Haunted

The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning energy—the clinking of cutlery, murmured conversations, and bursts of laughter weaving together in a familiar hum. Hermione sat at the Slytherin table, nestled comfortably between Draco and Blaise. A plate of eggs and toast rested in front of her, mostly untouched, as her attention remained fixed on the thick book Draco had gifted her that morning.

Draco leaned closer, his voice low and teasing, but there was a genuine note of concern beneath his words. “If you’re not going to eat, Granger, I’ll pack this up for you myself and follow you around like a house-elf until you finish it.”

Hermione looked up, the corners of her mouth twitching. “You, a house-elf? I’d pay good money to see that.”

Draco smirked, picking up a piece of toast and holding it toward her. “You might not have to. Open up, or I’ll start feeding you right here. Don’t test me.”

Laughing softly, Hermione took the toast from him and bit into it. “Satisfied?”

“For now,” he replied, leaning back with a self-satisfied smirk. “But I’m watching you.”

Before Hermione could respond, a familiar voice broke through the hum of the Hall. “Malfoy, you didn’t.”

Hermione glanced up just as Pansy Parkinson appeared beside them, her hands planted on her hips and her perfectly arched brow raised in mock indignation.

Draco sighed, already looking exasperated. “Didn’t what, Pansy?”

“Tell me you didn’t forget to invite Granger to the Slytherin Halloween party,” Pansy said, her voice accusatory but playful, her eyes alight with mischief.

Draco’s brow furrowed. “I wasn’t planning on going this year.”

Pansy’s gasp was comically dramatic, one hand flying to her chest. “Skipping the Halloween party? Who even are you? It’s the social event of the term!” She turned to Hermione, her expression conspiratorial. “You’re not letting him drag you down, are you?”

Hermione, intrigued despite herself, set her toast down. “I didn’t know about it. What’s so special?”

Pansy waved her hands in a sweeping gesture. “Costumes. Music. Enough Firewhisky to drown a kelpie. It’s a tradition.”

Draco snorted softly. “It’s loud, crowded, and wildly inappropriate. Not exactly your scene, Granger.”

Hermione arched a brow, her tone lightly challenging. “You don’t think I can handle a party?”

Pansy grinned, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Exactly! She fought in a war, Malfoy. She can handle a little Slytherin mischief.”

Draco looked at Hermione, his expression cautious. “It’s not exactly tame, Granger.”

Hermione shrugged, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “Maybe I’d like a little mischief. It could be fun.”

Pansy clapped her hands together, triumphant. “That’s the spirit! Granger, meet me in Hogsmeade before the party. We’ll find you the perfect outfit.”

Hermione hesitated. “I was hoping to spend the Hogsmeade trip with Draco. Harry’s meeting us for lunch, and—”

Draco cut in smoothly, his smirk returning. “Don’t worry. I’ll rescue you from Pansy before then. We’ll still have time for Potter.”

Hermione pouted playfully. “I’d much rather shop for books than clothes.”

Draco’s smirk softened into something closer to affection. “If the books I’ve been giving you aren’t enough, I clearly need to step up my game.”

She laughed, nudging him lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Draco said, his tone mock-serious, “you keep coming back.”

As Pansy turned to leave, she tossed a casual comment over her shoulder. “Oh, Granger—Neville’s invited, too. He’d fit right in.”

Hermione blinked. “Neville?”

“Of course,” Pansy replied breezily. “And Ginny. And Luna.” She paused, casting a sly glance at Blaise. “Though Blaise might scare them off.”

Blaise grinned, his tone light but suggestive. “Scare them? I’d make sure they had a night to remember.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ll let them know, but you’re on your own if Ginny hexes you.”

Blaise chuckled as Pansy disappeared into the crowd, leaving Hermione and Draco to finish their breakfast. Hermione smiled at him, her excitement tempered with curiosity. The idea of a Slytherin Halloween party was both thrilling and slightly daunting, but with Draco by her side, she felt ready for whatever came next.

Hermione’s sleep was abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone noisily pulling open the curtains around her bed. She groaned, burying her face deeper into her pillow, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and leave.

“Up and at ’em, Granger!” a far-too-cheerful voice chirped.

Hermione’s eyes cracked open, squinting against the soft morning light streaming through the windows. Standing at the foot of her bed, looking entirely out of place in the Gryffindor dormitory, was Pansy Parkinson. Her hands were on her hips, her glossy black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, and she was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Hermione blinked. “Pansy? What—how did you even get in here?”

