Hello, everyone! 😊

How are you? Here I am with a new story written in English. This one is a translation of my own fanfic "Rosa y Espada", already finished in Spanish and posted on this site as well as on Ao3 and Wattpad. I have decided to translate my own story just to practise my English, and to have fun. I've tried to do my best. Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors, idioms etc. I am still learning. Any suggestions and corrections are welcome! 😊

I started writing this in 2011 (almost twelve years ago!). My purpose was to write a real Dramione story, as real as I could. I wanted to exploit their feelings as much as possible, to find a way as realistic as possible to create a story of forbidden love between them. I wanted it to be believable. I have no idea if I have succeeded, you tell me ha ha ha... Grab some snacks, because it's going to be a long, long one 😂

They've always been my favourite couple in the Harry Potter universe, and I hope I've done them justice. But there's not just going to be love in this story. It will also be about friendship, and war. There will be adventure, magical creatures and mystery, and, I hope, a lot of things to surprise you. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

A couple of specific clarifications, before you start reading:

―This is set in a hypothetical seventh year at Hogwarts.

―The events of the last two books (sixth and seventh) have never taken place. Neither, therefore, has anything to do with "Harry Potter and the Cursed Child". The only detail from the sixth book that appears in my story is that Slughorn is the Potions teacher, and Snape is the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Basically, because I needed a DADA teacher ha ha ha.

―The seven Horcruxes don't exist, so Voldemort is perfectly mortal.

I'll make a few more clarifications at the end of the story, to avoid any possible spoilers about the plot 😊 What I've been inspired by for certain scenes, and things like that.

Disclaimer: almost all the characters, and almost all the places, belong to J. K. Rowling, they are not of my invention.

And, without further ado, welcome to the story…


CHAPTER 1

Professor Bathsheba Babbling

October had been unusually cold this year. The leaf fall was more than accelerated, and the freezing blizzard made the windowpanes of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shiver. The howling wind could be heard in the absolutely silent corridors, but it was more difficult in the classrooms, crowded with noisy students in the middle of their lessons. However, in Ancient Runes class, in Room 6B on the sixth floor of the castle, you wouldn't have heard anything from outside even if the Whomping Willow had hit the window with a right hook.

"Pass it! Here, here! PASS IT!"

"To me! To me!"

"No, pass it to him!"

"It's falling, it's falling...!"

Hermione Granger closed her eyes and clutched the book open on her desk with both hands. She was using all her willpower to try and ignore the fact that a large black bubble had been flying back and forth across the classroom for an hour, passing dangerously close to her head from time to time. An ink bubble, to be more precise. Her seventh-year classmates in Ancient Runes had created the bubble with a spell, and they had been having a scandalous time passing it to each other through the air with the help of their wands as they scampered around the classroom.

The young woman mentally counted to five, trying to control herself and not get carried away by the rage that was consuming her. She was going to burst from the pressure she was holding back. She felt her heart pounding heavily in her chest. And she felt her right eye on the verge of twitching. Her leg was already a basket case.

She decided to reread, for the fourth time, the paragraph of the book she had been trying to assimilate the whole class. Or, rather, the line.

'The Fwooper possesses the ability to vary in colour…'

"Here! Here!" her classmates kept shouting.

"Watch out!"

"Go, go…!"

'Its colour variations make its image… The Fwooper possesses the ability to vary in colour…'

"Pass it, pass it!"

"I'll take it! Pass it…!"

'The Fwooper possesses the ability to…'

"That's a good one! Now to me!"

"HERE!"

Hermione swallowed as best she could the rabid roar she needed to emit and looked up, unable to believe they were actually playing that stupid game. She saw the obvious as the ink bubble passed over her head, fortunately without touching her, and into the wand of one of her classmates, who immediately magically passed it to another. Hermione closed her eyes again for a moment, taking a deep breath, and returned her gaze to the book, though this time she didn't try to continue reading. She felt like she was wasting her time.

"It's maddening," Hermione thought, forlornly, dropping the book and holding her head with both hands. "How long is this going to go on? And it's all his fault… It's all his fault…" She turned her head, looking over her shoulder, and focused her gaze on a certain someone sitting at the back of the class. "Malfoy."

Indeed, Draco Malfoy had to be behind the girl's torture.

