Chapter Text
"What has got into you, Hermione? I don't even know you anymore."
Hermione Granger turned on her heel and glared at Ronald Weasley, who stood only steps away.
She couldn't hold back the sharp laughter in her throat. It ricocheted against the narrow stone walls of the corridor they stood in.
"What has got into me?" she repeated, leering. "Maybe some damn sense, for starters."
The deep cerulean eyes that used to captivate her scanned her, periodically jumping to a spot just over her shoulder.
"But 'Mione…."
"By the way, I hate it when you call me that." Hermione jabbed a finger in Ron's general direction. He shifted back on his heels.
None of this should have been a shock to Ron. Hermione had been metamorphosing for months, gradually shedding the outer layers that had been suffocating her.
Abruptly, Ron closed the gap between them and took her wrist. Behind her was movement then a firm body pressed against her back. She reached her free arm around, colliding with his torso, signaling she had it handled.
Hermione pooled her powerful magic, channeling it down through her wrist, and sent an electrical charge into Ron's hand, zapping him away. The momentary shock at her wandless abilities stifled his frustration.
"There is no way he hasn't Imperiused you," Ron accused, eyes narrowing on the body that hovered protectively just behind her. She sensed Ron's desperation; he needed a palatable explanation to the shift within her.
She rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. "Absolutely not."
Eyes darting, Ron looked to be frantically searching for the reason why he'd never get his Hermione back. Maybe he would understand better if he'd read her article, the one clutched in his right hand, but it seemed that he'd only read the headline.
"Ronald, we've been over for a while now. This is not just about you, but you certainly played your part in how it ended up," she took a breath and felt her stony expression soften. "You hurt me; you forced me to look at what we had, what I wanted in my life. I realize now I wasn't okay after the War…."
"Nobody was!" Ron interrupted. The shadow behind her twitched, like he wanted to act.
"This isn't a competition." Any softness in her features evaporated. "But everyone being a mess does not make me less of one."
"So what? Your solution was to go off and fuck him?"
Again, she felt the wizard behind her in motion, ready to silence Ron's words, but Hermione was quicker. Her wand was drawn and at Ron's throat at a lethal speed. Ron's terrified, dreamy blue eyes shook with apprehension.
"Don't you ever demean him or me by speaking so crassly about our relationship," Hermione snarled, her face inches from Ron's.
"I want the old Hermione back."
She dropped her wand, and stepped away from him.
The truth was, the old Hermione wasn't coming back. That version wasn't sustainable; always yielding to the needs of others, hoping to do just enough to feel seen but not do too much, always mildly worried that if she did, she'd drive people away.
But she didn't mourn the loss of her old self. On the contrary, she liked the new Hermione; she finally felt alive in her skin again.
So everyone would just need to deal, because the old Hermione was dead.
Ten Months Ago
"Ron—" Hermione drew an aggravated breath before glaring in his direction. "I'm failing to understand why you insisted on returning to Hogwarts if you planned on having me do all your work."
Ron delivered a lopsided grin and nudged her shoulder. "Come on 'Mione, it's like old times."
She grimaced, sinking lower into the sofa, then directed her attention back to her and Ron's Charms homework.
Nothing about their eighth year at Hogwarts felt like 'old times,' but that didn't stop nearly every returning student from trying to cling to the threads of their innocence.
At the start, even Hermione was willfully naive at the promises of going back to Hogwarts, though she was well aware it wouldn't be reminiscent of their earlier years. How could it be? Her friends had died in the halls she would walk to get to her classes. But even so, the thought of focusing on her studies and resuming a routine to drown out the tendrils of despair that threatened to overtake her sounded comforting.
Unfortunately, it became clear rather quickly that returning to Hogwarts would be messy for everyone involved.
To start, the Ministry had decided that any wizard or witch who had previously attended Hogwarts, was under the age of twenty and had been 'implicated' as being aligned with Voldemort would be required to return to finish their education as a form of rehabilitation. The only exception was for any such person found to have used an Unforgivable during the conflict. Those individuals weren't afforded the opportunity to bypass Azkaban.
It was made clear in the Ministry's rehabilitation decision that any 'implicated' student found to break the rules at Hogwarts or be anything less than an upstanding student would result in their relocation to Azkaban as they awaited a new Wizengamot trial.
Hermione had been present when the Ministry had made this decision. Ron had Harry had been there too, but she was the only one to say that forcing students back into an environment where they'd likely be vilified would do nothing for their rehabilitation. But, tragically, the 'adults' paid her little mind. They still assumed that because she was young, she knew nothing.
