Awareness seeped in slowly. Feeling unusually tired, Hermione nuzzled further into her pillow, wondering if she could catch a few more minutes of sleep before breakfast.
A gentle lull rocked her back to the edge of unconsciousness, but a growing sense of discomfort kept her from succumbing. She made to shift to her other side and bit back a small groan when her stiff muscles protested the movement.
Cracking one eye open, Hermione was immediately struck by the realisation that she wasn't in her familiar four-poster. At once, memories of the previous night surfaced; she'd agreed to stay late with Malfoy in the Room of Hidden Things, at first joining him in his spellcasting, then simply observing when she grew too tired to carry on. She must have fallen asleep curled up in the corner; the last thing she remembered was watching Malfoy, still brimming with elation, directing his enormous, silvery dragon as it soared through the rafters.
She smiled inwardly at the image of how their respective Patronuses had looked side-by-side — it was something out of a dream.
Resigning herself to consciousness, Hermione opened both eyes, squinting slightly against the shafts of weak sunlight streaming down from the high windows. The light illuminated the towering walls of hidden objects — resembling a city in their own right — in an ethereal sort of haze. Apart from a few Fanged Frisbees hovering half-heartedly over the pile of wood and dust that had once been an acid-eaten cupboard, all was still.
Shifting to stretch her sore limbs, Hermione realised that at some point Malfoy had bundled his jumper beneath her head to serve as a pillow. She breathed deeply, picking out the now-familiar scent.
Suddenly his jumper shifted, and that's when Hermione noticed the rest of him. It wasn't just the jumper, it was the jumper still on Malfoy. Now that she was paying attention, she felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her.
She turned her head to look back at him and Malfoy immediately opened his eyes.
"Granger?" he croaked, looking as bleary-eyed and confused as she'd felt only moments ago. "How did you—"
He began to cough and sputter, trying to spit out the mass of bushy tresses that had fallen over his face when she moved.
Hermione scrambled upright, decidedly not interested in having to explain that Draco Malfoy had met his untimely demise via hair-effected suffocation.
He sat up across from her off of a pile of mismatched cloaks that had served as his bedding and yawned, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. His jumper was distinctly wrinkled-looking and his hair stuck out at odd angles. The overall effect was rather endearing, if somewhat surprising. For whatever reason, she'd imagined that he simply woke up the same as he always was: put-together, self-possessed, and likely smirking.
Malfoy rubbed at his forehead with a palm before turning to her with a sleepy-looking smirk.
"I'm fairly certain I left you over there, Granger."
She followed Malfoy's eyes over to find an assortment of moth-eaten cushions about a metre away in the corner, arranged around a suspiciously human-like empty space. She then looked down to see Malfoy's cloak still tangled around her legs as if he'd covered her with it while she slept.
"I... must have moved," Hermione admitted, feeling her cheeks grow warm. Malfoy seemed rather pleased nonetheless.
"I gathered that," he said, raising his pale brows once before glancing towards the windows and tilting his head. "Six, maybe seven now, you think?"
"Closer to seven, I'd wager," she replied, attempting to comb her fingers through her snarled curls. "We had best be going before people start heading down for breakfast."
As if the spell had been broken with the rising of the sun, Malfoy's elation from the night before was rapidly fading back into his usual collected demeanour as he fully woke from his sleep. He nodded his agreement and stretched his arms once before running a hand through his hair to tidy the loose strands.
They both stood, straightening their clothing and brushing off the dust that had settled overnight. Hermione returned Malfoy's cloak, shivering slightly in the crisp air that had permeated the room as they slept. He accepted it wordlessly, nodding his thanks.
They stood there for a moment blinking at each other, silent and unsure. It seemed that neither of them could think of anything else to say.
Hermione took the initiative, giving a short nod and turning on her heel towards the exit. Malfoy followed silently, only a step behind. As she reached out, she felt his hand cover hers and looked back.
Without saying a word, Malfoy leaned in to press a single, soft kiss against her lips. The corner of his mouth quirked up as they broke apart, and she gave his hand a final squeeze before they exited the room and parted ways.
