Blood & Bind

{ CHAPTER TWO }

- Hermione -

Draco Malfoy was sitting in her seat. At her table. 

Fine. No problem. 

Hermione turned her chin up in a silent, defiant retreat and headed for a different table not too far away. She could feel his eyes on her as she went, watching her movements. She suddenly felt mechanical, and all too aware of the way she forcefully dropped her bag into a chair that did not deserve the brunt of her frustrations. She pulled out her quills and parchment and opened her Transfiguration textbook to begin reading. 

A few minutes passed in tense silence. She begrudgingly peered over at her table from the corner of her eye, where Draco Malfoy was still watching her with an amused look on his face. Hermione sighed loudly, her quill stilling mid-sentence. She looked up, and frostily asked, “Don’t you have work of your own to focus on?” 

“I was focused until you made your loud appearance,” he said, keeping his voice low. He peered down the aisles of shelves as if he expected to see Madam Pince on her warpath to find the source of noise. He would probably point a finger the moment she rounded a corner, Hermione thought to herself with a roll of her eyes. She decided then not to sugarcoat her sentiments. 

“I quite favored that spot you’ve taken over.” 

Draco nodded, followed by a smug grin on his face, “I favor it myself.” 

“So, I shall expect to never sit at it again while you’re around in that case…” Hermione groaned. She felt a bit dramatic as soon the words left her lips. She was plagued emotionally all over the place as of late, and more than ever now with the feeling of magic practically humming beneath her skin. Eleven has been a strange age, she surmised. 

Fighting with an arrogant boy certainly didn’t help. Malfoy stared at her with a groomed eyebrow raised, undoubtedly wondering why something so trivial as a seat in the library bothered her at all. It was foolish, she knew it. He knew it. However, Hermione appreciated the mechanics of her library routine too much to fully let it go. 

“Struck a nerve, have I?” Malfoy innocently asked. He sat back nonchalantly, and continued, “it was too obvious, from the moment you walked in. While I’m simply doing the same as you, spending what was a quiet Friday evening in the library working on my assignments, it’s under your skin — all because I found this particular table to be in the best spot.” 

He was met with her cutting glare before she rolled her eyes and returned to the same paragraph she’d reread four times since sitting down. He snorted, clearly not giving up. 

“You can’t reserve it all to yourself and that vexes you. I admit I can see why: it’s tucked away, surrounded by the books nobody thinks to look for, and hidden just enough out of view of others to avoid any disruptions.”

“Well, you’ve disrupted me, so I guess it’s lost its purpose,” Hermione rebuked sullenly. It was something she simply looked forward to, knowing it was waiting for her — tucked away, as he had said. He gave her a look that said the feeling was mutual. 

“Personally, I prefer its proximity to the Restricted section.” He added. Her head snapped up again. Why would he need to access the Restricted section for first year assignments?  Students needed a written reason to access it.

“And why would you be going into the Restricted section?” Hermione questioned. Her previous irritation with him was momentarily forgotten as she now eyed him with suspicion. 

“For the best information, of course.”

“First years aren’t allowed in the Restricted section; let alone students at all for that matter.” He took in her sour expression. There were likely exceptions to the rules; the Restricted section wasn’t totally off limits to students studying the Dark Arts, but they weren’t that far into the curriculum for such books yet. 

“Not surprising you have the aptitude of a know-it-all given how many times you raise your hand in class, or maybe you have an uptight penchant for the rules… I bet you read all about that in Hogwarts: A History. Am I right?” said Malfoy in a disinterested tone. He was inspecting his nail beds for imaginary dirt as if the conversation suddenly bored him, but she could practically see his eyes glistening with mirth from across the aisle.

By the looks of him, I don’t think somebody like him even knows what dirt is. 

Hermione glared through him, neither confirming nor denying his question; she was certain he knew the answer anyway, and she refused to amuse him with one. He drawled on, “Besides, my father has most, if not all, of those kinds of books at home in the library or his study; nothing I haven’t already come across.” 

This raised even more questions, one in particular being why his father would have restricted materials at home, and why Malfoy would have access to them at all, but she decided against asking. She felt it better not to know, despite the way he seemed to brag about it. They fell back into a stretch of silence as Hermione returned her attention to her work and tried her best to forget he was even there. A short while later, however, she heard him throw down his own quill with a sharp sigh.

She raised an expectant brow as if to ask what his problem was. Malfoy’s voice carried over with a deep scowl set on his face, “Really? You’ve spent the last ten minutes or so huffing into your books. So, what exactly is it? Still sulking about my table, or has something actually stumped the know-it-all?” 

“Not in the slightest.” Said Hermione, shrugging indifferently at his outburst. It’s a miracle Madam Pince still hasn’t appeared to scold us, she thought. Perhaps they weren’t really being that loud; Hermione still doubted it. 

“So, you always make it a habit to be insufferable while you study?” Draco rebuked, earning an affronted glare from the young witch. 

“Insufferable?!” She half-whispered, half-shrieked. Draco’s eyes darted to the front of the library, before narrowing in her direction. He wasn’t allowed to goad her and then act as if she weren’t provoked. She huffed her displeasure. 

Malfoy sneered anyway, “Very.” They both glared at each other, neither willing to look away first. “I took your beloved spot, and you resort to being petulant to irritate me. It’s rather pathetic if you ask me.”

Hermione swallowed back her irritation, smoothing her expression while she gave him another dismissive shrug of her shoulder, and returned to her book. Her chin, however, once again turned up in a defiant tilt — he was regrettably right; she knew it and he knew it, but she refused to admit that he was right. “I don’t waste my time thinking about how to annoy you, Malfoy, but if I did, it would clearly be working.”

He scoffed.

“Granger’s as petty as she is insufferable. Though I think haughty is a better word.” He commented, smirking at her offense. 

