Surprise! 😊 Here I come with another new chapter. It is short, and I have had time to review it quickly. I hope you are enjoying the story a lot, feel free to leave me any comment if you feel like it, I love to read you all. I hope you like it, thanks in advance for reading! 😊

CHAPTER 9

Of goblins, wizards and confrontations

A loud crash, accompanied by a resounding cry of pain, came from the Common Room to the dormitory of the seventh year boys of Gryffindor House. Those in the room looked at each other resignedly, and stopped their chores for a moment, but then shook their heads and resumed the task of packing their luggage

"We told him already," Dean snorted. "'Seamus, you've a lot of stuff in your trunk. Let us help you…'"

"'… One spell from a single wand won't be enough to lift it'," Harry added, grinning knowingly as he folded his jumpers.

"'Not at all! I can get it down myself!'" Ron finished, faithfully imitating Seamus' voice, and waving a hand as if to take the weight off the matter. He picked up a couple of books and threw them into the trunk, holding back a laugh. "Well, he finally fell down the stairs, trunk included."

"Did he hurt himself?" interjected Hermione, sitting on the corner of Ron's bed with Crookshanks on her lap, looking towards the door with concern.

"Good question," Dean grinned, setting the belongings he was about to pack on the bed and heading for the door. "I'm going to see if anything can be salvaged. From Seamus, or the trunk."

Ron let out a laugh and threw the last of the missing utensils into his already crowded trunk. He then lowered the lid and sat on top of it, trying to close it. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Are you a wizard, or what?" Harry teased, watching Ron gasp and Hermione growl in irritation.

"I don't know any spell to close a trunk full to the brim," replied the red-haired boy, hopping his bottom on the lid in frustration.

As Hermione, with visible impatience, taught Ron the spell he needed, Harry turned his face to look at Neville, who was sitting on his own bed, lovingly tending to his old Mimbulus Mimbletonia, which was already a good forty centimetres tall. The boy was amusing himself by snipping off some unruly twigs that were growing among the nasty boils.

"You haven't told us why you're not going home for Christmas, Neville," Harry remarked amiably. "You always do..."

"Oh, right, it's just that my grandmother is going to Transylvania with a couple of her friends," the young Longbottom reported, smiling resignedly. "So I didn't feel like spending Christmas alone at home; I didn't feel like leaving under the circumstances."

"Well, yes, of course," muttered Ron, with his trunk properly closed. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then added, "Does your grandmother have any friends?"

"Oh, yes," Neville confessed, grinning in amusement as Hermione indignantly slapped Ron on the shoulder as punishment for his impertinence. "She's got lots of friends. She's going with these two to Lorcan D'Eath's concert... I think I told you about it in class a few weeks ago," he sniggered. "You can't imagine how much energy they have for their age."

"No, indeed, I can hardly imagine it," Ron replied with a startled look on his face, getting another tap from Hermione.

"Yeah, but I don't mind staying in the castle, it's for a good cause. I'm glad my grandmother's having fun for once. You know she's quite strict, although, fortunately, since what happened in the Department of Mysteries, she's been a lot more tolerant with me," Neville commented, with shy satisfaction. Then he gave Hermione a friendly smile, "Besides, Hermione and I are going to have a great time here, aren't we? I hear there won't be many people staying, so it'll be great, the whole castle to ourselves."

"Yeah, but the few people who stay here are a nuisance," Ron replied, dropping his scarf and glaring at the opposite wall with hatred. "I don't like you being left alone with certain people... It's not safe."

"I agree," Harry corroborated, pulling his cloak over his shoulders and exchanging a meaningful glance with Ron. "I don't like you two being left here almost alone either... I don't really feel at peace with it."

Hermione and Neville looked at each other with identical confusion.

"What are you talking about? Or who, rather," the girl wanted to know, puzzled. She didn't understand her friends' sudden concern.

"Malfoy," Ron spat, with the same expression he would have had if he had been smelling something particularly foul. "That git's staying here for Christmas, too, who knows why, and I don't find it amusing at all..."

"How do you know?" was the first thing that occurred to Hermione, astonished.

"His name was on McGonagall's list, I saw it at breakfast. She left the list on the bulletin board in case anyone signed up at the last minute," Ron wrinkled his nose in annoyance and looked at his friend with a knowing look on his face, as if he was sure she would understand his displeasure now.

