AND THAT BEING SAID, I would appreciate it if THIS STORY WAS NOT PLAGIARIZED. Recently, I stumbled across a story copied WORD FOR WORD on HPFF, and I threw a fit. I was NOT happy and I yelled and screamed at loved ones, and I reported them, and left a mean review that was NOT a flame, just an expression of my anger that held no curses, which is a good thing because I curse a lot. Anywho, if you know of anyone that has been plagiarizing this story anywhere, PLEASE inform me! Thanks!
And now, for a very good chapter… sorry about the wait, folks!
By Darkwing731
((--Chapter Six--))
Chances
-
So maybe, if she could get her fear under control, she would come to the realization that he was only taking because he had nothing left, and the only way he would win, the only way he would heal, would be if he had everything back that he had before: money, popularity, and the love of his mother.
He could get the money—hell, he still had the fortune. And if he worked hard enough, he could get back the popularity.
But nothing, nothing, could replace the love of his mother. And he would keep taking from Hermione until he realized that he would not find the love of his mother, but instead, the love of her.
The only question was if she had the love to give him back.
-
"Your absence is not an excuse for your missing potion, Miss Granger," Snape growled. "And nor can you complete it, as I will not take late assignments. You have failed to finish your obligation, so, therefore, you receive a zero."
Hermione was unable to function for a complete minute, the workings and mechanics of her body and mind shutting down, her brain force quitting everything in fear that this sort of shock would surely cause some sort of explosion.
Snape held out the parchment that held a list of a few ingredients and some meticulous notes that confirmed Hermione's creation of the final potion. A note, written in spiky handwriting that looked as ominous as Snape's presence, tainted the top of her perfect observations.
He shoved it into her hand, the one clutching her bag so tightly that it seemed the corduroy might be sliced in half; her body was still rigid and unmoving, and a tiny little movement could be seen at her mouth; her lip trembling, Hermione was almost brought to tears of shock in front of her professor.
"Now GET OUT," he snarled. Immediately snapping to attention at his order, Hermione shakily looked at the parchment in her hands, her hands twitching at the insubordination of the absence policy ("students are exempt from class assignments if not present"), before fleeing the somber room without a sound.
"What did he want?" Ron asked, curious but then alert at Hermione's expression. "Hermione?" he asked delicately.
Standing stock still, she revealed the paper with trembling hands. Ron and Harry moved closer for a better look, and barely concealed their snorting.
Hermione tackled Ron before she started crying and yelled miserably into his shoulder. "He gave me a zero!"
Stifling his amusement, Harry shook his head and led them away. Ron comforted her silently, but offered no other solace; seeing as he failed to turn in assignments more frequently than he did his laundry, he didn't seem to understand Hermione's panic.
Then again, she was Hermione after all.
"Lunch, lunch, lunch, lunch…" Ron was chanting happily as they traveled down the main corridor, his stomach rumbling and eager for food. He gave a great sniff as they reached the Great Hall, and almost started skipping.
"It's something good," he predicted hopefully. "It has to be."
"Anything is good for you," Hermione said dryly. "As long as it's food." Ron agreed, and as they sat down, Ginny slid over from a bench farther down.
Kissing Harry on the check, she inquired, "How was your first day back? No headaches? Any happenings?"
"I wish," Harry grumbled. "Everyone was all concerned and quite annoying. I mean, it wasn’t such a big deal. I'm fine."
"Of course you are," Ginny agreed and started piling food onto his plate. "Eat all of that and you won't have to go to the hospital wing anytime soon."
"Thanks, Molly," Harry said sarcastically. "Seriously, Ginny, I'm fine. Ask anyone! Ron, aren’t I fine?" Ron, currently stuffing food into his mouth as if there would be no time left in the world to eat, nodded vigorously.
"And Hermione, too. I'm fine, right?" he asked her expectantly.
Hermione looked at Harry and panic rose up from her chest. She abruptly grabbed a biscuit and thrust it into her mouth. "Mmmphmmm," she tried to say, but then shrugged, barely avoiding his question. She eventually ate the food, and then stood up. "I've got to go; Dumbledore gave me a few things to do, and I need to get them done while I still can."
"But you've barely eaten anything!" Ginny said. "…Except that biscuit. How was that, by the way?"
"Wonderful. And I ate heaps of food this morning, so I'm not even hungry," she explained.
Swallowing his food, Ron supplied, "You had a bagel and some coffee."
