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CHAPTER 10

The Owlery

Draco's mouth opened in a huge, unabashed yawn as he unhurried up the icy stone steps leading to the Owlery Tower. He was on his way there with the idea of sending a package home. It was December 25th, Christmas Day, and so he intended to send presents for both Nott and his mother. Theodore was at Malfoy Manor for the Christmas holidays, unlike Draco, who had been forced to stay at the castle by his mother's intervention.

Just two days before the start of the Christmas holidays, with his luggage packed and his heart set on returning to Hogwarts as a Death Eater, the young Malfoy had received an unexpected letter from his mother, ordering him to stay in the castle and not return home. The letter was written in a code that only he understood, for safety's sake, but it said that she had convinced the Death Eaters that he should stay at Hogwarts for his duties as Prefect, showing them a fake letter that Draco had never sent. His mother had planned it all on her own, not involving him at all, which upset and angered him in equal parts. Now he couldn't show up at his house even if he wanted to, he couldn't make a liar out of his mother in front of the Dark Lord. Such a thing would be catastrophic.

Draco fell apart as he read his mother's words. Most likely, Narcissa most likely wanted to postpone the moment when her son would join Lord Voldemort's ranks for good. The woman was against it, at least for the moment; it seemed too soon, too dangerous, and she did not seem to know how to delay the inevitable. To oppose the Dark Lord's orders was unthinkable. But Narcissa seemed to think that becoming a Death Eater, while still a student at Hogwarts, was too great a risk; if Albus Dumbledore ever found out about it, Draco would be doomed forever.

But sooner or later it would happen. Draco could not, would not, ignore his fate. He could hardly believe that his mother would actually be willing to spend Christmas alone in their Manor, without her husband and son, surrounded by mostly cold and unknown Death Eaters... All in order to postpone the inescapable moment when her only son would be an active member of Voldemort's army.

In the letter, she also advised Nott to stay at Hogwarts, but admitted that she could not forbid him to go to Malfoy Manor if he really wanted to. After all, it had become his home since Theodore's father had been imprisoned. And the Malfoy family had become his family. The young Nott, after a brief discussion with Draco, decided to return, so that he could keep his friend informed as to whether Narcissa was well. And he would also try to keep her company. Draco felt tremendously grateful to him, even more so considering Nott's feelings of dislike for the Dark Lord. Theodore was going to spend Christmas at what had now become the headquarters of choice for Death Eaters. It was not going to be a particularly flattering Christmas.

Draco yawned again within seconds. He was dead sleepy, and his eyelids were heavy. It was very early, it was just slowly dawning around him. Though he hadn't had much trouble getting up early, to tell the truth, as he had spent the sleepless night sitting in an armchair in the cold, deserted Common Room, unable to fall asleep. Lately he hadn't been doing anything strenuous enough to make him sleepy at night. It had been a dreadfully boring holiday. Like an endless History of Magic lesson, or Care of Magical Creatures.

Deprived of any other entertainment, his brain had decided that reminiscing and analysing all the events of the last few weeks of classes would be entertaining. And that had led him to realise that, recently, he had more memories with Hermione Granger than he had had in six years. And that was quite alarming, as well as surprising. When he reflected on it, he realised that, despite everything, he still didn't fully understand her attitude. Her claim that she didn't report him to Dumbledore to save him trouble, giving him a chance to change his ways without punishment. Draco couldn't take it in. He didn't understand that she wanted to... help him. Because yes, after going over and over it, that was the conclusion he could not help himself. And he had tried. Granger wanted to stop him from getting into a new, even bigger mess. Draco admitted that the teachers would probably expel him if they found out what was going on in Ancient Runes, especially since he was getting more detentions than usual this year.

He knew he was going to become a Death Eater; that was his future. He had always considered it a possibility, ever since the Dark Lord's return, but now it was an imminent reality. Why should he try any harder than he should to get good marks in his N.E.W.T.s? He had good marks in his O.W.L.s, that was enough. The N.E.W.T.s were not compulsory, and they were not even necessary for the future he was counting on. The classes, therefore, didn't necessarily interest him, so he preferred to hang out and have a good time with his peers. And it was true that hanging out could involve some conflict with a Gryffindor or a Mudblood. It was no big deal, just a pastime. But he had been punished a few times when the conflicts got slightly out of hand. Maybe Ancient Runes had gotten a bit out of hand too?

