Miss Granger! My apologies for changing your schedule on such short notice. I see Mr. Goldstein was able to catch you in time to inform you not to meet Miss Parkinson downstairs."

"O-of course, Professor. I mean – yes, he told me. It's no trouble at all." She was lying through her bloody teeth. She wanted to turn around and sprint in the other direction. And then, he did it. The prat turned to look at her.

She distantly thought she heard the Headmistress thank them again for their flexibility. She patted Hermione's arm as she moved to pass her, murmuring something about tea in her office soon. Hermione barely nodded in response. She and Malfoy just stood staring at one another.

Of course, he was the first to speak.

"Have you forgotten how rounds work, Granger? We're required to move." Malfoy spat the words as he breezed past her. She shook her head and turned on her heel, heading in the same direction she'd come from. She trailed behind him, staring up at his broad shoulders. He was easily a foot taller than her. He wasn't gangly like Ron, or scrawny like Harry. He looked... strong.

Strong? What on earth?

"Malfoy, we're intended to patrol as a pair. Not with you a corridor ahead of me." She called, pleased she'd thought of something somewhat clever to say. Although she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep up if he responded.

He halted and turned to look at her, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

"What?" She asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He gave her a strange look.

"What do you mean what? I'm fucking waiting for you to catch up." She blinked in understanding. Brilliant, Hermione. Brightest witch of your age, for sure. If she kept it up, maybe people would actually stop calling her that awful nickname. That would surely be one benefit of her potentially diminishing intelligence. A silver lining!

She steeled herself and hurried to his side, a safe distance between their shoulders, just like she maintained on rounds with Pansy. Except he continued moving at a rapid pace. She almost had to jog to keep up. Why was he so irritable? And why was he in such a rush?

They made it through half of their rounds, in record time, she might add, before seeing anything of note. A few more wisps of Hermione's hair escaped her ponytail as she scurried along, trying to match Malfoy's easy strides. She nearly collided with Adrian Pucey's back as she rounded the corner with Malfoy to her left.

"Ah!" She jumped backwards, avoiding contact with Adrian and nearly stumbling to the ground. Malfoy caught her arm and steadied her as she regained her wits. It was a particularly difficult task as the part of her he'd touched tingled as if she'd been burned.

She turned her attention back towards Pucey, who had turned to smirk at them, mainly Malfoy, as he barely moved to compose himself. Just beyond the entrance to the alcove he stood in was Padma Patil, looking significantly more concerned with righting herself.

Hermione nearly fell over again. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought that Padma and Adrian Pucey had been snogging rather intensely a few moments before. Pucey's lips looked… raw. His shirt was half untucked, and Padma… oh my god. Hermione stood with her mouth hanging open as she watched Padma try to fasten the buttons at the top of her shirt. Her hair looked… like she'd just ridden a broom. Through a wind tunnel.

"What's going on here, Pucey? Giving Patil an exam? Does she have the bug that's going around?" Malfoy drawled lazily. Despite the uninterested sound of his voice, his face betrayed him. He was at least mildly intrigued.

"Padma? Are you alright?" Hermione choked out.

"I'm fine! Just – rearranging my books!" Padma slung her bag back over her shoulder, rushing past the prefects with a fleeting glance back towards Adrian. And he winked. Pucey actually winked at her as she hurried away.

"Clear?" Malfoy asked Pucey, who responded with a confused sneer.

"Of the illness? Clean bill of health? Checking her lung capacity, were you Adrian? It's funny, mate, I thought it was the stomach flu everyone was catching." Malfoy was now blatantly enjoying himself. Pucey rolled his eyes and knocked Malfoy's shoulder with his own as he passed.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Drake. I was only being a perfect gentleman. Just stopped to help her with her books." He began strolling lazily away in the same direction Padma had sprinted in. He didn't even look back at them.

"Aren't you going to do something?" Hermione hissed, unsure what she expected Malfoy to do. She was too stunned to say anything else.

"What do you want me to do? Take ten points from Slytherin because a bloke was copping a feel?" Malfoy rolled his eyes and started back on their path. Again, he walked so darn quickly!

"Malfoy! Would you slow down!" She bit, nearly chasing him.

To her surprise, he slowed. She expected it would last about ten paces. Maximum.

She suddenly wished she had a compact. She had no idea what she looked like right now – she was sweating a bit, and her hair felt like it must be out of place what with all her scurrying. And Malfoy looked… handsome. She was probably a mess.

"Hurry the fuck up, Granger. I want to get this over with."

"Why are you in such a hurry?! Patrols normally take two full hours. We're more than halfway done, and it's been twenty minutes!" She snapped.

"Oh right, my apologies, Granger. I'm sure you're used to a partner who prefers to draw this out." He didn't even look at her as he spoke.

"What?"

He rounded on her.

"Jesus Christ, Granger. Let me spell it out. I'd like to get away from you. As soon as possible, preferably." He said the last bit slowly. His voice was harsh.

"Oh, because you think I'm so tickled to be running the halls with you?"

"You know what, yeah, Granger, I do. I think you see us all as a little pet project. Sad Slytherins with scary tattoos and dead families. Come to testify on my behalf, anything to save poor Malfoy from Azkaban. Were you expecting a thank you?" He spat.

Hermione's eyes welled with tears. He was so incredibly cruel. And yet… hot. She could hardly focus on his words. His perfect, agile face was too fucking distracting. He blinked back at her, as if coming out of a daze.

"I'm – I shouldn't have said that. Leave it, Granger." He spun on his heel.

As he walked – no, as he sauntered, her eyes drifted down to his bloody arse. She'd never even appreciated a male arse before.

"Screw you, Malfoy. I wasn't saving you. I was doing the right thing. I just thought someone should tell the truth." He stopped dead in his tracks. He turned and began walking back towards her.

"How was helping to minimize my sentence to just probation the right thing? Tell me, Granger, do you not recall my attendance at your bloody torture show?" He sounded less angry now. More exasperated. She was getting whiplash.

"I- you didn't have a choice about whether to be there or not. I saw your face. You were scared. Same as me."

He looked at her like she'd slapped him.

"Granger. You can't be serious. Have you forgotten the part where I stood between my loving parents, unharmed, while you pissed yourself on the floor of our drawing room?" Pissed herself? Her stomach lurched, but she tried to appear unmoved.