Hoping to at least freshen up before meeting Harry and Ron, Hermione made her way quickly to the only bathroom she knew would be unoccupied no matter the time of day: the second floor toilet.
She rinsed her mouth in the sink and fetched her hairbrush out of her bag — she'd begun carrying it with her these last few weeks out of simple necessity.
Snagging it through her curls, Hermione eyed her rumpled pullover in the mirror. Would anyone notice that it was the same one she'd worn yesterday? Likely not — but it was best to play it safe. A quick Colour-Changing Charm had it sorted.
She twisted, inspecting her reflection as best she could through the cracks and spots of the long-neglected glass. The results were satisfactory. Even so, she resolved to have a proper soak as soon as she could manage.
Absorbed as she was in her thoughts, Hermione still shouldn't have been so surprised at the voice suddenly in her ear.
"So you decided to visit me after all?"
Hermione swallowed a yelp, hoping Myrtle mistook her startlement for excitement.
"Um, yes... I thought a visit would be... nice," Hermione replied shakily, willing her pulse to slow.
Myrtle gave her a rare smile. "I always knew you were nice."
"Oh, thank you, Myrtle—"
"—no matter how horrible they say you are."
Hermione's mouth fell open. "What? Who's saying I'm horrible?"
"Oh, just something I overheard the other day," Myrtle said slyly.
"From whom?" Hermione prompted again, half-afraid to know the answer.
"Only the Headmistress herself," Myrtle responded gleefully.
Hermione shook her head. "That's preposterous — we've hardly interacted since the start of the year. What could she possibly be saying about me?"
"Well, it wasn't just about you," Myrtle amended with a frown. "Poor Harry's name got dragged in as well, and that other boy you run around with — the red-headed one. There may have been a couple other students mentioned, but I wasn't paying very good attention. Some pompous-looking boy in glasses blocked my view... looked a lot like your friend, come to think of it..." Myrtle floated up to sit on the sink pedestal, looking gloomy again.
"Alright," Hermione said, starting to get annoyed, "but what was Umbridge saying about us?"
Myrtle sighed. "Mostly that she knows you're up to something, but she can't catch you at whatever it is."
"Oh," Hermione said, her mind immediately going to the P.A. How could Umbridge possibly suspect them? They'd been so careful, using the fake Galleons to set meeting times seemingly at random and then timing their departures from each meeting with Harry's Map. The only outsider who now knew about the group was Malfoy, and Hermione was positive that he wouldn't betray them. And seeing as no one had reportedly developed a sudden problem with their pants catching fire, it was unlikely that anyone from inside the group had tipped Umbridge off either.
Hermione must have looked too-thoughtful, for Myrtle leaned in interestedly.
"Oooh, does that mean you are up to something you shouldn't be?"
"Of course not," Hermione scoffed, hoping that Myrtle wouldn't take a further interest. "But Harry and I have always known that Umbridge doesn't like us. She's looking for any excuse to get us in trouble."
Myrtle didn't answer, picking glumly at a spot on her chin and appearing to be lost in her own thoughts.
"Why are you spying on Umbridge, anyway?" Hermione asked, suddenly suspicious. "I thought you didn't like straying too far from your toilet."
Myrtle's glasses flashed as she looked over. "I don't. But I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."
They were silent for a few moments before Hermione had an idea. She leaned towards Myrtle, wearing an expression of exaggerated curiosity.
"Myrtle... have you heard anything else interesting up there? With Umbridge?"
Myrtle immediately looked cagey.
"Why," she asked, narrowing her see-through eyes, "is there something I should know about?"
Hermione immediately backed off. "No, I don't think so... just having a bit of gossip."
"I'm not a telltale, if that's what you're implying," Myrtle said, her volume starting to rise.
"No, I know that, Myrtle. I only thought—"
"Is that the only reason you came here?" Myrtle broke in angrily. "Or are you having me on? You know, when Olive Hornby used to tease me about my glasses—"
Hermione started edging away as Myrtle ranted about Olive Hornby and her apparent dislike for corrective eyewear. Myrtle's furious form was slowly rising into the air from her seat on the sink, seemingly without her realising it.
