Clash of Worlds Part Two: The Rift

by FSantiago379

Summary:

He had the car dream again, only this time it was with Ron and Hermione. They sat on each side of him in the backseat, with two strangers in the front, oblivious to their presence. His friends argued as always and he sat trapped in the middle, unable to speak or be heard.
The car shook, and Harry remembered how this nightmare played out. He tried to reason with Ron and Hermione, pleading for one of them to open the door so they could escape, but nothing came out of him. He reached out to the couple in front, but they seemed locked in another dimension. The strangers eventually ran from the car, but his friends pulled him back, desperate for him to pick a side.
He tried to warn them, to scream, but it was useless.
Outside the windows, the green glow of the Dark Mark crept closer. The ground cracked open beneath the car and swallowed them whole.

Chapter 1: Head Over Heels in Secrets

“I know how to do it,” he muttered. “You just pick it up, talk into the thing, and Harry hears you. Easy.”

“Yes, but…” Hermione began, but Ron was already jabbing at the buttons. “Ron…”

“Shh… it’s ringing,” he whispered. 

The line clicked, and a loud, cheesy male voice boomed through the speaker: 

“Good evening, you’re live on 99.9 FM ! Want to dedicate a song to someone special?”

Ron slammed the phone into its base like it was burning hot.

Hermione exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Give me that,” she snapped, pulling the phone toward her. She lifted it with careful precision and slowly dialed the number for 4 Privet Drive, which she’d memorized years ago.

The line rang until a voice she instantly recognized as Harry’s aunt Petunia answered. Very clearly and politely, she asked to speak to Harry and got a bitter scoff in return followed by a “wait one moment.”

Not two seconds later, Ron snatched the phone out of her hands.

“Hey!” she protested. 

“Let me talk to him, he’s my best friend!”

“He’s my best friend too!”

“Hello?” Harry’s voice cut through the phone.

“Well well well…”

Hermione rolled her eyes and abandoned the chair to fetch her book. She returned a moment later, opening it in her lap while Ron carried on.

“So while I’ve been de-gnoming the garden by myself all summer, you’ve been off sucking faces with a muggle girl. Fantastic.”

Hermione’s head snapped towards Ron. “He’s doing what?” she mouthed.

Ron put his finger up while he was listening to Harry. “So you don’t know?” 

“What doesn’t he know?”

“If she’s a witch,” Ron replied off the receiver. 

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. Typical of Harry to be dating someone and not even know if she was a witch or a Muggle.

“Rosebud Heights?” Ron repeated into the phone.

Hermione arched her brow. “Ask him if he meant Roseland Heights.”

“Hermione asks if you meant Roseland Heights.” Harry mumbled something on the other end. “Gifted? Harry, don’t date a girl who’s smarter than you.”

Hermione snapped her book shut. “Roseland Heights Academy for the Exceptionally Gifted is one of the most elite schools in all of Britain, and yes, it’s for muggles.”

“Now, can you say it without making that face?” Ron replied to her.

Her face only intensified. 

“She says it’s a muggle school but she’s being a real bitch about it.”

“It’s hard not to when I’m surrounded by the two biggest idiots alive!” Hermione snapped. “Roseland Heights was the school I was going to before I found out I was a witch, Ronald.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that?”

“Because I’ve told you a hundred times, especially Harry!”

“Oh, really?”

“I mean, how hard is it to listen to someone when they’re talking to you? Harry couldn’t even manage when it was the girl he liked!”

“She’s mad at you, Harry. Not me.”

Hermione stared at Ron in disbelief but he seemed unaware.

“That’s not important! Is she a muggle or not?”

“Oh, my god,” she muttered under her breath, burying herself in her book again. She only peeked up once—to glare daggers at Ron when he asked Harry about “the size of her tits.”

After a while, Ron told her “Harry says bye,” and pointed the receiver at her. Then hung up before she even finished saying bye to him.

“Well,” he said,  leaning toward her with a smug grin. “I kinda nailed that, didn’t I?”

She didn’t answer, just glared. 

“What?” he asked.

“Why do you have to be such a dick?” she asked him.

“The real question is,” he replied. “Why do you love hanging out with me if I’m such a dick?”

Her lips pressed into a line, but the smile tugging at them betrayed her.

Ron grinned wider and planted an obnoxious kiss on her cheek. 

She groaned and wiped her cheek. “So what did Harry say? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. He said his aunt and uncle are splitting up and that he’s been helping around the house but I call bullshit.”

“Did he say anything about this girl?”

“He told me her name but I didn’t catch it, just that she may or may not be a squib.”

“A squib?”

“Yeah, but he’s not sure. I’m guessing they haven’t done much talking.”

“Is there any way to… temporarily turn off your Ronald-ness?”

“No, but if you help me de-gnome the garden I will eat a muting gummy.”

She hummed. “No way in hell. I think I’ll suffer through it,” she replied.

He sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Being the younger brother sucks,” he said before he got up and walked outside. 

Hermione shook her head, then made her way up to Ginny’s room,the only Weasley with a space of her own, though she never complained about sharing it.

Ginny was sprawled on her bed, head hanging upside down over the edge while a golden snitch fluttered around her.

“Hey,” Hermione asked from the doorway. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope.” Ginny snatched for the snitch and missed. “This is just an exercise to improve my field of vision.”

“Where’d you learn that?”

Ginny pointed to a magazine open beside her.

“You know,” Hermione said, sitting down, “I don’t think you can actually improve your field of vision. You’ll always have blind spots.”

“Yeah, but if I know where my blind spots are, I can work around them.”

“Whatever you say.”

“The day I see you on a broomstick,” Ginny shot back, “is the day I’ll take Quidditch advice from you. Until then, you can help me with my OWL prep.”

“Did you read the notes I gave you?”

“I was going to,” Ginny said, snatching the snitch neatly out of the air, “but it was too long. Don’t you have a shorter version?”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “That was the shorter version.”

Ginny winced. “Oh. Can you, I don’t know… sum it up even more?”

“Oh my god. You’re just like your brother. If you divided it into parts and organized your time, you will have plenty of time to read all of it before Christmas break.”

Ginny groaned dramatically. “I think I’ll just move in with Fred and George.”

“As if your mother would ever allow that.”

“I want to play quidditch, I don’t need high grades to do that.”

“And what if you break your spine and can’t play ever again? What are you gonna do then?”

“Why do you have to be so negative?”

“I’m not being negative,I’m being realistic. You’ll make an incredible Quidditch player, no doubt, but you can’t predict the future. Did I ever tell you I spent most of my childhood learning to code? I wanted to be an engineer. Then Hogwarts happened, and—poof—all that vanished.”

“So what you’re saying is, I shouldn’t try too hard and just wait for the universe to deliver?”

“That is the opposite of what I’m saying. I’m saying you should always have a plan in mind and work towards it.”

“My plan is to be a professional Quidditch player. I don’t see why I have to study potions. If I wasted years on that only to be told I could just play Quidditch instead, I’d hex someone.”

Hermione shook her head. She loved Ginny, as well as Ron and Harry, and she knew they loved her too but they didn’t really get her. They rolled their eyes at her eagerness in class, groaned when she went on about her books, and dismissed the endless lists of tasks she deemed necessary for success. It was a strange sort of isolation: to always be surrounded, yet unseen, always heard, yet never fully listened to.

Sometimes Hermione worried that her love of learning set her apart too much. Books had always been her refuge, the one place where the world made sense. She adored the way knowledge unfolded endlessly before her, each book a doorway to a dozen more. Sometimes, when she stumbled on a fact she hadn’t known before, she felt a burst of excitement so fierce she had to stop and grin to herself, unable to contain it.  They couldn’t see how exhilarating it was, how learning made her feel powerful in a way nothing else did. In those moments, with ink on her fingers and a pile of books before her, she felt like she could take on the entire world. Learning wasn’t just schoolwork to Hermione, it was breathing, it was belonging. 

She wanted so badly for someone to understand that she didn’t just study to get ahead, she studied because it made her heart race, because it made the world brighter. To everyone else, she was dependable, unshakable, a walking textbook of solutions. But sometimes she ached for someone who wouldn’t just nod when she spoke, someone who would understand the silence between her words. And when no one else seemed to share that feeling, the joy curled back into something quiet and lonely.

“So,” Ginny said, sitting with her legs crossed. “Did you guys manage to get in touch with Harry?”

Hermione sighed. “Yes. But you’re not going to like why he’s staying.”

“Oh no… Don’t tell me he has a girl up there.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Ginny groaned and flopped onto her back. “Why does the universe hate me?”

“Honestly, Ginny, I don’t see why you’re so obsessed with him. You could do a lot better.”

“Are you crazy? There’s no one at Hogwarts who tops him.”

“Then maybe you should do what he did and look off-campus.”

“Where am I going to meet any other boys? It’s not like I have muggle relatives I can stay with and my family only travels like once every three generations.”

“Then maybe wait until after Hogwarts. It wouldn’t hurt if you just focused on your education and left dating until after.”

“You’re just full of solutions today, aren’t you?”

Hermione scoffed. “Fine! Go waste your time trying to get in Harry’s pants, see if I care.”

Ginny was silent for a moment. “What if I started dating someone else? Do you think he’ll get jealous and come running towards me?”

“That might work.”

Hermione went back to her book, Ginny to her Quidditch magazine, and they read in companionable silence until Molly called them to help with dinner. They both groaned but obeyed; she might skip de-gnoming, but not dinner. She didn’t mind, really.

Fred and George arrived just in time for the meal, along with Bill and Fleur. Arthur would be home late, so they started without him. Ginny nearly gagged twice as Fleur gushed over Bill. Hermione found herself suppressing a grin, there was something mesmerizing about Fleur’s enthusiasm, even if it was slightly nauseating. She stole a glance around the table and felt a quiet pang. Growing up as an only child, she’d never known this kind of chaotic intimacy—the teasing, arguing, unspoken loyalty of siblings. Watching the Weasleys, she felt a mixture of awe and envy. 

After everyone was seated, Ron made a dramatic entrance, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Excuse me, everyone! I have an announcement!”

Fred gasped theatrically. “You’re gay!”

Molly smacked him in the arm, while the rest erupted in laughter.

“No, I’m not gay!” Ron yelled. 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” George chimed in. 

“Yeah,” Fred continued. “We love and accept you for who you are.”

“God dammit, I’m not gay!”

“Then what’s your big announcement?” Bill asked.

“I… was right!” Ron declared.

There was a pause.

“About what?”

“About Harry falling in love! I told you guys there couldn’t possibly be another reason for Harry to stay with his aunt and uncle.”

“I thought you said that the ministry was running a social experiment to see how much misery a boy can take,” Ginny said.

“No,” he retorted. “George said that.”

Bill hummed. “I remember you saying it.”

“You’ve got to be… I’ll be right back.”

The table fell silent, save for forks against plates and the occasional stifled snicker, as Ron dashed upstairs. He returned with a large piece of parchment, covered in a table with all their names.

“Here,” he said, slamming it onto the table. “I wrote it all down because I knew you assholes would try to cheat your way out!”

“Ronald!” Molly bellowed. 

“Sorry, mom. But look! It says so right here!” He pointed at the table where it said the name George. “The ministry needed a case study to see how much misery a boy can handle. Fred said that Dumbledore left a note on his desk that said “pick up Harry” and it slipped under his desk and he forgot about it. Bill said that Petunia is actually part of a top-secret Ministry project to breed “extremely polite soldiers” who can bore Voldemort into submission. And here” he said, pointing frantically at his own name. “It clearly says, “Head over heels and pants down for a girl” He slammed the paper down again. “You all owe me 5 sickles each!”

“How do we know you didn’t write that just now?”

“Yeah, none of us saw you writing it.”

“I’m surprised you even wrote something down at all,” Hermione muttered under her breath. 

“Not helping,” Ron snapped at her. 

“Guys,” Bill started. “Let’s be good brothers, okay? I mean, he even made it into a table. How cute is that?”

“Very cute,” Fred said.

“Super cute indeed,” George added.

Ron looked like he was about to blow up. “If you guys don’t pay me I will put itching powder in all of your underwear!”

“That’s enough,” Molly yelled, making everyone stop what they were doing and fall into their seats. “There will be no itching powder and no gambling in my house, understood?”

“Yes, mom,” they all said in unison. 

“Good, now eat your dinner.”

They finished dinner and Fleur offered to help do the dishes to what Molly responded by flying to the kitchen herself to do them before Fleur had the chance to “break or worse misplace something”. 

