At the beginning of sixth year, the atmosphere at Hogwarts was very tense. Harry was suspicious, convinced that Malfoy was a Death Eater and determined to find out what he was up to. Ron was worried; he was trying out for the Quidditch team and even though Harry was the Gryffindor captain, Ron didn’t think he would show favoritism when it came to the team.
And Hermione? She was nervous on so many levels. One, she didn’t like Harry’s paranoia about Malfoy. Not even Voldemort would take the extreme stance of making a boy a Death Eater, would he?. She also didn’t like how Lavender Brown was making eyes at Ron. The girl was a vacuous, empty-headed, childish adolescent who only cared about batting her eyes at Ron.
And she harbored a secret, and even though she knew Harry and Ron were her best friends, she did not think they would be very supportive, especially considering who was involved. At the same time she wanted nothing more than to shout it from the Astronomy Tower.
It started in Potions class. Professor Slughorn, while old and vague in some ways, was calculating like the Slytherin he was. He had heard of the Muggleborn’s brilliance, which reminded him of another Muggleborn from long ago. He did not want to like Draco Malfoy, if only because he was the son of a notorious, albeit, convicted, Death Eater. But he could not deny that he was a good student, one of the best he’d seen.
Slughorn was able to calculate who had promise and who was doomed, like Longbottom and Crabbe. He could not deny that Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger would be a strong partnership for potions. Who knows? They might even create one and he could bask in reflected glory.
The next day, Slughorn announced to the Sixth Year class that he was assigning potions partners for the year, met with a collective groan from the class. They had been used to sitting wherever and with whomever they wanted in Snape’s classes. Who would he pair up? They all hoped he knew what he was doing.
“Class, here is the list of partners. I view this as an experiment in being able to work with all kinds of people. After all, the world, and especially the Wizarding World is only strong if it works together,” he said, sending the paper over to his blackboard. It pasted itself to the wood and began to read off names.
“Theodore Nott and Neville Longbottom
Millicent Bulstrode and Seamus Finnigan
Pansy Parkinson and Ron Weasley
Dean Thomas and Daphne Greengrass
Blaise Zabini and Vincent Crabbe
Parvati Patil and Greg Goyle
Lavender Brown and Harry Potter
Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy”
There were groans and protests as the names were read out loud. No one was happy with their partner, but when the last two names were mentioned, a hush immediately fell over the class. All eyes alternated between Hermione and Draco as they slowly looked towards each other.
“Professor Slughorn, I can’t work with her,” sneered Draco, “she’s a mud—”
“If I were you, I would think long and hard before you finish that word, Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn warned him, “or you might find yourself on the wrong end of someone’s wand.”
“Professor Slughorn, if Malfoy–” she flashed her eyes over to Draco and hesitated at the look he was giving her, “ –if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to work alone.”
“Then the two of you can work alone.” Sighs of relief could be heard as a potentially flammable combination was avoided. “But you will still be partners together. You might surprise yourselves.”
Slughorn turned his back and busied himself with his potion books, pointedly ignoring the protests that started up again.
Hermione picked up her bag and moved over to a station by the window. Draco squeezed in behind Crabbe and made his way to the other spot at Hermione’s station. He dropped his bag with a thud.
“Don’t touch me, Granger, I don’t want to have to burn my robes today,” Draco snarled. “I’ll chop, you stir.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Malfoy,” Hermine retorted, “I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole.” She started to set up her cauldron and pulled out her stirring rods.
“We’re using my cauldron,” Draco said as he looked disgustedly at hers. “It’s top of the line and guaranteed not to rust, flake or pit. You couldn’t brew a Wiggenweld potion with that thing.”
“Oh, top of the line like your Quidditch brooms second year?” Hermione looked over at Malfoy, turned her nose up at him and sniffed. Draco ignored her.
Despite their raging animus towards each other, they did well in the class. After their first disastrous potion, Veritaserum, which instead of forcing the person who swallowed it to tell the truth, it caused them to drool every time they tried to say something, they settled into a rhythm. Never saying anything to each other unless it had something to do with the potions, they kept a careful distance.
Other partnerships did not smooth out as quickly. Ron and Pansy were continually at each other’s throats. Their potion attempts always went astray, either blowing up everything around the cauldron, or turning to a smoking sludge. Still, Slughorn kept them together, if for no other reason than entertainment.
–
Weeks later, after being the only partners to successfully create the Wound Cleaning Potion, the two adversaries exchanged a glance of smug self-confidence, but still did not give each other quarter.
As the others left after class, Draco picked up his satchel and followed behind Hermione, but when they began to part ways once outside the classroom, Draco tapped Hermione on the arm.
“Granger…” he started.
Hermione stopped and turned around quickly, bringing Draco up short and almost causing him to run into her.
“What? Oh!” Hermione said, startled at being face to face with Draco. Their carefully orchestrated dance when they were working at the potion station kept them from looking at each other, let alone entering each other’s private space. She backed up, eyes wide. Then she squinted.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Hermione asked suspiciously. Their detente only extended to the potions class and she was not sure what he would want to say to her outside.