"Myrtle, I promise," Hermione soothed as soon as Myrtle finished, hands held out in front of her. "I didn't come here to accuse you of anything. I simply misspoke — I apologize."
Myrtle deflated slightly, beginning to drift back down. Her lank hair fell back over her face, rippling her pearly outline for a moment.
"Oh, alright," she said dismally. Then she added, "I haven't heard much of anything else anyway, you know. Apparently the Headmistress doesn't have enough punishments to hand out, so she says, so that makes it all rather boring. Says the teachers never send her anyone now."
Hermione shouldered her bag, eager to leave the conversation and get down to the Great Hall. "Ah, well, that's... unfortunate, I suppose. But I'm sure it'll pick up soon. If you'll excuse me, I've got to get going. I'm absolutely famished and breakfast is—"
Myrtle's eyes filled with tears.
"How could you?" she wailed in a choked voice. "Talking about food in front of me! When I can't... when I've not..."
Myrtle gave a great, gulping sob and promptly dove into the end stall toilet, sending water sloshing over the sides and onto the already-damp floor. Hermione could hear her muffled sobs continuing from the U-bend.
Hermione dithered for a moment at the door, but decided it best to leave Myrtle to it.
Only a handful of people were trickling into the Great Hall for breakfast already, and Harry and Ron weren't among them. Hermione was already on her last bite of beans before they ambled in sleepily.
"Tough practice?" she asked, eyeing their weary posture and red-rimmed eyes as they shuffled onto the bench across from her.
"You have no idea," Ron grumbled, sweeping an armful of dishes towards himself. "Angelina kept us at it for hours."
"I think I'm still a little bit frozen," Harry said, hefting a nearby jug of pumpkin juice. Suddenly, it clunked back to the table as he winced in pain. Hermione was just about to offer a Warming Charm when Harry lifted a hand to his scar.
Drat. She'd forgotten again to ask Malfoy if he'd reconsider helping Harry with his Occlumency.
"Alright, Harry?" she asked when he'd started rubbing circles into his forehead.
"Yeah, m'fine," he replied weakly, "Just annoying more than anything."
Hermione cast him a doubtful look while Ron asked, "What's it this time?"
Harry wet his lips before he spoke, seeming to focus inward. "He seems... impatient, almost. Like something's taking too long."
"Harry, are you hearing his thoughts now, too?" Hermione asked urgently, unable to keep a slight tremor from her voice.
"No, it's not... it's not like that," Harry said, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand. "It's more just a sense of why he feels a certain way sometimes. I dunno, I can't really explain it."
Sensing that Harry was unwilling to discuss it further, Hermione decided now was as good a time as any to talk to the boys about Theo. Looking around once to make sure their section of table remained empty, Hermione filled Harry and Ron in on everything from Theo's drastic change in personality to the potion that Snape was working on very possibly in relation.
"And you want me to ask Pansy about it?" Ron asked incredulously after she'd finished.
"Well, Malfoy said that—"
Ron made a sound of disgust. "Urgh, this was Malfoy's idea?"
Hermione barely kept from rolling her eyes. "No, Ron, calm down. It isn't Malfoy's idea — it's mine. Malfoy mentioned that Pansy is actually quite adept at Potions, and that we might involve her somehow without her knowing exactly what for. It's important that none of this gets out — or worse, back to Snape."
Ron sighed. "Yeah, I s'pose she does always seem to know what she's on about in that class."
"So you'll do it?" Hermione prodded, ready to kick him under the table if he didn't agree.
"I'll do it," Ron said tiredly, frowning down at the parchment Hermione had immediately shoved into his hands.
"A list," she explained, "of all the ingredients we currently have and their corresponding instructions. As soon as you're able, please. Also, have you two drawn up your study schedules for exams, yet? I've done mine last night..."
Hermione ploughed on, ignoring the decidedly fearful looks from her two best friends as she launched into an intricate, seventeen-point plan to make sure they all passed their O.W.L.s.
