The first days of summer moved past at a crawl. Without Harry and Ron and a constant stream of homework and classes, Hermione found her days oddly empty. She also realised how accustomed she had become to using magic in her daily routine when it was suddenly not an option.
On the whole, it gave her a lot of time to mull over the predicament of Draco Malfoy.
In the days since, Hermione began to wonder if her time-turner incident was an accident, or if it was something she was meant to see. And either way, what could she do with the information? Should she confide in Harry and Ron? There was some risk to that choice — they were likely to do something rash if Hermione couldn't explain the full picture, and she didn't even know the half of it yet.
Thankfully, she had some time to begin figuring things out. And at home, surrounded by her perfectly normal, exquisitely mundane world, the decisions she would need to make didn't seem nearly so urgent as they had in the torch-lit corridors of the castle.
The next few weeks were spent immersed in the texts of her favourite subjects or soaking up every ounce of sunshine she could manage. And later in the days, when her parents returned home from the office, Hermione enjoyed easy, peaceful evenings of playing games together, whipping up dinner, or simply relaxing for a spell with the telly.
One evening early into the holiday, they even made an evening of putting together something of a care package for Harry stuffed full of sugar-free snacks (his latest letter indicated that his family was apparently going on a new, rather strict diet, and he wasn't best pleased about it). And when Harry's birthday came around, Hermione and her mum spent the Saturday before making a cake to send off to him.
It was around Harry's birthday that Ron finally wrote, too, and Hermione was delighted to discover she'd been invited to stay with the Weasley family in two weeks' time for the remainder of her summer holidays.
As her time at home drew to an end, Hermione found she had made at least one decision concerning the tower incident; whether she liked it or not, Voldemort would return in some form or another, and soon. She, Ron, and Harry already knew it would happen eventually. Dumbledore confirmed that Trelawney's prophecy would put Peter Pettigrew at the heart of it somehow.
Assuming that her guesswork about tower-Malfoy's age was close, there was a maximum of three years in which it could happen. She needed to prepare as well as she could. Voldemort's entire premise had been the superiority of magical blood, and that meant she and her family were in danger.
Surprisingly, it seemed that for all that the Malfoy family was the perfect example of a well-bred pureblood family, they were also in some trouble. Hermione figured that Lucius Malfoy was a Voldemort supporter considering his views about people like her and her parents. And, of course, the small matter of the diary he slipped to Ginny Weasley second year, even though they couldn't prove that. He also despised people like Dumbledore, who supported the rights of Muggle-borns and encouraged the mixing of magical and non-magical blood.
By every interaction she'd had with him, Draco Malfoy held the same views as his father. Of course he did. Malfoy clearly idolised his father — every other conversation seemed to involve the man. And Draco had grown up in one of the wealthiest families in Britain, an heir to a pureblood dynasty on top of it. He probably was under pressure to live up to the prestigious Malfoy name.
Hermione suddenly recalled something Harry had told her once after his disastrous first attempt at using the Floo Network nigh on two years ago; while hiding in a shop in Knockturn Alley, he'd overheard Mr. Malfoy coming down on Draco for letting a Muggle-born beat him out for marks in class. She hadn't forgotten the flattering look of pride in Harry's eyes as he'd relayed the story.
Draco Malfoy was not his father, though, and she couldn't judge him as such. Hermione vividly remembered the younger Malfoy's expression as he'd faced down Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower, and whatever Voldemort had wanted, Malfoy clearly did not want to become a murderer. In her heart, Hermione couldn't bring herself to believe that the boy on the tower had been acting out of anything but fear and despair.
Yes, Draco Malfoy might be a brainwashed bully, but that didn't make him evil at his core. People could change — especially those with a weakened resolve. Perhaps she only needed to find a way to challenge Malfoy to think differently.
Hermione couldn't say exactly why she was so invested in Malfoy's future. In wanting to believe there was more beneath the selfish, cold-hearted boy she knew. She could do nothing at all about what she'd seen and let the future continue on unimpeded. Or, she could take what she'd learned from the Astronomy Tower and use all of it to help Harry survive. By divulging the events of that night to Harry and Ron, they could put a stop to whatever Malfoy would be up to before it began. She could even go to Dumbledore.
But for some, inexplicable reason, Hermione felt as if she needed to give Malfoy a chance. There was time enough for that, she contended with herself. As of now, Malfoy likely hadn't done anything seriously wrong (more so than usual, anyway), and she couldn't condemn him on the uncertain knowledge of something he might do.