After that, the twins left, Bill and Fleur went up to his room, Ginny went back to hers to keep practicing her vision field exercises and Molly stayed behind to tend to her home. 

Ron stepped outside to take out the trash, and Hermione followed, craving the crisp evening air. The sky was a wash of molten gold and soft pinks. She inhaled deeply, letting the tension that had been coiled in her chest all day unwind. The Burrow’s fields stretched wide and open, swaying gently, and for the first time in hours, she felt unburdened.

Hermione felt a rush of relief she hadn’t expected, a weight lifting from her chest.  Harry was okay and apparently head-over-heels and pants down for some girl, which was honestly kind of adorable. The fact that he wasn’t in trouble, that he was happy and excited about someone, made her chest feel lighter than it had all week. She couldn’t help imagining this mysterious girl, already picturing the quirks and cleverness that must have captured Harry so completely. She was a Squib—someone who, like Hermione herself, often straddled two worlds and didn’t quite fit anywhere. She felt a spark of kinship with her, as if they’d already have endless things to talk about and laugh over. She couldn’t wait to meet her, and maybe even tease Harry a little about it.

The scent of grass and earth mingled with the fading warmth of sunlight, and she could hear only the faint rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird heading home. Standing there, shoulders brushing against Ron’s as he bent to tie a stray bag, Hermione felt a rare quiet wash over her, an almost dizzying sense of calm and freedom. No deadlines, no exams, no expectations—just the open sky, the soft hum of nature, and the inexplicable, electric closeness of Ron beside her.

Ron’s hand brushed hers as he adjusted the strap of a bag, and she felt a jolt she couldn’t quite shake. His usual teasing smirk softened, and for a moment, the chatter of the day faded into the whisper of wind through the grass. Hermione’s heart thudded in her chest, and she realized that while she was happy for Harry, part of her longed for something just as real, just as intimate.

“What are you thinking about?” Ron asked her.

She shrugged. “Something about the wide open fields and the dying light of sunset just makes me feel good.”

“Oh really? It has nothing to do with the fact that I just got obliterated in there?”

She chuckled. “That might be a contributing factor, yes.”

He scoffed and leaned against the fence by her side. “I’m glad Harry’s okay, though. I was getting worried.”

“Yeah, me too. And he’s having the time of his life apparently.”

Ron snickered. “Apparently so. Our Harry, all grown up and getting dipped. Can you believe it?”

“I know, right? Little Harry, discovering all the joys of love… while you’re still over here practicing your ‘smooth’ look in the mirror.”

“You are crazy if you think Harry didn’t practice his looks in the mirror.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. “You two are ridiculous.” 

“And you love it,” Ron muttered, his grin softening. His hand brushed hers again, this time deliberately, and a jolt ran through both of them. Hermione’s breath hitched, and she realized how close they’d been standing without noticing.

“I do,” she admitted, her voice low. Their eyes met, and for a moment the teasing faded, replaced by something heavier, warmer. Ron’s thumb traced idle circles on the back of her hand, and she felt a shiver of anticipation.

“You know,” he whispered. “Maybe we should follow his example.”

Hermione let out a nervous chuckle. “What are you saying?”

He glanced behind her towards the house, probably searching the windows to spot any peepers. “Until Harry gets here, I have the room to myself. You could come by later when everyone is asleep.”

She blinked. “Are you… Are you hitting on me?”

“Come on, Hermione. You can’t tell me it’s just me.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. He leaned just a little closer, enough for her to feel his heat, and she didn’t move away. Instead, she let herself tilt her head slightly, daring, inviting. The playful energy between them shifted, softened, and finally, almost inevitably, their lips met in a tentative kiss—hesitant at first, then bolder as the evening wrapped them in its quiet, golden glow.

When they finally parted, Hermione’s lips tingled, and she found herself staring at Ron like she’d never really seen him before. His ears were crimson, his grin nervous, but his hand was still holding hers—firm, steady, as if he was afraid she might vanish if he let go.

Hermione felt a laugh bubble up, but it wasn’t mocking, it was almost giddy.

“What?” Ron asked nervously, his ears turning even more red.

She got on her tip toes and kissed him again, putting her arms around his neck. 

He kissed her back and then gently pushed her off. “Not here, if someone sees us I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your room tonight then?”

“Yes!” He glanced at the house before planting another kiss on her lips and running inside the house with her on his step. 

When the Burrow finally settled into silence, Hermione lay awake in Ginny’s room, the moonlight spilling silver over the floorboards. Her heart beat too fast for sleep. She sat up slowly, careful not to wake Ginny, and reached for her cardigan draped over the chair. Her hands shook as she buttoned it, not from cold, but anticipation. She paused at the mirror, smoothing her hair, scolding herself for caring how it looked, then biting back a smile when she realized she did care.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the spill of moonlight through a crooked window. Hermione’s bare feet sank into the rug with every tentative step. The Burrow felt alive in its silence, as though it might whisper her secret straight into Mrs. Weasley’s ear if she made too much noise. Still, she pressed forward, clutching her cardigan close, her heart leaping higher with every door she passed. When she reached Ron’s, she froze, hand hovering over the knob, cheeks burning, but before her body could react, the door opened and she was pulled inside. 

Ron shut the door quickly but gently. He stood there, his hair a mess, and a bewildered expression on his face.

“I was afraid you weren’t gonna come,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Even in the dim moonlight, she could see his cheeks flush and the soft curve of his smile. He stepped forward, and she met him halfway, arms wrapping around each other as their lips met.

She couldn’t remember the exact moment it had changed, when Ron had stopped being simply her friend and started becoming something far more dangerous to her heart. Perhaps it was always there, hidden in his smile, in the way his hand brushed hers by accident, in the warmth of his voice when he spoke her name. He was imperfect, gloriously so, and yet to her he felt like home—messy, loud, alive. 

They moved to the bed and started taking their clothes off between kisses and quiet giggles. The nerves they were supposed to be feeling were washed down by the trust that they had built over the years and the safety they found in each other’s presence. It felt so new but so overdue. The hands on their bodies, their tongues dancing, their lips pressed to their skin, it was so exhilarating and yet so familiar, almost like a deja vu.

He pulled off her panties and hovered over her, kissing her again while sliding his hand between her legs.

She let out a soft moan into his mouth. The tip of his erection brushed her thigh, almost poking through his underwear. She reached down and grabbed it, finding it to be bigger than she expected. She stroked it softly over the fabric and then slipped her hand inside, getting a breathy grunt from his part.

He kissed her furiously, their hands inciting something that was bound to happen but they didn’t wanna rush. They broke apart and stared at each other, breathing heavily. He slipped off the last remaining piece of clothing and positioned himself over her.

After a few failed attempts, she finally reached down and helped guide her towards their goal. She had to bite her lip to avoid the sounds that she wanted to make when he entered her. Every single movement, even when he was just settling in, would send shockwaves through her body that left her braindead. 

He gave a few tentative thrusts, gasping as silently as he could, and Hermione gripped his arm, digging her nails into his skin.

“Are you okay?” he breathed.

She nodded quickly. “Don’t stop, please.”

He grinned and picked up the pace, making Hermione squirm under him. Every thrust felt like it went straight up her spine and into her brain. She wanted to moan, to scream, but had to hold it all in. 

He seemed to be having the same problem too. His face was completely flushed and there was a visible vein on his forehead. She could feel him holding his breath but that didn’t seem to stop him. He kept going and going and going until he gave it all. He stiffened up and pushed deeper inside her, making her gasp and arch her back, and then it was over.

He fell beside her, their chests rising and falling in sync, skin glistening faintly in the silver moonlight.

Ron let out a chuckle. “Remind me to thank Harry when I see him.”

“Thank him for what?”

“For this.”

“What does Harry have to do with this?”

“Well, if it hadn’t been for him I don’t think I would’ve had the courage to come on to you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and curled up to his side. “You’re hopeless.”

He pulled her a little closer and relaxed into her.

“Does this mean we’re together now?” she asked.

“Damn right we are,” he replied with a grin. “I never pictured it like this but I’ve always known that we would end up together eventually.”

She grinned, heat rising to her cheeks. “Well, I think it couldn’t have gone better,” she whispered, snuggling closer. 

He kissed the top of her head. “I agree. Me and you being each other’s first…”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open. 

“Now we go back to Hogwarts as a couple and everyone will be jealous of us…”

She hesitated for a bit, biting her lip nervously. “Ron… I need to tell you something.” But when she glanced over, Ron was fast asleep, soft snores filling the quiet room. She shook him gently, whispering his name again, but he didn’t stir.

She sank back into the bed, a tightening in her chest she couldn’t ignore. Excitement still thrummed through her, the dizzying pull of being so close to Ron, the warmth of his body pressed against hers. And then… guilt wormed in like a shadow. How could she tell him she wasn’t a first-timer? That this wasn’t some pure, shared beginning he thought it was? 

Hermione pressed her eyes closed, willing the room to stay quiet, willing her thoughts to stop spinning. She wanted to savor this—Ron’s closeness, the teasing warmth in his voice, the laughter still lingering in her mind from earlier, but the truth hovered just out of reach. How do you tell someone you love that the story they’re telling themselves isn’t exactly true? And could she even do it without hurting him, or herself?

Chapter 2: I Know What You Did Last Summer

The morning sunlight spilled across the kitchen. Ron chattered through his breakfast as if the world had never seen a better morning, and Hermione couldn’t decide whether to laugh or disappear under the table. Every look he gave her was like a nudge back into last night, a reminder she wasn’t ready to process.  She kept her gaze on her plate, counting the crumbs, trying to calm the jittery energy that refused to leave her chest. Hermione wanted to tell him everything, or nothing, or maybe just shove the toast in his face—she wasn’t sure which option would keep her sane.

She felt something graze her ankle and glanced down to find Ron’s foot resting there, casual as if it belonged. Heat bloomed in her cheeks, a fleeting smile tugging at her lips before guilt smothered it. He was happy, blissfully unaware, and she should’ve matched that joy, but instead she sat with a secret she’d never asked to carry.

At the stove, Molly bustled with her usual orchestral clatter of pots and pans. Eggs flew from pan to plate, toast buttered itself under her wand. Ron was halfway through reaching for his third helping when Molly smacked his hand away without looking.

“I think you’ve had enough,” she scolded.

“Who are you planning on feeding this too? There’s no one else here.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Harry came home last night. Well, this morning, technically.”

Hermione’s head shot up and Ron’s face looked like it was about to combust. 

“You for… You forgot? To tell me? Harry’s here?!”

“Don’t go pestering him, Ronald,” Molly warned, leveling him with a look. “He needs his rest.”

But Ron was already halfway up the stairs, Hermione scrambling after him. As they passed, Molly let out a long, weary sigh, the same sigh Hermione had come to recognize as the universal Weasley response to Ron.

They burst into Fred and George’s old room—now little more than a graveyard of discarded inventions. The door slammed, and Ron yanked the blinds open. Sunlight crashed into the room like a stage spotlight, making Harry lurch upright in bed. His hair stuck out in every direction, and a faint trail of drool clung to his chin.

Hermione winced, sympathy tugging at her. He looked so disoriented, she almost wanted to let him fall back asleep, but Ron being Ron, drove a fist into his shoulder.

“Don’t hit him!” she cried, scandalized.

“Oh, please. He’s fine. Aren’t you, Harry?”

Harry groggily groped for his glasses, slid them on crookedly, and squinted at the harsh light. “Never been better,” he mumbled before yawning and stretching.

But Hermione wasn’t convinced. Something about him seemed… off. Her eyes caught on the faint scab along his lip, the shadow of a bruise fading on his cheekbone.

“What happened to your face?” she asked sharply, heart quickening.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“Did the Dursleys beat you?”

“No.”

“Ron?” she pressed, needing backup.

Ron leaned in, squinting, then jabbed a finger into the yellow-green blotch of the bruise. Harry yelled out in pain.

“Yeah, you got beat up,” Ron declared triumphantly.

Hermione looked around and found a mirror tucked in a corner behind some boxes. She picked it up and gave it to Harry.

“See?”

Harry peered at himself, tilting his head. “Oh… yeah, I guess I do look a bit roughed up. Now that you mention it, I think Dudley and I had a bit of a scrap. Sorry. My head’s fuzzy. Didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Ron said eagerly, leaning forward. “So what’s been going on?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing much, stuck at my aunt and uncle’s as usual and then Dumbledore brought me here.”

“Quit playing! You know what I’m talking about.”

Harry frowned, confusion etched into his face. “I really don’t.”