The days began to blur as the first of December came and went.
As if their professors were worried about the relatively few number of days they'd spend without studying over the upcoming Christmas break, homework was being given at an alarming rate.
Hermione's prefect duties increased significantly, as well. With the outdoors now unbearably cold for extended periods, prefects were assigned in shifts to watch over the first and second years spending their break periods inside. Filch also requested a heavy increase on patrols in the corridors to prevent a "near-certain outbreak of duelling" as tensions ran high in the last few weeks of term. The worst of those were when Filch himself insisted on accompanying them.
With Christmas fast approaching, the prefects were also called upon to supervise the decorating of the castle, as well as the preparations for Umbridge's event for the Minister. It was clear that Umbridge didn't trust them to do it correctly, in any case, as the Inquisitorial Squad had been tasked with supervising the prefects.
"Hmm, I think it needs more tinsel," came the voice of Graham Montague, who had been hovering nearby alongside Warrington and Crabbe for the last several minutes, all whispering to each other. "Don't you?"
Hermione didn't turn around from her position in front of the enormous fir tree, continuing to concentrate instead on her wand movements as she strung up the decorations.
"Did you hear 'im, Mudblood?" came Crabbe's churlish voice. "He said, it needs more tinsel."
Hermione looked over her shoulder to see three separate lengths of tinsel shooting her direction. She had no time to react before they wound around her, tangling her limbs and causing her to fall over stiffly onto the floor. Laughing cruelly, Montague and the others began moving as if to surround her. Hermione spat out a mouthful of tinsel and worked frantically to free her wand.
"Is there a problem here?"
She glanced over to see Cedric Diggory standing behind Crabbe, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the lot of them.
Warrington sneered at him. "There is now, you bloody fop. Why don't you mind your own business?"
"I see," Cedric responded calmly. "I suppose I should just call over Mister Filch to sort this all out then — he's just come in from scrubbing mud out of the Entrance Hall and would surely be happy to help."
Hermione managed to get her arm free and push up to a sitting position, her wand trained on the three Slytherins. Montague, Warrington, and Crabbe were already trading nervous looks, craning their necks towards the end of the corridor before they turned to notice that she'd freed herself. They took one more look at Cedric and promptly backed away.
"Get bent, Diggory," Montague called over his shoulder, "and Mudblood, do us all a favour and keep it on — then no one will have to see your hideous face!"
He and the others sauntered off, laughing amongst themselves.
"Ignore those three," Cedric said, reaching out a hand. "They haven't got a single brain between them."
Hermione allowed Cedric to help her up then began pulling strands of tinsel from her hair. She was more annoyed than anything, though she couldn't shake the feeling of what might have happened if Cedric hadn't been nearby.
"Thank you," she said earnestly. "Your timing is much appreciated."
"Of course," Cedric replied, nodding seriously. "Say, would you mind if I stay and help you finish up here? I've just finished stringing up holly in the next corridor over, and if I look busy enough, they won't set me anything else to do tonight." He smiled at his own joke.
The offer wasn't exactly subtle, but Hermione appreciated the gesture.
"That would be wonderful," she said, smiling back at him. She pointed up at the tree. "I've just started over here..."
The next few times Hermione was on decorating duty, Cedric was always found to be working nearby. They mostly worked in comfortable silence, sometimes with a bit of light-hearted conversation thrown into the mix. Warrington, Crabbe, and Montague never came around again after that.
Uniform fittings for the school demonstration took place the first Saturday of December. It seemed that the entire staff of Gladrags Wizardwear (Hogsmeade, London, and Paris locations) had turned up to take measurements for the school. Hermione couldn't even begin to imagine what an operation of this magnitude would cost the Hogwarts coffers.
Both she and Malfoy were so outrageously busy that they barely even had time for the secret trysts that they'd become accustomed to in the castle's alcoves. They mainly had to settle for nudging legs beneath the table in Arithmancy, or innocently brushing past one another as they moved to retrieve their cushions while reviewing Banishing Spells in Charms, or lingering touches as they reached for the same ingredient jar from the Potions storeroom.