Her book was once again forgotten as her temper flared; why she was engaging with somebody so insolent was beyond her, but she found it indelibly difficult to ignore his swotty attitude. He was great at getting under her skin — in classes and conversation — similar to a pesky thorn with how sharp his remarks were. She loathed to admit that he seemed intelligent enough to keep up with her, but she didn’t linger on that thought. 

“Haughty?!” She half-shrieked, “You must be talking about yourself.” 

“And petulant.” He drawled. “Need I go on?”

“I don’t think you should.” Hermione gritted through her teeth. “You don’t know me at all. Three days is all you’ve known me for, that’s hardly anything to go on.”

“Enlighten me then.” said Malfoy, twirling an expensive looking quill between his fingers and looking as leisurely as a cat basking in the sun. Hermione dogeared the page of her book to hold her place, collecting her thoughts, before meeting Malfoy’s eyes. 

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you tell me about you—oh wait!” She snapped ruefully, “it would seem you’re exceptionally gifted at talking about yourself; I actually feel like I know you quite well already, Malfoy. Spoiled. Spiteful. What were those words you used again…? Insufferable. Haughty—” 

“—I’m spiteful?” 

“Let’s not forget petulant. But wait, I’ll keep going–” said Hermione a bit theatrically, shutting her book too aggressively for its tattered binding. They were interrupted by a loud shushing sound and their heads snapped to the aisle, to finally see Madam Pince with her hands on her hips. Hermione suddenly remembered where they were, and panic shot through her — How could I let this foolish bickering distract me so easily?! — Hermione had been ready to continue her tirade until Malfoy rose from his seat, effectively silencing her with the look he gave. Madam Pince looked just as displeased, eyeing them both a moment longer before she turned out of sight, still within earshot. 

“You’ve also known me all of three days, Granger,” Malfoy mocked her under his breath, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He had a foreboding air about him as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Or have you already forgotten in the midst of your assault on my character?”

“My assault? You started it when you called me insufferable, among other things.” She rebuked, copying his stance from where she sat. Then, in a scathing tone she asked, “Or have you already forgotten?” 

He held her furious glare for a moment longer, but it was suddenly met with an amused glint in his eyes. That can’t be good… 

“Okay. Let’s see… it seems you’re as exceptionally gifted at mimicking me as you are reciting your textbooks. You have a knack for regurgitating specific lines right off their pages,” he said, crossing the small distance to stand at the foot of her table. He flattened his palms over the surface, towering over her notes. His eyes looked almost thoughtful as they scanned her work, before he looked up into her eyes with a cruel smile to deliver the final blow. “So, it appears you lack originality, Granger.”

Hermione’s rebuttal was lost as the scolding voice of Madam Pince’s return broke through their bubble.

“Do I need to escort the two of you out of the library?” Madam Pince asked sternly, glancing between them. Hermione immediately hung her head, while Draco straightened up with his arms crossed, shaking his head no. “I will remind you to keep your voices down, or I will have you both sent out, and I suggest it’s best to find another seating arrangement away from each other.” 

“I’m sorry, Madam Pince. I didn’t realize we had gotten so loud…” Hermione said softly. All of her previous anger was swallowed up by her shame. Madam Pince nodded once at Hermione, and Malfoy only rolled his eyes as she turned away, giving him a disapproving look in the process. They both stood motionless until she disappeared back between the bookshelves. Malfoy’s stare lingered down the aisle, as if waiting to be sure they were out of earshot this time. 

Hermione turned away from him, not even sparing him a glance, as she returned to her belongings; his words stung more than she wanted him to see, and she felt her anger swelling up again.  

So, it appears you lack originality, Granger.

The ice that had been in her veins since they were scolded suddenly gave way to a simmering boil beneath her skin at the realization he might have been right again — while this was a world he was born into, she knew nothing of it until she had just been thrown into it; and she was desperate to fit in, learn it all, embrace it as if she had always known it existed. 

Magic was all Draco Malfoy knew, breathed, and bragged about; meanwhile she had to learn it all from scratch like her fellow muggleborn classmates. He didn’t understand her, despite the blow his words delivered. However, she was determined to prove him wrong about her; that meant she had to become exceptional at everything — not just regurgitating information as he so harshly put it. It was a challenge she was willing to accept.

Her resolve held her emotions in check, and she rose swiftly from her chair to gather her belongings. She really should have been more careful with her ink bottle, but she didn’t give herself time to worry about it right now. She would use a couple cleaning spells later if need be.

Ignoring the smug expression on his face, she brushed by him and headed for the doors with a steely look on her face as she recollected her thoughts. She began strategizing a new study plan and homework schedule that would effectively avoid him going forward. Unfortunately, Malfoy was quick and keeping up with her pace. 

“Leaving so soon?” Malfoy called after her once the doors shut and they were outside of the library. Now at a normal volume, his taunting voice echoed off the stone walls around them.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “As I recall it, Malfoy, you have a staring problem that started all of this.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Granger. Because as I recall it, you have the staring problem. After the Sorting Ceremony.” He stopped in front of her, halting her steps and blocking her path. She tried to side-step him, but he was just as quick. “Running off isn’t very Gryffindor of you.” 

“Well, the Sorting Hat certainly made no mistake with you.” She snapped with a frustrated sigh. She could feel the heat from her anger pooling in her cheeks, boiling under her skin. How does he manage to be so infuriating in such a short amount of time?Why does he insist on keeping up this string of taunts? Of course he would bring up the Sorting Ceremony. 

“Didn't think I noticed, did you?” He prodded with a mocking frown. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy, I was hardly looking at you.” Hermione tried to side-step him again, but he was too agile – it was really frustrating. The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. “If you are done, I’d like to get by. Dinner is starting and I’m meant to join Neville.” 