It was possible that Granger was right to warn him, but not right to do so. She had no right to meddle in his business without being asked to do so. And even if she was right, he still didn't understand why she was doing it. What her hidden intention was in taking trouble away from him. No one could be so selfless. No one could be so altruistic. There were no such people.

They hated each other, had hated each other for many years. So many that it had become a simple habit, he didn't even think about it. Though perhaps the hatred he felt for Granger was less than the hatred he felt for Potter or Weasley. He just couldn't stand those two gits. For Granger, so far, he had felt only an obvious dislike and a fair amount of indifference. He liked to martyr her, in the same way he did Potter and Weasley, because it amused him to do it — and he could do it — but that was all. He had never wanted to have too much to do with her, it wasn't in his plans to get too close to the Mudbloods. She was just there, just another character in his day to day life that didn't deserve too much attention. But he felt that something had changed now. Something had been triggered between them.

Since the whole Ancient Runes thing had started, the two of them had had more contact than ever before. Unpleasant contact, but contact nonetheless. He had talked, or argued, with her more in the last month than he had in the six years he had known her. And that wasn't the worst of it... For some time now, he had noticed that he saw her everywhere. He looked for her with his eyes, without realising it, in the classrooms, in the corridors, in the Great Hall... She came to his mind constantly. And she, every time they came face to face, had dedicated herself to ignoring him with her head held high at all costs.

A loud sneeze shook Draco, causing him to stagger slightly on the icy steps. He sighed heavily and paused to blow his nose with an already damp handkerchief from his pocket. He also took the opportunity to contemplate the snowy landscape that could be enjoyed from that height. The sun had not yet risen, and the sky was a greyish blue, decorated with a strip of a beautiful gradient between orange and yellow where it met the distant mountains. The snow had taken longer than usual to make its presence known, but it now covered the entire castle grounds. Draco was unable to appreciate the beautiful view as it deserved. His head felt heavy and foggy, as if it were filled with mist. He brought a hand to his forehead and rested the back of it. His skin burned in comparison to the coldness of his hand. It felt warmer than usual. It was probably due to how little sleep he'd had.

Draco shook his head carefully to clear his mind, and continued up the stone steps, somewhat slippery from the ice on them, rubbing his bare hands together hard to warm them.

He hated himself every time the young Granger came to his mind. He didn't want to think about her. He didn't have to think about her. At all. They hadn't spoken to each other for three days now, despite the fact that they were the only two of their year left in the castle besides Longbottom. The Gryffindor couldn't complain: he hadn't done anything to her since the holidays began, except for the loud argument they had at lunch on the first day. Otherwise, he hadn't even seen her except at meals, which had turned into an awkward succession of jokes on Dumbledore's part, trying to raise the Christmas spirit. But apart from those moments, he hadn't seen Granger. He hadn't even looked for her in an attempt to lessen the tedious boredom that had been plaguing him, as he had been tempted to do at times. But he had no intention of looking for Granger. Besides, at any other time he would have loved to use her as a focus for his taunts, but now... It wasn't the same. It didn't feel like it always did. Before, he'd insult the girl, laugh for a while, and carry on with his life as usual. Now it wasn't so easy. The arguments were more complicated, and afterwards he didn't feel as good as before. After an argument, he would spend more time than could be considered logical going over the argument, reminiscing about things she had said or that he should have said... and that was more than his exhausted mind could take.

To his own despair, when he felt particularly bored, he would surprise himself by wondering where the young woman might be, where he could find her. If, taking a detour down the corridor of the Library, he could find her there, studying like the know-it-all she was...

Draco, still lost in his depressing thoughts, was about to walk through the narrow open door of the Owlery when he was forced to stop in his tracks as he saw with astonishment that someone else was about to do exactly the same thing as him from the inside. They stopped just before they collided.

"Granger?" Draco snapped, inertia making him sneer, though he couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. Fate could be so cruel. It was too early in the morning, Merlin's beard, what was she doing there? Apart from the obvious fact that it was something to do with the post, of course.

"Malfoy," Hermione mumbled in return, frowning and taking half a step back.

