away, and though they hadn't actually spoken about their late night kiss, she was gripped by an extremely powerful urge to lean forward and do it again. Simultaneously, she was struck by an almost comedic and irrational fear of how long it could go on if she did—
CLACK!
Something crashed loudly behind them.
The two jolted at the harsh sound, and Hermione spun, drawing her wand.
The fancy gold-flecked clock perched above her desk had fallen to the floor.
Hermione gasped in a breath of relief and briefly let her head collapse forward against Draco's chest, hearing him let out a tense breath as well. She glanced at him with a weak smile and a shake of her head — he looked as startled as she — and then stood to fix it, her hands shaking slightly. After a moment and a few rather complex repairing charms, she got it working again, but gasped once more when she saw the time.
Five minutes until seven.
"Oh! Sod it all!" she exclaimed frantically, rushing back to her dresser to grab a nail file. "I need to go!"
Draco had bowed his head quietly, clasping his hands. "Sorry, I — er…" He cleared his throat behind her, sounding embarrassed. "I shouldn't've held you up like that."
Hermione picked up the latest issue of Witches Vogue as well for good measure — it seemed like something My would be interested in reading in her spare time, especially since there was an article about her in it — and looked back at him. "Do not apologize. I'm not sorry for a second of it."
Draco looked up at her then to simply stare at her, his lips parted slightly, though she didn't know why he would find that comment surprising, and Hermione blinked, really looking at him. When they'd originally concocted this plan, she hadn't very well counted on him dressing quite like that…
"Merlin, your… your clothing!" she gasped. She fumbled through her uniform robes, pulling out her wand. "I don't think Filch'll decide to do an inspection, but if he does— a — a modified Glamour charm should do it, just in case… "
Draco stood, holding out a hand. "It's alright. Riddle considered that as well and had my father perform one on me already; I shouldn't've waited until now to mention it. Aside from the seven of us who signed that book, and Blaise, once he —" his face tightened, "—once he becomes Evans', I'll just look like I'm wearing the standard House-Wizard garb… i.e., rags."
"Oh." Hermione's jumble of thoughts abruptly skidded to a halt. Of course Riddle would have already thought of it…
She watched, perplexed, as Draco quickly walked to the corner of her suite, slightly behind the same armchair in which Lily had sat during their 'chat,' placed his cane on the ground and with a shove slid it away from him and under her bed, and then turned back toward her, holding out his hands with his wrists pressed together. "All that's left is this."
Hermione stared from his face to his hands.
He obviously meant for her to bind them.
She took a step backward. "No."
His eyes darted briefly to the repaired clock and then back to her, his expression urgent. "You have to. If he does do an inspection, I guarantee you he'll expect me to be physically restrained whenever I'm left alone. It's always been the rule with me. Probably caged as well, if we're getting technical."
"That's rubbish. My didn't physically restrain Pansy," she argued. "I could just say I Ordered you to stay here."
"Pansy isn't a Level A prisoner like I am."His grey eyes were pained. "Hermione, it has nothing to do with whether or not I've been Ordered to do anything. It has to do with morale, and —" he swallowed, briefly closing his eyes, "and if one thing's been consistent, they have always tried to break my morale."
Hermione knew that hate was what she was fighting against, and yet it was hatred toward the Sovereignty she felt begin to course through her veins. She shook her head uneasily. "Draco, there has to be another way. Look," she pulled out the Marauder's Map, scanning it quickly, "Filch still isn't here. You can hide in the side room we made for you downstairs; he'll never know you're there. If it comes up, I'll use the same excuse for you as I will for Pansy."
Even as she said it, she knew, objectively, it wasn't the most practical course of action.
"And not have either of your House-Wizards around? That'll look even more questionable, Hermione." Draco knew it, too. "Listen, I legally belong to you, and you're an Elite. He can't do anything to me without you letting him. I've been through Filch's inspections before; he just stares at me as if I'm the scum of the earth and throws in a few good insults and sees I'm properly chained up before leaving. If all he's doing is inspecting, I'd much rather be around to alleviate any suspicion."