Malfoy’s nose crinkled at the mention of Neville, and he shook his head with a scoff, “You would befriend Longbottom of all people at this school.” 

“Neville is kind, very much unlike you and your friends.” Hermione hissed, “So say what you will about me, but don’t bother him—”

“—I wouldn’t call those two my friends,” Malfoy said, almost bored. “If anything, they follow me around and do what I tell them to.” 

Hermione ignored the urge to roll her eyes for the umpteenth time; she was afraid they would get stuck if she stayed in his presence any longer. She couldn’t imagine following him around all day like Crabbe and Goyle — she’d rather endure Potions for a week straight with Professor Snape than spend any more time in Malfoy’s presence tonight. It was truly no wonder why Harry denied Malfoy’s offer of friendship. Snakes hardly make good company. 

“So, are we done here?” She asked, managing her best bored expression.

He suddenly stepped out of her way, an indecipherable expression flashed across his face as he said, “Go and run off to your friend, Longbottom, then.”

Without another word, Hermione stalked off past him and headed in the direction of the Great Hall, relieved to finally have some distance between them. Though Malfoy had arrived for dinner only a few minutes after her, she didn’t dwell on her encounter with him for much longer. She sat down to a plate that appeared in front of her, though Neville was nowhere in sight. He must still be in the infirmary... She vowed to check on him if he were there overnight. She ate slowly, reading her textbook while she kept her back turned to the Slytherin table and paid no mind to the grey eyes that bore into her from time to time. 

xXx

Students were gathered around a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room a few days later — resounding groans, including Hermione’s own: 

FLYING LESSONS WILL BEGIN ON THURSDAY MORNING FOR ALL FIRST-YEARS

… and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together. Oh no! Hermione thought to herself. She was daunted already by the thought of flying, and surely, she’d be exhausted by dealing with Slytherins in the mix, too. 

“Typical,” Harry muttered darkly beside her. “Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.” 

Hermione nodded, expressing the same feeling of dread. After their spat in the library, Hermione had found herself in search of a better nook, wishing to avoid Malfoy there altogether. 

So far, she got her wish.

“You don’t know that you’ll make a fool of yourself,” Ron said. “Anyway, I know Malfoy’s always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that’s all talk.” 

Hermione didn’t doubt that one bit, but even she had to admit that she was somewhat certain there was some truth to Malfoy’s bragging; ‘I could fly on a broom before I could even walk,’ he’d said. 

Everyone from wizarding families spoke about Quidditch, and quite often at that. Flying was one activity that children from wizarding families had already had practice in, even if they weren’t flying regularly. So, it relieved Hermione to know that Harry, and Neville, at least shared some of her sentiments — while Harry was a little more excited to learn how to fly, Neville was hesitant, and she was even worse than he. Terrified, in fact. Flying wasn’t something she was able to learn from her books, and that scared her more — not that she hadn’t tried to, of course… 

That Wednesday night she found herself in the library, taking out books on Quidditch and flying, in the hopes of finding something useful. She poured herself over them at her new table, reading and rereading the pages of Quidditch Through the Ages. It all did very little to settle her nerves, and to make matters worse, she eventually spotted Malfoy at his (her old) table on her way back from the shelves with more books in hand. He didn’t seem to notice her this time, and she didn’t dare bring attention to herself. 

She was grateful that Madam Pince hadn’t looked annoyed with her at any point in passing since their encounter. Perhaps because she had heeded the woman’s advice and found a new desk to settle herself at. From where she sat now though, she could just see the back of his blond head — which she preferred more than the smug smirk he usually wore. Of course, not a single hair was out of place. Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief; even if he had noticed her, he didn’t seem to acknowledge her now and she prayed it stayed that way. 

Unfortunately, her eyes felt magnetized to his presence, and it frustrated her to no end. She willed herself to focus, turning her seat so that she faced away from him. She almost wished he wasn’t as diligent a student as she, but she began to wonder if he really did care about his grades just the same. Her mind wandered to a(n unlikely) possibility; perhaps in another world, they could have been friends with the same study routine. Why did he have to be such a rotten prat instead?

The sky had darkened a while later when she rose from her seat to put her books away; sneaking a glance at the table he occupied earlier.

It was empty, he had left unnoticed. Perhaps for dinner, Hermione mused. She was making her way out of the doors when her stomach rumbled loudly: unfortunately for her, it was well past dinner. She had been too immersed in her reading, and it looked like she was also the only student wandering the corridors, followed only by the sound of her shoes echoing off the stone walls.

As she eyed her surroundings, she couldn’t help but smile at its splendor. The castle was different at night—a lot longer in its hallways, and its staircases hooded by shadows. It contrasted starkly to the shimmering bustle of magic that followed her throughout the day, or the sparkling glimpse of the castle from across the lake that first night. 

It was eerily beautiful, she almost considered wandering through the rest of the castle by herself… but thought better of it for now. She would find time to wander it later, and perhaps with Neville so she wasn’t completely alone. Not wanting to get caught by Filch, or Mrs. Norris, or even worse… Professor Snape, Hermione headed straight for the Gryffindor tower to get some sleep in preparation for what she felt was to be a dreadful flying lesson in the morning.

xXx

Hermione unwittingly bored her classmates all stupid the very next morning.

Recounting all of the flying tips she’d gotten out of her library books the previous night, she was only trying to extend some help... at least Neville was hanging on to her every word. He was feeling as desperate as she was, for anything that might help them hang on to their broomsticks. Meanwhile, the others were visibly relieved when Hermione’s verbal report was interrupted by the arrival of something they found more interesting—the daily mail. Owls swooped high and low, dropping letters and packages all around the Great Hall to students and professors.

