Poisoned
As days passed, Harry’s mood only seemed to worsen. People had started to torment him directly. He often found paper balls tangled in his hair, he heard whispers in class and people sometimes shoved his shoulder in the corridors. As if it wasn’t hard enough to be harassed by students, Umbridge also made obvious puns directed at Harry in the middle of her lectures just to make people laugh at him. Harry never reacted, because that was what everyone wanted. However, he was hurt. Anger hid behind his eyes with a menacing glow, as if his brain was on fire.
Hermione and Ron wanted to defend him, but Harry had told them not to. He said it was humiliating. He wanted to prove that he needed no protection, because otherwise people would see that their actions were having an impact on him. Hermione had already tried to tell him that pride would not do him any favor, but he was too stubborn to listen.
Harry was the most unstable when Gryffindor shared classes with Slytherin, and not because of the bitter insults and smirks he received, but because Malfoy wasn’t one of his bullies anymore. Sure, those mean blue eyes still looked in his direction with disgust and hate, but he never opened his mouth. This freaked Harry in the way Ron and Hermione had feared.
“Yeah, let’s pretend it isn’t weird. After years of picking on me like he can’t live without it, he just decides to stop. Now that everyone else hates me too, he can rest. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Try to be rational, Harry,” Hermione had said “It really doesn’t matter. What would he achieve by acting like this? What do you think he’s trying to…”
“I don’t believe he’s trying anything, Hermione!” Harry had shouted. He paced around and didn’t know what to do with his hands “That’s my point! He has changed. He has other things occupying his mind. He knows things we ignore”
Hermione thought about that every time she saw Malfoy now. She still thought Harry was overreacting, but Malfoy’s different behavior was undeniable. True, he was much more silent. He often looked abstracted. However, Hermione didn’t think Malfoy knew things, at least at the moment. She just didn’t believe Voldemort’s first move would be to trust a fifteen year old with privileged information.
Malfoy could only be useful for one thing, in her opinion. Hermione had thought about the possibility of him serving as a spy. He had no use knowing of Voldemort’s plans, but he definitely could help by describing to his father every move Harry made and every word he said.
But that wasn’t happening. Hermione had tried every detection spell she knew to unveil hidden magical traces or lingering enchantments around Harry and the places he usually moved around. She had found nothing. No magical devices either. Plus, Malfoy didn’t seem to care in the least about them. He was never around and rarely looked in their direction when they were talking. So, clearly, he hadn’t listened to any of their conversations.
Hermione still agreed there was something intriguing, but again, their true threat was Umbridge. Hermione supposed it was easier for Harry to focus his frustration and suspicions on his old enemy, but deep inside, he knew Malfoy was his smallest problem.
At the same time, Hermione had been desperately looking for a solution for the old piano. She was resorting to magic, since she thought it would be safer to fix the problem with her wand rather than with her hands. Of course, she had first attempted a firm Reparo, hoping that it would be so simple and easy. It wasn’t. The piano had no broken pieces, so the spell did nothing.
Hermione thought that maybe she would get her answer if she discovered what was wrong specifically. That meant she needed to open the piano and take a closer look. However, the sight of the rusted strings and worn-out hammers only deepened her confusion. She wondered how the piano wasn’t falling apart already.
She spent hours in the library flipping through a well-worn copy of The Standard Book of Spells, her finger tracing frantically over the pages, searching for any mention of magical restoration for Muggle objects. Though she found said mentions, the content was disappointingly sparse. She couldn’t find anything applicable to instruments. That was frustrating.
She only had an option left. She needed to send an owl requesting a manual, tools and new strings. If she was to fix the piano, she’d have to do it with a hands-on, non magical approach. She wouldn’t even know where to start, but at least it would be a good challenge.
Hermione was starting to panic, though. She had already lost weeks of proper study. She still played the piano despite its terrible sound, because she couldn’t afford losing time, but she always casted a Muffliato on the instrument so her ears wouldn’t suffer the consequences of training her hands. She feared the strident notes would affect her pitch, but that meant she wasn’t listening to any music at all. That couldn’t last. She needed to know her pieces.
As she waited for her material to arrive, she tried to focus on her other problems. Like Harry finally exploding and facing Umbridge. That was a big one.
It had been a matter of time. Every class with Umbridge was like a dark comedy act. She would stand in front of the students and unleash her acidic lines that cut through Harry like arrows. With each session, her little jokes became more obvious and corrosive. Despite people not liking Umbridge, they resented Harry more, so Hermione could always hear some quiet laughs when the professor threw her attacks. Her takes usually revolved around Harry being troublesome, naive and an attention seeker. No one was stopping her, it was somehow established that way. Everyone knew Harry would end up reacting. And they were rooting for it.