Ron’s scoff cut through the room like a knife. “The girl, Harry. Are you gonna tell us about her or not?”

Harry blinked. “What girl?”

Hermione’s stomach dropped. She and Ron traded a look—hers filled with worry, his with growing outrage.

“Harry, don’t you remember?” Hermione pressed, leaning forward. “We were worried because you didn’t answer our letters and Dumbledore said you decided to spend the summer over there so we called your aunt’s house to see if you were okay.”

“Are you guys high?” Harry asked. “Dumbledore picked me up yesterday and brought me here, why would I tell him I wanted to spend the summer with them ?”

“That’s why we were worried!” Ron bellowed, color rising in his face. “We spent a whole dinner speculating on why, and me, being your best friend, guessed the only reason was that you met a girl. Bets were placed, and yesterday, when we talked on the phone, you proved me right!”

“Oh, I see,” Harry said. “You’re using me to get money off your brothers.”

“I didn’t get any money, the bastards cheated!”

“Ron, let’s stay on track, okay?” Hermione cut in sharply. She turned back to Harry, her eyes imploring. “Harry, I was there. I dialed the number, I spoke with your aunt, I heard your voice. You were telling Ron about this girl—someone who went to Roseland Heights.”

Harry blinked. “Roseland what?”

Hermione froze, then turned toward Ron. His face was a storm—bewildered, panicked.

“Didn’t he tell you her name?” she asked.

“Yes! It was… uh…” Ron stammered, grasping at air, but nothing came.

“Oh my God,” Hermione whispered.

Then Fleur swept in with a tray, light and perfume spilling into the room with her. She fussed over Harry, who looked both flustered and too polite to argue, while Ron and Hermione slipped into the hall.

The moment the door clicked shut, Ron exploded in a hushed growl. “He’s got to be lying. He has to be . He couldn’t just forget something like that overnight.”

Hermione searched his face. “You think he’s hiding something?”

“He’s got to be, otherwise how do you explain this?”

Before Hermione could respond, Ginny appeared on the stairs, Molly close behind.

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked.

“Harry says he doesn’t remember talking to us on the phone yesterday, that he never told Dumbledore he wanted to stay the summer, and that there was no girl,” Hermione explained quickly.

Hermione noticed Ginny’s face started to light up but she kept it under control.

“So Ron was making that up so he could win the bet?” Ginny said, shaking her head. “Classic Ron.”

“I didn’t make anything up!” Ron’s voice cracked with indignation. “I heard him, Ginny. Don’t tell me I imagined it!”

“Ron, calm down,” Molly interrupted firmly, her tone final. “Look, children, I know this might seem odd, but gaps in memory aren’t uncommon for someone who’s been through as much as Harry. He needs rest, not interrogations. There’s nothing a few good meals and a quiet house won’t fix.”

Hermione exhaled, nodding reluctantly. “I suppose that’s true… but it was only yesterday. How could he forget so fast?”

Molly laid a warm hand on her shoulder. “He’s a teenage boy, dear. He’s forgetting about his breakfast as he’s eating it.” She smiled softly, her voice gentling. “It’s a good thing he has you.” With that, she swept Ginny away downstairs.

Hermione turned to Ron. One look told her he hadn’t absorbed a word. His jaw was stone, his eyes stormclouds, thoughts spinning recklessly.

“Ron,” she said carefully. “Your mom’s right. Let’s just drop it for now. Let Harry settle.”

“He’s lying, Hermione.” Ron’s voice was low and deadly serious. “He has to be. He couldn’t just forget something like this.”

“Why would he lie to us?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, okay?!” he snapped, too loud, too raw.

At that exact moment Fleur floated out of the room again, humming, a vision of silvery hair and perfume. Ron’s head whipped toward her, his scowl instantly dissolving into slack-jawed awe.

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard it hurt, scoffing as she pushed back into the room.

Harry was finishing his breakfast, crumbs dusting the sheets. He looked up with that hollow, heavy expression Hermione hated seeing on him. She tried to focus on him, but she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Ron would blow this out of proportion. 

“What are you two whispering about?” Harry asked as she sat beside him.

“We’re just worried, that’s all. But we’re really glad that you’re here.”

Harry gave her a gloomy smile. “Me too.”

Hermione slid her arm around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaning into his shoulder. For a heartbeat, he let her stay—but then he patted her knee, gentle but dismissive, and stood.

“I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but… you kinda need one,” she teased softly.

Harry flipped her off over his shoulder which brought a smile to her face. As long as Harry still had that spark, she could believe that everything was going to be fine.

Harry left with a towel slung over his shoulder and a change of clothes in his arms. Just as Hermione was about to slip out too, Ron stormed in, eyes blazing, and went straight for Harry’s trunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hermione demanded, her voice pitched with anxiety as Ron tore into the neatly folded clothes.

“He’s hiding something, Hermione. I can feel it. This isn’t normal.”

“He’s not gonna like this,” she warned. 

“Well that’s too damn bad! He shouldn’t have lied to us!”

“I don’t think he’s lying, Ron. Think about what your mom said, maybe something happened and his brain just couldn’t take it.”

Ron looked up, incredulous. “So what are you saying? That he’s gone mad?”

“He’s traumatized ! You’re the one going mad!”

Ron scoffed and went back to rifling through Harry’s belongings, tossing shirts and socks in every direction, every crease of the trunk turned inside out.

“What exactly are you even looking for?” Hermione pressed.

“I don’t know!” Ron snapped, tearing through another stack. Then, suddenly, he stopped. A dry laugh slipped out of him.

Hermione’s stomach dropped. “What?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Ron pulled out a white shirt and tossed it to Hermione who unfolded it and saw with wide eyes the Spice Girls logo in funky glittery pink letters.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this!” she hissed, clutching the fabric.

Before Ron could reply, the door banged open. Harry stood in the threshold, towel draped across his shoulders, water still beading in his hair. His eyes narrowed at the scene before him.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was calm but sharp.

Ron planted his fist on his hip and gestured to Hermione. “Show him.”

“Oh no,” she snapped, instantly tossing the shirt back at Ron. “Keep me out of this. I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Fine!” Ron held the shirt up by its collar like damning evidence. “This! You’re gonna tell me this is yours?!”

Harry let out a short, disbelieving scoff. “No, it’s not, but that doesn’t mean…”

“Then you finally admit you dated a girl this summer?” Ron shot back, voice climbing with triumph.

“For fuck’s sake, Ron. Our clothes get mixed up all the time. My trunk was already here when I arrived. Your mom probably tossed everyone’s laundry together.”

“I’ve never seen any of my brothers wearing this!”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “You also have a sister, dumbass. And a future sister-in-law staying here. Not to mention Tonks, who was here when I got in last night. Don’t you think it could belong to literally any of them ?”

Ron’s chest heaved. “Then why don’t we go ask them ?” He made for the door, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

“Ron, you’re being ridiculous! Please, just stop this!”

“What is going on here?!” Molly’s voice boomed down the hall before she swept into the doorway, Ginny close behind her.

“Ginny,” Ron called. “Is this yours?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve been looking for that.” She grabbed the shirt and hung it over her shoulder casually.

Ron gawked, betrayed, mouth opening and closing without words.

“Enough!” Molly barked. She seized Ron by the ear and hauled him from the room.

Harry released a long, heavy sigh. “Sorry about the mix-up, Ginny.”

“Oh, this isn’t mine. I just wanted to see Ron humiliated again.”

Hermione pursed her lips and took the shirt back. Ginny said goodbye and left, leaving Harry and Hermione alone, the echoes of Molly’s voice booming through the walls.

“So you’re really into the Spice Girls, huh?”

Harry let out a short exhale but nothing else.

Hermione stepped closer, resting her hand against his back. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop him, I swear.”

Harry shook his head slowly, eyes rimmed red. “Why would he automatically assume I’d lie to him?”

“Because he’s scared,” she whispered. “We both are. We knew losing Sirius would—”

“Please.” Harry cut her off, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t talk about Sirius.”

 The silence after was suffocating.

“I think I’m gonna go back to bed,” he murmured finally. “Wake me up for lunch?”

Hermione nodded, squeezing his arm before stepping out. She closed the door softly behind her, the shirt still clutched in her hand.

Molly’s voice still thundered down the corridor, Ron’s muffled protests lost in it. Hermione knew she’d have to tell him later the truth about Ginny’s lie. He would be furious. But that didn’t matter.

Because now, she was sure of it.
A full-blown investigation had to begin.

Chapter 3: Keeping up with the Malfoys

The Burrow’s kitchen felt less like a home and more like a war room. Everyone had gathered — Lupin, Tonks, Bill, Molly, Ron, and Hermione — all circling around the unspoken problem upstairs.

“You’re saying he doesn’t remember anything?” Remus asked.

Hermione shook her head. “It’s like the Harry that talked to us on the phone and the one sleeping upstairs are from completely different worlds.”

“What exactly did he say on the phone?” 

She turned to Ron, since he had been the one to speak to him.

“I asked why he was blowing us off,” Ron said. “At first he said it was because his aunt and uncle were separating, and he was helping her with the house. I told him I wasn’t buying it and asked what her name was.”

“A name which you don’t remember,” Hermione muttered.

“Nice, Ron,” Bill retorted. 

“It didn’t seem important at the time!”

“The name of the girl your best friend was dating didn’t seem important to you?” Hermione’s voice cut like a knife.

“I didn’t know he was gonna lose his memory! I thought we’d be hearing about her all year!”

Lupin leaned forward, calm as ever. “What else did he say?”

Ron shrugged. “Not much. He wasn’t sure whether she was a muggle or a squib but she definitely wasn’t magical. And he sounded pretty smitten, he even told me to hang up because he was waiting for her to call.”

“And he doesn’t remember her at all?”

“He doesn’t even remember the phone call!” 

Remus leaned back, frowning. “And you’re sure there was a girl?”

They both nodded. 

“Ron found a shirt among his things with a sparkly Spice Girls logo, he claimed it must have been a mixup but then we saw Hedwig…”

Ron huffed.

“What’s wrong with Hedwig?” Tonks asked. 

“Her talons were clipped, filed, and painted with pink nail polish.”

There was a bit of a collective chuckle that was quickly overshadowed by the crushing worry.

“What do you think, Molly?” Remus asked.

Molly folded her arms. “Like I told the children, Harry’s been through too much. This is his mind protecting him.”

“Is that possible?” Ron pressed Remus.

“It is,” Lupin said gently. “It’s not usually so immediate, but I’ve seen it. Emotional trauma can cut deeper than physical wounds.”

“Then why not forget Sirius?” Ron shot back. “Why forget the good thing?”

“The brain is a mystery, Ron. And we don’t know what happened with this girl. Something could have gone wrong.”

“Maybe he told her he loved her and she told him she only saw him as a friend and colleague," Tonks chimed in. 

“Or,” Ron continued, dismissing her. “Maybe she was a witch sent to spy on him and once he figured her out she obliviated him.”

“I don’t think so,” Remus replied. “The defenses set around Harry’s perimeter are very tight. If he met and started seeing someone, she had to be from the same neighborhood.”

“His neighbor!” Ron blurted. “The girl lives with Harry’s neighbor — the Squib! That’s why he thought she might be one too!”

“Arabella Figg,” Tonks confirmed. “She helped us last year, remember?”

“And testified at his hearing,” Hermione added.

Tonks nodded. “I can check in with her, but not right away. I’m swamped at work.”

“This is kind of important!” Ron argued.

“So is the safety of the wizarding world. Harry is here and he’s safe.  We’ll figure out the rest in time.” After that, she said her goodbyes and left the house.

Ron slumped back in his chair. “Well, that was helpful.”

“She’s right, Ron,” Lupin said. “This is definitely something to worry about but as long as Harry is out of harm, there are more pressing things.” He got up and walked away. “Let me know if there are new developments,” And then he was gone too.

“So that’s it?” Ron complained. “We just sit and wait?”

“I agree with mom,” Bill said. “He probably got dumped and he couldn’t handle it. It happens.”

“Really?” Ron asked skeptically. “That has happened? To you?”

Bill sighed impatiently. “Look, Ronald, if it’s easier for you to think that your best friend is lying to you rather than having an emotional crisis, go ahead.” 

“He’s right, Ron,” Molly said softly as Bill was leaving the kitchen. “Harry needs your support. You’ve been a good friend to him all this time, he needs you now more than ever.”

Ron sighed. “Fine, I’ll drop it. By the way, I still haven’t seen any sort of punishment heading for Ginny for lying about the shirt!”