It had all started a week ago, when a notice had been posted on the bulletin boards of each House notifying them that the elderly Ancient Runes teacher, Bathsheba Babbling, had taken an indefinite leave of absence in order to recover from an alleged accident involving a few Snargaluff pods and a few nearly severed limbs. The announcement also stated that Professor Binns would be in charge of looking after the pupils in the class in Babbling's absence, while they were busy with the numerous homework assignments that the mutilated teacher had left them to do so that they would not fall behind in the subject. But it had turned out to be a disaster.

Binns did absolutely nothing.

Hermione, with a sigh, returned her gaze to the front and fixed it on the professor's desk, where their ghost History of Magic teacher was working on his own homework, exams and papers to correct, not paying the slightest attention to the students he was supposed to be supervising. He seemed oblivious to the fact that his students were closer to behaving like monkeys than human beings. Hermione had more than once seriously considered the possibility that their teacher was deaf, or blind, or both. It was impossible for him not to hear the shouting, jumping and spells. They seemed to be in the middle of a Quidditch match, not a classroom.

Seeing that Binns was paying no more attention to them than to the windows or the chairs, Malfoy, cunning as a fox, hadn't hesitated to stir up the class and convince them all to do as they pleased. They were playing impromptu games like the Ink Bubble, Exploding Snap, Gobstones... Only Hermione, and a few girls and boys who had congregated in a corner, and who could be counted on the fingers of one hand, had stayed out of this sort of revelry. In fact, Hermione was the only student sitting at her desk, with her book open, trying to take in what was supposed to be on the syllabus if Babbling was there.

And, most surprising of all, was that no other teacher, not even the Headmaster, was aware of what was happening in that classroom.

Hermione, the first time they had decided to go on such a spree, had instantly rebelled. She had tried to use all the power of her role as Prefect to impose order but to no avail. Malfoy was also a Prefect, and, of course, he had taken a stand against her. If Hermione told him he was grounded, Draco told her she was too. If Hermione shouted a worse punishment at him, Draco devised a more terrible one. They both reached an impasse as they realised that they couldn't punish each other without it being ridiculous for one to punish the other; and, as a rule, they couldn't take House points away from another Prefect.

Hermione's hands were tied; those who were on Malfoy's side, and on the side of going on a spree, were in the majority, and they had an unscrupulous Prefect on their side, so if Hermione told, they would all deny it. It would be her word against another Prefect and a professor, since Binns didn't seem to be particularly against it. She wished fervently to tell Professor McGonagall, or someone in authority, what was happening, but she burned with shame at the thought. In her wild imagination, she could hear the Professor's voice in her head and imagine what she would say to her: that she was not fit for the position of Prefect, and that if she couldn't assert her authority, perhaps she should step down. And Hermione panicked just imagining it. The teacher in her imagination was right: she should be able to use her hierarchy to stop him. She couldn't just be letting Malfoy handle her. It was truly frustrating.

"Bloody idiot. I can't stop him, he has the same authority as me, and he knows it. I hate these things. Binns is the one who should be stopping them, not me. I shouldn't be burdened with this responsibility," Hermione grumbled inside her mind, turning her face again and looking at Malfoy. The blond was still chatting loudly with his mates, sitting on top of his desk with his feet up on his chair. "Damn, I could hex that demon and turn him into a Pygmy Puff in less than three seconds..." She pursed her lips as Malfoy did an odd imitation and their classmates burst out laughing. "What's going on here is a matter for the teachers, I can't make them stand still if Binns won't... Yes, I'm a Prefect, but by Merlin, they don't give a damn. Or what am I going to do, punish them all?" she mused, pragmatic, pinching her nose with her fingers.

She snorted and tried to continue reading, attempting to contain her frustration. But the screaming had reached such levels that she couldn't even hear her own thoughts. She seriously considered putting a Deafness Spell on herself. But before she could put it into practice, she was pushed forward against her book, yelling out in surprise. One of the boys had crashed into her in his attempt to catch the ink bubble. Hermione felt the flame from the bomb inside her reach the powder.

She jumped to her feet, slamming her hands on her desk.

"STOP IT, YOU BLOODY IDIOTS!" she exclaimed, beside herself.