"No, Malfoy. I haven't. In fact, I'm reminded quite often. Most nights when I go to sleep. Please do let me know the next time you decide to visit dear Auntie's grave. I'd quite like to pay my respects, the lovely gal she was." Hermione spat back.

She hadn't even known she'd urinated on herself at the Manor. All she remembered was searing pain and screaming and… grey eyes. And then she landed on the beach and they were all covered in shit and Dobby was dead.

"I don't visit that fucking bitch." He ground the words out. He looked dangerous now.

"Well, I'm still glad you have the option. Because despite your cruelty and the tattoo on your arm, you deserve your freedom, even if it required that I testify on your behalf. I'm still glad you aren't rotting in Azkaban with Daddy."

Suddenly, her back was smashing against the stone wall. Malfoy was about to get in her face now. She looked up at him and braced for impact.

And suddenly, she felt… a click. Something snapping into place – inside her very being.

Malfoy had to have felt it too. He stumbled back a few steps, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, then moving forward again while his other arm was suddenly floating up to rest on the wall beside her head. They just stared at each other.

What she felt – it wasn't unpleasant. She felt like her whole body was slowly coming into itself. So was his. It was coming into focus for her. He wasn't touching her, but she could feel him. She looked down to his mouth, his chin, his hair, back to his eyes. Something had definitely changed. Was he… glowing?

He gaped back at her.

"Fuck."

Chapter 9: Nine

Notes:

In which Hermione comes to a stunning realization.

Chapter Text

They were staring at each other.

In the middle of the bloody corridor. A stare down. While they were meant to be finishing their rounds.

And top swot Hermione Granger didn't bloody care.

She had never looked at Draco Malfoy like this before. And he certainly hadn't ever stared back. Not without a slur passing his lips. As she stood there, taking the moment in, she considered that she didn't think she'd ever looked at anyone like this before.

But it seemed like both of them had felt... something. A shift when Malfoy had invaded her personal space and looked right at her. Hermione now felt like maybe she'd sensed it coming all day, from the moment she looked up and saw the side of his face as he simply tolerated Luna. But based on the look on his face, Malfoy hadn't had a warning. He looked positively unlike himself. Unsettled, stunned, confused. Scared.

"What the fuck did you do, Granger?"

"What did I do?"

"Yeah, what is this? What was that?" He was looking at her like she'd literally cast a spell. Like she was somehow controlling the parallel universe they'd been shit into four minutes ago.

"I don't know, Malfoy, maybe our gaping magical cores resealing?" She spat, immediately regretting it. She didn't even know that's what she'd been thinking until the words were out. It wasn't like she had any proof of it.

But suddenly, she realized, all of it seemed to ring true. Everything Florence said. She hadn't felt like she'd been walking around all day with an open wound, just as she'd been assured last night. And she hadn't felt… hungry per se. It was actually exactly like the department head said it would be. She wouldn't even have thought she felt anything until… him. And now she was feeling something entirely different. For someone she never expected.

"Oh, fuck off, Granger." He laughed harshly. She looked back up at him helplessly.

"Wait, you're being serious? You think that was – you think that was that potion?" His eyes widened. He backed up, looking around the empty corridor for witnesses. As if it had just dawned on him that he'd been quite literally towering over Hermione Granger, gazing into her eyes up until a few moments ago.

He started walking again, down the hall, putting distance between them. She cringed as the distance grew. It wasn't painful, but it was… unsettling. Uncomfortable. She ran to follow, unsure if she really wanted to continue putting herself in the line of fire.

By the time they finished their patrol, she was panting from the exertion. She had never completed rounds that quickly. Not even close. As they passed McGonagall's office, both heading in the same direction, her towards the tower and him the dungeons, he stopped and looked at her.

When she turned to him, she found his eyes weren't on her face. He was staring at her neck. Definitely staring at her neck.

Hermione's hand shot up to rub at it, wondering if she had broken out in hives or something. Anything to explain why he was gazing at it. He snapped out of his trance.

"Look Granger – I don't know what the fuck happened, but it wasn't… it couldn't have been what you said. That's not possible."

"Malfoy."

"It's not possible. Fuck off, Granger. And don't go prancing about the castle making any announcements. You were hallucinating. Spare yourself the humiliation." He started down the nearest staircase. Gryffindor was in the opposite direction, but she took a few steps to follow and then shouted after him.

"You fuck off, Malfoy. You think I'd want to announce what we both know just happened? You think I want to feel whatever this is with someone who, as you so charmingly put it, stood by while I pissed on the floor of his home? Because I was being tortured?" Draco flinched at the memory like she'd slapped him.

"I don't know what the fuck this means, but I know what I felt. And you can lie to me and yourself and whoever the fuck else, but you felt it too. And let's be clear. I'm not interested in advertising it, and I'm certainly not going to explore it with you. Fuck you, Malfoy. You prejudiced, vile arse. Stay away from me."

She spun and quite literally sprinted away from him.

It wasn't very late, only about nine o'clock in the evening. She knew Ginny would still be up, but Hermione just hurried through the portrait hole, past the small group of people sitting in front of the fire in the common room. She thought she heard someone say her name, but she didn't stop. Once she closed her bedroom door, she waved her wand to lock it behind her. She did the same to the closet door, casting a silencing charm so she wouldn't hear anyone knocking. And so they wouldn't hear her, because she thought she might start screaming.

Her heart raced and her mind was reeling with the realization that she wouldn't have to worry about any so-called "speed dating," as Ginny called it, in the upcoming year. Or even in the upcoming weeks. Because as she looked up at her own reflection, she immediately dissolved into tears.

Her magical core was sealed. So was Draco Malfoy's. They were soulmates.

Chapter 10: Ten

Notes:

In which we get to know Draco.

This chapter is the first of Draco's POV. He and Hermione will alternate as narrators from this point on.*

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy wasn't in the business of being rattled.

In fact, he wasn't even in the business of being unsure. He was the richest 18-year-old in recent history. Maybe in all of history, come to think of it. He had more galleons than Hogwarts had bricks. He was sharp as a whip, and physically, he knew he was attractive. He'd known since he was 13. He had an effect on the opposite sex. He felt the way he impacted them.

By the time he was 15, he'd slept with four of the hottest seventh years in Slytherin. He hadn't even had to try. They just looked at one another and it was understood. It didn't matter where they were about to go. They were going to fuck.