The Ministry made the return to Hogwarts that much more complicated by decommissioning the four houses of Hogwarts in the name of ongoing unity. Hermione understood the sentiment but could not get behind the logistics.
Moving forward, Hogwarts would have only two houses: The House of the Stag and The House of the Phoenix. The House of the Stag (which Harry begged them not to do, but again, they didn't listen) was to house all students up to the fourth year and would utilize the former Ravenclaw tower. The House of the Phoenix would be home to all older students and take over Gryffindor's space.
As Hermione pointed out, and what inevitably came to fruition with the hospitalization of Theo Nott due to a brutal beating, was that the 'implicated' students forced back to Hogwarts would be incessantly harassed if they were made to live in close quarters with students who still saw them as the enemy.
After the Theo Nott incident, the solution was to form a new house: The House of the Doe. This house would be used for any upper-class student who wished to relocate from the House of the Phoenix. The location for the House of Doe would be the former Slytherin dungeons.
Overnight, every 'implicated' student relocated to The House of Doe.
Then, once the obvious targets to take out pent-up rage were removed from their living quarters, the means of letting off steam turned to illicit substances and rampant sex among the students. It got to the point that Hermione would only feel comfortable entering a room after knocking on a door for ten seconds out of fear of seeing something she did not wish to see.
Hogwarts staffed Mind Healers to help the students process the traumas of war, but Mind Healers liked to treat trauma with magic and potions, and it only created a student body turning to mind-altering substances.
Glancing up from her Charms homework and over to Ron, who was now holding court with a handful of fifth year students, it occurred to Hermione that he'd greatly benefit from a proper muggle therapist.
Ron struggled just like everyone else, but he had to battle against the guilt of actually enjoying the attention of being a war hero. Hermione was rather confident that if it weren't for the likely attention being at Hogwarts would afford him, which he realized was inevitable after the fanfare he received from school age students when visiting Diagon Alley one summer day, he probably wouldn't have returned.
Looking back, the relief Hermione had felt when Ron initially announced he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts should have been a sign that they'd fail. She ignored it, though. Everyone overlooked the hard things in the early days after the War.
Watching from a distance, she observed Ron's interactions with his 'fans' and quickly found that Romilda Vane was ever-present in his orbit. In fact, Hermione was stunned that Ron hadn't blown away by the exaggerated lash fluttering Vane had taken to do every time she was near Ron.
Her second sign that her relationship was doomed was even after trying, she couldn't drudge up feelings of longing or hell — even jealousy, as she watched her boyfriend generously give out all of his attention to others. Instead, all she felt was ever-present numbness.
They were heading into the fifth week of classes, and she and Ron were technically 'on' as boyfriend and girlfriend. However, even though they had only been back at Hogwarts for a short time, Ron had instigated three break-ups, all of which resulted in sloppy hook-ups with other witches during their 'off' time and then subsequent begging of her to take him back after a few days had passed.
She wasn't proud that she always went back, but the haze and her inability to grasp hold of anything other than apathy cemented her feet in place.
On occasion, Hermione would stare at herself in the mirror, desperate to recognize the face looking back at her. She'd justify her staying with Ron. She'd speak to herself while staring, reminding herself that Ron had been a dear friend for years and was likely the one. What she wouldn't say out loud was how terrified she was to sever the last connection to family she had.
Lucky for her, Ron would make her decision invariably easy later that night.
Every Friday night, the upper-class students were to attend a mandatory mixer in the former Hufflepuff common room. There were grumblings at first, but when it became clear that the faculty at Hogwarts had no interest in ever telling students who had fought and lost people in the war 'no', the complaints dissipated away. Friday nights became an unsupervised playground for young adults. The 'implicated' never looked too pleased being forced into attendance, though.
Another perk of the mixer was students could wear whatever they wished. Wizard fashion was still over Hermione's head, so she often wore denim and a zip-up hoodie. The male students did not seem too enthralled with their stylistic freedom, except for Blaise Zabini, who had a never-ending supply of three-piece, perfectly tailored suits. The witches, though, by and large, were thrilled at being allowed to wear whatever they liked.
She'd never considered herself that interested in fashion, but week after week, Hermione was becoming fixated on Pansy Parkinson's style. So much so that she considered it a priority to spot the former Slytherin in the crowd to see what she'd chosen to wear.
The first week of the mixer, Pansy wore a boilersuit made out of stunning material that took on the quality of the night sky. The longer one stared at it, the more shining, glittering stars would appear. Hermione had stared so long that she was sure the Milky Way was forming.
