Being a Saturday evening after a Hogsmeade outing, the common room was a flood of activity. Hermione, Harry, and Ron had no trouble blending into the crowd, secluding themselves from eavesdroppers at a small table in the corner.
"So?" she prodded as soon as they'd huddled together, "Where did you find him? Who else was there? Tell me everything."
And they did. Harry and Ron had spent a frigid, blustery morning wandering the High Street, dawdling in several shops longer than necessary until the Three Broomsticks opened up for lunch. Over hearty meals and hot butterbeers (Hermione nearly moaned at the thought), they'd been debating whether or not to simply return to the castle early.
"Already got everything we wanted," Ron said with a shrug. Then the corners of his lips turned up and he snickered. "Not to mention we spotted Cho Chang and that Roger bloke — the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain — canoodling in that Madam Purdyfeet's tea shop place on the way in—"
"Madam Puddifoot's?" Hermione asked, recognising the name though she'd never been in.
Ron snickered again. "Yeah, that one."
Apparently, Harry had been in a rather foul mood afterwards.
"Downright ratty, he was," Ron added cheerfully.
Harry shot him a glare. "Yeah, well you weren't too pleased yourself seeing Ginny all cuddled up with that Ravenclaw bloke at the next table."
Ron's expression soured. "Right." He started looking around the common room. "Been meaning to have a chat with her about that—"
Hermione tapped the table impatiently. "Ron. Focus. Where does Hagrid come into all this?"
"Well," Ron began, eyes lighting up once more, "we were just about to head back when Harry remembered something..."
Harry quickly recounted the idea he'd had last term upon discovering that Hagrid was back and hiding out in the mountains nearby.
"It was absolutely barmy," Harry explained, "but Sirius used that cave beyond the edge of the village nearly all of last year. And as Sirius was the one who told us that Hagrid was hiding out in the Mountains, wasn't it likely he'd also mentioned the cave to Hagrid?"
Having nothing better to do, Harry and Ron made their way past Dervish and Banges and down the winding lane that led out of the village. After a gruelling half-hour climb on the steep, rugged path that led up the side of the mountain, they'd arrived at the place where Sirius and Buckbeak had made their improvised home.
Upon reaching the cave, they immediately noticed that the once-narrow fissure in the rockface had been widened significantly.
"That's when we knew for sure Hagrid would be there," Ron continued dramatically, always eager to spin a good tale. "We rushed inside straightaway. Except, it wasn't Hagrid inside." He paused, waiting for his words to take effect.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked impatiently. "Who was it?"
"Well," Ron said, obviously delighted with her reaction, "at first we didn't realise it wasn't him, and it was only after it took a swing at us that—"
"It was Grawp," Harry cut in, properly interpreting the look on Hermione's face and deciding to save Ron from imminent strangulation.
"...Grawp?" she repeated awkwardly.
Harry nodded and explained all about Hagrid's giant half-brother who had nearly flattened the pair of them before Hagrid himself had shown up and realised what was happening.
"I can't believe he brought a giant back with him," Hermione whispered anxiously when Harry had finished. "An actual giant. Even if it is his half-brother, which I doubt he can really prove—"
"Grawp wasn't the only one he brought back," Ron interrupted.
Hermione's mouth fell open. "You can't be serious."
"Yep," he replied, looking like the cat that got the cream. "There's an entire Delegation from the Ural Mountains here taking meetings with Dumbledore and the Order."
Hermione was left momentarily speechless. A... what had Ron said? An entire delegation? She mouthed the words silently. How had Hagrid managed to get not only one, but an entire group of giants across the continent without attracting notice?
"Now, what Ron means to say is that the delegation is only made up of two other giants," Harry said helpfully. "They chose the ones that spoke the best English — not all of them know it, you see. The other two are hiding out somewhere deeper in the mountains, but Hagrid wouldn't say where."
And then he filled her in on everything Hagrid had told them about originally meeting with the giants and their Gurg — the chief giant called Karkus — and how Hagrid and Madame Maxime had presented the tribe with specially-made gifts from Dumbledore. They'd eventually won the chieftain over, but their journey wasn't without struggle; in the middle of negotiations, two Death Eaters had shown up, also petitioning the giants for their allegiance. The whole mission had almost been derailed when a fight broke out amongst the giants — whether over all of the visits between Hagrid and Maxime and the Death Eaters, or over other matters like tribe dynamics or food or sleeping arrangements, Hagrid hadn't been able to say.
"That must have been terrifying," Hermione breathed, quite unable to imagine what it must look like to have a conglomeration of different giant tribes coming to blows, but awed just the same.
Ron snorted. "Hagrid said the Muggles in the nearest town complained of frequent avalanches."
When Hagrid and Maxime had returned the next day with another gift for the Gurg, they were relieved to find that Karkus was alive and well. And the chief giant must have convinced the rest of the giants to hear Dumbledore out, for arrangements were made almost immediately for two of his tribesmen to travel back to Scotland. They'd had to travel almost exclusively at night, but after an exhausting, months-long adventure, they'd made it back.
"He's well, then? Hagrid?" Hermione asked when the tale had finished.
"Blimey, I think he's about the happiest I've seen him," Ron said seriously.
"When he's not visiting the giants with Dumbledore, he's trying to teach Grawp to speak English," Harry added, shaking his head in apparent disbelief.
"Was Dumbledore there?" Hermione asked, noting the way Harry's brow had furrowed at the mention of their old headmaster.
"No," Harry said, repeating the motion. "Still giving me the run-around. But Sirius wants to talk next week, so maybe he'll have better news."
