"Hermione?"
Hermione looked up from her books to see Harry, looking anxious. She blinked.
"Harry," she greeted. "You're not often in the library on a Sunday."
"I'm not. I need to talk to you about something."
Harry looked serious, all traces of amusement gone from his face.
"Am I to understand that here is not a safe place to discuss such matters…?" Hermione asked delicately.
Harry gave her a short nod, and Hermione put her books away in her bag, stashing away her quills.
"Lead the way," she said, gesturing, and Harry led them out of the library.
To her surprise, instead of taking her to an empty classroom or to the Gryffindor common room, he led her outside, down to Hagrid's pumpkin patch. As they drew near, she could see other figures there as well – one standing patiently, and one trying to balance on a pumpkin without crushing it.
"Neville," Hermione said pleasantly, offering him a nod. Her eyes turned to the other, her nose wrinkling at the strong smell of polish he carried. "Ron."
"Hermione," Neville said with a smile. "Good to see you here."
"Alright, Harry," Ron said. "You've got us all here. Now – what's going on?"
Looking around first, Harry haltingly began to tell them what had happened at his detention the previous night – helping Lockhart answer his fan mail for hours, addressing the envelopes and adding the signed photos, before a chilling voice came through.
"It said what?" Neville said, gasping.
Harry cleared his throat and tried again, pitching his voice to be breathy, cold, and venomous.
"Come… Come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…"
He cleared his throat again, looking back to them all. "Like that."
"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" Ron said, frowning. "D'you think he was lying?"
"He seemed genuinely surprised," Harry said.
"I don't get it," Ron said. "Even someone invisible would have had to open the door."
Neville looked unsure. "Hearing voices isn't a good thing, Harry. Are you sure you weren't just half asleep?"
Harry looked insulted. "Yes, I'm sure!"
"Okay, okay!" Neville said, quickly backing down.
Harry turned to Hermione, frowning. "What do you think, Hermione?"
Hermione was drumming her fingers along her lip, contemplating.
"If we accept that there was an external voice that you heard and Lockhart did not, then you must possess some hearing ability that he does not, or he lacks some hearing ability the rest of us have," Hermione mused. "Unless the voice was in your head. I don't know if telepathy is a thing the wizarding world has, but I wouldn't be surprised."
"Tele-what?" Ron wanted to know.
"You mean, like mind reading?" Harry asked.
"More like 'mind-speaking', but essentially yes," Hermione clarified. "It might be possible that someone spoke to you directly, projecting their words into your head."
Harry's eyes were wide.
"I don't like that," he said. "I don't want people in my head!"
Hermione shrugged. "Then we'll have to find a way to keep them out."
"I think it's more likely that Lockhart just wasn't paying attention," Ron said, scoffing. "It's not like that git pays much attention to anything beyond himself."
It wasn't often that Hermione found herself agreeing with Ron entirely.
Sunday night found Hermione sitting in the Slytherin common room quietly, next to the window peering into the depths of the lake, practicing meditation.
Meditation seemed very similar to Occlumency techniques, and Hermione was determined that if she could just exist without thinking, in a calm, meditative state, it would help her learn to shield her thoughts.
Not that she understood how to exist without thinking. The very idea felt like anathema.
But Hermione was willing to try.
The drifting bits of seaweed she could see and the shadows of creatures further away helped her mind somewhat, if she focused on just perceiving, not analyzing. She kept feeling like she was half falling asleep, and she didn't know if that meant she was doing it correctly, or if she should be trying to do this earlier in the day.
"Hermione?"
Her concentration broken, Hermione covered her mouth and yawned widely, before turning to see Draco, holding a folded piece of parchment.
"Yes, Draco?" she asked, blinking up at him.
Draco sank into a chair next to her.
"I got them," he told her.
Hermione blinked.
"Got what?" she asked.
Draco glanced around the room.
"You know," he said quietly. "The components."
Hermione abruptly felt wide awake.
"Already?" she hissed. "I only told you yesterday."
"You said we needed everything by Tuesday," Draco shot back. "Or we'd have to wait two weeks."
"I was expecting it to take a couple weeks," Hermione said. "To get all that so quickly-"
"Well, I got it. Look."
Draco thrust the parchment in his hands at her, and Hermione took it, eyes working to make out the fancy handwriting.
Draco,
I am torn. I would tell you that you are too young to be practicing ritual magic, only that's not true – you successfully did The Fallen Foe the year prior, and students used to learn rituals in classes at your age not all that many centuries ago. Ritual magic is dangerous, son, and I urge you to use caution. That being said, a ritual that can successfully shield your mind, especially from the Headmaster, is worth the minimal risk you would undertake.
The bag is charmed with a feather-light spell; once dispelled, it carries eight pounds of powdered silver. I trust that will be sufficient for your needs.
The silvered mirror is your mother's. She would be most distressed if it were to break.
The seax is your aunt's. I believe the blade is silver, though the handle is carved obsidian. Should you continue this path, the set of her ritual knives also includes an athame and a boline.
The fire seeds are in oil. They are very volatile and strong. Do not set your robes aflame.
