Hermione unfolded the Marauders' Map with trembling hands. The minute Harry and Kingsley had left the Great Hall with Narcissa, she had raced up to the Room of Requirement. But it had been empty, no Draco standing there, arms outstretched. Now Hermione was in her bedroom, praying that his dot would appear on the parchment.
It didn't, of course, and so there was only one thing to do. Hermione changed into jeans and a jumper, then packed her beaded bag and slung a heavy cloak over her shoulder. She was closing her bedroom door when she heard a familiar voice: "Miss Granger."
Hermione turned. Snape was in the apothecary painting, standing before the shop. "Where are you going?" the small, painted Headmaster demanded.
"I have to find Draco, sir," Hermione said. "Aurors just arrested Narcissa for casting the spell that wrote the blood messages."
"I find that difficult to believe," Snape said.
"Believe it," Hermione said bitterly. "She cast a spell on the castle to protect Draco, using Lucius' blood." Her mouth twisted. "It was Lucius' hatred that manifested the words 'Die Mudbloods.'"
Snape's eyebrows drew down. "Where is Draco?"
"I don't know. He's left the castle. If he doesn't return for Monday classes, he'll violate his probation. The Wizengamot could send him back to Azkaban."
The former Headmaster stepped closer to the gilt-edged frame, filling the canvas. "Where will you go?"
"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. She hadn't really thought it through. "He can't go to the Manor—aurors are likely swarming all over it, looking for evidence. The only other ..." she trailed off, eyes wide.
"What?" Snape demanded.
"I know where he is," Hermione said. She turned and burst through her bedroom door again, slamming it behind her. Stripping off her cloak, she took a deep breath; this had to work. She touched the Gloriana clip in her curls.
"Aimee!" she called. "Aimee!"
A loud crack sounded and the little elf appeared, her dark eyes even wider than usual. She wore a white pillowcase edged with seed pearls. "La-la maîtresse!" Aimee squeaked, and rattled off a string of French too fast for Hermione to understand, except the word "Draco."
"Aimee," Hermione said gently. "S'il vous plait. Please stop."
Aimee shut her mouth with a snap and looked at Hermione with imploring eyes.
"Thank you for answering my call," Hermione said. That Aimee still regarded her as mistress was encouraging, although ordering a house elf still made her skin crawl. "I'm looking for Draco."
"D-Draco?"
"Yes," Hermione said, managing a smile. "Draco Malfoy. Tall. Blond. Very annoying."
Aimee giggled nervously, her large ears flapping under her lacey bow.
"Draco left school today, but it's very important he returns. He made a promise to the Ministry, Aimee."
"Oui, la maîtresse Hermione," Aimee whispered, eyes on the floor.
"He's at the Chateau, isn't he, Aimee?" The elf began to tremble. "I won't ask you to betray him, or take me to him." Aimee relaxed slightly.
"I'm going to give you a message ... in the event that you possibly might see him ..." Hermione waved her hand, "... someday."
Aimee nodded, looking nervous.
Hermione eyed the little elf. She'd considered sending Draco an owl or Patronus, but the Ministry could be watching for owls, and a Patronus felt too ... forceful. She had to go about this carefully.
"If you happen to see Draco, tell him ..." Hermione remembered Draco's tight, bleak face in the Great Hall and fought to keep her voice steady. "Tell him not to lose hope. He must return to school. I won't bother him, I promise. I-I'll stay away."
Aimee nodded vigorously, large tears dropping from her thickly lashed eyes. "Mistress says not to lose hope. Master Draco must return to school. Mistress promises not to bother him and will stay away," the elf recited.
"Do you know what his parents did?" Hermione asked.
The elf nodded, blowing her nose on the edge of her pillowcase.
"Both Narcissa and Lucius are imprisoned now, and soon there will be a trial," Hermione said. "I am determined that Draco will not join them in Azkaban. But he must return to school."
Aimee nodded rapidly. "Aimee will do everything she can!" she cried. "Aimee will deliver the Mistress' message and tell Master Draco he must return to school!" Hermione fought to keep from smiling; the elf looked ready to clock Draco with a silver tray if he dared resist.
"Thank you, Aimee." The little elf gave a loud sniff and disappeared with a crack.
Hermione opened her bedroom door and saw Snape still dominating the painting across the hall.