"Fingers crossed," she agreed.
"Hermione, did they have you on kitchen duty today?" Ron asked, changing the subject. "Looks like you may have burnt yourself."
Confused, she stared at him while he looked pointedly at the table. She looked down to see that the back of her hand was still red and patchy looking.
"Oh, um, no..." She cast around for an excuse, not looking to delve into the details of her latest punishment just yet. "Just a bit of a scratch, is all. I was working out on the grounds today."
"Oh!" Ron said suddenly, delving into the pocket of his coat. "Here." He tossed her a packet of sugar quills and a small box of honey-coloured toffees. At his side, Harry also reached into his coat pocket and produced a bottle of butterbeer and a small, thin book. Hermione reached for the book first.
"The Witch and the Werewolf?" she read aloud from the cover, mild shock registering as she studied what looked to be a blurry picture of a woman and an extremely hairy man embracing beneath the title.
"We thought you could use something other than Travels with Trolls to keep your mind off of things," Harry explained, not making eye contact as he handed it over. "The fiction selection at Tomes and Scrolls was limited."
"Should have seen the look the assistant gave us when we paid," Ron muttered, hunching his shoulders up to his ears.
Cheeks flaming, Hermione took the book and murmured her thanks.
"Really, it's very thoughtful of you both." She managed an awkward smile. Three sets of cheeks now thoroughly pink, Hermione stashed the book under the table — cover down — while Harry and Ron continued to update her on Hagrid's wellbeing.
"Is he planning to come back and teach?" she asked after Ron described how Hagrid, Fang, and Grawp had been making the best of their new living arrangements.
Harry shook his head. "Not while Umbridge is still here. It isn't safe. But he kept talking about a whole lecture on giants he'd like to do when he got back to teaching, so maybe he knows something we don't..."
They sat around awhile longer, discussing whether or not the Order had a plan to oust Umbridge and restore Dumbledore as Hogwarts Headmaster, and what that might entail. When the third yawn in a row cracked her jaw open, Hermione finally excused herself to bed while Harry and Ron moved to set up Ron's pack of Exploding Snap.
The common room portrait was reinstalled the very next morning. Filch hobbled in with his rickety ladder and positioned the frame back on the wall. Apparently, the portrait had required quite a bit of work to restore it to its original quality without damaging the pigments, and Filch made sure they all knew that the punishment for so much as touching the frame now would be to dangle by your wrists in his office. He threw Hermione a nasty look as he said it.
The woman inside the frame remained impassive as ever, still writing steadily in that little pocketbook she always kept.
Hermione returned for her detention that afternoon as instructed. Instead of Percy presiding this time, she had the privilege of sitting in Umbridge's office under the watchful eye of the woman herself. Umbridge kept her at it until nearly dinnertime. By the end, Hermione wasn't sure which was worse: the cut on the back of her hand that — though mostly healed — still felt like it was on fire, or the way her hand muscles began to cramp and seize partway through yet being forced to keep going. Still, she made certain not to let Umbridge see her discomfort. She wouldn't give the woman that sort of satisfaction.
"Where've you been, Hermione?" Neville asked two evenings later after they'd packed up their Astronomy apparatus.
As always whilst leaving the observation deck, Hermione had to rip her gaze away from the spot one last time before descending the spiral staircase to the castle corridor.
"What do you mean?" she asked once she'd managed it.
"You know — for your detentions?" He said the word on a whisper. "We try to help how we can."
"Oh," she replied with a weak smile, "I've finally finished cleaning the castle."
"You have?" Neville asked, his round face brightening. "Does that mean you're through with detentions, too?"
"Um, not exactly," Hermione replied carefully, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. "I'm just... doing other things now. Usually for Percy or for Umbridge. Paperwork and such."
She wasn't sure why she still hadn't disclosed her new punishment to her friends, only that it didn't feel like the right thing to do. There was nothing they could do, and the pity and horror they'd most certainly express would only serve to make it worse.
"Oh, is that all?" Neville said, his brows furrowing into mild curiosity. "I'd have thought that—"
"Neville," she interrupted, suddenly anxious to change the subject, "did you end up asking Daphne to Hogsmeade over the weekend?"
Neville's expression immediately softened into a shy smile. "Yeah, actually. It wasn't a date or anything, but I still think she had a really good time..."
Relieved at Neville's easy acceptance, Hermione nodded along and smiled accordingly as he detailed his day spent browsing the shops with Daphne in Hogsmeade. By the time they'd reached the common room, Hermione found herself smiling genuinely as he talked about accidentally upending a partially-full flagon of butterbeer into his own lap that he successfully Vanished first try. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed these little light-hearted discussions with Neville that she'd come to enjoy on prefect patrols.
Just another point in Umbridge's favour, she supposed.
Later that week before Potions class, Hermione, Harry, and Ron descended to the dungeons to see several groups of students clustered together in the hallway, all looking down at something Hermione couldn't see. It brought a feeling of foreboding; these things tended to end badly for Hermione, whether it was her picture in the paper and her privacy violated, or her front teeth getting elongated to the size of walrus tusks. As if to prove her point, she caught Crabbe watching her with a murderous expression from along the far wall and hastily darted forward to catch up with Harry and Ron.
"What's everyone looking at?" Harry said, coming up to stand beside Dean's shoulder. Dean and Seamus stepped apart to make room for Hermione and the others to squeeze through. Parvati flipped the magazine she was holding back to its cover.