She would of course warn Harry about Voldemort's imminent return, but he didn't need every detail right now. Maybe if she learned more about Malfoy, she could break through to him on some level and find out for herself what was going on.
The day before she was scheduled to Floo to the Weasleys, Hermione was in her room methodically packing her trunk, working quickly to make room for all of her possessions. Alongside the mouth-watering aromas drifting upstairs, the conspicuous lack of pots and pans clanging about the kitchen told Hermione that her dad almost had dinner ready. And it was to be an especially scrumptious dinner composed of all of her favourite foods. Hermione's stomach rumbled loudly.
"All set, dear?" Hermione's mum poked her head around the doorway. "Anything you need?"
Hermione squashed one last jumper into her trunk, hoping she wouldn't have to force the lid closed. Perhaps once she arrived at Hogwarts, she'd take the liberty of enlarging the mediocre Extension Charm that had come standard with the trunk.
"All set," she echoed, brushing the hair back from her face and flashing her mum a quick smile. Her mum smiled softly in return, one of those easy sort of smiles that reached up to crinkle the corners of her eyes, and turned to leave.
"Mum, actually... can I ask you something?" Hermione began, hesitating as she placed a set of freshly-laundered school robes aside for her other bag.
Her mum paused, a hand on the door frame. "Of course, dear. Anything."
"Last year at school I sort of… overheard something I probably shouldn't have. It was very private, but... well, I suppose it could hurt the people involved. Maybe even more than just those that are involved. What do you think I should do?"
A brief look of concern washed over her mother's features, but it was quickly replaced with a solemn thoughtfulness.
"Well, honey, that's tough," she finally replied, coming into the room fully to sit on the edge of Hermione's bed. "Can you tell me anymore about it?"
"Um... not really," Hermione said, abandoning the attempts to close her trunk to join her mum on the bed. "Not yet at least. I can't even pretend to understand it completely myself. And I'm also not sure that I heard the whole story."
Her mother's brow furrowed as she studied her daughter's expression.
"Well," she replied after a moment, "then I'd say that if you weren't meant to overhear it, you have a choice on whether or not to get involved."
"Even if it could end up hurting others?" Hermione asked, shifting uncomfortably in place.
"Even then," her mother replied seriously. "But knowing you, you've already given this a great deal of thought, yes?" She waited for Hermione's small nod. "Trust yourself. You are a clever, capable young woman, and your ability to see the best in those around you is a strength. I know you'll make the right decision for everyone."
"Thanks mum," Hermione said, leaning into her mother's side and allowing herself to relish in the comfort of her mother's arms one more time. "I'm going to miss you and dad."
"We'll miss you too, darling." They broke apart and her mum tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "And do be safe this year, won't you? I know you and the other kids are still learning, but I hate the thought of you lying up in the infirmary for weeks like what happened at the end of your second year."
"Of course, mum. I promise you don't have to worry about that again."
After bestowing Hermione with a warm smile, her mother left the room. Watching her go, Hermione bit her lip guiltily. She hadn't been exactly forthcoming with all of the details of what she, Harry, and Ron got into at school each year previously, but she wasn't technically lying. Her parents needn't worry about her being petrified by a basilisk any longer.
Bolstered in her decision to wait and watch for now, Hermione closed her trunk with a final heave and made her way downstairs for dinner.
The next day, the Grangers sat in the living room around the fireplace, awaiting Mr. Weasley's arrival to escort Hermione back to his home. The clock over the mantel read five 'til two, and Ron said in the letter that his dad would Floo over at precisely two o'clock. Lucky thing, really, that Ron's dad had a connection at the Ministry to be able to temporarily set up Hermione's fireplace to the Floo Network. Though it wasn't her favourite method of travel, it certainly was convenient.
Hermione's dad glanced up at the clock for the third time in the last ten seconds; he was oddly excited for the wizard's arrival — he'd been quite chuffed with Arthur Weasley's excitable fascination about everything Muggle whenever they'd met up at King's Cross or in Diagon Alley.
"Hermione," her father asked suddenly, bouncing his knee in his chair, "do you think Arthur knows about computers?"
Her dad had just bought a new IBM computer, and she could tell he was eager to show off.
And not a minute later, "Hermione, do you think Arthur would understand a joke about a dentist and a golfer?"