Hermione noticed that Harry did not receive much, if any, mail at all. She also couldn’t help but notice Malfoy’s eagle owl, who brought packages of sweets from home and an overabundance of letters from both his parents, which he boasted about from his seat at the Slytherin table. His parents must smother him with attention… he hasn’t even been away from home that long. 

Hermione had received a copy of the Daily Prophet and a single letter from home, her name delicately penned on the front of the envelope. Spoiled prat suddenly forgotten, Hermione recognized her mother’s handwriting anywhere — she was so happy to hear from them, even the mundane details about their days at work cleaning teeth or housework her mother kept busy with, or projects her father tinkered with in his spare time. She missed her parents terribly. It filled her heart to read the praises they sang about her acceptance to Hogwarts, and that despite keeping themselves busy, they thought of her frequently. A tiny pang of guilt struck her at the realization that she hadn’t thought of home twice since her arrival. She would make sure to write them tonight and owl them tomorrow… 

Speaking of owls – a large barn owl brought her out of her thoughts then, dropping a small package in front of Neville beside her. It was from his grandmother. He immediately ripped open the packaging, excitedly showing everyone around him a glass ball the size of his palm, which seemed to be full of white smoke. Hermione’s eyes widened; a Remembrall! — she had only read about them once before! To see one up close piqued her curiosity. 

“It’s a Remembrall!” Neville exclaimed. “Gran knows I forget things — this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red — oh . . .” His face suddenly fell; as if he willed it to, the Remembrall had instantly changed to a dark red in his hands, “. . . you’ve forgotten something . . .”

Poor Neville, I hope for his sake he remembers what he’s forgotten. 

And while Neville was trying to remember exactly what he’d forgotten, Malfoy decided to pass by the Gryffindor table. He reached between her and Neville, immediately snatching the Remembrall out of Neville’s hands. Harry and Ron were already on their feet, hoping for a reason to fight him it seemed, but Professor McGonagall was quicker. She could spot trouble faster than any other teacher in the school and she was on her feet before Malfoy had something clever to say. 

“What’s going on?” Her authoritative tone descended across the Gryffindor table and effectively gathered the attention of the nearby tables as well. Students were watching with curiosity at the scene in front of them as McGonagall awaited an answer. She was eyeing the young Slytherin with an expectant expression.

“Malfoy’s got my Remembrall, Professor.” Neville cried, earning a scowl from Malfoy. He rolled the Remembrall between his fingers, eyeing it with mischief. 

“Just looking.” Malfoy said innocently, suddenly dropping the Remembrall back on the table. With that, he sauntered past his now empty seat at the Slytherin table and towards the doors, with Crabbe and Goyle immediately following behind. Much like her peers, Hermione’s eyes lingered on the door for moments after. Why must he insist on being an insufferable prat?

“Git.” Ron muttered under his breath. Hermione nodded slowly, before it turned into a shake of her head. She noticed Harry still eyeing the door, likely contemplating further complicating things between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Perhaps she’d have to volunteer herself to do her best to keep them out of too much trouble… 

-x-

Flying lessons began promptly at three-thirty that afternoon.

Hermione, along with Harry, Ron and the other Gryffindors, filed down the front steps toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds facing the forbidden forest. Apart from the dark, looming trees, the day was clear and breezy. Perfect for flying lessons, to the dismay of Hermione and her nervous peers. 

The Slytherins were already there, standing around the broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry and Ron were talking amongst themselves at her side, but she was unconsciously watching Malfoy and his friends – she thought about what he said to her that night outside the library:

'I wouldn’t call those two my friends. If anything, they follow me around and do what I tell them to,' he’d said. 

As she watched them, she couldn’t help but question why he said such a thing – why would he spend his time around people he didn’t find commonality with? Does he enjoy bossing people around? Malfoy’s eyes briefly met hers, as if sensing her stare. He raised a questioning brow her way for having been caught and she let her hair fall like a curtain between them, thankful for Madam Hooch’s timely arrival then. I have to learn to ignore him... 

Her voice rang out across the open space, “Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!” 

Already?! Learning to ride a bike was less terrifying, Hermione thought to herself. A broomstick and a bike are not even the same thing, at least a bike doesn’t come off the ground...

“Hold out your right hand over your broom,” Madam Hooch instructed, “and say ‘Up!’” 

“UP!” shouted the students in disorganized unison; Harry’s broom rose almost instantly, followed by Malfoy’s next, and Hermione quickly became frustrated as hers remained on the ground, rolling around in the grass in front of her like many of the others. Neville’s barely even moved at all. Why is this so difficult?! 

It took her far longer than she wished, but her broom finally lifted off the ground to meet her hand and she breathed a sigh of relief – it was short-lived, however, when she remembered what was to come next.

Once all their brooms had successfully lifted off the ground, Madam Hooch instructed them to mount and kick off the ground, only after making sure everyone’s grip was secure on their brooms and not at risk of sliding off. Harry and Ron found spiteful enjoyment in her correcting Malfoy, informing him that he had been doing it wrong for years; Hermione clamped her lips shut to hide a smile of her own, silently reveling in the way Malfoy rolled his eyes at the chorus of snickers from the surrounding Gryffindors. 

Before Madam Hooch had blown her whistle, Neville’s feet were suddenly off the ground, redirecting her attention from Malfoy altogether. 

He was rising too fast – ten feet – twenty feet, and Neville’s face was so pale as he watched the ground get further and further away. The higher he rose, the more frantic Madam Hooch’s voice got, telling him to come back down! Hermione’s stomach lurched at the sight before her, worried for her friend, and it happened quickly; he lost his balance on the broom then and he crashed to the ground in a heap with a pained, muffled groan. He lay on his face, motionless in the grass while his broomstick drifted off lazily toward the Forbidden Forest. Madam Hooch looked as pale as he did, inspecting his injuries. She muttered something about a broken wrist, and she saw Neville’s blotchy, tear-streaked face was no longer devoid of color as he sat up. Madam Hooch helped him to his feet.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are, or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.” She escorted him off the field, Neville still clutching his wrist and wiping his tears into the shoulders of his robes as they headed off. Hermione wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but she stood motionless with a pit in her stomach, silently wishing him a quick recovery in the care of Madam Pomfrey. 

