Hermione dipped her paintbrush into the bucket of white paint, watching as the bristles absorbed the thick liquid. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the Quidditch field. She stood on one side, near the newly reconstructed stands that were still under progress after the war. The school had employed architect wizards to oversee the rebuilding process, but they needed additional help, hence the detention program.
Being a part of the detention program was something Hermione detested already. She disliked being around these people, especially Draco Malfoy. He stood a few levels below, painting another bench, his face adorned with the usual scowl. He had been a Death Eater and a bully, tormenting her and her friends for years. He had no right to act as though he cared about her now.
She tried to concentrate on her work, attempting to ignore his piercing grey eyes that seemed to track her every move. She wondered what thoughts were going through his mind, what emotions he was experiencing. She pondered the reasons behind his actions—why he had saved her from Zacharias Smith the previous night.
A peculiar flutter stirred in her chest whenever she caught Draco's gaze, but she brushed it off as mere annoyance. She despised Draco Malfoy, and she knew he felt the same way about her.
Glancing at Neville, who was sanding another bench nearby, Hermione noticed his forlorn and nervous expression. Guilt washed over her, knowing that he was here because of her. Hermione wished she could undo that day, but she couldn't.
Her attention shifted as Michael Corner accidentally knocked over a can of paint with his elbow, causing it to spill onto the ground and stain his uniform brown. Hermione suppressed a laugh as Michael cursed and tried to clean himself with a towel.
Filch had temporarily stepped away from supervising the detention program to use the loo, leaving his cat Mrs. Norris behind to patrol the field like a spying agent. Filch, a mean old man who relished making their lives miserable, had confiscated their wands upon arrival and forced them to work tirelessly without breaks.
Michael groaned and tossed the towel aside before stomping down the stairs in frustration. The four Slytherins erupted in laughter.
Hermione stared up as Michael disappeared into the distance. The once bright, yellow sun had faded. The sky grew ominous as dark, billowing clouds swirled overhead, casting a shadow over the Hogwarts grounds.
"Ooohhh!" Theo spoke in a mock-scared voice. "I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever."
"They're also arrogant and overly curious." Pansy snorted. "Remember he courted the Weasley matron back in fourth year."
"Let's not bring that up." Draco chuckled. "I think Zabini over there is still wounded she chose Potter over him."
Blaise glared at Draco. "Feck off. I don't fraternize with blood-traitors."
Draco's laughter subsided, and he shot Hermione a look, appearing slightly offended. "Cool it, mate. We're just teasing you."
Hermione huffed out a breath and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She wanted to interject, to remind them that she was right there while they discussed her best friends, but she thought better of it. If she ignored them, she could focus on her work and avoid unnecessary confrontations. With a determined expression, Hermione returned her attention to the bench she was painting, determined to finish the task at hand.
As she brushed the paint over the weathered wood, memories flooded her mind. The war had left deep scars, both physical and emotional, on everyone involved. Hogwarts, once a place of magic and wonder, now bore the marks of destruction. But it was also a place of healing, of rebuilding, and Hermione was determined to contribute to that process.
She turned to look at Neville, checking on him. When he looked up, he gave her a sad smirk, and she smiled back before turning her attention back to painting.
The sound of Pansy's giggling echoed in the background as the air crackled with an electric charge, and the wind howled, sending chills down Hermione's' spine. It appeared the weather was becoming worse and she needed to hurry up.
Hermione focused on sanding the end of the same bench as Neville, who had his head kept down nervously, pools of anxious perspiration dripping down his face. Theo, a few steps below from them, stood up to stretch with an abhorrent yawn. Hermione deliberately pretended not to notice him, but Theo, being his usual unpleasant self, started making nasty, reprehensible moaning noises to test her patience. Finally, Hermione threw an annoyed glare at him.
Draco chuckled quietly at his ridiculous mate's behavior.
Theo smiled at Hermione, now that he had caught her attention. "You screwed up big time, didn't you?"
"You noticed?" Hermione ensured nothing but passive-aggressive sarcasm adjacent to the firm motions as she sanded.
"How does the absurdly headache-inducing know-it-all Hermione Granger end up serving a stretch in porridge?" Theo's flippant nature showed no sign of fading.
