Lost

Candlelight illuminated the red tapestries drooping above the beds in the girls' dormitory. All the mattresses were empty but two; Hermione and Ginny had decided not to participate in whatever session the girls were having in the Common Room that night. Instead, they sit in the dim ambiance, eyes twinkling as they hang on to every whisper that escapes them. Nothing quite felt like these talk sessions--it was a gentle connection that blossomed into giggles and wandering thoughts.

"And then Ron said he thought Pansy was going to try to grab him in his pants! Can you believe that? He's such a ninny," Ginny cackled. She leaned back and tucked her arms behind her head. Hermione winced at the thought of a dimbo like that trying to come onto Ron. Ron, the most oblivious man with an aloof spirit. 

"Ginny...I must admit, I used to fancy him. Just a little..." An invisible blush crept to hear cheeks at the bashfulness. 

"Oh I know, honestly I had no idea what was wrong with your head. Gave me a fright there for a minute."

"Well," Hermione sighed, "I dunno, he was charming in his own way and I suppose it felt comfortable." 

Ginny scrunched her face while she repeated the words. "Charmingly comfortable. Like a nice, worn-out armchair."

"Ginny!"

"Oh please, 'Mione, he's my brother. I can say whatever I'd like. You know he practiced kissing on his pillow? I'm just glad you didn't let him execute his routine on you. It was truly horrific, discovering that." Hermione briefly pictured herself trying to kiss Ron. She'd thought about it plenty before, but to her shame, she figured it would be similar to snogging a wet caterpillar. Of course, she'd never admit that out loud, and perhaps if it were to ever happen, maybe he'd surprise her. Ginny's eye twinkled in thought before adding, "You know, I bet the Slytherins are good kissers. I've seen how Zabini was practically devouring that Ravenclaw girl behind the gargoyle statue. He did the thing with his knee and everything." 

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Slytherins have been snogging themselves since first year. I can't imagine the state of their pillows." The girls laughed before Hermione thought back to her own encounter with a Slytherin. She'd kept that scene tucked away, only wondering if she should mention it if the time felt right. "Ginny?"

Ginny mumbled a, "Hm?" without moving, her eyes still glazed over from sleepiness. 

"I did something a bit unlike myself today..." Ginny looked over at her, urging her to continue. "Well, I cut Malfoy's hand open in class. On purpose."

She quickly sat up, her face full of concern. "Woah, are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"What? No, I--"

"What? You, Hermione Granger, made a Malfoy bleed and live to tell the tale? Oh my god, tell me everything! Did he cry?" Ginny was completely facing Hermione, her legs crossed and supporting her leaned in torso. Hermione had never seen her so anticipatory in her life.

"Oh...um. Ugh, well, it started outside this morning. He thought I was staring at him and he got all hot-faced about it," she quickened her speaking pace into a rant, Ginny nodding along, "told me I needed to learn manners and called me a Mudblood. Figures, he doesn't know any other insults, like a complete infant. Anyways, I blew him off and that was the end of that. Then, I get to potions, and Slughorn has the audacity to partner me with him, as if he had no consideration! Malfoy's a pureblood, of course we wouldn't work together! So I tried to get out of it, but I got completely ran over and ignored, then Malfoy told me--didn't ask by the way--that we were going to brew Veritaserum as our project." She stared at Ginny for a moment, letting the energy charge into the silence before jumping back in. "That's such a dangerous potion to brew, and we're supposed to test ourselves! I didn't exactly yearn for the Ministry to break down our doors, so I told on him, and he got away with it! Absolutely ridiculous!"

Ginny shook her head slowly, her eyebrows confused. "Well, he's Malfoy, he gets whatever he wants. But you knew that 'Mione, why'd you slice him? Did it feel good?"

"Oh, but Ginny. You should of heard how he spoke to me. He said I craved attention and accused me of-" she checked over her shoulders, realizing how loud she'd gotten, and whispered, "sleeping with Harry and Ron. And, of course, managed to insult my blood again."

Finally, Ginny looked ready to ignite. "He called you a slut?"

"No, but he might as well have. I just got so sick of his superiority complex, he acted like I was this...this monstrous rodent he'd found in the gutter. I couldn't stop myself, I cut his hand open to see if he really was all that different from me." 

There was a bit of silence before Ginny pulled a sheepish grin. "And he just let you do that?"