"The Quibbler?" Hermione asked, eyes immediately drawn to the luminous title splashed across the front. "It's back? But why..."
She gasped at the headline from the article featured on the front page. It was written across an enlarged photograph of Cornelius Fudge with his signature lime-green bowler.
Ministry Under New Management?
Minister Fudge reportedly under the Imperius Curse: Piecing together the truth, and preparing for ground-breaking revelations about recent events.
An exclusive story brought to you by your trusted Ministry-informant.
Hermione turned to gape at Harry. "Did you know? Did Luna say anything?"
"I had no idea," Harry said, wearing the same look of astonishment as everyone else. He lifted the magazine out of Parvati's hands, beginning to turn back to the article advertised. "She never mentioned—"
"Potter!" came Snape's voice suddenly, making them all jump. "You wouldn't be planning to disregard my lecture for a magazine beneath your table yet again, would you? Your grades may say otherwise, but surely even you aren't that dull-witted."
Snape held out his hand. Glaring at the hook-nosed professor, Harry handed over the magazine. Snape's eyes flashed at the look on Harry's face before darting down to take in the cover of The Quibbler. He sneered at the publication in his hands then paused, obviously absorbing the headline.
Expression unreadable, Snape promptly rolled up the magazine and swept off to unlock the classroom without another word.
"Sorry, Parvati," Harry mumbled as they followed him inside. Parvati only shrugged.
By the time they got out of Potions that day, a new announcement had been posted by Umbridge banning any and all copies of The Quibbler. Any student found in possession of the magazine would be immediately sentenced to a month's detention.
Hermione had laughed aloud the first time she saw the notice proclaiming the ban. If Umbridge's goal had been to make sure the entire student body read the article contained therein, she was doing a fine good job of it. Nothing would have people more eager to get their hands on it than an outright ban.
The article was all anyone talked about for several days. Hermione hadn't managed to get her hands on an illicit copy to read the actual contents for herself, but she could hedge a guess. Unrest had been brewing in Ministry affairs ever since Harry's escape from Voldemort at the end of fourth year.
Less than a week later, another article had appeared, this time in the Daily Prophet. Hermione paid the delivery owl and unfurled her copy at breakfast.
Minister to Hold Public Forum on Recent Allegations
Cornelius Fudge assures the Wizarding world that accusations of the use of the Imperius Curse against him are "entirely unfounded" and "deliberately meant to provoke civil unrest".
See page 2 for an exclusive interview with Minister Fudge from your trusted Daily Prophet reporter, Rita Skeeter.
"Ugh," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose and snapping the paper closed again. "Looks like Rita hasn't changed her ways despite everything."
"What'd you expect?" Ron said through a mouthful of eggs, his fork waving through the air. "She'd see You-Know-Who and suddenly want to join up with the Order?"
"Ron, keep your voice down," Hermione hissed, glancing around to make sure no one undesirable was within earshot. "And no, not exactly, just— I thought she'd give up trying to help the Ministry cover it up, is all."
"Doesn't sound like her," Ron replied, jamming a bit of toast in with the eggs. Hermione wrinkled her nose again.
"Harry," she said, glad for an excuse to look away, "what do you— Harry?"
Harry's chin slipped off of his hand where he'd been dozing with his elbow on the table. "Huh?" he said, blinking several times.
Hermione raised her brows. "Late night?"
Harry yawned widely before answering. "Hm? No, I'm just... not sleeping well, I guess."
"Has your scar been bothering you?" Hermione asked anxiously, reaching up to massage her suddenly tight chest.
"No more than usual," he said with a shake of his head. "Less, actually."
She threw him a doubtful look, but he seemed genuine. Shouldering her bag, Hermione unfolded herself from the bench. "I'll see you two in class — I need to run by the library."
In a rare concurrence of being nearly caught up with all of her homework, not scheduled for class, and not having detention until late this evening, Hermione planned to use her time wisely. She didn't know if the library would have what she was looking for, but it was the best place to start.
She scoured the stacks for what seemed ages, but she couldn't find a single book on wandless magic.
She frowned around at the library that had rarely failed her before. She must not be looking in the right place.
Frustrated with her lack of findings, she dashed off to meet Harry and Ron for History of Magic. In an unusual display of inattentiveness, she spent the whole period trying to Summon a discarded scrap of parchment under the table with nothing more than her empty hand.
It hadn't even twitched.
Fortunately, she had already read through the chapter on the goblin riots of the eighteenth century twice and wouldn't have missed much. Harry and Ron looked rather aghast, though, when they'd discovered that she hadn't taken any notes to share today.
"You take notes for a change," she said irritably, stalking off in frustration that was mostly due to her own ineptitude.
Detention that evening was to be supervised again by Percy Weasley. When Hermione arrived in Umbridge's classroom, Percy initially refused to look up at her, pretending to be absorbed in his ever-present mounds of paperwork. Which was why she was completely thrown off when his voice suddenly interrupted the ritualistic slicing open of her hand.
"Your wand report — it doesn't match your story."
Hermione winced, her grasp on Occlumency lost and the pain returning to the forefront of her mind. The unfinished words remained red and weeping on the back of her hand.
"Sorry?" she asked, not quite catching whatever he'd said.
"Your wand report," he repeated slowly, making direct eye contact now. "From the night of the Hogwarts demonstration for Minister Fudge. It doesn't corroborate the story you gave Madam Umbridge."
Hermione blinked, her mind struggling to make sense of what Percy was saying. Percy seemed to realise this when he continued.