There was silence in the classroom. The game stopped. All eyes were on her. Malfoy had stopped gesticulating and was now staring at her in total silence, his light eyes narrowed with dislike. The other youths at his side looked at her with patent disgust, derision or indifference, except for one boy who, if Hermione wasn't mistaken, was called Theodore Nott. He was looking at her. He simply was looking at her. Cautiously. She gave them all a furious, determined glare, gasping loudly in pure rage.

A shrill sound broke the silence. The bell had finally rung. At last, Hermione thought, she could be free of that stressful class for the day.

"WATCH OUT!" shouted a voice from inside the classroom.

Hermione heard the shout, followed by a loud splash, and instantly saw it all go black.


"... Slughorn's essay about Veritaserum, Sprout's about Sneezewort, two scrolls for Snape about vampires, practising the Doubling Charm for Flitwick... Ah! And reading chapters three and four of the A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration book for McGonagall..."

"Hey, Ron, how about instead of listing all the homework you have, over and over again, you start doing it all at once? You've only written two lines!" protested Harry, sitting in front of him, and speaking as loudly as Madam Pince, the stern librarian, would allow them to. He put down his own quill on top of his finished essay and picked up Ron's parchment. "And you've got it wrong! Veritaserum is with a V, not a B…"

"Really?" Ron wondered, scratching his chin with the quill. "Well, I've always spelt it with a B..."

"That explains why you got a 'D' on your last paper for Slughorn," Harry teased, shaking his head.

"It's still too much homework," his friend insisted, almost anxiously. "We're only two and a half months into the term!"

"Well, but we're already in the seventh year, and, at the end of the year, we have to take the N.E.W.T.s, right?" Harry remembered, skimming over his finished essay. "They're determined to prepare us as well as possible," he repeated the words that a stern Hermione had said to Ron more than once, every time he complained about the same thing.

"As far as I know, there's still almost seven months left," Ron protested, grumpily. "And, from the amount of homework they're sending us, it looks like they want us all to do a career as Ministers for Magic..."

Harry gave him an encouraging half-smile, accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders, and then set about gathering up his Potions belongings to take out his Herbology ones. He covered the inkwell, to avoid spilling it inadvertently, rolled up the essay and bent down to put it in the bag at his feet, propped against the legs of the table.

"Harry Potter," suddenly whispered a husky, stentorian, close voice.

Harry straightened up abruptly, so unluckily that he miscalculated and his head hit the edge of the table, causing him to see little lights. He stifled a groan and pressed on the bruised area with both hands. He raised his eyes, a little watery with pain, and saw Ron staring at him.

"Why did you call me that?" Harry wanted to know, looking at him expectantly. The place where he'd been hit throbbed painfully.

Ron blinked twice.

"What?" he replied, confused.

"What do you mean, what?"

"I mean… what."

"What?"

Ron let out a chuckle. He turned his face to look behind him and then returned his attention to his friend. Still smiling.

"Harry, are you talking to me?"

"Who else?" he exclaimed in a whisper. And Ron's smile faded as he saw that his friend looked annoyed. "What do you want?"

"What do I want about what?" Ron insisted in confusion.

"If you don't want anything, why are you calling me that?" Harry replied, beginning to get really irritated at his friend's behaviour.

"I didn't call you," Ron mumbled, exceptionally puzzled. He frowned. "No one called you. Are you all right?"

Harry blinked, now perplexed, and looked around. The Library was quite crowded, especially with fifth and seventh-year students. Most of them looked rather overwhelmed; some had their noses stuck in thick, battered copies, and others were strumming feverishly with quills. Neville stood out among them with the desperation on his round, worried face. They all seemed intent on their own business, and no one paid the slightest attention to them. They didn't even glance sideways at them.

He felt a nervous tingle on the back of his neck. Goose bumps rose on his arms. If it hadn't been Ron, then who had it been?

"You didn't hear anything?" he asked his friend, feeling a terrible suspicion. "You haven't heard my name?"

"No," the red-haired boy denied, also beginning to look uneasy. "Nothing at all. You didn't imagine it?"

"No... No, someone said my name just now. I heard it loud and clear," he replied firmly, feeling a slight twinge. He put a finger to his ear, inertia making him want to rub it. His heart was pounding out of rhythm. "My full name. And it was a weird... voice. Like... hoarse."