“I, uh… Did you finish your Transfiguration essay? Turning a teacup into a gerbil?” He was red in the face both from almost running her over and asking her a non-Potions question.
“What?” Hermione wasn’t sure she heard correctly. Was he actually asking her something in a civil manner? She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him with a scowl.
Draco huffed. “I asked if you’d finished your Transfiguration essay?”
“I’m in the final stages of editing. Why do you want to know?”
Draco uncharacteristically shuffled his feet, almost shy. Hermione still couldn’t tell if he was being serious or if this was some kind of joke, but she waited for him to speak.
“I’m…stuck on one part. Do you think you could, maybe—” he hesitated, and Hermione just wished he would come out with it. Then she could say no to his face and get on her way.
“—look at it?” By now Draco was flushing furiously, his normally pale face red as a beet.
Hermione smothered a smirk. Hell has frozen over. She pretended to be contemplating his request.
“Possibly. But where do you want to meet? Obviously we can’t go to each other’s common rooms.”
“Library?”
“Unh unh — too many people. They would be a nuisance. If you’re really serious and this isn’t some kind of elaborate prank, there is an abandoned classroom near the Prefects’ Bathroom. We could meet there. After supper?” Hermione shifted her bag on her shoulder.
Draco ran his hand through his hair. “That sounds fine. See you then.” He turned and started walking away, then stopped. Turning back around he said, “And don’t tell anyone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Malfoy,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “your stock isn’t that high where I live, either.” She nodded and walked towards the stairs.
That night of studying planted the seeds of an unlikely friendship.
–
Hermione managed to hide her friendship with Draco, although it was difficult. Harry was obsessed with the idea that Malfoy was a Death Eater and would not be contradicted. Hermione refused to be taken in by Harry’s continued musings and luckily Ron was otherwise occupied with Lavender, or he would have probably picked up on Hermione’s hesitation in condemning Malfoy.
They maintained their stubborn, silent partnership in class. Hermione created a way for them to communicate a desire to meet. The arrangements were always during Potions. Hermione had charmed their textbooks to mimic the galleons she used for the DA. They could write short, terse messages back and forth, indicating time and place.
Their first meetings were always classwork driven, and equally divided. Sometimes Hermione would ask for help on a Charms essay, other times Draco needed to work out a problem in Arithmancy or translate a passage of Ancient Runes.
Eventually, they drifted away from the homework and talked of other things. Professors, classmates, although they stayed away from discussing their close friends. Hermione couldn’t decide what she wanted to tell him about Harry stalking him on the map; her first loyalty was to Harry, of course, but sometimes she was tempted.
There were nights when they would meet and she would notice changes in Draco’s appearance and demeanour. His hair was not the usual pristine, or his tie was askew. Or he had purple smudges under his eyes indicating lack of sleep. He would either snap at her when she asked a question, or she would catching him staring off into space.
For some reason, she didn’t ask him why he looked stressed. Either she didn’t want to know the answer, or she was afraid he wouldn’t give it to her, so she just enjoyed the bubble they created for themselves away from the real world.
Hermione deduced that Draco had given Katie Bell the necklace. The day after it happened, he was troubled, shaky, his eyes were looking everywhere and nowhere. He was tentative with the knife, as if he didn’t remember how to use it as he chopped valerian root for the Forgetfulness Potion. She wanted to reach out to him right then, but kept to her side of the station. Once their eyes met and she was shocked at the storm clouds in them. They held his emotions and at that moment, it was desperation and sorrow.
Do you want to meet tonight?
Can’t.
Are you alright?
Don’t wanna talk about it, Granger.
It went south from there. Draco avoided her and wouldn’t write back in the textbook. She tried to corner him in an effort to get him to deny the curse, but he kept pushing her away. He was withdrawing from her, she didn’t see him with his friends very often anymore. Sometimes he even sat apart from the Slytherins at their table. Most people wouldn’t pick up on it, but she could tell he was feeling terribly guilty about something. His face was paler than usual, he had purple circles under his eyes, and he just looked uncomfortable in his own skin.
That was the biggest clue: Hermione had never met anyone as confident in himself and his abilities as Draco Malfoy; he always walked tall and backed up his braggadocio about his intelligence with good grades. Now he seemed to be looking over his shoulder; he was jumpy when they did meet up, like he was expecting something to happen, and he seemed to have lost interest in classes or, Merlin forbid, Quidditch.
Finally, while she was doing rounds with Hannah Abbott, she caught him pacing in front of the wall behind which had been the room for the DA .
“Hey Hannah, since we’re almost done with rounds, I’m going to check this hallway. Someone said they had seen Cornish Pixies flying around one of the classrooms. You go ahead and I’ll see you tomorrow night, yeah?” Hermione hoped her ruse would be believed.
She needn’t have worried. Hannah was eager to finish up and get back to Hufflepuff.
“Sure, Hermione. Be careful, though. Those pixies are horrible if there’s more than five of them,” Hannah said. She tucked her wand in her robe and made for the staircases.
