Hermione woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains, piercing her eyes in a way that made her groan softly. Her head throbbed as if she had been smacked by a rogue Bludger, and the vague recollection of firewhiskey danced around the edges of her consciousness, bringing with it a wave of panic. She pushed herself up in bed, clutching her temples, her thoughts racing. The letter—she had written Draco a letter.
Hermione's eyes widened as the details started coming back to her. "I'll marry you." She could almost hear herself saying it in her tipsy, overconfident voice, every word dripping with bravado. A cold dread settled in her chest. She needed to leave Grimmauld Place and get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible, but she also knew she would need to face Draco—and face whatever her impulsive actions had set into motion.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, cursing under her breath at the dizziness that followed. Her clothes from the night before were piled messily on the chair across the room, and she padded over to them, trying to pull herself together. Today, she needed to be collected, focused, and preferably sober. The train back to Hogwarts would leave in a couple of hours, and with it, the unavoidable confrontation that she wasn't ready for.
Downstairs, Hermione found Harry in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea. He looked up as she entered, a sympathetic smile already forming on his lips. "Rough night?"
Hermione groaned as she sat across from him. "You could say that. I think I made a mistake—several, actually." She looked down at her hands, her fingers fidgeting. "Harry, I think I might have really messed things up with Draco. I sent him a letter."
Harry raised an eyebrow, his eyes searching her face. "What kind of letter?"
"The 'I'll marry you' kind of letter," Hermione admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry blinked, then set his tea down, a look of disbelief on his face before he broke into a small smile. "You know, as far as impulsive decisions go, that one's pretty dramatic."
Hermione groaned again. "It's not funny, Harry. What am I supposed to do now?"
Harry reached across the table, his hand resting over hers. "Hey, it's going to be alright. If there's one thing I know, it's that you're capable of figuring out whatever mess you find yourself in." He squeezed her hand gently. "And as for the Ministry, we'll find a way to change things. It won't be easy, but we have time, and we have each other. You've got me, and Ron, and even Ginny. And who knows—maybe Draco, too."
Hermione smiled faintly. "Thanks, Harry." She took a deep breath, feeling a bit more grounded. "I need to get to the platform soon."
Harry nodded. "Then you'd better go. And remember, whatever happens, you're not alone."
The platform was bustling, with students and families sharing their goodbyes and final words of advice. Hermione moved through the crowd with her head held high, though inside she was filled with unease. The Hogwarts Express stood ahead, steaming quietly, and Hermione spotted Ginny at the far end, chatting animatedly with Luna.
But before she could make her way to them, Hermione saw Draco—leaning against a pillar, his eyes searching until they locked onto her. He straightened, pushing away from the post, and walked toward her purposefully.
"Granger," he said, his voice almost too soft to hear over the bustle. He looked at her with those grey eyes, his expression somewhere between concern and something unreadable. "You look awful."
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness, and then sighed, nodding. "I deserve that," she said, her voice tinged with resignation.
Draco studied her for a moment longer, then pulled a small vial from his coat pocket. "Hangover potion," he said simply, holding it out to her. "Trust me, you need it."
She stared at the vial for a moment, then took it gratefully. "Thanks," she muttered, uncorking it and downing the contents. The bitterness coated her tongue, but she could already feel her head clearing, the pounding easing away.
She handed the empty vial back to him, avoiding his gaze. "Did you... get my letter?"
Draco's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "I did," he said, and Hermione's stomach dropped. "But, it got a bit… confusing towards the end." He paused, watching her reaction. "I couldn't make out the second half—the writing was, well, let's say, almost as messy as your decision to drink with Potter."
Hermione felt a rush of relief so strong that she almost stumbled. The latter part of the letter, the worst of it—he hadn't been able to read it. She laughed, a short and nervous sound. "It was… ill-advised," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "I'm sorry."
Draco shrugged, his gaze softening slightly. "Just… don't do that to yourself again," he said. Then, almost hesitantly, he reached out and brushed a stray curl away from her face, his fingers lingering near her temple for just a moment. His touch was gentle, and Hermione felt her breath catch, a warmth spreading through her chest.
He slipped his hands into his coat pockets, then added, "We should get on the train. Come on."
She nodded, following him as they moved toward the train, feeling lighter than she had that morning, but still unsettled. There were so many emotions, so many unspoken words lingering between them—but for now, they were unspoken, and she could pretend that was enough.