Hermione forced a sympathetic smile, but soon looked away. She suddenly felt uneasy, but for different reasons than her friends. It hadn't even crossed her mind that Malfoy was staying at Hogwarts as well. She felt a little stupid for not having even considered the possibility; she had taken it for granted too quickly that he would go home. She had assumed that she would be rid of him for a few weeks, but luck didn't seem to be on her side. But then again, coldly considered, it needn't have affected her, need it? Even if they were both in the castle, they didn't have to see each other; they wouldn't be attending classes together, far from it. And they certainly wouldn't be looking for each other. So nothing had changed. She could go ahead with her plan to take a 'holiday' from the stupidity of that cocky blond. At most, she would have to put up with him at meals, and she would make sure to stand as far away from him as possible. She hoped to catch a glimpse of a faint blond dot on the other end of the table furthest away from her own. That was as close as she was going to get to Malfoy. She was on holiday. And she deserved it, in every way.

Watching her friends finish dressing to catch the train home, she couldn't help but incorporate them into her thoughts and worries. She shivered at the thought of how they would react if she told them that a few days ago she had been spying on Draco Malfoy behind their backs. More than once. And she didn't plan on telling them what she'd seen in the Changing Rooms after the Quidditch match either. She had decided not to blackmail him about it, and that included not telling anyone. Not even her friends. Deep inside, she felt that she would be betraying Malfoy if she told anyone, and while the blond didn't deserve her consideration, her noble heart prevented her from revealing what she had witnessed to anyone.

But it was hard to get it out of her mind. Seeing Malfoy so weak and vulnerable for the first time in seven years had completely thrown her. She had never believed that the boy really had such a fragile side; he always gave the impression that he couldn't care less about anything. It hadn't even crossed her mind that Malfoy could be affected by such relatively 'unimportant' things as being ignored by his teammates, or losing a Quidditch match; Malfoy seemed more insensitive than all that. He was sarcastic, cruel, and had no qualms about offending those he considered inferior. Was someone like that capable of suffering? To really suffer, in silence, without wanting to tell anyone about it. Without wanting to boast about his suffering, without seeking anyone's help…

She felt like she had seen a side of Malfoy that he didn't want anyone to see, and that scared and... thrilled her in equal parts. She didn't know what to think; and she couldn't stop thinking about it.

"I'm not amused either," Harry added, folding his arms and pulling her out of her thoughts. "If we'd known sooner we'd have dragged you to The Burrow for sure, Hermione... But, you know, whatever happens to you, write to us at once, all right? Well, in fact, write to us very often so that we know you're all right."

"Every day," smiled Hermione, holding Crookshanks tightly, as he seemed very anxious to go and check the texture of Harry's scarf.

"Is he the only one staying, Crabbe, Goyle...?" Neville questioned, with slight trepidation that he tried to hide. Apparently, the idea of Malfoy's cronies staying with him did strike him as something that could be worrying.

"I'd swear they won't, I only saw Malfoy's name," said Ron, after thinking about it for a moment. "I don't even know the rest of the people staying with you. They would be from other years and Houses..."

"Then I don't know what you're worried about. Malfoy doesn't scare me at all. All alone, without his two gorillas, he won't dare do anything to us," said Hermione, so firmly that even she almost believed it. "He probably won't even say a word to us all week... He'll have better things to do than mess with us."

"He'd better. If he doesn't, he'll have to meet my devastating fury in full force," Ron said, raising his head like a proud knight-errant.

"You don't have it in you, Ron, deal with it," Harry joked, making his friend look at him spitefully. Hermione and Neville burst out laughing.

Dean came back into the room at that moment, and everyone looked at him curiously. He went into the bathroom without a word and came out again a few seconds later. After winking at them amusedly in response to their questioning expressions, he left the room again with a bottle of Murtlap Essence, ideal for soothing and healing wounds.

Neville thought he had never noticed before how much the cutlery clinked on a table. It was so quiet at the one remaining table in the centre of the Great Dining Hall that it seemed as if there were hardly any people there; though there were more than a dozen people, including students and teachers. Only a few students had stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas that year, so Professor Dumbledore thought it was foolish to keep the four House tables. So, students and teachers alike were sharing a single table.

The young Longbottom looked around as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice. No one was talking. Everyone was focused on eating. In fact, there were so few people seated at the long table that they had been able to leave almost half a metre of space between them, which made the situation even colder. From Ravenclaw House there were only three girls, who seemed to be good friends, and they were eating quietly seated at one end of the table, talking from time to time in discreet but animated whispers. From Hufflepuff there was a pair of twin brothers who, if Neville remembered correctly, were orphans and always spent Christmas at the castle, and also a young brown-haired boy whose name he didn't know. From Slytherin House, there were only two people: a tiny girl, who seemed to live in a continuous sense of panic, and Malfoy. And from Gryffindor, there were only Hermione and himself.