"Yes, well…" Awkwardly, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be fine; I've got a free period next anyway and I can eat then."
She gave them no time to protest and instead walked away briskly. Truth be told, Hermione was looking forward to being out of Harry's presence. All day long, she had been watching him very carefully, scrutinizing him for signs of Voldemort's control and, very aware of her examination, he decided to interrogate her. Now, there was already tension between them, and Hermione needed to avoid that.
She left the Great Hall in a hurry, just wanting to bury herself in the voluminous library and drown in text, but as Head Girl, she knew there were other things that needed to be accomplished first. She had to start a Class Evaluation Sheet on her Ancient Runes class, and eventually write an essay; it was due at the end of the month and had to be handed in to Professor Dumbledore before October. She also had homework she wanted to get done, and a project in Arithmancy (which she thought was rather stupid, truthfully) and she wanted to brush up on her foreign language.
Rushing up the grand staircase, she was not a foot around the first corner before she ran into somebody. She stumbled and went to apologize, but was aware of the fight that had been instigated because of her clumsiness.
Because Hermione went crashing into Blaise Zabini, he had toppled into Malfoy, and at once the two boys were circling each other likes vicious dogs, ready to kill; lunging at one another, their fighting was physical instead of magical, causing Hermione to stare in horror at the cruelty Malfoy was displaying.
"Stop that!" she shrieked, pulling out her wand at once. "Petrificus—"
"Stop her!" Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind and Hermione was screaming in angry protest; these onlookers found it amusing to watch Malfoy and Zabini abuse each other and Hermione was the only person who didn't.
"Are you going to kill me, Malfoy?" Zabini shouted, struggling under the pressure of Malfoy's arms; in a headlock, Zabini had no other means of attack besides gibes. "Going to murder me like your mother?"
Malfoy's roar of fury was so thunderous Hermione squeaked a little, flinching from the terrible, murderous sound. Eyes gleaming, Malfoy grabbed his opponent by the neck and threw him down; Zabini knew at once how true his jeer could become and moved to escape hastily. Malfoy jumped down on his chest, wrapped his twitching fingers around Zabini's throat, and locked them in a vice grip, eager for revenge.
Coming down from the thrill of terror, Hermione was furious at her captor's laughter and kicked his shins with all of her might. He yelped, and she broke free of his grasp; putting all other thoughts aside, she rushed forward and stopped Malfoy's dangerous temper.
"Stupefy!" The power packed into her spell, or rather, the fear of the situation, forced Malfoy to tumble over Zabini and fall into a motionless heap.
Storming over to a gasping Zabini, she grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him up.
"You're a fool!" she cried. "Saying things like that to him—"
"Get off of me, you filthy Mudblood!" Zabini growled, shaking off her grip. Hermione snarled at him.
"Detention with McGonagall! In fact, three nights' worth!" she exclaimed. "I'm reporting all of you!" she declared, and then sought out which one was holding her to prevent her from breaking up the fight.
"You especially, Nott!" Theodore Nott, who had been inching away, stopped suddenly. "You're all imbeciles, crude, and vile! You get amusement out of watching these two fight each other?" She glared at each of them, before turning to Malfoy.
"I should wake you, but I better not," she murmured to herself, thinking hard. She needed a teacher, more than anything else. Casting a fierce look at the remaining people who were quickly departing in panic of being caught, she hurried down the hallway.
She approached Professor McGonagall once she had entered the Great Hall. "There's been a fight, Professor. I'm not quite sure what to do, but I know I needed to inform you," she explained.
"Wonderful," McGonagall muttered. "Lead the way, Miss Granger." She followed Hermione out of the hall and up the stairs; at once, they could hear shouting and cries of pain.
Hermione bolted without a second thought, not caring whether McGonagall was keeping up with her or not. Horrified upon viewing the vicious scene again, she started screaming.
"Stop, Malfoy! STOP!" Releasing all anger from his body, Malfoy was pounding Zabini over and over, his arm moving swiftly and precisely, hitting its target with full force. Malfoy was heaving, breathing hard as if he had murdered a beast alive, fighting its desperate struggles with the bitter, spiteful anger in his body and ripping it limb from limb, imagining it to be some hated enemy.
"Impedimenta!" McGonagall shrieked, her voice strained with panic and shock. Zabini, limp and bleeding severely, fell to the ground and did not move. Hermione pulled out her wand and rushed over to the injured Slytherin, but—
"I'll kill you!" Malfoy rammed into her and, ignoring her terrified voice, tried to wrap his hands around her throat like he had to Zabini. McGonagall interfered at once, but Malfoy could not be stopped that easily; Hermione squirmed and fought back, kicking him in sensitive spots and hitting at his face, yet he was relentless.