And so, imagine his surprise, right before he returned for sixth year, when he'd learned he would have to murder the fucking Headmaster, crazy old bat that he was. Draco had never worried about anything while he was at school besides adding to his list of names and beating out Granger in class. He was highly successful at expanding the list. The latter, not so much. Whatever. Even he couldn't win them all.

He'd never particularly liked Dumbledore. Honestly, the Gryffindor favoritism made him sick. Saint Fucking Potter got away with everything.

But, to be fair, so did he. But not because he was favored by the Headmaster. Draco Malfoy was just fucking slick.

That all went to hell in a hand basket pretty quickly sixth year, as previously mentioned. He had a fucking dark mark on his arm that sent waves of searing pain radiating across his entire body. No one knew his task, and no one could help him. For once, he didn't even want to fucking brag. He didn't clean up messes or make them, and murder? That was messy. Up to that point, Draco Malfoy had avoided messes altogether.

But then he needed to figure out how to fix that fucking death trap vanishing cabinet. Nearly went off the deep end busting his balls on that one. He was lucky Severus made that vow. He was lucky that, in the end, fucking Dumbledore had planned everything. Always a few steps ahead of the Dark Lord.

But at the time, every second of every waking minute of every agonizing day, Draco was scared. He didn't really give a fuck what happened to him – he'd grown quite accustomed to the prospect of death when his body started to reject that fucking tattoo. He'd been crucioed by Bellatrix Lestrange, even the Dark Lord himself. He'd still take the curses over the constant pain he'd felt emanating from that ugly skull on his forearm.

But he loved his mother. He loved her and wanted to protect her, just as she did him. He loved his father too, despite the shell he emerged from Azkaban as following the stint he did after the whole Department of Mysteries bullshit. But his father wasn't insane when he got out like people speculated. Just weak. And for Draco, that was worse.

He had idolized his father from the moment he could even think for himself, maybe before that. He and his mother worshipped Lucius. And his father cherished his family. He was a powerful, rich man, yet Draco knew that he'd trade it all for his wife and son.

Until fourth year.

When the Dark Lord returned, Draco hadn't been scared. Not yet. But his father was. Lucius was bloody terrified. And it disgusted Draco. He wanted to shake him. He wanted his father to be his fucking father again. The man he could simply mention by name as a threat. But he still loved him. Even now, as he again sat in a cell in Azkaban, Draco loved him.

But not like he loved his mother. She'd never wavered, never let Draco down. She was never afraid of Voldemort or particularly enamored with him, just fiercely protective of her own. She sure as shit hadn't wanted him in her fucking house.

And so all through sixth year, Draco was scared. Because his mother was home, at the Manor, while that thing sat in his father's chair, with his disgusting reptile slithering at their feet during every meal. He was scared of what might happen to his mother while both he and his disappointing father were gone. No one was there to care for her. Sure, he had his own issues to deal with at school. But he didn't have the darkest wizard in history literally breathing down his neck. And he didn't have rapists and murderers sitting next to him at supper. Crabbe and Goyle didn't hold a candle to the Manor's houseguests. At worst, they were guilty of being criminally dumb.

And so when Draco and his parents walked away from the final battle, he finally felt himself let go of the fucking fear he'd been carrying. He felt like a piece of shit, having spent two years shaking like a bitch every time his Mummy was out of his sight. But he didn't give a shit about that now, and since May, he felt like himself again. Kind of.

The difference being that although he wasn't scared anymore – he knew his mother's decision to save Potter would guarantee her pardon by the Wizengamot – he felt strange to no longer be particularly… proud. He was a fucking Malfoy. And just last month, in Diagon Alley, a passing stranger spit at Draco's feet.

Death eater scum. You should rot.

It wasn't that words hurt Draco's feelings. He didn't truly give a shit if some peasant in rags didn't like him. But what bothered him was that he didn't feel he could walk around the same way he used to. Sure, there had always been people who disliked the Malfoy's. The Dumpster Dweller Weasleys, for example. That certainly hadn't kept him up at night.

But now when people said Malfoy, they said it like it tasted like vinegar. It used to mean power, wealth, influence. Now, it meant death eater scum. Death eater scum that had lost a war.

So when fucking Granger came to his rescue during his trial, insisting he was a child not given a choice, a victim of war like the rest of them, he'd made a decision. He'd go back to fucking Hogwarts, like the court ordered him to, and he'd carry himself the way he used to. He didn't need anyone's help or pity, definitely not hers.

He'd resume his role as Slytherin's best and brightest, add a few more names to his old list, sod it all. And then he'd graduate with his vast fucking generational wealth, develop an even more problematic dependence on firewhiskey, and piss away whatever he felt like pissing away. He'd make sure his mother was comfortable, he'd even throw some gold at an appeal for his father if she wanted him to.

But he would never be like his father. He'd do what was expected of him, without needing anyone's bloody assistance. Marry a stiff bitch and pop out an heir. He'd try his fucking best to restore the Malfoy name after his brilliant old dad squandered generations of respect. Fucking dolt.

He wouldn't follow a madman. He wouldn't follow anyone. He'd discard all that pureblood elitist shit. It no longer served their interests. All he needed to do was be his wonderful, charming self and get through graduation. Stay out of trouble, at least until his probation ended in six months, and graduate. Easy shit. It'd be like taking a piss.

Unlike Theo and Pansy, he wasn't even a bit rattled by the news that they'd all be required to take some soulmate potion once they were back at school. For all his strengths, Draco never was particularly good at love or romance. And he didn't care. He didn't need love. He doubted he even had a soulmate or whatever that Lawrence bitch said. It's not like there was a guarantee.

And if everyone else paired off? He'd order a Pureblood from fucking France to marry and procreate with. Not because he cared about blood purity, but because it had always been the plan. Never sully the line and all that. He didn't really give a shit. He took the potion last night without flinching, chasing it with Ogden's, and proceeded to pass the fuck out.

And when McGonagall had stopped him in the hallway to ask if he'd fill in for a fallen fellow prefect that evening, he said sure, Headmistress. I'd love nothing more than to help.

Because again, he was not planning on further burning any bridges this year. He'd be a right ham to his professors if it earned a little good will. He didn't want any chance of fucking up his probation – the sooner it was over, the sooner he could move the fuck on.

So he said yes. And when he met her outside her office that evening, he even let her try to give him a bit of guidance. He nodded and thanked her at all the right times. Just get to fucking graduation. And even when he turned and saw the swot who he'd be patrolling with, he didn't really care. Sure, she'd grown a pair of tits since he'd last patronized her. And sure, he really fucking liked how her hair was pulled back today. He liked her neck.