No sooner were they out of earshot, Malfoy burst into laughter. “Did you see his face, the great lump?” 

The other Slytherins joined in. Hermione felt her anger rise as quickly as Neville’s broom had, and she rounded on Malfoy immediately.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Hermione snapped. He looked pleased by her reaction; there was a glint in his eye, similar to their argument in the library. She had warned him not to insult her friends. His laughter only infuriated her more. 

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” Pansy Parkinson taunted from behind him. Hermione glanced over his shoulder at her scrunched-up face, ignoring the urge to tell her the same. “Never thought you’d like fat little crybabies, Granger.” Hermione gritted her teeth but before she could retort, Malfoy darted forward and snatched something out of the grass. 

“Look!” said Malfoy, holding up Neville’s Remembrall; it glittered in the sun as he turned it over in his palm. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.” 

Harry spoke up then, his voice level, “Give that here, Malfoy.” 

Everyone stopped talking to watch and Malfoy smiled nastily, tossing it up in the air a couple times. He looked annoyingly relaxed, glancing between Harry and Hermione with a bored expression. It was replaced by an amused smirk as an idea struck him.

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?” 

“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but Malfoy had already leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hermione watched in stunned, yet angry awe. He hadn’t been lying; he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak, his voice rang out, “Come and get it, Potter!” 

Harry didn’t hesitate and grabbed his broom. 

“No!” Hermione shouted, yanking him back by the sleeve of his robes. “Madam Hooch told us not to move — you’ll get us all into trouble!” Let Madam Hooch find Malfoy up in the air, she wanted to say but Harry ignored her, and then he was off. Hermione sighed, an angry, frustrated sound escaping her, “What an idiot!”

The other students did not seem to care that they would all be punished for two reckless boys’ stupid antics. However, Hermione watched, incensed, as Harry threatened to knock Malfoy off his broom. He shot forward, and for a split-second Malfoy actually looked worried, but he dodged Harry easily. Hermione found herself searching the grounds for Madam Hooch to return; but she was the only one. The other students were cheering Harry on, clapping for him, and the Slytherins were taunting Harry in hopes he would lose focus and fall off his broom. 

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!” Harry called. The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy. He righted himself on his broom, raising his arm that still clutched the Remembrall. 

“Catch it if you can, then!” Malfoy shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air. It soared over Harry, and Malfoy lowered himself back to the ground as Harry took off after it.

Malfoy laughed with his fellow Slytherins, and they cheered him on upon his return.

“Why Malfoy?! Why can’t you leave things alone?” Hermione demanded the moment his feet touched the ground. He turned to her, and even from her place across the short distance she could see his eyes were alight with the mischief he caused. It was all the answer she needed; he didn’t even humor her with a response before more cheers and gasps erupted around her, and she looked away to see Harry crash into the grass – the Remembrall safely in hand. She felt a chill run down her spine in relief he was alright, but her irritation flared. She was ready to give him an earful when McGonagall’s voice rang out above the rest:

“HARRY POTTER!”

This can’t be good… Madam Hooch warned us all! 

“Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –” McGonagall was rendered speechless with shock, looking at Harry over her glasses.  “— how dare you — might have broken your neck —” 

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor —” Hermione started. 

“Be quiet, Miss Granger —” 

“But Malfoy —” Ron tried.

“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.” Harry hung his head as he followed in silence, while Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle watched with triumphant expressions. A rock sank in Hermione’s stomach at the thought of Harry being expelled for Malfoy’s antics. Though Harry wasn’t innocent either for having taken Malfoy’s bait, Hermione wished there was a way to prove it. It isn’t fair… 

“Why, you ask Granger.” Malfoy’s voice cut through her thoughts, and his casual stare met her angry eyes. “Because Potter is too righteous, and you, Weasley and Longbottom are just as pathetic.” 

“You should be the one following McGonagall right now, not Harry!” She snapped. Malfoy’s grin fell, and he sneered at her. “If you think she won’t find out about this, you’re wrong.”

“Do tell on me, Granger.” Malfoy recovered, rolling his eyes. “Run along and be a good, little Gryffindor. My father will have it sorted out properly.”

It was Hermione’s turn to roll her eyes but before she could say anything more, Madam Hooch returned, and with that so did the remainder of their flying lessons. Piling onto her dread, her mind drifted to Harry possibly being expelled, and Malfoy making it out of the situation wrongfully pardoned. She wished to burn a hole through his head, but she refused to further acknowledge his existence for the rest of the class. He called her and her friends pathetic – he said Harry was too righteous. 

She felt angry. She felt exhausted. 

Hermione skipped the library that night, in favor of the Gryffindor common room to adhere to her studies. She didn’t think she could keep it civil if she inevitably ran into Malfoy there again. As much as she tried not to think of him, his stupid smirk and mischievous eyes permeated her mind like an ink stain. 

When it was time for dinner, she pried herself away from her books to make sure she didn’t miss it this time. Seated next to Seamus and Dean, they had left a seat open for Neville’s return, in case he came down to dinner. Neville was momentarily forgotten, however, as she looked over to see Harry approaching the Gryffindor table with a smile on his face. She was relieved to see that he wasn’t expelled after all; and she almost wanted to see the disappointment on Malfoy’s. Almost. 