McGonagall finally drove him back; her wand was at his throat, for nothing else seemed to be working. Hermione was gasping for breath, trying to stop the vertigo that was threatening to overcome her and bring her mind back to reality. Everything inside of her was racing faster than the wind; thundering in her chest, her wild heart disallowed her from breathing and because of that, she could not get a grip on herself.
"You're next, Mudblood!" Malfoy bellowed; darkness lurked in his voice, a sound so terrible and so condemning that Hermione felt a tremor of fear strike her body. Her hands clutched around for support, her body automatically pushing up against the wall to get as far away from him as possible. His eyes, always dripping with malice, gleamed with revenge, the sort where he would, one night, practice stabbing something, perhaps even himself, to be accurate enough so that when the time came, stabbing her would be precisely fatal.
"Granger, go get the Headmaster!" McGonagall instructed, breathing shallow herself. "And Snape; as Head of Slytherin, he's got a say in this, too." The professor had Stunned Malfoy, which had not caught Hermione's attention due to her hyperventilating.
"Okay," she agreed, her voice high and abnormally tight. She reached the professors faster than she had ever done anything, or maybe she was so lost in shock that she failed to notice how quickly everything was moving.
"McGonagallwantsyou," she slurred, breathing heavily. Everything was moving so quickly, the world spinning beneath her feet before she could find her balance.
"Excuse me?" Dumbledore asked. Hermione's knees were weakening and she clutched at the table in support. Blinking hard to relieve herself of the dizziness, she found it harder and harder to open her eyes each time they closed.
"McGonagall…" But the world came to a crashing halt and Hermione fell to the floor, convulsing for a moment. Blackness shrouded her, and an eerie light guided her back to earth.
Someone was hitting her face and they were not being very gentle. Eyes fluttering, she glimpsed many people were standing over her and, to her surprise, Harry was holding her, hitting her cheeks. Without warning, the frightening memory of Harry screaming, his face contorted in fury and brutal anger, his body overcome by Voldemort, came over her.
"Get away!" she yelled, terrified beyond sense of logic. She struggled away from him and was oblivious to Harry's looks of confusion as she pulled away in insane fear.
Dumbledore grabbed her by the shoulders and she flinched immediately. "Are you all right, Miss Granger?"
Hermione stared up at the old man, her mind blank and without any information, unable to identify who was talking to her. Then, in a great rush, knowledge flooded her senses, and, with a gasp that forced a shudder through her body, she nodded. "I-I'm sorry. Err…" She forgot about everything, but something came to mind. "Oh, yes. Uh, Professor…" What’s her name? "Mmm… Mmmc…" It began with an M; she remembered that.
"McGonagall?" someone supplied, confused.
"Yes! Her!" Hermione exclaimed. "Malfoy started a fight, a-and some Slytherin… I-I can't remember, I'm really sorry… he's badly hurt. She's up in the first corridor," Hermione explained, her hands shaking a little. "And she wants someone else too. Head of um… Slytherin."
"All right; perhaps you'd better take a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore suggested. "Do you know who she is?"
"I'll take her," Ron offered at once in response to Hermione's silence. Dumbledore nodded and he and Snape exited the hall quickly, moving without falter.
Ron helped her up, taking care to her trembling arms and supporting her. Harry and Ginny moved forward, but Hermione flinched away from Harry, still haunted by the memory of him.
"Don’t touch me," she whispered, backing away from his approach. Harry stopped short, puzzled, and Hermione stared at him, eyes wide with fright, before Ron ushered her away.
A cloud of something, perhaps of resentment, or confusion, or a combination of the both, seeped into his mind. Turning to Ginny, they exchanged the same baffled look, each curious about Hermione's deliriousness.
Once Hermione gulped down the Calming Draught, she and Ron sat for a long moment on one of the hospital beds together. Hesitantly, he put his arm around her and pulled her closer, and Hermione leaned into him.
"I'm going insane, Ron," she whispered, and closed her eyes with a tired sigh.
"You're not," he murmured, laying his head atop hers. "You’ve always been insane, you can't go crazier."
Hermione twitched in annoyance at his comment, but said nothing. True, it was like him to say something like that, and she knew it to be perfectly harmless and more a phrase of affection… but after all she had gone through that day, it was just another reminder that she had gone slightly delusional and was terrified of one of her best friends.