"Draco is in France," Hermione said in a low voice. Snape frowned terribly. "I just spoke to the Chateau's house elf. I-I've promised to leave Draco alone if he returns to school."
"He had better return, Miss Granger," Snape said. "This is no time to play the coward."
"Draco is not a coward," Hermione snapped. Snape's lip curled.
"He'll return," she insisted. "He'll return and we'll figure it all out. Draco will redeem his name—I don't care if they march both his parents out to the Quidditch pitch and Avada them right there!" Hermione could feel magic sparking off her curls and tried to take a calming breath.
Snape merely raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see how a tantrum will help matters."
Hermione glared. "Watch yourself, Headmaster Snape. I know about a storage room with a nice can of magical paint thinner."
***
News of Narcissa's arrest got out almost immediately, and within a day the entire wizarding world knew that Malfoys had once again infiltrated Hogwarts to hurt students. Hermione had a wretched weekend and was half-crazed with sleep deprivation when Harry met her Monday morning in the Gryffindor common room. She raised her eyebrows at him as she came down the stairs, Crookshanks following behind, but Harry shook his head. No sign of Draco. The fluffy orange cat jumped through the portrait hole ahead of them and streaked off down the corridor.
"I saw Narcissa last night," Harry told Hermione as they walked down to breakfast. "She's in a fairly comfortable cell at the Ministry, quite secluded. She agrees with us about Draco—he must return to Hogwarts and complete his probation."
Harry stopped and faced her. "She's terrified, Hermione, not for herself, but for Lucius and Draco. If Lucius is executed and Draco sent to Azkaban ..." Harry shuddered. "I don't think she'll survive it."
"Draco is not going to Azkaban," Hermione said. "If he doesn't turn up in Ancient Runes today, I'll go to France and fetch him here myself."
Harry glanced around to confirm they were the only ones on the fourth-floor landing. "We'll go together."
"Harry, you're supposed to stay here and ..."
"Why should I? The spell is lifted, there will be no more messages."
"You told McGonagall you'd stay to reassure the school until the trials ..."
"No." Harry said. "You followed me to hell and back during the war, and I'll follow you now." He grinned. "I'd ask Ron to join us, but I don't think his heart would be in it."
"Prat," Hermione said, smacking him on the shoulder. He just grinned more widely and put an arm around her as they descended the stairs.
They entered the Entrance Hall to find Leila and Percival standing by the Hourglass Cabinet. Leila looked up, her eyes widening, and Hermione saw Percival hastily stow a glass bottle in his robes.
Unfortunately, Harry noticed as well. "What do you have there, Mr. ...?"
"Knightley," Percival said.
Hermione couldn't help smiling. Percival Knightley? She couldn't imagine less heroic-looking boy. But then Harry hadn't been much to look at during their First Year either.
"It's a tonic, Assistant Auror Potter," Leila said brightly. Sure enough, when Percival handed Harry the bottle, its label read: PERFECTLY INNOCUOUS TONIC.
Harry's lips twitched. "I suppose you're both a bit tired from all your studying."
Percival nodded. "Exactly." Leila elbowed him. "Assistant Auror Potter," he added.
"It has been a long couple of weeks," Harry said. "Perhaps I should try a few drops." Leila and Percival's eyes bugged out.
"NO!" Percival cried. "I mean ... we ... you ..."
"That's all the tonic we have, Assistant Auror Potter," Leila piped up. "And we have some very difficult exams this week."
Harry exchanged looks with Hermione, who bit her lip to hide a smile. "Very well," Harry said. "I'll just keep this for you, then. I won't drink it, but if you feel the need for a tonic, just come and find me."
Leila and Percival's faces fell. "Yes, sir," Percival said sullenly. The two children turned to leave the Entrance Hall, then Leila spun around.
"By the way, Miss Granger," she said, "your cat is chasing pigeons again."
Hermione groaned. She should have known. Crookshanks chasing pigeons was usually harmless fun, but now the birds didn't stand a chance ...
"Go on to breakfast," she told Harry. "I'll be there soon." Harry's eyes narrowed, but he nodded and entered the Great Hall.
"He's very dashing," Leila said, looking after Harry.
Percival snorted. "He's an absolute tosser. He took our Wrapsodi!"
"Yes," Leila said serenely. "I'll have to seek him out and ask for it back." She began walking toward the Great Hall doors.
"What? He won't give it to you ," Percival said, following her.