She was almost on her feet, getting ready to go over to the 'implicated' and inquire about the fabric when Seamus bellowed out something cruel and hateful toward the othered students who were doing everything in their power to not take up space at the event they were required to be at.
The second week, shortly after the entirety of the 'implicated' left the House of the Phoenix, Pansy showed up to the mixer wearing a dress of orange and red feathers. Hermione couldn't be sure, but the choice felt like an intentional nod to her former house, as if she'd already been reborn from what she'd left.
Each week, Pansy would wear something different and spectacular, and Hermione would sneak covert glances and speculate what type of statement was being made.
That night, entering the gathering hand and hand with Ron, Hermione scoped the space for the 'implicated,' hoping to get a glimpse of what Pansy was wearing that week.
"'Mione —" Ron said, leaning down near her ear.
She involuntary clasped down on Ron's hand, disliking her cute nickname very much.
"Why do you always search for the 'implicated' each week?"
Surprise was evident on her face that he had even noticed.
"Well, actually, I've noticed this interesting trend…."
"Is it because of Malfoy?"
"Excuse me?" she extracted her hand from Ron's and squared her shoulders to him. He sheepishly placed his hands in his pockets.
"I don't know; I keep hearing about how all the witches want to shag the 'Death Eater,'" Ron explained, darting his eyes around the room, taking in everything but Hermione's befuddled expression.
"That's mental, Ron," she rebuked, then stepped into him so she could speak in a lower tone. Onlookers had already formed to watch their inevitable argument.
"It might be mental that anyone wants that grotesque ferret, but it's not mental to say it's true." Ron countered in a forced whisper.
She had to steady her expression to not betray her internal opinion that Malfoy was anything but grotesque. Of course, she had no interest in the blond, but it was hard to deny that Malfoy's physical features had not developed.
His once pointy face had transformed and now included only pleasing angles and a strong jaw. He was tall, which was likely true for many years by then, but his sniveling attitude had shielded Hermione from ever noticing that he had grown and become quite handsome. Now, he hardly spoke and only brooded, making it easier to acknowledge his striking features.
Suddenly, she realized she was proving Ron's point and hardened her expression.
"Ron, the reason why I'm always looking at the 'implicated' is…."
"You know if you don't want to be with me—"
Her eyes bounced around nervously, acutely aware people were watching.
"Ron, that's not what this is. Can we please go somewhere more private to have this discussion?"
This was always how the break-ups started. Ron would find something benign and let it snowball to the point of declaring they needed a break. Hermione could only helplessly look on as Ron constructed a new wall between them.
"Ron, can we please just…" she reached for his hand, but he yanked it away before she could take hold of it.
Anyone watching would not need much of an imagination to conclude that Hermione and Ron were likely breaking up again.
"I need some space right now," Ron said, and before she could try and reason with him, he was walking toward Seamus and a group of witches by the fireplace.
Hermione and Ron had broken up before and had many a row, but never this publicly, and never in a way that humiliated her so severely.
Desperately, she searched the perimeters of the room. She needed a place to sulk away and sort out what she would do. But, unfortunately, she didn't think there was anyone she could confide in among the attendees that night.
Since returning to Hogwarts, Hermione had felt disconnected from even those she considered friends in the past. The only real friendships she thought she had beyond Ron and Harry were with Ginny and Luna, but Ginny hadn't returned, and Luna, though still present in Hermione's life, had strangely relocated to the House of Doe when the option was announced.
Still, Luna was a good friend, even if Hermione didn't see her as often as she'd like, and would be the best life raft to cling to at that particular moment.
Hermione scanned the crowd, casually walking toward the outer edges to get out of the spotlight, when she noticed Pansy tucked in a corner, staring back at her.
Pansy held her gaze, then abruptly broke it to turn to her left and speak to seemingly no one.
That night Pansy wore black cigarette pants and a fitted top that appeared to be weathered ropes that remained in constant motion within the confines of the top's silhouette.
Pansy glanced back up and discreetly beckoned Hermione to come to her.
Hermione had no lifeline, and her emotions and thoughts were slurried together, meaning there was no coherent thought warning her from approaching the 'implicated' student.
Before she knew it, her feet had carried her the distance, and she stood nervously before Pansy Parkinson.
"Would you like to sit with us?" Pansy asked, recrossing her legs and leaning into the void on her left.
Hermione glanced around. There was no one else there.
"Pst, Hermione!" A familiar voice rang out. Hermione inspected the empty space that now had a voice emanating from it. Then, Luna Lovegood's head peaked out. "It's me, Luna!"
