Rose and Sword

by SanaNGU

Draco Malfoy, due to the prolonged absence of the Ancient Runes teacher, has been stirring up the class as he pleases with the help of his cronies, preventing the other classmates from studying. Hermione Granger, a responsible and persevering student, is not going to sit idly by.

37. Bubotuber pus

Hello, everyone, how are you? 😊 In honour of our dear Hermione's birthday... I bring you a long chapter full of drama to make us suffer, ha ha ha *puts on her sunglasses* 😎

As always, a million thanks for your comments, it really gives me a mini heart attack every time I see that you've written to me, thank you! 😍 I adore you, seriously, thank you for still being there. And thanks to all of you who read in the shadows, I adore you! I hope you're liking it. 😍

Are you ready for what's coming...?

---

CHAPTER 37

Bubotuber pus

Harry and Ron waited patiently by the door of Classroom Eleven, located on the ground floor of the castle. Waiting for all the Hufflepuff students in fourth-year Divination to come out. After several seconds had passed without anyone coming through the door, they decided to go inside.

As expected, they were greeted not by the usual sight of hundreds of desks and a blackboard in the background, but by the glade of a forest under a dark starry sky. The ground was covered with moss, tree stumps and stones. Trees stretched, leafy, upwards, creating an eye-catching fan of branches.

The centaur Firenze, Professor of Divination, stood in the middle of the glade, facing the door.

"Harry Potter," he greeted him with a nod of his blond head. "Ron Weasley. What can I do for you?"

The boys smiled cautiously and approached, skirting the trees. Ron looked a little surprised that he'd greeted him as well. As if he didn't think he would recognise him, despite having been a student of his while Professor Trelawney was suspended in their fifth year.

"Sorry to bother you," Harry greeted quietly, when they were facing each other. "But I'd like to... ask for your help. Well... ask you something."

He pursed his lips, apprehensive. His heart was racing. As much as they had planned that conversation, standing in front of the serene centaur's incredibly blue eyes, he felt he wasn't ready for it. That he was inevitably going to screw up.

"And it will be my pleasure if you do," Firenze assured him. Without blinking. Undeterred. "I'm guessing it has nothing to do with Divination."

Harry gave a shy, apologetic smile.

"Not really. It's a... private matter. And complicated," he muttered. He allowed himself to take his time to say the right words. "I need to ask you something, but I can't explain why. For... safety."

They'd decided that. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and him. They wouldn't talk to anyone else about the voice that was tormenting Harry. They didn't know who they could trust. Nor did they know who might be listening.

"I understand," the centaur said. He didn't look surprised. "Go ahead, then. Tell me what you can."

"Do you know if the — er — centaurs are all right?" Harry questioned, after swallowing. Ron, beside him, moved nervously. Firenze tilted his head almost imperceptibly. "If everything's all right in the Forbidden Forest? If... they need my help with anything?"

He felt a little stupid asking such questions, knowing that his interlocutor had no prior context. But Firenze was not taken aback.

"The centaurs, to the best of my knowledge, are fine," he replied, his voice calm. "Nothing disturbs the Forbidden Forest these days. And they need no more help from you than the wizarding world in general needs, the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named being a palpable fact."

Harry gave a tight smile. He thought the weight in his stomach would loosen if he got that answer, but it did not.

"I see," he dropped his head, looking down at his feet. His eyes were lost in the soft moss. "Is there any way to stop it?" he asked, almost without thinking, raising his head again. "The war. His power. Can we stop it, or is it too late?"

"It's not too late, because it could have never been prevented," Firenze replied. "War is coming, Harry Potter."

"Have you seen it in the stars?" asked Ron, opening his mouth for the first time. Firenze looked at him and he shrank back slightly.

"The stars know no more than humans. Their destiny belongs to them. You know as well as I do that war comes to change everything. As it always has."

Harry clenched his jaws. He wanted to ask more. When it would be. How they would win. But he knew he wouldn't get that kind of answer from the centaur.

"Thank you very much. That was all. I'm sorry I can't be clearer about the reason for my questions," he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"The reason is yours, and yours alone. There is no need to be clearer. If I've been able to help you with those answers, I've done my part," Firenze assured him. Looking at him kindly. Without smiling, though. He never did.

"You have," Harry assured him. "I really... didn't know who to ask," he confessed, unable to contain himself.

"You've helped me in the past," the centaur said, holding out a hand to shake. Harry grabbed it. "You can always try asking me when you don't know who to ask. I can't promise I'll always be able to answer, but if I can, I will."

Thanking him again for his discretion, the two friends left the classroom. It took them a few seconds to take in the stone corridor outside. They had almost forgotten that they were still in the castle. There were only a few students nearby.

"Centaurs ruled out?" Ron summarised, quietly, once they'd closed the door behind them. Harry shrugged. They both walked over to one of the windows, moving as far away from the other people as possible.

"I'd say so. Is it possible that they're communicating with me without Firenze knowing?" Harry questioned, hesitantly. Ron shook his head.

"I don't think so. This guy knows a lot. He sees... the future and stuff. Well, he sees things on planets and in the smoke of scorched grass. If anything happened, he'd know."

Harry nodded.

"Nothing disturbs the Forbidden Forest," he repeated the centaur's words, thoughtfully. "Does that rule out Aragog and his children as well?"

Ron grimaced hesitantly.

"I suppose... but it would be better to ask Hagrid. To be sure. Shall we go now?" he proposed, arching his eyebrows.

"Without Hermione?" Harry questioned, unsure.

"Oh, no. No way. With her. I meant when she gets out of class. Let's pick her up, like always," Ron said, grinning incredulously. "She's the expert on this. She interrogated Hagrid very well even though Luna was there. I suck at it, I've had a terrible time with Firenze, I haven't helped you at all," he lamented, resignedly, running a hand through his hair. Harry gave a half-smile, playing it down. He nodded, indicating that he thought it was a good idea. Though his temples ached slightly. He'd almost gotten used to it hurting almost every day. He glanced at his wristwatch.

"She still had an hour of Arithmancy left."

"Well, we can take it easy on the way up," Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "We have to go up to the seventh floor. By the time we get there, it won't be long before she'll be out..."

---

Nott's knee jerked up and down, quickly and swiftly. His hands were clasped on top of his desk, over his parchment and his open Arithmancy book. He turned his wrist just slightly to look at his wristwatch. He took in what time it was. Two minutes later than the last time he had looked. Then he glanced sideways at his deskmate's watch, to check that they were on the same time. And finally, he glanced over his shoulder, towards the closed classroom door at the back of the room. He had done that same route at least two dozen times in the last hour.

His blue eyes wandered away from the door and focused on a desk across the aisle, several seats behind his own.

Hermione was sitting next to Padma Patil, taking notes without pause on everything Professor Vector was explaining. He, on the other hand, hadn't written down a single word. His parchment lay blank under his hands, and he hadn't even opened the ink bottle. He couldn't remember if he had taken the quill out of his bag. The lump in his throat was nothing compared to the bitter feeling that was churning in his stomach, as if he had eaten something rotten. Although, in fact, he had hardly eaten any breakfast.

He had to purse his lips. He could barely stand the calmness that was evident in the young Granger. The calmness she gave off. Focused on the subject, on creating the best notes to help her study for her exams.

If only she knew...

If only Nott could not know.

"Draco plans to hide the Bubotuber pus in the empty classroom on the first floor, the one next to the tapestry of the goblins playing cards," Nott recited, in his mind, making sure he remembered.

He looked at his watch again. It was three minutes before the bell rang. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Bloody hell. He looked at Granger again. The girl dipped her quill in the ink and continued writing with enviable wrist strength. Nott tried to prick up his ears. Wondering if he would hear something from inside the classroom. Shouldn't it be happening by now? It had to happen before the bell rang.

"Draco plans to hide the Bubotuber pus in the empty classroom on the first floor, the one next to the tapestry of the goblins playing cards."

And then Nott started to listen to it. And the skin on his arms went goosebumpy under his robes. Distant voices came through the doors, coming from the corridor. He pricked up his ears against his will, afraid of what he would hear. But nothing could be understood. Just garbled voices. Voices growing louder and louder, but muffled. A sudden sound floated louder than the others. A scream? Had it been a word, a curse, or just a scream? He hadn't been able to identify the voice, but he knew who it belonged to. At least if all had gone well.

The students in the back rows turned their faces towards the door, bewildered. Footsteps could be heard in the corridor. Hermione let nothing distract her from stringing one idea after another onto her parchment. Professor Vector, from the front of the class, didn't seem to notice anything, or didn't consider a small commotion in the corridor important in comparison to her subject.

Nott was breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the floor. Just listening to the sounds outside. He wanted to silence Vector with a spell to better hear what was going on. Voices were still being heard. Footsteps. At a lower and lower volume. Hardly worthy of disturbing the classroom.

Had it gone well?

For a moment he prayed with all his might that it had not been so. But then he regretted it. He closed his eyes again.

"Draco plans to hide the Bubotuber pus in the empty classroom on the first floor, the one next to the tapestry of the goblins playing cards… Draco plans to hide the Bubotuber pus in the empty classroom on the first floor, the one next to the tapestry of the goblins playing cards..."

He didn't want the bell to ring. He didn't want to get out of there. He would have given anything to Apparate out of there, to not witness what awaited him outside the classroom, to not see Granger witness it...

The bell rang loudly above their heads. Louder than Nott had ever felt before. He jerked helplessly. His classmates began to get up and pack up in a hurry, cheered by the prospect of a half-hour break until the next class. Chattering among themselves. Muffling Professor Vector's voice as she told them what to study for the next class. Nott knew that everyone around him was talking, but he couldn't hear them. His ears were ringing.

He didn't move. He didn't want to get up. He couldn't. He didn't want to get out of there.

If only he could leave discreetly, avoid the corridor, go down it as quickly as possible...

He breathed faster. He glanced sideways at Hermione. The girl was talking to a classmate who had approached her to ask her something about the last thing Vector had dictated, judging by the way the young woman was politely holding out her parchment full of notes.

He couldn't do it. He had promised, but he couldn't. He would make an excuse. He had to get out of there. He couldn't be a part of all this. Not now that he was living it.

He jumped to his feet and stuffed all his belongings into his bag anyway. Crumpling the parchment. Breaking the quill. He slung the bag over his shoulder and strode down the central aisle as fast as he could, but trying not to draw attention to himself. He made sure not to talk to anyone, or look any of his classmates in the eye. He wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. He didn't want Hermione to notice him.

He had to leave. He had to...