"I have my ways."
"Ways? What ways? ..."
Hermione stared after the bickering children, then shook her head. Harry had better watch out.
The castle's giant oak doors creaked open and Hermione stepped outside, shivering in the cold November morning. Right in front of doors, in clear sight of the Entrance Hall windows, was Crookshanks hunting pigeons.
One couldn't call it a hunt, really: The pigeons couldn't fly more than a foot above the ground; they could only pathetically hop about, squawking madly. Crookshanks had one flapping bird in his paws, and was dragging it about as he stalked a second one. As angry as Hermione was at the pigeons for attacking owls, the sight was too sickening to tolerate.
"Crookshanks!" she scolded, "let that pigeon go!"
The cat gave a long, complaining yowl, shaking his captured bird.
"Those pigeons are under a spell, Crookshanks, and it's wrong to hunt them!"
Crookshanks yowled again, clearly unconvinced.
"Yes, I know they're vile, nasty birds," Hermione said. "That's why they're under a spell. It's a punishment, not a death sentence!"
Her familiar hissed, but released the bird, then looked at Hermione with reproachful golden eyes.
"I know," she said. She glared down at the pigeons, now clustered together and eerily silent, watching her. "Over here, Crookshanks," she said.
Hermione led the cat a few feet away, then picked him up. "It's quite all right for you to chase the pigeons," she whispered in one ear. "But you mustn't hurt them. Or eat them. You don't know where they've been."
Crookshanks hissed and looked at the birds balefully. Then he nudged Hermione's hand with his nose—his way of indicating agreement. Hermione dropped a kiss on his furry head and put him back on the grass. The cat immediately bounded over to the pigeons, who pitifully tried to fly again. Hermione smirked; it served the horrid things right.
Draco was not at breakfast, and the entire Slytherin table was sober and silent. Leila sat beside Pansy. Hermione took a seat near Harry, Ginny and Neville. Ginny looked pale and worried, and Harry kept glancing at her, but they didn't speak.
"I knew it was the Malfoys all along," Dennis Creevey said loudly. "That entire family is sick and evil." Most of the Gryffindors nodded agreement.
Hermione glared down the table at him. "Stop it, Dennis. Draco knew nothing about those messages. He did not cast the spell, Lady Malfoy did."
"You'd better watch it, Hermione," Dennis said. "If you don't come to your senses, you'll be visiting your Death Eater boyfriend in Azkaban."
For an instant, the image of Narcissa shopping in Diagon Alley for socks and books and scarves for Lucius flashed through Hermione's mind, and she brutally pushed it aside. "Draco is not going to Azkaban."
Dennis pretended to look around the hall. "Where is he then, the coward? On the run, is he? How long will that last?"
The Great Hall was quiet; even the Teacher's Table was watching. "Dennis," Hermione said, keeping her voice level. "I understand, I really do. Those 'Die Mudbloods' messages were terrifying. What Narcissa and Lucius did was horrible. But it was Lucius' hatred and Narcissa's ruthlessness that cast that spell. Draco knew nothing about it."
"So he says," Dennis sneered.
"He said so under Veritaserum," said Harry. "I was there. Malfoy voluntarily took Veritaserum to prove his innocence."
"Innocent? Malfoy?" Dennis cried. "It made me sick to see him sitting in this Hall during Dumbledore's ceremony. He tried to kill Dumbledore!"
"He refused to kill Dumbledore," Harry snapped. "Again, I was there. You were not."
"Come on, Harry," Hermione said, pulling at his sleeve. They were doing more harm than good here; the entire hall was murmuring and many at the Gryffindor table looked at Hermione and Harry with unfriendly eyes. Harry gave Dennis a final glare, obviously trying to think of a charge to bring against him, but followed Hermione out of the hall.
He had to walk briskly to catch her—Hermione was already halfway to Ancient Runes, hoping against hope to see that long, slender form leaning against the corridor wall, reading a scroll, perhaps, impeccable in his pressed robes and silver cufflinks.
But he wasn't there; the corridor was empty. Hermione stopped and stared at the classroom door, her vision blurring. He couldn't give up, he just couldn't ...
Then she heard them, those familiar footfalls. Draco was in the Ancient Runes corridor, walking toward them, back stiff and pale face expressionless.
"Draco," Hermione breathed. "You came back."
"Yes." Cold grey eyes flickered over to Harry. "Where is my mother?"