“We must remember, students, that wands are not merely extensions of our arms, but tools that demand discipline and respect"
Again, she was insisting on how important it was not to cast spells unless it was necessary. And, of course, all the situations were hypothetical in her head. She would repeatedly tell her students that they would never encounter such dangerous circumstances, so actually performing defensive magic would cause more harm than not practicing at all. A good amount of students had been convinced by her point of view, especially younger ones. She was good at persuasion.
"So we must be cautious with our spellcasting… Especially those of you prone to impulsive actions," Umbridge added, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Harry.
There it was. She was just warming up, but Hermione could already feel the weight of her disdain like a physical force. Having to share this period with Slytherin made things more complicated. They always laughed the loudest. As Umbridge continued her lecture, Hermione turned her head slightly to look at her friend. She caught the flame in Harry’s eyes, and she visualized his frustration simmering beneath the surface, burning steadily.
“We can’t perform magic based on emotion. Emotion makes us weak. It makes us do things we wouldn’t even consider normally. For instance, I’m sure most of you firmly believe that you would never kill a person. Well, what makes you think that? You’ve lived normal lives. Have you been in a situation where killing is a solid option for you?”
Umbridge had started pacing around the classroom. Hermione frowned. She didn’t like the possible directions of that discourse.
“Emotional distress can do that to you. Especially when you live as if you have nothing to lose, making bad decisions, believing the world is yours. Eventually, you can’t handle yourself. You’re all over the place. You’ve lost the structure, the order, the sense of responsibility. You’re a helpless animal,” she continued pacing. Dozens of intrigued eyes followed her “Watch out for those kinds of people. Those who are always in trouble and don’t follow the rules. Those who want to force you into their chaos. They’re lost souls whose actions have become bigger than them. People who have lived terrible lives and haven’t been disciplined. They don’t know how to use their magic. They could kill you and not process it. They could lie about it just to survive. They could make a huge, hurtful lie, even if that…”
“What does that mean?”
A male voice interrupted Umbridge. Hermione froze and looked at Harry. He was as serious as ever. The professor raised her eyebrows and slowly walked towards their table. Harry immediately stood up so she wouldn’t look at him from above. Ron’s eyes were so open that Hermione feared they would fall into his open mouth.
“Mr Potter, I’m sure you are aware that you need to raise your hand if…”
“What does that mean?” Harry interrupted her again, raising his voice “Come on”
“Sit down, now”
“You know what you’re saying. We all know what you’re saying”
“I won’t tolerate this behavior”
“Why? Am I being emotional? I better not kill anyone. Like Cedric Diggory”
Umbridge closed her mouth and looked at Harry with a severe expression. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were dangerously open. Hermione doubted she had ever seen him like this.
The professor turned and walked next to the board. There, in front of everyone, she spoke. Her words sliced through the air like sharpened daggers, right in Harry’s direction.
“Guilt leads to paranoia. How ironic. Did I hit the nail in the head?”
Gryffindors were holding their breath. Slytherins were holding their laughter.
Harry gave Umbridge a cold stare.
“Yes, you’re right. I did that. But I can’t deal with the truth of my actions. It’s certainly less problematic if I just lie about it. Right, Malfoy?”
There was silence. Then, everyone turned around and looked at the Slytherin, who was sitting next to the window. Malfoy had been watching the scene, and now that the attention was on him, he limited himself to stare at Harry. He looked confused.
“Right, Malfoy?” Harry asked again, almost screaming at him “He’s not back, right? It’s just a lie I made up. If I was telling the truth, you would know things. But you don’t. Right?”
The room was dead silent, as people waited for Malfoy’s response. But he didn’t say anything. He just continued staring, erasing the confusion from his eyes and replacing it with boredom.
“Stop intimidating the poor child,” Umbridge said with a horrified tone.
“Poor child?” Harry repeated. He took a few steps to get away from the tables “He is a poor child? But I get to be laughed at? I get to be tormented by you?”
“Enough! Detention!”
“No. You called me a killer. And a liar. And I am none of those. Voldemort’s the killer. And you are the liar”
Right when people were gasping at the mention of the name, Umbridge's face turned red and, somehow, grew bigger.
“GET OUT, NOW”
Harry headed for the door, but it didn’t look like he was obeying her order. He didn’t bother to pick his things up and, just before he left, he added in a low voice.