Pansy waved a hand dismissively, sitting on the edge of Hermione’s bed as if she belonged there. “Oh, Neville let me in. He was coming back from the greenhouses and looked too adorably clueless to say no. Honestly, Granger, you should really put a charm on your common room. The password system is practically begging to be exploited.”

Hermione sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Neville let you in?” she repeated, her voice groggy. “And why are you here so early? It’s Saturday.”

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Because your insufferable boyfriend insisted we be done by mid-morning so he could still monopolize your time before your precious lunch with Potter. You should be flattered, really. I don’t usually take orders from anyone.”

Hermione groaned, flopping back onto her bed. “It’s too early for this.”

“Too bad,” Pansy chirped, standing and yanking Hermione’s blanket off with surprising strength. “We have a mission: find you something fabulous for the party tonight. Now, up you go.”

Hermione sat up again, scowling as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You’re way too excited about this.”

Pansy smirked, her dark eyes sparkling. “Of course, I am. It’s not every day I get to play dress-up with the brightest witch of her age.”

Hermione grumbled as she grabbed her robe and headed toward the bathroom. “You better not make me regret this.”

As Hermione got ready, her voice drifted through the bathroom door. “So, Neville let you in? I take it you asked him about tonight?”

“Of course,” Pansy replied, her voice carrying an edge of mischief. “He confirmed he’s going. And, Granger, let me tell you—he’s shaping up to be quite the surprise this year. I might have plans of my own for him.”

Hermione emerged from the bathroom, her hair still damp and a smirk playing on her lips. “Plans, huh? Poor Neville. He has no idea what he’s in for.”

Pansy grinned, unrepentant. “Oh, he’ll survive. Probably. Anyway, let’s go. We’ve got shops to raid, and I’m not letting Draco’s ridiculous schedule ruin my fun.”

Hermione grabbed her bag, shaking her head but unable to suppress a small smile. As much as Pansy’s energy could be overwhelming, she had to admit—this might actually be fun.

The dress shop in Hogsmeade was small but elegant, its walls lined with racks of enchanted gowns that shimmered and swayed as if caught in an unseen breeze. Pansy was already rifling through a row of dresses, her dark eyes sharp with focus, while Hermione hovered near a mirror, shifting uncomfortably.

“Pansy, are you sure this is necessary?” Hermione asked, glancing at the price tags on a nearby rack. “It’s just a party.”

Pansy turned, fixing Hermione with a look that could have stopped a charging Hippogriff. “Just a party? Granger, it’s the Slytherin Halloween party. You can’t show up in one of those cozy jumpers you Gryffindors love so much. You need to make an impression.”

Hermione sighed, moving reluctantly toward the dresses. “Fine. But while we’re here, maybe you could explain what actually happens at this party?”

Pansy grinned, clearly pleased. “Well, it starts like any other party—music, drinks, people standing around pretending they’re too cool to care. But then, around midnight, we send the younger students to bed.” She paused, her grin turning wicked. “That’s when it really gets interesting.”

Hermione hesitated, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. “Interesting how?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Pansy said breezily, flipping through a rack of dresses. “Dancing, exhibitionism, some experimental potions… This year, Blaise and I concocted something special—a diluted Amortentia-inspired potion. Just enough to lower inhibitions, not enough to, you know, cause a scandal.”

Hermione froze. “Lower inhibitions? Isn’t that... a bit unethical?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Relax, Granger. It’s not real Amortentia. It’s more like a mild confidence booster. Think of it as liquid courage. Everyone knows about it, and it’s completely optional.”

Hermione still looked uneasy, but she pressed on. “And the… exhibitionism you mentioned earlier?”

Pansy’s grin widened. “Oh, that’s just some of our housemates. Let’s just say they’re not shy about expressing their… affections in public. It’s not uncommon to see a couple—or more than a couple—sneaking off to a corner or putting on a bit of a show.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, and her voice rose slightly. “Is that what Draco is into?”

Pansy laughed, the sound rich and amused. “Merlin, no. Draco’s practically a prude by Slytherin standards. He barely even drinks at these things. Honestly, you’re probably the reason he’s even considering going this year.”

Hermione relaxed slightly, though she still looked skeptical. “So, why is he worried about me going?”

“Because he’s Draco,” Pansy said simply, holding up a dress and inspecting it critically. “He overthinks everything. And he probably doesn’t want you to see the worst of us and think less of him.”

Hermione frowned thoughtfully, but before she could respond, Pansy gasped, pulling a dress from the rack. “This. This is it.”

The dress was a deep, shimmering green, made of silk that clung to the hanger as if alive. It had long, off-the-shoulder sleeves and lace cutouts along the sides, revealing just enough skin to be tantalizing without being overly risqué.