"I haven't heard anything like that, I can assure you," Ron murmured now, growing increasingly worried. Harry looked down.

"I'm not sure any more, but maybe I heard it inside my — my head."

Ron's blue eyes widened instantly.

"Harry, you don't think that —" he lowered his voice even further, and his friend almost had to read his lips, "— You-Know-Who has got into your mind again, has he? Was that his voice?"

"No," Harry denied, so confidently that he was surprised himself. "No. His voice is different. And besides, the scar doesn't bother me at all," he rubbed it absently. "It definitely wasn't Voldemort," he ignored Ron's shudder and looked around again, still uneasy.

"Look, calm down, you might have imagined it," Ron repeated, forcing a friendly smile. "It happens to me sometimes, it's normal. I think we are already paranoid. Too many scary things we've been through."

Harry tried to smile back, but he felt his heart bounce inside his ribcage.

"Yeah, that's true. You're right, that's silly. That'll be it," he agreed, closing his books just so he could stop staring into his eyes.

"And, hey, don't say anything to Hermione," Ron advised grimly, arching an eyebrow. "You know how she is about these things. She'll kick you into Dumbledore's office."

"I know. Don't worry, I won't tell her anything," Harry assured him, smirking.

Ron looked at him with some concern for a few seconds longer, but then his eyes widened as he saw something unusual over his friend's shoulder.

"What's wrong with her?" he exclaimed in a loud whisper.

Harry turned to look in the same direction as the red-haired boy, and, like him, was also startled to see Hermione walking down one of the aisles of the Library towards them, her face contorted in anger, stomping her feet, her eyes and thick hair sizzling. When she reached their side, she dropped her bag on the floor, causing a thud that shook both boys, and then threw herself onto the vacant seat next to Harry. It looked like she was about to burst into flames.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked gently, sensing that their friend was particularly susceptible. Indeed, though his question was soft, Hermione gave him a look that could cut through steel.

"What's happened to me? Oh, nothing at all! It's just that I'm surrounded by hooligans — no, by monkeys! By chimpanzees! Because those beings can't be described as people!" she mumbled hurriedly with sarcasm, blushing even more, and making a visible effort not to scream. A vein throbbed in her forehead. "They do what he orders them to do! What bloody pleasure can they find in going on these stupid binges and doing whatever they want? How can they be so childish?" she finished, wheezing, dead angry. Ron raised his hand weakly as if asking permission to speak in class.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but… you have an ink stain on your face. Black. Did you know that?" he mentioned cautiously, pointing at it. Hermione snorted and put her hand to her face, rubbing it furiously.

"I know perfectly well, and, if I didn't have a wand, I assure you I'd be all covered in ink. Because that's all those immature fools are good for — having fun and then making others pay the consequences... And all because of Malfoy; that pig, that stupid, piece of —"

"Malfoy?" Ron blurted out, suddenly indignant. He spoke too loudly, and someone at a nearby table hissed at him to shut him up. "Did he do something to you? What was it? Where is he?"

"Wait," Harry interrupted, wincing as if he'd seen the light. "I know what Hermione's talking about... You've just come from Ancient Runes class, haven't you?" he guessed, turning to the girl.

Hermione sighed deeply and nodded dejectedly. Ron opened his mouth, suddenly remembering.

"Ah, I know," the red-haired boy corroborated, proudly smacking the palm of one hand with the fist of the other. "This thing about your Runes teacher being away, Binns looking after you, and your classmates have turned the whole thing upside down because, of course, it's Binns," he finished as if it were obvious.

"And Malfoy's behind it all, isn't he?" Harry added, wary and intrigued.

"He's the one who tells them what to do and they all obey him. They're idiots," Hermione muttered, wringing her hands. She sighed again, almost an unhinged growl. "I'd love to stand up to him. Stop him somehow. But he's a Prefect, too, I can't use my position to intimidate him. I've tried, but he won't listen to me. Neither he nor the others. I can't forbid them to have fun if Binns won't do it. And I don't want to get into any more trouble, he's making our lives miserable enough as it is," she folded her arms, trying to breathe more slowly. She was almost talking to herself. "If I tell the teachers, it'll make things worse. Malfoy's cronies will deny everything and I'll look like a liar. Besides, Binns is supposed to be looking out for us. It's my word against a teacher's!"