The return to Hogwarts was comforting in a way Hermione hadn't expected. The familiar scent of old wood, ink, and the crisp winter air was grounding. But even back in the castle, a sense of restlessness gnawed at her. Her proposal to the Ministry had failed, she had embarrassed herself with Draco, and despite her attempts to influence change, she felt like nothing had truly shifted.
By the end of her first day back, Hermione found herself at the seventh-floor corridor, standing in front of the blank wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. She paced three times, her thoughts a whirlwind. She needed a way to change the system, a way to make a difference that would truly last, beyond the rejection and red tape of the Ministry.
"I need a solution—a way to change things for the better," she whispered as she walked.
The door to the Room of Requirement appeared, its dark wood imposing yet inviting. Hermione took a deep breath and stepped inside, her breath catching at what she found.
The room was simple, quiet—almost meditative. A massive armchair sat in the center, plush and worn, the kind that swallowed you whole when you sat in it. In front of the chair, resting on a pedestal, was a single book. It was ancient, its cover cracked and faded, but emblazoned with a seal she instantly recognized—Godric Gryffindor's.
Hermione stepped closer, her fingers brushing over the seal reverently. The weight of the book, even unopened, seemed immense. This was it—the Room had given her something important, something beyond any textbook or lesson she had come across before.
She carefully pulled the book open, her eyes scanning the first few pages. They were written in an old script, filled with detailed diagrams, spells, and theories. Hermione realized that this book wasn't just about magic—it was about leadership, blood magic, and the fundamental differences between purebloods and Muggle-borns. Her eyes widened as she came across the term "Mudblood," used in a clinical, almost detached way. The word shocked her, seeing it in such an academic context, a stark reminder of the prejudices that had permeated wizarding history.
She lowered herself into the armchair, the book heavy in her lap. The pages whispered with promise as she turned them slowly, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, a spark of hope flared to life inside her. Here was something concrete, something powerful—a path forward that she could take on her own terms.
The Room had given her exactly what she needed: a reminder that sometimes, real change came not from systems and institutions, but from those brave enough to defy them.
The familiar scent of old books, parchment, and faint potions hung heavily in the headmaster's office. Hermione stood before the grand, dark oak desk, her gaze unwavering as she looked at Snape. He leaned back in his chair, his expression a mask of vague disdain, but Hermione had learned over the past few months that there was more behind the sharp lines of his face.
"So," Snape drawled, steepling his fingers, his dark eyes fixed on her, "you thought the Ministry would simply throw open their doors and let you change everything with a smile and a proposal?" His tone was biting, laced with a sarcastic edge that made Hermione bristle, despite knowing what to expect.
She crossed her arms, her chin tilting up defiantly. "I thought they might listen to reason. They didn't even consider the merits of the proposal. It was rejected outright."
Snape let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Miss Granger, reason has never been a defining characteristic of our esteemed Ministry. Expecting efficiency or progress from that lot is akin to expecting a Flobberworm to sprout wings." He paused, his gaze becoming more piercing. "If you are truly serious about change, you will need to do more than write letters and deliver speeches. You'll need something they can't ignore."
Hermione's eyes flashed, her temper rising. "You think I don't know that?" she snapped, her voice taut with frustration. "You think I want to be here, having to consider becoming some kind of guerrilla revolutionary just to ensure students like me have an equal chance to the Dracos of the world? I shouldn't have to fight this hard for what should already be a right, not a privilege!"
Snape raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Ah, there it is," he said softly, his tone both mocking and encouraging. "The fire. Do not pretend you ever expected this to be easy, Miss Granger. You knew precisely what you were up against from the beginning."
Hermione took a step forward, her fists clenching at her sides. "That doesn't make it fair! Why should we have to tear everything down just to make a place for ourselves? Why should I have to risk everything while people like you stand there and watch, throwing out criticisms instead of helping?"
Snape's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. "Do you think I do not help, Miss Granger? Do you think standing here, running this school under the scrutiny of those very same Ministry fools, is anything but exhausting? I know what it means to fight for change, to risk everything." He stepped closer, the tension between them thick and electric. "I bait you, Miss Granger, because I see in you the potential for true change. But make no mistake—change is not handed to you. It must be taken, often violently, from those who guard it jealously."
Hermione glared at him, her chest heaving. "You're saying I need to be ruthless. That I need to be willing to do whatever it takes."
Snape nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Precisely. If you wish to make a difference, you must be prepared to do what others will not. To tread paths they fear."