The liquid silver is in the silver cauldron you requested. A strong containment charm has been laid over the opening to protect you from its fumes. Be careful, Draco – liquid silver is not something to toy with lightly.
I advise you and your friend to be careful. This does not sound like a dangerous ritual – I suspect the worst outcome you will have if it does not go successfully is a headache – but these components are dangerous. A few are also restricted. I advise you not to be caught with them.
They were also expensive components. Do not put them to waste.
In return, if this ritual is successful, I would like a copy of it in exchange for providing you with your components.
Yours,
Lucius Malfoy
Hermione looked up from the letter at Draco, who was vibrating slightly next to her.
"It seems a reasonable request," Draco said, his voice even, "to give him a copy of the ritual in exchange."
He was doing a very good job keeping the note of anxiety out of his voice, Hermione noticed, but she could see it flickering in his eyes.
"Is it?" she mused. "To help the man that hurts you?"
"It's not like that. And he helped us," Draco argued. "There's no way we would have been able to get all this otherwise."
"Still," Hermione said. "I wonder what your father would want to hide…"
Draco looked uneasy, and Hermione sighed.
"This is fine," she conceded. "If the ritual is successful, I will give you a copy to send to your father. You can add any notes you feel necessary in your letter to him."
Immediately, Draco's countenance relaxed, and his confident posture returned to him.
"So, Tuesday night?" he questioned. "Where at?"
"The top of the Astronomy tower," Hermione said. "After class is over. The moon will be clearest up there, and it's less likely for us to be caught."
Draco frowned. "We'll be out after midnight."
"There's no later curfew for students in Astronomy," Hermione said, shrugging. "If we say we were working later on our homework, how can a teacher object, when we're supposed to be out late?"
Draco looked uneasy, and Hermione sighed.
"Where do you want to do it?" she offered. "If you know of another place instead…"
Draco's eyes gleamed.
"As it so happens, I do."
He stood, tucking the letter away in his robes, and offered Hermione a hand.
"Come with me?"
Hermione remained in her chair a long moment, looking at Draco's hand, before finally taking it, allowing him to tug her to her feet. Doing so put them very close together, and Draco's eyes were wide before he took a step back, looking away from her. His face was flustered.
"Let's go." His tone was even, but only just. Hermione wondered if he was that unused to having his personal space invaded. Did he never receive hugs? She imagined a stuck-up family like the Malfoys might not be big on physical affection. It was somewhat tragic to consider, Hermione mused. She couldn't imagine how lonely growing up would have been without her parents' hugs.
Draco led her down a corridor of the dungeons, then around a turn, past Snape's office, then around a turn again. They stopped in front of a long stretch of wall.
"Here."
Draco reached out to touch one of the stones in the wall. The stones glowed slightly, and Draco tapped out a quick pattern on them, and they silently moved aside, revealing a dark tunnel.
"Just like at Diagon Alley," Hermione breathed. She looked at Draco. "Why is this here? How did you know of this?"
Draco's eyes flashed. "Let's not get into that."
Hermione considered.
A secret way in and out of the castle, in the depths of the dungeon, that Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, somehow knew about…
"Yes," she said finally. "Let's not."
Draco smiled faintly.
"This leads up to one of the areas behind the castle, at the base," he told her. "It's a good area to remain unseen – it's shielded by shrubs." He paused. "Should we still do the ritual after Astronomy? Or before?"
Hermione considered.
"Before," she said decisively. "Not only is there less chance of getting into trouble, but we'll also be more awake and have more of our magical strength about us."
"Then… I'll meet you here on Tuesday at nine?" Draco asked, hesitant.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"You'll approach me in the common room, like you would for anything mundane," she told him. "Just have the ritual components in your bag instead of your school books. Okay?"
Draco made a face.
"That doesn't feel very appropriate," he said. "Just going up to you like this was any old thing."
"We're already casting an untested ritual," Hermione told him, incredulous, "and you're upset that there's not more drama to it all?"
Draco's pale skin flushed pink, and Hermione snickered.
"Fine," she conceded. "We'll compromise – meet me in the common room, but bring the ritual components how your father packaged them. Everyone who sees us leave together will wonder what we're up to with a pure silver cauldron so late at night." She tilted her head. "Will that satisfy your need to be dramatic?"
"I don't have a need to be dramatic!" Draco objected, but his cheeks blushed an even brighter red, and Hermione laughed.
"Oh Draco, you do," she said, amused. She reached up and cupped one of his blushing cheeks, the skin hot against her hand. "Everyone in Slytherin knows it. Just acknowledge it and move on."
She could hear his breath catch in his throat, and Draco wouldn't meet her eyes. Hermione laughed and backed off, pulling her hand away. He seemed genuinely embarrassed.
"It's almost curfew," she told him. "I'll just go back now, and you can come back right before curfew to make a scene."
"I do not need to make a scene-!"
Hermione laughed as Draco followed her down the corridor, objecting. Hermione rolled her eyes and retorted, and they bickered happily all the way back to the common room.
Really, though. If Draco Malfoy wasn't a Drama Queen, the term held no meaning at all.