"Luna!" Hermione exclaimed, taking a seat next to Pansy. "Is that Harry's invisibility cloak?"
Luna's face peaked out once again, and grinned. "Yeah! Harry gave it to me. I don't know why, really. He said he thought I would enjoy it most for our final year. I promised I'd give it back after we graduated."
Hermione grinned at the thought of the exchange. Still, she became distracted when she noticed Pansy's arm snaking around the back of the loveseat, settling protectively behind Luna.
Pansy eyed where Hermione was gawking, then turned to Luna's hovering face. "Granger has a keen eye. Would you like to share, or…."
"Hermione, Pansy, and I have been seeing each other for a while now," Luna blurted out, barely a breath after Pansy finished. "I don't care if we're seen together, but Pansy worries that being with her will put a target on me, so we tend to go incognito."
Feeling blasted off her axis, Hermione leaned back into the sofa and took a ragged breath.
"You two are dating?" she clarified, to which Pansy smirked.
"I see you are living up to your status as the brightest witch of our generation."
"Don't mind her," Luna's body appeared to lean over Pansy's toward Hermione, but all that visibly moved was her oval face. "Pansy's not actually mean. She's just playful and very brilliant."
Hermione glanced briefly at Pansy, who arched a brow, then looked back to Luna.
"How did this even happen?"
Pansy shifted slightly, and Luna's gleaming expression dimmed.
"The circumstances weren't ideal, but it began when I was held in the Malfoy dungeon."
Hermione's breath hitched, and she did her best not to flicker her attention to Pansy.
"It was an unfortunate time, but I was treated kindly. Draco ensured our treatment was humane, but he never quite opened up despite me trying to talk to him."
"Draco isn't much for chatting anymore…." Pansy interjected.
"Still, he could tell I needed to talk to someone, so he started bringing others down." Luna continued on. "That's how I met Theo, Vincent, and Pansy."
"Our parents had pulled us from Hogwarts to assist in the Dark Lord's mission," Pansy added.
"Oh, I hate it when you call him that, Pansy." Luna's expression contorted to show discomfort. But, surprisingly, for Hermione at least, Pansy's firm demeanor melted before nodding, accepting Luna's critique.
"I apologize. Voldemort's mission." Luna smiled with approval for Pansy to go on. "We were still part-time at Hogwarts and weren't made to take the mark, but we would return on weekends to assist with the cause."
"I don't want to call it love at first sight because I had seen Lovegood many times before, but the air was knocked from my lungs when I saw her in that dungeon. I could not comprehend how someone could nearly glow despite being in such dismal conditions."
While Pansy directed her affection toward Luna, Hermione gaped at the admission of 'love.'
"I claim naivety that I never saw it before, but the stark contrast made me realize she was special."
Luna, still only a face, turned and planted a chaste kiss on Pansy's cheek.
"Pansy gave me an enchanted parchment and quill so we could speak when she wasn't around. It all kind of bloomed from there." Luna remarked, turning back to Hermione.
Hermione observed the two and struggled to grasp the reality of the situation.
"It takes some getting used to, Granger," Pansy said, then leaned closer to Hermione. "Let's table our thing for now and talk about your thing."
"My thing?" Hermione asked, her voice wobbling with confusion.
"You and Weasley. Luna and I have discussed it at length, and you are a fool to stay with him." Pansy declared, looking exhausted on behalf of Hermione.
"Yes, Hermione, you know I care for Ron, but he is not treating you well." Luna went on to say, her expression becoming serious.
A crimson flush betraying Hermione's embarrassment crept up her neck.
"He's just dealing with the fallout of the War. It was challenging for him when we were on the run…."
Pansy scoffed. "Oh, and it wasn't for you?"
Hermione felt her chest yearn to acknowledge Pansy's comment for the truth it was, but she simply couldn't. She'd always struggled to put herself before Ron.
"He lost his brother," Hermione said.
Pansy and Luna had no response to that. Of course, everyone had lost friends and people they were close with throughout the War, but losing family members carried a different weight.
Perhaps, Pansy or Luna would note how, in a way, Hermione had lost her parents, but they didn't know. No one knew what happened to her parents besides the Weasleys, Harry, Shacklebolt, and one St. Mungos Healer. And she wished to keep it that way.
After the War ended, Hermione spoke to Shacklebolt about her predicament and asked if he could find a Healer to accompany her to Australia and recover her parent's memories. The new Minister was eager to help, and within a month of the Battle of Hogwarts, she was on her way to Australia with Healer Steele.