She abruptly stood and walked away, leaving Ron rather confused. He jumped and chased after her, but slowed as she came to a stop in front of another bed. Blaise Zabini was unmoving and stitched up under white linen sheets. Signs of bruising and open wounds were apparent, and it reminded Hermione of the fact that Malfoy had attacked her in the same way.
She rubbed her neck uncomfortably, suddenly feeling Malfoy's malevolent fingers digging into her skin. She wondered if she had bruises, (more bruises to hide, she thought tiredly) and decided to get some healing paste from the nurse.
"Hey," Ron said, noticing the darkness on her neck. He moved to her, brushing aside her hands before Hermione could protest. "Are these bruises?"
Hermione shrunk away and pulled her shirt back over her shoulder, knowing at once that Malfoy had opened a can of worms by attacking her.
"That fight between Malfoy and Zabini, Malfoy wasn’t too happy that I stopped him from hurting Zabini…" she muttered. She shrugged and looked at her boyfriend, looking fiery with anger in his eyes. "Don’t make too much of it, Ron. I'm just going to get some healing paste for it."
"He hurt you," Ron growled, protectiveness kicking in. Hermione could've rolled her eyes, but, somehow, the moment was too tense to do so. She felt as if one thing she said would lead to the exposure of Malfoy's other attack… and that would just be her death sentence.
"I'm fine, Ron; there's no need to worry," Hermione assured quietly. Without waiting for his seething reply, Hermione made her way back to the nurse's office. Knocking politely on the door, she inquired, "Do you have any healing paste? I've got a few bruises…"
It was an uncomfortable statement, but Madam Pomfrey, being as educated as she was, knew not to ask questions right away. Bustling around for the stuff, she measured a flask for Hermione.
"Thanks, I can return the flask by tomorrow, or by tonight," Hermione offered, holding out her hand to take the paste.
"Oh no, I can't let you take this. You'll have to apply it here," Madam Pomfrey restricted, shaking her head. "Now, where are you bruised? If it's in a difficult spot, I can put it on for you."
Hermione stared at the nurse for a second, unsure of what she should say, but then was very aware that Ron was breathing down her neck. Spinning around, she gave him a little shove.
"Maybe you could leave, Ron," Hermione said awkwardly. "If that's all right."
"No, it is not all right!" he fumed, his voice squeaking. "Malfoy hurt you and I want to know the extent of his damage!"
Hermione seized him by the arm and dragged him a few meters away. "Listen," Hermione hissed, "I am perfectly fine, and you don’t need to harp on about this, just to let you know."
"I am not harping on about this!" Ron snarled. "I'm concerned and you're misjudging me! I'm just trying to help you!"
"No, Ronald, you're not letting me handle this on my own! I'm not three, I've faced Voldemort before, I hurt Malfoy before, and this is something so negligible, it need not matter," she huffed, frustrated.
Ron seemed to quake in fury at Hermione's stubbornness and he made several violent gestures before pacing around, and finally, understanding. Still red in the face, he breathed deeply. "Fine. But I'm not leaving," he declared.
"Oh, yes, you are," Hermione said. "I've got a bruise or two on my back, and in order to heal those, I have to take off my shirt."
"Well, I don’t mind," Ron said with a shrug.
"I do!" she spat. "I'll see you at dinner, so leave!" They spent a long minute glaring at each other, Hermione more furious and Ron more aggravated, but in the end, she won. He gave a strong huff of breath through his nose, before turning on his heel and storming out.
Once the door had slammed, Hermione approached the nurse. "Sorry," she apologized. Madam Pomfrey nodded and drew up some curtains to give Hermione some privacy. Stepping behind them, the Head Girl unbuttoned her shirt and hesitantly turned her back to the nurse.
"These look awfully painful," Madam Pomfrey murmured, slowly applying the healing medicine to Hermione's tender bruises. She winced each time fingers pressed too hard against the sensitive skin. "How did you get these?"
Hermione was silent, struggling for a response that wouldn’t raise too much suspicion. "It's a long story… I can't really shed much light on it, but the Headmaster knows if you’re that concerned."
The nurse remained unresponsive for the rest of the time she smoothed the paste over Hermione's back and shoulders. Finally wrapping her up in linen, so the paste wouldn't smudge on her clothing, Hermione was able to leave for the Gryffindor common room.