Hermione clenched her jaw but chose to ignore him. Theo shrugged and continued, "Fair enough. But you have to admit, it's a bit ironic. The golden girl of Gryffindor, the brightest witch of her age, the war heroine, reduced to painting and smoothing benches with the likes of us."
Hermione felt a bubble of anger, but Draco intervened, adopting a less condescending tone than Theo. "We all saw you in a strop, Granger. What did poor little Lavender do to deserve all those jinxes and kinky hair pulling? Did she get higher marks than you?"
Hermione recognized that look in Draco's eyes again, similar to the previous night. Instead of embarrassing her and deducting house points for being out past curfew, there was a flicker of something she didn't want to put her finger on—a decision within him to hide her and cover for her.
She expelled the thought, not wanting to explore it further. "Don't act like you're actually concerned for her."
Draco feigned sorrow. "I'm not. I'm concerned for you, sweet, sinless old Granger."
Expelling the thought proved to be the right thing to do.
"No wait, I know! Did she copy your homework assignment?" Theo interjected with a cackle.
Hermione released a huff of perturbed annoyance and tossed the sanding brush to the side so she could start painting. She popped open the can of paint, snagged a brush and started with a few test strokes.
"Come on, I'm just trying to make conversation. I'm networking with other young offenders. We should be giving each other pointers, swapping tips. Consider it my personal contribution to this rubbish program." Theo flailed his arms as if everyone should agree with him.
"The only thing I'll be acquiring from you is a much-needed brush up on my dueling abilities." Hermione retorted, going in to dip the brush for more paint.
"Oh, I'd love to see that!" Theo laughed as if he were having a chat with an old friend. "You and me, one-on-one. No wands, no rules, just pure magic."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "In your dreams."
"Maybe so. But you have to admit, it would be fun," Theo winked mischievously.
"No, it would be a waste of time," Hermione remained firm.
"Aw, come on." Theo pouted in a way that made Hermione internally sour. "Don't be such a bore."
Pansy whistled, adding a dramatic effect.
"I don't think she wants us prying." Draco sounded almost...defensive? Absolutely not, Hermiones social cues were clearly lacking.
"What about you? What are you in for?" Hermione glared at Draco, unsure of his intentions. Just like the night before when he didn't expose her whereabouts to Zacharias. "Wait, it doesn't take a gormless troll to figure it."
Draco gave her a conspiratorial look, "Correction. It doesn't take three Hufflepuffs and a gormless troll to figure it out."
"Well, hold on now, don't get all cocky. Blaise told us he's in for stealing fairy cakes from the kitchens, isn't that right?" Theo put his hands up, a giant brush still in one.
"No one gets 100 hours of detention for picking fairy cakes from the kitchens," Hermione snorted disbelievingly. "Blaise's mother funneled millions into the Ministry's pureblood propaganda during Voldemort's regime. Pius Thicknesse documented the transfers, ruling the findings as funding to the DMLE."
Draco shot Zabini a questioning look. "Is this true, mate?"
Theo exchanged a glance with Zabini. "What was all that big talk about your contempt for me and Draco all those years? What was it—right, Muggleborns and half-bloods repulsed you as much as Death Eaters, You-Know-Who, and his commiserates."
"Thanks for reminding me, yeah?" Blaise finally spoke up. "I've got nothing to do with my mum and her decisions. It's a simple case of guilty by association."
"Surprised none of you knew. The Wizengamot trial proceedings were recorded and printed in the paper. Come to think of it, I'm not all that surprised none of you read." Hermione stated proudly.
"I have a copy of the Daily Prophet sent to me every day. I haven't seen any coverage on that." Pansy chewed her lollipop turned gum.
"It was in the Quibbler." Hermione knew if her family and reputation were on a high-profile trial, she'd be collecting every news source she could possibly get her hands on.
"Of course." Pansy laughed condescendingly.
Hermione shot her a sharp look.
"Well, there you have it. Zabini's in for conspiracy-" Theo said matter-of-factly, "-we know Draco took the Mark—sorry mate, I know it's a sensitive subject. We know all about my lovable family. Pansy's just a little chicken—"
Pansy popped the lollipop out of her mouth, "Sod off, prick. I almost got away unscathed if Tracey Davis hadn't convinced me to sneak into the Death Day room to get piss drunk on a bottle of sherry. When Snape caught us, I tried to blow my way out of getting detention."
"You... what?" Hermione stuttered in utter disgust and sheer horror.