“You will never insinuate I killed Cedric. Never again”
A lot of things changed that day. Harry had given Umbridge what she wanted: an excuse to get him in trouble. However, her intentions had backfired and Harry had earned his redemption. Everyone was talking about what had happened, and there was a lot to say about it. It wasn’t the fact that Harry had finally snapped, or the heaviness of Umbridge’s statement. What really had stuck in people’s heads was Malfoy’s lack of response to Harry’s implied accusation. Harry had thrown a bomb in his direction and he had done nothing.
The meaning of that interaction was driving students crazy. Hermione had overheard a conversation between Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas during lunch. Both of them had been fully loyal to the Daily Prophet’s narrative since they had arrived at the castle.
“He just didn’t want to follow along with his bullshit. Potter was delirious, he would’ve twisted whatever Malfoy said”
“It still doesn’t sit right with me… Not typical of Malfoy staying silent. Much less if it’s Harry dragging him into a serious accusation. He could’ve shaken it off and said Harry was just trying to put the focus on someone else. It would’ve made sense, Harry hates Malfoy’s guts, it could have been an attempt to harm his image too. I would’ve believed that”
“Well, he chose not to say anything, maybe it caught him by surprise”
“I don’t know, Seamus. It’s weird”
And it was weird. Hermione was one of those few people who didn’t doubt Voldemort's comeback. She didn’t doubt Malfoy was aware of it either. But she found it strange that he hadn’t tried to defend himself and deny what Harry had said. He had stated in front of a whole class that Malfoy knew about Voldemort’s return. What on Earth had the Slytherin kept his mouth shut for?
On the other hand, Umbridge’s actions had been even more suspicious.
“I can’t believe she’s that dumb. She’s dug her own grave,” Ron said, laying on one of the common room’s couch “She really thought she could say Harry is a murderer and call it a day. Not only is it a fat lie, but her commitment with ruining Harry’s image has been extreme. People have caught on that. If nobody was believing Harry in the first place, why make such an effort to make him look worse? That is no longer normal. That is personal. And why would she have a personal issue with Harry, if he’s just an attention seeker?”
Ron was so right. The lie was falling apart and students were slowly realizing something was off. The storm of hatred and disrespect that had been following Harry like a dark cloud above his head had suddenly dissipated. Sure, there were people who still picked on him, but in general, the harassment had stopped overnight.
Hermione thought this should have helped Harry relax and come back to his senses, but little had changed. Moreover, he was angrier and unapproachable. It had coincided with the beginning of his detention week with Umbridge, which made Hermione obviously suspect something was happening in those sessions.
“What is she doing to you?” She would insist every time Harry came back from Umbridge’s office.
Harry would look away and answer shortly.
“She just makes me write”
“I don’t believe you”
“She makes me write”
“Seriously, Harry, if she’s harming you in any way you should…”
“She makes me write, Hermione. I’m telling you the truth. Or maybe you agree that I’m a compulsive liar”
It was really hard to have a conversation with him. Not even Ron was managing to make him smile. It felt like, even if they were by his side all day, he was isolated far away from them. He was locked in a cage somewhere deep inside his mind. Hermione didn’t stand seeing him like this.
One day, Harry was back from the last detention of the week. Hermione had asked him her usual questions, and he had just walked past her, dismissing her completely and heading for the stairs that led to the boys’ bedroom. She had tried to pull his sleeve, but he had reacted aggressively and had told her to leave him alone.
“For God’s sake, Hermione, drop it”
“I would’ve dropped it long ago if you were sincere”
“Why do you act like I owe you sincerity? Can’t you mind your own business?”
“If you can’t be honest with your friends, that’s a problem. And I consider it my business”
Hermione was determined to get something out of him. She wanted anything but empty words and numb looks.
“Stop trying to force me into confessing whatever you think I’m hiding. I’m sick of it”
Hermione shook her head in disbelief and crossed her arms.
“You really are lying to me right in my face”
For some reason, that really annoyed Harry. She had cornered him, but that also meant that she had lost any opportunity to get him to talk.
As he turned around to leave, Hermione felt her blood boiling. She exploded and screamed at him.
“You know what? You’re giving her what she wants. You’re giving him what he wants. They want you to be alone. They want you to be weak. They want you to get overwhelmed and give up on everything. You’re selfish, Harry. And a coward. Keep cutting your relationships while he gets stronger. That’ll get us somewhere”
Right when she said the last word, she heard Harry slamming the bedroom’s door.