It nearly tore Hermione apart seeing her parents for the first time since clearing their memories of her, mainly because of how there was no recognition of who she was when they saw her.
They were given a room at the Royal Institute of Magical Maladies in Sydney, so all that was required of Healer Steele and Hermione was to stun them and then sedate them.
When Healer Steele began the recovery of her father, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Until the convulsions began.
Hermione helplessly stood by as Healer Steele concluded that her father was having a stroke, a complication to the retrieval.
They were able to stabilize him, and the Healer believed with rehabilitation, her father would recover from the stroke, but they were forced to make a decision: They could make another attempt and possibly risk his life, or they could release him and Hermione's mother and bring them to a muggle Hospital to begin his recovery.
The decision was hers alone, and she knew she couldn't risk killing either of her parents because she wished to undo what she had done to protect them.
She said goodbye to each of her parents while they were unconscious and asked Healer Steele to ensure they were given the best treatment in the muggle institutions before she left for England.
Thankfully, Healer Steele could keep tabs on her father's recovery, and except for some slurred speech, which could be repaired with therapy, Hermione was assured her father would be okay.
Looking at Pansy and Luna, who seemed to lose their argument against Ron by the simple reminder of his brother's death, Hermione was nearly tempted to say, 'I essentially lost both of my parents and nearly killed my father trying to bring him back.' But she couldn't. She didn't want anyone to know that.
"Granger, despite that, you should consider how his behavior affects you," Pansy added.
"I agree," Luna said, glancing at where Ron was speaking boisterously to a group in a corner, unburdened by the recent row he publicly had with Hermione.
Hermione noticed when glancing over toward Ron that several sets of eyes around the room were trained on her.
"Ah, yes, you will likely want to move away from me if you don't want to be a pariah," Pansy noted, then reached into her trouser pocket. She presented Hermione with a coin.
"The 'implicated' all have a version of this coin. Before the faculty started confiscating wands before the mixer, we disillusioned a study just down that hallway so the door appeared as a tapestry, and only those who hold this coin can pass through."
Hermione took hold of the coin and felt the magical buzz against her fingertips.
"You should get out of here, get some space from this juvenile drama," Pansy suggested.
She stared down at the coin, then back up to the two faces looking back at her. Luna smiled.
"The study has books!"
For what felt like the first time in weeks, Hermione actually laughed.
"Okay, you've got me there." Hermione paused, then fixed her attention on Pansy. "Thank you."
Pansy said nothing in response; instead just nodded. Hermione got up just as Luna's face disappeared behind the invisibility cloak again.
Walking up the deserted hallway just off the common room, Hermione felt oddly nervous. Absconding off to a secret spot only the 'implicated' knew about was well out of character for her, but it gave her skin a buzz she'd been missing for too long.
Standing before the ornate gold and black badger tapestry that aligned with Pansy's instructions, Hermione gripped the coin and stepped through the barrier.
She was only afforded a split second before she nearly lost her footing.
“Granger!”
“Malfoy!”
Hermione scurried backwards, but instead of tumbling back through the way she came, she veered to the side and smacked into a bookcase sending heavy books tumbling to the floor.
"What are you doing in here?" he shouted as he got to his feet from the cushioned chair he had been occupying.
"Pansy!" Hermione croaked out, riffling around her pocket for the coin she had been given.
He stopped, just steps from her, and glared. His body was rigid, but Hermione noted a fluidity to it, like how a vast marble statue could appear in motion despite being chiseled from immovable stone. She studied him from where she stood, and after a few seconds, her mouth slightly ajar, she came to realize she was gawking at him.
Hermione eyes roved over his form that was, per Ron's early comment, was anything but grotesque. That evening Malfoy wore a snug-fitting black turtle neck and well-tailored black trousers, the ensemble accentuating how his upper body had filled out with muscle, despite the rest remaining trim and lithe.
"Pansy gave you the coin?" he asked. Hermione shook her head, realizing she had been gaping at his torso, then nodded.
"Yes," she mumbled, redirecting her eyesight somewhere near his polished black boots.
When he said nothing in response, she peeked up.
Malfoy had moved back to his armchair and dramatically sat with an exaggerated huff.
Fiddling with the coin in her right pocket, she watched him act as if she was no longer in the room, picking up the book he had been reading before the intrusion.
When he continued to ignore her, she awkwardly coughed. Then, finally, his eyes snapped to hers, which she'd never seen up close before. They were nearly colorless and shone like polished steel.