Hermione circled back around to the Room, half hid herself under an archway, and waited for him to emerge. About an hour later, she saw the door materialize on the wall. It creaked open and Draco stepped out. He had ditched his jumper, his tie was loosened, and he looked like he was sweating.
“Malfoy?” she whispered. Draco whirled around and looked in her direction. He approached the area where she was hiding and when he realized it was her, he clenched his fists.
“Granger, what the fuck? What are you doing here?” Draco came towards Hermione with a glare that was all at once questioning and menacing.
“I saw you l when I was doing rounds. What are you doing in there? That’s the Room of Requirement.” Hermione was not going to pussyfoot around.
“Nothing. It’s…it’s none of your business,” Draco said, trying to push her back towards the staircases. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Hermione held her ground. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on? I’m—I’m worried about you.”
“Well, don’t be. I have a project I’m working on, that’s all, it’s fine,” Draco said, putting his hands in his pockets. He started pacing.
“You don’t look fine. Look, I’ve been worried about you. You just haven’t been yourself lately.” Hermione took a step towards him. Draco raised his arms and backed up.
“Don’t, just — you need to stay away from me, Granger,” he said.
“But, we’re friends, Malfoy,” she protested.
“We’re not friends, Granger,” Draco retorted, “I don’t know what you think makes us friends. We’re not…”
“Oh really?” Now Hermione was starting to get angry. “So what do you call meeting almost every night after supper to work on homework, to talk about the day, to enjoy each other’s company? I’d call that friendship.”
“That’s not friendship, Granger,” Draco said harshly, “that’s called using you for your brain. You should be used to it by now, those two oafs you’re always with use you enough. Now, get out of the way.” He raked his hand through his hair and pushed past her.
Hermione was stunned. She watched him walk away and could not reconcile the boy who just told her he was using her, with the one she met in the classroom at night, or even just her potion partner. She could feel tears stinging her eyes and she wiped them away furiously. She hoped he didn’t mean it, and that he was just trying to mask his emotions..
Something is going on and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.
—
Hermione tried. She tried to ignore her feelings. She tried to ignore Draco the way he was ignoring her. It was as if another person had taken over his body and had never met her. Even worse, he didn’t go back to insulting or mocking her, he acted indifferent.
In Potions class, they continued to work in silence. Draco would offer a one word answer to any questions she would ask.
“Gather ‘round class, we’re going to brew a new potion and I need to show you a few things about how to prepare it.” Slughorn motioned for them to come closer to his cauldron which had been set up in the middle of the classroom.
“Today we’re going to make Amortentia. Can anyone tell me what it does?” Slughorn made a point to avoid looking at Hermione’s hand, prepared to call on her, but searching for someone, anyone else who knew.
“Alright, Miss Granger, what is Amortentia?” Slughorn sighed.
“Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world.”
“Very good, Miss Granger, very good,” Slughorn said, “Now what makes it unique? Go ahead Miss Granger.”
“Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what attracts them.”
“And what do you smell, Miss Granger?” Slughorn beckoned to her to come forward. She did, tentatively, and stood in front of the steaming cauldron.
She smelled parchment, dark chocolate and a blend of cedarwood and patchouli. But there was no way in hell she was going to say that. She thought about the one person whose scent was consistent and she had once thought to be a place of safety.
“Um…sawdust, Earl Grey tea and…lidocaine,” Hermione stammered. Richard Granger loved tinkering in his workshop, drank Earl Grey by the gallon and, well, she did love the smell of the numbing agent dentists use.
“Lidocaine?” Slughorn raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ve heard that before.”
“It’s, uh, it’s a numbing agent. Professional Quidditch players use it on aching muscles,” Hermione said smugly. There, let them think it’s Victor Krum.
The class started tittering, catching on to her clue immediately.
“Still got the hots for Krum, eh, Granger?” Theo shouted out from the back of the class.
Hermione didn’t have to act out the blush that bloomed on her face. She was actually thinking about when she’d visited him two summers ago.
“No, we just write each other,” she said. Well, half of that was true, he wrote to her, but she didn’t write back. “Professor Slughorn, don’t you want to see what someone else smells in the cauldron?” She tried to bring the subject back to the potion.
“Er, of course, come on up everyone, let’s see what different smells you can evoke,” Slughorn said, as he gestured for the class to form a line.
One by one, the class stepped forward and sniffed the steam coming off the cauldron. Pansy smelled the inside of a Gringotts vault, cigars and butterbeer. Neville smelled some oddly named perfume, grape soda and ink; Crabbe smelled cat litter, chocolate and nail polish; Goyle smelled nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“How can you smell nothing, wanker?” Draco asked Crabbe as he stepped up to the cauldron.
“I dunno, mate, I just don’t smell anything but the steam, I guess,” Goyle said sheepishly. “Maybe it means I just haven’t been around the person yet.”
“Hope springs eternal, my boy,” Slughorn responded. “Mr. Malfoy, you’re next.”