“And you won’t see any! She did it to get you off of Harry, if anything she deserves praise, and you owe Harry a big apology.”

Ron huffed. Molly left and left Ron alone with Hermione, aside from Crookshanks who was curled up in a chair, sound asleep.

Hermione reached over and took his hand. “Don’t antagonize them, they’re the ones helping us figure out what happened.”

Ron shook his head. “You heard them. They don’t care.”

“They do care, but everyone is stretched thin doing their part to end the war. We have to do ours too.”

He didn’t answer, just shook his head slightly while looking away.

“Ron, look at me,” she said and was ignored so she turned his face with her hand, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Please, I need you to understand this. Harry needs us. You have to set your pride aside and be there for him.”

He let out a deep breath and took her hand from his face. “I know, and I will be. You know I will be.”

Her expression softened. She kissed his cheek, and he pulled her closer, kissing her lips instead.

She giggled, her cheeks burning. “So when are we telling Harry about us?”

He snorted. “Are you kidding? I’m not telling that asshole anything.”

She blinked, any trace of a smile disappearing from her face. “ What ?”

“Look, I said I’ll be there for him and I will but if he’s not gonna open up about his love life then I’m not either.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said, then he recoiled. “I regret phrasing it like that.”

Hermione scoffed. “I don’t believe you! You make a huge fuss about Harry lying and hiding a relationship from us and you want to do the exact same thing? What would that accomplish?”

“It’s not about accomplishing something, it’s about being fair.”

“How is this fair to anyone?!”

“Hey, guys.”

Harry’s voice cut through the storm. Hermione stood down and relaxed into her seat, trying to pretend like everything was fine. 

“You’re not fighting because of me again, are you?” Harry asked.

Ron stood up and put his hand on his friend’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, man. I know we’ve been acting a little crazy.”

Hermione cleared her throat loudly.

“ I’ve been acting a little crazy,” he corrected.

“Thank you,” she said coldly.

“I get it,” Harry said. “You’re worried about me. I would be too if it were the other way around. But you can relax, I’m gonna be fine. I just need things to go back to normal…  though honestly, you two bickering is about as normal as it gets.”

“It’s because our love for you trumps our hate for each other.”

“Fuck you, Ron!” Hermione snapped, shoving the chair back with a crash that startled Crookshanks awake. She stormed upstairs, their voices trailing behind her in mock protests.

She found Ginny polishing her broomstick in her room.

“Your brother is an idiot,” Hermione announced, collapsing onto the bed.

“Which one? Never mind, it doesn't matter. They’re all idiots.”

“Ron is still convinced that Harry is lying.” 

“Harry is lying.”

“What?” She sat up, appalled. “Not you too!”

“Hermione, you didn’t grow up around boys so let me explain something real quick: they’re always competing, always making things up, then when they get caught in a lie they make up another lie to cover it up.”

“So you think he lied about being with someone?”

“No, there was a girl, definitely. When have you ever seen Harry clipping Hedwig's talons? He barely even takes care of his own nails, for fucks sake.”

“This is the guy you’re supposedly in love with, by the way.”

Ginny shrugged. “Everyone has flaws.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “So what do you think happened?”

“My theory is that he got dumped, badly, and he’s deep in denial because he’s too embarrassed to admit it.”

Hermione blinked, impressed. “That’s… actually a very good theory.”

“Thank you. Which means, most importantly, I still have a chance.”

“Ginny, no! Whether what you said is true or not, Harry has gone through too much and he needs time to heal.”

“Relax, I’m not gonna go jump right in like a vulture. I’m gonna let it happen naturally like it’s supposed to.”

Hermione shook her head. “You’re all hopeless.”

Harry’s birthday came around and Hermione felt like she was drowning in a sea of half-truths and whispered suspicions. This should have been a moment of celebration had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths  brought to the party by Remus and Bill. Harry tried to stay on top of it all but she could see the toll it was taking on him. There was something in his eyes, that quiet, unreachable distance that made her stomach knot. Hermione wanted to believe him completely, to stand at his side without question as she always had but deep down she too feared Harry wasn’t telling them everything. It wasn’t mistrust, it was the ache of seeing her best friend suffer alone and refusing her help. 

Ron was impossible. With Harry, he seemed like his usual, joking self; without him, he started storming around like Harry was conspiring against him. He clung to her hand under the table as if their little romance were something steady and noble, but the truth twisted inside her: how could he demand honesty from Harry when he couldn’t hold himself to the same standard? Sometimes, when he looked at her with that eager, boyish grin, she felt the warmth of something real. Other times, like now, all she could see was the hypocrisy, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she even wanted this at all.

The day came for them to buy their school supplies. Diagon Alley should have been alive with its usual chaos. Instead, the weight of tension pressed over the crowd like a storm cloud. Conversations were hushed, wands kept close at hand, and more shops than ever bore the bleak signs of closure or were boarded shut entirely. Posters of the missing clung to brick walls like ghosts. Even the bricks themselves seemed dimmer, as though the magic of the place was being drained away. 

Hermione followed Harry and Ron into Madam Malkin’s, the faint scent of new fabric and polished wood greeting her as the door swung shut behind them. At first, the shop appeared empty, but a familiar, drawling voice floated from behind a rack of glittering dress robes.

“...not a child, in case you haven’t noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”

Hermione froze, instantly recognizing Draco Malfoy’s voice. 

Madam Malkin clucked in a reply, fussing about safety, when a sharp complaint about a pin was followed by Malfoy himself stepping into view. He was clad in expensive dark green robes, glittering with pins, his pale face set in disdain as he examined his reflection. It only took a few seconds for his cold grey eyes to catch Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the mirror’s reflection.

His lip curled. “If you’re wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in.”

Hermione’s stomach twisted, but before she could speak, Madam Malkin hurried out, scolding him for his language and warning against wands. Both Harry and Ron already had theirs raised, anger flashing hot in their eyes. Hermione hovered just behind them, her voice low but urgent. “No, don’t, honestly—it’s not worth it.”

Malfoy sneered, his eyes darting to her face. “Yeah, like you’d dare do magic out of school.”

Narcissa Malfoy stepped forward. Tall, elegant, glacial. “Put those away.” Her cold voice cut across the tension. “If you attack my son again, I shall ensure it’s the last thing you ever do.”

“Really?” Harry stepped forward, defiant. The room seemed to shrink at his voice, steady and mocking. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”

Hermione’s pulse quickened, dread coiling tight in her chest. Madam Malkin squealed, horrified, begging for wands to be lowered.

But Harry didn’t listen.

Hermione reached for him, fingers wrapping around his arm, desperate to pull him back from the edge. 

Narcissa’s smile was a blade. “I see that being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.” 

Harry looked mockingly all around the shop. “Wow... look at that... he’s not here right now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban for you and your loser of a husband!” 

Malfoy made an angry movement toward Harry, but stumbled over his overlong robe. Ron laughed loudly.

“Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!” Malfoy snarled. 

“It’s all right, Draco,” said Narcissa, restraining him with her thin white fingers upon his shoulder. “I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.” 

Harry raised his wand higher. 

“Harry, no!” moaned Hermione, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. “Think... Don’t do this... You’ll be in such trouble...”

Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn’t. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry. 

“I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just.” 

“Ouch!” bellowed Malfoy, slapping her hand away. “Watch where you’re putting your pins, woman! Mother, I don’t think I want these anymore…” He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin’s feet. 

“You’re right, Draco,” said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, “now I know the kind of scum that shops here, we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.” 

And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Malfoy taking care to bang as hard as he could into Ron on the way out.

Hermione exhaled slowly, realizing her hands were trembling. The air still seemed poisoned by their presence, and though they were gone, the echo of Malfoy’s slur lingered, heavy as smoke. Every time the Malfoys appeared, it was like a reminder of this world’s cruelty, of the endless games of power and spite that they had to navigate. She hated that her protective instincts made her feel both small and helpless, that she couldn’t just wave a wand and erase their arrogance. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, taking her hand.

She noticed Ron’s eye catching their entwined hands and a slight frown took over his face but he didn’t say anything. 

Hermione nodded, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze. “Yeah, fuck them. Let’s do what we came here to do.” 

They finished their shopping and met Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, who were carrying heavy stacks of books. With Mrs. Weasley checking her watch every minute, they headed farther down the street in search of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.

“Whoa,” said Ron, stopping in his tracks. 

Against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts, the twins’ windows blazed like fireworks. Passersby gawked; a few actually halted, transfixed. The left window spun with goods that popped, bounced, flashed, and shrieked.

Inside, the shop was packed. Bins overflowed with trick wands—the cheapest turned into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs, the expensive ones smacking unwary users around the head and neck. Quills piled to the ceiling, boasting Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties.

Hermione had managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship.

“‘Patented Daydream Charms...’” she read. “‘One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.’ You know,” said Hermione, looking up at Harry, “that is really extraordinary magic!”

“For that, Hermione,” said a voice behind them, “you can have one for free.” 

A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair. He took Harry with him to the back and Hermione stayed with Ginny.

Hermione followed Ginny down an aisle cluttered with glittering boxes of “Confounding Confetti” and “Instant Ice Cream Conjurers,” ducking under a shelf while trying not to knock over a stack of self-writing quills. Ginny’s laughter rang through the shop as she plucked a small, squeaky dragon from a bin, making it flap its wings wildly. Hermione felt herself relaxing just a little, caught up in the chaos and energy of the store, analyzing how each spell was embedded in the objects, imagining their practical—or disastrous—applications. Ginny leaned over her shoulder, poking a finger at a brightly painted “Hair-to-Hare Potion” and snickering. Hermione rolled her eyes but allowed herself a small smile, imagining the look on Malfoy’s face if it ever ended up in his hair.

A while later, the twins appeared behind them, along with Ron and Harry. 

“Have you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?” asked Fred. “Follow me, ladies “ 

Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary. 

“There you go,” said Fred proudly. “Best range of love potions you’ll find anywhere.” 

Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Do they work?” she asked. 

Hermione side-eyed her.

“Certainly they work,” Fred continued. “for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question.”

“But we’re not selling them to our sister,” George added, becoming suddenly stern, “not when she’s already got about five boys on the go from what we’ve —” 

“Whatever you’ve heard from Ron is a big fat lie,” said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. “What’s this?” 

“Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher,” said Fred. “Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don’t change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?”

“Yes, I am,” said Ginny. “And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?” She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks. 

“Pygmy Puffs,” said George. “Miniature puffskeins, we can’t breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?” 

“I dumped him, he was a bad loser,” said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. “They’re really cute!” 

“They’re fairly cuddly, yes,” conceded Fred. “But you’re moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren’t you?” 

Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. “That is none of your business.” 

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line. She was aware that Ginny’s boyfriend hopping was just a strategy to get Harry in the end. She didn’t necessarily approve but as long as she wasn’t manipulating Harry deliberately,  she had nothing to complain about. After all, Harry wasn’t even listening to their conversation, his eyes were fixed on the window. She glanced over and saw Draco Malfoy hurrying up the street alone. 

Her stomach sank. She could already see the gears turning in his head and his hand instinctively reaching for his backpack where she knew for sure he had his invisibility cloak hidden. 

She grabbed his arm firmly, holding him back.  “Don’t even think about it,” she whispered, her voice tense. 

Harry’s eyes met hers, a flicker of impatience sparking there. “I’m not going to lose him, Hermione. I can handle it.”

“You’re not thinking straight,” she shot back, pressing her hand over his. “If you go after him and something happens, you could make things worse. For yourself and for everyone.”

Tension thickened between them, neither one willing to break. She realized she’d have to make a choice: either insist they stay put and risk Harry sulking or follow, keeping him close but knowingly stepping into danger herself, the same thing she has done since she met him.

“What’s going on?” Ron appeared beside them.

“I just spotted Malfoy by himself going down the street and Hermione won’t let me follow him!”

“Are you insane?” Ron asked. 

Hermione drew in a breath, ready to shoot back until she realized Ron was speaking to Harry, not her.

“After everything that’s happened you can’t seriously believe we would let you run after Malfoy.”

“I have to see what he’s up to! It can’t be anything good!”

“It’s Malfoy! He’s never up to anything good! That doesn’t mean you have to put yourself and us in danger to find out. They already got his father, if he’s following in his footsteps, they’ll catch him soon enough too.”

Harry huffed and threw up his hands in frustration, but as soon as Ron started to turn away, she saw Harry reaching for his bag again and knew she had to do something drastic to stop him. 

She doubled over, her hands clutching her stomach and let out her best fake cry of pain.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Mrs Weasley hurried over and soon enough, most of their party was crowding around them, making Harry’s escape impossible. 