What the fuck?

She was having a strange effect on him this term. Any time he'd seen her in the past few weeks, he noticed another fucking asset she'd been hiding. Like a decent arse. A bit more than decent, maybe, but who was keeping track?

She was still bloody unbearable.

He kept his distance from fucking Granger while they did their rounds. She was almost running trying to keep up with him – he knew he was moving too quickly for her. Her legs were fucking short. She was miniature. So, he kept up the pace. He was getting a kick out of it.

But then they'd run into Pucey and Patil trying to climb inside each other's faces. That had given Draco a good shock, though he'd never admit it or show his surprise. He even managed to take the piss out of Adrian a bit. Whatever. He'd corner him in the common room later, get the dirty truth. He had always liked a raunchy story.

But then fucking Granger had to stand there, all outraged, all stunned and confused. Her little mouth was hanging open and she was fucking squeaking or something as she took in the unexpected hookup. And it was… cute. He'd never fucking thought that word about a girl before. Ever.

And then, he had baited her. He was bored.

Maybe he wasn't bored. Maybe he just really liked seeing her riled up. And, maybe he'd taken it a bit too far. Truthfully, he'd vomited the contents of his stomach at the first opportunity after what Bellatrix had done to her at the Manor. He didn't know why. Probably because he was disgusted when she'd pissed herself.

And he certainly hadn't avoided identifying Pottwhore and the Weasel to protect any of them. He hadn't given a fuck if they died. He just couldn't be sure it was them. Stinging hex or something. Probably Granger's idea.

Likely story.

But then she'd mentioned his father, and she'd called Bellatrix his aunt like he loved and cherished the fucking lunatic. So he'd shoved her up against the wall. Wouldn't be the first time he'd done that to a witch who wasn't expecting it.

And then she had the gall to look up at him with her big fucking brown eyes. And he knew she fucking hated him. But then he felt this fucking click, and all of a sudden, he didn't know she fucking hated him. He didn't know what was going on. He was just staring at her and he couldn't even help it. He was staring at her like the sun was shining out her bloody arse. For a second, he thought it did.

And then he took a fat step back. And then, she'd told him the feeling was their magical cores sealing together. Like the potion bullshit was real.

He'd done what any self-respecting, unrattled prince would do. He'd fucking run through the rest of their patrol. He needed to get away from Granger and her fairytale explanations. And he definitely hadn't felt a pull inside his damn chest every time he got a little too far ahead of her. Like too much distance was threatening his livelihood. No. That wasn't what had happened.

And then, because he was a bastard, he'd tried to embarrass her with a few little parting words.

And she'd responded. Quite effectively.

And when she fucking spun away from him, he felt that shit. He wanted to follow her for a second, throw her against another wall and… he didn't know what he'd do after that. It'd get her good and unsteady, though.

But he didn't. He let her run, and then he fucking ran. He ignored Adrian sitting on the couch in the common room, his plan for raunchy story time all but forgotten. He flew right to his room and locked the door behind him. He threw himself onto the canopy bed, face down on the dark green silk.

But then he rolled over and looked at the ceiling and he felt it. He fucking felt it. Like he'd been completed, and that now he was missing something because-

Because Granger.

Because she was in her golden fucking tower. And he was in the dungeons below the Black Lake.

And they were fucking soulmates.

Chapter 11: Eleven

Notes:

In which Draco considers his options.

Chapter Text

Draco had come to terms with the concept between last night and this morning. Something had definitely… transpired between him and Swotty. But he wasn't a lover. He was a Malfoy.

He figured he had two options. One, he could ignore it all. Pretend like it never happened. Yawn.

Or he could have a bit of fun. He resented the term soulmates. He didn't believe in love; he'd never even seen it in real life. Who the fuck loved each other? No one Draco could think of. The whole concept was so… Hufflepuff. And Gryffindor, for that matter.

He was bored, though. He'd promised himself and his mother that he wouldn't break any rules, that he'd keep his head down. But last time he checked, a clause that prohibited fucking with Granger wasn't in the bloody handbook.

As he made his way up to breakfast, he nearly laughed aloud. Yeah, he liked this plan. He liked it quite a lot.

From now until the end of the year, he'd place himself right in her personal space. To irritate her – not to mitigate the hole he'd felt in his soul last night being so physically distant from her. He knew nothing about any of that.

He would make sure to ruffle her feathers at every possible turn – in fact, he'd already begun his work. He'd convinced Pansy to swap one of her prefect patrols – he'd already stopped in to see his fair lady McGonagall that morning to get her stamp of approval. She'd seen no issue – Slytherin quidditch practice was every other Wednesday, now. He couldn't cover his usual rounds that night every week.

Yeah right, quidditch was every other Wednesday. Now it was. He had dicked his way into being co-Captain with Adrian, so he made the schedule. It was positively delicious. He couldn't wait to see the look on Granger's face when he showed up to patrol with her on Thursday. He was even more excited to see how she'd react when she learned the change was permanent. Oh, pranks. He couldn't resist.

He even admitted to himself that'd he'd probably try to add her name to his sacred list. It would be her honor. And the more he compared her to his past conquests and the options Hogwarts currently had to offer… she stood out. Miss Perfect was hot now. She wasn't too tall – average height, but to him, she was a dwarf. He towered over her, another thing he appreciated in a witch. And he wasn't going to walk around denying it anymore – his housemates had been honest about how fit she was since their fifth year. Flint talked in detail with the others about how he'd like to deflower Granger behind the greenhouses. Draco had sneered at them and asked how they could say such kind words about the likes of Granger back then.

He was a different Draco Malfoy now. He had a different vocabulary, different goals, and a different dick, apparently. Who cared? If he really wanted to get back to his old ways, he'd live in the moment. And so, to the moment he went.

He made sure he sat in a spot at breakfast where Granger could see him. He stared at her as he sipped his black coffee, turning to joke with Blaise and Theo at all the right moments, so as to not draw the attention of anyone but his target. She was next to the Weaslette this morning, like usual. Based on Sheasley's mood, he felt confident Granger hadn't shared their little predicament with any friends. Wonderful. Draco loved secrets.

But that cute little bint wouldn't look him in the eye a single time during breakfast. The longer he watched her, the more frustrated he got. What the fuck could Longbottom be saying that was so bloody interesting? She had to be forcing herself not to look at him. Honestly, Granger. Make it believable.