Hermione traded fond smiles with her mum as her dad began rattling off a list of appliances of which Mr. Weasley might like to see.
Just then, green flames sprung up on the hearth and a quickly rotating figure appeared, resolving into Mr. Weasley as it slowed. Smiling, he dusted off his cloak before straightening and stepping out to greet Hermione and her parents.
Her dad wasted no time steering Mr. Weasley towards his office. Hermione and her mum gathered her luggage and bundled Crookshanks into his carrier while they waited. When neither her dad nor Mr. Weasley reappeared by ten past, it became apparent that Hermione would be staying a little longer than anticipated. She shared a look of fond exasperation with her mum before they moved into the kitchen to put on the kettle.
"Fascinating. Absolutely ingenious," Mr. Weasley was saying to her father as they finally came back down the hall, the clock on the mantel already showing half-past two. Hermione downed her last sip of tea and stood. "Must see about getting my hands on one of those—"
Her dad's face lit up. "The chap that sold it had an entire catalogue, all the newest models. If you've got another minute I can scrounge up his telephone number—"
"Ooh the fellytone?" Mr. Weasley asked excitedly. "My son Ron knows how to use that. And Harry — you've heard of him, of course — explained how to use one a while back, but I've never had the chance—"
Hermione's mum cleared her throat and both men looked over sheepishly.
"Ah, yes," Mr. Weasley said with an apologetic smile, "but I'm afraid we really must be going." His tone suggested that he was reminding himself of that fact more than anything else. "Perhaps another time..."
Hermione's dad already had out a scrap of paper. "Here's mine. Give it a ring anytime for practice," he said with a jovial wink.
Mr. Weasley clapped her father on the back and grinned. "Good man." He folded the paper reverently into his breast pocket.
With a wave of his wand, Hermione's luggage was off to the Burrow. Her parents watched with wide eyes, still fascinated by any evidence of the existence of magic.
After giving out hugs and numerous promises to write, Hermione picked up Crookshanks's basket and crouched into the empty fireplace. She was going first, as Mr. Weasley needed to stop off at a colleague's house to borrow the tents they would use for the Quidditch World Cup. Mr. Weasley held out the jar of Floo powder.
"The Burrow!" Hermione stated clearly, closing her eyes as green fire obscured her vision and she spun down into a blurred stream of fireplaces. When she opened her eyes, Ron and Ginny were waiting on the sofa across from the Burrow's fireplace.
"Hermione!" Ron jumped out of his chair and drew her into a one-armed hug that managed to be slightly awkward. She returned it as best she could while balancing Crookshanks and trying not to get soot all over the living room.
"Hey, Hermione." Ginny smiled and took Crookshanks from her arms so that she could brush off the soot.
"Hello Ron, Ginny," Hermione beamed, dusting her hands.
"No trouble with connecting your Floo, was there?" Ron asked. "We thought you'd be here a lot sooner."
Hermione shook her head and laughed. "No trouble. Our dads got caught up talking about a computer. Muggle thing," she added at their confused looks.
"We've already got your trunk and bags up in my room," Ginny said, bending to release a grateful Crookshanks from his basket.
"And we're going to get Harry at five o'clock tomorrow evening," Ron added.
Ron and Ginny continued to fill Hermione in about the goings-on at the Burrow as they got her settled in Ginny's room for her stay. The eldest Weasley brothers, Bill and Charlie, were already there in preparation for the Cup (the first time Hermione ran into Bill, her mouth had dropped open before she could stop it — he looked nothing like the clean-cut, rule-following Head Boy-turned-Gringotts professional she'd always pictured. Not that she much minded after a second glance.). Fred and George were in some hot water over a start-up called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Percy had just started work for the Ministry in the Department of International Cooperation. When it came to Percy, Ron warned her very sternly not to bring up anything to do with Abroad or — curiously enough — cauldron bottoms.
The next evening, Harry arrived by Floo in a tumult of activity. Fred and George had apparently slipped one of their inventions to Harry's cousin, and the result had landed them in considerable trouble. Even the typically easy-going Mr. Weasley looked angry, and Hermione had no desire at all to stick around for that. She, Ron, Harry, and Ginny were eventually able to slip away from the ensuing argument and get Harry settled in Ron's room.
When dinnertime came, Hermione found herself outside, squeezed in with the nine Weasleys and Harry around a table laden with a delicious, Molly Weasley-prepared meal.