"Obviously, Granger, you're unwelcome here, so if you would —" Malfoy made a shooing motion with his hand.
This triggered her and sent heated blood coursing through her veins.
"I have a coin, so I'm permitted entry," she countered, marching up to an armchair to his left. Only a circular, wooden side table divided them.
Hermione feigned aloofness and refused to look at him as she browsed the handful of books stacked on the table between them. Her indifferent exterior only lasted a short while, cracking when she spotted a book that perked her interest.
"You're reading about Thatcher's Law?" she eagerly asked, gingerly extracting the book from the middle of the stack, careful to not topple the rest.
"I finished it," Malfoy said, his voice void of interest.
"Oh, I have too, but I find the theory fascinating and more practical for wandless magic."
An extended beat of silence carried on before the anxiety caused Hermione to glimpse over.
Sitting stiffly, his elbow draped over the armrest, Malfoy studied her with utter astonishment at her inability to read a room.
For a split second, under the scrutiny of his look, she considered leaving. But then, he rolled his eyes and returned to his book.
It wasn't clear how much time had passed, but after many comfortable minutes of reading in silence, Hermione had let her guard down and had been inspired to share a thought aloud.
"It's nonsense that Thatcher's isn't taught as a part of the core curriculum."
She couldn't help but look to her right. Malfoy was unmoved by her musings.
"Macarthur is better for everyday wandless magic," he said, slowly turning a page of his book.
"Yes, but it's not excessively better for everyday wand magic. I'd give Macarthur's a seven out of ten for everyday magic use and Thatchers a five out of ten."
Malfoy's attention drifted from his book until he was staring just over the brim. "What would the other categories be?"
Hermione couldn't suppress a smirk as she thought it over.
"Accuracy. Usability in high-stress situations…."
"That's subjective," he argued, now closing the book.
"This is all subjective," she reasoned, angling her body to face him. His lips pressed together as she said, "Ease to master should be another category."
"Well, for that, Thatcher's is a three, and Macarthur's is an eight," he contributed, his posture still rigid.
"I don't know, that's only your opinion," she teased, but when her eyes met his, her smug smile fell. Malfoy was staring at her with such intensity that her chest clenched, making breathing difficult.
There was a complexity behind his look. Hermione detected trace amounts of loathing in his eyes, but there was also something uncertain about how he inspected her. Like he was hiding something.
"I agree," she finally said, snapping the palpable tension. "I'd give difficulty the same rating as you."
Even though she could now breathe, the two maintained sustained eye contact, threatening to constrict her airways again.
"I'd give accuracy an eight to Thatcher…." he began.
"And probably an eight to MacArthur's as well." She finished for him.
He nodded. "And high-stress situations?"
She didn't need to deliberate. "Thatcher wins hands down. Full marks. Ten out of Ten."
"Macarthurs, maybe a three."
There was a beat before Hermione pressed on.
"So you see, Thatcher's is better."
"No, it's not."
Hermione was about to point out that he can't just argue against a proven point based on his opinion when…
"They would have each received the same averaged score."
She glared at him as his lips curled into a smirk. It was likely a trick of the light, but she also could have sworn those menacing eyes sparkled.
Hermione wanted to introduce a new category, but before she could, Malfoy returned to his book.
"Good to know you haven't completely lost that swot temperament of yours," he added as an aside, though he didn't pay attention to any reaction it may have caused.
The words were an insult, but the tone felt like a compliment.
She also returned to her book but was distracted when she thought Malfoy had said something she couldn't make out.
"What was that?"
He dramatically sighed and did not look up. "I didn't say anything."
She heard the whispers again. Training her ears to the sound, she realized they were coming from the entrance.
One of the voices sounded familiar even though it was a hushed whisper. She could have also sworn she heard the name "Romilda."
Delicately, Hermione placed her book on the table, trying to avoid making a sound.
"They can't hear in here," Malfoy explained, but when she glanced over, he wasn't looking at her. His eyes remained fixed on his book, though the distracted quality to his focus did not give the impression he was still reading.
With careful steps, even though she wouldn't be heard, Hermione edged her way to the entrance so she could listen in.
"Granger, don't you find eavesdropping a bit childish?" Malfoy asked drolly from his seat.
Hermione waved him off as she heard the voices again.
Immediately she detected one of the voices to be Ron's. Her stomach went sickly cold.
"Are you incapable of staying out of other people's business?" Malfoy added, but his voice sounded muffled.
"Romilda, you know I can't do that."
Ron's voice was clear as a day after a spring rainstorm.