Her hair was up again. He liked that. He looked at her neck as she turned to Finnegan. She looked irritated, like she was admonishing him. As she should. Finnegan was a tool. A thick one.

She was so particular with the way she prepared her tea. Her tongue poked out as she concentrated on dropping in just the right amount of honey. She squeezed half of a lemon wedge and then dropped that into her cup, as well.

She patted the corners of her little mouth politely and frequently. If he didn't know better, he might've guessed she had the same Pureblood customs drilled into her during childhood. Cute.

Cute? That fucking word again. He looked back down at his coffee and sneered. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Granger leaving the hall. Damnit, he hadn't caught her eye once.

Oh well. There was always lunch.

Chapter 12: Twelve

Notes:

In which Hermione changes the subject and Draco continues to scheme throughout the day.

Please note that this chapter, and many chapters from here on out, will include both Hermione and Draco POVs. The change will always be indicated by a page break, and I believe you'll be able to notice very quickly who is speaking because they are such different narrators. PLEASE let me know if the POVs need to be labeled more explicitly - I'm hoping to avoid it, but I want your reading experience to be as easy and fun as possible.*

Chapter Text

Hermione tossed and turned all night.

She felt the beginning stages of total devastation. And an annoying pull in the middle of her chest. It must be the anxiety.

She needed more information about the potion. If she was correct – and she felt pretty confident – then they had become permanently connected to one another last night doing rounds. She'd expected to need months to meet the right person… perhaps it wouldn't even be until after she'd graduated. She'd expected a long, drawn out process wherein she saw everyone else around her coupling up. She was confident she'd be last to meet someone.

And deep down, she was glad about that. She was young – not even finished with school – and she had her entire life ahead of her. Sure, people settled down earlier in the wizarding world than muggles did. Smaller dating pool, shorter timeline.

She'd given up on sleeping around 4 AM. It was no use – she'd gotten maybe a couple of hours in. All she could think about was whether there was any way to undo her connection to Draco Malfoy. But she knew, logically, that it was unlikely. Based on all of the information she had about the process, the entire point was to speed up the unity bit and repopulation efforts by forcing everyone to connect much sooner than they normally would have. You know, because there had been a devastating war. And most of them had probably planned on trying to heal before finding a soulmate to spend their lives with. God forbid.

At 5:15 AM, she'd drafted a letter for Florence. She needed to know what to expect following a binding – could there be a mistake? Would she ever be able to connect with someone else romantically?

She knew it would be treated confidentially, but still – she couldn't write out the specifics. Hermione couldn't bring herself to reveal to Florence that she was speaking based on her own situation. That she was desperately wondering whether she would have no future with anyone, because she certainly didn't have one with Malfoy.

A voice in the back of her head whispered this was exactly what the Ministry had been hoping to achieve. An unexpected pairing between a witch and wizard from opposite sides of the war. She was sure they'd be positively thrilled to hear War Heroine Granger and Ex-Death Eater Malfoy had fallen in love.

Except they hadn't. They'd interacted, fought, bonded, and separated. She felt hopeless. She'd always imagined, someday, settling down. She'd always just assumed she'd have children. Eventually.

Now it was out of the question.

She'd owled Florence her letter by 6:15. And then she'd stood in her favorite shower under the hot water for long enough to prune. When she'd returned to her room, utterly crestfallen and still avoiding everyone, she began to dress for the day. Before she grabbed her bag, something strange happened.

Hermione found herself once again pulling her mascara and gloss from the top drawer and applying each generously. She did her hair the same way again. Up, with a few pieces framing her face. As she made her way down to the common room, she wondered where any motivation to look presentable had come from. She should be wearing a bloody brown bag over her head. For the rest of her life, probably.

Ginny hurried over to her from her spot on the couch, clearly excited to see her friend after missing her following her rounds last night.

"Who'd you end up patrolling with last night? Anthony told me Parkinson was in the infirmary – bugger, I'd been excited to hear how she was feeling after the potion – she and the ferret probably have a betrothal contract being finalized by now." Ginny laughed at the idea. Hermione paled.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Ginny."

"Why do you look like that – shit! Have you caught the stomach flu?" Ginny placed the back of her hand on Hermione's forehead, then jumped back, remembering it was supposedly highly contagious.

"No, I'm fine. I just didn't sleep very well." Ginny walked back to where she'd been standing and continued looking at Hermione with concern.

"Alright…" She was about to ask another question. Hermione quickly changed the subject as she pulled Ginny toward the portrait hole and led her down to breakfast.

"Have you spoken to Harry? Any news?" She needed Ginny to think about anything other than Hermione's well-being. She herself had exchanged a few owls with Harry and Ron. Nothing groundbreaking on that front.

"He floo called last night," Ginny smiled, "Neither of us have soul bonded to anyone else by accident. He and Ron are going to come visit this weekend – I told them we'd meet them in Hogsmeade on Saturday between 11 and noon. I hope that's alright."

"Of course – I'll see to it Ron gives you two some privacy." Hermione teased. She was nauseous but putting on her best 'nothing to see here' act – she hoped Ginny couldn't tell.

"I don't think you'll need to – Parvati told me most seventh and eighth years would be heading to the village on Saturday as well. Everyone's curious to see if they'll stumble upon the love of their bloody life." She laughed.

"Speaking of – we should find you something saucy to wear. You'll be among the mingling singles, Granger. And I've already told you. You're going to be a hot commodity. Falling over themselves, they will. Begging you to let them rub your feet."

"Ginny, what is with you and the feet?! That's… not a thing." Hermione sighed, avoiding any mention of the fact that she most definitely wouldn't be finding a perfect match in Hogsmeade. She had already found hers. In her new residence: living Hell. No need to change her mailing address. The owls would still be able to locate her there.

Ginny poked her in the side as they walked into the Great Hall, taking their seats as Hermione very carefully avoided looking in the direction of the Slytherin table.

"Granger, I'm telling you – it's not about the feet and the toes. I mean it in a figurative sense. That they're going to be happy to fall over themselves if you just give them the chance to do anything."

Hermione rolled her eyes, wanting to avoid further discussion of the subject.

"Neville," she addressed her friend across the table, "how are you doing this morning?"

Neville looked up at them happily.

