Having spent most of their Saturday morning pacing around the grounds, Hermione and Ginny retired to the Gryffindor tower for the afternoon. Up in their dormitory, a few girls were propped up on their beds, lazily reading various newspapers. One raven-haired girl even seemed to be glancing over the latest edition of The Quibbler.
Hermione sat at the desk next to her bed, fervently glancing back and forth between a large textbook and a scribbled sheet of parchment. She made notes every so often, occasionally tucking a strand of wavy hair behind her ear as she studied.
Ginny, however, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying a charm on one of her textbooks.
“C’mon,” she muttered to herself, biting her lip. As she held her wand steady, the colour of the book’s cover began to change before her eyes. The dull blue fabric suddenly began to soak up a greenish stain. It bled from the bottom corner up, inking the entire book cover emerald green.
“Take a look,” Ginny said with a laugh. “It’s the colour of Harry’s eyes!”
Hermione turned her head to see Ginny blushing lightly.
“You’ll never be over him, will you?” Hermione asked, closing her book.
Ginny shook her head, letting her hair fall in her face. Suddenly, a dark brown owl flew into the open window, settling atop Hermione’s pile of notes. In the afternoon sun, the owl looked almost auburn in colour.
Ginny stood up, dropping her book to the floor. As she walked over and put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, the two of them hesitated breathlessly at the sight of a small bit of parchment tied to the owl’s leg. It was another note from him. The owl shook his leg impatiently, ruffling his feathers. Hermione untied the note and opened it with shaking hands. There, in scrawled black ink, it read:
I’m still watching you.
Wordlessly, Ginny removed the bottle of Red Handed and slammed it on the desk. Hermione immediately tore a large piece of blank parchment from her stack of notes and grinned as she began to write her reply.
Ever ask yourself why you’re still watching?
Ginny smiled wickedly as she watched Hermione reach across the desk and pick up the bottle of Red Handed. The contents glittered like dragon’s blood. She twisted the top off and tilted it gently above the note. One small ruby-like drop splashed onto the parchment and made a bright red blot. Suddenly, before their eyes, the red potion soaked into the parchment like watercolour and disappeared.
“Careful!” Ginny chided. Hermione pulled her sleeves down so that they covered her fingertips and she delicately picked up her note and rolled it up. She held it up to the owl’s leg as Ginny carefully tied twine around it while trying not to touch the poisoned paper. Once this was finished, they exhaled deeply.
“This is very important,” Hermione said sternly, looking into the owl’s deep black eyes. “You must take this back immediately to the person who sent you. Understand?”
The owl began flapping his wings immediately and dove out of the tower window. Hermione leaned forward to watch as the owl circled left around the castle.
“Just think,” Hermione said with awe. “My voyeur will be receiving that reply any moment now…”
“And getting a fist-full of red, too!” Ginny laughed.
Hermione smiled brightly, standing up from her desk. “So,” she said with a smirk, walking toward Ginny. “Tell me more about Harry’s eyes!”
Ginny covered her mouth as they both started laughing.
•
Meanwhile….
•
In the dark recesses of the Slytherin common-room, Draco wastes away his afternoon letting his mind wander. Usually it was easy for him to shut his eyes and find he was elsewhere, but Draco couldn’t keep his eyes shut for long with present company pestering him.
“Oi, Draco,” Crabbe said dully, elbowing the handsome blonde. Draco turned to look at him venomously. They had been sitting on the elaborate, hunter-green couch before the fireplace, while Goyle mindlessly tossed things into the blaze. Draco was quite annoyed to be interrupted from the wanderings of his mind.
“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Crabbe asked. Draco grimaced.
“None of your business,” he hissed, standing suddenly.
Crabbe looked on curiously as Draco rolled up the sleeves of his dark green shirt and headed out the portrait.