Harry stopped talking to her or Ron. He avoided them and went everywhere alone. He was also skipping Defense Against the Dark Arts. His attitude was worse than ever.
“Is there really nothing we can do, Hermione?” Ron whispered. They were sitting together in Potions, while Harry had chosen a table at the back of the class “He’s acting like a jerk”
“He’s bound to get out of this painfully. It’s what he wants,” Hermione answered, underlining the instructions for the Draught of Peace brewing with her finger “He knows, just like we know, that he can’t hold all those emotions inside. Something’s breaking him and he will explode”
“And what can we do?” Ron asked, checking on Snape to make sure he didn’t catch him talking.
“Pick up the pieces, I guess. Until then, we’ll let him be”
“I don’t think it’s worth it, he should talk to us. This is just hurting everyone”
Hermione sighed and started chopping some valerian roots in very thin slices. Ron pretended he was doing the same.
“I agree. But he doesn’t know how to handle the situation. He doesn’t want us to help. It seems like the only thing we can do is wait. He’ll calm down on his own”
“Maybe we’ve been hard on him”
“Maybe”
Hermione knew Harry was under a lot of pressure. She knew the future was terrifying and that everyone was counting on him. She also knew Harry’s family had never taught him how to regulate his emotions. She reminded herself of these things to understand him better. Still, she was hurt by his attitude and decision to stay away.
When she sat in front of her damaged piano, she let herself shed some tears of frustration. She hated that she couldn’t even rely on music to feel better. She played the silent keys and wondered what would take for the waters to calm down. The school year had just begun and they were already overwhelmed. How were they supposed to fight against the darkest wizard of their time if they couldn’t even control the magnitude of their feelings?
They were just teenagers. It was normal. But they couldn’t afford to be normal. They needed to grow up. Fast.
The most important thing was to stick together, no matter what. That would always give them strength. For that, Hermione hoped that Harry would come around soon.
She didn’t expect the tide to change so quickly, though. She immediately stood up from the piano stool as she saw Ron in the doorframe. He was hyperventilating, as if he had just stopped running.
“What are you doing here…?”
“Harry… he got in a fight” Ron said, trying to breathe properly.
Hermione didn’t ask questions. She ran along with her friend to the quidditch field, getting more and more furious with every stride she took. So this was Harry’s way of handling things. Violence. It looked like he was making the biggest effort to satisfy every statement Umbridge had ever made about him. Impulsive, troublemaker, dangerous. Just when people had started doubting themselves and their beliefs, there he was, making noise.
She couldn’t believe it.
There were a bunch of students there when they arrived, so Hermione and Ron had to make their way through the crowd. When they made it to the front line, they saw Harry on the ground. He was unconscious.
Hermione kneeled down and made sure he was breathing steadily. Lavender Brown, who had been there for five minutes, told her that Madam Pomfrey had already been informed and she was on her way.
Hermione nodded and looked at Harry’s face. His nose was swollen and bleeding. He had a split lip. His left cheek was swelling too, and his hair was a mess. The Gryffindor prefect started looking for another beaten up student, but no one else seemed to be injured or bleeding.
“What happened? Where is the other one?”
“He left,” Ron answered “He wasn’t as bruised”
Hermione noticed the anger Ron had put in those words. She asked, already knowing the answer.
“Who is it?”
“Malfoy” Ron spitted.
Madam Pomfrey arrived swiftly and put Harry in a levitating stretcher. She said Ron and Hermione weren’t allowed to come, her no-nonsense demeanor evident in her determination.
“When he wakes up and I consider he is stabilized, you can visit”
Several hours passed, in which Hermione was asked a million questions. She avoided answering at all, since people were just morbid and she hadn’t even seen the fight. Ron, on the other hand, had left her to begin his quest. He was determined to find Malfoy and finish what Harry had started.
Hermione spent her time outside the infirmary, trying to come up with an explanation for the fight. There had been no witnesses of it until it came to an end, so no one had been able to tell her what happened. Hermione couldn’t help but assume that Harry had started everything. She could imagine him raging and choosing Malfoy’s face to focus his madness, punching him hard as a way to vent his feelings. It would match the obsession he’d developed towards the Slytherin for the last weeks.
But he had ended up unconscious. Maybe Malfoy didn’t fight alone. Maybe the fight wasn’t fair and Harry didn’t have a chance. Why would Harry attack someone if he knew he was outnumbered?
Starting a fight wasn’t a rational decision, to begin with. Harry probably wasn’t thinking about the consequences. Moreover, maybe he wanted the pain. That really worried Hermione.