Hermione eyed it warily. “It’s beautiful, but... don’t you think it’s a bit much?”

“Not for tonight,” Pansy said, thrusting it into Hermione’s hands. “Trust me, this is perfect. Try it on.”

Hermione hesitated, glancing down at the dress as if it might bite. “And what exactly am I supposed to be in this?”

Pansy’s grin turned sharp, her voice practically purring as she replied, “A viper, of course.”

With a reluctant sigh, Hermione headed toward the dressing room, the dress draped over her arm. Behind her, Pansy leaned against a rack of gowns, her smile triumphant. “Oh, Granger,” she murmured to herself. “Draco doesn’t even know what he’s in for.”

Draco leaned against the corner of the shop, scanning the bustling Hogsmeade street. The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of cinnamon and cider, mingling with the low hum of weekend chatter. His gaze sharpened as he spotted Hermione and Pansy exiting the dress shop. Pansy, as usual, was chattering animatedly, but Draco’s attention zeroed in on Hermione.

She approached him with a small, satisfied smile, holding a bag that presumably contained her dress for the evening. The sight of her relaxed, happy expression warmed something in him.

Draco straightened as she drew near, smirking. “Is that it?” he asked, nodding toward the bag. “Can I have a peek?”

Before Hermione could answer, Pansy swooped in, plucking the bag from her hands with a dramatic flourish. “Absolutely not,” she declared, clutching it as if it contained state secrets.

Hermione frowned. “Pansy, I can handle my own dress.”

“Not until tonight, you can’t,” Pansy replied with a sly grin. “Speaking of which, I’ll be in your dorm at six to help you get ready.”

Hermione blinked, confused. “But the party doesn’t start until eight?”

“Exactly,” Pansy said matter-of-factly. “Which is why starting at six means we’ll likely make it there by nine.”

Draco couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped him at Hermione’s expression—a mix of horror and incredulity. She glanced at him, her brows furrowing. “She’s not serious, is she?”

“I’m afraid she is,” he replied, still chuckling.

As Pansy disappeared down the street, Draco turned back to Hermione. He reached up, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Don’t worry. You’ll survive.” He leaned down to kiss her, his lips brushing hers with a mix of affection and amusement.

Hermione groaned softly, resting her forehead against his chest. “How do you put up with her?”

Draco grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist as they began walking toward the bookstore. “She’s not so bad. Besides, she keeps things... entertaining.”

When they stepped into the cozy, parchment-scented haven of the bookstore, Hermione’s demeanor shifted instantly. Her eyes lit up as she moved through the aisles, her fingers trailing over spines and covers with reverence. Draco stayed close, observing her with quiet amusement.

As Hermione browsed, Draco found himself cataloging every book she lingered on: a thick tome about the magical history of the pyramids, a leather-bound volume on Morgana and Merlin, and a sleek paperback with an evocative cover—some kind of fictional romance, he guessed.

Is it insane to buy every book she touches? he thought, watching her pick up yet another title. Maybe. Am I going to do it anyway? Absolutely. Will she notice? Probably not.

After narrowing her choices down to three books, Hermione stood in front of him, chewing her lip. “I can’t decide,” she admitted, holding them up. “This one is a historical deep dive into Morgana and Merlin’s partnership and rivalry. But this one has theories on ancient Egyptian pyramid magic—it’s fascinating! And this,” she added, holding up the paperback, “is, um... a romance.” Her cheeks colored slightly. “It’s a bit darker than I usually read, but it sounds intriguing.”

Draco smirked, taking the books from her hands before she could protest. “Problem solved.”

“Draco!” Hermione protested as he walked to the counter. “You can’t buy all three!”

He ignored her, instructing the clerk to put the purchase on the Malfoy account.

Hermione followed him, frowning. “I was going to pay for those. And honestly, I’m running out of space in my dorm!”

Draco turned to her, his expression smug. “That shouldn’t stop you. A lack of space isn’t a reason to stop collecting knowledge.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he replied, sliding the bag into her hands, “here we are.”

As they left the shop, Hermione glanced at him, her expression softening. “Thank you, Draco.”

He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Always, Granger.”

Hermione’s fingers were still laced with Draco’s as they strolled toward the Three Broomsticks. The brisk autumn air was invigorating, and she could already picture Harry sitting at their usual table, likely nursing a butterbeer.

Draco noticed. “What are you thinking about?”

She glanced up at him. “Just how nice today has been so far.”