He glanced at his companion, who was next to him. Hermione was sitting unnaturally stiffly, and her eyes were fixed on the roast potatoes she was helping herself to. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked annoyed for no apparent reason. Well, there was a reason. A very obvious reason, moreover. And that was that Malfoy was sitting immediately in front of her. Face to face.

Neville looked at Malfoy with as much dissimulation as he could muster. He was helping himself to roast turkey, and seemed rather calm and nonchalant, unlike Hermione. Though something in the stiffness and mechanicalness of his gestures hinted at the furious tension that he was trying to contain and conceal, but which was there. Neither of them looked at each other even out of the corner of their eyes. They seemed intent on maintaining total concentration on their respective meals, and gave the impression that they were trying to fry their opponent with their mental waves alone. Neville could almost feel how the right side of his body, closest to where Hermione was sitting, was at a lower temperature than the left. The indifferent, but merciless, coldness that Malfoy and Hermione were processing to each other seemed to be in the air.

Not even the magical fake snow falling from the ceiling, which disappeared a few feet before reaching the heads of those present, or the twelve huge decorated trees that adorned the Great Hall, managed to awaken the Christmas spirit.

"Well," Professor Dumbledore suddenly began, trying to lighten the violent atmosphere. His voice was like a cheerful cannonade in the silence, "I suppose your fellow classmates are halfway to their houses by now," he reached into his pistachio-coloured robes, and pulled out a gold pocket watch. It had twelve hands, and instead of numbers, there were planets moving around the edge. He looked at it for a few seconds. "Yes, they must be eating right now. They'll be arriving at King's Cross in a few hours. The train is usually very punctual."

"More students have left this year than ever before," McGonagall commented, helping him in his attempt to make conversation, as she wiped her mouth elegantly with a napkin.

"It's their loss," smiled Dumbledore, looking excited. "It must be very pleasant to have the Common Room for so few people, mustn't it? There are so few of you from each House," he commented, turning to his students and looking at no one in particular.

"Actually, yes, sir," said one of the Ravenclaw girls, who seemed to have a great deal of self-confidence, giggling. "It's going to be so much fun having the whole tower to ourselves. We'll have a great time."

"I sincerely hope so," the Headmaster corroborated, satisfied. His blue eyes glanced jovially at his students one by one until he stopped on one in particular. "Mr. Malfoy, have none of your friends been able to stay to keep you company?"

Draco looked up, making no effort to change his bored expression. For a moment he seemed reluctant to bother answering, but when he realised that the entire faculty, and the vast majority of the students, were staring at him, he was forced to do so.

"No, sir, none of them have stayed," he admitted, indifferent.

"Well, don't worry, perhaps this is a chance to make new friends, don't you think?" Dumbledore suggested, smiling good-naturedly under his long white beard. "Like the charming young lady sitting next to you…"

The diminutive Slytherin girl, sitting next to the blond but occupying considerably less space than him, shrank back even further and spilled some of the contents of her cup, alarmed at being mentioned. Draco gave her a scornful look out of the corner of his eye, as if he couldn't believe that such a specimen had dared to sit next to him. The Ravenclaw girls laughed loudly at the awkwardness of the girl, who by now looked like a beetroot with pigtails.

"I get the vague feeling that neither of them are expressing the slightest enthusiasm, Headmaster," Snape said, arching an eyebrow coolly.

"Well, perhaps not," Dumbledore admitted, smirking, "but the spirit of Christmas works wonders, Severus. By the way, Hagrid, allow me to congratulate you on the fir trees you have presented us with this year. They are magnificent," he praised, looking around.

"Thank yeh, Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said, flushing with pride. "It took me a while ter brin' them. I'm gettin' too old fer these things..."

A soft, biting snort came from the front to Hermione's ears. She gritted her teeth in fury and decided to break the mental contract she had signed with herself in a fit of rage. She looked up without a second thought, gazing indignantly ahead. Just as she had imagined, Malfoy's face contorted into a poorly disguised sneer at the gamekeeper's words. The girl pursed her lips in frustration. He was incorrigible.

"Nonsense! You're a lad; when you reach my years you can complain," Dumbledore joked, cutting off a piece of meat and popping it into his mouth. "Have you heard about the goblin revolution that's been organised in Jordan?" he then commented, looking at the rest of the faculty, with sudden seriousness in his gaze.

"A real catastrophe," admitted Flitwick, in his high-pitched little voice, reaching for another bread roll. "There were countless injuries in the demonstration they staged last night. St. Mungo's had to step in with their special staff as reinforcements."