Lunch was completely over by the time Hermione had meandered her way through the corridors; in fact, they were strangely silent and the clacking of her shoes echoed back to her, faint noises that haunted her mind and kept forcing her to look over her shoulder and move a little faster.
She reached the Gryffindor common room rather quickly, due to her nervousness, and scrambled in right away. Sighing in relief, she plopped down at the fire, sinking back into a chair for a moment before she was caught up in her schoolwork again. Rubbing her eyes, she thought about the quarrel she and Ron just recently had and it made her bristle.
Honestly, she was not defenseless; she was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake! She could very well handle any situation that came along, and she could damn well take care of herself! Ron knew that, but she knew his protectiveness was going to be something to worry about.
Ron was so… enigmatic. He was predictable, but sometimes, she couldn’t decipher anything he did for the life of her. He was normal and warm-hearted, but there were just those times when—
"Hermione?" Startled, she jumped about a mile before looking around for this disembodied voice.
Harry sat down at the sofa, dropping his book bag on the cushion. He smiled at Hermione, and she returned it very uneasily, finding the force of her muscles hard to control.
"So, are you all right from earlier?" he asked, pulling out a few things to write with.
Hermione nodded and was quiet for a moment. "I was just frightened is all. And… slightly delirious. My apologies, Harry," she said, smiling with apprehension.
"What's got you frightened?"
"Oh, well… Malfoy and Zabini were fighting and I broke it up, but then Malfoy charged at me when I wasn’t expecting it," she laughed, hoping that Harry wouldn’t be as concerned as Ron was.
"Ron told me you were hurt," Harry said in a low voice.
Hermione sagged in disappointment. Another one to convince, she thought wearily. "I'm fine; I've got paste and bandages and I'm all set, thanks," she supplied shortly. "Ron likes to be overdramatic about things, you know that."
"Well, he was just concerned—"
"Oh, don’t you give me that, too," Hermione snapped, now feeling very unpleasant. "He knows I can take care of myself, and it's only because I'm his girlfriendthat he's acting all concerned." She sighed and crossed her arms angrily.
"He's got reason, Hermione! That's what you're supposed to do for your significant other, look out for them," Harry growled. "Why can't you just appreciate that?"
Something very strange happened, all of a sudden, and Hermione felt a quiver go through her body. Looking up at her friend, she saw Harry staring intensely at her, an almost contemptuous look on his face… and something was not quite right with his eyes. They looked—almost—haunted, in a way; possessed, even.
And she blinked for a long second, hoping to shake away the fear that was creeping up on her, before all she could see was Harry screaming, howling in fury, his eyes glowing and crimson, serpentine, overwhelming… terrifying.
Hermione snatched up her things and stumbled to the portrait to the Head common rooms, her heart racing in her chest with unease of Harry's odd behavior.
"Wait!" Harry latched onto her arm, and spun her around. Hooded and sharp, Harry's eyes were not his own, for scarlet was quickly seeping through the emerald of his irises.
"Let go!" she shrieked. Speeding through the portrait hole and slamming it before Harry could get through, she leaned up against the portal and huddled on it in fear, trying not to whimper and feel so cravenly.
"Hermione!" Harry was pounding ferociously on the portrait and Hermione backed away from it at once, trying not to trip over her shaking feet. Heart fluttering, she turned around to reach for the sofa—yet in a moment, she was falling backwards again in horror.
Malfoy was sitting rigidly in the armchair, his face carved with dislike. Hatred flowed from his eyes, glowing, sharp, and when his lips lifted in a snarl, his scar seemed to take over his face, a giant claw that contorted his whole image, the most dangerous part of him coming alive.
It was just a moment before Hermione found herself slamming her own bedroom door and locking it a hundred different ways, breathing so hard she was wheezing, and shaking so badly she couldn’t even lock her door manually. Eventually, she stumbled to her bed and collapsed. The rush of reality finally crashed into her, and it was not long before she was sobbing into her pillow weakly.
"This one?" Ginny asked, holding out the book. Hermione shot a glance at it, and shook her head. Sighing, Ginny picked out another one. "This one?"
"You're terrible at picking out texts, Ginny," Hermione mused. "Don’t you have a system or something? I mean, really, some of the encyclopedias in here are quite sketchy. You just can't seem to trust them…"
"They're not the only sketchy things around here," Ginny muttered, casting a look at Hermione.
"What was that?"