All throughout dinner, Percy kept hinting at some large, top-secret event being planned by the Ministry for after the World Cup. It was quickly apparent that he had no intention of actually revealing anything, though, and Hermione gave up speculation entirely when she overheard Ron quietly asking Harry if he'd heard from Sirius lately.
Harry's expression seemed strangely reluctant as he whispered back.
"Yeah, a few times. He sounds okay."
At hers and Ron's expectant looks, he shrugged and added, "Might hear back from him while I'm here."
Ron, who had already looked away, didn't catch Harry's slight frown after he said it.
There wasn't time to question him further. After helping to clean up dinner, Hermione and Ginny were sent straight to Ginny's room to get ready for bed — the Cup was tomorrow evening and they had to be up at dawn in order to catch the Portkey.
The next morning (after Fred and George had been thoroughly searched for pranks and inventions by a still-furious Mrs. Weasley), the younger Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione followed an entirely-too-chipper Mr. Weasley out into the dark, chilly air, making their way towards the Portkey. Hermione privately resolved to consider exercising more frequently as they climbed Stoatshead hill. She was the last to make it up, breathing hard and clutching her side to keep it from splitting in two.
Unexpectedly, there were two others already waiting at the top; Cedric Diggory, a good-looking boy Hermione recognised as a now sixth-year Hufflepuff, and his father, Amos, had the Portkey in hand. Hermione blushed when Cedric smiled down at her as she was crowded in next to him, jostling into his side as everyone tried to get a finger on the dirty old boot in the middle. Suddenly, a jerking sensation behind her navel ripped all other thoughts from her mind.
As her feet left the ground, Hermione clamped her lips together, desperate not to embarrass herself by screaming out (or worse). She had never felt completely comfortable flying, and this certainly wasn't any better. When her feet finally returned to solid ground, she toppled over and clutched at her stomach again, barely managing not to sick up.
All in all, not one of her better mornings.
Hermione and Harry helped Mr. Weasley work out setting up their campsites before they and Ron were sent off to get water. As they passed by a huge silk tent with actual, live Peacocks tethered outside, she unwittingly thought of Malfoy. This seemed the very kind of pointless grandeur he and his ilk would be used to. So much for anti-Muggle security.
They then passed through a field of green tents supporting the Irish and into an area of tents with the colours of the Bulgarian flag. Each tent here had a poster of a sort of grumpy-looking young man that Ron vehemently insisted was currently the greatest seeker in professional Quidditch. Ron also seemed unnecessarily offended by the fact Hermione hadn't heard of Krud, or Krum, or whatever his name was.
The sarcastic response she'd lined up about Ron's expectations for her Quidditch knowledge died on her tongue as soon as they lined up for the tap, right behind an old wizard wearing a flowery, Muggle women's-style nightgown. He was arguing with a Ministry official that was waving a pair of pinstriped trousers in his face. He looked so ridiculous that Hermione missed the conversation between them in a fit of giggles that had her briefly stepping out of queue to get herself under control.
Upon returning to their campsite, Hermione helped Mr. Weasley start the fire with matches so that he could cook up eggs and sausages for lunch. Though they had access to an oven (outwardly their tents were mundane — the insides were anything but), he was insistent on maintaining appearances for Anti-Muggle security. They both knew it was just an excuse to camp as the Muggles did, but Hermione didn't mind indulging him.
Over the course of the afternoon, Hermione also met several other witches and wizards from the Ministry that stopped by to talk to Mr. Weasley. Two of them, Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch, stood out above the rest.
Ludo Bagman was a man with a juvenile air about him, enhanced greatly by the garish-looking yellow and black Quidditch robes he currently wore. Percy, despite making his unfavourable opinion about Bagman well-known the night before, ran to shake the man's hand without hesitation.
Barty Crouch couldn't have been any more different than Bagman, looking severe in a crisp Muggle suit and tie as he was. Percy positively fussed over Crouch, who was apparently the Head of his department, before Crouch excused himself to meet with the Bulgarians. Percy's fawning had been unfortunately over-the-top enough that Fred and George would have fodder against him for days now.
Not long after Crouch and Bagman left, a heavy, booming gong pealed out over the field; it was time to go to the stadium for the start of the Cup. The excitement around the campsite had Hermione feeling quite giddy herself as the crowd followed a red-and-green lighted path to the stadium. On the way, Harry was kind enough to buy Hermione and Ron each a spectacular pair of Omnioculars in order to better see the gameplay. In return, Hermione decided to buy them all programs, mostly so that she'd at least have something to read if this match stretched into multiple days like the last one.
