**Disclaimer:  Everything belongs to JK Rowling, nothing to me.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 23:

“Now, now girl, stop crying. It’s not so bad.” Madame Pomfrey tutted gently as she examined Lavender’s face. “Ms. Granger took the brunt of it I think.”

Hermione was worriedly sitting on the bed next to Lavender. “Will she be all right? I can’t believe I was so stupid to do that.”

Madame Pomfrey began to tenderly dab a little bit of some dark blue cream onto Lavender’s face. “There now, all better. You only got burned a little bit. It will all be cleared up by lunch. You, on the other hand,” she said turning to Hermione, “you need to keep these bandages on until tomorrow morning.”

Hermione looked crestfallen, “that long? But I have homework to do.”

Madame Pomfrey gave Hermione a penetrating gaze; it was unusual to have students complain about not being able to do their homework. “I’m sure you’ll make do.” She said finally after deciding that Hermione was not, in fact, pulling her leg.

Hermione turned to Lavender again, “are you all right? I’m really very sorry.”

Lavender, who had finally managed to stop crying, looked at her with wet, red eyes and said in a shaky voice, “it’s all right Hermione. I’m the one that tripped into you.”

“I know, but Snape was right, I shouldn’t have been measuring the lotus root over my cauldron. I know better than that.”

And she did know better than that. Hermione knew all the safety rules when it came to Potions. And measuring your ingredients away from heat was foremost on the list. But she had been distracted, had been distracted ever since she had come into the classroom. Ever since she had let him catch her eyes, and then it was too late, he had her. Hermione had spent the rest of the class with faintly flushed cheeks, shaky hands, and what felt like a thousands butterflies fluttering about in her stomach.

She couldn’t be sure, but Hermione could swear that someone was watching her throughout most of the class, and she could easily guess who that person might have been. But Hermione hadn’t dared turn around to see. For as long as she didn’t look, she wouldn’t know for certain. And not knowing seemed much safer than the possibility that Draco Malfoy was watching her, and remembering.

“Well I’m done with the two of you.” Madame Pomfrey’s voice pulled Hermione out of her internal ponderings and back into the hospital wing. “Now you remember what I said, Ms. Granger, you keep those bandages on. You needed more ointment than Ms. Brown did and it won’t sink in if it’s exposed to air.”

Hermione nodded wordlessly and stood up. She looked at her hands; they were covered in thick white wrappings. Things always seemed to happen to her hands. It was as if fate knew that the only true torture for Hermione was to somehow keep her from doing her class work. And as she gingerly tried flexing her fingers, Hermione knew that there wasn’t any way she’d be writing tonight. Even without the encompassing weight of the bandages, moving her stiff fingers caused more pain than she would care to repeat.



Lavender and Hermione parted ways at the stairwell above the entrance hall. Lavender was intending on using her afternoon off to mix together some of her Mavis’ Magical Makeup with a bit of Hannah Abbot’s muggle blush, supposedly this created quite an interesting combination that Parvarti swore could be seen from almost a kilometer away. Hermione personally couldn’t understand why you would want to glow like a traffic light, but she was getting along with Lavender far too well to actually say so. Hermione did politely refuse the makeover that Lavender eagerly offered and decided to take a walk around the lake instead.

A light spring breeze drifted across the crystalline water of the lake and Hermione was pleased that it wasn’t cold. In only a few short months they would be taking their OWLS. Hermione grimaced, she could be using this time to study for them, but no, she had to go and blow up a cauldron.

Hermione stopped near the edge of the lake; the Forbidden Forest was once again encroaching on the path that traced the bank. She had read in Hogwarts: A History that every few years magic had to be used to drive back the forest. The trees themselves seemed to have a mind of their own and sometimes appeared to want to devour the school. Hermione shivered as the sun passed behind a cloud leaving an ominous shadow reaching for her from the dark trees. And quite suddenly, Hermione knew that she was being watched.

She spun around but there was no one there. The feeling still lingered however, the icy absolute belief that someone was staring at her. The feeling was so intense, and the intensity was familiar.

“Draco?” She called out softly, her voice traveling farther than she had meant it too.

Hermione continued to nervously scan the woods. Her eyes fell upon a splash of sinister movement deep in the canopy of green. For a moment she thought she saw a figure.

“’ermione?”

Hermione cried out and whirled back around as Hagrid’s voice rumbled to her. Hagrid was walking along the path.

“Hagrid, there’s someone…” But Hermione’s voice trailed off as she looked back into the forested gloom. There wasn’t anyone there. “I thought I saw…” Hermione frowned bewilderedly.

“Why are’n yeh in class?” Hagrid asked coming to stand next to Hermione.