Hermione paused, contemplating. "Yeah, he just left. I told Slughorn the knife slipped and he cut himself."

"Wow. You're not worried he'll want revenge? When has he ever let anyone, especially you, get the last word?" 

A pool of anxiety started squeezing at her insides. Ginny was right, Malfoy always demanded respect. That was his mission, what started this in the first place, and Hermione denied it. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't scare me, I'm not a child anymore. If he can't behave like the civilized man his namesake demands, I won't waste my time on fear." She stood and prepared her bed, opening the sheets and shimmying inside. The weight of the fabric hugged her form and allowed drowsiness to pull at her eyelids.

"So you were staring at him, huh?" 

Hermione glared at her friend. "It was an accident. I was zoned out and happened to be looking at him."

Ginny listened and mumbled a "Hm," while she got into her own bed. Her head hit the pillow, red hair flowing over the side in a stream. She had disbelief written on her face while she sighed. "He's a fairly handsome bloke, if you can get past that nastiness. Nice hair." Hermione stayed silent, not bothering on an opinion. "He's gotten taller, too. He looks good in that quidditch uniform." 

"Keep the pillow snogging to a minimum, please."

"You can't deny it. He's the worst--in, like, the history of the world--but he's attractive."

"Ginny, I don't want nightmares of Malfoy, talk about something else."

"Oh, you won't be having nightmares, eh 'Mione?" 

Hermione shot up and narrowed her face. "What are you insinuating?"

"Oh come on, you really think I'm to just accept that you were accidentally staring at your mortal enemy?"

"Just drop it. I'm not defending myself for an accident." In a huff, she rolled over and covered her head with the comforter to signal end of conversation. 

Ginny let out an amused sound, and Hermione could practically see her grinning. The annoyance buzzed throughout her body; this wasn't something she wanted to jest about. Her pride had been attacked--a dangerous thing for a lion--and her best friend would rather focus on how attractive the culprit is. 

"I'm sorry. Y'know, it just sounds like you got under his skin and he let you. If I could play with something like that, I'd have the time of my life. But know I'm here for you; I don't like how he talks to you either."

"Goodnight Gin." 

There was a bit of silence in the air before her consciousness ebbed away. She heard a whisper, "N'ight 'Mione," next to her, then nothing at all.

Hermione woke to the chirping of passing morning birds at her window. The sun's rays peeked above the far treetops, flirting with the idea of morning. The cold stone of the floor seeped into the arches of Hermione's feet when she rose from bed, hair amess and face stretched into a yawn. When her conscience came to at the sight of Ginny's empty bed, she grinned: today was the first day of quidditch practice. The day belonged to herself. 

She quickly showered and combed through her hair, enchanting it to avoid breaking her brush in half. When she felt presentable, she threw on her tailored green pants (though, secretly, she learned a spell to tailor them herself) and a breezy pale top, perfect for the spring morning. She quickly gathered her books into her bag, as well as a few scrolls of parchment, a quill, and her wand, then paused before digging into her trunk. After a furious minute of scouring, she found it...though she wondered if lugging around a Walkman and wearing headphones was a good idea in the wizarding world. No one even knows what this is...maybe they won't notice it. Shrugging, she shoved the device into her bag and scurried downstairs. 

The common room was quiet, except for some snores coming from the boys' dormitory. Hermione made an effort to remain hushed as she passed through, quietly opening the portrait and waving at The Fat Lady behind her. She took some long breaths as she strode through the empty halls. Hogwarts, to her, had a surprisingly low amount of early birds such as herself. It was a pity--the castle truly was something to behold in its stillness. When she reached the Great Hall, she found an empty plate and added some toast, sausage, scrambled eggs, and breakfast fruit. Naturally, before digging in, she reached into her bag for one of her books and pulled out Spellman's Syllabary. Her eyes devoured the pages while her stomach devoured her food. Her foot tapped in the air as she read, losing herself in every line. She kept absorbing until her plate was empty, then pushed her plate away and read until the growing noise in the room forced her to leave. 