He stood, moving around the desk until he was leaning against its edge, only a few feet from her now. The air between them seemed to thicken, and for a fleeting moment, Hermione was acutely aware of the tension that had always simmered beneath their interactions. But Snape merely smirked, breaking the moment with a flick of his gaze.
"Perhaps you are finally learning that true change isn't granted by those in power—it is taken, forced, sometimes even stolen," he murmured. His voice had softened, and Hermione found herself holding her breath. Then he straightened, his aloof demeanor slipping back into place. "Now, if that will be all, Miss Granger, I have a school to run."
Hermione turned to leave, pausing for a moment at the door. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn't sure what she was thanking him for—his encouragement, his honesty, or maybe just the fact that, in his own way, he believed she could make a difference.
Snape's gaze softened just a fraction, his voice a low murmur as she opened the door. "Do not let them diminish your resolve, Miss Granger." It was almost an admission of something deeper, but Hermione didn't allow herself to dwell on it. She left the office, her heart pounding, feeling both the sting of his words and the embers of determination reigniting within her.
Hermione found her usual seat in the library, her mind racing in a way that prevented her from concentrating on any of the open books scattered across the table. The Gryffindor book from the Room of Requirement was hidden at the bottom of her bag—too important and too dangerous to be studied openly.
She looked up as she felt someone approach, and there was Draco, looking at her with a gentle intensity. He slid into the seat beside her, not across from her, and reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers.
"Hey," he said quietly, his voice carrying warmth that made her heart ease, just a little. "You've been off all day. What's going on?"
Hermione sighed, leaning into his touch. "I'm just… feeling like nothing I do is enough. The Ministry, the proposal—everything's falling apart."
Draco moved closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side. He rested his chin lightly on top of her head. "You're enough, Hermione. Whatever happens with the Ministry, whatever setbacks there are—you are enough. And you will make a difference."
Hermione closed her eyes, leaning into him. For a moment, the weight on her shoulders felt a little lighter. "Thanks, Draco," she whispered.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there for a moment. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's go somewhere we won't be bothered. You need a break."
She nodded, letting him guide her up from the table. They made their way to their version of the Room of Requirement—a cozy space with a large, cushioned bed and a small desk with just enough room for Hermione's books and papers. It appeared as soon as they reached the seventh-floor corridor, and Draco led her inside.
"You study," Draco said, gesturing towards the desk. "I'll be right here if you need anything." He gave her a reassuring smile before settling himself on the bed, leaning back against the pillows.
Hermione smiled faintly, her heart warmed by his support. She set her bag on the desk, pulling out the Gryffindor book. She flipped through the pages, her eyes falling once more on the section titled Blood Magic and Societal Reformation.
The spell was dark, far darker than anything she'd allowed herself to consider before. It promised to enforce equality by forcibly binding magical families across bloodlines, through marriage or alliance. The requirements were steep—heirlooms from seven pureblood lines, items steeped in history and power. Hermione traced her fingers over the looping script, her heart pounding.
Could she do this? Could she really pursue something so dangerous, so... manipulative? The term Mudblood stared back at her from the page, a reminder of why she was even considering such drastic action. The world needed to change. She needed to change it.
Hermione glanced over at Draco, who had dozed off on the bed, his face softened in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away. Her heart clenched at the thought of what he would say if he knew—if he knew she was even considering delving into this level of blood magic. Would he understand, or would he see her differently?
She closed the book softly, making a decision. She wouldn't tell Draco—not yet. She needed to see if this was even possible before burdening him with something so dangerous, something that could put them both at risk.
For now, this was her burden to bear, her secret to keep.
The next day, Hermione found Draco in the courtyard, leaning against one of the stone benches, his gaze distant as he watched the winter sky. She approached him, her heart pounding. He looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her serious expression.
"Granger," he said, straightening. "What's going on? You look... determined."
Hermione smiled slightly, shaking her head. "Not everything has to be that serious, you know," she teased lightly, and he rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips.
She moved to sit next to him, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold. "I was thinking about your home," she said, glancing at him. "Malfoy Manor must be full of history. It's strange, really, how little I know about the wizarding houses—especially the old ones."
Draco raised an eyebrow, watching her curiously. "You're interested in wizarding houses now?"
Hermione nodded. "I suppose... it's part of understanding everything, isn't it? How things came to be, how power is distributed. I mean, the Manor—it's been in your family for generations, right?"