"I'm well, thanks for asking. Bit tired, I stayed late with Professor Sprout. She needed help with the mandrakes," Hermione was grateful to listen intently to Neville discuss herbology. Honestly, she didn't really care. But she was going to do her best to seem interested – anything to avoid further conversation with Ginny about potential suitors.

She nodded and prompted Neville to continue – she knew he could discuss mandrakes for weeks on end. And she quietly began panicking.

Would unmatched men be able to tell she was no longer… open? Unsealed? God, she hoped Florence got back to her quickly. There weren't any books in the library on this mating program.

Against her better judgment, she snuck a few looks over at Malfoy when he'd turned to speak to Nott. God, he was… vile. That's the word.

Before he could turn and catch her peeping, she looked back down at her tea. She'd hardly touched it. Between avoiding eye contact with Malfoy, triggering further conversation with Ginny, and scolding Seamus for discussing whether male centaurs could copulate with other female creatures, she'd successfully made it through twenty minutes at breakfast. She could now conceivably head to Charms – her first class that day – without raising any eyebrows. As she walked swiftly out of the hall, she hoped the fact that she was no longer… unbound… wasn't written all over her pale forehead.

Scratch waiting until the lunch hour. Granger was heading straight to charms, arm in arm with Sheasley, and Draco struck gold. Maybe he'd head to class early as well. If he couldn't force his way into a seat next to Swotty, he could certainly sit closer than he usually would.

Typically, he tried to avoid being fewer than three arms-lengths from any Weasley. The poor carried diseases, after all.

When he stood from his seat at the table, Blaise gave him a strange look. Normally they didn't walk to their first class until the last moment – right on time, making a group entrance.

"Anxious to hand in your Charms essay, Drake?" Pansy goaded, with a bit less spunk than usual. She looked like shit. Pomfrey had just allowed her to leave the infirmary – seemed it was a 24-hour bug.

"Fuck off, Pansy. I'm setting an example for the young snakes. Very important to arrive to class with a few minutes to spare." Draco sneered, masking any pride he felt with his usual cool indifference when his friends rose to follow him despite his change to their usual routine. Some were just born to lead.

"You sound like a fucking Ravenclaw, mate." Adrian yawned his dig.

"Well, Pucey, you would know." Draco smirked at his co-Captain. Pucey choked on his last sip of coffee loudly.

Theo clapped him harshly on the back, always a gentleman. No one else had picked up on Draco's little innuendo. Ah, he enjoyed an inside joke. Especially now that he knew he'd be able to get a rise out of Adrian with minimal effort.

He led the cohort of Slytherins down to Flitwick's quarters. He immediately noticed Granger near the front next to Weaslette and moseyed over to sit directly behind them. Blaise set his book down on the desk next to Draco, as he usually did, but gave his best mate an odd look. Why the fuck were they sitting so close to the front? How were they supposed to carry on a conversation throughout class if Flitwick was in earshot?

Draco ignored him. He had a one-track mind this morning. And he was already reaping the rewards. The ginger had turned to sneer at him, and his little swot was looking stiffer than usual. He could tell she was trying not to turn around. Cheeky.

"What the fuck are you doing sitting so close to us, Ferret? Don't you usually like to lead the snake pit in at the last moment? I'll admit. I like your usual seating better – contains the smell." He'd never admit it to anyone else, but he found Ginny Weasley to be far and away the most tolerable of her brood, though she was followed closely by the surviving one who owned the joke shop. She had an edge to her. If she wasn't so smitten with Potter, he'd think she might be better suited to his own house.

"Has anyone ever told you you're almost attractive when you're angry, Red?" Blaise might not know why he was sitting so close to them, but he was nothing if not adaptable. Draco smirked as his friend baited Weaslette.

"Yes, actually, Zabini. I've heard it quite a lot, for years now. You're late in making the observation. It's alright, there's jobs to be had for wankers with little brains, as well." Granger had turned her head slightly toward her loudmouth friend. She'd relaxed an inch, and she looked to be amused. He didn't blame her.

"That's why we're sitting close to you and Granger, Ginevra. Hoping to gain a bit of quick wit through osmosis courtesy of the brightest bitch of her age," Blaise spat back. Everyone knew he was third in their year behind Granger and Draco. It was a joke to suggest he was lacking in scholastic aptitude.

"What say you, Granger? Think we have a chance to smarten up if we all get in real close?" Draco addressed her directly, a bit impatient to have her full attention.

Finally, she turned and faced him. Fuck. It nearly knocked the wind out of him how fit she was. Especially with her fucking rat's nest pulled back. But he kept the mask firmly in place.

She was now seemingly irate. He loved it.

"No, I don't think so. I think you could crawl your pratty arse onto my lap and it wouldn't make a lick of difference, Malfoy. No matter how close you get, you'll remain absolutely hopeless."

"Good morning, everyone!" Fucking Flitwick had just brutal timing.

Granger had already spun back around and the She Weasel was trying to contain her laughter behind a hand. Draco fucking seethed.

Did she honestly think she'd be unaffected if he got into her space? According to her, last time he'd done it, they'd fucking linked up magical cores. The bitch was in denial.

He'd take another crack at Granger in Arithmancy later on. She and Blaise were the only other people in the class, as far as Draco was concerned. The other 10 or odd suck-ups didn't even register with him. He didn't have a clue what any of their names were.

As Hermione sat down next to Luna at lunch, she balked at the idea of eating. She was reeling from Malfoy's performance in Charms this morning. What was he playing at?

Last night, he'd tried to belittle her after she'd stated the obvious. They'd accidentally bonded. So, she'd let him have it – made it clear she was even less interested in pursuing it that he was, but now… she was thoroughly confused. He'd been trying to mess with her all day. She didn't miss the amusement on his face when she'd hissed at him right before Charms started, and she also noticed that he was burning a hole in her head in DADA the next period, staring at her like she was an Arithmancy problem to be solved.

Oh, great. She'd remembered she had Arithmancy with him and Zabini at the end of the day. Ginny wasn't in that class with her – no one else really was. She supposed she could try to hide behind Susan.

Hide?! Scratch that, she'd not be hiding behind anyone. She'd simply attempt to use them as a human shield. She was being harassed by the biggest prat in school history.

She looked up in that moment and immediately locked eyes with him. He'd been looking at her. But instead of turning away, he'd just smirked at her. Again, what the hell was he playing at?

"Are you alright, Hermione? You're a bit red. I'm happy to lend you my amulet to wear for the rest of the day. I'll just need it back before supper," Luna offered sweetly.