Harry was, in fact, not expelled from Hogwarts; he was made the new Seeker for Gryffindor’s Quidditch team – unheard of for a first-year student. She knew that much because of her recent studies, and her trusty copy of Hogwarts: A History. The youngest player in a century. There would be a huge buzz for the Gryffindor Quidditch season as soon as word spread. 

Hermione listened in to their conversation as Harry relayed the conversation with McGonagall, and Oliver Wood, the sixth year who was also Captain of the Quidditch team. Ron’s brothers, the twins, came over then. Dropping on either side of Harry, they were talking excitedly about their new Seeker and how they were sure to win the Quidditch Cup this year. Not long after, they stood up again to leave, claiming they were off to find some secret passage they were told about. 

Their meal was interrupted once more, only this time by far less welcoming company – Malfoy, flanked again by Crabbe and Goyle. His voice carried over, “Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” 

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” said Harry coolly. Crabbe and Goyle looked unamused, with matching scowls on their faces while they each cracked their knuckles. 

Pathetic. That word is becoming overused, Hermione thought to herself. 

She tried to pay no mind to them crowding nearby, but she could see the blond of Malfoy’s hair through her eyelashes. He kept talking. “I’d take you on anytime on my own,” said Malfoy. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only — no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose?” 

Hermione wanted to scream; these boys will never learn! 

“Of course he has,” said Ron, wheeling around. “I’m his second, who’s yours?” 

Hermione peeked up then, while Malfoy looked between Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. None of them paid any mind to her eavesdropping, too busy brewing trouble. 

“Crabbe,” he said. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.” 

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. Hermione found her plate very interesting, avoiding Malfoy’s eyes – she was certain then he caught her watching, but she didn’t see him stalk off in the direction of the doors before he disappeared, with Crabbe and Goyle not too far behind.  

“What is a wizard’s duel?” She overheard Harry ask. “And what do you mean, you’re my second?” 

“Well, a second’s there to take over if you die,” said Ron casually, starting at last on his cold pie. Hermione rolled her eyes. So dramatic. Catching the look on Harry’s face, he added quickly, “But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy’ll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway.” 

“And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?” Harry asked uneasily. Hermione wanted to tell them that was likely to happen, if their wand wielding skills were anything to go by… she couldn’t speak for Malfoy, however. Goyle, though, would likely be in the same position. 

All they really had to worry about was Malfoy – he was, unfortunately, exceptionally gifted at flying, that wasn’t just an exaggeration or lie on his part; and he wasn’t far behind her in classes as far as spells and skills either. 

“Throw it away and punch him on the nose,” Ron suggested. Hermione had heard enough. Nobody was going to duel anybody if she could help it. Not only would they likely make fools of themselves in front of Malfoy and his friends, but they were likely to lose House points for Gryffindor as well for being caught out of bed so late. She didn’t care if Malfoy lost his House points, they could harp on him for that stupidity themselves, and rightfully so. 

“Excuse me.” They both looked over at her. 

“Can’t a person eat in peace in this place?” said Ron. Hermione shot him a look, although she chose to ignore him and spoke to Harry. 

“I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying —” 

“Bet you could,” Ron muttered. She ignored him again, though her patience was wearing thin. 

“— and you mustn’t go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.” 

“And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry then. She bristled at his flippant response; why were they brushing her off when they were so foolishly overlooking things? 

“Good-bye,” said Ron. Hermione looked between the two of them with a cross expression then. If they didn’t want to listen, she was going to get her point across one way or another. She had a bad feeling about this supposed duel. Either she was right about them making a fool out of themselves, or they would lose Gryffindor hard earned points – both were not in their favor. Anyone with eyes and a brain could see that. While they went back to chatting amongst themselves, Hermione settled herself on yet another sleepless night ahead. 

-x-

The walk back to the common room was spent plotting, and Hermione found herself sat by the fire later that evening. Her eyelids felt rather heavy, and she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep; the book at her side was long forgotten while she dozed in and out, and only when she heard footsteps descending the stairs behind her did she stir fully awake. 

“Half-past eleven,” a voice whispered. Ron Weasley. Unmistakable. “We’d better go.” 

They had almost reached the portrait hole when Hermione finally flickered on the lamp and gave herself away, “I can’t believe you two are going to do this.” 

“You!” said Ron furiously. “Go back to bed!” 

“I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped at him. How dare he!? It’s not like she wanted to get them in trouble; if anything, she was trying to keep them out of it, but they seemed to just find her to be a nuisance. “Percy — he’s a prefect, he’d put a stop to this.”

But again, they refused to listen to her. Harry gave her a look, one that seemed to say he couldn’t believe she was trying to stop them. Did they really expect her to let them do something so stupid? She knew they really didn't see her as a friend, but she was only trying to help them stay out of trouble. Malfoy was trouble, and the nagging feeling in her gut told her they were falling into some sort of trap. 

“Come on,” Harry said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole, but Hermione wasn’t going to give up that easily. She followed them through the portrait hole, voicing her displeasure. 

“Don’t you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you’ll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.” 

“Go away.” The words hurt her more than she let them see; why did they insist on ignoring her? 

“All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow! You’re so —” She gasped. The portrait swung closed, and Hermione turned around to find herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady was gone, and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower. She groaned. “Now what am I going to do?”

“That’s your problem,” Ron said flippantly. She scowled at him. “We’ve got to go or we’re going to be late.” 

How could I be so foolish? Hermione battled internally for a moment; torn between sitting outside the tower until the Fat Lady returned (and hoping Mr. Filch or Mrs. Norris weren’t lurking anywhere nearby) to grant her entry or follow the boys to face Malfoy and his 'friends' for a midnight duel. She was livid at the realization that it was likely better to follow the boys and keep them out of worse trouble, if not all. As if it hasn’t already been a long night… 

She also didn’t wish to see Malfoy again so soon. But a small part of her wondered – if Harry or Ron were incapable of dueling Malfoy, would she have to? It’s tempting… As much as she wished to avoid trouble, she was in it already. She settled on it as fact that her fate was sealed the moment she decided to follow them. 