The stadium itself was enormous, and Hermione had to admit, quite impressive-looking, even knowing it was constructed with magic. Their seats were in the Top Box itself, set at the highest point of the stadium and exactly mid-field. The only other occupant in their box so far was a house-elf named Winky.
Between learning about Dobby's previous treatment and all that time last year helping Hagrid with Buckbeak's case, Hermione had given a lot of thought to the rights of magical beings and creatures. That thinking had recently taken the back seat to more pressing issues, but one look at Winky's terrified face at being up so high had Hermione considering again how to go about organising a campaign.
Hermione was so lost in thought that she was caught completely unawares by the newest arrivals to the box.
"Ah, Fudge, here you are," came cold, self-important voice.
Cornelius Fudge, who had been struggling to communicate with the Bulgarian minister, immediately turned to greet the newcomers. Lucius Malfoy swept inside the box, followed closely by Draco Malfoy and his mother.
"How are you?" Lucius continued, pausing to shake the Minister's hand.
While Lucius introduced his family to the Minister, Hermione stared intently, again finding herself unable to look away. This time, it was Mrs. Malfoy who drew her attention; Hermione had never seen Draco's mother up close. Narcissa Malfoy was a tall, slim woman, and almost as white-blonde as her son and husband. She had that same air of high society about her, but it seemed rather more inherent to her nature than projected for the diminishment of others as did Lucius's.
Hermione's eyes moved to the son, taking the rare opportunity to study his features against those of his family.
Draco Malfoy looked a great deal like his father, it was true, there was something there of his mother upon closer inspection. Something which greatly softened his features in comparison. Looking closer, there was the fleeting thought that perhaps Malfoy would look even more like his mother if he ever grew tired of trying to emulate his father's haughty expressions.
Hermione must have been staring a little too hard, as Mr. Malfoy's cold eyes snapped to her briefly — and rather condescendingly — before he gave a curt nod to Mr. Weasley and continued to move down the row behind her to their seats. Draco's eyes glittered with malice as they swept once over Hermione, Ron, and Harry before he followed his father.
Just then, Ludo Bagman rushed in to commence the World Cup. Hermione turned back around in her seat to watch the mascots for the Irish and Bulgarian teams, and actually had to stop the boys from attempting to climb out of the box when the veela performed for Bulgaria.
Ridiculous.
Regardless, she snuck a peek sideways to see Narcissa Malfoy shoving a program in front of Draco's face under the pretence of showing him something within and held back a laugh.
Once the clamour for fool's gold from the Irish mascots died down, the qualifying teams were introduced. The Bulgarians streaked by first, almost too fast to see on their broomsticks. At the appearance of Viktor Krum, the crowd roared impossibly louder.
Hermione turned her Omnioculars to follow the blur that was Krum for a moment. If anyone had ever looked more comfortable on a broomstick than they did on the ground, it was him. Harry — the best flier she had ever known — watched on in awe.
Once the match began and everyone was thoroughly engrossed in the impossibly fast gameplay, Hermione once again turned covertly to observe Malfoy.
His gaze on the match before him was rapturous. She of course knew that he played Seeker for the Slytherin team at school, but she'd always assumed he joined the team either because his father wanted him to or because Harry played seeker for Gryffindor. Maybe both.
Looking at him now, it was obvious he loved the sport in its own right. Every time Ireland scored or Bulgaria lost the Quaffle, he was on the edge of his seat, gripping the armrests hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He even jumped up out of his chair when Krum dove into a feint that sent the Irish seeker into a crash bad enough to pause the game.
Hermione wasn't a great judge of such things, but from the few times she had seen Malfoy fly at school, he seemed to be almost as good as Harry on a broom. She supposed it helped that he had been able to practice whenever he wanted growing up on his estate. Did he enjoy flying enough to do it in his spare time, same as Harry and Ron?
It was too bad that Hermione's broomstick flying skills left much to be desired. Not that she could simply walk on to the Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch and offer to fly around with Malfoy anyway — the very idea was ludicrous.
In any case, at least she had something else to go on about Malfoy now. The little she knew about him came mostly from unpleasant interactions between him and Harry, and rumours about his family from the Weasleys. Apart from that, he shared a few of her classes, including her Arithmancy elective without Harry and Ron.