"Nothing!" Ginny sang brightly. Debating on two books—one that was so musty it must've been untouched for a century, and one so new that it was hard to open—Ginny chose both of them. "These?"
"Very good," Hermione approved. Deflating in relief, the youngest Weasley sat down and opened to the index of the newer volume.
Flipping to the page, Ginny decided to subtly interrogate Hermione; lately, the brainy girl had become reserved, and well, twitchy. She never stopped moving, never stopped looking over her shoulder, and she was just going, going, going.
"So how are you and my brother?" she asked casually. Hermione grunted. "I understand."
"Ginny, I didn't say anything."
"Ah, but I've lived with men my whole life. Grunts and snorts are the language they speak; it's called Simplicity, while ours is called Complication," Ginny informed her, sounding misty and wise.
"Har har," Hermione said sarcastically, giving Ginny a dry look. "We’ve just been fighting this past week or so. You know how he is."
"I know how you are, too," Ginny commented, just loud enough for her friend to hear.
Halting in her writing, Hermione gave Ginny a long stare. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"You're shutting down on him," Ginny said without hesitation. "Something happened to you and he wants to help, yet you won't let him because you don’t want to seem weak."
Hermione gaped at the clever redhead, finding it quite irritating that her declaration hit the nail directly on the head; Hermione had been musing on why she and Ron fought as they did, and that was one of her conclusions.
"Look," Hermione said flatly after a long pause. "Your brother is just an annoying, overprotective jerk sometimes, and I resent that."
"Get used to it, Hermione. Now that you're dating him, he's going to be hounding you more than he stalks me. Not only can Harry and I see each other now without him breathing over our shoulders, but we have plenty of unsupervised time, thanks to you," Ginny said happily. Hermione grimaced at her implication. "All his attention is on you, making sure you're all right, checking that you're not having an affair, and just trying to be the best that he can."
"Which is what's aggravating me," Hermione sighed. Ginny nodded in agreement. "He's on my case about everything! First it was the fight, and now he's following me around whenever he can get the chance."
"What fight?" Ginny asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, dreading the fact that she now had to explain it again.
"Malfoy and Zabini got into a fight, and I had to break it up. So, Malfoy got angry and jumped on me, and I got hurt," Hermione sighed offhandedly, now taking down notes without faltering. "I had a few bruises and Ron made it out to be Armageddon."
"Malfoy's pretty scary," Ginny said, chewing on her quill.
"You're telling me," Hermione muttered, feeling chills at the thought of his rage, especially directed at her.
"So, Ron doesn’t have any idea about… the thing you’re doing, does he?" Ginny inquired in a low voice. Glancing around, Hermione shook her head.
"No idea. He'd be livid…" She shook her head at the thought. "He can't know; he won't. I won't let him."
"Speaking of which, any progress lately?" Ginny asked. Hermione frowned and looked away, and shook her head finally.
"I can't, really. Anytime I'm in the same room as him, whether there are others around us or not, he jumps down my throat and tries to scare me… and it works," Hermione admitted quietly, rubbing her neck in embarrassment. However, she knew Ginny would understand.
"What’s he done?" Ginny Weasley questioned curiously.
"He just… attacked me this one time, late at night. But really, besides the fight I broke up a week ago, that's it," she explained.
"Why late at night?" Ginny asked again.
Hermione shook her head, now fully aware of the corner she'd been backed into. "Ginny, I've got to go. I have… things," Hermione said pathetically. Ginny gave her a look, and Hermione slumped back into her chair. "I can't tell you," she whispered.
"Did Dumbledore restrict it?" Hermione swallowed the overwhelming fear in her chest and shook her head slowly. "Did… did Malfoy restrict it?" Refusing to give an affirmative answer, Hermione sat uncomfortably under Ginny's gaze, but eventually cupped her forehead in her hand.
"Hermione, what happened? What did you do?" Hermione shook her head, mumbling incoherently and stayed silent to Ginny's inquiry.
"Not allowed," was the only mumble Ginny could distinguish.
"Hermione, you have to tell me!" Ginny hissed. She grabbed her friend's wrist, and jerked her head up. Hermione stared at the redhead, and shook her head slowly. "Just… give me a clue."
"I can't… I won't. I'm already in trouble, and—"
"Wait, wait. You're in trouble? With him? How could he possibly do that to you, make you feel like you're in trouble?"