He was out the door, and almost collided with Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had gone out ahead of him but had stopped suddenly. Nott, though he didn't want to, looked up. He saw the corridor before him and felt his plan to flee go down the drain.

The corridor was sprinkled with people who had just come out of the adjoining classrooms, most of them bunched together around a single point in front of one of the walls. Others were scurrying away. Others approached with curiosity. The people coming out of the Arithmancy classroom either stood still, watching, not knowing whether to approach or not, or they moved away, confused. Nott, his mouth dry, approached the group. Almost mesmerised. The crowd was not too large, and he saw what was going on even a couple of metres away. Although he knew what he was going to find, he wasn't prepared for it.

Ron Weasley was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, whimpering in pain and almost sobbing profanities. Kneeling beside him, Harry Potter, white with panic and holding his friend as best he could to keep him from collapsing, was pleading with everyone nearby to get help, a teacher, Madam Pomfrey, someone.

The smell of petrol reached Nott's nostrils. The front of Weasley's chest, as well as his thighs and arms, and also his chin and neck, were covered in a thick yellowish-green liquid. It seemed, bit by bit, to be sinking into the boy's clothes. And into his skin. It seemed to be burning everything in its path. On his neck, uncovered, and also on his thighs, protected only by his uniform trousers, the skin was already exposed, and deformed by thick and clearly painful yellowish boils. The liquid seemed to be working its way down his torso through his layers of clothing, drawing howls from the mutilated boy.

"RON!"

Nott didn't need to look back. A second after Hermione's unmistakable scream, he saw the girl run past him and through the crowd of students, desperately pushing and shoving to get to her friends.

"What happened to you? Oh my God, Ron, what's happened to you?" cried the young girl, throwing herself to the ground beside him. She gazed with overwhelming helplessness at the boy's scorched torso. She looked up, wide-eyed with panic, searching for answers, "Harry! Harry, what happened?!"

But he was too busy to look at her. He was waving his wand desperately over Ron's torso, tapping here and there, cleaning up as much of the liquid as he could with precarious Wiping Spells. It wouldn't stop the pain, nor would it do anything to reduce the boils, but at least it would stop the boy's already damaged skin from being further scorched.

A couple of people had also taken out their wands, perhaps with the intention of helping. But there were a lot of people, and Ron's body was small in comparison. And Harry was covering him almost completely, moving quickly. He was almost congested with anger. Trembling with desperation. His green eyes were the same colour as the Killing Curse.

"Malfoy," Harry mumbled. Almost inaudibly. Still waving his wand.

Hermione, who had drawn hers, and was already waving it at Ron, trying to help, froze. Completely. She barely flicked it a couple of times before she caught his words and froze. Adrenaline was slowing her brain down. It clouded everything around them, everything that wasn't Harry, Ron and her. She didn't take in the sound of her friend's voice.

"What?" she managed to say. Or at least she thought she said it out loud. She wasn't sure. But it was clear to her that she hadn't heard him right.

"It was Malfoy," Harry said in a clearer voice, without looking at her, trying to grab Ron's shoulders to get him to sit up. But the boy cried out in pain and slumped back against the wall.

"Don't move him," said Padma urgently, who had come up behind them and joined the crowd. "It's undiluted Bubotuber pus. Look at him, he's not going to be able to walk —"

"Leave him until —" another voice in the group corroborated.

"Harry, what are you saying?" Hermione questioned in turn. Without hearing Padma's voice. Or anyone else's. Harry was wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, giving up his attempts to move Ron. Unable to breathe. Not knowing how to help his friend. Having nothing else to do, he looked at Hermione. Shaking more sharply. Overflowing with rage.

"It was Malfoy!" he spat again, his eyes glittering with complicity. No doubt his friend would be as outraged as he was, if not more so. "We were waiting for you, we were waiting for you to come out, and then he — that — that cockroach, that big, bloody bastard, came with his fucking minions, and — fuck, he threw pus all over him! And he's gone, the very, very — ! BUT IS MADAM POMFREY COMING OR WHAT?" he shouted to the crowd, and several people ran after those who had already gone in search of the Healer.

Hermione couldn't take her eyes off Harry's face. Feeling like someone had cast a Slowing Charm around her. Or a Muffliato Charm. Everything was going too slowly now. Everything had been happening too fast, but now it was going too slow. Her friend was still screaming for help, and she heard, behind her back, Professor Vector coming out of the classroom to see what was going on. But she could no longer take anything in at all. She could hear nothing. She couldn't move.

Harry's words reverberated in her mind like an echo in a deep cave.

It was Malfoy.

Malfoy

Malfoy.

"That's not possible," the girl whispered, shaking almost as much as Ron. Harry heard her over the din and focused his gaze on her, panting.

"Oh, of course it is," he snapped at her, dismissively condescending. As if he thought her friend was having trouble accepting such a wicked act. "That cowardly rat has crossed the line this time. I swear he'll pay. That psycho will pay dearly for this..."

Hermione didn't move when Harry was forced to step aside, as Professor Vector knelt down, distraught, next to Ron, taking his place. She saw the witch wave her wand over him. Perhaps easing his pain. Perhaps seeing the extent of the damage.

Draco's surname was still reverberating in her head. Or so she thought, until she realised it wasn't just her own doing. His name was being whispered all the way down the corridor. The crowd around her was talking about him.

"He said it was Malfoy..."

"Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?"

"Who's Malfoy?"

"Who has been...?"

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Draco Malfoy attacked him?"

"Where is he...?"

Hermione stood up. Her ears were ringing. She looked at Ron, barely taking in what she was seeing. Still not taking in the state of her best friend. She tucked her wand inside her robes as she spun around. Her eyes pierced through the crowd to meet Nott's watchful gaze, fixed on her for minutes, several feet away. Away from the crowd. The young Slytherin's face was offensively expressionless. Hermione moved towards him without hesitation, pushing through the crowd without looking at who she pushed, and ignoring the call of a confused Harry. Nott didn't flinch as he watched her approach and stand before him.

"Where is Malfoy?" she asked in a trembling whisper. Two tears fell at the same time, one from each eye, overflowing them. She wiped them away with her sleeve in a quick, jerky arm movement. Not giving them any importance. There was no anguish on her face. Only anger.

Nott opened and closed his mouth. Trying to keep his composure at the image of the broken girl. He saw her white knuckles on either side of her hips. Suddenly he thought her capable of punching him. Hermione interpreted his silence as a refusal to respond.

"Nott, I won't ask again. Tell me immediately where he is. Don't you dare protect him."

Theodore clenched his fists helplessly as well. Trying to control his breathing.

"He told me that... he was planning to hide the Bubotuber pus in the empty classroom on the first floor, the one next to the tapestry of the goblins playing cards," he muttered. Impassive. Looking her in the eye. "Probably, if he's just done this, he'll still be there..."

Hermione was speechless for a moment. It seemed to Theodore that she had gone pale.

"Did you know about the pus," she whispered, not taking her dark eyes off him. "Did you know what he was going to do with it? Did you know he was going to do this?"

"I knew he'd smuggled in undiluted Bubotuber pus with his friends, but I didn't know what he was going to use it for. I swear to you. It's the truth," he lied, his tone calm.

Hermione didn't blink as she pierced him with two orbs that burned like two pyres. Without opening her mouth again, she turned on her heel, walking steadily down the corridor. Harry, and a few other people who noticed she was leaving, called out to her, stunned, but she ignored them.

Nott followed her with his eyes until she turned the corner. When she was out of sight, he had to turn around. Turning away from the crowd in the corridor. Knowing that, thankfully, no one would notice him. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing heavily. He started walking down the corridor, in the opposite direction to Hermione, away from the crowd.

He had done his part. Now it was Draco's turn.

---

It took Hermione a few minutes to make her way to the first floor. When she spotted the classroom Nott had indicated at the end of the corridor, shaking just as much as before, and panting a little more, she stopped in her tracks. Almost forcing herself to do so. To catch her breath. To slow down and contain everything that was overwhelming her. Assimilating what she was going to do. Where she was going.

And it was fortunate that she stopped. That door, which stood next to a tapestry on which goblins were playing a thrilling and tricky game of cards, burst open. Out of it came a bunch of Slytherin students that Hermione identified even in the distance. She recognised Pucey, Bletchley and Urquhart. And she saw two more, from lower years, whom she couldn't name. They were talking loudly, all at once. Overexcited. Joking. The last of them closed the door and they all walked off down the corridor with determined strides, in the opposite direction to Hermione. Still chattering with great fuss. Several people who were walking down the corridor had to move out of their way. Malfoy was not among them.

After waiting for them to turn the corner until they were out of sight, with a patience she didn't even know she possessed, Hermione moved down the corridor. She didn't even hesitate for a moment at the closed door she faced. The red colour with which she saw her surroundings did not allow her to do so.

It was a classroom that was not normally used. It was, however, quite clean, and the desks were properly lined up in four long rows, with the traditional aisle in the middle. Malfoy was at the back of the room, his back to her, crouched by one of the desks in the front row. His hands were rummaging through its bottom shelf. Hiding something. He didn't notice her presence, not even when she closed the door behind her.

"Malfoy."

Hermione was the first to be surprised at how calm her voice sounded. She was still shaking, still feeling her heart pounding in her throat, but luckily she could speak. She didn't know for how long, but she planned to use every second to confront the person in front of her.

At the sound of her voice, the young man was startled. He turned his head over his shoulder, his expression alarmed. But he softened it instantly when he saw who it was.

"Granger," he greeted with relief. He stood up and turned to face her. He was smiling brightly. "You scared the life out of me... I'm in the middle of something, how did you know I was here?"

"Nott told me," Hermione replied, still standing in front of the door. Her tone was still calm. Too calm. Her face, imperturbable. Though her rapid breathing gave her away. And so Draco pointed out to her.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, frowning in confusion, still smiling. "You seem upset..."

"Do I look upset?" Hermione replied wryly. And her calm tone broke, her voice sharpening. She began to walk towards him, her expression almost menacing. Malfoy wiped away his smile as he finally realised that something wasn't right. He scrutinised her closely, shifting his gaze between her eyes. He didn't move.

"Considerably. What happened?" he replied earnestly, in a quieter voice. Hermione gasped.

"Can't you think of anything?" she spat, so firmly that her voice was hoarse. She kept moving towards him. "Tell me, would you be upset if you came out of class and found your best friend lying on the floor, his body scorched and covered in boils? What if your friend claimed, groaning in pain, that it was your partner who had done that to him? Would you be upset?"