"At the Ministry. I saw her last night," Harry said. "We've made her as comfortable as possible, but she's very worried about you."
"She should be," Draco said indifferently. His gaze turned to Hermione. "You had no right to call Aimee."
"Of course I did," Hermione answered tartly. "She came, didn't she?"
"Aimee is my elf," Draco said. "I've ordered her not to leave the Chateau again."
Hermione crackled with fury. "You what ? She is not property, she is a living, breathing person! Did you tell her to punish herself for coming to me? Did you order her to burn her ears or smash her feet or —"
"Hermione!" Harry yelled. Draco's face went white, then brick-red. Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified by what she'd just said.
"How dare you?" Draco snarled. "I would never—"
"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said, tears running down her cheeks. "I didn't mean it. I know you wouldn't hurt Aimee, I'm just so angry, you were gone and I didn't know if you'd come back, and I don't want to buy socks and books!" She felt Harry's arm around her.
"You've really put her through it, Malfoy." Harry's voice was cold. "She's been defending you all weekend and this morning, too, and worrying about the consequences if you didn't come back. I know it goes against the grain for you Malfoys, but could you please try not to make things worse?"
No one spoke, and the only sound was Hermione gulping as she tried to stop crying. Splendid, now she had a headache.
"I'm going to stay in school," Draco said finally, his voice strained. "I'm not going to Azkaban. I promise."
Hermione looked up, blinking tears out of her eyes. Draco took a deep breath. "I will stay in school," he said, looking directly at her. "I will complete my probation. I promise."
Harry looked unconvinced. "You need to stay away from her," he told Draco.
"No, Harry, Draco—"
"He's right." Draco's eyes were red-rimmed and sad. "It's for the best."
Hermione stepped closer. "No, together we'll find a way—"
Draco shook his head. "No, we won't. You can't dig me out of this, I have to do it myself. Alone."
"He's right, Hermione," Harry said.
"Well, I don't agree," Hermione snapped. She couldn't believe Harry and Draco picked this moment to agree. "I won't just stand by and—"
"Yes, you will," Draco said. "You promised if I returned to school, you wouldn't bother me. You'd stay away. Isn't that what you told Aimee?"
Nuts. He had her. Hermione scowled. "Yes, but—"
"Get her out of here, Potter," Draco said. He slumped slightly, looking drained. "Just get her out of here. Please."
"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, pulling her away.
"But I can't miss class—"
"Merlin, Hermione," Harry snapped, "you can probably teach that fucking class by now. Come on."
"This isn't over, Draco Malfoy!" Hermione yelled as Harry tugged on her hand. "You promised you wouldn't do this—you promised you'd only leave me to chase women and marry a Sacred Twenty-Eight bitch! You promised!" She yanked her hand from Harry's and stomped out of the Ancient Runes corridor. McGonagall and her students stared as Hermione swept past, head high despite the tears on her cheeks.
Then Harry put his arms around her, letting her cry all over his nice auror robes. She expected empty consolation or perhaps muttered curses about Malfoys, but when she looked up at him, Harry was shaking his head.
"Sacred Twenty-Eight bitch?" he asked her.
"Draco promised," she sniffled. "He promised he wouldn't be noble."
Harry just sighed. "Gin's right— you two have a very odd relationship."
***
Both Draco and Hermione kept their promises: Draco stayed at Hogwarts and Hermione didn't bother him. It was the start of the school year all over again, with a few crucial differences. Pansy and Blaise publicly supported Draco this time and accompanied him to meals and classes. Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Harry also defended Draco at every turn, as did the Squeaky Mice. But the student body's anger and hatred continued to grow to dangerous levels, with older students practically declaring open season on the blond Slytherin and hexes echoing off the corridor walls.
The biggest difference, however, was Draco himself. Instead of wrapping himself in an arrogant air of indifference, he was once again the hopeless, silent wraith of Sixth Year, ignoring everyone, keeping his head down and mouth shut, and disappearing for extended periods of time. He avoided Hermione whenever possible, was silent and cold in Potions, and managed to get his beanbag changed in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Herbology's Winkweed unit was over, and Draco was once again on the other end of the large greenhouse.