Hermione stared at him stubbornly, her lips pressed together tightly. She had sworn to never speak the Weasley name around him, afraid it would be a trigger for him like "Bellatrix" was for her, so how could she tell him that after she'd seen Ginevra torture him, she had vowed — vowed with everything she had — she would help him escape no matter what it took… and, when she did, that she would never let him be placed in such oppressive conditions again?
She just hadn't… counted on him placing himself there.
After a moment and no word from her, Draco held his hands up again. "Hermione, I mean it, and we don't have time left to argue. I suspected I'd have to do this coming into it… I'll be fine. I want to help; let me."
Hermione shook her head, frowning deeply, then unhappily marched across the room. She drew her wand resignedly; as she did, her eyes began to burn. "It isn't that I don't think you can do it, Draco. I don't want to do it to you."
His gaze softened. "I know. But it's only for a moment, Hermione. And it isn't like before. Look — See?" He gestured at his posh clothing. "This time, I get to do it in style!"
She let out a huff. "Don't joke about this!" Briefly closing her eyes, she gripped her wand tightly, then focused on him resolutely. "Incarcerus."
Like silver snakes, manacles wrapped around his arms and legs, the latter securing him tightly to the ground. For a moment, Draco sucked in a soft breath and went utterly still. Then he nodded once, his breathing too even despite the at-ease expression on his face, and slid down the wall to the floor, pulling his knees snug against his chest with a wince.
Hermione bit her lip hard, blinking back tears. Perhaps she was blowing this entirely out of proportion. It was only Filch, after all. But it was the principle of it: No one should ever have to restrain someone they — they cared about and leave them alone to await an uncertain fate.
"I'll… dissolve them as soon as it's all clear," she choked out.
"I was rather counting on that," he said with a facetious light-heartedness that she knew was simply his way of warding off darkness. He looked up and actually gave her a supportive smile, despite the stiffness to his shoulders and the fact that he was the one chained to the ground. Then he lifted an eyebrow at her suggestively. "Unless you're into this sort of thing?"
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him in a fantastic imitation of Mrs. Weasley after the twins had stolen one of her holiday pies. "Don't joke about that, either."
Draco's left eyebrow flew up to join his right, visibly fighting to restrain a small smile. "Is no topic safe from your censorious sense of humour tonight?"
Hermione sighed. "Until this business with Filch is over, I can't let myself have a sense of humour." She forced herself to return to the door that led to the common room, checking the Marauders' Map again before she opened it. Merlin, Filch still hadn't arrived. Granted, it was only a minute past seven, but regardless…
"I confess, I'm glad you aren't into it," she heard him comment, though it was quiet enough that it sounded like he was talking more to himself than to her, his voice uncharacteristically tight. "I think it's safe to say I'm… rather over anything that involves…"
He trailed off, and Hermione looked back at him swiftly to see he had hunched over himself, his hands folded so tightly his knuckles were white. He was staring vacantly at the floor, his gaze empty of mischievousness, and the only word she could think to describe his appearance then was... haunted.
She knew he was remembering everything that had been done to him while he had been in chains before.
Hermione felt nauseous just watching him, but she knew that couldn't begin to encompass what he probably felt.
She turned away, fighting back tears.
He was so terribly brave… And she wasn't.
Not when it came to this.
Her tense hand hesitated above the doorknob.
She decided in an instant.
Shrinking the Map, she raced back across the room and fell to her knees beside him. Draco jerked back and twisted toward her, the shackles clinking harshly at the motion, staring at her with hollow, glistening eyes she knew had been reliving memories no human should ever have to experience once, let alone again and again.
Without a breath of hesitation, Hermione placed her hands on the sides of his head and kissed him full on the lips. This time he didn't hesitate even a moment before responding, the kiss rougher, more demanding, as if both desperately needed something only the other could provide. It was much briefer than their first, only seconds, really, but it was enough to leave their breathing ragged and electricity pumping through her as she pulled away slightly, her fingers still curled in his silky hair. She leaned her forehead against his, catching her breath.