Hermione almost shouted the last question. She had reached the boy's position and stopped her steps a metre away from him. Despite the girl's frantic tone, despite her now openly fierce expression, and despite the gravity of her words, Malfoy regained his smile.

"Partner?" he repeated, in the midst of a chuckle. His eyes glittered with mockery.

Hermione lost all facial expression. Looked at him with shock. How dare he mock her? How could he not care about what she had just told him? How could he simply laugh at her referring to him as her 'partner'?

The girl caught her breath in a rushed inhalation. Regaining her composure as well. She moved forward by inertia, as if her body's centre of gravity had become anteriorised. Moving closer to him. Feeling anger control her hands, she raised them and shoved the young man in the chest with all her might. Malfoy staggered, having to take two steps back to keep his balance. He finally wiped away his grin.

"THAT'S ALL YOU DARE TO SAY?" Hermione shouted, beside herself, shoving him in the chest again. Harder. But Draco kept his balance better this time. "How could you? How could you do that? How could you be so shameless as to laugh?!"

She was pushing him in the chest, increasing the tone of her voice, the twitching of her face and the force of her blows with each question. Her hands weren't enough, but she didn't even remember that she had a wand. That she was a witch. Malfoy, passive and bewildered, was letting her push him away. Taking a controlled step back with each blow. Eyes wide with astonishment at the girl's outburst. Listening to her, trying to understand. After one last, considerably harder push, which Hermione was sure had to have hurt, he finally reacted. He caught her hands before she could reach him again, grabbing her wrists.

"Are you kidding me?" he stuttered then, raising his voice to overshadow hers. His face had lost its disoriented expression. His eyes had darkened. She tried to break free to keep pushing him, pulling at her hands, and he had to hold her tighter. "It was just a fucking joke! How can you act like that?"

"A joke?!" Hermione shrieked, beside herself. She continued to struggle to get out of his grip. Her robe had fallen open and a lapel threatened to slip down her shoulder, so energetic were her attempts to push him away. "How can you call something like that a joke? You attacked him! You could have killed him! You could have killed him, you miserable wretch! HOW COULD YOU?"

"Do you hear yourself," Draco shouted in return, holding her tighter. He forced the girl's arms open so that he could get closer to her face. He pierced her with his grey eyes. "Stop behaving like a lunatic! Does this reaction seem normal to you?"

"I'm going to — !"

Hermione mumbled a desperate threat. Tireless, she was relentless in her attempts to get him to let go, despite the pain in her wrists that her own tugging was causing. She wasn't even sure what she would do if he released her. She didn't know what to do to him. She couldn't think. She just wanted him to let go. She couldn't stand him trying to reassure her. She didn't want to be reassured.

Draco stifled an angry gasp. He glanced over his shoulder fleetingly, examining what was behind him, then tugged at her, making her stagger. He spun around, dragging her with him. He walked past the teacher's desk and placed her against the blackboard, forcing her back against it. Trying to brace her hands against the surface to better control her. Hermione gasped in shock as she felt her back hit the waxed blackboard. She felt her anger boil over. She redoubled her efforts to break free of him, now adding her feet to the struggle, trying to kick him. She thought she heard the sound of cloth stretching, unravelling, but she couldn't place it.

"Stop — Granger!" Draco protested, trying to pull his shins away from the girl's fierce feet, to no avail. He stifled a gasp of pain as a kick reached him and pushed her hands more firmly against the blackboard. "Will you calm down?! Tomorrow that prat will be fresh as a daisy, it was just —!" he exclaimed more loudly.

"YOU PROMISED ME!" Hermione shrieked, interrupting him, trying to knee him. Her tousled hair framed a face that was red all over. "You promised me you'd never hurt them again! How could you have done this?"

Draco let out an exasperated, loud groan. As if she was making him desperate.

"Damn it, Granger...!" he exclaimed, furious, his silver eyes fixed on hers. "My mates obtained the pus and thought it was fun to use it on a bloody Gryffindor! What did you want me to do?"

"And it had to be them, right? It's always them. Always Harry, and Ron and Neville..." Hermione gasped. She was losing strength in her arms. She had stopped kicking him. "Was it your idea for Ron to be the target?"

Draco relaxed his features. He studied her for a few moments, his expression grim. Assessing how she would take an honest answer.

"Let's just say his name was one of the ones that came up in the conversation and everyone supported it."

Hermione let out a sudden sob. Draco's fingers faltered in her grip. She had stopped fighting. She watched him with her face still twitching. Contorted into a restrained grimace of pain. Panting. Draco saw that the top button of her collar had been torn off in the struggle. Her tie was also loose and misplaced. All of her clothes were wrapped around her body in a bad way.

"You don't seem to feel guilty about doing something you didn't mean to do," Hermione accused him, with fierce irony. In a quieter voice. Without shouting. Draco, realising his own indifferent stance, let out a snort.

"Guilty? Guilty of what? Don't kid yourself, Granger. Yes, I told you I'd leave them alone, otherwise I'd have to give up certain things," his face tilted slightly, with derision. "You gave me a pretty clear ultimatum. But that doesn't mean I'll even tolerate them, that I have the slightest interest in defending them, or that I'm going to stop my mates from having fun at their expense."

"You threw the pus," Hermione mumbled, her jaw trembling. "Harry told me. It was you, not them."

Draco's face lost all defensive expression. Turning it into an undaunted mask. Free of remorse. He tensed his lips into a thin line. Watching her carefully. Not denying it.

Hermione released from his grip, from his limp hands, with a sharp jerk. She wasn't going to hit him again, and they both knew it.

"I made it very clear to you that I couldn't be with you under these circumstances," Hermione whispered, her tone firm. Her voice barely floated in the small space between them. "I can understand your enmity. I can bear that you wish each other the worst, that you don't even want to see each other in the slightest. I can understand that you don't trust them, that you don't want to tell them about us, because you think they'd destroy you. And maybe they would. But... now they hadn't done anything to you. It wasn't self-defence. You attacked them because just you could do it. In a most dastardly way."

"Granger —" the boy articulated. Calmly. Earnestly. But she didn't let herself be interrupted.

"I can't just ignore this. I can't allow myself to close my eyes and unscrupulously love someone who is capable of doing something like this to the people I love. Who is capable of hurting them in this way. I can't be like that. It doesn't matter how I feel about you, I can't."

Draco let the air out of his nose. In a weak snort. His face remained unperturbed. Serious. He was still looking at her. Studying her. Switching back and forth between her eyes. Perhaps assessing how much truth there was in her words. She couldn't hear him breathe.

"Granger," he repeated, his voice quiet again. As if he meant to appease her with words. "Damn it, it was just —" he ran his tongue over the surface of his teeth as he looked away. "Come on, for fuck's sake, stop — It wasn't that —"

"If you say it wasn't that big a deal again, I swear you'll regret it," Hermione spat, with her voice steady. And unsteady hands. Draco exhaled angrily. Losing some of his composure.

"Well, what do you want to tell me with all that? What do you want?" he spat, gruffly. "To break up? Is that it?"

Hermione's expression faltered. It twitched. Her mouth curved into a grimace that tried to stifle a sob.

"No, I don't want to," she mumbled. In a choked voice.

Draco had to stop himself from reaching out and leaning against the board. He needed to steady himself. He was careful not to let his face alter. He stood still, straight, before her.

He had to go on. He had almost made it.

"Then let's forget all this," he hissed, forcing himself to relax his stiff shoulders.

Hermione, as Draco had expected, shook with rage from head to toe. Her mouth regained the lividity of a strained line.

"I'm not going to forget anything," she snapped, her voice deepening. "I don't want this to end," she could barely articulate. Her voice was breaking. Her face was flushing. "But I don't know what to do either. I won't put up with this. I can't. I can't let myself feel this way about you if you're going to hurt them. You weren't defending yourself against them. You don't even regret it," she repeated, pointing a disappointed hand at him. "You just did it. I can't choose you over them. Not like this."

Draco continued to stare into her eyes. Watching them start to glaze over. Watching her choke on the lump he could almost discern in her throat. He had prepared himself for that. To see her like this. Or at least he had a vague memory of having done so. Apparently, insufficiently so.

"Please, Granger... I want you to be angry. That's all I want. I want you to hate me. Yell at me. Hit me. Keep hitting me. But don't cry..."

"You want me to tell you I won't do it again?" Draco whispered. And he himself was surprised at the calmness in his tone. "Is that what you want?"

Hermione shook her head very slowly. Still looking into his eyes. Her lashes were full of dew.

"No. I don't trust you at all right now. Whatever you say, I can't believe you won't do it again."

Draco moved his jaw. As if reflecting. He finished with a reluctant shrug.

"You know I will."

Hermione didn't alter her face. She felt her arms tingling, bristling under her clothes. She was cold. Despite the recent struggle, she was now very cold.

"I thought you respected me enough not to hurt me when you knew you were doing it," Hermione hissed. He didn't respond. He continued to stare into her eyes. Feeling his lungs covered with thorns. "Why have you kept your word all this time if you meant to break it without any remorse?"

Draco's mouth curved into a sly half-smile. He couldn't breathe, but he could smirk. That didn't hurt.

"I don't know. The occasion didn't arise, I suppose. I had better things to do."

"You're despicable," Hermione mumbled, feeling her neck burn. She blinked rapidly, tears burning in her eyes. "A liar. You have no right to do this. To behave like this. You're not above them..."

"Above them? I'm a thousand times above that bloody blood traitor and his whole family of beggars," Draco spat, sudden acrimony in his tone.

"Traitor?" Hermione whispered. She arched both eyebrows as if she could hardly believe his words. She let out a bitter laugh. "What about you, aren't you a traitor?"

"No, I'm not," Draco hissed through his teeth. The grey of his eyes stood out against his constricted pupils. "Blood traitors consider Mudbloods to be equals. I have never considered them equal."

Hermione's throat thickened and she had to swallow. She kept staring at him. She needed to think, but she couldn't concentrate. She couldn't find an immediate explanation. She couldn't understand. She barely recognised the person in front of her as the same person who had hugged her tightly, when she had burst into tears as she left a disappointed McGonagall's office.

"Why were you with me if you were so clear about it? What was all this about?" Hermione questioned in a low, controlled voice. "Why have you stooped to this, when all this time you've continued to consider me inferior?"

Draco looked at her. Wondering how much he could say. How much truth, how much of a lie. He'd prepared answers — he'd prepared the whole fucking conversation — but he wasn't sure they fit now.

"I told you. You confused me. You seemed different. I saw something in you that I wanted to understand, that clashed with too many things I took for granted. You seemed to deserve the benefit of the doubt."