Draco closed his eyes and sniffed. He opened them and locked eyes with Hermione, who hadn’t yet gone back to their station. Clearing his throat he said, “Um, old manuscripts, strawberries and…um coffee.” He turned away from her and walked back to his seat.
“Interesting, Mr. Malfoy, and where, might I ask, would you smell coffee? I know we don’t serve it here and I don’t think there’s any in Hogsmeade?” Slughorn was very curious. He thought perhaps the young man was making it up.
“Have you snuck into Muggle London, Malfoy?” Harry looked at him with a horrified expression that he couldn’t keep, and then burst into laughter, as if Malfoy would set foot in Muggle London.
“Of course not, you wanker,” Draco scowled. He regretted using coffee, but he couldn’t tell everyone he smelled peonies and jasmine. That was Granger’s signature aroma, and everyone knew it.
“Well, alright then, if Mr. Malfoy is not going to be forthcoming, let’s continue on,” Slughorn said, disappointed he didn’t get an answer. He suspected he was bluffing and just didn’t want to tell the truth.
The rest of the class was spent attempting to make the potion while the students kept trying to guess each other’s crushes.
—
Some weeks later, Hermione was talking to Ginny at the table in the Great Hall when Katie Bell walked in. Getting Harry’s attention, Hermione nodded her head towards the girl and Harry immediately walked up to her. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was sure he was asking her if she knew who gave her the necklace.
She watched Katie fixate on something at the back of the hall. Hermione turned her head and saw Draco walking in and heading towards the Slytherin table. He froze when he saw Katie, guilt written all over his face. He turned around and started walking out and Hermione barely had enough time to register what was happening when she felt a brush on her back as Harry passed by her, heading straight for the door.
“Oh no, this is not going to be good,” Hermione said to herself as much as anybody else. Ginny looked at her questioningly, but didn’t react when she got up and started to follow Harry. She pushed through students making their way into the Great Hall for lunch and just barely caught a glimpse of Harry as he made his way up a flight of stairs. She followed him until she saw him go into the girls’ bathroom and stopped when she saw sparks start to fly.
Oh my God, they’re dueling! For a few seconds she was frozen in place, unable to decide whether to go in and break it up or get a professor. She kept listening to the spells and hexes fly. She heard porcelain break and the spray of water. Finally, she had had enough and walked to the entrance. What she saw made her heart stop.
Draco was lying on the ground, soaking up the water that was covering the floor. But that wasn’t what made her want to throw up. It was the blood. So much blood coming from Draco’s chest. He seemed to be conscious but with the amount of blood he was losing with every heartbeat he didn’t look to be awake much longer.
She looked at Harry and saw his face. Obviously there was shock and regret written all over it, but something else, too. Before she could place it, Snape burst in and went to Draco.
“Get. Out.” The venom behind those two words was enough to shock both of them into action. Snape began to chant the reversal of whatever spell Harry had cast.
As soon as they were in the hallway and out of earshot, she rounded on him.
“What the fuck did you do, Harry!?” She looked at him with anger and panic. From the moment she saw Draco lying in that pink pool of blood and water, she realized that her feelings for him went beyond friendship. And she didn’t care if he didn’t return them, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he did.
“I….I didn’t know what it would do! I had no idea it would do that, I swear!” Harry held his hands up in defense as she approached him.
“And you thought it would be a good idea to throw a hex or a spell that you had never tried before on a human being?” Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. “Where did you find it?”
“In my potions book,” Harry admitted. Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Fucking figures it had something to do with that damn book,” she retorted. “What do you think is going to happen if he dies? Huh? Did you even think that spell could kill someone?”
“Well, no,” Harry had no defense, “but he tried to kill Katie. I figured he deserved whatever he got. Hermione,” he took a couple of steps towards her, “it’s Malfoy. He’s a Death Eater, I know it. And him running out of the Great Hall like that? That just proves he is guilty as hell.”
“So what? That makes it ok to be judge, jury, and executioner? Whatever happened to letting a professor know your suspicions? Huh? This is not okay. I don’t care if it is Malfoy. He’s still a person and he should have the chance to defend himself, not be cut down like a blast-end skrewt.” As soon as she said Draco’s name, she turned away so Harry wouldn’t see how close she was to losing her shit.
She kept her ear open for any sounds coming from the bathroom that might indicate a change in Malfoy’s condition. She could still hear Snape chanting and she wanted to go in and see if it was working, but she needed to get Harry to the Headmaster’s office before he became more defensive and ran away.
“I’ve always known you were impulsive, Harry,” Hermione said, “and I’ve made it my job to curb that impulse. Up until now, your impulses have matched your intuition, your gut instinct, and they’ve caused some scary moments, but everything has turned out fine in the end.
“This time though,” she continued, having donned her disappointed parent look, “it might not end well. And I just realized something.”
“What?”
“No matter what happens, you will still get off scot free because you have your ‘Get out of jail free’ card, the one that says, ‘I’m the Chosen One, you can’t punish me the same way you would any other wizard.’ You don’t even have to play it, it’s just always there. I’m beginning to understand why the Slytherins feel the way they do about us.”
