"Now, Harry, regarding poor Cedric Diggory, you've made some very inflammatory claims. Can you clarify, for the record, what exactly happened that led to his tragic death?"
Harry cast Hermione a pained glance. She offered a little smile in return and tried to stop fidgeting under the table.
"Well, I told you we touched the portkey — the cup — at the same time?" Rita scribbled fiercely. "So, he came with me, to the graveyard…"
Hermione swallowed, eyes flicking between Harry and Rita Skeeter and the generally dim atmosphere of the Hog's Head. He seemed to be mostly alright, all things considered, though she could see the pain quietly festering behind his eyes.
"Hermione, this is mad."
"This is the only opportunity you might have to get your side of the story out there!"
"Yeah, but Rita Skeeter?"
He'd still seemed sceptical even as he walked through the door, searching for Skeeter's platinum head.
"Two boys… Triwizard Champions in their own right… alone and afraid…"
"Right. Er — well, Cedric was never supposed to have come." Harry swallowed. "It was only meant to be me. So they — they killed — murdered him. They murdered him. Killing Curse."
"How unbelievably tragic… One of Hogwarts' finest, and so young… Whom exactly do you mean by 'they', Harry?"
Merlin, if this blew up in their faces, Harry would never forgive her. He was already in bad shape; he didn't need more public humiliation. Or retaliation from Umbridge for trying to get his story out —!
"She'll just write whatever she wants, Hermione. You know this. Remember last year?"
"Don't worry; I've got… an insurance policy."
Harry had eyed her then.
"Just trust me, alright? She's going to print the truth. She doesn't have a choice."
Harry had frowned and done the squinty thing he did when he thought hard. "Fine. When is this happening?"
Sometimes she thought she didn't deserve his friendship. For all his paranoia, Harry Potter was incredibly loyal.
But this would work! If the public would just listen, they'd see he was telling the truth, and then Umbridge and the Ministry wouldn't be able to keep up their campaign of deception.
"Claiming to have seen Death Eaters is a very serious accusation, Harry. Do you have names?"
"Yes. I didn't recognise all of them, but Lucius Malfoy was there —"
"Lucius Malfoy!"
"— and someone called Macnair, Avery, Crabbe…"
By the time Rita declared she'd exhausted her questions, Hermione had nearly completely unravelled the end of her scarf. Harry stood from the table, looking both fired up and incredibly wrung out.
"Er, thank you for your time, Ms Skeeter. I guess."
"Not at all, Harry. You're always such a pleasure to interview." Her demeanour cooled significantly as she turned to Hermione. "I'll have the article sent to the editor by the end of the week."
"No, you'll send it to me first and I'll send it to Mr Lovegood."
Rita blustered. "This is censorship!"
"Well, if you'd rather not, I'm sure the Ministry would be very interested to learn —"
"Fine." Rita's glare could have chilled fire.
Hermione answered it with an Umbridge-esque sweet smile. "Happy Valentine's Day, Rita!" And she seized Harry by the arm and dragged him outside.
Harry let out a rush of air as they set out for the castle. "Do I want to know what that was about?" he asked.
Hermione looped her arm through his elbow and watched the other students meandering down the damp High Street. "Probably not."
"I won't ask, then."
Hermione halted. "Oh! I completely forgot — how was your date with Cho?"
Harry blanched a little and tugged her further down the street. "Would you keep your voice down, please?"
"Fine. But how did it go? Did you —"
"It was… not great."
Her heart sank. "What happened? Is she alright? Do you think I should ask her if —"
"No! Please, Hermione, don't. Actually, you may want to avoid her for a little bit…"
"Why? What do I have to do with any of this?"
"I, er, may have accidentally suggested that I like you."
"Harry!"
"Well I didn't mean to, did I? You just came up in conversation and she took it all the wrong way!"
Hermione laughed, properly laughed. It seemed literally nothing could go right lately. Slytherin perspective. Ha! She may be (almost) as sneaky as Draco Malfoy, but she knew he'd never be able to do this, to feel joy with friends and make fun of tragically failed romantic endeavours.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Harry."
Her merriment faded as the week went on, full of Umbridge's derisions and unpleasant weather. Harry remained restless and morose. Neither she nor Ron could do much to cheer him, so Hermione devoted most of her energy to schoolwork and brewing and tried to convince herself that if she were patient enough, everything would sort itself out.
Her strategy didn't seem to be working, she thought as she twirled her quill between her fingers. Harry and Ron were rarely early to class, but they weren't often late, and certainly not this late, not at this time of day.
Reassured that Professor Binns was too busy lecturing to notice her, Hermione eyed the door. Eight minutes. Were they skiving off? Why would they skip History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, of all things?
Just then, the door softly opened, and Harry and Ron shuffled in. Heads turned at their conspicuous entrance, but Binns kept on speaking as though hadn't noticed them at all. In fact, he probably hadn't.
The boys dropped into their seats beside her with scowls on their red faces.