"And doesn't that make you a traitor?" Hermione replied, coldly. "Is there a minimum number of Mudbloods to fraternise with before you consider yourself a traitor?"

Draco gave a tight, wry smile. As if he almost admired the venom that tinged her voice.

"I made it clear to you that I will not doubt that fire burns because of a flame that does not. I'm not stupid enough to do so."

"You told me you were starting to rethink all that."

Draco snorted through his nose as a chuckle, undeterred.

"I did. But I came to my senses with nothing to regret. Nothing but a prodigious memory on your part tells me that Muggles are any different than I imagined them to be. But," he shrugged dispassionately, "let's just say that, though my doubts have been allayed, I don't dislike your company, Granger."

"You're a hypocrite," Hermione spat, stiff as a broomstick. Draco's eyes glittered before darkening.

"I'm the hypocrite, Granger? Really? I knew you were presumptuous, that you think you're above right and wrong, but sometimes you manage to surprise me."

His words, sharp, pierced through her. Hermione felt her vision go out of focus. With a great effort, she focused it to meet Malfoy's eyes.

"What...?" she managed to articulate, in a brief sigh.

"What about you, isn't there hypocrisy in you? Can you remember any recent situations, in which you've misled or hidden something from, let's say... your best friends?" he questioned with open derision. Cocking his head impertinently. Hermione breathed out in disbelief.

"I can't believe you're throwing something in my face that we both agreed to do, as a desperate move given what we were supposed to be feeling," she protested, her voice unsteady. Shaky. Of anger. Of anguish.

"Touché. We agreed not to tell anyone, we both agreed. You were fine with pretending in front of your friends that you hate me. Surely you've been openly insulting me when you were with them..."

"I haven't said a word against you since we've been —" Hermione tried to say firmly, but her voice was overshadowed by Draco's.

"... and then you've been sneaking around with me, with the person they hate the most, behind their backs, in every nook and cranny of this fucking castle. Now you're defending that miserable redhead as if I murdered him, and accusing me of being a hypocrite, when you've been lying to them for months! At least I'm true to myself, and if I want to humiliate them, I do!"

"I wanted to tell them!" Hermione shouted, her voice cracking. "I wanted to tell them about us. And you didn't let me."

"Exactly, because the only one who'd get screwed was me!" he bellowed, tapping his chest with his index finger. "Screwed for real, Granger, not some stupid fight of yours with your stupid little friends. And you know it perfectly well. That's why you asked me. So I'd be the one to forbid you to do it, so you could clear your conscience. So you could continue playing two sides, believing you're doing the right thing. Because you always do the right thing, don't you?"

"I didn't ask you to clear my conscience!" she shrieked, pulling her face closer to his. Draco had to concentrate with everything he had not to pull back, his torso electrifying at her nearness. "I wanted to tell them. And I still want to. I want to tell them that I'm with you, that I'm happy with you. And if I don't, it's only because I don't want to risk your safety."

Draco thought he was getting dizzy for a moment. The room flickered before his eyes, his gaze unfocusing for a moment. As if he might lose consciousness. But he blinked rapidly, recovering. Tightening every muscle, holding himself together. It all hit him at once. The thought that there had to be another solution, that he didn't have to do this. The possibility of not finishing his plan. To tell her the truth, to tell her it was all a lie. An act. That he needed her to make the decision not to want him in her life. That he was desperate. Desperate to make this painful enough to make it easier for her. Desperate to keep her alive.

'Don't you realise that you're sticking her bloody neck out doing this?'

'... I'm happy with you.'

He held himself upright even though his sternum seemed to want to bend him in half. He knew he should have been sneering, to play down the importance of her words. As if they were nothing he valued. But he couldn't. So he just kept his expression under control. Completely. He just looked serious. Unyielding. Putting up a wall in front of him was easier than faking an expression he didn't feel.

He was grateful that the girl was looking him in the eye without blinking. Because his arms were shaking and his hands were revealing it.

"Fuck Potter and Weasley," he muttered. He took a step forward. Leaning his face over hers. She didn't move. "What does it matter if I insult them? What difference does it make what I do to them? It doesn't change how I feel about you. In spite of what you are. Come here..."

And he had to do it. The coup de grace.

Because he was tearing her apart. And he was going to tear himself apart with her.

He moved closer and covered her mouth with his. Tilting his face to fully embrace her lips. Releasing them with total parsimony. Feeling the heat of her mouth. Her wetness, melting into his. Her breath. Her lips. Shit. He was in her mouth. He was in her mouth again. And he understood that when he broke away, it would have been his last time on those lips. His last chance to feel everything. To keep it all. Even though he'd promised himself not to. Not to feel. Not to think. For his own damn sanity. But that was easier to plan away from her lips.

She didn't move at first. Draco rammed his jaw against hers again, and felt her lips move in response. According to the familiarity of his mouth.

"No. Don't," he thought, in sudden panic. Thinking for a moment that he had made a mistake. But he hadn't. He noticed that her jaw was trembling, and felt a pitiful relief. She was only reacting slowly to the situation. To his words.

He pressed her against the blackboard with his body. Kissing her more firmly. Beginning to gasp for breath. Letting himself go, just a little, but he knew it was more than he should. At least if he wanted to stop. He felt he had crossed the line of no return. And now he couldn't let her go. Because it was the last time. And he didn't want to stop feeling her mouth against his. It had to be her. She had to push him away. Because all his self-control was one step further behind.

Hermione couldn't think. Not against his mouth. Her throat was tight as if he had his hand around her neck, but he wasn't even touching her with his hands.

That wasn't right. That couldn't be like that. He couldn't think about her like that.

'In spite of what you are.'

Or maybe he did. Of course he did. How could she have doubted otherwise? She felt like the classroom was crumbling around her. Shattering into pieces like an illusion, on the other side of her closed eyelids. She couldn't speak, attached to his mouth; couldn't breathe, listening to Malfoy's words replaying in her mind

'In spite of what you are.'

She felt a sob muffle in her throat, almost reaching Draco's mouth, still pressed against hers. And she felt she couldn't take it anymore. She turned her face to the side quickly, fleeing his lips, pulling away from his mouth. She exhaled, opening her eyes. She looked at him. He was still pressed against her. His grey eyes were so familiar... His whole face was so familiar...

And yet... something was missing... It was missing the way he had looked at her in the Changing Room as she buttoned his shirt. And under the stands on the Quidditch pitch, as they listened to the rain over their heads. And in the boat at the Boathouse, enveloped in his body. Had she imagined all those looks?

He seemed to be trying to get close again. Lowering his face so that their eyes were at the same level. She felt his knuckles caress her jaw and felt like she was being electrocuted.

"No," Hermione gasped, her voice choked with rage. Draco froze. Staring at her as if he didn't understand. "Move away."

Hermione raised her hands without a second thought and shoved him in the chest with all her might, pulling him away from her. If she hadn't been so angry, she might have appreciated that he hadn't fought back at all. That it took no effort at all to push him away.

He staggered, making no move to come closer. His breathing was ragged. He looked at her in disbelief. As if her reaction was disproportionate. As if he hadn't said anything to justify it.

"Don't you dare kiss me after telling me you have feelings for me, in spite of what I am," her voice was stammering, fighting the trembling that shook her whole body, but her tone was firm. Tears did not overflow her misty eyes. They did not cease to sparkle with tenacity. "I told you that if you attacked my friends again, this would be over. Well, congratulations, you've done it."

Hermione wondered if she would be able to take a single step. And she realised that, if she recruited the rage that had been seeping through her, only the rage, and nothing else, she could do it. The first step was the hardest. The next ones came on their own. In fact, the hardest was looking away from Draco's face. Feeling that everything between them would break completely, and irretrievably, as soon as she did. But the fact that he looked implacable, barely fazed, made it easier.

She walked past Draco, no longer looking at him. Keeping his outline, the shape and colours of his body inside her. How the air in the room changed, moulding around him. Knowing that she would never be alone with him again. Not in an honest situation.

Draco didn't have to move from where he stood. At the sound of the door slamming shut behind him, he felt the gravity of the room increase. His muscles softened, as if he were at the bottom of the sea, at the mercy of the pressure. His shoulders slumped and his head fell forward. He felt the muscles at the back of his neck protest at the sudden tightness.

He'd done it.

'If you hurt Ron again, or any of my friends, this, what's between us, will end. I won't stand for it.'

He tried to breathe, but his ribs were stiff. His torso was too heavy and he couldn't inflate it. Confused, he managed to raise a hand and pressed it against his sternum. Feeling it clumsily, over the layers of clothing. He looked at his palm. Looking for blood. Foolishly looking for a wound, even though it didn't hurt to the touch. But she had to have stuck him with something. Maybe the last thrust had broken a rib. It had to be that. It hurt. A lot. More than anything else had ever hurt. How could it hurt so much without an injury?

The classroom was so big. It was silent. Everything was silent. He was alone.

He tried to breathe more sharply. It was done. It was. He could forget everything. Now he could focus on what was really important. On what was irremediable. He had a mission to accomplish for the Dark Lord. He had a war to live through. All the madness he had been involved in over the past few months with Hermione Granger was history. He had his life back. He didn't have to lie to anyone anymore. He was himself again. The world could look at him, and he would have nothing to hide.

But now he was alone. No one was looking at him. She couldn't be important enough to suffer for her once he was out of that classroom. But he was still in the classroom.

He couldn't breathe, but he could move his feet. He took two hesitant steps, until he was back in front of the blackboard. He leaned with one hand on the polished surface Granger had been standing on seconds before. Waiting for his stupid body to pull itself together. But the cold feel of it under his palm was too much. She was no longer there. She was gone. He was alone.

He bent his arm, resting his forearm on the blackboard, dropping his weight. He still felt his lips wet. From her. Not like this. He hadn't wanted to feel her mouth for the last time like that. He hadn't wanted that to be the last memory he was going to have of her lips. But it was going to be.

He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, between the layers of fabric. He also rested his other hand, clenched into a fist, on the blackboard. No one could see him. He could suffer. He was alone. He was alone.

---

Hermione left the room, slamming the door behind her. There was no one in the corridor. The break was probably over. Everyone was in class.

Her hurried footsteps guided her, without slowing, to the opposite wall. As if she needed to get there as quickly as possible. She leaned against the rough surface with one hand as soon as she reached it, and stood still before it. She tried to fix her gaze on the grey stone. Rough. Worn by the passage of time. But she couldn't see it. She could see nothing. Only blurry images of Draco before her. Words. Muddled thoughts. Glances that she could no longer remember clearly. That she was no longer sure had happened.