"Do you want us to help you?" Harry offered immediately. "Together, the three of us will come up with something."

"We can kill Malfoy," Ron suggested cheerfully. "Or torture him," he corrected, seeing the look the other two gave him. "It doesn't matter, the point is to make him suffer."

Hermione sighed, exhausted, and shook her head, shaking her thick brown hair.

"Don't worry, guys, it's fine. It'll work itself out. It's not that bad, apart from doing whatever they want, and accidentally dropping an ink bubble on me, they haven't done anything else. They're not hurting anyone either," she drummed her fingers on the table. "It's just very annoying. Hopefully, it will be sorted out in a few days. May Professor Babbling return soon."

"If Malfoy is involved, it's bound to be annoying," Harry opined gloomily.

Ron nodded fervently and added:

"That bloke's like a Billywig in the arse."


The corridors of the castle were pleasantly lit by the rays of the autumn sun. Outside, it was bitterly cold, but, inside the school, the temperature was quite pleasant. Most of the students had opted to spend the half-hour break wandering the corridors or in the Library getting ahead with their work.

"So, the 14th century Witch Burning is not included in the exam?" Ron insisted, rummaging through the dozens of parchments in his hands as they headed down a corridor on the first floor, towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, on the third floor.

"What about the new spells from the first half of the 15th century?" Harry asked in turn, also visibly stressed.

"No," Hermione denied, patiently. "But Goblin Rebellions in 17th century England does go in, and you've got it crossed out," she warned Ron, pointing to another of the parchments he was carrying. "That's very important."

"Are you telling me that I got up at five o'clock this morning to study for something that doesn't go into the exam, and I haven't even looked at the most important stuff?" the young Weasley despaired, looking down at his notes as if hoping to reduce the amount with his eyes.

The three friends went up a flight of stairs to cut their way through, though they didn't need to as they had plenty of time.

"In short, yes," Hermione corroborated, now losing her patience and exclaiming, "Didn't you look at the programme I left you? There it said everything that was included..."

"Do you think I am able to find something among so much paper?" Ron answered with another question, imitating her tone, and waving under her nose the parchments he was carrying.

"I suppose we'll have to spend our lunch hour studying Transfiguration," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders heavily.

"What a pity," sighed Ron, staring sadly into the void, "I won't be able to enjoy the roast beef as it deserves... Why did McGonagall put so much history in this year? And so many mid-term exams? Up until now, we've always had to study spells, spells and more spells... What's with all the history now? I got a Dreadful on my History of Magic O.W.L., blimey! I don't want more history!"

Harry laughed and patted his friend on the back, while Hermione shook her head in exasperation. Suddenly, they were interrupted:

"Hey, Harry, Ron!" a voice from behind them exclaimed.

The three of them turned to find Demelza Robins coming up beside them, panting.

"I was looking for you," said the plump girl. "You'll never guess what happened... It turns out that the Slytherin Quidditch team have taken away the pitch reservation we had made for this Saturday."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, startled.

"They have no right!" Ron snapped, getting furious, and waving his already rather crumpled notes in frustration once more.

"They have an authorisation signed by Snape," complained the girl, chagrined. "That's why they could."

Harry and Ron let out a string of expletives at their not impartial Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and began to talk to Demelza about their options for recovering the reserve they were entitled to. Hermione half-listened to the conversation. Not because she thought it was fair, far from it, but because she didn't live Quidditch as intensely as her friends did. And besides, it wasn't the first time it had happened; the Slytherins always managed to get them off the pitch, even when they had plenty of days off. They'd find a way to work it out, they always did.

Thanks to not being so deeply involved in the discussion, she was able to pick up the strange sounds, like rapid footsteps and alarmed voices, coming from an adjoining corridor. She turned around and caught sight of several people running towards the supposed source of the sounds, looking frightened and nervous. Hermione turned worriedly to look at her friends, but, seeing that they were still very busy, she assumed they wouldn't miss her for a few minutes and went off on her own to examine the source of the commotion.

She rounded the corner and saw that there was a small crowd gathered at the corridor windows, talking to each other and looking at something that seemed to alarm and confuse them.

"Shall we do something?" a young Ravenclaw girl was saying, looking worried.

"Are you mad?" a young man next to her, who seemed to be a friend of hers, reproached her. "Malfoy's involved. I'm not going to meddle in there..."