"I'll… make sure everything goes… right tonight, I promise," she breathed between pants.
"I… never doubted it." Draco's uneven breaths puffed against her lips, and she heard him swallow. "You… naughty heliopath, now I… know why you… avoided the question. You do like kinky—"
"I do not!" Hermione interrupted, flushing. She choked back a snort, shaking her head, and restrained herself from punching his shoulder. "Give it up, you toff."
"Toff?" He chuckled. "I think you've got the wrong Draco, ahushla."
As soon as the strange word left his mouth, Hermione felt him twitch, as if startled. She pulled back from him a bit and blinked rapidly, unsure if she even recognized the language he'd just spoken, though from its soft tones she expected it could possibly be Welsh or Gaelic.
"What did you just say?" she asked softly, carefully wiping her eyes while trying not to smudge the plentiful makeup on them.
Draco looked down, his face flushing slightly. "Oh, erm, it's an… Irish expression my mum taught me." He clasped her arm with both his hands, his jocular gaze suddenly intense and tender and serious all at once. "Hopefully this'll all be for naught, but in the case it isn't… Be safe, Hermione."
She searched his eyes, then briefly held his cheek and placed another quick kiss on his lips, and left.
As she descended the stairs, Hermione tried to focus on the exchange that was about to happen but couldn't not think about the kiss… and how it had proved the toe-curling electricity of the one they'd shared when she'd stayed the night with him was definitely not a one off. It occurred to her that Draco hadn't actually told her what 'ahushla' meant, and she wondered if, from his reaction, it was a term of endearment, though she'd never once heard him use such affectionate language toward herself or Pansy. 'Love,' however, was a name he seemed to readily apply to his cousin Peia.
If it was an endearment, from how he had dismissed it so quickly, it seemed his use of it to address her may have merely been accidental. But…
She shook her head pensively.
It was as Pansy had told her once before. Draco was… puzzling. Twice Hermione had been the one who had truly initiated their most intimate physical contact, which was a first for her, but sometimes, what he said to her… how he looked at her… it was… it was almost like what she felt for him was childish in comparison to what he—
"Sit down or stand up, Granger, but don't stare into space like a lovelorn hippogriff; even Filch won't believe you're My."
Hermione jolted from her perplexed thoughts. Harry was sitting in one of the plush armchairs in the middle of the common room with a copy of The Daily Prophet open wide in front of his face, possibly to block her view of him. "And don't you dare talk to me about what you and Malfoy were doing upstairs; your hair and the slightly glazed expression on your face says enough."
She flushed, and hastily smoothed down any flyaways, though her fingers caught only a few tangles — count on him to exaggerate her disheveled state. With a sigh, she sank down on the sofa across from him and brandished the nail file a bit forcefully. It had been four days since their argument, and they'd hardly spoken more than a handful of words to each other since. They'd managed to run the entire prefect meeting on Sunday while only exchanging a "Right," and "Quite" twice between them. Harry hadn't necessarily been actively odious to her, thank the goddesses, but he hadn't been cordial, either.
The silence that ensued now was painful.
She glanced at her watch.
Filch was already five minutes late.
And if she had learned anything during the wars… if things seemed even the slightest bit off plan, they usually were.
Her heart began racing again, and she ripped out the Marauders' Map. "Why do you think he isn't here yet?" she asked nervously. She turned it over, skimming it with sharp eyes until she found Filch's name. When she did, her brow furrowed deeply. "He's… still in the dungeons."
As were a whole host of other names, as if tens of people were crowded in very tightly together; Blaise Zabini's was lost in the muddle. The thought of it made her burn.
Harry flipped to the next page of the paper. "Well, perhaps he's finally died there."