Draco walked mindlessly throughout the castle, his heart beating wildly. Eventually he pushed the main doors open and found himself standing in front of the expansive grounds. He took a deep breath and walked quickly toward the lake. The afternoon sun was copper-coloured and low in the sky, but he had a feeling of hope in his chest. He quickened his pace, running all the way to the edge of the lake. He turned and turned, looking all around, anxiously running his hand through his platinum blonde locks.
If she wanted to know who I was, he thought, she’d come here. This is the only place we have in common... why isn't she here?
Draco walked over toward the tree and slumped down it, sitting with his face in his hands. He felt desperate, like he was losing control. He wanted to punch something hard, but couldn’t will himself to get up. He sat in silence for a few minutes until he heard the familiar sound of a nearby owl. He tried to ignore it, but the sound of flapping got nearer and nearer. When he finally looked up, he saw the owl soaring over the lake and directly toward him. It was the very same one he’d picked from the Owlery that morning to send a note to Granger. Draco held out his arm, allowing the owl to perch. He removed the note with his other hand, letting the owl fly off into the sunset.
He bit his lip, unravelling the note hurriedly. It said simply:
Ever ask yourself why you’re still watching?
Draco furrowed his brow, insulted by the very idea.
“Because...” he stammered aloud, gripping the note firmly in frustration. “Because- ”
But before he could utter another word, his fingertips began to prickle and burn. He dropped the bit of parchment to the ground and held his hands out in front of his eyes. He watched helplessly as his strong, pale hands turned the colour of blood. They burned and itched terribly. Gasping in pain, he ran all the way back to the castle.
•
Harry and Ron gave each other looks of puzzlement during dinner that evening. The past several days had been quite unusual; specifically the behaviour of Hermione and Ginny. That evening, however, the girls were calm and talkative. Harry glanced over at Ron again, who merely shrugged.
“Girls,” he muttered under his breath.
“Oh, Harry, I meant to ask you,” Hermione said casually, her mouth twisting into a crooked smile. “What would you say is your favourite colour?” Ginny kicked her in the shin under the table, causing Hermione to jump. Her knee slammed against the underside of the table. As she winced in pain, Harry looked at them curiously.
“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “Red, I suppose. Why?”
Before Hermione could respond, Ron held his mug out in the air.
“Speaking of red,” Ron announced smugly, “we ran into a certain slimy Slytherin just before dinner!”
Harry laughed knowingly.
“He was running like a madman, Malfoy was,” Ron continued, grandly waving his mug of pumpkin juice in the air. “His hands were scorched! It was so glorious, I nearly danced a jig right there!”
Harry laughed even harder at the thought of Ron’s dancing skills, but Hermione lowered her head in amazement. Ginny put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Hermione felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt her lungs deflating, her head getting dizzy. She reached over and grasped Ginny’s hand.
“Sod it,” Ron announced obliviously, beaming. “Here’s to Malfoy spending the rest of term in the Hospital wing!” He arose from his seat and began shaking his hips back and forth, pumping his fists in the air. Several girls from the Ravenclaw table whistled, but Hermione didn’t notice. She stared down at her plate, gasping for air.
Ginny grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up. Hermione arose weakly, looking quite petrified.
“Something wrong?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow.
Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Instead, she just wrapped an arm around Hermione and walked her delicately out of the Great Hall.
When they got into an empty hallway, Hermione leaned against the cold, stony wall. As she closed her eyes, her mind went back to that night at the lake. She was standing there in her bra and underwater, her wet, wavy hair tied up in a bun. And someone, a man, had been watching her. Finally Hermione could give that man a face. She pictured Draco’s tall, lean frame by the tree, watching her. Staring at her intensely. Butterflies swirled around her stomach, and she felt light-headed again.
“What should we do?” Ginny asked delicately. Hermione still had her eyes shut, her wavy hair falling limply around her face.
Suddenly, Hermione looked up. Her dark brown eyes glimmered with an inner fire.
“I know what I want to do.”