Suddenly, Hermione realised that Harry and the Weasleys all had their fingers crammed into their ears as the veela were dancing again. To her great amusement, the match referee himself had actually landed in front of the veela and was doing something funny with his moustache. It took several tugs on Harry's elbow next to her to get him to notice.
The game after that reached a shocking level of intensity — even the team mascots had to be separated from fighting. Hermione stole another sidelong glance at Malfoy when Krum got hit in the face with a Bludger, and he groaned along with the rest of the crowd and put his face in his hands. Malfoy looked up quickly, though, as the crowd gasped at the Irish Seeker's sudden dive.
Despite the other Seeker's head start, Krum (who, as Ron had insisted, really might be the greatest seeker of his time) managed to fly through a face full of blood and snag the snitch from the air to end the game. Hermione jumped out of her seat this time too, applauding and shouting with everyone else.
Krum had been very brave to take on a dive like that after just having his nose broken. If the picture on her Omnioculars was anything to go by, he looked a terrible mess.
Abruptly, the entire Top Box was illuminated. Fudge stood, now with an enormous trophy in his hands. The Bulgarian team, including a still very-bloody Krum, filed in between the seats. The Irish team came in next to accept the Cup. Malfoy was applauding just as hard as anybody else, his face still flushed with excitement and his hair in disarray. For the first time in the present, Hermione could reasonably admit that he was much more pleasant to look at without a sneer twisting his face.
It was only a fact, after all.
Once the Top Box went comparatively dark again, Lucius Malfoy steered his family over to corner Fudge and the Bulgarian minister for another conversation. Looking back over her shoulder only once, Hermione let herself be swept along by the crowd with Harry and the Weasleys down the purple-carpeted stairs and back to the campsite.
No one felt like sleeping when they reached the tents. The noisy revels outside were still in full-swing and spirits were high. After only a little persuasion, Mr. Weasley allowed them to stay up discussing the match a while longer over hot cocoas. Hermione didn't have much to add, but enjoyed cupping her warm mug in her hands and listening to the others' passionate discussions over which team did what best.
It was oddly comforting to be up so late, surrounded by the feverish energy of her friends and still running on the fumes of her own. For Hermione, these opportunities were rare — she'd never had a very big family, and never before so many friends in her life. She smiled sleepily down into her cocoa, content to let their voices wash over her and just be.
It wasn't much longer before Ginny fell asleep right at the table, spilling her drink all over the floor. With a yawn of her own, Hermione helped Ginny walk wearily over to the next tent, where they changed into pyjamas and climbed into their bunks. Ginny fell back asleep straightaway despite the noise around their campsite not having decreased at all. Hermione, formerly dead on her feet, wondered now if she would even be able to sleep with the ruckus outside. If anything, the buzz was growing louder instead of quieter as the night wore on.
And now that she was paying attention, the post-match revelry seemed to have turned into heated arguments; angry shouts were taking up in place of celebrations and singing, and the laughter drifting in from the tent flaps had turned sour. Mild unease crept in with the sound.
It was only a minute later that Mr. Weasley crashed into the tent, startling Hermione and Ginny fully awake. He urged them to grab their wands and coats and get outside as quickly as possible.
Something was wrong, he told them. They needed to get to safety.
Hermione ducked out of the tent to absolute pandemonium. People were running and shouting in every direction. Across the field, masked and hooded figures marched slowly through the campsite, blasting objects out of their path. There were figures struggling in the air above them, and the tell-tale signs of wandfire came in bangs and flashes of light emitted from the crowd congregating around it all. Flames, too, spread outward, quickly enveloping nearby tents.
"To the woods — all of you!" Mr. Weasley was shouting, looking more serious than she'd ever seen him. "Stay together and keep hidden. We've got to help the Ministry!"
With that, Mr. Weasley and the eldest three Weasley brothers dashed off to assist the Ministry's attempt to quell the mayhem.
Despite the blazes starting up all over, the darkness was complete enough that Hermione stumbled frequently as she ran. It was pure chaos, the likes of which she'd never before witnessed.
Once she reached the forest, gnarled tree roots made her escape even more hazardous. Hermione was buffeted back and forth between strangers fleeing in the same direction while trying to dodge twisting an ankle. She held her wand tightly in hand as she ran, preparing herself for anything she might encounter. As the crowd dispersed into the trees, she swivelled quickly to look for Harry, who she was sure had been just behind her, and caught a flash of pale blonde in the moonlight.