P.A. meetings continued — even if Hermione and Neville weren't able to make all of them now. She'd filled in Harry and Ron about her conversation with Myrtle, and they'd put their heads together trying to determine what had tipped Umbridge off. After several days, all they could figure was that the common room portrait had probably noticed the same large group of people coming in together once too often.
As a result, they were being triply careful about allowing people to arrive and leave in very small groups. And since the P.A. was made up of mostly Gryffindors, this process was beginning to eat a significant amount of their practice time. Still, things were progressing nicely despite that; they'd recently moved into more advanced-level offensive spells, such as the Impediment Curse, the Reductor Curse, and Slicing Hexes.
One day in the middle of the month, Harry drew Ron and Hermione to the side of common room, looking grave.
"It's happening soon," Harry said ominously. "I can feel it. Voldemort is going to try to get through that door at the Ministry."
Ron immediately paled.
"How can you know for certain?" Hermione asked quickly, sceptical that Harry could read Voldemort's emotions well enough to come to that conclusion.
Harry shot her a frustrated look. "I told you before, I can't explain it. I'm dreaming about that stupid door and all the rooms past it every single night now, and I swear I'm getting closer to whatever it is he's actually after in there. I keep turning down the same row of shelves. And he's feeling restless. Or... maybe eager."
Hermione bit her lip, mind working furiously to process that information.
Ron jumped in. "Have you talked to Sirius, mate? He'll know what to do. Maybe the order can increase security—"
"I have already," Harry said, "just this morning while everyone was at breakfast. Sirius said that Dumbledore is confident that Voldemort won't make a move until victory is certain. Except I dunno how they're supposed to know when that is, seeing as they don't have Voldemort in their heads..."
Hermione licked her lips nervously. "If Dumbledore's certain that it won't be soon, perhaps its best to trust him, Harry. I'm not sure what more we can do at this point. Besides, we'll be heading to Grimmauld soon for break — I'm sure we'll get more satisfactory answers then."
Harry begrudgingly agreed.
Ron suddenly looked thoughtful. "You're not going home for Christmas?" he asked her.
Hermione's throat constricted as she fought back a sudden urge to be sick. Harry looked wide-eyed between her and Ron, immediately understanding the problem.
"Hermione's parents had to go into hiding, too, remember?" Harry said quickly, saving her the need to explain (not that she truly could anyway). "I don't think a meeting can be arranged for only a few short days."
"Ah, sorry, Hermione," Ron said sympathetically, oblivious to her sudden internal distress. "It's too bad they can't come live at Grimmauld, too."
She cleared her throat. "Yes, it... would have been nice to see them," she managed to choke out.
Harry quickly changed the subject. When she'd recovered, Hermione threw him a grateful look.
Ron was finally able to approach Pansy for "Potions help" later that day. Pansy hadn't been demanding nearly as much of Ron's time since she'd begun volunteering as an emergency tutor for Frau Tanzen. Apparently, Umbridge had noticed a few of the more hopeless students in their Conduct class and requested an intervention.
Somehow, despite being kept nearly as busy as Hermione, Pansy made time over the next several days to help him.
Even with Pansy's help, they still hadn't made much progress. Hermione decided to sit nearby in the library during one of their sessions in the last few days before term ended. She took out her Transfiguration essay and pretended to write while watching them out of the corner of her eye.
"Black mirror, black mirror, black mirror..." Pansy was muttering under her breath, tapping her quill rhythmically on the desk.
Ron, who had been looking off to the side with general disinterest, suddenly looked around at her.
"Did you say a black mirror?"
Pansy sneered at him. "Obviously — haven't you been paying attention, Weasley? Honestly, it's a miracle you're still here..."
Ron snorted. "Fine, I only thought it sounded familiar."
Hermione unknowingly leaned towards them, trying to better hear what Ron was saying.
"Please," Pansy drawled, "do enlighten me with your Potions prowess — which, I may remind you, got you into this situation in the first place."
Ron made a face. "Well, I dunno about Potions ingredients, but I do remember Trelawney mentioning those in Divination."