The two held each other's gaze for several seconds of crushing silence. The already freezing temperature seemed to drop several more degrees. Hermione was the first to look away, visibly impatient, and also uncomfortable.

"Merry Christmas," he sneered, openly sarcastic, enjoying her mortification. She glanced at him again, with disdain.

"I doubt very much that you wish anything merry for me... Could you step aside?" she asked with icy politeness. "I'd like to go out."

Draco considered her demand for a few moments. The temptation to say no and start a fight was very strong, but in the end he desisted. His head was beginning to ache intensely at his temples, and he realised that it would not allow him to be as witty as he might normally be.

"I suppose I could… if you asked me," Malfoy conceded at last, speaking slowly and sarcastically. Hermione sighed, as if gathering her patience.

"Malfoy, step aside, please," she asked with neutral, cold friendliness. It was plain to see that she didn't want to provoke a fight, she just wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

"If you ask me to," the blond sneered reluctantly, with a ponderous grin. He wanted to say something else, but the pain in his head wouldn't let him think. He wanted to get out of there too.

Draco grudgingly moved to the side, but Hermione moved to that side as well and didn't manage to get out. He then moved to the other side but the girl moved that way too and Draco again obstructed her path without intending to. Hermione stopped the awkward dance and looked at him in disgust.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" she accused him. "How can you be so childish?"

"I'm obviously not," Draco defended himself.

"Then get out of the way," she demanded.

"Why don't you get out of the way first?" he suggested, a little less teasing and starting to look annoyed.

Hermione's brow furrowed again. Despite not speaking to each other for days, it was clear that being in Malfoy's presence was still obviously exhausting; he was still as arrogant and rude as ever. Lately, even before the holidays began, she had been bumping into him on a regular basis; almost anywhere she went, he was there. She couldn't be sure if Malfoy was following her, or if it was just that they had always frequented the same places, but it hadn't been until this time, when she was more easily aware of his presence, that she had noticed it. During the holidays, however, she had not seen him anywhere except at meals. And she couldn't help but be aware of it, to her regret, and even feel strange about it. She couldn't say for how long, but recently Malfoy's presence, though unpleasant and annoying, had become a regular part of her day-to-day life. She was almost getting used to seeing his pale, sharp face at all hours, crowned with that straight, fine blonde hair.

Hermione, determined not to bother looking him in the eye, grabbed Draco by the arms and spun around, dragging him with her, thus placing the boy where she had been before and herself outside the Owlery. He, thankfully, allowed himself to be moved. Because otherwise, Hermione realised, she couldn't have done it alone. He was thin, but taller than her. Bigger and heavier, altogether. And she hadn't expected to feel the outline of his arms even through the coat he wore. And it felt like a ridiculously intimate contact, not appropriate for two people who hated each other to have.

She released him immediately, once they were repositioned, before he had time to protest that she had touched him.

"Merry Christmas," she said coldly, and with clear irony. She turned on her heel and started down the icy stone steps.

Malfoy watched her walk away almost unblinkingly, the remnants of Granger's fingers on his arms. And his face tilted into a grimace of concentration. Granger seemed quite calm, and not particularly deadly. He thought it was possible that she didn't even have her wand with her, though he couldn't be sure. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to provoke a bit of a fight. It had proven to be an effective remedy for boredom in the past. Maybe it would take his mind off the headache. Besides, they'd hardly seen each other these days, and he really didn't want her to... leave so quickly?

"Have you heard the latest news about the goblins?" he said aloud, earnestly, trying hard to hide the smirk that threatened to betray him. The trick was to be subtle so as not to arouse the young woman's murderous rage prematurely.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, her heart pumping at full speed, but still keeping her back to him.

"Do you really want to talk about this, Malfoy? Seriously?" she said, staring straight ahead.

"Oh, you don't feel like talking about goblins?" Draco mumbled wryly, arching his eyebrows as if he was sorry. "The other day at lunch you were defending them with overwhelming Gryffindor spirit."

"You don't want to talk about goblins, admit it," Hermione scoffed with a laugh that was more his than hers. She turned around and looked the boy in the eye. "My question is why you want to talk about it. Then you say I'm the busybody, and the one who follows you everywhere you go."