"No, Harry, I'm serious!" Merlin — How on earth could he not find this concerning? From the dungeons, it would take Filch a ten minute walk to get here at least, pushing his tardiness to fifteen minutes. "Think about it: Would Filch really stand up a major purchasing appointment with the son of the Viceroy? I'm sure McGonagall would have made this a high priority."
"At this rate, it wouldn't surprise me!" he exclaimed. "You're late, he's late, the Quidditch team is ruddy late…" He trailed off, muttering something that sounded like, "No respect for other's time; blasted world's ruddy behind…"
"But shouldn't we devise an alternate plan in case something's really wrong?" she persisted.
"Like what? Portkey away if Sovereignty agents burst in? Granger, I guarantee you no one's going to suspect anything on the level of what we're actually doing over the simple purchase of a House-Wizard. McGonagall all but said a prayer of thanks when I requested it and said she didn't know how I'd managed everything this far without one. If there's an obstacle, we'll handle it like the Elites we are: throw confidence, threats, money, flattery and titles at it and make it disappear. But only if you can keep your My hat on."
Hermione sat back, frustrated. For someone who claimed to have as much common sense as she did, she thought his flippant dismissal of this situation was dangerous. She tried to think of other, reasonable alternative for the delay: Filch got sick. There'd been an incident elsewhere at Hogwarts, slowing him down. Blaise was in a worse state than they'd hoped and Filch was still getting him presentable for the final step of the sale…
"Draco… wanted me to thank you," she said tightly, if only get her nervous mind off more negative possibilities behind his tardiness. "From him and Pansy."
Harry grunted slightly in acknowledgment of her words.
She considered asking him if he and Pansy were doing better, but given that Draco had asked her to express gratitude on behalf of them both, she expected not, and didn't particularly want to rip the scab off a recent wound, either.
"So, erm… Ginevra's really gone, then," she tried again. "That's a bloody relief."
Harry didn't respond.
"Do you have any idea how long she'll be out?"
"We shouldn't say anything," he said curtly. "If he's sending a House-Elf emissary instead, it could arrive at any moment."
Filch had left the dungeons now, she noticed, and watched his tag move toward the upper floors of the school with Mrs. Norris beside it, though he seemed to taking his sweet time for someone who was inappropriately late. She hesitated, then decided that silence was ridiculous and absolutely unnecessary; her protection charms would warn them before anyone arrived, even an Apparating House-Elf.
"Attacking a teacher is quite obviously a serious offence, but given the societal hierarchy here, I would've expected Arthur Weasley to use his influence to, as you say, 'make it disappear,'" she said. "From what I heard about Fred and George, it sounds like it wouldn't have been the first time he's had to intervene for his children."
Harry sighed heavily and lowered the paper slightly, as if he'd realized the only way to get her to stop talking was to answer her. "Snape got my mother involved. Her call trumped Weasley's." He again lifted the paper in front of his face. "It's a good thing psycho witch spit threats against you as well. She wouldn't have lifted a finger if it was only me on someone's hit list."
His fairly civil response was heartening.
"Have you seen Peia lately?" she asked, changing the topic to another issue of a great many that had been troubling her. "She hasn't come by since Sunday, and I haven't seen her much in the Great Hall. Truth be told, I'm rather worried about her," she admitted. "I don't know how much longer she'll be able to hold out in Gryffindor."
Harry shrugged and folded his paper in half, as if capitulating his efforts to avoid speaking to her. "She's a resilient imp; she'll be alright."
Hermione glared at him. "Just because you don't care what other people think of you doesn't mean everyone can! I'm quite certain Peia can read their hate toward her and everything she stands for whenever they look at her. She's more sensitive to it than any of us."
For a moment, she thought his expression lost of a bit of its detachment. "Well, she's certainly doing her damnedest not to spend any time with the little gremlins, then. She was in the library yesterday and spent practically all of Monday with Riddle."
Hermione stared at him, astonished. After a moment, though, she felt a small smile tug at her lips. Deny it however much he might, if Harry knew that much about where Peia spent her time… then he cared about the spunky twelve-year-old.