Pansy simply looked confused. "You... what?"
"Divination," Ron repeated with an air of patience. "It's some sort of Scrying thing — mostly used in the Dark Arts."
Pansy's mouth fell open in astonishment.
"I think they also call them Obsidian mirrors," Ron added, looking smug.
"So it's not a Potions ingredient at all?" Hermione asked excitedly, having at some point risen out of her chair and drifted towards them. "It's a Divination tool?"
Both Pansy's and Ron's eyes snapped to hers and Hermione realised her mistake.
Pansy's lips suddenly curved into a vicious smile. "Oh, I see. Your little know-it-all girlfriend couldn't help you so you had to come crawling to me. That it, Weasley?"
"It seems Ron ended up doing the work anyway," Hermione snapped back at her, and Pansy promptly closed her mouth, looking murderous.
"Hold on now," Ron said, looking entirely too pleased with himself, "there's no need to argue. In fact, what if you both helped me? I'm sure that working together, two brilliant witches such as yourselves will have it sorted in no time."
Hermione beamed at Ron for the compliment, then noticed Pansy doing the same. Pansy noticed Hermione, too. They both frowned at Ron.
"Come on, it'll be great," he insisted. The chair across from Ron scraped noisily over the floor as he pushed it out with his foot. "Sit with us, Hermione."
Pansy was giving Hermione a hostile look that clearly said if she dared to sit down, she'd regret it. Well, she wasn't about to let Pansy Parkinson tell her what to do when she could help it.
Hermione stubbornly took the chair Ron offered, shooting him a dirty look of her own in the process. Ron's answering smile showed far too many teeth.
"So, where were we?" he asked innocently. "Ah, right, the part where I figured out a vital piece of information..."
Hermione and Pansy worked together surprisingly well, if a little stiffly. Hermione filled in Pansy on what she (and Malfoy) had already worked out, and in turn, Pansy gave her own opinions, adding bits of knowledge or well-reasoned theories. She was snarky about it, but Hermione couldn't deny the pleasure at working with another person who was truly interested in the subject matter.
"Can't Professor Snape give you a sample of the potion?" Pansy asked Ron in exasperation after some time. "Scarpin's Revelaspell would save us a whole lot of trouble."
Ron looked hopefully at Hermione.
"No, he won't, remember?" Hermione said tightly with a meaningful look at Ron. "You have to figure it out on your own."
Besides, Hermione hadn't heard of Scarpin's Revelaspell, and she was not about to admit that Pansy knew something she didn't.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, Weasley's already said that if he even mentions it to Snape again, he'll fail. Seems rather funny if you ask me, but I'm not the one failing Potions, after all."
Ron nodded along good-naturedly, his thoughts seemingly already elsewhere.
"Hermione," Ron whispered out of the side of his mouth later when Pansy had gone off to retrieve a book. "Can I go? This is really your guys' thing, anyway."
This time, she really did kick him under the table. Ron shot her a wounded look and made a show of rubbing his leg.
"Not when it's your fault we're both here," she hissed under her breath.
He wisely made no response.
Before they knew it, the last day of term came and went. Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville were all sharing a compartment on the Hogwarts Express as they headed back to London for their holiday break.
Harry, Ron, and Neville were taking turns playing Gobstones on the floor. Ginny and Luna were talking quietly behind what looked to be a preprint edition of The Quibbler.
"Daddy's almost got things back up and running," Luna said when she noticed Hermione staring. "He's hoping to be ready to print by the New Year."
Having sworn she'd just seen the word "Wrackspurt" on the front page, Hermione gave a bland, "Oh, that's nice," and returned to her letter.
She adjusted the textbook that was currently serving as a makeshift writing desk on her lap, careful to avoid stepping on the length of parchment trailing off of it to touch the floor. She'd been feeling guilty about not having the chance to write Viktor the last few months — his last few letters had been chock full of updates on his life both at home and travelling with the team. Some of the places he'd been to sounded lovely; she longingly considered a bit of travelling after earning her N.E.W.T.s, though that was largely dependent on how the current "Dark Lord" situation resolved.