Hermione winced dramatically. “I’m okay… It’s just…” She groaned. “I think I’m having lady problems.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Let’s finish up here so we can head home.”

They followed Mrs. Weasley to the car. Harry slumped down on the window seat, his arms crossed like a toddler who had been denied candy. Ron sat in the middle and Hermione by his side, a rush of warmth filling her chest that had nothing to do with the summer sun.

It was moments like this that reminded her how well they worked together, they could argue all they wanted about stupid stuff but when the stakes were high, they would stand side by side and hold down the line.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, letting herself linger in the familiar weight of him. It was a small, innocent gesture they’d shared countless times, yet now it carried a quiet thrill, a secret acknowledgment of what they weren’t saying aloud. He didn’t pull away; instead, his fingers traced soft, absent-minded circles along her arm, and she let a slow sigh escape, feeling something steady and grounding in the midst of everything else that felt chaotic.

When they got to the Burrow, Harry locked himself in Fred and George’s old room to sulk. Mrs. Weasley gave Hermione a herbal tea and sent her to lay down. She did her best to relax in a living room chair and drink her tea when Ron came and took the chair beside her. 

“Is he mad?” she asked him.

“Ah, he’ll be fine. You know he likes to be dramatic.”

There was a pause until she said. “Thank you.”

“What for?

“For taking my side.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. Sure, usually I’m the first one to say yes to a spy mission but… it’s clear that Harry isn’t in the right headspace for that kind of thing.”

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. “I’m so glad we’re on the same page about that.”

“Of course. We have to keep our baby safe, don’t we?”

Hermione chuckled. “Do you think since our baby is mad at us that he’ll let us have your room to ourselves tonight?”

Ron frowned. “I thought you were having lady problems.”

She gave him a tired expression. “I was faking it, Ronald.”

“Oh…” A grin spread across his face. “Well, in that case, we should let him brood a little longer.”

Chapter 4: Something There

The Great Hall shone with its usual magic. The enchanted ceiling sparkled with stars, and floating candles bathed the room in a warm, golden glow that invited conversation and indulgence. The Sorting Ceremony went as always: first years looked around with wide-eyed wonder, and the Sorting Hat recited its usual cheesy poems. The magnificent feast appeared, and soon everyone was talking excitedly about their summer, filling their mouths with food.

Everyone except Harry. 

Hermione was so anxious she had barely touched any of the food, instead, chewing compulsively on her fingernails—a habit she had fought hard to overcome. Ron, on the other hand, seemed unbothered and inhaled one chicken leg after another.

“Would you stop eating?! Your best friend is missing!” she snapped.

“Hermione…” he mumbled through a mouthful. “We all came in on the same train. He has to be here. He probably got stopped by Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore is right there!” Hermione said, pointing at the headmaster seated at the teacher’s table.

“Yeah, but you know who isn’t? Snape. And Snape does whatever Dumbledore asks. So relax—they’ll show up eventually.”

Hermione exhaled through her nose, her knee bouncing under the table.

Soon enough,  the Great Hall doors opened. Snape entered, followed by Harry, still in his Muggle clothes.

“Oh, my god,” Hermione exclaimed, noticing the trail of dried blood on his chin. Ron even dropped his chicken leg.

“What happened to your face?” Ron asked him, gawking along with everyone nearby as Harry squeezed in between them.

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection. 

“You’re covered in blood!” said Hermione. She raised her wand, said “Tergeo!” and siphoned off the dried blood. 

“Thanks,” said Harry. “How’s my nose looking?” 

“Normal,” Hermione said anxiously. “Why shouldn’t it? Harry, what happened? We’ve been terrified!” 

“I’ll tell you later.” 

“But…” 

“Not now, Hermione,” said Harry, in a darkly significant voice.

She glanced at Ron, who raised a hand in a silent stay calm gesture and nodded toward the Slytherin table. Malfoy was miming a shattered nose, drawing unrestrained laughter and applause.

Hermione’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure if she was angrier at Malfoy for being an asshole or at Harry for walking right into his path.

After dessert, Dumbledore gave his usual speech and announcements and sent everyone to their rooms.  Hermione had darted ahead to fulfill her prefect’s duty of shepherding the first years, leaving Ron to deal with whatever heroic explanation Harry had to justify going after Malfoy. 

The next morning swept them into the rhythm of the new term. Class assignments were handed out with the usual mix of excitement and groaning; Hermione quickly scanned her schedule, she was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions,  mentally noting her responsibilities as a prefect while also keeping an eye on Harry who had managed to become even more infuriating.

It was bad enough that he had been named captain of the Quidditch team, but now, out of nowhere, he had become a potions prodigy. Even unprepared, without a textbook or ingredients, he brewed the best potion in class and received a vial of Felix Felicis as a prize.

Later at dinner, he showed them how he did it. The book he took from the classroom shelf had scribbles all over the pages. Apparently, Harry had followed the instructions written by the previous owner, rather than the ones printed on the book.

“I suppose you think I cheated,” he told Hermione, seeing her hardened expression. 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?”

“He only followed different instructions to ours,” said Ron. “Could’ve been a catastrophe, couldn’t it? But he took a risk and it paid off.”

“Still,”  Hermione said in a cautious tone. “We should check that there’s nothing dangerous going on. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?”

She pulled Harry’s copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raised her wand. 

“Hey!” Harry yelled indignantly.

Hermione ignored him. “Specialis Revelio!” she said, rapping it smartly on the front cover. 

Nothing happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared. 

“Are you done?” Harry said irritably. “Or do you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?” 

“It seems all right,” said Hermione, still staring at the book suspiciously.“I mean…it really does seem to be just a textbook.”

“Good. Then I’ll have it back,” said Harry, snatching it off the table. 

Ron helped himself to another serving of potatoes. “You’re overreacting, Hermione. What’s the harm in getting better grades?”

“The harm,” Hermione snapped, “is that we don’t know who wrote those notes! What if they slipped in something dangerous on purpose?”

“You know, I’m getting really tired of you treating me like a baby,” Harry snapped.

“We wouldn’t have to treat you like a baby if you didn’t behave like one!”

“Okay, guys,” Ron cut in, raising his hands before Harry could spit out another retort. His tone was calm, but his eyes flicked between them warily. “Settle down. Harry, we don’t want to treat you like a baby, but we’ve spent the last five years watching you walk straight into deadly traps. Don’t blame us if we’re a little too cautious.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said, his voice thick with bitterness. “Glad to know I’ve been nothing but a disaster project you two have been babysitting.”

He got up and stormed out of the great hall. Hermione meant to follow him but Ron stopped her.

“Let him cool off,” Ron said dismissively. “You’re not going to get through to him when he’s like this.”

“Did he tell you what happened on the train?” she asked, her voice low.

Ron swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. He slipped under his cloak to spy on Malfoy. Malfoy caught him, broke his nose, and left him petrified on the train floor. If Tonks hadn’t found him, he’d only be arriving at Hogwarts now .”

Hermione’s face tightened. “Did he find out anything, at least?”

“He was boasting about a supposed mission he was given… To Pansy Parkinson… While laying on her lap.”

“Oh, boy,” she muttered, knowing how prone Draco was to exaggeration. She hoped Harry hadn’t taken it seriously. “What if he tries something like that again?”

“He won’t,” Ron said with quiet certainty. “He’s got private lessons with Dumbledore in an hour. He’s not going to risk messing that up.”

Hermione sighed, wanting to believe him.

Ron continued eating, unbothered, as a group of giggling girls passed. Ron smiled and waved like an idiot, and Hermione noticed Lavender Brown giving him googly eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m just being nice,” he said, matter-of-factly, returning to his food.

“Since when do you care about being nice?

“Since always!”

Hermione watched him gouge at his food for a moment with narrowed eyes. 

“Have you told anyone that we’re together?” she asked him.

He choked momentarily. “Well… I… I thought we agreed to keep it private for now.”

“We never agreed on anything, you said you wanted to keep it from Harry and I objected. Now you want to keep it from the entire school?”

“If the entire school knows then Harry will find out eventually.”

“And what’s the problem with that?!”

Ron opened his mouth, but no words came out. Hermione felt heat rising in her cheeks. She didn’t want to cause a scene in the middle of the Great Hall. 

“Forget it,” she muttered, standing up. Ron blinked at her, confused, but she didn’t wait for him to reply.

Her footsteps echoed angrily as she left the hall and headed towards her usual refuge: the library. She needed to go anyway and it was a good place to get away from Ron and his cowardly excuses. The library was deserted at this hour, the hush of its high shelves promising sanctuary. It was not uncommon to find students kissing between the shelves or hiding from their bullies. It was a safe haven for any occasion.

But today, Hermione ran into something entirely new.

“... don’t understand. I thought we had something, I thought you loved me,” Draco Malfoy’s voice was quiet but urgent.

Hermione pressed her back against the shelf. Part of her wanted to run, but another part urged her to listen.

“I do love you, Draco,” Pansy Parkinson said softly. “I thought this is what I wanted but… I just don’t feel that way, not in the way you want me to.”

There was silence. Hermione wanted to peek around the corner but didn’t want to risk being seen.

“You’re my best friend,” she went on, her voice wavering. “I don’t want to lose that. But trying to force this… it isn’t right, for either of us.”

“So all of this was for nothing?”

“Not nothing,” Pansy said quickly. “Just… not what we thought it was.”

Hermione’s chest tightened as she listened. There was a vulnerability in Draco’s voice she had never noticed before, a raw uncertainty that made him sound… human. 

“I’m sorry, Draco. I’ll see you around.” 

There was silence except for Pansy’s footsteps which went past Hermione and eventually vanished. She prayed Draco would follow, leaving her unseen. Instead, the library filled with the sound of Draco’s sharp, ragged sobs. Every shuddering breath came out in short, broken bursts, a mixture of anger, frustration, and heartbreak.

Hermione froze. She hadn’t meant to linger, but the sound rooted her to the spot. She pressed her back harder into the shelves, guilt gnawing at her chest for listening when she should have left. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore and decided she could come back tomorrow for her books, but as she stepped away from the shelf, a book got caught in her robe and fell to the floor with a loud bang. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Malfoy muttered. “Potter, if that's you, I swear to god…!”

“It’s me!” she said, stepping into view with her hands slightly up in surrender. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I was just trying to get some books.”

Malfoy, who had begun reaching for his wand, relaxed and withdrew his hand. His eyes were red and swollen, his face flushed and his shoulders tight with pride.

“You’re lucky,” he said, forcing his usual snobby tone. “You’re the only person in this school who can use that excuse.”

He picked up his stuff and headed out.

“Hey,” Hermione called.

He stopped but didn’t look back.

“I’m sorry,” she said with sincerity.

He huffed. “I don’t need your pity.”

With that, he left.

Hermione stood there for a long moment, listening to the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall. A mix of unease and unexpected concern stirred inside her. For the first time, she saw him not as the polished, arrogant Slytherin she usually wanted to avoid, but as a boy caught between wanting to be loved and not knowing how. For the first time, Hermione felt a flicker of something she couldn’t name—pity, maybe, or understanding—and it made her stomach twist with an unfamiliar unease.

Back in the quiet of her dormitory, Hermione couldn’t stop replaying what she’d stumbled upon: Draco Malfoy, undone not by cruelty or failure but by Pansy Parkinson telling him she only ever saw him as a friend. It shouldn’t have struck her the way it did, but Hermione knew too well the sting of caring more deeply than the other person did. Ron’s fumbling half-confessions, his silences that said too much and not enough, had left her raw in the very same way. For the first time, she wondered if beneath all of Malfoy’s sneers and bravado, he might be nursing the same doubts she was: that maybe he wasn’t quite enough for the person he wanted most.

 

Chapter 5: Jealousy

Hermione had never been a fan of parties, considering them a waste of time that could be better spent studying. But when her new Potions teacher, Professor Slughorn, invited her to one, she accepted. Harry had warned her that Slughorn only cared about surrounding himself with the most talented or well-connected students, and she agreed it was a rather self-serving tactic. Still, there was a part of her—a quiet, stubborn part—that couldn’t help but be flattered. Being a Muggle-born, she wasn’t exactly well-connected in the wizarding world, so being counted among the “talented” was proof she was worth noticing. And she wasn’t about to pass up the chance to revel in that.

Everyone else seemed to glide through the night with effortless chatter, while she stood stiff as a chess piece, nodding politely whenever someone dragged her into conversation. Cormac McLaggen had her cornered at the moment, spinning another one of his tiresome boasts. 