Her mouth was ajar. Her jaw was trembling. All of her was trembling. Her breathing was shallow. She could still feel Draco's wet trace on her lips, slowly drying.

She needed to cry. She needed to whimper. She felt a desperate, releasing sob building up in her chest. In her throat. But it wouldn't come. Tears flooded her eyes, but they wouldn't fall.

All of her convulsed, silently, as the sobs eluded her. There was no air in her lungs. She was suffocating.

'In spite of what you are.'

She shook her head, feeling her chest convulse again in an incomplete sob. She couldn't understand. Had she really been so blind? Had she really fallen in love with him to that extent?

It couldn't have been all for nothing. She couldn't accept it. So many hours by his side, in secret, in so many stolen moments. So many minutes thinking about him. Putting effort into thinking about how to see each other, when to see each other, where to see each other. What excuses to make to her friends. How to hide from them what she was doing. Because it was wrong. And she knew it.

But she had closed her eyes to it all.

'What about you, isn't there hypocrisy in you?'

He'd called her a hypocrite. And Hermione wasn't sure he wasn't right.

She had lied to her best friends, and all for nothing.

There was nothing between them anymore. They weren't going to be together forever. They weren't going to fight the prejudices of the wizarding world. They weren't going to make the speeches she had planned in her mind for the future, to stand up to anyone who wanted to tear them apart. He wasn't going to fight for her. He didn't want to fight for her.

Draco hadn't changed. He'd just been confused. He had thought he felt things for her that he didn't really feel. He had continued to consider her inferior, just as he had since he'd known her, despite feeling good in her company. But nothing had changed in him. And she had paid the consequences.

And so had her friends. Harry and Ron. He'd hurt Ron. He'd attacked Ron. Even though she had asked him not to. Draco knew that something like that would tear her apart, and yet he'd done it.

Not only could he not stand her best friends, but he enjoyed hurting them. He wanted to hurt them. How could she have closed her eyes to the obvious? Sooner or later he would tire of his promise to her. Her threat to end what they had couldn't be incentive enough, especially when he still considered her inferior to him. Malfoy was a bully, he'd proved it in his first year, when he'd hexed Neville with the Leg-Locker Curse, stolen his Remembrall, or insulted Ron to the point of fisticuffs, among many other things.

He was still the same. It was she who had been fooled by stupid gestures. Passionate kisses, intimate glances in the half-light, hugs when it was obvious she needed them... What nonsense. It was just nonsense. Sentimentalism. They meant nothing. They didn't change the facts, the reality. And the reality was that he had attacked Ron with Bubotuber pus. She couldn't allow such a thing. She couldn't be with him like that. She wasn't with him anymore.

Suddenly she was struck by the thought that Draco would soon be walking out of the classroom behind her back. He wasn't doing anything there anymore, alone. Maybe he was making sure the pus was well hidden again, and that was why he was taking so long.

Hermione would tell the location of the pus to the first teacher she came across.

She pulled herself away from the wall, feeling herself falter at having to be the one to support all of her weight. She forced her feet to walk, moving down the corridor, away from there. She was surprised to feel able to walk. Because her ankles felt weak. She needed to sit down. It was too heavy. All of her was too heavy. But she had to walk. She couldn't stop walking.

She reached a staircase, and gravity helped. She just had to hold on to the railing and let her feet fall on one step, then the next. She wondered how long she could go without breathing. She wasn't breathing. She also wondered where she was going. Harry and Ron. She had to look for Harry and Ron. Ron was hurt. Draco had attacked him. The Hospital. Where was the Hospital? On the floor below?

There were people on the stairs. She passed some of the students. They were going up and down around her, but they barely noticed her. No one had a face. No one looked at her. Was it possible that she looked normal from the outside? How could she look normal if she wasn't breathing?

Her feet touched solid ground. She found herself in another corridor.

Face to face with Harry. And Justin Finch-Fletchley was with him. They were before her, suddenly. She had found them. Or, rather, they had found her. They were talking to her, she could see their mouths moving, opening and closing, but she couldn't hear them. Why couldn't she hear them? She heard a buzzing. A powerful buzzing dulled her ears. Suddenly she felt light. Her body was no longer heavy, her legs were no longer heavy. Because she no longer felt them. It was as if she was slowly dissolving. The faces of her friends began to distort, she could no longer see their features clearly. She recognised them, but she couldn't see them. Everything was blurring around her. She was still standing, but she couldn't remember why.

The last thing she was aware of was the cold touch of the stone floor against her cheek.

---

Theodore Nott couldn't bear to sit still. For nearly an hour, he had created a nervous route that went from his bed, to his desk chair, to wandering the room around the furniture, to sitting on his bed again. Alternating the route from time to time. Not stopping in each place for more than a few seconds.

But now Zabini was in the dormitory too. And I had to pretend that nothing unusual was happening. He couldn't just prance around like a caged lion.

His roommate had sat at the desk, in the light of the oil lamp there, which cast a greenish, flickering light. He was writing a long letter. Possibly to his family. Nott didn't know, and he didn't ask.

The strumming of the quill was driving him mad. He couldn't even pretend he was reading. He didn't bother to take out any books or magazines. He just sat on his mattress, staring into the void. Taking advantage of the fact that Zabini wasn't looking at him at all, he was devouring the cuticles of his fingernails. Feeling the taste of blood on his tongue. Not stopping.

There was the sound of the dormitory door opening. Nott's mattress squeaked. He raised his head and stared at the doorstep, wide-eyed, letting go of his mangled thumb. Draco stood there, motionless, his hand still on the doorknob, his face shrouded in shadow. No candlelight reached him. Nott squeezed his thighs together to keep from jumping to his feet.

Zabini glanced over his shoulder. He recognised Draco and returned to his letter calmly.

"Hullo," he greeted him, affably, dipping his quill again. Draco didn't reply. He didn't move from the door. Nott couldn't meet his eyes. "Where did you come from? Didn't you have class?"

Nott clenched his jaws. His mouth felt dry, and he swallowed, trying to hydrate it. He needed to see Draco's face. He wanted to open a hole in the floor and throw Zabini in so he could talk to Draco in peace.

He couldn't bear to wait. He needed to know what had happened.

"You were in the pitch, weren't you?" Theodore questioned in turn, his voice calm. Controlling his voice with effectiveness. "How did it go? Have you... lost your Snitch again?"

Zabini looked up. Looking at Nott as if he had just remembered he was there. Draco closed the door behind him and then Blaise looked back at him, turning in his chair.

"Did you lose the Snitch?" he questioned kindly. With a likeable smirk. He watched his roommate move across the room. "On the pitch?"

Draco stopped by his bed. His hand rested on the wooden post. Lightly. Nott did see his face now, as he stepped into the light. He looked unperturbed. Impassive. There was nothing that could be called unusual. Even he, who knew what had just happened, could see nothing unusual in his expression.

"I'm an idiot," Draco said then. In a quiet, flat voice. Serene. "And I let it get away from me."

Nott nearly clung to the post beside him himself. Feeling his chest sinking into the depths of his body. An itch in his throat that he had to quell at that moment.

He had done it.

"Wow," Blaise muttered, looking at him with slight resignation. He gave him a half-smile, encouraging him. "Well, don't worry, you'll get it back. I'll help you if you want, even though I'm terrible at Quidditch."

Draco stretched his pale lips into a thin line that could be passed off as a smile. Zabini didn't seem to notice that Draco seemed to be frozen at his bedside. He turned back to the desk and rolled up the now dry parchment, rising to his feet.

"I'm going to the Owlery, do you need anything from there?" he offered, throwing a thin cloak over his shoulders. Theodore was slow to realise that he included him in the offer. His eyes did not leave Draco's profile.

"Nothing, thanks," Nott murmured. Sensing that Draco couldn't speak.

"Well, I'll see you later," the boy said dismissively, heading for the door as he knotted his cloak around his neck. The door closed behind him and the room fell silent. Nott, who had been waiting for Blaise to leave so he could get to his feet, suddenly couldn't move.

"Are you all right?"

He knew it was useless to ask. But he couldn't help himself. Draco didn't answer. He was still motionless at the foot of his bed, leaning against the wooden post. He nodded his head like an automaton. His eyes fixed on the floor.

Nott let out his pent-up breath. He relaxed his shoulders, but he felt his anger boiling over. And he couldn't shut up.

"I can't lie to you and tell you that I think you did the right thing. Because neither of you deserved this. But I suppose you can be satisfied, you got what you wanted; after what you've done to Weasley, Granger won't even want to breathe the same air as you," Theodore spat in a low voice.

Draco said nothing. His face was serious. Undaunted. Worryingly distant. Empty. Nott understood then. It was normal for Draco's face to be haughty and imperturbable. But not for so long. There was no emotion in it. And that wasn't normal.

He was not well.

Theodore looked at his friend's white hand. And he saw that it was no longer leaning on the post, but was clutching it with all its might. As if trying to hold on. The only proof that he was feeling something. Something terrible. Nott gasped, eyes fixed on his hand. Watching it tremble. Its tendons, defined. He heard the wood creak. And then he saw, in slow motion, Draco collapse to the floor. Falling to his knees. His hand slid down the post to the base, but he didn't let go. He continued to cling to it as if it were a lifeline.

Nott gasped in surprise, unable to move at first.

"Draco..." he mumbled, shocked.

He said nothing. His shoulders were slumped, his face down, and Nott could only see the top of his straight blond hair. At the sound of his name, Draco ducked his face even lower and covered his eyes with his free hand.

There was a loud bang. The unlit lamp on Nott's bedside table had exploded into a thousand shards of glass that flew everywhere.

Theodore jumped to his feet as though triggered by a spring, staring at it with wide eyes. The floor was strewn with glass, and so was his bed. He looked at his arm. Some shards had landed on his robes. He saw a couple of them glitter, tiny, stuck in the skin on the back of his hand. He raised it until it reached his profile, his cheek. He felt a tiny crystal glide across it as his fingers passed over it. Scratching his skin.

He didn't have time to move. The lamp on Zabini's bedside table exploded too. And Crabbe's. And Goyle's. The oil lamp on the desk was the last to blow up, leaving them in semi-darkness.

Nott flinched at each detonation. Petrified. Seeing himself surrounded by shards of glass. His eyes were fixed on his friend. He hadn't moved.

"D-Draco..." Nott mumbled. And pulled out his wand. Ready to stun or gag him if necessary.