Hermione clenched her hands, frustrated with her stunning realization. Draco would not see justice for what Harry did to him. Four months ago, she would have said he completely deserved it. After all, wasn’t he the one who didn’t care if she died in second year? But now, she was blessed, or cursed, with a clarity of how the wizarding world worked and it did not favor Malfoy. Ironic, isn’t it? she thought. The family that sought power over almost everything else, would not have the power to change this outcome.
“I’m going to check on Malfoy,” she said decisively, “and then you and I are going to see Professor Dumbledore. Got it?”
Harry nodded his head. Hermione could tell he was still in shock over what he had done and she knew, without a doubt, that he would be remorseful for using the unknown spell on his enemy. She walked back to the bathroom doorway just in time to see Snape levitate Draco in front of him and push her aside as he left the room.
“You and Potter clean up the mess in there.” She watched him walk down the hall, the unconscious boy in front of him, leaving a pink trail behind. She caught a sob in her throat before it could make its way out.
Please be alright, please be alright. If she believed in a god, she would throw herself on her knees and pray nonstop.
Gathering her rampant emotions and stuffing them way down she said to Harry, “Snape wants us to clean up the bathroom. Come on.” She walked over to the still shaken boy and took his hand and pulled him towards the bathroom.
—-
Hermione and Harry used their wands to clean up the water and the blood, to repair the sink and cap the water still spraying out of it. They went through each stall and restored the toilets. Hermione could see Harry’s hands shaking the whole time and she wanted to show him some empathy, but every time she remembered Draco lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, she couldn’t do it.
Once they finished, Hermione looked at Harry. His eyes were cast down and he was focusing intently on cleaning up a last chip in the floor tile. She knew he couldn’t look at her, but she was beyond caring.
“I think that about does it,” Hermione said. She dried herself and Harry and repaired his glasses for the thousandth time.
Why do Wizards wear glasses anyhow? They’re magic.
She took his hand and said, ‘Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” They were the first words Harry had uttered since her earlier outburst.
“To see Professor Dumbledore, remember? You’re going to do the Muggle thing and turn yourself over to him,” Hermione said. “You have to do what’s right, Harry.”
Harry finally looked at Hermione, and she could see the desolation clouding his usually sparkling emerald eyes. She so wanted to comfort him, her heart ached to do so, but she needed to not cave in to Harry’s natural charisma. Charisma that could so easily be channeled into a plea for sympathy. But he didn’t. He just nodded weakly and let her lead him out of the bathroom.
They wound around the halls and down the stairs and up another set and finally came to Dumbledore’s office. Whispering “Sugar Quills,” Hermione waited for the gargoyle to allow them entry.
“Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione called out. Not hearing a response immediately, she climbed the steps that led up to his office proper. When she reached the top, with Harry a couple steps behind her, she saw Dumbledore at the pensieve, head submerged. The two students waited until he brought his head back up and when he turned and saw them both standing there, Hermione ventured forward.
“I’m sorry, Professor, were we interrupting something?” Hermione asked.
“Oh, no, no my dears, I was just watching an old memory,” the headmaster smiled. “You are here to see me because of what happened to young Mr. Malfoy, I presume?” He looked at them questioningly.
“Yes, but how did you know, sir?” Hermione was puzzled.
“Ah, well, I just happened to be in the hospital wing, when Professor Snape brought him in. Sectumsempra, was it?” Dumbledore looked at Harry and raised a bushy eyebrow.
“Um, yes sir,” Harry whispered, his first words uttered in quite a while.
“Well, why don’t you tell me what happened?” Dumbledore asked. “Miss Granger, I’d like to hear from you as well, although I understand you didn’t actually see what happened, correct?”
Hermione nodded.
“Please have a seat.” Dumbledore gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. He stopped to give Fawkes a bit of bread and then took his seat behind the desk.
Hermione glanced around the room. She had only been in the office once or twice, and both times were very quick so she never got a really good look. She marveled at all the bookshelves that were hidden in every crook and cranny of the space. She saw the Sorting Hat on one of the top shelves, apparently sleeping. Mounted on a wall, above the entrance was the Sword of Gryffindor.
“Excuse me, Professor, is that the Sword of Gryffindor?”
Dumbledore looked where Hermione was pointing. “Why, yes, yes it is,” he remarked, “it resides here until it senses a need. Now, let’s get down to it, Harry?”
“Um, yes sir,” Harry stammered, still in shock. He proceeded to tell Dumbledore, in fits and starts, what happened from the time he saw Katie in the Great Hall, up until he cast the spell.
“This Sectumsempra,” Dumbledore inquired, “where did you learn this? It’s not one I’m familiar with.”
Harry looked up at him in surprise. “You haven’t? Well, um, it came from the potions book I was using.”
“In a potions book? But it’s a spell, how did it end up in a potions book?” Dumbledore was somewhat confused.