The sun escaped from behind the passing clouds and once again, the path was blanketed in the warm spring light. The portentous trees seemed to have almost recoiled under the lash of sunlight and Hermione’s feeling of being watched had all but vanished. She gave the suspicious thicket one last glance before turning to Hagrid, who was waiting for an answer. In response, Hermione held up her bandaged hands.

“Wha’ happened? Did Neville blow up a cauldron again?”

“No,” Hermione said glumly, “I did.”

Hagrid choked back a chuckle and said in a commiserating voice, “well, tha’ happens e’en to the best of us.”

“I can’t even do my homework,” Hermione muttered morosely, feeling rather sorry for herself as she suddenly found that one of her hands had become immensely itchy.

“Well yeh can come and ‘elp me then. Don’ worry, yeh won’ be needin’ yer hands.” Hagrid grinned toothily. “Just got me some bimestris in today. And I’m havin’ a hard time keepin’ calm while I unpack ‘em.”

Hermione walked along with Hagrid, glad to have something to do, and relieved to be no longer walking alone.

She had never heard of a bimestris' before, which was never a good sign since Hermione had a rather expansive knowledge of magical creatures and Hagrid had been known to have a fondness for illegal class subjects. The feeling of foreboding grew as they approached his clearing and a shrill sound could be heard. Upon reaching the hut, the noise was almost unbearable, it seemed like a thousand tiny voices were squealing in terror. However, her unease all but disappeared when she saw just what Hagrid was talking about. Inside several open crates near his door, were very small, different colored, furry animals. The animals themselves, which were no bigger than the palm of Hermione’s hand were squealing in fright and scrabbling over each other in a rush to get to nowhere. A few of the furry little beasts paused their frantic struggle and looked up at Hermione with undisguised interest, their pink noses twitching, before giving back into their fit of fright and rejoined the fray.

“Hagrid,” Hermione asked smiling, “what do they do?”

“Well, when they aren’ bein so skittish, they do all sorts of things.” Hagrid reached his hand down to one of them and like a school of fish they all sheared off just out reach. “They’re generally used to get rid of weeds in wizards’ gardens. Yeh see, they love to munch on fresh grass and such, but they 'lways seem to know which plants not to touch.” Hagrid smiled affectionately at the scurrying little things. “Oh, 'nd since yeh c' see how skittish they are, yeh hardly ever see ‘em. Yeh could put 'bou a hundred of ‘em into Professor Sprout’s greenhouse and n'ver see a single one. They’re kinda like house elves in that respect.”

“Well I think it’s wrong for everyone to expect the house-elves to stay out of sight. Of course, that’s probably how most people have been able to overlook the cruel conditions that a house elf lives under in the wizarding society. Out of sight out of…”

“’ermione,” Hagrid said gently, “you’re upsettin’ the bimestris.”

Hermione broke off her rant and glanced back down into the crate and found that the little furry rodents were now even more frantic than they had been a moment before. “Oh I’m sorry,” she said quickly to Hagrid, “I hadn’t meant to frighten them. How do we calm them down?”

“Well, they 'lways seem t' like a good hum.”

“A what?” Hermione asked.

“A hum, they like humming. But no' mine fer some reason.” Hagrid’s grin momentarily faded over this. “But I think they migh' like yers.”

Hermione glanced at the bimestris and then back at Hagrid, “what should I hum?”

“Eny ol' tun'll work.”

She furrowed her brow and tried to think of a song. Being suddenly put on the spot had momentarily wiped all songs from her head. Hermione took a breath and finally began to hum a slow melodic tune. A song that she couldn’t quite remember the words to, although looking back on it, Hermione would have remembered that it was the same tune that she danced to so very long ago out in the garden when the snow was still falling.

One by one, the bimestris took notice of the gentle humming and they began to sway slowly along with the sound, allowing Hagrid the opportunity to reach down and pluck them up. He examined their fur and their eyes and gave each one a smart tap on the nose, which made the bimestris squirm, squeal, and then finally sneeze a fine dust that sparkled as it dispersed in the air. Then Hagrid kindly deposited each one into a large hutch that was waiting nearby.

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon keeping the bimestris distracted while Hagrid went through this process again and again until each and every single one had been examined and then put into their new home. When they were finished, Hermione bid her adieus and walked back up to the school. With her heart fairly light and her mood mild. Even if she couldn’t do her homework, she had still been helpful to a teacher and that always made Hermione happy. She had just reached the door when she felt the urge to glance back over her shoulder. There, at the edge of the forest, stood a figure. Hermione squinted her eyes against the setting sun, trying to see if it was Hagrid, but the figure was gone back into the darkness before she had a chance. Hermione stood nervously, watching for a moment longer before continuing on into the school.