"I'm tired of the secrecy Ron. At first, sure, it was just some fun, but we have something."
"Granger, this is beneath even you, and that's saying something—"
"Malfoy, please," Hermione's voice shook.
Glancing over her shoulder, she found that he'd left his chair and was now just a step away. It may have been the closest they had ever been to one another, except for when she punched him.
His expression dropped from a sneer and, for a brief moment, morphed into a look of concern before he hardened his features to give away nothing.
"Rom, I can't break things off with her. It would be covered in the Prophet, and my family would go absolutely mental."
"You break up with her every other week, Ron." Romilda's voice rang out in a harsh whisper. "I fail to recognize the difference."
"Perhaps you shouldn't listen to…."
Hermione's hand shot back to silence Malfoy, but it collided with the hardness of his chest. Briefly, she peeked over her shoulder and noted how close he was, then turned back to the unadorned wall.
"Look, give me time to think this through," Ron said, and Hermione picked up that same tone he'd use with her when he wanted to de-escalate a situation.
"You're cut off until you do." Romilda shot back. Hermione could picture the wild curls of the raven-haired witch bouncing with indignation as she put her proverbial foot down.
"You don't understand; it's complicated," Ron whined.
"It doesn't seem complicated to me. You don't like her anymore. You don't make sense together."
Ron didn't immediately say anything. The prolonged silence made Hermione nervous.
"There are things you don't know about Hermione…." Ron went on to say.
"No!" Hermione gasped, covering her mouth immediately. She wanted to walk through the tapestry to stop Ron from saying what she feared he was about it, but she was frozen.
"She lost her parents during the war," Ron said, and it took everything in Hermione not to crumble to the floor.
"The Daily Prophet never mentioned that. She's never mentioned it."
"Look, it's complicated like I said." Hermione heard the waiver in Ron's voice, like he knew he shouldn't be saying what he was.
"There was a lot of loss during the War. I lost my Aunt…."
"Hermione altered their memories so they'd forget her and then nearly killed her father trying to bring the memories back, okay?" Ron rambled out.
There was more silence before Ron continued.
"Yes, there was a lot of loss, but Hermione feels responsible for losing her parents. They're alive, sure, but they'll never remember her."
Suddenly, Hermione's back was against something warm and sturdy.
"Rom, you can't tell anyone about this. Blimey, I shouldn't have told you…."
"It's okay; I won't say anything," Romilda assured him, but her voice sounded muffled again. Hermione was moving away from the wall and the voices.
Like a rogue wave, Ron's betrayal knocked her off her feet, but before Hermione hit the floor, her body became weightless, and that familiar sturdiness enveloped her.
Ron had just told Romilda her closest-held secret. Romilda Vane, the school gossip, the least likely person to hold onto a secret. And he divulged such private information to buy himself time, to make Vane feel sympathetic to his situation, so he could still be with her while figuring out the best way to ditch Hermione, which it would seem he hadn't done yet because he pitied her.
Hermione gasped for breath. She hadn't been breathing.
The arms around her contracted, giving her a sense of fleeting comfort.
It took her a few seconds to return to her body. It was then she realized she was being held by Draco Malfoy.
A scream nearly escaped her lips at the discovery. Her eyes darted everywhere, her body kicking to escape, until her frantic search for anything that could make sense of the scene came to a screeching halt when her eyes collided with his.
It didn't feel like there was anything behind the look he gave her. He appeared unbothered and a bit put out by their odd encounter, like holding her was as inconsequential as lugging a bag of potting soil. Still, his near-white, crystal irises were mesmerizing.
Seconds passed where she just stared, and he allowed it. Then, the muffled whispers returned.
"I can still hear them," Hermione whimpered.
He glanced at the armchair he was standing in front of at the center of the room, then with a powerful kick, he sent the piece of furniture sliding back, further away from the entrance, until it was flush against the back wall.
Carefully, Malfoy placed her in the chair, then paused to listen.
"Fucking Weasley," he grunted, having heard the continued whispers by the entrance.
Draco took a steady breath, brought his hands to his abdomen, then recited, "Muffulito."
A faint static fell over where they stood and Hermione blissfully couldn't hear anything behind the buzz.
Finally, she had a moment to collect her thoughts, draw a breath and work out what she would….
"Did you just do wandless magic?" she abruptly asked.
Panting, he gave her an incredulous look. "Are you being serious right now?"
"And how do you know about Muffliato?"
"Are you in some fugue state of shock? Is your default mode being a know-it-all busybody?" he asked with an exasperated sigh, his tall form hovering over where she sat in the chair.