Draco just stared at her in silence. The girl's eyes flashed with anger and pride, and she gave off an aura of strength that was impossible to miss. Suddenly the urge to tease her was gone, and he wished inwardly that she would just go on her way and ignore him. He felt something strange inside him. As if something was squeezing his chest. As if he was suddenly able to feel the blood rushing through his veins. He wanted to do something, and he didn't know what.

She looked away sharply and continued down the steps.

"Granger," Draco called again, not knowing what for, but unable to contain himself. He almost ran out of breath, astonished at himself. He would have kicked himself. Hadn't he just told himself that he wanted her to leave?

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione exclaimed, stopping and facing him again, her face twitching. "Whatever it is, just spit it out and don't waste any more of my time."

He just stared at her earnestly from the top of the stairs. He felt like he wanted to tell her something, but he had no idea what it could be, and it frustrated and unsettled him. And it made him feel absurdly stupid, which he didn't like one bit and was beginning to infuriate him.

The words finally spilled out of his mouth before he could hold them back.

"When classes start again, I'm not going to stop doing whatever I want in Ancient Runes class. I can't wait to see how you're going to stop me... I'm still waiting," he said, feeling a surge of perverse satisfaction. He wanted to provoke her, wanted to make her furious again. "I'm warning you now, so you don't give me your usual nonsense later..."

There was silence. Hermione stared at him for a couple of seconds, impassive, and then, to Draco's bewilderment, she burst out laughing.

She even raised a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her uncontrollable laughter. Draco was gaping. Literally.

"What the — the fuck are you laughing at?" he sputtered, a rictus of hatred curving his upper lip. That was, by far, the last thing he expected her to do. He could barely take in what he was seeing. He couldn't remember... Had he ever seen her laugh like that? No. Of course not. Granger was... Granger. She was a sullen, bossy and repellent being. A chestnut-coloured Minerva McGonagall. But, apparently, she was capable of laughing. Of having a sense of humour. At his expense. Inadmissible.

Hermione tried to catch her breath and pull herself together, but after raising her eyes and seeing the utter stupor, mixed with anger, on the boy's face, she had another fit of laughter. She finally got herself under control, and swallowed hard a couple of times, but continued to look at him with a smirk on her face that the boy didn't like one bit.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy, but I found it funny that you didn't hear about it," she chuckled again, this time without malice. "There's a notice on the bulletin board. Professor Babbling is teaching again after Christmas. She's recovered from the incident with the Snargaluff pods..."

"What?" the boy snapped, looking at her in genuine astonishment. "It's a bluff..."

"Check later when you go to your Common Room," the girl replied, turning to leave. "Your little game is over, Malfoy. You'd better start studying to make up for that subject as much as you can."

The boy stared at her back in shock as she began to descend the steps. It couldn't be true. Not because he cared in the slightest about being a hooligan or not in that class. It was just a stupid pastime because his classmates obeyed him, and he found it amusing. But what he couldn't conceive was that Granger was winning.

Or maybe not?

"You look too happy to have lost," he said in a slightly louder voice, so that she could hear him. The girl stopped, and slowly spun around on her heels.

"Pardon me?" she asked incredulously.

"You tell me calmly, and you crack up as if you've got away with it," Draco began to explain, giving her a satisfied half-smirk. "But you haven't really been able to stop me. You've proved you can't handle me. People will behave properly again because the teacher is coming back, not because of you."

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds, considering his words, but then shook her head.

"Do you think I'm that self-centred? I don't care what makes you stop. The point is, you'll stop martyring us, and that's what I wanted," she turned back to face the front.

"Yeah, but no thanks to you," the blond insisted, maintaining his smile.

"I'm not going to fall for your game of childish provocation —"

"How does it feel to not be able to control everything, Granger?"

"I don't need to control anything!" Hermione snapped, turning to face him again. "The only thing that annoys you is that I'm a better person than you'll ever be! And that I've put my poise before revenge! Because yes, Malfoy, I could have destroyed you if I'd reported you to Dumbledore, and I didn't. Why? Because I pitied you, and I thought I could appeal to your common sense, as I told you. But I was wrong, and it's a mistake I won't make again..."

"Here we go again with your disgusting pity?" Draco replied sharply, looking at her with sudden seriousness. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, but she was too angry to realise that she had crossed the line again. She wasn't going to be afraid of Malfoy. She refused.