“…and Slughorn says I’ve got the strongest arm he’s seen in years. Gryffindor’s bound to take the Cup once I’m Keeper. It’s practically a done deal, really.” 

He smirked, clearly waiting for her awe. Hermione forced a brittle smile, the kind she used when humoring first-years who asked idiotic questions.

Before she could find an excuse to slip away, Ginny Weasley breezed in, hair flaming brighter than the candles. She took one look at Hermione’s expression, rolled her eyes, and swooped in like a rescuer. “Cormac, you’re boring her to death,” Ginny announced. “Go brag to someone who cares.” She hooked her arm through Hermione’s and tugged her away, leaving Cormac sputtering.

Relief unknotted in Hermione’s chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Ginny smirked. “You looked seconds from chewing your own arm off.”

“I might have,” Hermione admitted. “That guy is despicable. I’ve never wanted a lobotomy so badly.”

“The fuck is a lobotomy?”

“It’s a procedure where they essentially kill a part of your brain.”

Ginny looked flabbergasted. “Muggles are so weird.”

Hermione took no offense to the comment, but being reminded that she came from a whole different world always made her feel a bit uneasy. She had always struggled with being accepted into social groups, and even though the Weasleys had always accepted her, that rift between the two worlds never disappeared.

“So,” Hermione said, trying to change the subject. “How are things going with Dean?”

“Very well, actually,” Ginny said enthusiastically. “He’s funnier than I expected. And he’s very clean, so that’s a plus.”

“The bar is alarmingly low these days.”

“I know! And they still expect us to look perfect and do butt stuff.”

“Ginny!”

“What? Don’t be a prude, Hermione. I know what you and my brother were doing when you were sneaking out of my room during the summer.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “That’s different. I’m two years older than you.”

Ginny raised her brows. “You were my age when Viktor Krum popped your cherry, so don’t pull the age card on me.”

Hermione blinked, then laughed despite herself. “Alright, fair point.”

Silence lingered a beat before Hermione asked carefully, “So are you still going after Harry?”

“Oh yes! But like I said, all in good time,” Ginny said smoothly. “My next step is to get into the Quidditch team and make sure Dean doesn’t.”

“Dean is trying out too?”

“Yeah, but he’s not gonna get in, Katie’s got that position locked.”

Hermione frowned. “You’re not going to cheat on him, are you?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Relax, Hermione. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Hermione countered, “just that what you’re doing is, well… morally questionable.”

“I’m not gonna cheat on anyone. Once things with Harry start to take off, I’ll break up with Dean.”

Hermione shook her head. “But why bother with Dean at all? Harry’s not the jealous type. He won’t suddenly chase you just because you’re dating someone else. That’s something Ron would do.”

Ginny shrugged. “A girl has needs.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and didn’t answer.

“Look,” Ginny started. “I’m not gonna cheat on anyone, and I’m not trying to manipulate Harry. I just wanna live my life and have fun, and when I finally do get Harry, I don’t want to be a shy little virgin, I wanna blow his brains out.”

Hermione snorted out a laugh. The two mingled for a while longer until the party started to die out and everyone retreated to their dorms. 

As she was getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth with her Arithmancy text floating in front of her, the high-pitched giggles of Lavender and Parvati carried through the room. Hermione tried to stay focused on the equations, but then Ron’s name cut through the laughter.

“He’s taller and stockier now that he’s playing Quidditch,” said Lavender.

“He might not make it to the team this year though,” Parvati replied. 

“Are you kidding me? With Harry as captain? Of course he’ll get in.”

“Harry has more integrity than that. He’ll make Ron try out like everyone else. And the list is long this year.”

“He’ll get in,” Lavender repeated with confidence. “And then I’m going to get into his pants.”

Another burst of giggles sent Hermione’s stomach into a twist. She snapped her book shut and tried to pretend the words hadn’t sunk under her skin.

The next morning at breakfast, she spotted Harry and Ron sitting together. She considered sitting far away from them, both to get ahead on some reading and to avoid them, but in the end decided it was best to sit with her friends. 

They said good morning to each other  before Ron nudged Harry with his elbow.

“Isn’t there something you’d like to say?”

Harry looked up, a bit sheepish. “Sorry for giving you a hard time about the book the other day. I know you’re just trying to look out for me.”

Hermione gave him a soft smile. “I’m sorry too. I know I can get a little intense sometimes.”

“I count on that,” Harry said with a grin, reaching across the table.

She slid her hand into his and gave it a reassuring squeeze, a small gesture of comfort between friends—though she noticed Ron eyeing their clasped hands with an odd, almost uneasy expression. A spark of mischief lit inside her as she withdrew. Pulling back, she fixed her gaze on him. “And what about you, Ronald? Nothing you’d like to say?”

Ron blinked. “Uh… You look nice today?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Harry seemed to notice the weird vibe and shrank into his cereal bowl. 

“So,” she continued normally, helping herself to coffee and toast. “I was thinking we should go visit Hagrid, I still feel bad that none of us signed up for his class.”

“We can go after the tryouts this Saturday," Harry told her. “But they might take all morning with the amount of people who’ve applied. I don’t know why the team’s so popular all of the sudden.” 

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, her tone turning both earnest and pointed. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more attractive.”

Ron choked on his eggs. Hermione looked at him with disdain before turning back to Harry.

“Everyone knows you’ve been telling the truth now. The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and now they’re calling you ‘the Chosen One’. You can’t tell me you can’t see why people are fascinated by you.” 

Harry’s face flushed red and Ron looked like he was about to combust. 

“And you went through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make you  out  to be unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway “ 

“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” said Ron, shaking back his sleeves. 

“And it doesn’t hurt that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished smoothly, ignoring Ron. 

“I’m tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.

Hermione let out a quiet chuckle before taking a bite of her toast. She double checked her arithmancy homework while Harry and Ron debated quidditch strategies and soon enough it was time to get to Transfiguration. 

The lesson passed uneventfully, though Hermione couldn’t help noticing Draco Malfoy slouched in his chair, staring blankly out the window. He seemed detached, almost like he’d given up trying to impress anyone. His hair hung untidy, and deep shadows ringed his eyes like he hadn’t slept. There was something off about him— the usual smugness was gone, replaced by a kind of dull, run-down air.

Hermione’s quill hovered over her parchment, wondering if she should tell the boys about what she overheard at the library. She didn’t want to engage in gossip, but it seemed like that information could be relevant, especially when Harry seemed convinced he was scheming something. 

Professor McGonagall called the class to attention, announcing the end of the lesson. Packing her things, she couldn’t help but replay the image of him slouched and silent, so unlike the confident Slytherin she knew. She pushed the thought aside—there were more pressing matters.

Saturday came around and everyone headed down to the quidditch pitch, including Lavender and Parvati. Remembering what Lavender said about Ron made Hermione’s skin boil. She couldn’t do anything about it so she made sure to wear her discomfort on her sleeve. When they got to the pitch, she went straight to the stands without wishing Ron good luck.

She spotted McLaggen going over to Harry, probably to try to sweet talk him into letting him on the team. She would’ve given anything to have an extendable ear to listen to what Harry said to him, whatever it was, McLaggen retreated to the stands with a stank face and sat among the rest of the applicants, to whom he started talking to immediately.

“We all know if Potter picks Weasley it’s because he’s his little lapdog. If he were serious about Quidditch, he’d pick a real player.”

McLaggen had a comment for nearly everyone. Hermione mostly ignored him, until he got to Ginny.

“She’s all right for a girl, but put her against a decent Beater and she’ll crumble.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ginny was always underestimated, even by her own brothers. Then he added:

“Wouldn’t mind her on the team for the view, though. Shame Quidditch robes aren’t tighter.”

Hermione clenched her fists tightly.

Harry had been right, the tryouts were taking all morning. Three hours passed, and they were only halfway done. Hermione kept herself busy by getting ahead on her Ancient Runes reading, so the ordeal didn’t feel like a complete waste of time.

Finally, it was time to pick the Keeper. The first few candidates did horribly, then it was McLaggen’s turn. He strutted into the field with his chest puffed out and mounted his broom with a swagger he must’ve siphoned off of Malfoy. He blocked one, two, three, and four penalties in a row. Hermione was growing nervous. She glanced at Harry, who kept a good poker face, but his tapping foot betrayed him. So she decided to take matters into her own hands. 

Thank god for non verbal spells.

A quick thought and a flick of the wand and Cormac McLaggen missed the last penalty. He came back to the stands and sat amongst a sea of boos and jeers and a satisfied smile on Hermione’s face.

Now it was Ron’s turn, if he could save five in a row, the position was his. Hermione slid onto the edge of her seat and watched anxiously. If Ron failed, she would’ve broken a huge rule for nothing. 

But Ron didn’t disappoint. 

He saved five in a row and secured the Keeper position. Hermione forgot her anger and cheered with the crowd, then watched with amusement as McLaggen threw a spectacular hissy fit. 

She ran down to the field and hugged Ron. “You were amazing!” she beamed.

Ron grinned modestly. “I guess I did okay.”

Harry congratulated the new team and organized the next practices. Hermione saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face. This pleased her.

Afterward, they went to see Hagrid and, returning to the castle for dinner, spotted McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he bounced off the frame the first time. Ron guffawed and strode into the Hall, but Harry caught Hermione’s arm.

“If you ask me,” Harry said quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning.” 

Hermione blushed. 

“Oh, all right then, I did it,” she whispered. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, you saw how he reacted when he didn’t get in — you wouldn’t have wanted someone like that on the team.” 

“No,” said Harry. “I suppose that’s true. But wasn’t that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you’re a prefect, aren’t you?” 

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, as he smirked.

“What are you two doing?” demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious. 

“Nothing,” said Harry and Hermione together, and they hurried after Ron, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

Hermione glanced at Ron while their professor invited them to yet another party that Harry couldn’t attend, this time because of his detention with Snape. Ron sat down, his shoulders slumped, all the confidence he got during the trial suddenly vanished from him.

“How many parties can one man throw in just a few weeks?” Harry asked the moment Slughorn was out of earshot.

“Oh, I wish you could come, I don’t want to go on my own!” Hermione said anxiously, thinking of running into McLaggen again.

“I doubt you’ll be alone, Ginny’ll probably be invited,” snapped Ron. 

After dinner they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was very crowded, as most people had finished dinner by now, but they managed to find a free table and sat down; Ron, who had been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned at the ceiling. 

Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody had left abandoned on a chair. 

“Anything new?” Harry asked. 

“Not really...” Hermione had opened the newspaper and was scanning the inside pages. “Oh, look, your dad’s in here, Ron — he’s all right!” she added quickly, for Ron had looked around in alarm. “It just says he’s been to visit the Malfoys’ house. ‘This second search of the Death Eater’s residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tipoff.’ ” 

“Yeah, mine!” said Harry. “I told him at King’s Cross about Malfoy and his little detour. He had to have bought something he didn’t want his mother to see. If it’s not at their house, he must’ve brought it to Hogwarts with him.”

“But how can he have done that, Harry?” said Hermione, putting down the newspaper with a surprised look. “We were all searched when we arrived.” 

“You were?” said Harry, taken aback. “I wasn’t!” 

“Oh no, of course you weren’t, I forgot you were late... Well, Filch ran over all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the entrance hall. Any Dark object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated. So Malfoy couldn’t have brought in anything dangerous!” 

Harry looked away for a moment, Hermione could see the gears turning in his head.

“Someone’s sent it to him by owl, then,” he said. “His mother or someone.” 

“All the owls are being checked too,” said Hermione, starting to get annoyed. “Filch told us so when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach.” 

Harry seemed to be really stumped this time. He looked over at Ron, who was sitting with his arms folded, staring over at Lavender Brown. 

“Can you think of any way Malfoy —?” 

“Oh, drop it, Harry,” said Ron. 

“Listen, it’s not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione and me to his stupid party, neither of us wanted to go, you know!” said Harry, firing up. 

“Well, as I’m not invited to any parties,” said Ron, getting to his feet again, “I think I’ll go to bed.” He stomped off toward the door to the boys’ dormitories, leaving Harry and Hermione staring after him. 

“Harry?” said the new Chaser, Demelza Robins, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. “I’ve got a message for you.”

Hermione felt bad for Ron, he had earned his moment of glory and it had been completely overshadowed by Slughorn's elitism. After Harry left to go serve his detention, Hermione went up the stairs into the boy’s room.