"Oh – no, Luna, you keep it. I'm absolutely fine. Better than fine, really." Hermione looked at her oblivious friend.

"Are you sure? It might help you feel less compelled to glare at Draco Malfoy. It has calming powers. Daddy brought it back from Egypt." Hermione gaped at her, looking around to make sure no one else had heard Luna mention her stare down with Malfoy. That would be the last time she even thought to call Luna oblivious.

Luna just smiled at her, playing with the strange pendant on the chain around her neck.

"No, but thank you, Luna. Really." She looked towards the entrance of the Great Hall and saw the Patils walking in. She didn't miss it when Padma glanced over at the Slytherins. And she nearly fell off the bench when she noticed Adrian Pucey wink at her again, just as he had last night. Hermione looked back at Padma, who was now staring at the ground as she made her way to the Ravenclaw eighth years, a shy smile threatening her face.

As Parvati sat down across from Hermione, she made a mental note to try to speak with Padma privately. Something was definitely going on between her and Pucey, and if Hermione's suspicions were even remotely accurate, she might have found a confidante to discuss a certain Slytherin with. She'd have to tread lightly, though. Snogging Adrian Pucey was about a million times more acceptable than finding out Draco Malfoy was your bloody soulmate.

Chapter 13: Thirteen

Notes:

In which Hermione and Draco face unexpected confrontations.

Chapter Text

Well, his plan to fuck with Granger during Arithmancy went to shit.

Right after lunch, he and Theo both had turned a bit green. Pansy sniffed it out immediately and pushed them straight towards the infirmary to be checked out. If Draco hadn't been feeling a bit weak, he'd have swatted her away easily. By the time he and Theo were seated on adjacent beds, they each had been handed bins and promptly began to retch. Disgusting.

By the time the sun went down, he and Theo were a bit delirious. Well, Draco certainly was. As he drifted in and out of sleep, he'd experienced a vivid hallucination.

Luna bloody Lovegood had appeared at Theo's side, and she'd played with his hair and placed a fucking crystal in the middle of his forehead. He'd even imagined a conversation between the two of them. Theo had tried to get her to leave because he didn't want her to catch the flu, and she'd told him not to worry. She was wearing some fucking silver belt that protected her from contagious illnesses. Draco fully woke around 9 PM with a headache and a hankering for some dreamless sleep. He couldn't stomach another visual of Loony.

"You still feel like shit too, Draco?" Theo asked from the next bed over.

"Yeah, and I feel like someone slipped a fucking hallucinogen in my food."

"You're hallucinating?!" Theo sounded alarmed.

"I'm only telling you this because I'm in a weakened state, Nott, but yes – earlier, I had a dream that Loony Lovegood came to play with your hair and put a bloody crystal on your face. Barmy witch is spending entirely too much time seated at our table."

Theo chuckled.

"You weren't dreaming, mate. She was here."

Draco shot up and turned to Theo at that. His head immediately pounded, and he collapsed back onto his pillow.

"What the fuck, Theo? Why didn't you call for help?" Draco's voice wasn't as strong as it normally was, but he was pretty fucking alarmed.

"Calm down, Draco. She was just checking on me. I'm pretty excited about it, actually." Theo had a dumb smile on his face. Maybe he was the one who was slipped a magic mushroom at lunch, not Draco.

"Care to elaborate?" Draco's curiosity was absolutely fucking piqued. No sense in or energy for denying it.

"She's the one, Malfoy. Luna Lovegood."

"The one? Are you sure I shouldn't be calling Pomfrey, Theo?" Draco was becoming increasingly worried. And Malfoy's didn't… fret.

"Can't say I wasn't shocked, too. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'd seen her around since we've been back, and I admit I was interested. But when she sat with us yesterday, I knew for sure. She was looking at me, talking about fucking nargles, and I felt this fucking pop in my chest. I don't even know if it was in my chest, actually. She just started fucking glowing or something. I wanted to reach across the table and kiss her right on the mouth."

Draco's own mouth was now hanging open. Theo continued, smiling sheepishly. Draco felt another wave of nausea.

"I don't know, Draco. It was like my whole damn body changed. It wasn't like I wasn't feeling well before it happened. I felt completely fine. But then that pop happened, and I felt… way better than fine. And every time she turned to you or Blaise, I felt fucking rage. You both think she's out of her fucking mind, and I was jealous when she turned and looked at you. And you decided not to insult her, thank Salazar. Because in that moment, if you'd said a rude word to her, I think I would've beat the shit out of you." Theo closed his eyes, grinning peacefully, seemingly done speaking.

Draco just laid there for a minute, trying to compose himself. When he noticed that Theo's breathing had begun to even out, he threw his compress at the wanker's head.

"What the hell, Drake?"

"Nott!" Draco spat, almost fully himself. "You can't be fucking serious! You genuinely think that fucking potion made Loony your – your" Theo cut him off.

"Don't call her that, mate. It pisses me the fuck off." Draco flinched. Theo seemed dead serious.

"You're being for real right now?"

"I'm serious. She's the fucking one."

"Does she know this, you dolt?! I don't think Lovegood lives on the same planet as the rest of us – she's physically here, but seriously, Theo – is she aware you think you're soul bound to one another?"

"Fuck off. She knows exactly what happened. And she's much more aware of things than you think, so lay off. She could help you sort your own shit if you'd stop being such a prat for two bloody minutes."

"My own shit?!" Now Malfoy was really awake. What the fuck did Theo and General Easy Breezy think they knew about him? There was nothing to sort!

"Yeah, Draco, your own shit. You must have missed the part of our conversation when we discussed your rude ass. You should consider being a bit more open to Luna's suggestions. She offered Granger her own necklace just to try to help you two idiots."

"What does Granger have to do with any of this? Why should their exchanging of jewelry have anything to do with me?" Draco's energy was drained, but there was no chance he'd be sleeping anytime soon. How the hell did Theo and Lovegood know anything about him and Granger?

Had Granger gone to Feathers for Brains for advice?! He calmed down a bit at that. If Granger had actually consulted Lovegood, ever, on anything – he knew for sure that they hadn't bonded the other night. Perhaps they both just… cracked a rib, or something. Simultaneously. And without the excruciating pain.

"Oh, come off it. She didn't accept Luna's help. I expect she's just as hopeless as you are." There was that word again. Hopeless? And Draco? In association? Not fucking likely.