“It was written by hand on one of the pages. I’m guessing that whoever this “Half Blood Prince” was, created it?”
“Do you still have the book?”
Harry looked at Hermione. She reluctantly pulled the book from her back pocket and handed it to the headmaster.
“I made him give it to me, it’s dangerous, Professor,” Hermione said after he took the book.
Dumbledore spent the next few minutes pouring over the book. He carefully turned the pages and expelled small grunts and sighs as he skimmed it.
“There’s an awful lot handwritten here. Do you mean to tell me that these are all the Half Blood Prince’s writings?”
“I..I think so. I mean, I first used it for making the Draught of the Living Death. There were a couple of adjustments to the recipe and I tried them. It made the perfect potion and Professor Slughorn gave me a vial of Felix Felicis for making the best potion.”
“Ah, so have you used it yet?” Dumbledore still continued to pour over the book.
“Not yet. I don’t want to waste it,” Harry said.
Hermione was hard put to remain silent. She could see the path this conversation was taking and she didn't like it. This was how the Gryffindors managed to get away with no punishments for their many infractions. They could distract the headmaster and turn an investigation into a discussion and no one was punished. She cleared her throat.
“Ah Miss Granger, I haven’t forgotten about you,” Dumbledore said, “be patient.”
Hermione blushed, embarrassed that her headmaster heard her vocal interruption.
“Yes, Professor,” she sounded like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it.
“Now, Harry, I have to ask you,” the headmaster said, “what made you decide to use that spell, especially if you had no idea what it could do?”
“I don’t know, Professor,” Harry said, looking up to Dumbledore with a sorrowful expression. “I was angry, because I just know he’s the one who cursed Katie. I guess I wanted him to feel like she must have felt. I know it was wrong, and I’m so sorry,” he finished.
“Mr. Malfoy did not curse Miss Bell. She was given a gift and told to bring it to me. Even if Mr. Malfoy did give her the package, it was her curiosity that caused her to open it and be cursed. It was an unfortunate accident.” Dumbledore leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. After a few moments, when no one said anything, He leaned back on his desk and looked at Harry pointedly.
“Your actions, however, were deliberate and rash, especially given that you had no idea what the spell would do. I’m going to make some assumptions here. You wanted to stop the dueling, that much is obvious. You were angry, albeit not necessarily justifiably so, and you let your feelings guide your actions.” Dumbledore stopped and, not waiting for a response, looked at Hermione.
“What did you see, Miss Granger?” he asked, turning to Hermione who was trying not to stand up and pace the floor. She looked up at her professor and clasped her hands in her lap.
“I saw Harry talk to Katie. Then all of a sudden, Harry turned around and saw Malfoy. Malfoy left the Great Hall and then Harry took off after him,” Hermione recounted. “I was worried that there would be a confrontation so I followed him, and just barely spotted him going into the girls’ bathroom. I saw sparks flying and heard glass shattering from where I was in the hallway and I didn’t know what to do. So I waited.” She paused, thinking Dumbledore was going to say something.
Dumbledore looked over at Harry, who was still sitting with his head lowered and his hands folded in his lap. Hermione thought he looked like his mind was somewhere else.
The headmaster’s gaze swung back to Hermione and he gestured for her to continue.
“It got quiet all of a sudden, so I thought it might be alright to peek in and see what had happened. When I did, I saw Malfoy lying on the floor bleeding everywhere.” Her voice caught in her throat at the memory and the tell tale sting of tears forming stopped her briefly. “So much blood. I’m not sure what happened next, but I think I might have started towards him, and Professor Snape came in and told us to get out. Then he began to chant.”
“And what was Harry doing all this time?” Dumbledore prodded, when Hermione stopped speaking.
“He was just standing there, looking like he was in a dream. He stared at Malfoy and then at his wand, like he wasn’t sure if he really caused all that damage. I think he was in shock, Professor.”
“Yes, well, that is apparent. What next, Miss Granger?”
“I told him I was going to see how Malfoy was doing, but before I got to the entrance, Professor Snape was levitating him out. He told us to clean up the bathroom, which we did, and then I brought Harry here.”
Dumbledore sat for a few moments, hand steepled under his chin, deep in thought. Then, he moved quickly, standing up and walking over to where Hermione was sitting.
“Miss Granger, thank you for your story. I must say, I’m a little puzzled about your motive for bringing Mr. Potter to me. I would think you would be one of the first ones to try to cover up what he did to Mr. Malfoy,” he said, looking at Hermione with what looked disturbingly like a twinkle in his eye.
Shit, he knows.
“I’m sorry, Professor, but Harry almost, and may still have, killed Malfoy. And whether or not he deserves it, it was not up to Harry to decide that. Harry even said to me that he didn’t know what the spell would do, but he figured Malfoy deserved it. He’s convinced Malfoy’s a Death Eater. I don’t like Malfoy either, as I’m sure you know, Professor, but no one deserves to have a spell like that thrown at them, at least no one in this school.” Hermione caught herself, because there were people who did deserve that spell. Dolohov for one, she thought. But no sixteen-year-old boy should have had to endure that.