It was still early so none of the other boys were in yet, just Ron who was brooding on his bed, throwing a fanged frisbee absentmindedly. He looked up in surprise as she approached.

“Hey,” he said cautiously. “Harry left for detention?”

She nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed. For a moment, neither spoke. Hermione studied him—how he was slouching slightly, how his fingers drummed against the edge of the bed. The confidence he’d carried during the tryouts seemed to have evaporated, replaced with a lingering uncertainty. 

“Listen, don’t take it too personally when Slughorn doesn’t invite you to things. He’s only interested in us because he thinks he can get something out of us, not because he thinks we’re the best. You know who thinks you’re the best?”

Ron looked up at her.

“Harry,” she said plainly. “That’s why he picked you for his team.”

Ron let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess… maybe. I still can’t believe I actually pulled it off. Five saves in a row…” His voice trailed off.

“You did more than pull it off,” Hermione said softly. “You were incredible. You should feel proud of yourself. I am.”

He looked at her, and for a moment, she caught the boy she’d known since their first year—the one who had struggled with self-confidence, the one who always tried to measure up. And now he was here, standing on his own in a way that made her heart beat faster than it should.

“I thought I was going to miss that last one,” he admitted, voice low. “Demelza Robins is really good. Harry picked a great team.”

“He’s a natural leader,” Hermione said.

“He is, but if he mentions Malfoy one more time I’m shoving a dirty sock in his mouth.”

Hermione chuckled, but on the inside, Draco’s ragged sobs filled her mind every time she heard his name and Pansy’s words echoed. 

“You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose that. But trying to force this… it isn’t right, for either of us.”

She looked at Ron, for whom she’d had feelings for so long she can’t even remember when they started. If this relationship didn’t work out, she didn’t know how or if they would be able to go back to being just friends. Was it better to take the risk and deal with the consequences later, or preserve their friendship as it was without complicating things?

He cupped her face in his hand, interrupting her thoughts. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Do you regret what happened at your house?”

“No!” he said quickly. “I would never, why would you ask me that?”

“I just… I feel like there’s a lot of distance between us now that we’re back in school and dealing with Harry… I just wanted to make sure that you still… you know… wanted me.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, the next, he reached over to her and kissed her.

Pulling back just slightly, Ron rested his forehead against hers. “I will always want you, Hermione,” he whispered, holding the back of her head as if letting go was never an option.

Hermione felt the familiar flutter in her chest, the electricity of knowing that they were exactly where they were supposed to be. She smiled, heart full, and finally allowed herself to relax. The day had been exhausting, filled with petty rivalries and awkward encounters—but here, in this quiet moment, everything felt right.

 

Chapter 6: A loser? ...Gross!

At the Gryffindor table, Ron was in the middle of an enthusiastic retelling, waving his fork around like a prop. Harry grinned into his porridge, clearly enjoying the show, while Hermione sat very straight, arms folded, her lips pressed thin. She’d heard the story once already, but Ron was determined to relive every detail of Harry’s so-called brilliant new spell, and her patience was wearing thin.

“…and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!” Ron finished, laughing as he piled sausages onto his plate.

Hermione had not cracked a smile during the whole anecdote. She turned an expression of cold disapproval on Harry. “Was this spell, by any chance, another one from that potion book of yours?”

Harry frowned. “Always jump to the worst conclusion, don’t you?”

“Was it?”

“Well… yeah, it was, but so what?”

“So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?” she demanded.

“Why does it matter if it’s handwritten?” Harry shot back, conveniently ignoring the rest of the question.

“Because it’s probably not Ministry of Magic–approved,” Hermione retorted. “And also,” she added, as Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, “because I’m starting to think this Prince character was a bit dodgy.”

Both Harry and Ron shouted her down at once.

“It was funny!” said Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. “Don’t be such a killjoy!”

“Yeah,” Harry added. “You take the fun out of everything.”

“Dangling people upside down by the ankle?” Hermione shot back. “That isn’t funny, it’s cruel. Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?”

“Fred and George,” said Ron, shrugging, “it’s their kind of thing.” 

“And my dad,” Harry said. 

“What?” said Ron and Hermione together. 

“My dad used this spell,” said Harry. “I — Lupin told me.”

“Maybe your dad did use it, Harry,” said Hermione, “but he’s not the only one. We’ve seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you’ve forgotten. Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless.”

Harry stared at her, a flicker of unease crossing his face as he understood what she meant.

“That was different,” Ron said, coming to Harry’s aid. “They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don’t like the Prince because he’s better than you at Potions.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with that!” said Hermione, her cheeks reddening. “I just think it’s very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don’t even know what they’re for, and stop talking about ‘the Prince’ as if it’s his title, I bet it’s just a stupid nickname, and it doesn’t seem as though he was a very nice person to me!” 

“I don’t see where you get that from,” said Harry heatedly. 

Hermione scoffed. “Oh because the spells you’ve gotten out of that book make people’s lives better, right? Like when you hexed Crabbe’s toenails to grow indefinitely until he couldn’t walk?”

“That was hilarious,” Harry admitted with subtle pride.

“Or when you glued Filch’s tongue to the roof of his mouth so he couldn’t speak?”

“He deserved that!”

“And when you muffled Flitwick’s ears so he thought he was going deaf and had to cancel class?”

Harry smirked. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Really, Harry?” You wanna know who you sound like?” Hermione leaned forward, her voice low but fierce. “You sound like Malfoy.”

Harry’s face went red, the grin wiped clean off in an instant. 

“Don’t you ever say that to me again,” he snapped.

Hermione stared him down. “Then stop acting like him.”

A heavy silence fell. Neither seemed willing to back down.

“Guys,” Ron said, lowering his voice. “Let’s calm down, all right? Harry, maybe don’t mess around with spells you don’t know. Hermione, it was funny and no one got hurt. Now can we please just have breakfast in peace?”

By the time they finished breakfast, the argument had faded into the usual morning chatter, though Hermione’s expression remained tight with disapproval. 

That day marked the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. Hermione had half-expected the outings to be canceled, given the state of the war, and was slightly disappointed to find out they weren’t. It wasn’t that she disliked Hogsmeade, but the workload this year was heavier than ever, and for Hermione, staying merely caught up was never enough—she wanted to stay ahead.

The long walk down did little to change her mind. Students bent double against the bitter wind, scarves flapping like banners in defeat. When they arrived, they saw that Zonko’s was boarded up and she knew for sure this was a major letdown for the boys. They headed for Honeydukes instead to get warm before heading to the Three Broomsticks.

The street was not very busy; nobody was lingering to chat, just hurrying toward their destinations. The exceptions were two men a little ahead of them, standing just outside the Three Broomsticks. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, one of the men walked away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with something in his arms. 

Harry jogged closer to him. “Mundungus!” 

“Great,” Hermione muttered under her breath. The last thing she wanted was to spend one more minute in the cold, but Harry had to stop and make small talk.

Mundungus jumped at the sound of his name and dropped an old suitcase, which burst open, releasing what looked like the entire contents of a junk shop window. 

“Oh, ‘ello, ‘Arry,” said Mundungus Fletcher, with a most unconvincing stab at airiness. “Well, don’t let me keep ya.”

He began scrabbling on the ground to retrieve the contents of his suitcase with every appearance of a man eager to be gone. 

“Are you selling this stuff?” asked Harry.

“Oh, well, gotta scrape a living,” said Mundungus. “Hey!” 

Ron had stooped down and picked up something silver. “Hang on,” Ron said slowly. “This looks familiar.” 

“Thank you!” said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron’s hand and stuffing it back into the case. “Well, I’ll see you all — OUCH!” 

Harry had pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand. 

“Harry!” Hermione squealed. 

“You took that from Sirius’s house,” Harry spat, his face inches from Mundungus’s.  “That had the Black family crest on it.”

“I — no — what —?” spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple. 

“What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?” Harry snarled. His grip tightened.

“I—I never—”

“Harry, stop!” Hermione shrieked as Mundungus’s eyes bulged, his face turning blue. 

There was a sharp bang, and Harry’s grip was wrenched away as though invisible hands had pulled him off. Gasping and clutching at his throat, Mundungus grabbed his half-closed case, then—

CRACK!

He Disapparated, leaving only a swirl of smoke in his place.

“FUCK!” Harry roared, spinning on the spot, wand raised. His voice rang through the icy air, raw and jagged. “COME BACK, YOU THIEVING—!”

“There’s no point, Harry.” Tonks had appeared out of nowhere, her mousy hair wet with sleet. “Mundungus will probably be in London by now. Yelling won’t change that.” 

“He stole Sirius’s stuff!” Harry snapped.

“Yes, but still,” said Tonks, who seemed perfectly untroubled by this piece of information. “You should get out of the cold.” 

Hermione lingered outside as the boys pushed through the door of the Three Broomsticks, she needed to touch base with Tonks. She crossed her arms against the cold and hurried over.

“Hey,” she started, rubbing her sleeves for warmth.  “Did you manage to check on Harry’s neighbor?”

Tonks nodded, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Turns out there is a girl living there. Arabella Figg is sponsoring her through the SSS.”

“The what?” Hermione frowned.

“The Society for the Support of Squibs,” Tonks explained, rubbing her hands together against the chill. “Happens a lot, y’know. Families chuck their Squibs out or pretend they don’t exist. This organization helps place them safely in the Muggle world.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t believe how cruel some wizard families could be. “Do you know who she’s related to?”

“No idea,  Her records are wiped clean, and her name is likely made up.”

“Did you get to talk to her?”

Tonks huffed a laugh. “Talk? Barely. At first she wanted nothing to do with me—said she didn’t trust wizards or cops, and that since I seemed to be both I was lucky to even be breathing the same air as her.”

Hermione blinked. “She seems charming.”

“I told her I wasn’t there officially—just doing a favor for a friend. That thawed her a little. I asked if she knew a boy named Harry. She said yes.”

“So it is her?”

Tonks grimaced. “According to her, she met him through Figg. Harry visits often and does chores around the house for her. She claims he asked her out, and she told him she doesn’t date…”

“What? Wizards?”

Tonks shook her head. “Figg wouldn’t spill Harry’s identity to her. Far as she knows, Harry’s just some boy who lugs groceries around.”

“Then what did she say? She doesn’t date what?”

Tonks sighed. “Losers.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “What is her problem?”

Tonks shrugged. “Looks like our Chosen One got properly rejected.”

“How hot is she?” Hermione asked, assessing the damage.

“A solid ten.”

Hermione winced. “Ouch.” So Ginny had won the pool after all—Harry rejected and insulted by probably the hottest girl he’d ever laid eyes on, then was too embarrassed to breathe a word of it. She sighed. “Well… thanks for checking, even if it was a dead end.”

Tonks shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me. Harry’s our top priority, we need to cover every angle. Now go buy that kid a butterbeer, he needs one.”

Hermione let out a soft chuckle and waved Tonks off before stepping into the warm, butter-scented air of the Three Broomsticks. The boys had already secured a table, two steaming bottles of butterbeer waiting beside a third set aside for her.

“Everything okay?” she asked as she slid into the seat beside Ron, facing Harry across the table.

“Yeah,” Harry said, sounding calmer now. “I was just saying that I’m gonna tell Dumbledore what Mundungus is doing since he’s the only one that really scares him.”

Hermione nodded approvingly. “That’s a good idea.” She noticed Ron staring off toward the bar. “Ron, what are you staring at?” 

“Nothing,” Ron muttered, snapping his head away too quickly.

“I expect ‘nothing’s’ in the back getting more firewhisky,” Hermione snapped. 

Ron ignored her, gulping his butterbeer in silence. 

“What were you and Tonks talking about?” Harry asked her. 

“Oh, nothing,” she said dismissively. “Just… girl stuff.”

Harry frowned and Hermione feared there would be follow up questions, but after a moment he let it go and returned to his butterbeer. 

They drank in silence for a while, Hermione drumming her fingers on the table while her eyes flickered between Ron and the bar. She knew he was trying to catch the eye of the curvy and attractive barmaid, Madam Rosmerta, for whom he had long nursed a soft spot and the whole ordeal was giving her indigestion.

 “Shall we call it a day and go back to school, then?” she said as soon as the last drop of butterbeer was drunk.

The boys nodded thankfully and once again they drew their cloaks tightly around them, rearranged their scarves, pulled on their gloves, then followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street. 

It was a little while before Hermione became aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which were being carried back on the wind, had become shriller and louder. Hermione squinted at their indistinct figures. The two girls were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand. 

“It’s nothing to do with you, Leanne!” Katie said. 