They hadn’t even reached the end of the corridor when she caught up with them. 

“I’m coming with you,” she decided, a little breathless. It was truly against her better judgment, but what else did she have to lose? At least if she were caught with them, she could explain herself. I would love to see what excuse they’ll come up with…

“You are not.” Ron shook his head. 

“D’you think I’m going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us, I’ll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up.” She knew they wouldn’t. But she could ensure they’d have to, anyway. 

“You’ve got some nerve —” Ron argued. 

“Shut up, both of you!” said Harry sharply. “I heard something.” 

It was a sort of snuffling. 

“Mrs. Norris?” breathed Ron, squinting through the dark. Hermione shook her head, and she saw a dark figure curled up outside the portrait. It's Neville! She suddenly felt like a horrible friend, remembering her intentions to visit him in the infirmary after dinner. He jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer, and recognized Hermione first, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Thank goodness you found me! I’ve been out here for hours - I couldn’t remember the new password to get in to bed.” Hours!? I waited hours in the common room, too… She tried to remember if she had heard any noises outside the portrait, but nothing out of the ordinary came to mind. 

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password’s ‘Pig snout’ but it won’t help you now, the Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere.” Said Ron.

“How’s your arm?” Hermione asked. 

“Fine,” said Neville, showing them. “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.”

“Good — well, look, Neville, we’ve got to be somewhere, we’ll see you later —” Harry said then, heading off in the direction of the stairs. Neville jumped to his feet.

“Don’t leave me!” Neville cried, “I don’t want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron’s been past twice already.”

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville. This was already off to a bad start... four students out of bed, heading to a midnight duel. Hermione could feel a headache forming. “If either of you get us caught, I’ll never rest until I’ve learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you two!”

She had a retort ready on the tip of her tongue, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward. It would have to wait, but she would be sure to use it first if that were the case. Hermione silently fumed to herself as she followed them through the shadows of the hallways, looking for any signs of a teacher or a cat. Moonlight cast through the tall windows at every turn, and they eventually reached the trophy room.

It was midnight. Malfoy and Crabbe were nowhere in sight.

They wandered around the room in silence, just waiting; cups, shields, plates, and statues glimmered even in the darkness. Harry stood with his wand at the ready, and Hermione did the same, in case Malfoy decided to jump out and surprise them. The minutes crept by slowly. 

"He's late," Ron whispered, "maybe he's chickened out."

A noise in the next room made them jump, and Hermione was quick to raise her wand when they heard someone speak - and it wasn't Malfoy nor Crabbe. It was Filch! He was talking to Mrs. Norris and Harry was suddenly frantically waving to the others to follow him quickly. The scurried as silently as possible toward the door, and Hermione sincerely hoped Mrs. Norris couldn't hear the sounds of their hearts pounding with fear. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when Filch burst into the trophy room. He was still talking to Mrs. Norris about students hiding when Harry shook Hermione's shoulder, and they were moving again. 

It was Neville who tripped then, sending himself and Ron crashing into a suit of armor - the sound was enough to wake the entire castle, and Harry was suddenly yelling "RUN!"

Hermione didn't look back to see if Filch was following them, she took off after Harry, completely forgetting Ron or Neville still scrambling to their feet. Harry was in the lead, panting as terribly as she was as they ripped through a tapestry that revealed a hidden passageway. Their shoes stomped across the stone floor, and she knew they were likely to be caught by somebody else at this point, but Hermione kept going despite the burn in her lungs. The passage led them out near their Charms classroom, and she stopped to catch her breath. 

"I think we've lost him," Harry coughed, leaning against the cold wall. He wiped at the sweat on his forehead and Ron was doubled over on his knees, followed by Neville who was holding himself up against the wall to her other side, wheezing for air. Now that they were safer for the time being, Hermione's anger struck back up and she clutched at her pounding chest as she scolded them. 

"I - told - you!" She gasped, "I - told - you!"

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," Ron panted, "quickly as possible!"

"Malfoy tricked you!" Hermione snapped at them both. "You realize that don't you? He was never going to meet you - Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room. I bet you Malfoy tipped him off - he's getting back at you for not being expelled! Let's go." 

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. They only made it a few paces when a doorknob rattled nearby, and suddenly Peeve's shot out of a classroom in front of them. At the sight of them, he gave a squeal of delight and began yelling "STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!" He gave a laugh as they took of sprinting again, right into a locked door. 

"This is it!" Ron groaned, "We're done for! This is the end."

So dramatic!

"Oh, move over!" Hermione hissed, raising her wand; she tapped the lock and whispered, "Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open - they piled through it, shutting the door quickly. Hermione pressed her ear against it, listening, as Ron continued to whine behind her. She shushed him, to hear as Peeves and Mr. Filch were going back and forth, before Peeves took off with a shrill cackle, and Filch cursed him as he stalked off in the opposite direction. They would wait a couple more minutes to be sure. Hermione heard more shuffling behind her as Harry brushed Neville off his robes, and snapped, "What?"

She turned in time with Harry to see they were in another corridor - not just any corridor, however. The forbidden corridor on the third floor, to be exact. They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog that filled the whole space between the floor and ceiling. Not just that, but this dog also had three heads. Three pairs of mad eyes. Three noses. Three drooling mouths with yellowish, sharp fangs. And now they knew why it was forbidden... 

Suddenly dueling Malfoy didn't seem as scary. 

The dog was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, but it quickly began to growl. Hermione was certain she stopped breathing for a moment, trying to think of an escape that wouldn't send them screaming back out into the hallways for Filch to find them again. Harry reacted quicker though - likely thinking the same - they would take their chances with Filch after all. 