A gust of wind blew the portrait shut behind her and Hermione flinched, she couldn’t explain it, she did not consider herself to be a high-strung person. Well, yes, maybe when it came to her studies, that was all though. But Hermione had felt as if she had been walking on eggshells all day. The halls of the school had seemed strangely deserted when she returned from Hagrid’s hut earlier that afternoon. The bright sun couldn’t seem to penetrate the inner halls of the school. The normally dazzling fires and cheery candles only served to spread deep shadows that reached hungry fingers towards Hermione.

There was a creak behind her and Hermione held her breath. A hand came down on her shoulder and she felt something wild and panicky come to life inside of her. Hermione spun around and struck out as hard as she could. There was an exclamation and the hand fell away.

Fred stumbled away from Hermione, grasping his side where Hermione had just punched him. George stood behind him in the portrait hole, staring with open shock.

“Ow Hermione!” Fred grumbled, “what was that for?”

“Fred?” Hermione seemed to be having trouble catching up with the moment. “Oh goodness, Fred. I’m so sorry.” Hermione stepped towards him.

George had started to snicker. Hermione and Fred both glared at him but he only began to laugh harder. “That’s what you get, Fred!” He said in gasps, “I told you not to go around, sneaking up on the girls. It might be okay for those Hufflepuffs you were so taken with earlier, but our Gryffindor girls are a whole other class.”

“Shut up George,” Fred exclaimed mildly, some of the color returning to his face.

“I’m so sorry Fred, I didn’t know it was you. I thought…I don’t know what I thought.” Hermione felt just awful, she didn’t consider herself to be a violent person either.

The portrait hole opened again, Ron and Harry climbed through, laboring over a large stack of books that they had taken out from the library for their Charms homework.

“What’s so funny?” Ron asked cautiously.

“Nothing!” Fred interjected.

“Why are you holding your side like that?” Harry wondered as Fred grimaced.

“Nothing,” George agreed, “Fred just found out that our Hermione is going to grow up to be a boxer for the national British circuit.”

Hermione blushed as Harry and Ron turned to look her. “Well he did sneak up on me.” She said contritely.

“It’s all right Hermione, I’ll forgive you, in time. Maybe after a long, painful recovery, I’ll be able to find the strength to look past this slight and…” Fred broke off as Hermione glowered at him. He suddenly fell to his knees, clasping his hands together in front of his chest; he crawled towards her, “please don’t hit me again Hermione. I’ll do anything! Please.” Fred begged.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Hermione turned her back on the four boys who were now howling with laughter and walked back out through the portrait hole. She was almost to the library when Hermione realized that she had meant to go to her dorm room before her friends had waylaid her.



Whispering voices echoed off of the voluminous stacks of books and Hermione breathed in deeply, air that wasn’t quite stale, but certainly old. She loved it, the smell of books and bindings, the quiet of so many students intent on learning, even old Madame Pince, with her officious glare always felt like a welcome to Hermione.

The little room was empty, but she hadn’t expected Draco to be there anyway. It was oddly comforting to not have him here. She could sit and do work and not have to worry about him. Not that she could do anything with her bandages on. Hermione sat down glumly. Her brow crinkled as she stared bleakly at a stack of books. She fought back a yawn; Hermione hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, what with Draco and all.

Draco, Hermione sighed dreamily, he plagued her thoughts constantly. She knew that it was ridiculous to let herself feel something for him. He was a Slytherin, and she was a Gryffindor. He was as pureblooded as a wizard could come and she was just a lowly muggle-born. Her friends hated him, and he seemed to revel in their loathing. Hermione knew all the reason why she couldn’t fall for Draco Malfoy. Her methodical mind always saw the truth, but no matter what her mind told her, Hermione couldn’t fight down the intense happiness she felt when Draco would look at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. When his smirk would fade into a gentle smile. Or the pleasure she felt when he would brush her hair back from her face. Or the peculiar tingling that she felt when he touched her.

Hermione groaned and buried the memories as far back in her head as she could. Forcing herself to think of anything other than Draco, her mind stumbled back upon her earlier unease by the lake, and then the continued discomfort that she had felt while walking through the halls. Even after all of the terrible things that had happened to Harry inside of Hogwarts and the surrounding grounds, Hermione still believed Hogwarts to be one of the safest places in all of England, and yet a trace of her fear still lingered on the periphery of her subconscious. That absolute knowledge that someone had been watching her by the lake had frightened her. Had there really been someone there?

The fire in the grate snapped and Hermione jumped. “This is ridiculous!” She snapped out loud, the sound a relief in the all too silent room.

Hermione began to furiously tug at her bandages, finally managing to untangle one end. She began to carefully unwrap her damaged hands, she didn’t care that they were supposed to stay wrapped for at least another hour, she had to find something to occupy her mind. Her hands were raw and red looking, but there weren’t any open sores. Hermione flexed them a few times trying to relieve the stiffness and then tentatively picked up a quill and held it loosely, testing it. Her fingers twitched with a spasm of pain and Hermione gritted her teeth, determined to force her hand to do what she wanted it to do. For a few minutes, Hermione didn’t think she would be able to do it, but Gryffindors are tenacious and after awhile, the sharp pain emanating from her fingers subsided and she threw herself into the work.