Then her toe caught on a root sticking up out of the ground and Hermione went sprawling. She flung her hands out in front of her before her face could meet the dirt, dropping her wand in the process.
With a groan of frustration, she pushed up to her knees to begin the frantic search for her wand. The forest was eerily quiet after the commotion in the clearing, except for the odd echoing bang or flash of green light. The loss of the crowd around her caused surprising disquiet — her ears still rang with their screams and panicked voices.
Finally, she caught sight of her wand. She reached forward at the same time that a dragonhide boot stepped casually in front of it.
Hermione lurched to her feet in alarm. Ron and Harry were nowhere to be seen, but Draco Malfoy was now leaning casually against a tree trunk not three feet away, twisting her wand between his slender fingers. He was looking down as if in deep thought, appearing quite unconcerned by the mayhem happening nearby.
Fuelled by a rush of adrenaline, Hermione barely hesitated before hastily stepping forward to swipe her wand back out of his hand. There was little to no resistance. Malfoy did look up then, eyes glowing with amusement as he held his hands up in the air with empty palms facing her and a far too-innocent looking expression on his face.
"Easy there, Granger," he drawled in mock sincerity. "No need to attack me again."
Hermione huffed in annoyance and wrapped her coat more tightly over her nightdress. "I wasn't attacking you, Malfoy. Surely you can understand why I would like possession of my own wand tonight. And you deserved it the first time," she added after a moment.
His smirk grew with every word. "Oh ho, feisty there," he replied, raising his brows in delight. "Yes, I can understand why you'd want it. They're after Muggles, you know. Hang around much longer and you can show off your knickers in mid-air with the others."
"Oh, very funny," Hermione scoffed, her annoyance overriding her sense of caution. "Is that the best you can do? 'Hermione Granger's a Muggle-born, which everyone who's anyone knows makes her inherently inferior to my superior bloodline'," Hermione imitated in Malfoy's imperious drawl. "Funny how that pureblood supremacy doesn't do you any favours with your spellwork, even with years more practice under your belt."
The smirk immediately dropped off of Malfoy's face. Grey eyes now flat and narrowed, he straightened up, a fist curled at his side. "Watch yourself, Granger. Anyone can memorise textbooks. Your getting better marks at school doesn't mean anything in the end."
"No, maybe not," she conceded with a sigh, looking around again to see if Harry and Ron had doubled back. This really wasn't the best time to be dealing with Malfoy, who she'd barely decided what to do with—
"Lost Potter and Weasley, have you?"
"I—" Hermione broke off, ears pricked at the sound of twigs snapping somewhere in the dark behind Malfoy. She raised her wand and peered intently into the shadows.
Malfoy must have thought she was about to hex him, for his eyes widened and he took a step back—
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness. A hooded and masked figure, just like the ones currently terrorizing the clearing. Malfoy finally heard the stranger's arrival too, and turned while drawing his own wand.
Except, when Malfoy saw who had appeared through the trees, he went on to lower his wand back down to his side. Odd, that.
The newcomer had their wand pointed straight at Hermione's chest. They said nothing at all, just stood silently, cutting an imposing figure against the night. Hermione prepared to defend herself, mentally running through anything and everything she had learned in Defence Against the Dark Arts class that would get her out of this in one piece.
The stranger looked back and forth at her and Malfoy in turns, but kept their wand steady on Hermione. A quick glance at Malfoy, who also appeared to be splitting his attention between Hermione and the stranger, showed a moderately calculating look on his face. Her eyes darted to the stranger again and back, just in time to see Malfoy's expression smooth into a sort of grim determination. He also remained silent.
Wand quivering slightly between her trembling fingers, Hermione returned her focus directly to the threat head, hardly daring to blink. Should she take her chances and run? Should she fire a defensive spell first? Were more of these masked strangers on their way to join this one? She'd need to decide quickly—
From the corner of her eye, Hermione thought she saw Malfoy give an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
The stranger hesitated a moment longer, then abruptly turned and disappeared back into the darkness. Hermione kept her wand raised, however, uncertain that the threat was gone.
Malfoy simply watched her now, already back to leaning against a tree with his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
She exhaled shakily. "Was that—" her voice broke. She cleared her throat. "Did you… did you know them?"
"Well, if I did, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, now would I?" he replied with a tight smile.