The headmaster patted her on the shoulder. “I happen to agree with you, Miss Granger. Now, why don’t you go up to the hospital wing and check on Mr. Malfoy’s condition. I’m going to have a talk with Harry.”
“Oh, ok.” She was somewhat disconcerted. Does he know about our friendship? Here he was practically forcing her to go see Malfoy under the guise of checking on him. She looked at Harry before she stood up.
“Harry, I’ll talk to you back in the common room.” She leveled him with a glare, and started to leave, then turned back around. “I hope you realize I don’t love you any less because of it. I just wish you could curb your impulses and take a step back sometimes and wait before you act. Deal?” Hermione put her hand out for Harry to shake. He looked up at her, bewildered.
“I mean it, Harry,” she said and shook her hand again, meaning for him to take it. When he did, she couldn’t hold back the tears that started to fall. Harry stood up and allowed her to give him a hug. When she did, his arms came up around her and he squeezed her hard and buried his face in her shoulder.
They stood like that until the professor moved towards them both. Hermione broke the hug and forced Harry to look at her.
“OK?” she asked, wanting reassurance that they were still friends, in spite of what happened.
Harry hesitated for a moment and then nodded his head weakly. “OK,” he said.
She looked at Dumbledore and murmured her thanks for listening to her and then left the office.
—
Hermione made her way slowly to the hospital wing. She was worried about what she might find there. Worst case scenario, Draco died. She refused to think about that. As much as she hated Snape, she was sure he would be able to stop the bleeding and heal him. The next worst case scenario was that she would walk in and all the Slytherins’ would be there holding a vigil for their leader. She knew if that happened she would just turn around and walk right back out.
As she came to the door of the infirmary, she put her ear up against it. She couldn’t hear anything, so cautiously she opened the door.
The wing was darkened by the twilight outside and the shades having been drawn. Normally, the room was bright and cheerful even on the most cloudy, stormy day. Windows that ran floor to ceiling surrounded the room on three sides and allowed one to see the weather happening.
She peered around the room at the beds and tried to guess who might be in each one. There was a quidditch player who had fallen off his broom and into a den of nifflers. In another bed was Padma Patil, who had missed the moving stairs and fell down three flights and mercifully, only broke one arm and one leg.
There were a few more patients that she didn’t recognize as she moved down the ward towards the bed closest to Madam Pomfrey’s office.
There was a privacy screen around it, which was what made Hermione realize Draco was behind it. Before looking at him, she decided to check in with the mediwitch and get an update.
She knocked lightly on the doorframe, having already seen the woman at her desk going over notes and charts. She looked up when she heard the knock and relaxed when she realized it was Hermione.
“Miss Granger, good to see you. What can I do for you?” she asked her. Then she motioned for her to take a seat.
“Professor Dumbledore sent me here to check up on Malfoy. How is he? Alive, I hope?”
“Yes, thanks to Professor Snape’s knowledge and quick intervention, Mr. Malfoy will recover. He is still very weak from the loss of blood, but we will be giving him blood replenishment potions for a few days. And then he should be able to return to his dorm.”
“Is he awake? Or, I guess, conscious?” Hermione desperately wanted to see him, but thought Madame Pomfrey would be a little suspicious if she just went over and sat with him not being awake.
“He’s been in and out. Go on, you can go see for yourself,” Pomfrey said, shooing Hermione away from her office.
She made her way over to Draco’s bed behind the partition. She peered around it and could hardly believe what she saw.
Draco was lying on his back, shirtless, but chest swathed in thick bandages. There were places where she could see faint pink spots and knew that he was still bleeding a bit, so not out of the woods yet.
She accio’d a chair and pulled it up to the side of the bed. As she sat down, Draco stirred a bit and whimpered.
He looks so young and innocent lying here like this. She stifled a sob with her hand.
Don’t fall apart now, Granger. You’ve made it this far.
For a moment she sat there stunned. It felt like Draco was in her head, egging her on. She shook her head to clear out the cobwebs. To focus, she looked at Draco’s face as he slept.
Hermione didn’t think she had ever seen his face not moving in some way, just still. Not reading, speaking, watching potions, talking with her, anxious glances, snarls, worry lines. But here he was, almost fixed in place with the exception of his nostrils flaring the tiniest bit when he exhaled. She watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His hands were still, at his side, although she did notice a twitch once or twice.
He still had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was not as sleek as it usually was. Every once in a while his forehead would crinkle and she would be reminded of him working on a tough Arithmancy problem. She wondered what he was dreaming about.
The whole situation was a fucking mess. Hermione had not planned to –what? What had she not planned to do? Fall headlong into whatever kind of relationship they had? What was it anyway? She thought they were friends, but he lashed out at her and said they weren’t. She thought that he was trying to protect her in some way.
She put her head in her hands and drew some long breaths. At some point, Harry was going to ask her about her defending Draco. He knew damn well that she wouldn’t have been so vehement if he didn’t mean anything to her.