It felt like ages until Madam Pomfrey finally informed Hermione that Harry was awake and that she could talk to him. The young witch quickly entered the infirmary and saw Harry sitting on a bed with his eyes closed. There was a potion on his bedside table, Hermione assumed it was a pain reliever.
She sat down carefully on the mattress, next to Harry’s knees. He blinked a few times and looked at her with narrow eyes. His face was clean, but the bruises remained. Hermione made intense eye contact, waiting for him to say something. A minute passed.
“So you exploded,” Hermione said, breaking the silence. Her tone was severe “I hope you aren’t proud of this”
“I am not” Harry answered. His voice sounded tired.
“You are going to tell me what’s wrong with you,” Hermione said “Right now”
“I didn’t start it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Harry said bitterly “He punched me first. But I’m not going to lie. If he hadn’t done it, I would have”
“Why did he punch you?” Hermione tried to hide her skepticism.
“I wanted to fly for a while to clear my head, but Malfoy was already on the field,” Harry said “It pissed me off. It pissed him too. We said things and he ultimately decided to break my nose”
“What did you say?” Hermione raised an eyebrow, as she noticed Harry was skipping details.
“I called him a Death Eater. So what. It’s what he fucking is”
Hermione sighed impatiently.
“So what, exactly. Why do you care? It really bothers you that he might be a Death Eater? Your behavior bothers me more than that”
“Right. I am worse than a Death Eater. Got it”
“You’re not being yourself, Harry. It’s as if someone has poisoned you. And you won’t tell us what’s wrong. Do you really think you’ll be able to do something useful in this condition?”
“God, Hermione, I’ve just been beaten up and you come here to lecture me. Give me a fucking break”
Hermione narrowed her eyes and tried to swallow the sharp words prepared at the tip of her tongue. Something was off.
“Am I your friend, Harry? Can you trust me?” she asked carefully.
Harry stared at the windows in front of him. It took him a few seconds.
“Every day I doubt it more”
Hermione felt her heart tear, but didn’t show it on her face. She tried to think about what had happened in the last weeks that could have made Harry say that. Had she done something to hurt him? Had she disappointed him? Had she left him alone?
No, she hadn’t. And Harry hadn’t been this negative and angry throughout the summer. It had all started at the castle.
She stood up and looked deeply into Harry’s eyes. He kept staring at the windows.
“What is she doing to you?”
Harry rolled his eyes.
“This again…”
“Harry, what is Umbridge doing to you? I swear I’ll get my hands on Snape’s potions stock and force Veritaserum down your throat if that is what takes to find out”
“Sure. Good luck trying to touch me”
Hermione looked at her friend with a mix of anger and distress. He had never had an obnoxious personality. In any case, Ron was the one who tended to be more unpleasant at times. But Harry had always been comprehensive. Even if he had his bad moments, he respected his friends. He cared for them.
This was no longer a crisis. It was something more complex. Something that Hermione wasn’t grasping.
“Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione called. Her voice sounded fragile.
The matron, who had been labeling her new flasks of Wiggenweld potion at the back of the infirmary, approached Harry’s bed. Harry looked suspiciously at Hermione.
“What is it, dear?” Madam Pomfrey asked, looking at both students. She realized the atmosphere was heavy.
Hermione blinked a few times before answering, trying to phrase what she was thinking in the best way possible.
“I suggest you give Harry Potter a full body check”
The matron frowned and looked at Harry. He was staring coldly at Hermione. The Gryffindor witch maintained eye contact, not letting her friend intimidate her.
“Would you care to tell me why?” Madam Pomfrey asked, clearly confused.
“I have reasons to believe he’s being influenced by some sort of Dark Magic” Hermione stated with her head up high.
“That’s not possible” Madam Pomfrey immediately said. Her eyes were wide open.
“I’d like to think so too. Checking won’t hurt anyone”
“I don’t consent to any check” Harry said, dead serious “And I can’t stand you anymore, Hermione. Get away from me”
“You would never say that”
“I said get the fuck away from me. I don’t know what you want. You’re driving me crazy”
Harry said those last words in a more agitated voice, which made Madam Pomfrey react. The matron placed her hands on Hermione’s shoulders.
“Alright, Miss Granger, I appreciate your concern, but I believe Mr Potter needs some more rest. It will be best if you go”
“Please, check him, this is serious” Hermione insisted while the matron guided her out of the infirmary.
“Thank you, Miss Granger” Madam Pomfrey said. Hermione took that as a polite rejection.