She finally lowered her wand. "Well… yes. Right." In spite of herself, Hermione shivered in the night air and crossed her arms over her coat. "Um… Thank you. I mean— no, I mean thank you. I knew you wouldn't…"
Malfoy just watched her as she rambled, confusion evident on his face.
All at once, the darkness around them broke as a great, glittering green symbol burst into the sky. It looked like a huge skull with a snake coming out from its mouth.
Hermione recognised it immediately; the Dark Mark. Voldemort's sign. She had read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.
Malfoy jolted off the tree and upright, studying the sky with concern. His face was illuminated in the greenish glow cast from above, and Hermione was overtaken by a strong sense of déjà vu. Before she could decipher it, screams burst out from the woods around them as unseen people realised what the sign hovering above them meant.
She needed to find Harry and the Weasleys, and find them now. They wouldn't leave without her, but getting out of here was even more important than before.
Hermione had barely turned to leave before she paused unwillingly, looking back over her shoulder at Malfoy.
"I have to… I'm staying here," he cut in decidedly before she could form whatever question she had intended to ask.
He looked resolved. Or maybe resigned. She nodded and took a step, only to stop once more, hesitating.
"I'm sure, Granger," Malfoy said forcibly, interjecting again before she'd decided what to say.
Grey eyes met brown for a long moment before Hermione shrugged and set off, moving quickly in the direction she had been going before falling.
It felt like she'd been walking through the woods for ages, but Hermione finally spotted several familiar heads of hair interspersed throughout a group of Ministry officials ahead. They appeared to be crowded around something.
Ron was the first to notice her. He tugged on Harry's arm and they broke out from the group, running over to meet her.
"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "There you are! Where are the others?"
"The others?" she asked, brows knitting in confusion.
"Yeah, we thought you'd split off with Fred, George, and Ginny," Harry explained.
"No," Hermione replied. "I got separated from you and Ron, then I fell and dropped my wand. By the time I found it, I had no idea where you'd gone." She left out the part about running into Malfoy.
Harry and Ron looked horrified at the discovery, hurrying to make sure she was unhurt. Mr. Weasley came over then, looking relieved at her appearance, but also asking about the twins and Ginny. When he realised she was alone, he corralled them briskly towards their campsite, anxious to see if the others had already gone back.
"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said as they walked. "I feel like a right git for leaving you out there alone…"
"You didn't know, Ron. It's alright," Hermione soothed. "Besides, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." Thinking back on facing the masked figure, she said that last bit a good deal more confidently than she felt.
"I'm glad you're alright, in any case," Harry said seriously. "Speaking of losing wands…"
On the way back to the tents, Harry and Ron filled her in on everything that had happened while they were separated; Harry losing his wand. The Dark Mark being cast nearby, so close that they were almost caught in the crossfire when the Ministry appeared to apprehend the culprit. Harry's wand being found in the hands of Winky the house-elf, and the wand itself proven to have cast the Dark Mark.
Hermione shrieked indignantly when she learned that the subject of all those Ministry Officials' attention had been Winky, and for what reason. She couldn't believe Crouch could be so cruel as to dismiss Winky for something clearly not her fault. The treatment of house-elves was truly reprehensible.
The others had indeed made it back to the tents, and after a quick discussion of the night's events, Mr. Weasley wasted no time chivvying everyone to their beds. He planned to try setting up an early Portkey in the morning and wanted to catch a few hours of rest before the inevitable fallout of this news reaching the general wizarding population.
Hermione sunk into the cot with her head still buzzing. Her thoughts flickered disconnectedly between Winky, the Dark Mark, and Malfoy.
Though Malfoy wouldn't admit it, Hermione was certain he'd known the person in the mask. Could the masked person have been one of his parents? One of his friends?
More importantly, had Malfoy somehow spared her tonight? As she recalled their encounter over again, Hermione was growing more and more certain that the stranger hadn't attacked her only because of him.
Still, Malfoy hadn't exactly been nice to her, but they'd seemed to reach some sort of understanding after the Mark was conjured. She didn't know what to make of the interaction right now, and with her thoughts so disjointed and skipping all over the place, she was having trouble thinking coherently enough to remember why she wanted to figure that out in the first place.
Hermione closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. It wasn't long before she felt the familiar pull of the world of dreams, her thoughts beginning to blur into a strangeness that in her current state, didn't seem so strange at all. She let herself sink further into the sensation, quelling her desire to over-analyse the interaction for now; maybe after a few hours rest she would be able to sort things out.