Hermione stared down at her notes for a long time, before she forced herself to speak. "He hurt me, Ginny." It was surprising to hear her own voice so high and tight; there was a knot in her throat that shouldn't have been there, but was so painful she couldn't speak without releasing the tension she had on herself. Tears had sprung to her eyes and she wiped them away in frustration. "I won't let that happen again."
Ginny looked incredibly worried; her brow was creased, and suspicion was in her eyes. "Why did he do it, Hermione?"
Ginny's voice was oddly powerful and soothing at the same time, and Hermione found herself responding before she could stop herself. "I caught him crying." Slapping her hands over her mouth as if she had whispered the ultimate way to destroy all humankind, or had released a terrible plague, Hermione looked terrified.
Ginny had disbelief written all over her face. "That's it?"
However, there was a crash behind them, and Hermione's blood froze inside of her; not another breath entered her body, and it seemed like a Dementor was hovering over her, draining the happiness and calmness from her body painfully, molecule by molecule.
Slowly, she folded her arms and placed her head into the crook of her arms, hoping for a moment's solace from the hell she was steadily driving into. Now… she could only wait.
Finally, at eleven o'clock, Hermione returned to her dormitory, tired and weary from her patrol. It had been a week since the incident at the library, the dangerous uncloaking of Malfoy's condemning secret, and so far, nothing had happened to her.
Every night, she had been cautious and obsessed with locking up her room, keeping all possibility of death out of her chambers. Yet, all Malfoy seemed to do was glare at her each moment he could, never coming near her and never physically threatening her.
That being said, her defenses were still alert and cautious, but Hermione was willing to test the waters now. Weary and wanting just to drop into bed like a log and sleep for all eternity, she made her way up to her room, yawning, and flicked on the lights.
Locking the door, she pulled off her cloak and dropped it on her chair. She kicked off her shoes, pulled off her socks, and took off the ridiculous tie that took her so long to do in the morning.
She was just about to pull off her vest, but instead, she stopped. Something didn't feel quite right and even in her drowsiness, she could sense it in her bones.
She hesitated and then turned a slow circle, inspecting every surface of her room. Nothing was out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. Still though, she knew better than to ignore her gut; quickly gathering up her nightclothes, she examined her room once more and entered her bathroom.
Ten minutes later she came out, hair up in a messy bun, face washed, and changed into fresh sleeping attire. She put her uniform in the heap of clothes she wanted to wash and just stood there, listening.
She couldn’t hear anything, and she certainly could see anything either. But there was a nagging feeling within her and it was starting to frighten her. Wanting desperately to sleep, but reluctant to turn off the lights, she settled for reading.
Snug under her comforter, she opened her text and started reading about the use of adjectives in the Latin language. Before long, though, she had fallen asleep.
Her sleep light and misty, Hermione was groggy and only dozing, being pulled back and forth between the hazy reality and the welcoming slumber. She wanted to groan out in frustration, needing this night to be long and refreshing more than anything else; she seemed to slam awake as she knocked over her volume, the heavy noise of its fall waking her.
She growled and dropped back against her pillows, sinking back into comfort and sweet, blissful dreams. A thought occurred to her that awoke her within an instant: she had left her lights on… and they were turned off.
She jolted awake instantly, but by then, it was too late. A moment was all she needed to register that someone, Malfoy, was hovering over her, and despite the darkness, she could feel his sharp glare like a knife to her throat.
Her scream echoed the room as they suddenly became tangled in a mess of aggressive limbs. Snarling, Malfoy tackled her and pinned down her hands with his knees. He slammed a hand to her mouth to muffle her terrified screaming, and biting down on a sheath, ripped out a sharp, luminous looking blade that flashed in the darkness.
Her struggled ceased for a moment, her body still in shock at the weapon Malfoy wielded. Breath escaping her body and logic leaking from her mind, her eyes were wide as she looked at the fatal object, seeing it but looking through it.
The world came crashing down on her brain and, for a moment, she felt her heart stop and knew she was dead. Nothing mattered, not Malfoy, nor her grades, not the war, not anything, and all was grey and frigid. The way he was holding the object, poised and ready to plunge with deadly accuracy, shrieked into her mind, protesting her staring and her waiting, roared orders at her heart to work, to race against time before Malfoy could do any serious damage.
She started trembling, but not furiously struggling. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping not to cry, or to whimper, but instead die with dignity. She sucked in a sharp breath against his hand as he pressed the cool blade against the skin of her neck, filling her with an ethereal presence.
"I told you, didn't I?" he whispered fiercely, sounding as if he wanted to laugh insanely. Slowly, he took his hand off of her mouth, but she knew better than to move; any attempt to escape him would be the cause of her death.