She smiled as she passed her peers, all of them dewy from rest. Her feet led her to the Astronomy Wing while her eyes flicked around her. Something about the day was positively ravishing; it was as if the colors were brighter and all was right in the world. She passed the twinkling tapestries, looking out the windows into the purple-hued sunrise. The more she walked, the quieter it grew, until she reached an empty corridor. A sheepish grin grew on her face as she pictured the perfect practice room: something small, cozy, and quiet. Intricate designs began to etch themselves on the walls, dust falling onto the stone floor. The shape of a door took place in front of her, grand in size and appearance. She bowed her head, quietly thanking Hogwarts for its gift, before pushing the door open.

It was just as she pictured: in the left corner, a reading nook with piles of forgotten and lost books. On the right, a brewing station with a medium cauldron, and next to it, potted plants with fruitful vines. The walls were covered in mirrors, reflecting the light from a diamond-shaped window. The large door shut behind her, and when she felt settled, she whispered, "Ordinatum." Every book, scroll, vial, and seat cushion moved, organizing themselves without hesitation. With a satisfied nod, Hermione pulled out a spell book, starting with the letter 'M', and practiced every spell, one at a time. Occasionally, she'd crack a mirror with the wrong movement, but it repaired itself after a quick apology. 

Hermione found herself visiting the Room of Requirement fairly often since sixth year. At first, she hesitated venturing into Hogwart's secrecy without Ron and Harry, but as she grew older, her bravery overrode her anxiety. It was such a safe spot for her, whatever she needed it to be. Sometimes she'd just come to read, other times she'd come to practice combat if she was annoyed. She completed homework here, even blew off steam if needed by learning hexes. Every experiment, repetition, silent work, or personal moment took place here. Her concern of getting into trouble ebbed after the tenth time visiting...she figured the castle could always just say "no" if it didn't want her to use it. It truly was a sentimental place because it felt like hers, and she liked it that way.

"Mitus Flamma--oh no...sorry, sorry." Hermione winced at the explosion of black soot opposite from her. She checked her book again, puzzled. "Oh! ...Mitis Flamma--AGH!" Glass shards circled about her feet, the mirror above her completely shattered. One of the vines in the pot next to her swatted at her head, clearly upset. "I'm sorry! Let me try again. Mitis--oh for heaven's sake, Memoratus!" 

A projection suddenly spewed from the tip of her wand, Professor Flitwick taking shape and silently motioning his wand. Hermione observed her memory, watching the way his wand swirled clockwise. Ah, I have to coax it. Okay...

"Mitis Flamma!" She grinned, relieved at the small flame hovering the end of her wand. She slowly moved it, watching it take the shape of the wind and flicker about. As if the room itself was also relieved, the soot on the wall disappeared, the mirror healed itself, and the plant vine had gone slack again. "I um...I think that's enough for today."

Nodding in her silence, she gathered her belongings again, said goodbye to the room, and departed for the courtyard. 

The moment she stepped outside, a breeze kissed her face and neck, the smell of fresh flowers and earth filling her lungs. Reveling in its pleasantness, she reached for her Walkman, deciding now was better than ever to listen to music. Music in the magical world didn't seem as personal, Hermione thought, giving credit to Muggles for inventing such a marvelous device. If anything, wizards really were missing out on technology...who knows just how intricate and efficient Muggles might go with it? With a few button clicks, Hermione popped in a CD of Queen's, placed her headphones into her ears, and tucked the device into her back pocket. Ah. She was flooded with nostalgia, the thought of her parents singing along to this kind of music in the kitchen. Her mum would always dance with the broom, especially when Freddie Mercury was involved.

Her feet began taking her to the quidditch pitch. Even though Hermione dreaded flying, she loved the gratitude of supporting Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Watching them play and reading a book sounded heavenly at the moment, and there was no better weather for it. As the drumset picked up a groove, Hermione's pace quickened, the energy of the music translating itself into her heels. She closed her eyes and nodded along, marveling in the talent and excitement from the artists. Instruments, electrical ones! How genius! I wonder if I'd be any good, I mean, it can't possibly be too difficult to--

Her eyes snapped open at a firm, yet gentle grip on her shoulder. In front of her, Professor McGonagall stood speaking, her voice drowned by violently loud music. Hermione quickly yanked the headphones from her ears and stood up straight, embarrassed by her lack of awareness. 

"Oh, heavens Miss Granger, those things--Muggle devices, headphones, yes? Yes, well... I must ask a favor of you Miss Granger, if you wouldn't mind?" McGonagall's attention remained on her headphones, her face contorted into bewilderment. 

"Oh...yes, Professor?" 