"Yes, exactly," she spat, lifting her chin. "I told you. I pity you. Me, and everyone who isn't your henchman. Let's see if you understand it at —"

The word 'once' choked in her throat as the boy approached her in long strides. He came down the steps that separated them in a near-slide. With a sudden thrust to her chest, he slammed her back against the wall of the tower. He stood a step in front of her, blocking her retreat. Hermione's anger turned to sudden fear, despite herself, but that didn't deter her. She felt his wand in the back pocket of her trousers, digging against her body.

"Don't you dare touch me," Hermione warned him, alluding to the push against the wall.

"Take back what you just said," he snarled, glaring at her with those icy eyes like the winter ice around them.

"No way," she replied, not moving.

"I will not allow —" he articulated, very quietly, with deep contempt in every syllable, "— a fucking Mudblood to have the shame to say she pities me. So take it back immediately."

"Or what?" Hermione stormed, her voice rising in deep contempt, "Are you going to kill me like you told me on Hallowe'en?"

Draco stared at her for a few seconds, trying to control himself. Her cheeks were flushed at the sides of her nose, her eyes were bright with emotion, her fists were clenched, and there was an angry scowl on her face. Mist escaped from between her lips, forming a subtle white cloud in front of her. Her thick hair, fluffy with humidity and cold, surrounded her face like a halo of fire. She was furious, and Draco realised, almost panicking, that he was breathing heavily, gawking at her. He felt that the heat of his own face was increasing. Uncontrolled. How could a fucking Mudblood transmit so much strength?

"Leave me alone, Granger," Draco mouthed, still breathing hard. "Mind your own business, and leave me alone. I haven't had to put up with you any more than I have to in six years, I'm not going to put up with you now. Let me hate you in peace, let me hate you like I always do, damn it!" he then exclaimed, not realising that it was a rather strange way of expressing himself.

Indeed, the girl seemed to be taken aback by those words.

"What do you mean?" Hermione muttered, almost speechless, blinking rapidly. "That's absurd. What I do has to make you... hate me like always. Or even more."

Yes. Draco supposed that it was so. But he did not answer. Because he didn't quite understand why he'd said that either. He was still glaring at her and breathing heavily. No. There was something else. And he thought he was getting it. Granger wasn't letting him hate her. She was pretending that what she was doing was trying to keep him out of more trouble, pretending that she wanted to help him. And she was succeeding in confusing and tormenting him with such implausible behaviour. Because that wasn't what they were both scheduled to do. And so she wasn't allowing him to hate her as he should. As was his duty.

He felt some of the weight inside him disappear. That was it. That was the explanation for the frustration he felt. That was why his heart was beating so fast. Because she annoyed him.

"If it's true that Professor Babbling is coming back, I'll tell you straight: don't ever meddle in my business again, you'll have no excuse to do so," Draco snapped in return, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Stay away from me. Or I promise I'll make your life a living hell. I won't put up with any more nonsense. Final warning."

Hermione stared at him silently, unmoving. She felt disappointed, angry, and distraught. Powerless. She didn't understand. She didn't understand what he gained by behaving like this. Malfoy was an extraordinarily proud and stubborn person. She'd never met anyone like him before. So devilishly complicated.

The young woman's eyes narrowed suddenly and a wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. She looked suddenly alarmed.

"What's wrong?" she asked sharply, looking at Malfoy seriously. "Are you all right?"

He didn't answer. He understood perfectly well what she meant. His breathing was still rapid and he couldn't regulate it. He felt horribly hot, even though everything — from Granger's red nose to the ice on the steps — indicated that it was freezing cold. His vision blurred around the edges and he was forced to raise a hand and rest it on the stone wall beside the girl's body. His feet did not seem to be on solid ground. He felt as if he were on the high seas, on the deck of a ship.

Hermione was disturbed by his silence. And even more so at the worrying gesture of holding onto the wall, which she followed with her eyes. Eyes narrowed, scrutinising his pale face with unease, she raised a hand. And, without stopping to think that it might not be a good idea, she pressed it against the skin of his forehead.

"You are burning up!" Hermione yelled, her eyes widening. He jumped away from her, startled by her icy hand on his hot forehead. He swatted her hand away from him with a sweeping motion. "You have a fever!"