They rounded a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast. Leanne made to grab hold of the package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground. 

At once, Katie rose into the air, not as Ron had done, suspended comically by the ankle, but gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet there was something wrong, something eerie... Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression. 

Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie’s ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed forward to help, but even as they grabbed Katie’s legs, she fell on top of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.

“Stay there!” Harry shouted at the others over the howling wind. “I’m going for help!”

He sprinted away while Ron tried to hold Katie to prevent her from hurting herself. Hermione racked her brain, trying to find a solution, something that might help, but she came up empty. She had never seen anyone behave as Katie had just behaved and could not think what had caused it. 

Harry came back with Hagrid who took one look at Katie before scooping her off the ground and running off to the castle with her, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to comfort Katie’s sobbing friend. 

Hermione put her arm around her. 

“It’s Leanne, isn’t it?” 

The girl nodded. 

“Did it just happen all of a sudden, or —?” 

“It was when that package tore,” sobbed Leanne, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which had split open to reveal a greenish glitter. 

Ron bent down, his hand outstretched, but Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him back. 

“Don’t touch it!” He crouched down. “I’ve seen that before,” Harry said. “It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it.” 

“How the hell did Katie get hold of that?” Hermione asked.

“She came out of the bathroom with it,” Leanne said miserably. “Said it was a surprise for someone at Hogwarts, that she had to deliver it. She looked strange when she said it... Oh no—she must’ve been Imperiused! And I didn’t realize!”

Her sobs broke again. Hermione rubbed her shoulder. “She didn’t say who gave it to her?”

“No… she wouldn’t tell me. I said she was being stupid, not to take it up to school, but she wouldn’t listen and—and—” Leanne’s words dissolved into another wail.

Hermione tightened her arm around her. “We’d better get back to the castle. We’ll find out how she is there. Come on.”

Harry pulled off his scarf, wrapping it carefully around the glittering necklace before lifting it. “Madam Pomfrey will need to see this,” he said grimly.

Hermione led the way back to the castle, Leanne’s sobs subsiding but still present. She thought about Harry and Ron and how much of a wreck she is whenever they get into harm, which unfortunately for them is like a common Tuesday. 

“Malfoy knows about this necklace,” she heard Harry say and was grateful he was behind her so he wouldn’t see her rolling her eyes. “It was in a case at Borgin and Burkes four years ago, I saw him having a good look at it while I was hiding from him and his dad. This is what he was buying that day!” 

“I — I don’t know, Harry, ” Ron said hesitantly. “Lots of people go to Borgin and Burkes and didn’t that girl say Katie got it in the girls’ bathroom?” 

“She said she came back from the bathroom with it, she didn’t necessarily get it in the bathroom itself —” 

“McGonagall!” Hermione called warningly. 

Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to meet them. “Hagrid says you four saw what happened to Katie Bell — upstairs to my office at once, please! What’s that you’re holding, Potter?” 

“It’s the thing she touched,” said Harry. 

“Good lord,” said Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed as she took the necklace from Harry. 

They followed Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows were rattling in their frames, and the room was chilly despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closed the door and swept around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still sobbing Leanne. 

“Well?” she said sharply. “What happened?” 

Through sobs and stammers, Leanne explained: Katie had returned from the bathroom holding the package, had been acting strangely, and they’d argued. When the wrapping tore, Katie touched the necklace. By the end, Leanne was too overcome to continue.

“All right,” Professor McGonagall said kindly, “go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock.” 

When she had left the room, Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 

“What happened when Katie touched the necklace?” 

“She rose up in the air,” said Harry, before either Ron or Hermione could speak, “and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore, please?” 

“The headmaster is away until Monday, Potter.”

“Away?” Harry repeated angrily. 

“Yes, Potter, away!” Professor McGonagall said tartly. “But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I’m sure!” 

Hermione’s stomach knotted. She could see the words forming on Harry’s lips. Oh, if only she knew the spell to glue his tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

“I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor.” 

Hermione shuffled her feet as though trying to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry, and Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment. 

“That is a very serious accusation, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. “Do you have any proof?” 

“No,” Harry said, “but I also don’t have any doubts.”

Professor McGonagall looked appalled.

“Look,” Harry started. “This necklace was at Borgin and Burkes, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Four years ago,” Hermione whispered.

“And,” he continued, talking over her. “I saw Malfoy ditching his mother at Diagon Alley and running off alone. He could’ve easily gone to Knockturn Alley to purchase it without his mother knowing.”

“Potter, we cannot point the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he might have visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people.” 

“— that’s what I said —” muttered Ron.

“And in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace could possibly have entered this school without our knowledge.” 

“But —” 

“— and what is more,” said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, “Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.” 

Harry gaped at her, deflating. “How do you know, Professor?” 

“Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter,” she said as she marched past them, “but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all.” 

She held open her office door. As the others filed out, she stopped Hermione at the threshold. 

“Come see me after dinner, Miss Granger.”

Hermione froze. “Is this about my essay? Because I can revise it—I already thought of ten improvements.”

McGonagall held up a hand. “Relax, Miss Granger. Your essay was fine. This isn’t about homework at all—I simply have a small favor to ask.”

The trio went up to the common room, and Harry disappeared into the boys’ dorm without another word. Hermione sighed, Ron just shook his head. A couple of hours later, the two of them went down to dinner by themselves, and afterwards Hermione headed for McGonagall’s office.

The door was slightly ajar. Hermione knocked tentatively, poking her head inside. 

“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

McGonagall looked up from her desk and gestured her inside. “Close the door, please.”

Hermione obeyed and took a seat across from her, trying hard not to gnaw at her nails. Her heart was hammering.

“Like I said, Miss Granger, this has nothing to do with your performance. Your work is as pristine as ever.”

Hermione exhaled, her shoulders relaxing a little. “So… is this about Harry?”

“No, although I assume you’re keeping an eye on him as usual.”

“I am. But he’s—well, he’s convinced Malfoy is up to something.”

McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line. “And what do you think?”

Hermione hesitated, but honesty seemed best. “I think he's struggling emotionally because of his father being imprisoned and… well…”

“What is it?”

Hermione’s cheeks pinked. “I, uh—happened to stumble upon him on the first day of school. Pansy Parkinson was breaking up with him.”

McGonagall’s brows rose.

“I know you don’t care for gossip, but I think it matters. Two blows like that right after the other, it’s clearly taken a toll on him.”

McGonagall gave a small nod. “Thank you for telling me.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

McGonagall sighed, folding her hands on top of a parchment. “What I have here is the homework Mr. Malfoy turned in during detention. Instead of the assigned essay, he chose to exercise his artistic abilities by drawing a… phallic object in excruciating detail.”

Hermione winced. “Lovely.”

“Needless to say, this has earned him detention for the rest of the semester, which is where you come in, Miss Granger.”

Hermione frowned. “Me? What do you want me to do? Tutor him?” 

“I won’t force you,” McGonagall said firmly. “I’m well aware Mr. Malfoy hasn’t been exactly kind to you. But you are—frankly—our last hope. Others we’ve tried either stormed out or burst into tears. You’re not only resilient, you’re the only student who can match him academically.”

Hermione shifted, uncertain whether to feel flattered or trapped. “I’m not sure, Professor.”

“I understand. Take as long as you need to think about it.”

Hermione nodded and stood up, but before she exited the office, a thought occurred to her. “Professor? What’s gonna happen to Malfoy if he doesn’t improve his grades?”

McGonagall’s jaw tightened. “He could be facing expulsion.”

The word dropped like a stone in Hermione’s chest.

“Expulsion?” Ron repeated later that night in the common room. Crookshanks purred in her lap as she told him everything. “You’re saying Malfoy could get expelled?” 

Hermione nodded.

“That would be the greatest day of my life.” 

“For all of us,” she agreed. “But I’m kinda worried that if he gets expelled then he’ll really become vulnerable to Voldemort’s influence.” 

“And that’s bad because…?”

“Because,” she said irritated. “Malfoy may be an asshole, but he’s not stupid. I know you don’t notice that kind of stuff, but he’s always been my academic rival. Believe me, we don’t want him on the dark side. This sudden disinterest in school is definitely something to worry about.” 

“Yeah, but why’s it our problem? Let him and his mommy handle it.” 

“McGonagall wants to try every option before involving her. Apparently there’s a reason Lucius has always handled Draco’s school matters. She can get… kind of crazy.”

“Yeah, crazy hot,” Ron said without thinking.

Hermione shot him a glare. “What is wrong with you? Imagine someone saying that about your mother.”

“I’m not saying it to his face.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Brilliant logic.”

“So… what are you going to do?”

She sighed. “Part of me would love to see Malfoy expelled, especially for failing classes. But… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even him.”

Ron shook his head. “Harry’s rubbing off on you.”

Hermione let out a dry laugh. “Good thing he’s not here. He’d beg me to do it just to spy on him.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”.

Hermione raised a brow.

He shrugged. “Could give us a clue why Harry’s obsessed with him.”

“Speaking of Harry,” she started, hesitantly. “Tonks went to check on his neighbor.”

Ron’s eyes lit up. “She did? What did she find?”

Hermione sighed and summed up her conversation with Tonks, leaving out the rating of the girl’s hotness.

“So he did lie to us! To our faces!” Ron yelled in outrage.

“Shh!” Hermione looked around, ensuring no one could overhear. “I’m not telling you this so you can go back to fighting with him. I’m telling you this so you can drop it. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Then why not just say, ‘I don’t want to talk about it’? Why pretend he lost his memory?”

“I don’t know, Ron. Maybe he’s embarrassed. He hyped her up only to get brutally rejected—that would mess with anyone. Don’t you remember when Fleur rejected you? Bet you would’ve done anything to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Ron groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah, yeah… I get it. Poor Harry, Mr. Perfect Gets Rejected. Still doesn’t stop me from thinking he deserves a good kick in the ass for lying to his best friends.”

“Maybe he does but let’s save that for later,” Hermione said while standing up, scooping her cat in her arms. “I’m gonna go to bed, maybe I’ll think more clearly in the morning.” 

“Hey, wait,” he called after her as he jumped to his feet and reached into his pocket, pulling out a half eaten bag of candies from Honeydukes. “I saved you the raspberry ones cause I know they’re your favorite.” 

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks, Ron.” Her cheeks warmed as she rose on tiptoe to kiss him and he pulled her closer.

Crookshanks hissed and gave Ron a few smacks before Hermione released him into the floor. The orange cat shook vigorously, gave Ron a fuming glare, and then hurried up the stairs.

“I don’t get why he doesn’t like me!” 

“He’s just old and cranky. And besides, you haven’t exactly been super nice to him, and you know it.” 

“Whatever.” Ron huffed. “See you at breakfast.”

Hermione turned to leave, but on impulse spun back into his arms, kissing him again. They held each other close before parting reluctantly.

“Sleep tight,” she murmured.

“You too.” He brushed her cheek with one last kiss before she fluttered upstairs.

Before she opened the door, the shrill voices of her roommates Parvati and Lavender, filtered through. They seemed to be at the stage of gossiping where you’re so worked up you seem to lose sense of the volume of your voice. Hermione cracked the door and Lavender’s voice came through intact. 

“…can’t believe he hasn’t asked me out yet. You’d think by now he’d have noticed.”

Hermione froze. 

“Honestly, it’s just a matter of time,” Parvati replied. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Not with Princess Know-it-all breathing down his neck,” Lavender sneered.

Hermione took that as her cue to enter. The room instantly fell quiet and both girls stared at Hermione with wide eyes, frozen.

“Ron isn’t going to ask you out,” Hermione said sharply. “He and I are together.”

Lavender blinked, then smirked. “Oh, Hermione. Jealousy doesn’t suit you. You’re bitter because you know he wants someone fun, not someone who nags him over homework.”

Heat flared in Hermione’s chest, but she forced her voice steady. “Believe what you like. I’m just saying you’re wasting your time.”

She walked away before Lavender could reply, but as she walked towards the bathroom, heart hammering, the shrill giggles from the girls pierced her ears and made her shoulders tense. 

Sleep was slow to come. Hermione lay on her back, eyes tracing the shadows the moonlight cast across the canopy. McGonagall’s request gnawed at her, Lavender’s taunts rang in her ears, and Ron’s warmth lingered on her lips. Somewhere in the middle of it all was Malfoy—flailing, self-destructing, and now tethered to her by duty. She told herself she wasn’t responsible for him. She told herself she didn’t care. But as the castle settled into silence around her, Hermione knew she wouldn’t rest until she decided what to do.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Clash of Worlds