"You're headed to the quidditch field, no?" She forced her eyes away from the headphone wires to meet Hermione's eye. It looked like a difficult task. 

"Yes, I was going to watch the team practice."

"Oh good, good," her eyes fell back to the headphones, like they were the greatest unknown mystery. Might as well be holding Bigfoot. "Would you send Mister Nott to my office? Theodore, you know him?" She looked at Hermione again, who shook her head warily. "Ah, yes, well...he's on the Slytherin team. They're finishing up their own practice, you'll find them down there. I regret to say I'm a bit busy this morning, I've no time to fetch an owl. Thank you dear, I'd best be off."

"Of course, Professor."

McGonagall took another intrigued glance at her headphones before awkwardly departing, mumbling something about oddities as her emerald cloak swayed behind her. Hermione put the headphones back in her ears and resumed her route, a bit more purpose in her gait. She tried not to think too much about what she'd just agreed to...hopefully, the interaction would be quick, professional, and painless. Probably. Best not to dwell on the possibilities, though...

When she reached the field, she stopped in a bit of annoyance: it was empty. Not even the Gryffindor team was flying about. An owl would be so much faster than this. Before allowing herself to feel irritated, she turned and continued walking, the music flooding her thoughts. As she listened more, she felt her nerves relax and her confidence blossom.

After taking a few twists and turns within the base of the stands, she stood outside the Slytherin locker room, arms crossed, inhaling the waft of sweat, body odor, broomstick polish, and faint cologne. Some muffled voices and boisterous laughter rose above her own music in her ears. Let's get this over with.

She knocked sharply.

A few seconds passed, and nothing happened. With a huff, she pushed the door open and a wave of humid air curled around her immediately. The Slytherin team--still half in their gear, jerseys clinging to their forms, hair damp--turned to look at her. Some were toweling off, others were seated, untying boots. She recognized Blaise Zabini, hunched over in a paused conversation. The feeling of eyes on her was overwhelming, but she raised her head in confidence, taking her headphones off and hanging them over her shoulders.

"Granger?" Zabini said, raising an eyebrow. Hermione straightened her shoulders.

"I'm looking for Theodore Nott," she stated. A boy with black hair and eyes--she assumed Nott--lifted his head in attention. She lazily turned towards him. "Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office, immediately. She couldn't access an owl so she sent me."

The team reacted exactly as she expected. 

"Oh, Nott, what did you do?" Zabini smirked, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Maybe he finally got caught hexing first-years," Montague added, grinning. 

A lower voice, particularly thorned and laced with poison, made her temples ache from behind her: "Bit desperate, aren't you, Granger? Sneaking into our locker room?" 

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line as she turned to glare at Malfoy. He was leaning on his broom, his silver hair disheveled and drenched like his jersey. His eyes lacked the usual abrasive pierce; rather, they were just as fatigued as the rest of the team's. Hermione's eyes flicked to his gloved hand, wondering if the cut was still there. He caught her gaze and glared at her, his fist clenching. When the chuckles from the team died down, she exhaled sharply.

"Grow up. I'm here for McGonagall, not your juvenile commentary." 

Malfoy's stare refused to lighten, like the world would end if he looked anywhere else. Nott sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair. 

"Alright, alright, I'm going," he said, standing and grabbing his robes from a nearby hook. "Thanks for the message, Granger. Now, if you don't mind--"

"Oh, but we do," Zabini cut in smoothly, grinning. "What's the matter, Granger? Surely you don't mind staying a bit longer. Maybe critique our strategy? Or are you more interested in the, ah...view?"

The laughter that followed made her ears burn, but she refused to rise to the bait. She used her last bit of professionalism to turn to Malfoy again, who continued to glare and say nothing.

"I'll be in the library later if you'd like to further discuss our class project." 

Laughter and jabs continued from the rest of the team, and only when someone slurred, "Get outta here, Mudblood," did she quickly retrieve her headphones and block them out. She turned on her heel, her hair whipping behind her, and left with dignity, walking until she saw greenery and life again. Her heart started pounding as she let out an exasperated gurgle, frustration spewing from her insides like a toxin. What a complete group of asses! I'm never doing that again! 

A blur of red and gold bounced into her vision, and she perked up at the sight of the Gryffindor team heading into the castle. Relief flooded her veins as she ran towards her friends, each footstep releasing the horrid memory of the recent exchange.