Draco seemed to relax a little, nodding. "Yes, it's been in the family for centuries. Most of what's there has been passed down for ages—heirlooms, books, artifacts." He gave her a searching look. "Why this sudden interest?"
Hermione shrugged, trying to keep her tone light. "I just think it's fascinating—how history is carried forward like that. Do you... do you have anything here at Hogwarts? Something from the Manor?"
Draco frowned slightly, as if considering whether to answer. "There are a few things," he said slowly. "Mother insisted I bring some protections—small heirlooms that have been enchanted to offer some level of security. Nothing major. Why do you ask?"
Hermione quickly diverted the conversation. "Just curious. I think there's something poetic about it—carrying your family's history with you, even here." She paused, then added, "I wish I had something like that."
Draco looked at her, his expression softening. "You do, though, don't you? Your family... your parents must have things that are meaningful."
Hermione hesitated, her heart twisting painfully. She hadn't told Draco about her parents—the truth about their memories, about Australia. She forced a smile, shaking her head. "They do, but... it's complicated. We're not exactly a family of heirlooms."
Draco studied her, his gaze searching her face, but he didn't push. Instead, he reached out, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. "You have your own history, Hermione. And one day, you'll create your own legacy."
Hermione smiled, the warmth of his words easing some of the ache in her chest. "Thanks, Draco," she said quietly. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and for a moment, they simply sat there, watching the winter sky together.
But even as they sat in silence, Hermione's mind was whirring. She had what she needed—Draco had brought heirlooms with him to Hogwarts. It was possible. Now she just needed to figure out if she could really go through with it.
The Great Hall was quieter than usual, the bustle of dinner having died down as most students had retired for the night. Hermione, Ginny, and Luna had found a corner of the long Gryffindor table, their plates pushed aside to make room for parchment, books, and empty mugs.
Ginny leaned in, her elbows on the table, her eyes full of curiosity. "You seem distracted lately, Hermione," she said, her voice a mix of concern and warmth. "Is it the Ministry stuff still getting to you?"
Hermione sighed, looking at the parchment in front of her, but not really seeing it. "Yes, I suppose," she admitted. "It's more than just the Ministry, though. I feel like... like everything I'm trying is futile. The more I push, the more they push back. It's like they're afraid of real change, of losing their grip on the world."
Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile. "That's because they are. They're comfortable with the status quo, and any threat to that scares them. But you—you're not someone who's easily deterred. I think that scares them even more."
Hermione nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe. But it's exhausting, Ginny. Sometimes I wonder if it's even worth it—if there's a point to fighting so hard when everything just feels impossible."
Luna, who had been quietly listening, tilted her head, her dreamy eyes focusing on Hermione. "You're right about one thing, Hermione," she said softly, her voice ethereal. "Change is always complicated. People fear it because they don't know what it will bring. It's like opening a door to a place you've never been. You don't know what you'll find, and sometimes, you can't close the door once it's open."
Ginny frowned, looking between Luna and Hermione. "Are you saying Hermione shouldn't try to change things?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
Luna smiled, her gaze faraway for a moment before focusing back on Hermione. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all. Hermione, I think you should keep fighting. But just be careful. Sometimes the changes we make come with unintended consequences—things we can't always predict."
Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. The words struck her in a way she couldn't quite explain. Luna's insight, though strange, always seemed to pierce right through to the core of things. She thought of the spell she had found, the one that promised forced equality, but at a cost she wasn't sure she understood yet.
Ginny reached across the table, giving Hermione's hand a squeeze. "You've always known what's right, Hermione. And whatever it is you're thinking about, I'm sure you'll figure out the right way to do it."
Hermione forced a smile, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision that lay ahead. She squeezed Ginny's hand back, grateful for her friends but unable to shake the unease settling in her chest.
Luna's gaze was still on her, an almost knowing look in her eyes. "Sometimes the best way to change the world is by planting a seed, not by uprooting everything all at once," she said gently.
Hermione nodded, her mind churning. The room around her seemed to grow quieter, as though the echoes of Luna's words lingered long after they were spoken. She had something powerful in her hands, something that could shake the foundations of wizarding society—but Luna's warning haunted her. What price would they all have to pay if she chose the wrong path?
For now, Hermione kept her thoughts to herself, a smile plastered on her face as Ginny changed the subject to Quidditch, and Luna launched into a tale about Nargles and misplaced earrings. But in her heart, the debate raged on—was she truly prepared to use blood magic to force the change she sought, and could she live with the consequences if she did?