"Our Ministry will not stand idly by," said McGonagall. "It will arrange a meeting with the Jordanian Minister to talk some sense into him."

"In my opinion," Hermione suddenly interjected, in a slightly raised voice due to the nervousness of speaking in public. Everyone in the room instantly turned their attention to her, "The goblins have every right to complain. Wizards are demanding more and more from them when they don't even consider them worthy enough to share their knowledge of magic with them."

"Oh, interesting point of view, Miss Granger," Dumbledore marvelled, smiling indulgently. "I see that you are informed on the matter. It pleases me to see that my students are interested in current affairs."

Hermione blushed with satisfaction. A sudden snort from ahead of her, which did not seem to go unnoticed, wiped her smile off her face. She turned her face to look at Malfoy, who was wearing a sneer again.

"Anything to object to my opinion, Malfoy? I'll be delighted to hear it," she asked aloud, glaring at him, but trying to keep her composure. After all, they were in front of the entire faculty, and she wasn't about to make a fuss. Though she tried her best to emphasise his surname with all the disdain she could muster.

He snorted again, as if he found it funny, and looked up from his plate to pierce her with those unusual grey eyes.

"I simply differ with you, Granger," he replied, also emphasising her surname. "Wizards were the creators of magic — why should they share it with other creatures?"

"And why shouldn't they? Do we wizards think we are so superior that we do not have the humility to share our knowledge with other creatures in exchange, of course, for their knowledge?" she countered, sceptically.

"It's funny that you include yourself in the wizard category, you know?" Draco commented, arching an eyebrow wryly. He had taken good care to say it from behind his glass of juice, and in a lower voice, so that the professors wouldn't hear. Hermione gave a slight shudder of anger, but said nothing, continuing to look at him defensively. "But, answering your question: we don't think we're superior, we are. If not, why can we do magic? Why have we been given this gift? We don't have to share it."

"Goblins have their own magic, and they don't use wands," Hermione corrected. "The Ministry has forbidden them to use wands since the 16th century."

"I know," Draco muttered, glaring at her, as if she bored him. "That's obviously what I'm talking about, wand magic. If they already have their own magic, why do they want ours as well? What do they really demand? They don't share their ability to create valuable objects with us, or their knowledge of goldsmithing, do they?"

"They would, as long as we gave them something in return," Hermione objected, stubbornly. "For example, they mint the coins that are used in the wizarding world — that's what we allow them to do, because it's in our interests? But not to use wands?"

"And in return they control the banks and the wizarding economy, which I'd say is no mean feat," Draco completed, shrugging his shoulders and grimacing as if it were obvious. "What more do they want?"

"Equality," Hermione exclaimed passionately. "The same right as us to learn our magic. They would give us their goldsmithing skills in exchange for our skills, don't you think that's a fair deal? But no, we wizards are too proud to do that," she snorted, shaking her head. "We still consider them our subordinates. Surely we would betray them and provoke yet another war in history."

"Are you suggesting that past wars have always been caused by wizards?" Draco snapped angrily. "If you think that, then you're completely ignorant. Need I remind you of the Witch Burnings perpetrated by Muggles in the 14th century?"

"That has nothing to do with this," Hermione replied, taking a deep breath. "You shouldn't dwell on the past, Malfoy. I'm just saying that we could avoid new rebellions like those of the 17th and 18th centuries if we could sit down and talk to them on fair and respectful terms."

Draco gave an almost imperceptible sideways smile. That know-it-all was fucking smart. She knew what she was talking about. But he had just come up with a very funny way to shut her up…

"You accuse the wizards without proof that they would provoke a new war with the goblins and then tell me not to dwell on the past?" the blond replied, scathingly, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat. "But all right, have it your way. If you don't want to get into an argument that you'd obviously lose, I respect that. Let's get back to your goblins. You know, the problem for me is that neither side is going to give in to making the first move. They're too proud."

"You admit that wizards are proud," Hermione repeated, mildly satisfied.

"They've forced us to be like that. There are goblins who believe they are above wizards and... meddle in their lives. They stick their noses in where they're not wanted, almost spying on them, forcing them to be on the defensive. You know a lot about that, don't you?" he hissed, narrowing his clear eyes mischievously.

Hermione tensed and began to breathe more quickly. She had guessed what Malfoy had intended that sentence to mean. And the direction the conversation had taken, she didn't like it one bit. She remembered the blond's words in the Quidditch Changing Rooms after the match...

'You have no right to spy on me or interrogate me whenever you feel like it, so get the hell over it. You're nothing but a busybody.'