"Madam Umbridge tasked me with running a full report on your wand after it was confiscated on the night of the twenty-ninth of December," he explained in that supercilious way of his. "The results I obtained did not match with the reports of the damage sustained inside the castle."
He cleared his throat and then began speaking very quickly.
"Two Delineation Charms, twelve Shield Charms, one Reductor curse, one Slicing Hex, five Silencing Charms, four Full Body-Bind Curses, four Freezing Charms, one Unlocking Charm, six Stunning Spells, two Disarming Charms, one Replication Charm, one Locking Spell, one Healing Charm... and one Visual Obstruction Spell."
While he rattled off spells, Percy never looked down once. He must have repeated this list to himself often to have it memorised.
"The only one that makes sense given the reports would be the last," he continued, watching her intently. "Mistress Turner's portrait was vandalised on the night in question with an Obstruction Spell."
Brain whirring through potential explanations, Hermione found she had only one priority she could voice at the moment.
"Did you tell Umbridge?" she asked. "About your findings?"
Percy narrowed his eyes. "Headmistress Umbridge is an exceptionally busy woman, and I would prefer not add to her responsibilities until I can determine for myself the cause for such a discrepancy."
Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief. A small trickle of blood rolled down the back of her hand from the letter e in "the".
"It is not something I am at liberty to explain," she finally replied, choosing her words carefully.
"No," Percy mused, "I suppose you wouldn't be, would you? Not after the results of your interrogation. But those spells — coupled with the state of your appearance that night — suggest that the deliberate sabotage of the Hogwarts demonstration was a cover-up for something larger and, as of yet, unknown." Suddenly, his eyes crinkled in concern. "Hermione, is Dumbledore coercing you into something dark or dangerous? Are you being manipulated against your will? None of this is like you. If you'd only tell us, Madam Umbridge would be more than happy to intervene once she knew the truth—"
The word truth touched a nerve. Hermione's indignant laugh cut him off mid-sentence.
"Umbridge wouldn't help me even if that were true," she said. "I'm beneath her station, you see."
Percy was already shaking his head. "Madam Umbridge strives to ensure all students are treated fairly and equally. Surely you must see why she has been forced to invoke the harshest of punishments given the level of your infraction? It isn't personal — she cannot allow such antics to escalate. Now, if you would simply explain your whereabouts that evening, I would be certain to speak with her and put in a good word—"
"My whereabouts?" Hermione repeated, her eyebrows shooting up at how much Percy had intuited from a simple list of spells.
"Yes," he replied, "it only makes sense that you must have left the castle — with Dumbledore's help, of course."
Hermione stared back at him for a long moment. Percy seemed genuinely concerned for her wellbeing, which was... unexpected. It had been odd to have someone you once spent your summers with grow so suddenly cold and distant, but Hermione had finally come to revise her opinion (and respect) of Percy's once-upstanding morals, and thought he'd done the same. He had thoroughly written off his own family, after all. That he wanted to help her now only reinforced what she'd begun to think when he had avoided going straight to Umbridge with Hermione's wand report. Percy wasn't yet lost.
She sighed through her nose before opening her mouth to speak.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why might that be?"
"Because you refuse to believe anything else we've tried to tell you — most especially the fact that You-Know-Who has returned."
Percy frowned. "What does Potter's fabrication have to do with anything?"
She frowned back at him. "It's not a fabrication, and it has everything to do with it."
Drawing himself up, Percy pushed his horn-rimmed spectacles back up his nose. "Now see here— I understand you have strong emotional ties to Harry Potter, but I also know that you are in possession of a brilliant, logical mind like myself. While it can be difficult to separate facts from feeling in some matters, it is far from impossible." His voice softened. "If you need help with that process or simply wish to talk, I will always make myself available. Your entire future is at stake, and I refuse to believe that you are already beyond help."
There were many things Hermione could have latched on to in those words, but she thought it best not to push her luck.
"As I do for you," she replied simply, feeling that the conversation had reached its limit. Percy's brows drew down and his mouth opened on a reply, but he hesitated. Before he could speak, she added, "I really should get back to my lines. The headmistress will be dissatisfied with my progress should she decide to check in."
Glancing down once at her hand, still streaked with blood, Percy nodded slowly.
"Of course."
A few seconds later, the scratching of his quill picked back up. Hermione retrieved the Blood Quill and finished the line she'd started before, the word "truth" etching itself into her skin beside the others. A moment later her hand healed back over, but this time, the words were still faintly visible. Suddenly worried about scarring, Hermione resolved to track down a few pickled murtlap tentacles at the first opportunity.
She could only hope that Percy wouldn't decide to take the wand report to Umbridge before she'd had a chance to speak with him again.
Umbridge came back later than usual to dismiss Hermione from detention that evening. As a result, Hermione's hand still bled freely as she left the classroom. Rummaging around in her bag, she found a spare bit of parchment to try and staunch the flow. She didn't want to dirty the handkerchief she kept in her robe pocket.
The corridors were already clear, most students having returned to their common rooms for the night. She'd rounded the corner past the trophy room on the third floor when a figure materialised out of the darkness directly before her, a high-pitched squeak wrenched from her throat in surprise. A set of cool, slender fingers grasped her clasped hands and she looked up sharply. Malfoy was looking back down at her wearing a furious expression, the flickering torchlight sharpening his features to a knife's edge.
"What is this?" he growled, his tone dangerous as he nudged her intact hand off of her injured one. He peeled back the parchment stuck to the back of her right hand and hissed in surprise.
"How long?" he asked, his eyes demanding an immediate answer.