"But you wouldn’t listen," he hissed. "Would you? WOULD YOU?" he roared, jerking the blade dangerously, wanting an answer from her.
"I-I'm sorry," she croaked, barely controlling the trembling in her body and voice.
"You’re sorry?" He replaced the blade with his hand, and was digging his fingernails into her jaw, prying her mouth open to hear her inaudible whimpering. He brought his face very close to hers, leaning over her immobilized body; the cold bitterness of his eyes betrayed his vicious façade.
"Sorry isn't going to do anything, Mudblood. Do you actually think, for a single fucking moment, that sorry means anything to me? After all the apologetic lies from the Wizengamot, the damned Headmaster, everyone…" He broke off, his words delicately hard, as if he were applying as much pressure into speaking as he could, trying ever-so-much not to shatter himself like glass. "Do you actually think I care?"
She was forcing herself not to cry, willing all the panic of death looming over her to go away, to never come back. "P-Please just give me a s-second chance. D-Don't kill me," she managed to whisper, broken, dry sobs slipping between her words.
He said nothing, but looking up fearfully into his eyes allowed her a chance to see something she would not see again for a long, long time. He was still gripping her jaw with all the strength in his body, his face was still distorted by a vicious, resentful look; yet, he was distant, gone, drowned in some forlorn memory. He looked away from her, and fury drained slowly from his place just to be filled up with misery.
Time lapsed into silence, and Hermione could only contain the quivering of suspense in her body, the dread of his crucial answer. She could see his internal struggle, the muscles become taut in his jaw, then loose, after a long pause. She was stunned, for a moment, when his eyes flitted close and the power that he seemed to radiate simply… disappeared.
But then he was hauling her off her pillow, seizing the collar of her nightshirt up towards him so she was forced to crane her neck. Again looking fierce, and bearing his teeth, he gave her a cruel message that equaled the favorable answer.
"I could kill you in an instant, Granger, don’t ever forget that. If you ever attempt to reveal me again, I'll do the very same thing to you," he snarled. He sounded seething and brutal, but she could see the weary, depressed person that lay quivering under his skin. "Do you understand?" He shook her so hard, so vigorously that it strained her neck, cracking her bones and making them ache.
Without a moment to let her answer, he snatched the knife he had with him and hurled it across the room; like lightening, the sound of glass shattering startled Hermione, and she was shocked to see his knife planted in a photo of herself and her family, landing directly on her chest, illuminated by the moonlight. He turned back to her slowly and the dead, stony look that filled his eyes seemed to explain how ruthless he really was.
Her heart thundered in her ears and she was unaware that he had finally gotten up and left, slamming her door so sharply that it seemed to shake the darkness. The absence of him, the knife, his hazardous wrath, left a startling, gaping hole inside of her that she was falling into. The feeling she had when something had seeped into her veins and ignited her blood was gone. Nothing eerie left to ponder, no strange, inexplicable presence, just… emptiness.
She tried to handle the conflicting, hurricane like emotions that were steadily reaching their pinnacle; she didn't want to hyperventilate or cry in shock, become mute or deaf from the force of her own domineering emotions. The panic, the alarming trepidation that rose up from a deep well and boiled over, like hot water in a kettle, screaming shrilly until someone finally noticed, was enclosing her mind in a labyrinthine cage that she wouldn’t get out of so easily.
Grabbing a pillow for dear life, attempting to stem her fear that caused this incessant shaking, she buried her face in the cloth and yelled everything out of her, so loud and so long that it hurt her entire body.
But it was over now; she could sleep. She would be safe, and her dreams might be filled with nightmares, but at least she knew that they weren’t real. They weren’t… they weren’t… but they were…
Shivering, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think. Nightmares, she knew, would be coming that night. She was aware that there wasn’t a thing to stop them, but she could still believe.
Still… believing was becoming a lot harder than it used to be.
Author's Notes: Damn a lot of stuff happened! It was an action filled chapter, I have to admit, and I just couldn’t stop myself! I loved writing it though, and it's a welcome break from the story I've been trying to finish. Had I not had to baby-sit, this chapter would've taken me a total of two days to finish, because for this story, everything just came out and gaaahhh I had fun writing this.
Thanks to the wonderful Halo of Darkness for betaing this for me! Gosh, she must get fed up with my irregular updates!
So, interesting huh? Please keep reading and reviewing!