But then he realised he couldn't. He couldn't even point his wand at him. He felt a heavy chill settle in his stomach. He could feel it. Like an electric cloud, piercing the air. The smell of metal. He felt the magic surround Draco. It wasn't visible, but he could feel it perfectly. It was overflowing him. He couldn't control it. Or he didn't want to. He had to be realising that his emotions were dragging him into a terrible manifestation of involuntary magic. And he didn't care.

Zabini's pillow exploded then, in a cloud of feathers that floated and fell slowly over his bed. Nott looked at it, startled in the same way he had been with the lamps. He looked at Draco, and tried to get closer. He couldn't. His feet stayed nailed to the floor. Nott could almost see the magic escaping in fluctuations down his hunched back. Creating an invisible barrier around him. His hair vibrated slightly. As if there was wind. But the windows faced the lake, and the door was closed.

He tried again, more firmly, "Draco!"

Another pillow exploded, Draco's pillow. The jug of water on the desk burst as well, flooding it, ruining the parchments on it. Spilling the bottle of ink that Zabini had left open. The mirror hanging on the wall exploded, showering the floor with huge shards of glass. Crabbe's bed creaked and the canopy collapsed, falling in a cloud of dust. Nott let out a scream, backing away. He gasped, not knowing what to do. Draco didn't move. He didn't seem fazed as he tore the room apart with involuntary magic. He could set the whole thing on fire, with them in it, without flinching.

"Draco, please..."

Nott heard another creak. And he almost felt it inside his chest. There were no more glass objects left in the dormitory... He turned his head. He saw the glass of one of the windows crack, creating white lines, like a map of constellations, on its surface. The water of the vast, dark lake shone greenish light through it.

He breathed out. Feeling the dread come over him.

"DRACO!"

His voice, his loud cry, rose above the magic that surrounded his friend. And Nott felt he could move forward. With great effort, but he could. Determined to take advantage of the fact that the trench around his friend had loosened, without even thinking about it, he threw himself to his knees in front of him. He wrapped his arms tightly around him. Pressing his hands against his back until his fingers twitched in pain. Until it surely hurt. He felt his robes crumple under his grip. His musculature tense beneath his clothes. His hard shoulder blades were against his fingertips. He buried his face in his friend's shoulder. Panting against his clothes.

The creaking stopped.

Nott gritted his teeth, holding back the tightness in his throat. He clung to him as tightly as he could and placed his hand on the back of his neck, so he could pull his head in. Draco didn't resist and allowed his forehead to rest against his friend's collarbone. Maybe he needed it, or maybe he didn't have the strength to push him away. Nott didn't know. He could tell that his eyes were still covered by a hand.

Everything had stopped. The magic had stopped.

Draco didn't hug him back, but he had calmed down. Nott could tell. He noticed him let go of the post, dropping his arm to his side, limp. But that didn't make Nott loosen his grip. He held him close with all his strength, until he ran out of it. He was afraid to move, as if it might make the boy upset again. But he ended up sliding a tentative hand down his back. In an attempt to comfort him. With no idea what to do.

A quick knock on the closed door nearly gave Nott a heart attack. He raised his head, staring at the doorway. Draco held his forehead against his shoulder, not moving.

"Draco, are you in there?" asked a voice from outside. It was Pansy.

Nott took a breath, assessing what to do. He hadn't loosened his arms around Draco. And Draco was still motionless against him. The room looked like a battlefield. Maybe it had been.

"He's in the bathroom," Theodore answered loudly, turning his face away from his friend's ear. His tone sounded steadier than he had expected. "I'm getting dressed. What's wrong?"

"McGonagall is looking for him," the girl said, sounding muffled behind the wood of the door. But she sounded overwhelmed. "She says she wants to see him immediately. It seems important. She's furious."

Nott could barely contain an exhalation as he felt Draco shift in his embrace. He was straightening his body, pulling away from him. Nott let him go instantly, dropping his arms. Draco pulled away the hand that covered his expression. His face was a hieratic mask. Nott could have sworn he was crying silently against his shoulder, but his skin was completely dry. He watched as he took a few seconds to take a deep breath. Staring at the floor. He stood, with considerable ease. He wasn't shaking. Nott watched him from the floor, paralysed. He saw his pointed face twitch. And then Draco gave his best sly sneer, smile included, staring at the far end of the room. Practising.

Without a word, with that expression stamped on his features, Draco strode steadily towards the door. His shoes crunched against the thousands of broken glass pieces that littered the floor. He opened the door. Pansy was on the other side, looking distressed.

"Is McGonagall looking for me?" Draco asked in a nonchalant tone, blocking the doorway. He sounded as casual as ever. "What for?"

"I don't know," the girl admitted, looking up at him with a tiny, apologetic smile. "But it seems serious..."

Draco sighed theatrically, taking a step out and closing the door almost completely behind him.

"Shit, that means I've been caught. I threw some crap in Weasley's face a while ago. I think I fucked up," he said, not giving it a second thought. He let out a contemptuous chuckle. "But the team will have my back... You should have seen the Weasel's face," he sneered, starting down the stairs to the Common Room, preceding his friend. With an elegant, self-assured gait. As if he had nothing to fear. Pansy smiled admiringly and followed him at a jog.

Nott had a chance to hear his words from inside the dormitory. He was thankful that his friend had left the door half-closed, for he still couldn't stand up. He was still kneeling on the carpet at the foot of Draco's bed, just as he had left him. Struggling to breathe. In the middle of a shattered room.

Sobbing through his teeth, he pulled the sleeve of his robes over his face. Wiping away the tears. Mixed with some blood. He wondered how Draco had managed to pretend like that. How he had been able to recover like that. It was necessary for him to do so, to maintain his cover, but it seemed almost inhuman to force himself like this. He was much stronger than Nott had ever considered.

He took out his wand, waving it in different directions to tidy up the mess in the room. Leaving it as if nothing had happened. He walked over to the newly repaired mirror and finished wiping the glass and blood from his face. He looked at his sunken eyes. Red. Wet. He took a deep breath as hard as he could. He washed his face with water in the bathroom, removing all traces of tears, and walked steadily out of the room after his friend.

---

"At least you're not going to get scars, are you?" Ginny asked, sitting cross-legged on one of the Hospital beds. She was staring at her older brother, lying on the bed next to her. Ron shook his head.

"No, no scars."

"No scars on your face either? Or your neck? That's where the pus hit you directly," Harry insisted, lying on his side on his friend's bed on top of the sheets. He craned his neck to look closely at his face. There were several bandages covering part of his freckled face, especially his chin. And a thin bandage around his throat. The skin in those areas still looked reddened.

"Neither, apparently," Ron reported resignedly, shrugging his shoulders. "Most of the boils are gone, but the skin is irritated. It's like I've got blisters already burst all over." He grinned at Harry's exaggerated grimace of mock disgust. "Pomfrey says the skin will be sore for a few more days and then it will subside as new skin forms. My neck will take the longest to heal. I have to give myself that ointment," he pointed to a small bottle on the bedside table, "all over my body, morning and night, until it's all gone. If I still have any discomfort in a week, she'll give me a stronger ointment."

"And did she give you anything for the pain, or just the potion?"

"Yes, just the potion I took before," he corroborated. "She'll give me several vials when I get out of here."

The red-haired boy grimaced as he carefully scratched his stomach over his white pyjamas and the thick bandages they knew surrounded his torso. They also covered part of his arms, visible under the short sleeves of his pyjamas, and his thighs, hidden under the sheets. Harry, once reassured that his friend was out of danger, had joked amiably with him that he bore a serious resemblance to a mummy.

Still, hours after the incident with Draco Malfoy, the young Potter was still livid.

"I can't believe Dumbledore hasn't done anything about it," he muttered again, in a huff. He was staring at the white sheet, scratching at it with an angry finger. "I didn't expect it from him. I intend... I intend to speak to him as soon as I can."

"He has taken action on the matter," Ginny corrected once more, her eyes fixed on the window on the opposite wall. The sun was setting and it would soon be dark. The Hospital Wing, empty except for them, was tinged with a warm orange colour that was just about the only thing that could temper the boys' spirits. "He's expelled Malfoy."

Harry snorted loudly in disbelief. Again he was upset when the subject was brought up.

"Expelled? Come on! At that —"

He was interrupted by the sound of stomping heels. Professor McGonagall left Madam Pomfrey's office with an agitated gait. Harry jumped to his feet, green eyes sparkling. But she fixed her piercing gaze on Ron.

"Are you feeling better, Mr Weasley?" she questioned, kindly.

"I'll feel better when I can kick Malfoy's arse, Professor," the boy commented, arching his eyebrows. The woman sighed discreetly, pursing her lips, adding more wrinkles to her features, but said nothing. Harry didn't give her a chance either, though, unable to contain himself any longer.

"Professor," he burst out, exalted. The woman flicked her eyes in his direction. "This can't stay like this. Malfoy can't get away with this."

"Mr Malfoy has been expelled, as I informed you earlier," Minerva said, unperturbed. Though her shoulders were abnormally stiff.

"Not from school," Harry protested, his voice rising. "You can't call that expulsion! He's still in the bloody castle, just banned from classes until the end of term, and kicked off the Quidditch team... What a punishment! If that git hardly shows up for any lessons anyway..."

"Mr Potter —" the woman admonished him sternly. But he ignored her.

"It was more of a reward than a punishment, as if he'd been given a holiday..."

"Mr Potter," she interrupted again, her tone harsher. The boy was forced to mute, gasping. "Professor Dumbledore did what he thought was right. There were not enough witnesses to expel Mr Malfoy permanently. There were no witnesses to what happened, except for you and Mr Weasley."

"And his bloody minions!" Harry blurted out.

"And they all claim it was an accident," the woman reminded him, unperturbed. "It's their word against yours. In fact, the expulsion is for the illegal possession of undiluted Bubotuber pus, smuggled into the castle, on top of his countless punishments this year, not for the assault on Mr Weasley."

Harry raised his arms as if the whole thing looked ridiculous to him, and had to mute for air. Ginny, her jaw twitching, though more composed than he, spoke up.

"Professor, Harry was a direct witness that it was intentional. Shouldn't my brother's injuries be proof enough?" she was shocked, pointing a freckled hand at Ron.

"His rivalry with Mr Malfoy for seven years has not gone unnoticed," said McGonagall, glancing at them over her glasses. "And that appeals in both directions. It's plausible that Mr Malfoy did something like that to him, but it's also plausible that it was an accident and they're trying to frame him unfairly. As I say, there are not enough witnesses."