"Um... I don't know, exactly. A little over a week?" she replied hesitantly, still gathering her wits. She tried to draw her hand back out of his. His grip on her fingers tightened and he actually snarled.
"Since the day of the Hogsmeade outing," she added quickly, shock leading her to give up the fight for her hand. And now she had to contend with trying not to lean too far into him whilst still savouring the familiar, comforting scent of his proximity.
"And you didn't think to mention it?" he said, voice dropping low and deadly.
She squirmed, caught between wanting to rip her hand out of his and to cling back with her own strength.
"When could I have done? We aren't exactly on the best of terms, are we?"
His lip curled. Instead of answering, he glanced around the corridor once before dropping her hand, turning on his heel, and stalking into the trophy room behind. Relief and sorrow bloomed in equal measure at the loss of his touch.
Hermione knew he expected her to follow. For a long moment, she seriously considered blowing him off and heading straight back to the common room. She was angry with him and in no mood to talk, not to mention that the back of her hand stung fiercely. She longed for nothing more at this moment than a hot shower and a warm bed before having to start the day anew. But something told her that if she chose that route, she'd risk losing him for good.
With a quiet sigh, she followed him into the trophy room. Malfoy watched her enter with his arms folded over his chest and his eyes flashing with anger. The look on his face told her he knew exactly what she'd been considering.
"And Potter and Weasley are just fine with this, yeah?" he asked, continuing their conversation instead. "Still happy to let you take the blame?"
She bristled at his tone.
"They don't have a choice," she said tartly. "They can't risk being questioned under Veritaserum."
"Oh? Isn't Potter supposed to be having Occlumency lessons as well?" he drawled viciously. "Or is that going exactly as I predicted it would."
"Irrelevant," she snapped.
"That's why they chose you after all, isn't it?" he continued. "Or do you think it was because they're used to having you do all the work?"
She desperately tried not to grind her teeth.
"They didn't ask me to do it," she ground out instead. "They didn't even know."
"Right," he said with a harsh laugh.
"It's true," she insisted, frustrated with this renewed animosity towards her best friends. "Dumbledore knew that Umbridge would immediately question Harry and anyone close to him if she didn't find a guilty party, so he asked me to—"
"Wait," Malfoy interrupted, "Dumbledore asked you to do this?"
"Yes!" she replied, exasperation colouring her tone. "Isn't that what I said during questioning?"
He gaped at her for a moment before saying, "I thought that was just an excuse."
"It wasn't something I intended to mention," she grumbled, wrapping her arms around herself before adding, "Don't get me wrong — Dumbledore had nothing to do with the demonstration, and of course he had no idea we'd show up at the Ministry. Him asking me to admit fault was only a way of tying up loose ends so that our true motives wouldn't be discovered."
"Doesn't he know who Umbridge is? Did he have any idea what she intended to do to you?" Malfoy asked, eyes darting over to her right hand, the back of which was now crusted in blood.
"I expect not," Hermione replied, twisting her hand so that it was covered beneath her other arm. "At least, not entirely. He was confident she wouldn't expel me, though."
"Then would it really have been much worse for her to discover that you all left the castle?"
"Of course it would have! The Death Eaters are slowly taking over the Ministry and already have Fudge in their control — though I'm sure you already knew that," she added, accusation heavy in her words. "And even though Harry has kept his temper around her all year, Umbridge would love nothing more than to expel him to make an example out of him for Fudge. Getting Harry expelled would be as good as handing him over to Voldemort."
"It's always back to Potter, isn't it?" Malfoy replied, a sneer twisting his lips. "Is there anything you do that isn't for that arrogant, lazy—"
She couldn't help the irritated groan that escaped her lips. "Not this again—"
"—probably needs Weasel's help just to have a piss—"
"Malfoy—"
"—can't even put together a proper Potentiator Potion—"
"Malfoy—"
"—always holding his damn forehead for attention—"
"Malfoy!"
"And I don't know why I even bother try to get through to you — you'll never realise that you're too good for them."
"If that's what you think, then why did you come to find me?" she asked, frustration brimming on the edge and about to spill over. "Why do you even care?"
"Because contrary to popular belief, Granger" —he spat her name like a curse— "I do sometimes care about people other than myself."
A fresh surge of guilt melted her mounting frustration away.
She'd really botched it up, hadn't she? Not that it entirely excused Malfoy's behaviour since — not even close — but she needed to make this right.
"Malfoy, I..." She paused, wetting her lips as she met his furious stare. "I never apologised. Not properly. I didn't mean it when I said you only cared for yourself. I know better than that. You've proven it several times over — some of those at a detriment to yourself. I was exhausted and upset and being unfair. I'm sorry."
Malfoy's jaw ticked once and he looked away. "Apology accepted."
"Good... I mean— thank you," she replied evenly, trying not to feel hurt that he hadn't looked at her while he said it. She waited to see if he'd say anything else. When he didn't, the hurt intensified; she'd hoped he would respond to her apology in kind.
She cleared her throat. "I'll just... go back to my common room then, shall I?"
Still looking away, Malfoy nodded stiffly.
Her throat worked for a response, but nothing came out. She left the trophy room with slow, reluctant steps, half-expecting him to surge forward and reach out, but there were no cool fingertips to stop her this time. Brisk steps took her all the way back to Gryffindor Tower as she focused on choking back a horrible, cloying feeling that was working its way up and out of her chest.
Saturday morning brought the third Quidditch match of the season: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. Despite having performed well in the first match against Slytherin, Ron's nerves were out in full force during breakfast. Harry was having to practically force him to get down a bit of bacon before they went to change.