Either that, or Riddle had personally asked him to keep an eye on her, which was another logical possibility — one that, if true, Hermione would've felt slightly miffed hadn't been entrusted to her. Lily Evans, after all, had likely taught Harry how to torture kneazles and other small animals while raising him. And children? Out of the question.
"You shouldn't be so mean to her," she commented. "She likes you, you know."
"Haven't the foggiest idea of why," Harry muttered, sounding like he really didn't.
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I think she's felt alone for quite a long time. Ever since she and her mother were separated… Perhaps even before then, with the abilities she has." She looked over at him, uncertainly. "And I think she knows you have, too."
His hands tightened around the edges of the paper. "What are you doing, Granger?" he asked, his tone mixed between unease and warning.
Her eyebrows flew up. "What?" she asked defensively.
"Having a delightful after-dinner chin wag with your old mate Harry." His words were spoken with sarcastic frivolity.
"I'm not talking to Harry Potter, I'm talking to you!" she exclaimed. Sweet Morgana, he was so bloody erratic! One day, he would say he wanted one thing from her; the next he acted like it wasn't what he wanted at all! "Isn't that what you want? Me to treat you as a friend, not just keep wishing you were the friend I used to have?"
"And now you're getting sentimental."
"I'm trying—!" Hermione remembered her conversation about him with Pansy and took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "I am trying to do better." For some reason, Harry looked at her sharply at that. In frustration, she shoved a hand through her hair, which, unlike this weekend, was back to its model-like charmed, voluminous curls. "I know I can be direct and pushy and that you don't like that, but that's who I am, just like cynical and distrusting is who you are, and I haven't quite taken to that, either. But we have to accept these differences between us! I'm willing to try if you are, and I'd much rather we did it as friends!"
"Only problem there is I've never particularly been drawn to populating my life with best mates," Harry retorted with no little trace of bitterness… probably because he didn't have the very thing he was pushing away.
It was the same argument he always used to shut her out.
Hermione sighed heavily, staring down at My's ruby-studded gold nail file.
For a moment, neither spoke.
"I'm brusque and I'm an arse, Granger," Harry said suddenly. "It's just the way I automatically respond."
She looked toward him, shocked. Was he actually volunteering to continue this conversation?
His jaw was tight, as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. "But if you legitimately try not to hate me for it, then I — I bloody well suppose I can try not to hate you for being such a blasted irritating witch, either."
Hermione's mouth fell open. She stared at him, torn between replying with a sarcastic, 'Oh, how very generous of you,' and accepting what she supposed was, to him, a white flag.
"I'd… much rather the word 'hate' be removed from how we frame both those goals, to be frank," she said cautiously.
Harry snorted slightly. "You would nitpick about that." After a second, he sighed audibly, briefly closing his eyes, and lifted a hand to the bridge of his nose. "While we're having this conversation, I— I suppose I should also tell you — tell you that…"
He trailed off, looking pained. She hadn't needed to be friends with Harry Potter for years to tell Harry Evans was considering saying something he really didn't want to.
She leaned toward him, her gaze curious. "That…" she prompted supportively.
Harry glared at her. "Could you possibly restrain yourself from interrupting me when I'm ruddy well trying to apologise for last—!"
Suddenly, the Marauders' Map flashed red, and a sharp, ear-splitting alarm she'd charmed for only them to hear that meant someone was at the portrait hole sounded twice. Hastily, Hermione shrunk the map and swiftly lifted a few of the most obvious protection charms lest they were noticed, then lounged back against the sofa and began to lazily file the manicured nail of her index finger.
She heard the portrait hole open but ignored it, trying to look extraordinarily bored.
"Lord Evans, Lady Evans. My tardiness is most unprofessional; I do apologize."
Hermione almost leapt out of her skin.
The younger, somewhat pontifical voice wasn't Filch's.