"And he can just show up for the N.E.W.T.s, like it's nothing?" Ginny added, getting angry.

"The N.E.W.T.s are considered to be Ministry of Magic exams, and therefore a non-school exam. So yes, he can still take them despite his expulsion, if he wants to."

Ginny exhaled angrily. Beginning to match Harry in indignation.

"My brother could have ended up seriously injured. And Malfoy will still be in the castle... Don't you think it's unfair, Professor?"

"Professor Dumbledore has made his decision. What I think is irrelevant," McGonagall replied, her mouth twitching. Which indicated that she was not satisfied with that detail. Taking advantage of the rabid silence that had taken over the Hospital, she turned her face to look at the bed Ginny was occupying as a guest. Her voice softened. "How are you feeling, Miss Granger?"

Harry, Ron and Ginny also looked at their silent friend. She was dressed in her school uniform, her back propped up against the pillows and covered with the sheet. She seemed curiously serene, oblivious to everything. Distant from everything around her.

The young woman slowly raised her gaze, hitherto fixed on the wrinkles in her sheets, to look at her teacher. When their eyes met, Hermione was fully aware of the kind of concern she saw in them. As if she knew that Hermione definitely could not be well. She was studying her uneasily, with a mute question that only she would understand floating in her eyes. Hermione knew what was going through her mind. The woman thought she understood what it meant to her that Malfoy had attacked Ron. She knew what was between Draco and her. Or, at least, she thought she did. But, unfortunately, Professor McGonagall couldn't know the current reality.

Hermione's voice was crystal clear as she broke the silence.

"I feel better, Professor, thank you," she said, still looking into her eyes. Minerva held her gaze for a moment longer, as if she expected to see something more concrete in her brown eyes. As if she was trying to guess what Hermione was thinking of doing about Draco Malfoy. Trying to see if she really was all right. But the woman ended up nodding. Discreet. Prudent. She shifted her gaze back to Ron.

"Rest, both of you," McGonagall said. "I'll check on you again in the morning, Mr Weasley, to see your progress. Miss Granger, you can also spend the night in the Hospital if you wish. Poppy told me she leaves it up to you. I'm going to... talk to Albus again," she added, and the angry tone that came through, as well as the Headmaster's first name, told the boys that the woman was on their team. And she was going to fight for justice.

After a slight nod of her head in farewell, Minerva walked away with a brisk, hurried gait. The youths looked at each other, making similar grimaces of annoyance.

"He stays in the castle," Harry muttered. "That vermin stays in the castle..."

"You heard McGonagall, that's all Dumbledore could do," Ginny insisted more sparingly, trying to relax him and herself. "Evidently, his cronies aren't going to speak out against him. They've all agreed to say it was an accident..."

"An accident," Harry repeated, between his teeth. "This could have ended very badly, Ron could be very seriously injured right now. I would have definitely expelled him, or thrown him headfirst into the lake..." he added more quietly, exhausted from all the fury.

"I'll save that privilege for when they let me out of here," Ron interjected, smiling wistfully. "I prefer him to stay here. That ferret won't get away from me..."

Ginny sighed with resignation at her friend and brother's bloodlust, which she too shared, even if she was trying to deal with it. She looked back at Hermione, sitting next to her.

"Are you staying the night, Hermione?" she asked softly, reaching out a hand and grabbing her friend's wrist. Harry and Ron stopped planning cruel and just revenge and looked at her as well, grimacing in identical fondness.

Hermione blinked and shook her head slowly. Looking down at the sheets.

"No, I'll go to the dormitory. I feel better already." Despite her words, her tone was still abnormally calm. As if she might break down if she raised her voice any higher or spoke any faster. She raised her eyes suddenly, looking at Ron, "Unless you want me to keep you company," she said suddenly, more firmly, as if she'd just thought of it. Ron gave a wistful half-smile.

"No, don't worry about it. These beds are crap. You'll sleep and rest better in your bedroom."

Hermione pursed her lips and looked down again. Ginny scrutinised her with her lively eyes.

"You have better colour than before," she conceded softly, trying to cheer her up.

"I don't know if it's better or worse, but at least you've got colour now," Harry corrected, smiling affably. "Just before you fainted you were as white as wax, I've never seen you so pale. You gave Justin and me quite a scare..."

Hermione turned her face slowly to look at him. Her expression was still as calm. She didn't look happy. Nor sad. Nor angry. She just stood there. Stoic. Controlled.

"Did I?" she questioned, in a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Harry shrugged, not giving it any more thought.

"Don't worry about it. We've all had a fright, it would have happened to anyone... By the way, you ran off," Harry commented then, frowning. "Justin and I asked you, but it was just before you fainted and you didn't answer us. Where did you go? For a moment I thought you'd gone to look for Malfoy..."

Hermione blinked.

"I did go looking for Malfoy."

"What?!" Harry blurted, straightening up until he was sitting down. Ron and Ginny both tensed as well. "Are you mad? On your own? But — what? And — and you found him?"

Harry sounded furious. He was filled with rage at his friend's recklessness. Ron and Ginny held their breath. The silence was dense for a few seconds. Hermione's head shook to either side.

"No. I couldn't find him anywhere. So I went back to look for you. I ran for a long time. That's probably why my blood pressure dropped. I was furious and... I wanted to face him. But I didn't."

Harry took a calmer breath. He exchanged a frustrated glance with Ron. Ginny didn't take her eyes off Hermione.

"It was reckless. He could have attacked you as well," Harry protested again, his voice filled with resentment. Hermione didn't flinch.

"I was carrying my wand. And I was prepared for that possibility," she said. Her voice was louder than the entire conversation. "He wouldn't catch me by surprise like he did you."

Harry shook his head, still angry, as if she exasperated him. Ginny shot him a warning look, telling him to stop banging on about it.

"Well, let bygones be bygones. There was no harm done. What happened to your uniform?" the red-haired girl questioned more gently, wanting to change the subject. She fingered the neckline of her friend's shirt, which was missing a button. Hermione didn't look at it.

"I tore it," she replied in the same slow tone, not in the least perturbed. "I was overwhelmed, I was hot, I pulled on it too much, and I tore it."

"Oh, I'll sew it on for you, if you like," offered Ginny, solicitously. "I think I have some spare buttons in my dormitory." Hermione murmured a thank you, giving a tight smile. The young Weasley pursed her lips and brought her hand up to her friend's face. "But you're still very cold, Hermione," she whispered, "and I don't entirely like the colour of your face either."

"Madam Pomfrey said it's normal after such a sudden drop in blood pressure," Ron commented, stretching painfully to get some water from the jug on his bedside table. "It's normal for her to feel weak and a bit dizzy for a while."

Ginny didn't say anything or take her eyes off her silent friend. At her insistent gaze, Hermione looked at her in return. Her body was straight, upright, the same as ever, but her eyes looked curiously distant, and her expression subdued.

"I'm fine," Hermione assured them, stretching her tired lips into a slightly more real smile. "I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me."

I'm fine.

---

The hubbub in the Great Hall could be heard even from the Entrance Hall. Dozens of people were walking up and down the hall, leaving with full stomachs or going to join the four huge tables. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff seventh years had just come out of Herbology, and were eager to recharge their batteries before their two hours of Charms and Transfiguration, respectively, that afternoon.

Neville was making his way into the Great Hall, explaining to Ernie in detail how he had managed to obtain the Horseradish roots during the previous class. Harry and Hermione, next to them, listened with intermittent attention. Hermione already knew the procedure, and had managed to obtain the roots with the same success as Neville. Harry seemed to be, quite simply, on cloud nine. Unusually taciturn. And Hermione could guess why without difficulty.

Ron had been in the Hospital for almost two days. Although he was out of danger, his absence weighed heavily on their daily lives. Their visits to the Hospital, and their concern, had delayed both friends' investigations into the supposed creature that was using Legilimency on Harry. Making them feel useless and unproductive, something neither of them was coping with particularly well.

"I get it, Neville, you're my saviour," Ernie sighed, rubbing his temples as the boy finished his explanation. "I'll write it down later. Herbology is getting complicated for me. I don't know why I need that N.E.W.T. to work in the Department of International Magical Co-operation... I thought people skills would be enough," he laughed mournfully and shook his head. "Anyway, see you tomorrow in Potions..."

"No problem, Ernie, I'll be in the Library later if you have any questions," Neville offered as the other boy walked away. He turned to Hermione and Harry, smiling sadly. "Poor thing. He's the same way I am with Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"He is," Hermione corroborated, smiling in kind as they walked towards their table. "He loves the idea of working in foreign policy, and we all know Ernie's a good talker," she joked, making Neville chuckle, "but the required subjects aren't his strong suit..."

Neville nodded heavily.

"How is Ron?" he questioned then, as he sat down next to the girl on the bench. "You've been to see him before, haven't you? If you go after class, I'll come with you..."

Hermione gave a tight smile and nodded. She looked across the table to the other side of the table, looking for Harry to include him in the question.

"Yes, we've been there before, and he's —" she interrupted herself, waiting. But something didn't fit. She searched harder. She looked carefully at the table on the other side of where they were sitting. And then the path they had walked. "And Harry?"

Neville mimicked her, looking around.

"I don't — I don't know," he stammered, standing up without leaving the bench, to look further. "He was with us at the doorway. I thought he was going around the other side of the table to sit across from us."

"So did I. Where — ?" Hermione began in a whisper, her head turning in all directions. Her heart in her ears. Something moving quickly caught her attention. Two students were running to get out of the double doors. Two others were entering at that moment, but they were looking back towards the Entrance Hall and stopped at the doorstep. The people sitting closest to the doors began to move. To stand up. To move closer to the doorway. To whisper.

"What's going on out there?" Neville muttered, uneasily, noticing the commotion as well.

The whispering was getting louder and louder. For the first time, the word 'fight' was heard. And then again. And again. Hermione felt an iron ball slide down her oesophagus. She felt the gravity of the room being removed. She rose to her full feet, stepping off the bench.

"It can't be..."

She hurried through the gap between the tables, not waiting for Neville, who stepped more awkwardly from the bench, stumbling in his haste. She burst through the double doors and several shouts greeted her. There were quite a few people gathered in a circle, in the Entrance Hall, surrounding what had clearly been a just-controlled fight. Or more or less controlled. On one side was, as Hermione had feared, Harry. His hair was almost spiked, two buttons on his white shirt were broken, his green eyes were alight, and his glasses were lying on the floor. And his lip was split. He was on his knees on the floor, struggling with all his might from the precarious grip Dean and Lavender had on him. Trying to get to his feet, to crawl forward. To throw himself at Draco Malfoy again, two metres away from him.