"What, your little virgin ears not working?" Pansy sighed impatiently but continued explaining. "So I hold the bottle, yeah—like I said, I was shit-faced—and I get down on my knees." Pansy started to demonstrate, much to Hermione and Neville's dismay. The rest of the boys looked bored and amused, except for Theo, who was excited. "-and start sucking the bottle of sherry to show Snape what I could do. He was a total tosser about it, said it was inappropriate or some bullshite and called McGonagall."
"I'm holding you to a demonstration," Theo, with wide gleaming eyes, clapped. "And what about you?" He gestured his head toward Neville. "You look like a knicker-picker."
"I don't steal underwear. I'm not a freak. I—" Neville stopped himself and glanced briefly at Hermione, who kept her eyes narrowed on where she was working.
"No, you definitely are. Bet you go around snatching knickers with your girlfriend Loony, yeah? It's always the rejects that go at it like hounds," Theo persisted, teasingly.
The group, save for Hermione and Neville, burst out in fits of giggles. Hermione was becoming more and more presently aware that the sky above was now a swirling tempest of dark clouds, tinged with an eerie purple hue. The rest of the group paid no mind as gusts of wind whipped through the air.
"I'm the reason Hermione got into a scuffle with Lavender! Hermione's my friend-I heard some pretty awful things being said about her. So, it's my fault she's here in the first place." The laughter was instantly diminished with Neville's half-mindless, half-courageous confession.
Hermione glared at Neville disbelievingly, mouth ajar. Neville apologized profusely as he covered his mouth in regret.
"What was she saying?" Draco questioned.
"The truth, probably." Pansy answered, almost sounding like she wanted to cheer on Lavender.
"No, it's not true at all what she said about her. Hermione didn't kill Ron. She loved him. She would never!" Neville's words spewed out like vomit.
Hermione was in the midst of processing her anger toward Neville, but the emotions subsided rapidly because none of this was actually Neville's fault, even if he did expose her humiliatingly brash actions that led her to where she is.
It was silent for a brief moment when they all realized that it was no longer a laughing matter.
"Satisfied?" Hermione didn't even look at Theo as she dipped her paintbrush and went to drag strokes back over the smoothed wood. She almost wanted to cry at the mention of Ron. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault.
"That was one mean Confundus you threw at her," Oddly enough, Draco took the opportunity to make an almost attempt at consolation. Hermione smiled thinly at him. He almost looked like he genuinely felt bad for her. Almost.
"Yeah, I heard Pomfrey couldn't even reverse it right away. She was in such a tizzy; they needed to get special healers from St. Mungo's to get her mind back," Theo lost his train of thought, becoming distracted once a drop of water fell on his nose. "Where's Mrs. Norris, and what's going on with this weather?"
The sky had become a menacing swirl of dark, storm-laden clouds that seemed to devour the light. Filch appeared immediately. It was typical of him to show up as soon as Mrs. Norris went to fetch him.
"There's a storm a comin'—" Filch pointed to the mess of paint Michael had made, who still hadn't returned. "How did this happen?! I leave you lot alone to paint benches for five minutes."
"And burnish," Neville piped up wearily. "paint and burnish benches…"
"I don't know about you, but we've been here for weeks with nothing going wrong until they came along." Theo exclaimed, exasperated, looking pointedly at Hermione and Neville.
Filch ignored Theo and counted the group aloud. "We're missing one. Where did the Corner fellow go?"
Theo shrugged. "You tell me 'cause I've got no idea."
An unforeseen behemoth of ice hurtled from the heavens, crashing with a thunderous impact into an unfinished tower on the Quidditch field. The deafening sound reverberated through the air, causing Hermione's heart to race. Pansy's shrill scream pierced the chaos, blending with the cacophony of crashing hail and splintering debris.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" Blaise yelped.
Jagged streaks of lightning cut through the heavens, illuminating the tumultuous atmosphere in an otherworldly glow. The air crackled with raw energy.
Hermione's mind raced, her survival instincts taking hold. She could feel the weight of the danger closing in. "It's hail," she gasped, her voice trembling. "They're layered ice particles produced from strong updrafts occurring in thunderstorms." Her knowledge momentarily pushed aside her fear as she tried to make sense of the perilous situation.
Draco's brows furrowed in disbelief. "Leave it to Granger to lecture you on atmospheric conditions in the middle of a storm."