"I haven't got a clue what you're talking about, Nott. Perhaps you should rest. You sound a bit insane." Draco laid back, trying to convince himself to mean it.

"Alright, Draco. Whatever you say, mate. Sweet dreams." Theo settled back against his pillow. He was out within minutes. How the fuck could he stand to sleep on these bloody beds? Did the rest of the houses have these mattresses? Draco wouldn't be surprised. Slytherin did offer a higher quality in all things.

Draco went through all Theo had just divulged. Under normal circumstances, he'd begin scheming about how best to announce to their friends that Theo thought he was bound to Loony. He'd probably try to sneak out of the hospital tonight, for fuck's sake. The jokes would've told themselves. Endless possibilities to take the piss out of Theo. Blaise would be absolutely lighting it up.

But these were not normal fucking circumstances. Theo had just mentioned Draco and Granger as if they were in the same boat as he and Barmy. Sure, Granger had said they'd been bound. And sure, he felt some weird shit the other night. But either way, Draco didn't really actually buy into the whole potion thing. As previously stated, he wasn't a romantic guy. And thank the gods for that. Theo seemed to be buying in completely, and he sounded like an utter dipshit. Truly, where was Crabbe when they needed an idiot?

Oh, that's right. He was dead.

Draco's head was fucking hurting again. He was so weak; he couldn't even muster up the strength to occlude. And that really took minimal effort for him at this point.

Begrudgingly, Draco fell asleep on the abhorrent hospital mattress.

Hermione thought that, perhaps, things were looking up.

Some higher power was certainly in her corner. Malfoy had been noticeably absent during Arithmancy yesterday afternoon, and based on her understanding of his probation, he wasn't allowed to miss a single class this year. She giggled at the thought. He might be out on his ass with a one-way ticket to speak with the Wizengamot for all she knew. What a world!

She was practically floating after a Malfoy-less breakfast that morning, followed by a Malfoy-less lunch. There was absolutely not a tickle in her chest that felt more like a pull. She headed to Transfiguration with a spring in her step.

But as class began and she glanced towards the Slytherins in the back of the room, just to make sure no blonde dolts had snuck back in, her stomach lurched. Nott wasn't in class either. He normally sat next to Pansy, but she was seated in Malfoy's usual spot with Zabini. Pucey was behind them, per usual. No Theodore Nott, though.

The obvious answer to the question of Malfoy's whereabouts had been prodding at the back of her brain all day. She knew if he'd been collected by the Aurors, she would have heard about it by now. And Nott wasn't on probation. They probably had the damn stomach flu. Well, she couldn't be sure that was the case. She'd continue living in her bubble until someone actually burst it.

She hadn't expected Luna to be the one to do it.

Towards the end of dinner, Luna had risen from the Hufflepuff table and come to tap on Hermione's shoulder. She and Ginny both turned around to greet her.

"Hi Luna!"

"Hello, Ginny. I love your aura. Bright orange today." Luna smiled at Ginny, who gave her a confused grin but thanked her anyway.

"Hermione, I'm about to go walk Theodore Nott back from the infirmary. He and Draco Malfoy are being discharged – they're no longer contagious. Would you like to come with me?"

Hermione's jaw literally dropped. Not only had her suspicion been confirmed, but Luna was… asking if she'd like to come along? And what in Godric's name did Luna need to retrieve Theodore Nott for?

Ginny spat out her pumpkin juice.

"I'm sorry Luna, but what would either of those tossers being discharged have to do with you or Hermione?" Ginny was genuinely laughing now. She really had no idea.

"Theo isn't a tosser, Ginny. He's quite sweet. We're soulmates, actually."

It was Hermione's turn to choke on her juice. She coughed and sputtered. Everyone was so stunned that no one even blinked at her as she tried to get herself under control. They were all staring at Luna.

"Luna. Did you just say Theo Nott was your soulmate?" Parvati was the first to regain her composure and address Luna's bombshell. Luna looked completely unfazed.

"Yes. Have any of you felt it yet? I'd quite like to retake my potion. I think Theo and I might feel the bond a second time. But I wouldn't want to risk reopening my magical core. It would leave me vulnerable to-" Hermione cut her off.

"Luna, could I speak with you? Privately?"

"Sure, Hermione. We can discuss anything on our way up to-" Hermione stopped her again and pulled Luna away from the table. She turned back to look at her friends and mouthed, "I'll be right back," and they all looked back at her in astonishment. Neville looked a bit crushed.

"Hermione, have you been by the hospital to see Draco yet? I'd have lent you my belt."

Hermione ignored the mystifying belt comment.

"Luna, you're confusing me a bit. Why would I have gone to visit Malfoy? Are you sure you're alright? I'm so sorry to hear you think you've bonded with Theodore Nott. Have you spoken to McGonagall? Would you like me to go with you?"

"Oh, I'm actually very pleased. I don't think we've bonded, I'm absolutely positive. There's no mistaking that feeling. I'm sure you and Draco know what I mean."

"Luna, I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Hermione grew a bit aggressive. She hadn't planned to tell anyone what had happened with Malfoy. In fact, she was becoming much more comfortable with her future as a spinster since receiving Florence's owl last night.

Luna looked into her eyes with more focus and lucidity than Hermione had ever seen her have.

"I understand, Hermione. I remember that Draco was quite rude to you when we were younger. But please don't treat me like I'm stupid. It's easy to tell you and he are experiencing the same feeling as Theo and me. I'm sorry you're having such a hard time with it." Luna's voice was still so sweet, Hermione almost missed the confrontational statement.

"I apologize, Luna. I don't think you're stupid." Hermione felt the guilt creeping up and the tears welling in her eyes.

"Oh, it's quite alright. I know you're just struggling. I'd be happy to help. Shall we head to the hospital now?"

"Uh – Luna, I don't think I'm – I don't feel the same way you do. Malfoy and I – we're not soulmates. Not like you and… Theo."

"Oh, you absolutely are! Don't worry Hermione. It will take a bit of time – come to think of it, you and Draco are quite different from Theo and me. You should speak with Padma. She might be more helpful right now. Goodbye, Hermione!" Luna pulled Hermione into the gentlest hug she'd ever felt, and then skipped away in the direction of the hospital.

Shoot. Hermione leaned against the stone and focused on her occlumency. Books slammed shut. She stood there stacking her mental shelves for a few minutes. Then she straightened her robes and steeled herself to walk back into the hall.