Hermione, unfortunately, would not be attending; Umbridge had decided to schedule her daily detention right before the start of the match, likely hoping to inflict additional punishment by causing Hermione to miss out on watching her House team play.
It was a good thing Hermione had never fussed over Quidditch — at least not until very recently. She tried not to dwell on why she hoped Umbridge wouldn't pull the same stunt on the match next weekend where Slytherin would be facing Ravenclaw.
Hand flayed open and now stinging madly under Umbridge's gleeful watch, Hermione finally made her way back to the common room at half three. Immediately after clambering through the portrait hole, she found herself accosted by Ron, who promptly steered her back out of it.
Her stomach sank as they aimed for the nearest storage closet. Nothing good ever happened here. Was this about Quidditch? She really hoped it was about Quidditch. Though she didn't need Ron to tell her how the match had gone — the brief glimpse she'd caught of the sombre atmosphere in their common room was telling enough.
"What's wrong with Harry?" Ron asked immediately upon shutting the door to the storage closet behind them.
She blanched. "What? What do you mean?"
Ron raked his hands roughly through his hair. "I dunno— he's just all..." He gesticulated wildly.
"What?" she asked, thoroughly confused.
Ron tried again. "I mean... he's not himself."
Her insides curdled with fear. "Like Voldemort" —Ron flinched violently— "sorry, You-Know-Who might be taking over?"
Ron shrugged helplessly. "No... I dunno... I don't think so. He's just so out of it lately. Like, when Diggory was going after the Snitch the first time, just after I'd saved that third goal from Smith, Harry just sat there watching him for what must have been a full three seconds. And the second time, Harry would have had the Snitch then if he'd only ducked to avoid that Bludger like Angelina yelled for him to. And then when Summerby accidentally threw the Quaffle at Alicia instead of—"
Hermione sighed heavily in irritation, no longer listening. This was about Quidditch. Ron had no business scaring her like that. She levelled him with a glare that cut off his rambling.
"Harry having a bad day at Quidditch does not necessitate an investigation, Ron," she chided, folding her arms for effect.
Ron waved his hands wildly through the air again. "Harry never has a bad day at Quidditch. I've never seen anyone more natural on a broom — besides Krum, of course — but he was all over the place today. I'm telling you Hermione, something's not right."
She met Ron's pleading gaze and sighed again, willing to indulge him just a little. "Well... I've noticed that Harry seems more tired than usual. He's probably still not sleeping well after the Ministry, though I can't say for certain..." She frowned. "Have you tried asking him about it?"
"Er... no," Ron admitted sheepishly, "but you've been with him a lot more lately — I'm still trying to catch up on all these new responsibilities, and it seems like half my days are spent either patrolling with Neville or supervising breaks for those titchy little first years, and of course I've still got to placate Pansy, though at least she can't be as horrible to me as she was before seeing as I'm a prefect now—"
"Okay," she cut in, "so you can just ask him now."
"I can't do that," Ron said, aghast. "He's my best mate, but... blokes don't really talk about that sort of thing."
"Now that's just ridiculous," she replied sternly.
"Is not," Ron retorted, a petulant grimace pulling at his mouth.
"Go talk to him this instant," she ordered. "He's probably already feeling terrible about that match, and you're allowing him to wallow in there all alone."
When he remained in front of her, still looking uncertain, she flapped her hands at him. "Shoo!"
With a look of alarm, Ron led the way back to the common room. He immediately made for the boys' dormitories inside, looking back over his shoulder once with panic clearly written across his features.
She watched him go, a mixture of emotions swirling in her chest. Irritated as she was with Ron for blowing things out of proportion, Hermione couldn't help but feel immense relief that it hadn't been anything more serious.
She snorted quietly to herself. Quidditch.
After a long, blissful soak for her mangled hand using the murtlap essence she'd found time to distil only yesterday, Hermione wrapped her hand in a spare kerchief and pulled on a pair of knit gloves before returning to the common room. Unfortunately, Harry and Ron had yet to come down from their dormitory. Spotting a familiar red mane instead, she wended her way through the tables to reach Ginny in front of the fireplace.
"So," Hermione began, dropping herself onto the sofa at Ginny's side, "how bad was it?"
Ginny immediately closed her book and groaned, shifting her whole body around to talk.
"Oh, Hermione, just be glad you didn't have to see it."
"That bad?"
"Yes— well, no." Ginny frowned. "Sort of. We were doing alright in the beginning, but the match drug on for over two hours. Can you believe it? Must be a school record. Ron let in several early goals, but he got it together by the time we hit the half hour mark. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were on form — we were even up by over a hundred points for most of it. And of course Fred and George managed to land a few direct hits and several diversions..."
"And Harry? How did he get on?" Hermione prompted at Ginny's thoughtful silence.
"Top-notch flying as usual," Ginny replied firmly. Hermione further relaxed under Ginny's reassurance until—
"But he did seem rather slow to react sometimes."
"Oh?"
Ginny proceeded to corroborate Ron's story about Harry's unusual air of exhaustion, eventually culminating in Cedric catching the Snitch.
"It wasn't his fault, though—" Ginny insisted, "he should have had the Snitch before Diggory, but the wind changed course last minute. Even with a Firebolt he can't Apparate. And Diggory is still an excellent Seeker. In the end, we only lost by twenty points — the Cup could still be ours if we make up the points against Ravenclaw, especially if Slytherin beat both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff in the next two matches."