"What happened?" she whispered, bracing herself for a development about Umbridge.
Harry's hissed, "Malfoy," was not what she expected.
"Caught us in the corridor coming back from lunch," explained Ron. "Think he used a Tripping Jinx or something."
"Yeah, then he called me a — never mind, just forget it."
"Did anyone see? You don't have more detention, do you?"
"No." Harry placed his inkpot on the desk with a little more force than was necessary. "Just drop it, yeah?"
"But you have to admit it's strange, Harry! Malfoy hasn't bothered you in weeks. Why would he start now?"
Ron and Harry both gave her baffled looks. "What are you on about?" asked Harry. "If anything, lately Malfoy's just been worse than usual."
"But the last time I saw him go after you must've been months ago!"
"Yeah, well just because he never does it when you're around doesn't mean he leaves us alone," retorted Ron sourly.
"Shh!"
The three of them sent apologetic looks to the scowling Hufflepuff behind them and promptly shut up.
The rest of the period passed in dull monotony and Hermione struggled to focus on the lesson instead of carefully reviewing all of her public interactions with Malfoy. When had he stopped taunting her? Why? Come to think of it, when was the last time he'd harassed her at all?
Maybe he'd grown tired of it, since he bullied her so much in their private brewing sessions. With that nearly every evening, he might have simply run out of energy to taunt her in the corridors. But he'd been almost civil for several weeks now. Could he have just... forgotten?
The insatiable need to know stirred restlessly in her brain for days and, heart thumping with curiosity, she brazenly bumped his shoulder on the way out of Defence Against the Dark Arts one day. She held her breath, waiting for the cry of "Oi! Mudblood!" or a rude hex —
She got nothing. Absolutely no sign of acknowledgement at all, except for a flash of eye contact and a barely-there nod of his head.
She stormed away, suppressing a groan and the urge to pull her hair out. What's wrong with him? Hermione didn't like changes she couldn't understand.
As they brewed together later that evening, just the two of them, she observed him with subtle glances. His expression was calm and focused; the usual lines from sneers and scowls all smoothed out. As he finished adding the first batch of scurvy grass, his posture relaxed, and Hermione noticed he pressed and then un-pressed his lips. A nervous tick, perhaps?
He was a creature she'd never encountered before.
"Hey Granger," he wondered whilst wiping off a knife, "what in Merlin's blasted name is a telly, anyway?"
"Oh — well, er, it's sort of like a photograph, I suppose..." Hermione felt a blush prickle her cheeks as she studiously looked away from him. She didn't want to think of what he would say if he'd caught her staring. Except who knew, really, if this new Malfoy would say anything at all?
"But Muggles can't do that."
"What do you mean?"
"Muggle pictures and paintings don't move or talk, since they don't have magic. Now you're telling me they do?"
"Well, they're different things. A photo is still, yes; it only records a moment in time. A video records sound and image over a period of time, anywhere from a few seconds to several hours."
Draco mulled this over as he prepared the next batch of scurvy grass. "And why is this such a big deal again? It seems like you lot who were raised by Muggles are constantly whining about missing it."
"Well, I don't miss it as much as some people do. But it's a big part of the way Muggles consume media. News, art... It's an important part of family life, too. It's expected that friends and families spend time watching telly together." Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure what the magical equivalent of it would be, actually. Culturally. It's not like wizarding families sit around and read novels aloud for fun." She looked up. "Or do you?"
He shrugged and carefully added the next bit of scurvy grass. Hermione peered into the cauldron, monitoring its absorption into the thick potion.
"Telly sounds odd," declared Draco.
The white petals of the scurvy grass flowers slowly became deep purple as their stems dissolved into the potion, darkening it a few shades more.
Hermione tried unsuccessfully to swallow another yawn. Usually, she was quite good at getting up in the mornings, but the combined stressors of Umbridge and Voldemort and late-night brewing had begun to take a serious toll on her energy levels. Nearly everyone had already left for breakfast by the time she blearily made her way to the common room, and she found herself walking to the Great Hall alone.
"Not so good a mornin', eh, lass?" called one of the portraits. "Aye, cheers to the lad who stole yer sleep!"
That's not very appropriate for a school, thought Hermione as the staircase arrived at the landing. I hope he wouldn't say that to a first year! Honestly, can't Dumbledore screen these paintings, or enforce some guidelines? It's unacceptable.
I'm surprised there isn't an Educational Decree banning them from talking yet.
Maybe that'll be the next one…
Hermione paused just outside the Great Hall. The normal ruckus of the morning was absent, replaced instead by a low hum of whispered murmurs. Curious now, Hermione entered and made her way to the Gryffindor table. The tension in the air hung heavily against the grey sky. At all four tables, students whispered to each other and stole glances in Harry's direction and the Slytherins; even the staff seemed on edge. Umbridge appeared ready to crush her teacup.
Hermione found Ron chewing toast and Harry looking serious. "What's going on?"
Harry nodded to her place setting.
There, on her plate, sat a copy of The Quibbler.