Oh well, maybe I can take some of the heat away from Malfoy.
She looked up and almost jumped out of her skin when she saw a pair of grey eyes looking at her intently.
“Draco?” Am I dreaming?
He just stared at her, as if he was trying to puzzle out who she was or why she was there. She felt raw and exposed, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to push her away. Not this time.
“Draco, how are you feeling? Can you talk?” OK that was ridiculously stupid, get your shit together, Granger.
Again with the Granger. She was losing her mind.
He cleared his throat. “I was stabbed, Granger, not strangled. Of course I can talk.”
And he’s back. Hermione scoffed softly to herself at her sudden relief to hear his snarky reply.
“I feel like I’ve been Crucio’d to hell and back.”
“Oh, I’m—” she stopped when she realized what he had just said. “Wait, you’ve been Crucio’d?”
“Focus, Granger. Currently, I’m lying here with a massive rune carved on my body. Forget about the other.”
“OK, I just wanted to see how you were. I’m so glad you are alive.” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling and fought back the tears that threatened once again.
“Granger, are you feeling sorry for me?” Draco tried to lift an eyebrow, but ended up grimacing in pain. “Ughhh.”
“Do you want some water? I can get you some.” Feeling like she needed to be doing something, instead of just staring at him, she jumped up to grab the pitcher on the nightstand by his bed. Before she could pick it up, she felt cold fingers wrap around her wrist.
“Granger, stop.” She stopped and slowly turned to look at him. The tears she valiantly tried to keep back refused her pleas and started to flow freely down her face. She sat back down and put her head down on the bed and sobbed.
It felt so good to let it all go. The stress of what was going on or not going on with their friendship, Harry’s ridiculous witch hunt (ironic, no?), the fight, all of it finally caught up with her.
She felt that same cold hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair.
“It’s ok, Granger. I didn’t die,” he said softly, “you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know—hic—it’a just that—hic—there’s just so—hic—much,” she sniffled. She finally lifted her head and looked at him with puffy eyes, and tear-streaked cheeks.
“I’m sorry.” That was the last thing Hermione ever thought she would hear come out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth. Directed at her.
“What? Why ever for? You’re the one who almost bled to death on the floor of the girls’ bathroom.” She looked at his face and saw the softness there, and genuine regret.
“I’m sorry that we ever became friends,” he said, sighing. “No, I don’t mean it like that; I’m sorry that I’m putting you through so much stress because of our friendship. And yes, it is a friendship. Probably the only true friendship I’ve ever had.” He shifted a bit in the bed and groaned.
Hermione did not know what to say. No one had ever said anything like that to her. Not her best friends, or her girlfriends, or, come to think of it, her parents, even. She smiled, a quiet, thoughtful smile.
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Draco looked at her, perplexed.
“That my mortal enemy is the only person that I’m friends with and the only person who’s ever apologized to me. You don’t have to be sorry for that. For being friends. You should know me well enough by now to understand that, once I’m in, I’m in all the way. You were never going to be able to push me away for good. Because I know that, before, when you said we weren’t friends, that you were saying it out of fear.”
Draco snorted. “Malfoys do not know fear.” She rolled her eyes and poked him.
“Ow! Witch, you are assaulting an injured man.”
She chuckled this time, and that brought on a small, lopsided grin in response.
“So, uh, Dumbledore wanted me to check on you. I probably better go tell him that the rumours of your demise were greatly exaggerated.” She started to stand up.
“Quoting Mark Twain to me, now, Granger?”
Hermione stopped and stared at him in surprise. “You know Mark Twain?”
“He was a wizard. Of course, I know of him. I’ve read Tom Sawyer more times than I can count.”
Draco grew quiet and grimaced again.
“Oh my goodness! You need to rest! I shouldn’t be keeping you awake,” Hermione stood up all the way this time, and grabbed Draco’s hand. “I’m truly relieved to see that you are going to recover. This is no time to die, Malfoy.”
Draco sighed again. “I suppose I am too; although, if only so that I can wreak my vengeful wrath on Potter,” he spit out with no small amount of disgust. He squeezed Hermione’s hand when he saw the look of horror and fear on her face.
“Relax, Granger, I don’t think I’ll be dueling for a while.” He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them and looked down. “Will you come back?” He looked up at her just as he finished the last word and blushed a pale pink. Hermione decided not to mock him for that.
“If you want me to,” she replied, “but I don’t want to walk in here and see a bunch of Slytherins crowding over your bed. I will run for the hills, then,” she laughed.
“Just come after hours, I’m sure ol’ Poppy will let you.” She started to roll her eyes, but realized that he was serious.
“I’ll try.” Try, I’ll be here if it kills me. “Good night, Draco Malfoy.”
“Good night, Granger.” He let go of her hand and closed his eyes.
She watched him until his breath evened out. Impetuously, she leaned over and kissed his forehead lightly. Then, before she threw all caution to the wind and just stayed there overnight, she turned and walked out of the infirmary without looking back.
Life just became infinitely more complicated.