She looked toward the portrait hole, and couldn't stop the automatic rush of adrenaline that exploded from her chest when she saw the person entering it had a full head of red hair. The man straightened, and Hermione instantly recognized the blazing Phoenix embellishing the chest of his black robes as the official uniform of Ministry sub-heads and other lesser — but still Elite — Sovereignty officials.
It took all the acting skills she had to keep her expression calm and detached.
Percy Weasley was standing in the middle of their common room.
Her chest clenched anxiously, and her mind whirled. Percy was a new addition to her cast of Universe B characters. What was he like? Why was he here? What, if anything, was My's relationship with him? After all the bad blood that had developed between her and the Weasley family as a whole over the past few months, was this an attempt by Arthur Weasley for retribution? Had they suspected something after all?
"Lord Weasley." Harry returned the formal greeting with a rather aggressive exuberance, tossing his paper aside and standing. "What the devil are you doing here?" He sounded as astonished as she felt. Hermione would have found his brash, demanding tone alarming had she not known it was 'just how he was,' and she assumed everyone else, Percy Weasley included, knew it too.
"Mr. Filch seemed to be under the mistaken impression he would be handling your House-Wizard transfer, Evans," Percy replied disdainfully. "Left the required paperwork in a deplorable mess. Hardly a surprise." He gazed around the common room with a critical eye, standing somewhat pretentiously with one hand held behind his back. "Ah yes, I remember these quarters. Had to share them with a Ravenclaw, mind you; the bronze and blue everywhere was most unpleasant. I'm pleased two Gryffindors have sole possession this year."
Hermione abruptly realized that she had neglected her nail filing and roughly resumed the task; at first meetings, ignoring and feigned ignorance always seemed to be her best defense.
"Yes, yes," Harry said impatiently, "the whole thing's ruddy peachy; no, what I mean is, what are you doing at Hogwarts? The last I heard you were headed toward Executive Assistant to the Lord Chamberlain himself."
"Oh yes. That." Percy waved his hand dismissively. "Kowtowing to that old dog in the hope of eventually earning a bone didn't appeal to me. Doge is hardly going to step down from his position anytime soon, is he? No, I've hedged my bets with a far more… influential opportunity. " His chest puffed out. "You're looking at the new Assistant Minister for Sovereignty Regulatory Affairs and Compliance here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly."
"The Assistant what?" Hermione asked rudely, finally acknowledging his presence.
At her flat, unimpressed stare, he first seemed uncomfortable, and then frowned. "Viceroy Evans personally appointed me to oversee the strict enforcement of Sovereignty policies here at the school. I've just arrived today, and I report directly to her." His shoulders lifted self-importantly. "A great many things have been allowed to run lax at Hogwarts since the end of the second intervention, of which the exceedingly unfortunate Hanger incident is a prime example. I'm here to make sure that's all fixed."
Hermione made the connection immediately.
Percy Weasley was the new Dolores Umbridge.
Oh, this was bad. No, 'bad' didn't even begin to encompass what this was, and now, knowing the reason for his presence, Hermione felt the frantic need to suck up to him… but she guessed that My never would, or, at least, not so soon.
"Ooo," she replied snidely. "What a feather in your cap."
"Blasted bowtrunkles, My, get off it already," Harry snapped at her. "The man's right: Hogwarts these days has become a bleeding mess, and it needs someone with the proper stature and intellectual aptitude to come in and clean it up."
Percy actually preened at the praise and gave Harry a prim nod of appreciation. Since he didn't actually seem to actively hate them — and, as utterly thrilled as he seemed to be working for Lily Evans, may have been as much a black sheep to his family in this world as he had been in hers — Hermione decided to take a measured risk in the conversation… and simply breach the elephant in the room herself.
"If you're counting what his sister's just threatened to off and do to us, then you're right, something needs to be done," she snapped waspishly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry's head snap toward her. She could tell he wasn't pleased, but she never deviated from the vexed glare she had levelled at Percy.