There was total silence from the rest of the diners. They didn't even continue eating. They were only focused on the two youths arguing, shifting their gazes from one to the other with visible confusion. McGonagall had made an attempt to intervene on occasion, annoyed at the increasingly angry argument, but neither of them, immersed in the debate, had given her a chance.

"Goblins don't want to be above wizards," Hermione replied, articulating the words clearly. "It's the wizards who insist on repeating how superior they are to goblins. And that's not fair either, is it?"

"It's not about whether it's fair or not, it's just that it's a fact," Draco replied, sure of himself and his words. "No matter how hard you try, you won't convince me that a goblin can measure up to a wizard. Goblins will always be inferior. And so they have no right to demand to learn how to use our magic," he narrowed his light eyes with a malicious glint that only Hermione could see, "let alone meddle in the way wizards live."

"Goblins have the right to protest if they think wizards are doing something wrong and it affects them," Hermione said in a sharper voice. She was shaking with rage. "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe all they want to do is help wizards to be better and the problem is that wizards won't let themselves be helped?"

"Sure," Draco scoffed, "how typical. The goblins are the good guys, and the wizards are the bad guys. That's it, no half measures. The goblins can interfere because they're doing good, fine…"

"I didn't say —" Hermione muttered hotly.

"… and it's natural for goblins to get frustrated when they're not given the chance to poke their noses into other people's lives as much as they'd like. That's understandable," Draco interrupted her, with malicious sarcasm.

Hermione jumped to her feet. She was breathing heavily and her eyes were moist with indignation. She was shaking from head to toe. She was no longer going to put up with him indirectly, and with the metaphor of the goblins, accusing her of being nosy for wanting him to stop his Ancient Runes wanderings. She knew that no one else at the table was noticing anything, and that she would look like a lunatic, but she would not tolerate it.

"The goblins don't want to meddle in anything!" she exclaimed, glaring at the young man sitting across from her. "They're just sick and tired of putting up with nonsense! They just want to help, and make things right, no matter how much the wizards insist on not wanting to see it! No matter how much the wizards are blinded by their own bloody pride and racism!"

"Miss Granger, sit down!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Mr. Malfoy — !"

"The goblins don't want to help!" Draco yelled in return, muffling the teacher's voice, as he stood up as well. He slammed both hands on the table with a resounding thump. "Goblins want to see wizards weaken so they can overpower them! They're up to no good! And whatever you say, you won't convince me otherwise! A wizard doesn't have to lower himself to accept the help of a petty goblin!"

"Goblins aren't petty," Hermione protested, no longer able to shout. She straightened up more and glared at him defiantly, more composed but equally furious inside. "You insist on being inside a bubble, and I fear that by the time you realise your mistake it will be too late. And the goblins will no longer be there."

"No one has asked for them to be there," Draco mumbled, still staring at her. His face was serious and impenetrable.

She blinked her eyes to clear them, feeling them blurry from the indignation she felt. Suddenly she remembered where she was, and felt a slight embarrassment come over her. But she was still too angry to be fully conscious of her actions. She left the bench, ready to leave.

"Excuse my behaviour. With your permission, I'll leave" Hermione said, looking at the teachers with as much respect as she could muster, then turned gracefully and strided away from the table towards the double doors.

Draco, meanwhile, seeing that his adversary had left the room, plopped back down on the bench. He seemed to have regained his temper, though not his breath, and still looked nervous and angry. His heart was hammering hard in his chest and ears, and he was unable to analyse what had happened objectively. Only one thing was clear to him: he was furious. He couldn't remember the last time he had lost his temper so quickly. Granger, he admitted, was a tough opponent in a debate. She was smart, she was argumentative, and she was fucking cultured.

And it was amazing how she managed to get on his nerves.

"Well —" Dumbledore commented, breaking the tense silence in the Great Hall once again. He looked puzzled and stunned. McGonagall was frowning, trying to make sense of what had happened. Snape pursed his lips censoriously. "It was a very... subjective conversation. Although I'm not sure I'm quite clear on your points of view," he hesitated and looked at Draco, disoriented. "You were talking about goblins, weren't you?"

Draco didn't have the strength to answer. He felt exhausted by the recent action. And he couldn't even come up with a halfway coherent justification for what had happened.

"Mr. Longbottom, what is your opinion?" Dumbledore wanted to know, looking at the boy, trying to get his bearings.

The young Gryffindor nearly choked on a piece of turkey he had put in his mouth. He reddened violently and forced himself not to look at Malfoy as he stammered in response:

"At the moment… I have no idea, Professor Dumbledore, sir."