Hermione nodded along, her thoughts still lingering on Ginny's observations about Harry. The Ministry mission must have taken a far deeper toll on him than she'd realised. Despite encouraging Ron to take the initiative, Hermione still planned to talk to Harry herself. He'd been surprisingly open with her the night after the Ministry, and Ron was right in a way about hers and Harry's current dynamic — they were closer now than ever before.
Ginny continued to give a play by play of the match, and Hermione listened politely until she'd finished. She'd just excused herself to get ready for dinner when Harry and Ron appeared at the foot of the stairs to the boys' dormitories.
They approached quickly, both wearing decidedly odd expressions that piqued her curiosity.
"Ready to head down for dinner?" Ron asked, his voice carefully neutral but the corners of his mouth twitching upward every so often as if he were fighting to hold back a smile.
"Um, yes," Hermione replied, pausing for a moment to share a confused look with Ginny. "Let me just grab my bag—"
Harry jumped in quickly, his entire frame practically vibrating with some sort of barely-subdued energy. "You need your bag for dinner?"
Hermione frowned. "Well, no... but I was planning to stop by the library afterwards and I wanted to go straight over—"
"You won't need it," he cut in, motioning for her to follow as he and Ron aimed for the portrait hole.
Trading one last bewildered look with Ginny, Hermione shrugged and set off behind her two best friends.
Outside, Ron immediately shot off down the corridor, leaving her and Harry behind. Harry didn't seem surprised by this.
"What's going on?" she asked, keeping her voice low.
"Ron's just gone to tell Pansy he can't make it to study Potions tonight. Probably for the best — he said she's starting to get suspicious about his 'remedial project'."
Hermione allowed herself a grimace at the frustrating lack of progress on that front as Harry continued.
"But that's not why he's calling it off. We got a message from Sirius just now — he left a note in the mirror. Dumbledore's on his way."
"Here?" she asked back quickly, stomach suddenly flipping at the idea.
Harry nodded and grinned. "He's going to meet us in the headmaster's office tonight. At seven o'clock."
Hermione checked her watch. It was just past six.
"What does he want to say to us?" she asked as they turned a corner. "Will the others from the Ministry be there?"
Harry shook his head. "No, just us. I think he's finally going to explain the prophecy."
"And he wants me and Ron there to hear it, too?" Hermione asked, brow furrowing.
Harry glanced at her. "Er... Sirius didn't specifically mention either of you, but I want you to be there."
Hermione frowned. "Are you certain? Dumbledore might be really angry if we just show up. Or the prophecy could be really personal."
They changed staircases while Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'd just tell you and Ron everything when I got back anyway."
"Well alright, if you're sure..." She cut off what she'd been about to say with a gasp. "Harry," she hissed instead. "There's no way I can go near the headmaster's office. Umbridge already thinks we're conspiring! She's got portraits all over the castle. If any of them see me heading anywhere near there..."
"We thought about that," Harry said, giving her pause. Then he shifted his jacket to reveal the wadded up invisibility cloak beneath. "And we might need it to get back to the common room tonight in case we're past curfew."
Brows lifting, she reassessed every preconceived notion she'd made regarding her best friends' abilities to properly plan ahead.
They reached the Great Hall in short order. Choosing a place at the Gryffindor table, she and Harry began loading their plates. As she helped herself to a sizeable portion of steak-and-kidney pie, Hermione's stomach gave an uncomfortable pang, reminding her that she hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast.
The Great Hall slowly filled around them, but there was no sign of Ron. Eventually, Harry was too eager to wait any longer.
"He already knows the password — he can meet us there."
They ambled as quickly as they dared out of the Great Hall, still keeping an eye out for Ron as they went. Outside, they darted into the nearest alcove, allowing Harry to throw the invisibility cloak over her.
"Shouldn't you be under here, too?" Hermione queried as she settled the silky fabric around her ankles.
Harry waved her off, already halfway out of the alcove. With a sigh, she followed — only to run straight into his back when he stopped directly outside.
"Malfoy," Harry's voice said icily after righting himself from the jolt forward. Hermione immediately went cold. She peered cautiously around Harry's back to see Malfoy's sneer in full effect.
"Potter," Malfoy replied just as coldly. His hand drew out of his trouser pocket as if he'd just slipped something inside.
"Out of the way, Malfoy — I have places to be."
"Is that so?" Malfoy drawled back, his gaze darting around Harry suspiciously. "And are these places approved by the headmistress?"
"What's it to you?" Harry snarled immediately. Hermione nudged him in the back as a warning. Don't provoke him.
Malfoy smiled fiendishly and pretended to think. "Oh, I don't know... maybe I'm just concerned for your wellbeing," —his widening smile said otherwise— "or perhaps I'm wondering what pea-brained scheme you've got running this time and who else you're dragging into it. Unless you're making a habit of hiding in alcoves for other purposes? Didn't see Weasley at dinner, come to think of it," Malfoy added, smirking nastily and peering around Harry again.
Harry's shoulders stiffened, and Hermione poked him in the back again as a reminder.
"Weasel or anybody else," Malfoy continued viciously, "it's still against the rules — Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, if you've forgotten — but I know you, Potter, and I know you're up to something. More likely several somethings, in fact."
Harry didn't relax, but at least he hesitated before speaking.
"Again," Harry finally said through obviously gritted teeth, "I don't see how what I do is any of your business."
Malfoy raised a pale brow, eyes glinting silver.
"You don't, do you? Always were a conceited prat. Have you somehow forgotten that I am one of the headmistress's select chosen, tasked with keeping order in the school?" He tapped the tiny silver I beneath his prefect badge.