He too was lying on the floor, sitting up, leaning on his hands. As if he had just sat up from lying down. Theodore Nott was kneeling beside him, panting, one protective arm stretched out in front of his torso. Draco just stared at Harry with a contorted face. Wheezing. Baring his teeth, stained with blood. He was bleeding from his mouth. And a small crimson trickle was also slipping from his split eyebrow. His robes hung off one shoulder and his shirt was outside his trousers.

"No," Hermione gasped, breathless. Without giving herself time to hesitate, she rushed towards Harry, kneeling in front of him in a skid. Just as the boy managed to shove Lavender away and threatened to escape from Dean. "Harry!" she shouted loudly, putting her hands on his chest, pushing him backwards. "Harry, stop it!"

"Let me go!" the boy roared, not even looking at her, fighting against her grip. His eyes were locked on Draco despite his short-sightedness, like a lion fixated on its prey. "I'm going to kill that bastard! I'm going to have him taken out of this castle, even if it's in a coffin! You're not getting away, Malfoy!"

"Harry, stop it!" Hermione shouted again, clenching her fists in his robes, in a tighter grip, and pushing him again. Dean had to wrap an arm around Harry's chest from behind, to stop himself from being thrown backwards. "You can't do this...!"

Hermione didn't hear any kind of reaction from behind her. She wasn't sure if Draco was also trying to break free from Nott's grip to attack Harry. She supposed he was. But she didn't see out of the corner of her eye any onlookers approaching to grab him like they were doing with Harry. Lavender didn't dare intervene again. Neville had stood a few paces away, close to Harry, but staring at Malfoy. With open spite.

The onlookers didn't seem to dare speak so as not to miss anything. Only a few were whispering things in each other's ears. No one intervened. Many looked frightened. Others seemed to understand; the rumour of what had happened to Ron Weasley had spread through the castle. And more and more people were joining in, only to see Harry Potter lose his temper with Draco Malfoy.

"Dean!" the voice of Seamus, as he had just come out of the Great Hall. Hermione heard him run up to them and saw him grab Harry's other arm, helping them. "Harry, mate, stop it!"

"Take his wand," Dean demanded, nodding at the boy's arm that he was trying to keep twisted behind his back.

"I don't need a wand, I'll smash him with my bare hands!" Harry shouted, now trying to free himself from Seamus's grip, who moved to hold his arm so that Dean could better surround his chest.

"Harry, stop," Hermione pleaded, more quietly. Feeling all eyes on them. "You'll get in trouble. Please, just —"

"Do something useful, Potter. Give my regards to Weasley, and tell him he owes me a vial of Bubotuber pus. It's not exactly cheap."

Hermione froze. Without finishing her sentence. Draco's haughty, powerful voice had been heard clearly above Harry's struggles and the whispers of the crowd. He sounded cool. Cocky. He didn't seem to be struggling. In fact, he hadn't moved at all that time. He was still sitting on the floor, with Nott at his side, still with his arm stretched out in front of him. The young blond had an almost satisfied expression on his face. As if he was delighted to see Harry lose his temper. As if he was daring him to touch him again.

The spectators fell silent. They held their breath. Harry froze for a moment. He bared his teeth and planted his foot on the floor to propel himself forward, trying to break free from his friends.

"I'm going to — !"

But he didn't get to do anything to him. He wasn't the only one who moved. Hermione, in front of him, made him stop in his attempt to free himself from them, in pure bewilderment, when she released him. To spin around on her knees. To stretch her arm out in front of her, wand in hand. Livid.

Draco's face turned abruptly to one side, his fringe following the swift movement. As if an invisible hand had slapped him. Everyone saw the scarlet flash.

Theodore inhaled, dropping his suspicious gaze from Harry and turning his face to scrutinise his friend. Eyes wide. Draco brought his face slowly back to the front. A thin crimson line ran across his cheek, where the spell had struck him. And a trickle of blood soon gushed from the deep cut. His satisfaction had vanished. Now he looked undaunted. Almost calculating. He fixed his grey eyes on Hermione, who was still kneeling with her wand raised, pointing it straight at his face. Staring into his eyes. Her thick hair almost seemed to sizzle. She was breathing deeply through her nose. Lips pursed. Her hand did not tremble.

They held each other's gaze for the first time since their meeting in the empty classroom on the first floor. Or at least they tried to, because the world around them wouldn't let them.

"Enough."

The new voice reverberated magically, almost terrifyingly, throughout the Entrance Hall. Albus Dumbledore, dressed in a shimmering indigo robe, stood in the middle of the double doors of the Great Hall. Tall, serious and imposing. All the students surrounding the melee moved aside, leaving him a direct line of sight to the culprits. McGonagall appeared immediately behind him. And so did Snape.

"What's going on here?" McGonagall stammered, stunned, approaching with an angry glare. Scanning the whole scene. Snape followed more slowly. His face serious and calculating. "This is shameful, release Mr Potter immediately..."

Hermione lowered her wand quickly as soon as she saw her teachers, but she was sure that both McGonagall and Snape had seen her clearly. Dean and Seamus were quick to release Harry, who didn't hesitate for a second before leaping to his feet.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry shouted before anyone else. He didn't even look at Neville as he reached for his glasses on the floor. "Professor, I can't accept this!" He pointed an accusing finger at Draco. "I can't bear to see Malfoy here after what he's done to Ron! It's not fair! Professor, you've got to —!"

"Shut up, Mr Potter," Snape hissed, coldly. He was approaching Draco, scrutinising him. "What has happened, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco lifted his chin. Making sure his bleeding eyebrow was in full view. He wiped the blood from his chin with his sleeve and stood up, wincing exaggeratedly.

"Potter attacked me from behind on my way to lunch, sir... He beat the hell out of me, as you can see," he said in a naive tone. Theodore, still at his side, rose to his feet without a word.

"Are there any corroborating witnesses — ?" Minerva began, adamant, as if to give the students present an opportunity to speak. But it was not necessary.

"And I'd do it again, you scoundrel, just like you attacked Ron...!" Harry yelled, taking a step forward. Dean grabbed him by the robes again. McGonagall tensed her shoulders and looked at the boy disapprovingly. Considering that a fairly reliable confession.

"Please go to the Great Hall or whatever class you should be in," she gestured sternly in the direction of the crowd. Seeing that many were hesitating, she added, "That's not a suggestion. There's nothing else to see here."

"Was it just Potter?" Snape then questioned, still looking at Draco, as the crowd began to move away. Confirming that he had clearly caught Hermione's wand raised in his direction as they arrived. The boy fixed his eyes on him. He gave a dry, silent nod. Not wanting the witnesses who were leaving to hear him cover up for Hermione Granger. Snape added nothing more, but his eyes roamed over the clean cut of his cheek.

"You are grounded, Mr Potter," McGonagall said firmly. Her gaze was fixed on Hermione. And on her wand still dangling from her hand. "Thirty points from Gryffindor, and you are to come with me to my office immediately."

"I don't care!" Harry exclaimed angrily. "I'd do it again, because that's what this bastard deserves. He's not going to get away with it while —"

"May I be allowed to handle the punishment, Minerva?" Snape requested, clasping his hands behind his back. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Given that Potter has cowardly attacked and continues to threaten a student of my House, I consider that —"

"He is a student of my House, and I will handle his punishment," McGonagall replied coolly. She pointed to the stairs. "Come with me, Mr Potter."

"What about Malfoy?" Harry shouted, taking another step forward. This time it was Seamus who grabbed him, just in case. "Didn't he — ?"

"Enough," Dumbledore repeated, then. Silencing the boy. His blue eyes glittered behind his spectacles. He was very serious. He hadn't moved, nor had he missed a word of the conversation. "I understand your distress at what happened to Mr Weasley, Harry, but I cannot allow anyone to take the law into their own hands in this castle. Not over my decisions. Mr Malfoy has already been punished for his actions."

"I disagree, sir!" Harry shouted, clenching his fists.

"Come with me, Mr Potter," Minerva repeated, impassively. She turned her face slightly to look at Draco, "And you go to the Hospital immediately, Mr Malfoy."

Harry, after wheezing for a few seconds, agreed to follow the teacher with determined strides. Without a last glance at Hermione or any of his classmates. Almost all the spectators were already on their way to the Great Hall.

Nott, motionless in his position next to Draco, watched as Granger walked into the Great Hall, following Thomas, Finnigan and Longbottom. And the rest of the crowd. Without looking in their direction. And then he saw Daphne running towards him, pushing through the crowd of people entering the Great Hall talking about what had happened. He felt Draco, next to him, spitting blood on the floor. But, by the time he looked at him, he had already started to walk away as well. Towards the Marble Staircase. Nott hadn't caught a glimpse of his face.

"Draco, I'll walk you to the —" he muttered, taking a step forward and putting a hand on his arm. Draco released himself with such a violent gesture that Nott was startled. He didn't try to touch him again. He just watched him walk away. Then he felt nervous hands grabbing at the front of his robes, drawing his attention. Daphne had reached for him. And she looked frightened.

"Are you all right?" gasped the girl, her green eyes wide. She cupped his face in both hands and scrutinised it inch by inch. "What happened, did they do something to you?"

Surely she would have seen the blood on the floor. Nott shook his head, a slight tremor at one corner of his mouth. He caressed her wrists with his hands and turned his face, looking for Draco again. He was walking up the stairs. A few people moved aside as he passed. Some looked at him with resentment. Others with admiration. And all with fear.

"Potter attacked Draco," Nott said quietly. "Because of the Weasley thing."

Daphne needed no further context. She followed his gaze, watching Draco as well. A glint of helplessness settled in her eyes. She released Nott's face, and let her hands rest on his forearms.

"I can't blame him," Daphne muttered, discouraged. "Potter. Draco was out of line with Weasley. How he failed to see that it was unconscionable is beyond me."

Nott was slow to reply. He kept staring at Draco's back until he lost sight of him on the upper floor.

"I know."

"You're worried about him, aren't you?"

He glanced at Daphne. Her attentive expression. Solicitous. Offering her help. Or comfort, if he needed it. He didn't know what to say to reassure her. There was no need, either. He knew she was seeing it all in his eyes.

"Very much."

She nodded, with a fragile smile. In understanding. She reached up to kiss him briefly on the lips, then rested her cheek against his chest, wrapping her hands around his back. Theodore pressed her against him with his forearm. He closed his eyes and let his face fall until his mouth rested on the top of her blonde hair.

Treasuring every moment with her.