Theo's laughter rang out, a nervous release of tension. "What—how do you even know that? Is it in Muggle Studies? I never paid attention—"
But their conversation was abruptly interrupted as two larger hailstones collided nearby, sending smaller shards of ice flying in every direction. The ground trembled as the colossal projectiles struck with force. One boulder-sized hailstone crashed through the stands, creating a gaping hole, while another landed dangerously close to Blaise.
In the midst of the chaos, Filch's distressed cry for his beloved Mrs. Norris echoed through the air, drowned out by the furious storm. The caretaker scrambled after his fleeing feline companion, momentarily forgotten amidst the impending danger.
Draco's voice rose above the roaring wind, his urgent plea cutting through the clamor. "Run! Take cover in the team changing rooms!" The students, their hearts pounding, started to scramble up the stands, abandoning their belongings as hailstones continued to pummel the surroundings.
Hermione, her eyes wide with determination and concern, stumbled only to be caught by Draco's steady grip. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, but there was no time to dwell on the unexpected sensation. "Keep moving," he urged, his hand tightening around hers.
Just as they were nearing the bottom of the stairs and the relative safety of the changing rooms, Hermione's gaze scanned the chaotic scene. Panic gripped her heart as she realized Neville was trapped between the stands, his leg wedged beneath heavy wooden debris.
"Neville!" she cried out, her voice filled with anguish. She pulled Draco back, her grip on his hand firm and resolute. "He's my friend. He's here because of me, and I'm not leaving him to die!" Hermione's determination burned fiercely in her eyes as she defied the instinct to flee, her unwavering loyalty shining through.
With resolute determination, Hermione charged back up the stands, her heart pounding in her chest. The thunder continued to cackle and the wind howled with increasing intensity. She reached Neville's side, urgently pushing aside the scattered remnants of wood, her hands moving with an almost desperate strength.
Looking up at Neville, Hermione's voice cracked with urgency. "Neville, I'm not very strong, so I'm going to lift as much as I can. Can you wiggle your leg out?" Neville, his face contorted by determination and trust in Hermione, nodded. The hail continued to pelt down around them, the icy onslaught growing more intense with each passing moment.
Hermione braced herself, her muscles straining as she summoned every ounce of strength within her. With a primal yell, she exerted her entire body, lifting the heavy debris off Neville's trapped leg. Sweat trickled down her forehead, mingling with the icy rain-soaked strands of her hair as she fought against the weight.
But her strength alone was not enough. She thought if she held out long enough, she could create just enough space for Neville to squeeze through. He had to. She had to make sure he lived, even if that meant she hurt herself. That was easy to heal. But losing another person wasn't and down put of hail and gravity was becoming over-bearing. Her muscles from her legs through her arms were burning. Just as her arms began to give way, Draco appeared beside her, his presence a sudden burst of power. Without a word, he joined forces with Hermione, his strong frame adding to their combined effort. Together, they managed to create more than enough space for Neville to wriggle his leg free.
Neville was able to stand on his two feet. He winced but made it clear he was still able to carry on on his two feet. "I'm okay, thanks to you both. Let's get out of here." Neville gave them a nod, a mix of relief and determination shining in his eyes.
As Hermione turned to follow Neville's lead, her breath caught in her throat. A massive hailstone hurtled toward her, its trajectory aimed directly at her vulnerable form. Before she could react, Draco lunged forward, his instincts kicking in with lightning speed. He pushed Hermione out of harm's way, his body colliding with hers as they tumbled down the stairs, seeking refuge on a flat platform.
For a moment frozen in time, their gazes met, fear and adrenaline coursing through their veins. Hermione's heart pounded against her chest, the closeness of their bodies creating an intoxicating mix of emotions that she couldn't quite comprehend. The storm raged around them, its fury mirroring the tempest of emotions within their hearts.
Draco, shaken but determined, swiftly rose to his feet and extended a hand to Hermione without hesitation. Without a word, they grasped each other's hands tightly, their fingers interlacing, and dashed toward their waiting classmates.
As they raced across the quivering field, the world seemed to blur around them. Each step brought them closer to safety, but danger crackled in the air. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning tore through the sky, striking the ground with a deafening blast. The electric current surged through the air, enveloping the six friends in a blinding flash of light and a jolt of raw power.