"Don't touch me! And don't talk nonsense!" he managed to articulate, raising his voice. Which, in addition to his quick movement to pull away, suddenly made him nauseous.

"Malfoy, you look awful. You're sick, you need to go to the Hospital," Hermione hastened to say, looking at him carefully. The earlier discussion, ironically, seemed to have been forgotten by both of them.

"Fuck off, Granger, and leave me alone!" he shouted at her, turning around and storming up the remaining steps into the Owlery. He didn't care if she didn't rectify her words about feeling sorry for him. He just wanted to get away from her and not let her see him in that state. Because, judging by how bad he felt, he was going to faint at any moment. And he had no intention of fainting in front of Granger.

But Hermione ignored him and followed him running into the tower. It was almost as cold as it was outside, as the large, glassless windows let in freezing draughts. There weren't too many owls, as most of them were still out hunting in the early morning. Draco had approached a large eagle owl and was hastily trying to tie to its leg a package that he had apparently been carrying in his coat pocket all this time. However, his hands felt clumsy and large and he was unable to do so.

"Malfoy, you're sick!" Hermione shouted at him, trying to talk some sense into him, moving to stand beside him. She didn't try to touch him again, "Be reasonable, for God's sake! You need to go to the Hospital! What do you gain by being stubborn about something like this?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Granger! Just get the hell out of here!" he exclaimed, finally managing to tie up the package, and not even knowing if he had shouted or not. There was a ringing in his ears, and the ground kept shifting beneath his feet. His head was going to explode at any moment, "Do you really think I can't take care of myself, you cretin?"

His owl hooted and flew away with a silent flap of wings, out one of the windows. Draco managed a couple of steps and sat down in one of the lower rafters. The owls nearby hopped away, or flew low to another empty rafter. He hadn't meant to do that, but to get the hell out of there. But he wasn't sure he was in any condition to go downstairs.

"You're not showing me that you're in the least bit reasonable with — !" The girl muffled her stern peroration as she noticed the boy's expression. His pale face had contorted into a faint grimace. His head was bowed and his eyes were tightly closed, breathing irregularly. He was the same colour as the ash. "Malfoy…?" she called out to him, now in a whisper.

She tried to hold back her legs, but they activated and she advanced towards him. She knelt right in front of him, ignoring the fact that the straw floor was understandably filthy and littered with various excrement. He said nothing at her approach. Perhaps, with his eyes closed, he wouldn't have noticed. Hermione bit her lip. She almost felt like crying from the impotence of the situation.

"Malfoy, you're obviously not well," she muttered, her voice forcedly calm. As if speaking to a small child. "I'm taking you to the Hospital. Stop being so immature and lean on me."

The girl, her breathing almost as ragged as Draco's, brought a hand to the back of his neck and felt that it was drenched in cold sweat. She could feel him shiver.

He reacted as if she'd cast a curse at him. His eyes snapped open and he looked at her as if she were pointing her wand at him.

"Don't you lay a finger on me!" he shouted, reflexively slapping her arm a second time. The girl, on her knees, was almost thrown off balance. "I told you to get out of here!"

"Malfoy — !" she shouted indignantly in return, rising to her feet.

"Get out!" Draco shouted one last time. But he seemed to have to swallow immediately afterwards. He blinked a couple of times and lowered his face again to keep the dizziness that was overtaking him in control. Breathing through his nose with emphasis.

Hermione stared at him in deep frustration. It was impossible. He would not allow her to touch him, let alone take him to the castle. Casting a spell on him against his will wasn't the solution either, it possibly wouldn't even be legal. But she couldn't leave him there. It was unethical. It wasn't human. She couldn't just walk away. Who would do such a thing? He, for example. No doubt about it.

"If you don't want to see Madam Pomfrey, I'll bring her here," the young woman said. "Don't move, I'll be back as soon as I can."

Hermione started towards the door at a brisk pace, ready to get out of there. Before she crossed the doorway, she took one last glance at Malfoy, who was now covering his face with both hands, faint, and she felt a sudden, intense sense of sorrow for leaving.

He hadn't protested again... He was truly sick.

And he looked, all of a sudden, so vulnerable, that Hermione felt, irrationally, like the worst person in the world for leaving him alone.