Madam Pomfrey closed the doors of the infirmary and Hermione stood there, clueless. She breathed deeply several times. The pieces fit together, and that was scary. If she was right and Harry was being influenced, she had to do something fast.
Hermione immediately headed for the library, trying to shake the gnawing sense of unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. She believed she had read about the effects of Dark Magic before, but she couldn’t recall where. Maybe she had seen something in one of the books that she had read at Grimmauld Place.
She remembered reading about men whose once noble intentions had been contorted by malevolent forces. She had read about the gradual erosion of empathy and compassion, the surge of anger and hostility that often led to a descent into darkness. All those stories now had Harry’s face.
Hermione knew she wouldn’t be so lucky to find that kind of information in the Hogwarts Library. The moment she entered the place, she started dashing through the aisles, her eyes flitting from one shelf to another in a desperate attempt to find answers. In twenty minutes, her fingers had trailed over the spines of hundreds of books. She only wasted her time opening Hogwarts: A History and reviewing the table of contents. Unsurprisingly, she found nothing.
She finally faced reality when she arrived at the Restricted Section. In the entrance, there was a portrait of an old, austere witch who looked at every student that crossed her with piercing eyes. She made sure no one passed without permission. Only seventh year students were allowed in.
Hermione bit her lip and walked away. Should she just inform Dumbledore? That sounded right, but she didn’t dare to. Right now, the Ministry had more power over Hogwarts than the headmaster. Meaning that Umbridge was the real authority at the castle. Meaning that, if Hermione told Dumbledore, Umbridge would find out and would be able to make up an excuse that no one would be able to question. And then she’d give detention to Hermione for lying about something that serious. And she would do something bad to her too.
But did she have a better option? Dumbledore was clever. If he understood what was happening, he would be discrete. Harry was the problem, though. He wouldn’t let anyone help him. As long as Umbridge was there, he would be conditioned under her will. And could Dumbledore really make something for Harry while everyone, including Harry, was against him?
Hermione knew that she had to do something fast, but she didn’t want to make mistakes. She was already regretting having told Madam Pomfrey about it.
She would tell Ron, that was her next move. From there, she’d figure out what to do. And she wouldn’t be alone.
As for now, she headed for the Muggle Studies department. Her walk was so determined and intense that her footsteps echoed through the corridors. She wouldn’t mute the music this time, she didn’t care if the piano had an unpleasant sound. Anything was better than silence.
She was about to bash inside the messy room, ready to throw all her worries, doubts and tears on the keys, but a strange sound halted Hermione in her tracks. She sharpened all her senses and stayed close to the wall, waiting either for it to happen again or to realize she had imagined it.
And she heard it. One of the shrill notes of the piano reverberated. She almost gasped out loud. There was someone in the room.
Fred immediately came to her mind. Hermione had told him where the piano was. Maybe he was just playing around with it. Or Ron. Maybe Ron had been trying to find her and had thought that she would eventually go there.
But the next thing she heard was a melody. Despite it being simple, it was played fluently. It made Hermione’s heart jump. Neither Fred nor Ron knew how to play anything at all.
Hermione tried really hard to detect any other sounds. The person inside played the melody again, and two of the notes sounded much louder and dirtier. Hermione heard the person inside clicking their tongue.
“What’s wrong with this…”
Hermione opened her eyes so much that they could’ve popped out of their sockets. The voice was male. He was whispering to himself, which made his voice sound raspy. But Hermione recognized it.
Very carefully, she tried to take a look from the doorframe. She was moving so slowly that it took her a minute to finally peek inside. And there he was. A boy in black robes standing in front of her piano. Hermione observed how his left hand approached the keys again. He played another melody. She didn’t recognize it, but it reminded her of Mozart.
The boy stopped playing the melody. He seemed to be bothered by a single note. He kept playing it over and over. Then, he stopped. He sang the note several times and then played it again. He also played the same note in other octaves. He did so for an entire minute.
“This one’s out of tune” he whispered.
Hermione frowned. No way she hadn’t realized that. She wanted to believe he had no idea of what he was saying, but she had heard him sing the note and play it right after. He was right. It was slightly out of tune.
Hermione didn’t know what to do. She felt like she needed to run away. She also felt like she needed to stay and keep watching. She finally decided to lay on the wall again and stare at the floor. She let herself get lost in the easy melodies Malfoy was playing on her instrument.
Guess she had made two major discoveries that day.
Uploaded one day late, oops. Enjoooy!