They had been progressing nicely, Draco and her, but in the past month since they had discovered the spell books, they had focused on little else than interpreting and then testing each spell that they found. The other books had been neglected, and with the school year more than half over already, Hermione worried that they might not finish. Professor Vector had never said whether she expected all the work to be completed by the end of term. Hermione wondered if maybe they could work on it over the summer. She tried to imagine herself sitting with Draco at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor scrutinizing some ancient text written in Latin and then transcribed into an Arithmantic code. It almost seemed like a date. Hermione grinned wryly to herself.

Another thought occurred to her then, what was Draco going to do over the summer? If he wasn’t speaking to his father, and if Lucius was so dangerous, was he going back to the Manor? Maybe he had some relative somewhere that would take him in. Hermione didn’t think Draco would be very happy over the idea of ‘being taken in’ and she also doubted whether there was a relation that Lucius Malfoy couldn’t control. Hermione didn’t even consider Draco’s mother. She had little doubt that the story of some grand illness was all just a farce to upset Draco.

Sighing, Hermione cleared a space on the table on then went to fetch some of the long neglected tomes. She pushed one crate over towards the table with the tip of her toe, not wanting to use her hands any more than she had to. Her face flushed pink with exertion and Hermione strained harder in order to move the large box. There was a creaking noise, and the old wood that made up crate gave way and Hermione stumbled and fell into a pile of boxes.

She lay stunned for a moment not believing the horrendous luck that she was having today. A thick cloud of dust had risen when she landed and now it was settling back over everything, causing Hermione, who was not a good conductor for dust, to sneeze.

“I should just go back to my room and go to bed!” Hermione grumbled crossly under her breath.

She got to her feet and began to carefully restack the books that she had fallen into. Turning back to the box that had been her downfall, literally, she noticed that just poking through the hole she had created was a thin and very fragile looking piece of folded up parchment.

Hermione was so use to looking at Arithmancy codes and Latin translations now that it took her a moment to recognize English. It was old English of course, but Hermione would pick it over Latin any day. The paper turned out to be a letter written in the same scratchy style that O’Leary used.

My Dear McKenna,

I know not where to begin. It has been such a long time since I have seen the waters that surround our old homestead, and I fear that it might be longer still before I return. I wish not to alarm you, only to pray that you’ll remember me to my young nieces and nephew. Our resistance has been futile thus far. I know that every able-bodied wizard must help fight back this plague, but you know that I was never one to battle.

I have killed, my dear sister, killed one of the dark ones. He was looking for me, he knew of my home in the forest, and of my work. I could not allow him to tell the others of our plans. Only, I had not meant to kill him, I swear to you I had not. I had only meant to stun, the spell I had made was only meant to stun. But I was so angry, and hate-filled, and the spell took a life all it own. And when the putrid green light had faded, I wished that I had never joined this fray, that I had never taken a wand into my hand even.

Morson was there when it happened; he was a witness to my sin. But he rejoiced in the act. He pleasured in the horror left apparent in the dead man’s eyes. And then, I’m ashamed to admit it, I taught him how. And he taught the others. We dealt a great blow to the ministry. There was much rejoicing amongst my friends, but how can anything good come from so much death?

I wish only to come home now, I wish only to relinquish this ill-forsaken quest of righteousness and come back. But I fear that this is not possible, that this will never again be possible.

The letter ended abruptly and Hermione set it back where she had found it with shaking hands, wishing that it had remained hidden. Turning, Hermione let her eyes traipse over the rest of the collection. A look of nauseous determination came into her eyes, and Hermione threw herself into the old spell books with abandon, looking for what she hoped wouldn’t be there. But it was.



It was well after curfew when the door creaked open again. Hermione didn’t move at all. Draco slipped into the room not noticing her immediately. Setting his bag to one side he looked up, seeing her finally.

“What’s wrong? Do your hands still hurt?” He asked her, noticing her odd behavior.

She raised her eyes to meet his and he could tell that she had been crying, there was a rosy hint to her face and she sniffled.

“He did it,” she whispered.

“What?” Draco stepped to her and gently touched her cheek, “Who did what?”

“I found it, in the books, that one there,” Hermione pointed to a book at the far end of the table. It was bound in an old, nondescript binding. She was sitting in the farthest chair from the table, eyeing the book with a look of queasy disbelief.

“Hermione,” Draco kneeled in front of her and turned her head to look at him, “what did you find?”

Her eyes began to mist with tears again and her voice sounded painfully fragile, “I found Aveda Kedavra.”