Hermione, puzzled, went over to one of the windows as well. The grounds were almost deserted except for the odd isolated student and a small group of people at one end of the lake. These people wore black and green robes, and one of the heads was blond and completely unmistakable.

Draco Malfoy was standing somewhat to one side and watched as his mates surrounded another person, dressed in black and red robes, who was flying on the edge of the lake. Flying, literally, without a broom. He was several feet off the ground and spinning like a top, in rhythm with the wands of those around him.

Hermione felt her soul drop to her feet. Before she could do more than open her mouth in shock, she felt long fingers wrap around her arm. She turned her face, startled, her heart skipping a beat, and found herself face to face with a breathless Theodore Nott.

"Draco and the others have caught Neville Longbottom," he blurted out, looking at her seriously. He was huffing as if he had been running, but his tone was perfectly calm. There was no contempt or disdain in his voice. "You have to help him."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, puzzled by the unprecedentedness of the situation. It was the first time this boy, from her own Slytherin year, had ever spoken to her.

"But — whose side are you on?" she said, frowning at him, deeply suspicious. She wasn't sure if that was the first question she should ask him, but it was the one that left her mouth. "What's this about? You're a friend of Malfoy's, I've seen you with him many times..."

"Draco is my friend, but I don't agree with what he's doing," Nott replied, just as coolly. He released the girl's arm, still staring at her. "And he doesn't listen to me. I think you're the only one who can stop him."


"He-help!" Neville tried to shout, choking mid-word, thanks to the fact that, with a flick of his wand, Goyle hung him upside down. The young man's robes slipped down his body due to gravity and wrapped around his face, preventing him from seeing anything. Crabbe laughed loudly.

"Stop whining, Longbottom, you're such a crybaby!"

"Watch this, it's going to be great," Warrington exclaimed. He waved his wand, and Neville's clothes began to shake as if they were full of mice inside. The boy screamed, watching as his robes wrapped around him as if he was in the middle of a terrible tornado.

The Slytherins around him burst out laughing.

"Throw him in the lake!" Zabini encouraged, amused.

Goyle obeyed, and with a flick of his wand, the young Gryffindor plunged into the water still wrapped in his robes, which swirled around him as if they were alive. Neville gasped in the water, struggling to stay afloat as Crabbe created a barrier with his wand, clumsy but effective enough to prevent him from getting out. Malfoy watched the scene a couple of paces behind, arms folded and glowing with satisfaction. It was obvious that he was the ringleader of the whole thing.

With another flick of the wand, they pulled the boy out of the water, who was once again floating in the air like a limp pile of clothes, now dripping. He coughed desperately, and his tears mingled with the water running down his dark hair.

"Leave Neville alone!" Harry yelled suddenly, appearing in the distance, running at full speed and brandishing his wand. Ron and Hermione came after him, also with their wands in their hands.

Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Warrington turned around and rushed to point their wands at them. Neville fell flat on the ground, wrapped in his soaked robes. The three Gryffindors did not hesitate to defend themselves and, after a brief battle of various incantations, disarm them with several skilled Expelliarmus.

Draco just watched the scene, not intervening in the sudden battle. In fact, he didn't even flinch. The snakes glared menacingly at the lions and hurled a repertoire of insults at them, but, being unarmed, they were unable to defend themselves. As Harry and Ron pointed their wands at them, Hermione rushed over to Neville.

"Neville!" Hermione gasped, kneeling down beside him and putting an arm around his back. "Neville, are you all right?"

The young man didn't answer. He had remained kneeling on the floor, scared to death, shivering from the cold and spitting up water as he sobbed. Hermione stared at him in anguish for a few seconds but then stood up, white as wax, shivering sharply and glaring at the person responsible for everything.

"Malfoy..." Hermione stammered, almost speechless.

Draco returned her a calm, almost ironic look. His arms were still crossed and he seemed to have no intention of defending himself or fighting them. In fact, he seemed genuinely relaxed.

"What's the matter, Granger, are you unwell?" the blond asked teasingly, still looking into her eyes. "You're shaking..."

There was a sound of hurried, close footsteps on the grass and Theodore Nott made an appearance. Few noticed his arrival, as Draco and Hermione were the focus of everyone's attention.