His words reminded her of everything that had just happened. Malfoy was right; she was deflecting, or disassociating, or something. It wasn't clear, but all the same, her breathing quickened, and the panic began creeping up, threatening to overtake her. Desperately, her eyes began flickering around, searching for an answer.
"In the sixth year," Draco blurted out. Hermione's breathing slowed and her eyes steadied on him. "I heard Potter do it. He must have cast the boundary too wide because I was in it and heard the incantation."
Hermione stared at him while he shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable.
"He may have saved the wizarding world, but he's a half-rate wizard if you ask me."
Despite herself, one humorless laugh escaped her lips, but then the sensation of laughing made her suddenly feel manic.
Hermione was on the brink of spiraling out of control, and she needed to get a handle on it.
"You heard what Ron said about my parents?" she asked, her eyes trailing up to see his reaction. His expression was stony, and he simply nodded.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't —"
"I would never tell anyone that, Granger," he cut her off, his voice earnest with an edge of vexation.
"Now that Romilda knows, it will likely be public information by tomorrow afternoon." Hermione sighed. Anger and despair still pulsed through her, but it was subsiding into exhaustion and defeat.
"I'll handle it."
Her eyes snapped up, but he wasn't looking at her.
"You'll what?"
He continued to stare at a painting on the opposite end of the room.
"I'll handle it," he repeated slowly as if the reason she seemed confused was that he spoke too fast.
Hermione jumped to her feet and jabbed a finger into his chest before she could make sense of her actions.
"Absolutely not," she jabbed again. This time, they both looked down at her aggressive finger, then she dropped her hand to her side.
"I don't know what you mean by 'handle it' but it's likely not anything good, and you could go to Azkaban if you're caught breaking school rules. Those are the terms of the rehabilitation."
Malfoy stared at her impassively and added nothing to refute her argument. The question of why he'd even involve himself was at the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't voice it.
At that moment, she needed to work out what she'd do next, and it was becoming evident as the seconds passed that returning to The House of Phoenix would be a nightmare to endure.
Her first course of action became clear: At the very least, she needed to change houses. Even if it wasn't a permanent decision, Hermione needed space to think.
"Granger, if you're just going to stand there…" he said blithely, redirecting her attention.
Refocusing on Malfoy, Hermione noticed that whatever warmth or vulnerability that was there had disappeared. Instead, he wore a meticulously fixed expression designed to remind her that they despised one another.
He raised a brow and finished his thought. "...could you kindly fuck off then?"
There was something unnatural about his gruff turn of behavior. His drawn-together brows and narrowed eyes painted the perfect picture of someone who wanted to tell someone to fuck off, but she couldn't shake how odd it was that he refused meet her eye.
Dissecting the minutiae of Malfoy's ways intrigued Hermione far more than the task of sorting out what to do next. Still, the latter was more pressing.
She headed to the exit, and with only a fleeting glance back in his general direction, his expression still set in a grimace, Hermione left the hidden Hufflepuff study.
When she rejoined the general public at the mixer, Ron greeted her warmly, likely having already forgot their fight, and asked where she had been. It took all Hermione's remaining energy to thinly smile and lamely say, 'washrooms.'
Ron accepted the excuse. She knew he would.
Sitting mute on the sofa as others spoke around her, Hermione felt a shift within her. She was beginning to experience the earliest symptoms of physical change, feeling the anger of betrayal palpable in her bloodstream, pulsing out little jolts of electricity to the surface of her skin, burning with a fury.
Helplessness mingled with the fury, though. So did sadness. And strangely, a prickle of an emotion that could possibly even be described as hopeful.
Hermione couldn't look at Ron but took pleasure in holding Romilda's wandering eye whenever it reached her. Sweetly, Hermione would smile back, and there was an accomplishment in seeing how unsettled Romilda became with the prolonged eye contact.
A change needed to happen. Hermione had known this for some time, but she could recognize that she was inside the bubble of change at that very moment. If she let this pass, to go on being treated with such disrespect, Hemione knew she'd look back at this night and regret her inability to act.
Tomorrow, while everyone slept in on their Saturday morning, Hermione would gather her things and go to the former Slytherin dungeons. Naturally, there would be questions, but for what felt like the first time ever, she didn't care to be responsible for making others comfortable.
Her skin was buzzing, and Hermione took a deep breath. The oxygen filled her lungs and reached corners that her shallow breathing had been depriving.
It was then that it hit her. For the first time in months, she didn't feel numb.