At least now that she was going to stay at Grimmauld Place for a few days, she'd have the opportunity write Viktor back without the possibility of Umbridge reading through it.
At half-past noon, the lunch trolley rattled towards their compartment. Always generous, Harry nearly cleared the cart, buying them all a large stack of Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs, and Pumpkin Pasties to share. They worked their way happily through the pile, spirits soaring at the prospect of the upcoming holidays and being out from Umbridge's thumb.
"Agrippa!" Ron suddenly shouted, letting his chocolate frog escape up the side of the wall in the process.
Ginny jumped out of her seat to look over his shoulder.
Ron showed her then held the card out for everyone to see.
"Nice one!" Harry said, munching happily on the frog he'd just snagged off of the wall.
"Only Ptolemy left, right?" Ginny said excitedly.
Ron nodded, still grinning down at his find. "Yep, that's the last one."
Hermione saw the moment when Neville's eyes went round. He flipped over a card he'd set beside his rather hideous-looking little cactus plant.
"You mean this one?"
Ron declared that this break was going to be the best one ever.
As four o'clock approached, Hermione began to anxiously check her watch. She was supposed to meet Malfoy at precisely half-past four for one final rendezvous in the very last car on the train.
The last rays of sun disappeared over the horizon, and the lamps over the luggage racks and in the corridors flickered gently into life. Hermione excused herself, though no one was really paying attention — Ron's excitement had been infectious.
She made her way quickly down the corridor and into the adjoining car. Small white flakes began sticking to the dark window panes, which otherwise only showed the train's interior reflection. Most of the compartments she passed were simply empty — not many were going home for what amounted to half the time of the usual holidays, it seemed.
Hermione didn't slow until she'd reached the very end of the very last car, peering inside the nearly pitch-black luggage overflow nook. If she hadn't caught the faintest glimmer of gold mere moments before, she may have screamed when an arm reached out for her.
"Happy Christmas, Granger," Malfoy said lowly into her ear, simultaneously pressing something into her palm. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she looked down to see a small trinket in the shape of an oval.
"What is it?" she asked curiously, holding it up to better see. Now that she had a better look, the smooth stone in her hand appeared to be a small blue sapphire.
"It's my Patronus," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting wryly.
Completely taken aback, Hermione looked up at him. "What?"
Malfoy snorted softly, tone thick with amusement. "I've told you about my interest in Alchemy before, yeah?" She nodded mutely. "Well, I recently stumbled upon an essay that went in-depth on the transmutative properties of certain spells into different physical representations."
"I'll spare you most of the details for now—" Hermione opened her mouth to protest, "—for now," he repeated, smiling outright now. "But I made a few trips into the Room of Hidden Things looking for something that would suit my purposes and came across this stone. Lucky find, really — trigonal and hexagonal crystal structures are some of the best for imbuing magic. Anyway, a few calculations and a fair more bit of luck... here, wrap your hand around the stone and hold it."
She did as instructed until the stone grew very warm and a soft light began peeking through her fingers. She opened her hand to reveal the sapphire, now with a gentle glow at its centre. She held it up in front of her face and could just barely make out the details of an impossibly tiny Hebridean Black.
"It's the first thing that's ever really worked for me," he added quietly, almost an afterthought.
Hermione was almost too stunned to speak. He seemed to be awaiting her reaction, though.
"Malfoy, I... I don't know what to say. This is absolutely incredible. Just exquisite magic. I cannot possibly accept this, it's far too valuable—"
He shook his head once.
"It's yours," he said in an iron tone. "You're the reason it exists in the first place — you deserve it."
At that, she really was stunned into silence. She continued to watch the crystal in fascination until it's glow faded and it returned to normal. A single tear rolling down her cheek jolted her out of her stupor.
"I feel silly," she said, laughing as she wiped her face with her sleeve. "I only made you this mediocre scarf."
She pulled the item out from under her arm and offered it to him. He quickly accepted it, running his fingers over the fabric.
When he didn't say anything, she started rambling.