His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

As they passed a narrow alleyway, Hermione suddenly felt a strong hand clamp around her upper arm. The pull was so abrupt that her breath caught, and she instinctively tightened her grip on Draco’s hand. The force yanked them both into the shadows of the alley.

“Oi—” Draco started, his tone sharp as he moved to her side.

Hermione reacted immediately, her wand already in her free hand, pointed at the assailant. “Let go of me!” she demanded, her voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline. Her eyes focused on the figure, and her stomach plummeted when she saw who it was. “Ron?”

His face was flushed, his blue eyes wide with what looked like desperation and fury. “You’ve got to fight it, Hermione,” Ron said, his grip tightening. “You’re under the Imperius Curse, and I can help you break it!”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione snapped, yanking her arm free. “I’m not under any curse! And you can’t just grab people like that!”

At this, Ron’s eyes darted to Draco, standing protectively at Hermione’s side. “You don’t even know it’s happening,” Ron shouted, his voice rising in pitch. “But I do! I know what he’s doing to you—he’s got you twisted up in his Death Eater tricks!”

Before Hermione could respond, Ron’s hands were on her again, shaking her as if that might snap her out of some imaginary spell. “Ronald!” she yelled, struggling against his grip. “Let go of me!”

Draco stepped between them in a flash, his voice low and dangerous. “If you lay another hand on her, Weasley, the next place you’ll wake up in is going to be St. Mungo’s.”

Ron ignored him, his focus fixed entirely on Hermione. “Look at me!” he demanded, his voice cracking. “Don’t look at him—look at me!”

Before Hermione could respond, Draco’s patience snapped. His hand shot out, striking Ron squarely in the jaw with enough force to send him staggering backward into the alley wall. “She’s not yours to command, Weasley,” Draco growled, his voice cold and steady.

Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as Ron slumped to the ground, unconscious. She turned to Draco, her eyes wide with shock.

Draco’s jaw was tight, his hand flexing at his side, but his attention remained on Ron’s crumpled form. “He deserved worse,” he muttered, his voice low.

Before Hermione could reply, Harry’s voice cut through the tension. “What the hell is going on?”

Harry appeared at the mouth of the alley, Theo Nott at his side. Harry’s expression was a mix of weariness and frustration as he took in the scene: Draco standing rigid with barely restrained fury, Hermione rubbing her bruised arm, and Ron unconscious on the ground.

“Bloody hell,” Theo muttered, stepping closer to inspect the situation. “What did we miss?”

Draco, his voice tight with controlled rage, gestured to Ron’s limp form. “He put his hands on Hermione and wouldn’t let go. When I told him to stop, he lost it, so I hit him. Consider it restrained.”

Hermione stepped between Draco and Ron’s unconscious body, placing a calming hand on Draco’s chest. “Draco, it’s fine. Let’s just—”

“It’s not fine,” Draco interrupted, his eyes flashing. He gently took her arm, inspecting the faint bruises forming where Ron had gripped her. His jaw tightened further. “He hurt you.”

Before anyone could react, Draco turned, ready to advance on Ron again, but Theo and Hermione grabbed his arms, holding him back. “Enough!” Hermione said firmly. “Enough, Draco.”

Harry stepped forward, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Hermione, I’m so sorry. Ron’s been... off lately. I mentioned in passing that I was having lunch with you today, and he acted strange. I was concerned he might show up and try something, but I didn’t think—” He sighed again. “I’ll take him to St. Mungo’s, get him checked over. Would you like to press charges?”

Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line, worry covering her face. “No... but Harry, this can’t happen again. He grabbed me, assaulted me. If you don’t handle this, I will reconsider not pressing charges.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Understood.” He looked to Theo, who bent down to hoist Ron’s unconscious form onto his shoulder. “Theo and I will take care of him. I’ll keep you updated.”

Draco, still tense, spoke up, his voice deadly calm. “Tell him this: If he ever lays a hand on her again, he won’t need to worry about St. Mungo’s or the Ministry. He’ll wish he’d stayed unconscious.”

Theo smirked at that, nodding in agreement. Harry and Hermione both rolled their eyes.

“Right,” Harry said, shaking his head. “We’ll deal with this. Just... enjoy the rest of your day, okay?” With that, he and Theo left, Ron slung over Theo’s shoulder.

Draco turned to Hermione, his hands gentle as he cupped her face. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, though her voice wavered slightly. “But I am starving. Can we please just go eat?”

Draco’s lips curved into a faint smirk, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you want, Granger.” He slid his arm around her waist as they left the alley and continued toward the Three Broomsticks.