He glanced between them, then sighed. "Listen here, you two, I realize our families are in a bit of row, but I don't want to perpetuate any trouble. You should know I've supported you and your mother over this unpleasant business one hundred percent." His expression soured. "My siblings have shown nothing but infantile behaviour and my parents have enabled it; it's a disgrace to the whole Weasley name. I'm here as the direct representative of Viceroy Evans, not any of them."
"Hm. We'll see," Hermione sniffed, opening up Witches' Vogue with a huff.
Harry, however, clapped Percy on the back. "Ignore her. I can tell you we appreciate the support and good sense. The whole affair's been a bleeding shame, in my opinion. Now, are you going to give me my blasted House-Wizard or not? I've practically got an entire school of students to manage, as you surely remember from your Head Boy days."
Had hell had frozen over? she wondered in disbelief. Harry Evans was actually being more charming than she was, though she suspected he was playing good cop to her bad, which could actually work to their advantage if Percy thought at least one of them was firmly in his corner at the level of a confidant.
"Yes, let's proceed to official business, shall we?" Percy conjured a quill, and a scroll of parchment levitated into the air beside him. He surveyed it briefly. "I see you've put in your payment for A58, Evans, but you'll have the chance to give the prisoner a proper look over before the transaction goes through. Now, if it does, I see you'll have three personal House-Wizards in a single dormitory, two of which are A level… and that makes the Sovereignty very interested in how you're handling them."
Hermione's heart began to race, and she stared unseeingly at the Weird Sisters article in front of her. Thank Merlin and all the ghosts that Draco had made her restrain him so thoroughly… but she was struck by deep concern that Percy wouldn't buy her excuse for Pansy's absence. What was worse, since he seemed to be the same pedant ponce here as he'd been in Universe A, she was afraid no amount of feminine wiles or pleading from her would keep him from, heaven forbid, possibly making her summon Pansy back on the spot.
For the first time in her life, she considered attempting the Imperius Curse, but it was the one spell she had never been able to complete, and she couldn't afford to get it wrong here. Harry had the ability, she knew, but if Percy really did report straight to Lily Evans, the almost superhumanly observant woman very well might be able to sniff it out if they did.
She saw only one reasonable option:
She had to retreat and summon Pansy before Percy moved on from Harry and started his assessment of her.
Now.
Gathering her breath and pushing a cool expression to her face, Hermione stood, tossing the magazine on the couch. "Rules, transactions… Oh, it all gives me a frightful headache." She headed toward the stairs to her bedroom. "I'll just leave you boys to discuss all these boring business details—"
"Stay here, Lady Evans." Percy turned toward her sharply. "We may be acquaintances, but this is an official inspection. As the custodian of two State prisoners, you have a number of legal obligations I must ensure you're upholding, and I'll be examining your House-Wizard and Witch once we've finished."
As Percy's floating quill began scribbling across the parchment, obviously making notes, Harry's eyes shot her a harsh expression that clearly said, 'keep it together!'
Hot panic leapt to her stomach, and she clenched the nail file, forcing herself to breathe.
Bugger it all!
Percy Weasley was as pedantic and law-abiding in this world as he had been in hers.
And that was going to prove extremely dangerous for them all.
A/N: You lucky kids! I did not plan for there to be a Draco and Hermione scene in this chapter at all, nor for it to take over said chapter… it basically came out of nowhere. Hope you're okay with that! ;)
Many, many thanks to all of you who have taken the time to read this VERY long story and have stayed with me so far and have so kindly reviewed as you have! And I must give credit where it's due: The "feather in your cap" line is a Dr. House line. Loved it too much to let the opportunity to use it slide.
tumblr users: I am not on tumblr so I never realized it was such a tremendous source of fanfic recommendations. Thanks to ALL of you who are recommending Reverse on it! I really appreciate you spreading word about it beyond this website and am so grateful it's getting pushed out there! Shout out to WizardAlex for bringing this to my attention.
Please do leave a message on your way out! :)