Harry snorted at that. "I suppose its rather easy to forget when you spend all your time sulking like a wounded crup. Though it's still an improvement from an arrogant, puffed up peacock—"
Hermione groaned softly, the little sound seeming to catch Malfoy's ear. She could swear he looked right at her before he focused back on Harry.
"What did you just call me?" Malfoy asked, eyes flashing dangerously and his voice going deadly quiet.
Harry laughed. "You heard me. Now give over, Malfoy — I've nothing left to say to you."
Harry started to walk by when Malfoy suddenly reached out and caught his arm, only inches away from Hermione's face.
"I could make your life a living hell, Potter," Malfoy said through gritted teeth, his fingers digging roughly into Harry's shirtsleeve.
Harry's other hand immediately went to his back pocket, but he didn't yet draw the wand sticking out of it.
"Yeah," Harry said simply, his jaw clenching, "you could. But you won't. So play your stupid game — lord it over me to feel better about yourself — whatever you need. Just stop taking it out on Hermione. She's going through enough. And if you somehow manage to make it up to her, good on you. As for me, I don't know what she sees in you anyway."
By the time Harry was finished, Malfoy's jaw had dropped open in shock. Harry shook off Malfoy's hand and pushed forward, leaving Hermione scrambling to follow. She looked back once to see Malfoy still staring dumbstruck at Harry's retreating figure.
"Harry," she whispered harshly as soon as they found a corridor to themselves, "what was that? You practically just told Malfoy you knew about us!"
Harry snorted again but his pace didn't slow as they started up the next set of stairs. "Yeah. Guess I did. But he's being a real prick, Hermione. You know he is. And maybe now he'll stop glaring at me every time I so much as go near you—"
She inhaled sharply. "What?"
"You know," Harry said, waving his hand vaguely through the air. "He's finally realised how much better I am than him and its got him scared that you've figured it out too." He sent her a small smile to share in the joke, except he was looking about two feet forward of where she currently jogged to keep up with him. "Anyway, let's keep quiet for now, otherwise the portraits around here will report that I'm talking to myself. And leave it to Umbridge to have me committed to St Mungo's just for that. I swear she can't keep her eyes off my forehead whenever we're in the same room — probably just waiting for a reason to hand me over."
Hermione sighed quietly but didn't reply, her mind occupied with thoughts of Malfoy and what he could possibly be thinking now. She didn't come out of her reverie until Harry was speaking in front of the stone gargoyle.
"Fawkes," he said clearly, causing the gargoyle to spring to life and hop aside as the wall behind it split in two. They jumped onto the moving spiral staircase. Only after the telltale thud of the wall shutting again below did Hermione pull off the invisibility cloak.
Harry rapped on the door at the top, causing it to swing silently inward to reveal a magnificent circular room looking just as she remembered. The only thing out of place was the gangly redhead in the middle.
"There you two are," Ron said, springing out of a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. Though the man in questions was, as of yet, nowhere to be seen.
"There we are?" Hermione asked incredulously. "Where have you been? Is Professor Dumbledore here?"
Ron shook his head. "Not yet. And when I went to tell Pansy that I couldn't meet after dinner anymore, she got it in her head that I wasn't taking this Potions assignment 'seriously' enough, and how about we do it right then because 'obviously I was available now'." He made a noise of frustration. "I swear, she just finds every little thing she can to wind me up—"
"Did you two make any more progress?" Hermione cut in hopefully. She'd felt increasingly guilty over her current lack of efforts towards helping Theo, especially given how she saw his wretched state up close during every Potions period now.
Ron scrunched his nose. "No, but now I haven't had any dinner and I'm not likely to tonight, am I? Hopefully Dumbledore—"
Across the office, the logs in the fireplace suddenly ignited entirely on their own. Only a beat later they flashed a very familiar, very vibrant shade of green. Hermione, Harry, and Ron turned expectantly to watch as a blurring figure appeared inside before it slowed, revealing the long-awaited figure of their former headmaster. Shaking out his beard and dusting his robes, Dumbledore's light blue eyes catalogued everything in the room before landing back on Harry above a small smile.
"Harry," he said tiredly, spreading his arms in welcome. "And Miss Granger and Mister Weasley, too — a pleasant surprise. Thank you for meeting with me this evening. Shall we?"
Shaking out his long, purple sleeves — beneath which Hermione knew he was missing his left hand entirely — Dumbledore gestured with his remaining hand towards his desk, indicating that they should sit. As she moved to take one of the cushioned armchairs that Dumbledore conjured before it, Hermione's eyes were drawn to his wand hand, noticing that he now wore a large, heavy-looking gold ring. The black stone set in its face appeared cracked down the middle.
Dumbledore himself sat behind the desk, and for a single, fleeting moment, Hermione could almost pretend things at Hogwarts were back to normal. Then the back of her mitten-covered right hand gave another throb and she was pulled swiftly back to reality.
Folding his right hand overtop his other arm on the desk, Dumbledore studied each of them again. In between her and Ron, Harry stiffened fractionally when Dumbledore's eyes passed over him once more.
Dumbledore gave no sign that he noticed, instead clearing his throat.
"Harry — if you'll allow me, I should now like to tell you the reason that you have been suffered for nearly fifteen years. The reason that you have struggled beneath more burdens than any other student who has yet passed through this school. The reason that your parents are gone, and the reason that you bear that scar." Dumbledore's voice quieted, the lines on his face deepening. "The reason that, even now, Voldemort still searches for the knowledge of how to destroy you."