He twisted the doorknob, causing them to fall backwards and Hermione's eye caught the door underneath the dog's massive paws before Harry slammed the door shut. She wondered where that door led to, but she didn't linger on the thought long as they finally hurried back to Gryffindor tower - Filch was nowhere in sight, probably searching elsewhere in the castle for them, but they hardly cared. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She scolded them for their sweaty, rugged appearances and having been out of bed, but Harry shouted the password and she let them in without another question.

The scrambled into the common room, collapsing into the armchairs. It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville looked as though he'd never speak again, still too stunned by the monstrous three-headed dog they'd encountered. Hermione rubbed her aching head; the lack of sleep and terror had finally caught up to her. Tomorrow was going to be a tough day. 

“What do they think they’re doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” said Ron finally. He sounded hysterical. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.” 

“You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you?” Hermione snapped when she was able to breathe again properly. “Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”

“The floor?” Harry asked incredulously. “I wasn’t looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads!”

“No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something.” Now that she had had a moment to recollect herself, and her thoughts, she realized that Hogwarts was obviously keeping something hidden on the third floor; and that a monstrous dog like that would certainly keep many people from attempting to find out what that was. They could have been killed, or at least seriously harmed. Malfoy had tricked them, that was no surprise now, and despite her attempts to keep them out of trouble they had inevitably lumped her in. She stood up, glaring at them. “I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed — or worse, expelled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”

She paid no mind to Ron's comments as she stalked up to the girl's dormitories. The exhaustion was weighing on her like an anchor, and she desperately wanted the safety of her bed. It welcomed her with sleep almost immediately. 

xXx

Hermione vowed not to speak to Harry or Ron the next morning. They were rather cheerful for having nearly been eaten by a three-headed beast. 

She was exhausted, and even more disappointed in herself when daylight arrived. She shouldn't have followed them, somehow knowing it was a trap, and it was truly a miracle they were alive to tell the tale. She overheard them at breakfast talking about a next adventure and told herself not to get involved. 

It was another lonely afternoon in the library, researching summoning charms. It was more advanced than the curriculum required for first-year students, but she found the topic interesting enough. Despite having almost no interest in finding out what the beast they encountered last night was guarding, she still found herself distracted by it. The image replayed in her head over and over; it was a trapdoor in the floor, which could only mean there was more lurking beneath it. It wasn't worth it to find out, but she had overheard Harry telling Ron about a package being moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts - that must be it, but what exactly is it? 

Her distracted thoughts were interrupted by a thud sound, and she groaned, dropping her head into her book. The last person she wanted to deal with had just arrived. Malfoy. 

"At my table today?" He asked cheekily. Hermione scowled. She knew she should ignore him, but he was less likely to go away if she remained silent. She didn't take him as somebody who let things go easily. 

"I thought we weren't allowed to reserve tables, you said so yourself, didn't you?" She retorted. She flashed him a sarcastic smile before turning back to her textbook. "You weren't here first this time."

"But I'm here now."

"A shame, really." Hermione deadpanned. He began unpacking his ink and quill, and his textbooks, to Hermione's horror. She placed a hand out to stop him, and questioned, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Taking a seat." Malfoy said simply, "as you can see, all the other desks are taken."

"But I'm sitting here!"

"Unfortunately." 

"You're not sitting here!" Hermione snapped, "I don't want company, and especially not yours!"

"You can leave," Malfoy shrugged with a lazy smirk, "but I'm staying."

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her options were to (try to) ignore Malfoy and finish her work or leave and give him what he wanted. After the events of last night, she suddenly wished she had dueled him. Madam Pince would surely never let them step foot in the library if they attempted it now, and she was trying to stay out of any more trouble - hence ignoring the two boys he had tricked already. 

"Are you sure you want to be seen studying with me?" She asked in a saccharine tone. 

"If you leave, problem solved."

"If," Hermione said coolly, nodding her head. "Well, I've got a couple hours-worth of work to do, so I don't intend to leave, and I don't intend to keep this game up, Malfoy. Find yourself a new table and leave me alone. I have no desire to deal with you today."

He remained rooted to his spot, looking down at her. She looked up at him with a withering stare, hoping she just looked exhausted and not in the mood to deal with him. When did that seem to stop him though? If anything, she was certain it egged him on. Maybe she could kill him with kindness and freak him out. A thought struck her then.

"On second thought, stay." Hermione said, a little smirk of her own forming. "Do you need help with your studies?"

Malfoy's nose wrinkled at her suggestion, "Help from you?"

"Why else would you insist on sitting with me?" She asked, smug. "You must be too afraid to ask yourself."

"What are you on about?" He snapped, but before he could react Hermione had reached across to grab one of his books, a Transfiguration textbook, and began flipping through the pages carelessly. He reached across and ripped it from her hands, seething. "Don't touch my things!"

"My mistake, I just assumed that because you won't leave it must mean you were seeking my help." She smiled sweetly, silently reveling in how angry he got that she'd even suggested such a thing. 

"I don't need your help!" Malfoy hissed, grabbing his belongings.

Hermione glanced over his shoulder to a now empty table. Her smile grew, and she pointed, "Oh look! A desk just opened up, you might want to grab it before someone else does and I'll assume you need help with Charms, too." He glared at her, and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to back down, but the fury on his face was worth it as he stalked off to the other seat.

Hermione laughed to herself as she sat back down to her own Charms book, and for the first time that day her exhaustion from the night previous was gone, replaced by triumph. She would have to kill him with kindness more often as it seemed he really didn't appreciate her offering her help. The thought she may have insulted him brought on another wave of belly laughter, and she covered her face with her textbook as he scowled at her again. 

Hermione - 1
Malfoy - 0

Nothing would beat this good mood for the rest of the day.