"I'm sure it's not nearly as nice as what you have already, and the only magic in it is an Anti-Wrinkle Charm, and I even ordered a special cashmere blend because I know that's what you usually wear, and of course its green, because what else, but I wasn't sure if..." she trailed off, uncertain where she was really going with it all.
He leaned in to press his lips against hers. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"You too," she said quickly, realising she'd never actually thanked him for his gift. "I mean — thank you."
Suddenly he laughed, holding up the end of the scarf. "Granger, are these my initials?"
It was her turn to smile wryly. "You do seem to have them on everything you own."
"Fair point," he conceded, unable to stop from rolling his eyes anyway.
"I've got to get back," he said, looking rather regretful about it, "but first..."
Hermione only spared a second to think that that this was probably the longest they'd ever gone without immediately snogging as Malfoy's lips crashed into hers.
They parted ways shortly after, each returning to their own compartment. Before she entered, Hermione carefully tucked the sapphire away into her pocket. Perhaps she could makeshift a sort of wire cage to be able to wear it on her person. Luna would probably have some ideas — she seemed to enjoy making her own jewellery, after all.
As predicted, everyone else was still too caught up in the holiday spirit to have really noticed Hermione's absence.
The train pulled into King's Cross station at half-past five, slowing to a halt beneath the warm, bright lights of the train shed. Without their enormous trunks to lug around, Hermione and the others disembarked much more quickly than usual. After saying goodbye to Neville, the rest of them met up with Fred and George, who were already on the platform.
"Who's meeting us, d'you suppose?" George asked, looking around the relatively empty platform. Only a few other people lingered nearby, all but a single elderly woman watching the train doors.
"You know, we could Apparate nearby..." Fred added to George under his breath.
Harry spoke up. "I dunno who's meeting us, but Sirius said to wait in the—"
Hermione was momentarily distracted by a familiar head of white-blonde hair. It was Narcissa Malfoy again, looking severe in robes of unrelieved black as she waited at the other end of the platform. Not a moment later her son joined her, extending his arm for his mother to take as they walked. Hermione flushed with pleasure to see that he was already wearing the scarf she'd given him atop his coat.
She looked back around to see everyone else already a good ten paces away from her and hurried to catch up. They let themselves into one of the small lounges connected to the platform.
Molly Weasley was waiting inside. She immediately bustled over to envelop each of her children into a hug. Hermione was surprised when Molly's arms wrapped around her, too, and she tentatively returned the embrace.
"So wonderful to have you all for Christmas," Molly said, manoeuvring over to catch Luna in a final hug as well. Then she gestured everyone closer and retrieved a blackened old kettle from her purse. "Come quickly, now, gather 'round. The Portkey's leaving in just a few minutes."
Hermione barely even had time to dread the upcoming journey. The door to the lounge soon opened up to reveal the wrinkled old woman who had been waiting on the platform. Although suddenly, she wasn't old at all, but a young witch with a heart-shaped face and neon green hair.
"Wotcher, all!" Tonks said brightly, accidentally letting the door slam shut behind her with a loud crash. She jogged over to their group, squeezing in between Ginny and Hermione to get a finger on the kettle.
"So — good term so far, everyone?" Tonks asked with an exaggerated wink. Their laughter was cut short when a familiar yanking sensation spun them violently into the air. Close as they all were, their shoulders and bags banged together repeatedly as the kettle pulled them onward through a disorienting mixture of swirling colour and howling wind.
Hermione's feet slammed onto the ground and she stumbled into Tonks, who went sprawling overtop Ginny. The kettle clattered to the floor somewhere nearby.
Laughing, Tonks helped Ginny up first then helped Hermione to her feet. Hermione pressed a hand to her middle, swaying slightly as she regained her bearings.
They had arrived in the dingy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld place. Sirius was waiting for them, the grin on his face so huge that it almost took off the years that Azkaban had added prematurely to his appearance.
Sirius immediately strode over and laid an arm over Harry's shoulders, drawing him into his side before addressing the rest of the room.
"Welcome, everyone. Happy Christmas."