Two days passed with no contact, and Hermione found it hard to remember that it had been any other way between them. She felt like she'd woken from a dream. Had this pale, cold man really pursued her, sent her suggestive notes in runes, waltzed with her, touched her, kissed her body in her bed and his own? Sometimes, when he looked at her, she saw a glint—he remembered every minute as well. She loved him so much, she knew this, but telling Draco that wouldn't help now. She had missed her chance to tell him, and now he was determined to live his own hell alone.
Astoria returned to Hogwarts in time for Herbology on Wednesday, but she still couldn't fly higher than five feet, rumor had it. Her usual sneering superiority had vanished, and Astoria walked the castle as pale and wraithlike as Draco, the Malfoy choker still circling her throat.
McGonagall summoned Hermione into her office to respond to Astoria's accusations on the pitch, but the Headmistress' questions were cursory at best. Once or twice she neared the truth, asking about the traces of Virgin Earth found on Astoria's shoes and the pigeons' odd behavior. She even mentioned Neville. But McGonagall always veered away whenever she approached a real clue, and it was clear she had no appetite for solving the riddle, especially after Hermione said that her own "independent" reading gave every indication that a condition like Astoria's may possibly be temporary. In theory, of course. That was good enough for McGonagall, who sent her away with a sympathetic look and her office password if Hermione ever wanted "to talk."
Hermione spent her evenings in the library, with Ginny keeping her company. If Ginny had Quidditch practice, Neville and Pansy would coincidentally turn up. If not them, Harry suddenly had "auror research" to conduct. Her friends obviously didn't want her to sit alone, especially with the dark looks other students sent her way, and Hermione was grateful. Draco remained secluded in his room when he wasn't at classes or meals.
Draco also kept turning up with mysterious injuries that week, and Harry began casually appearing in all of Draco's classes and in the hallways he frequented. Hermione came across the two men arguing in an empty classroom after lunch on Thursday, with Draco spitting that he didn't need a bodyguard, and Harry responding that what he needed was a fucking medic to follow him around. Hermione leaned against the wall outside the classroom door so she could eavesdrop more comfortably.
"The hexes are getting worse, Malfoy," Harry was saying. "You could end up crippled or dead, and then Hermione would kill me ."
"Hermione won't—she needs you. She's better off apart from me."
"Merlin, you're an idiot," Harry said. "You think she's apart from you? She's lying in wait, like a lioness in the grass. She's still wearing those creepy diamonds, isn't she? You're acting like you have a choice, like she has a choice."
"You have to make her stop defending me, Potter," Draco said. "People are going to turn on her, and on the Squeaky Mice, too, you have to make them all—"
"Hermione's taking care of the kids," Harry said. "And she can take care of herself. The only person here in danger is you."
"I'm fine."
"Just let me heal that fucked-up ear—what kind of hex was that?"
Hermione heard scuffling and the crashing of desks. "Get off me!" Draco yelled. "What the bloody hell!"
"Hold still, you fucking prat—sorry, I didn't mean to get your eye—"
"You're giving me more wounds, you fucking—"
"What's going on?" asked a voice behind Hermione. It was Blaise, looking rather alarmed.
"Either Draco and Harry are killing each other, or they're actually bonding," she said. Men.
"Potter," Draco snapped, "get your hand off my face or I swear I'll—"
"I think your cheekbone is fractured—"
"Well, poking it won't help!"
Blaise smirked. "I haven't heard Draco sound this cheerful in days. I'll leave him to it." He turned to go.
"Blaise," Hermione said, touching his sleeve. "Thank you. I doubted once whether you were really Draco's friend, but I don't anymore."
His face was expressionless. "I assume you have a plan to help him."
She looked down. "I don't," she said, ashamed. "I'm testifying at Narcissa's trial next week."
Blaise's jaw tightened. "Is Draco testifying against his parents?"
Hermione nodded. "He said he would. Not that it would do his reputation any good. He'd just be the Death Eater who threw his parents to the wolves to save his own neck."
"If you were together with him again, publicly, as his girlfriend or even fiancée—"
Hermione shook her head, although her pulse gave an odd leap. "Then he'd be the evil Death Eater who seduced Gryffindor's Princess," she said. Godric, she hated that title.
Blaise's dark eyes were wide and sad. "Then it's hopeless. If Lucius is executed, Draco will never recover. He'll get his NEWTs and go into seclusion. Or abroad. Alone."
"Not alone," Hermione said fiercely. "Never alone."
NEXT UP: Hermione cultivates some new hobbies.