"I'm shaking with rage," Hermione replied, still livid. "Few people have ever managed to make me shake with rage."

"Really?" Draco pretended to be surprised, with a poorly disguised sneer, smirking contemptuously. "Wow, I didn't think I was that important to you. I'd blush, Granger, if you didn't disgust me so much."

"Draco..." Nott mumbled, moving to stand beside him, warning him in vain not to provoke her in such a way.

Something exploded inside Hermione. She felt as if the rage bubbling inside her suddenly reached boiling point and bubbled to the surface. She wasn't going to tolerate it. She wasn't going to tolerate a single more taunt from him, especially not after what he had just done. She advanced towards him with a twitching face, raised a hand and brought it full force against the Slytherin's face.

Draco's face turned abruptly as he felt Hermione's hand slap against it. Everyone present gasped in shock. The young woman, her breath hitching and the painful hand with which she had slapped him still outstretched, stared at an unmoving Malfoy as he reacted. It was already the second time she had hit that boy in her life. The first time, it was for listening to him cruelly mocking the hippogriff Buckbeak, and Hagrid as well. After hitting him, a stunned Draco had sped away, not even fighting back. But they weren't thirteen like they were at that time. And Hermione knew it. And so did Draco.

The boy slowly returned his face to the front, his gaze now burning with anger at her. Glowing with spite. He was no longer smiling. In fact, he ran his tongue along the corner of his lip, where it probably hurt. The girl didn't move back a millimetre. They both challenged each other with their eyes. Dared each other to take the next step. The air escaped hard through Draco's nose in a rabid snort, and then he took two steps towards her in one impulsive gesture.

And, though she didn't move, he didn't quite reach her.

"Draco, no!" Nott exclaimed, reacting and holding him by the arm at full speed. Pulling him back with all his might. "Have you gone mad?"

Harry, in turn, had also leapt in front of Hermione, arms outstretched as he saw Malfoy's intentions.

"Don't you lay a finger on her, you stinking cockroach!" Ron roared a few feet away, grabbing Neville by the arm, who was threatening to collapse at any moment, and pointing his wand at the Slytherins at the same time.

"Let's get out of here, Hermione," Harry gasped. He was seething with rage, but he tried to be coherent. He grabbed Hermione by the sleeve of her robes and tugged at her, all the while still giving the blond a murderous glare. "Let's go before I kill him. We have to take Neville with us."

But the girl didn't move from her spot or look away from the Slytherin. She was still glaring at Malfoy, who was still being held tightly by Nott, with hatred and a definite air of defiance. As if daring him to lay a hand on her. Draco wasn't taking his eyes off her either. He seemed to want to set her ablaze with the power of his gaze alone. His cheekbone was reddening.

"I will certainly inform the Headmaster of this immediately," Hermione said firmly, even though her voice was shaking with anger, ignoring Harry.

The Slytherins, with the exception of Malfoy and Nott, moved forward in anger, but Harry pointed his wand at them.

"Hermione, come on," the dark-haired boy insisted, fearing that the whole thing would get out of hand. He pulled the girl tighter, and she followed him back to the castle, stomping her feet, after giving the blond one last look of contempt.

The Slytherins watched them go, without moving, but with very similar grimaces of resentment on their faces.

"What a right hook!" Warrington was the first to speak, approaching Malfoy as the others picked up their wands from the floor, still indignant. "But why did you let them go? We weren't done with that Longbottom yet..."

"Because they're bloody snitches, and if we'd resisted, they'd have told the Headmaster," Malfoy explained impatiently, jerking out of Nott's grip without looking at him.

"But the Mudblood said she's going to tell him right now," Warrington replied, slightly confused, pointing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction the girl had gone.

"I know what she said. But I also know that she won't dare; or, rather, that coward Longbottom won't let her. He'll be afraid of reprisals..."

"But Granger isn't afraid of that," replied his friend, sceptically.

"No, she isn't," Malfoy admitted, eyes blazing. "Granger has a saviour complex..." He rubbed his sore cheek with an angry hand. That was the second time that Mudblood had hit him. "I'm not going to forgive her that easily. If she interferes in our business again, she won't get away with it. We'll make her regret it."

The others broke into smiles and exchanged evil glances. Nott merely looked down and snorted with hidden resignation.