Hermione glanced back at the train as she climbed into the carriage. "Maybe we should have waited, Ron."
Ron sighed. "Hermione, I'm sure he's fine. He knows what he's doing."
"Harry loses all sense of perspective the moment Malfoy's involved," Hermione pointed out. "If he's not at the table within the hour —"
"We go to McGonagall," Ron said. "He's fine. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll give Malfoy a bloody nose."
Something twisted in Hermione's chest. "That's not funny."
"Oh, come on!" Ron laughed as they settled into the carriage. "You had no complaints when you hit him third year."
"Because he was being completely insufferable."
"He's always completely insufferable."
"He hasn't actually done anything yet this year!"
"Why are you defending him?!" Ron snapped.
Hermione hesitated. Was she defending Malfoy? No. She was simply applying some fairness. After what had happened to Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry, perhaps Draco had learnt something. Perhaps things would be different. She didn't know that for certain — but she didn't know the opposite either.
"I'm not defending anyone," she said quietly, as the carriage pulled away and the track beneath them grew uneven, the great winged horses lifting them into the air. "But his father is in Azkaban now. Maybe that changes him. I just don't think we ought to judge him before we've seen how he behaves. Pansy said —"
"Parkinson?" Ron asked sharply. "Since when do we care what Parkinson says? When did she talk to you?"
Hermione blinked. She'd forgotten entirely that she'd never told them about the conversation during their patrol. And she very much doubted Pansy would want it repeated.
"I — I just overheard her," she said quickly. "She mentioned Draco had been distant over the summer. Even from his own friends."
Ron crossed his arms as the carriage rattled up the path. "Distant or not, he's still Malfoy. People like that don't change. Even if you're determined to believe the best in them."
Hermione sighed. "I know. I'm just worried about Harry. Hoping for the best."
She gripped the seat as the carriage lifted off properly. She truly hated flying.
"If Harry misses the carriages, he'll have to walk," she muttered. "We should have waited."
Ron gave her an exasperated look, clutching the edge of the seat. "Stop worrying, Hermione. It's Harry. He's probably already outsmarted Malfoy by now."
Hermione chewed her lip and looked back at the train, now small in the distance.
---
As the carriage touched down on the grounds of Hogwarts, Hermione stepped out at once and scanned the landing area, searching for a familiar untidy head of dark hair.
"He's probably tucked in behind one of the other carriages," Ron said reasonably. "Come on — I'm starving."
Inside the Great Hall, Hermione's eyes kept drifting to the entrance doors throughout the Sorting, missing most of the conversation around her. She only half-heard what Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Dean were saying.
To her relief, Harry did eventually arrive — marching through the Hall with purpose, wedging himself into a seat between Hermione and Ron.
"Blimey — what've you done to your face?" Ron gaped.
Hermione stared at the dried blood across Harry's nose, the quiet swelling around it. Whatever had happened, his nose had clearly been broken, though someone had already set it again — it looked normal enough now.
"You're covered in blood," she said, her face going pale. "Here — come here." She raised her wand to cast a Tergeo, cleaning him up with a few careful passes.
"Thanks," Harry said. "How's my nose?"
Hermione relaxed slightly. "Normal." She lowered her wand. "Harry, what happened? I've been beside myself. I told Ron we shouldn't have left you."
"Hey!" Ron protested. "I was worried too. I just wasn't making a scene about it."
"I'll tell you later," Harry said, his tone clipped.
"But —"
"Not now, Hermione." His voice had darkened into something final.
She swallowed and nodded, watching him load up his plate — he'd missed dinner entirely. "You missed the Sorting."
"Anything interesting?"
"The usual, really. Unity and all that."
"Seems to be the theme of the moment," Ron muttered.
Hermione paid him no attention, her eyes still on Harry's face. She kept returning to that cleaned-up bruise, the slight puffiness at the bridge of his nose. Whatever Malfoy had done — and she was almost certain now it had been Malfoy — Harry wasn't ready to say. She could wait.
The chatter in the Hall fell quiet as Dumbledore rose to speak, and Hermione turned her attention to the head table.
She drew in a short breath. "What's happened to his hand?"
Dumbledore's right hand was blackened and withered, the skin dead-looking from the tips of his fingers to the wrist.
"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harry murmured. "I thought Madam Pomfrey would've sorted it by now."
"It looks as though it's been cursed," Hermione said, her voice low, a nauseated expression crossing her face. "Some curses can't be healed outright — old, complex magic. There are poisons too, with no known counter-agents…" She trailed off, then added, "It's like with your eyes, Harry. Some damage we simply can't reverse —"
"Professor Slughorn has kindly agreed to return to Hogwarts and resume his old post as Potions master." Dumbledore's voice carried clearly over the Hall, and a ripple of confusion broke out.
"Potions?" Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry.
"You said —"
"Professor Snape will be taking the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore continued.
"No!" Harry exclaimed.
"But Harry, you said Slughorn was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!" Hermione's confusion was growing by the second.
"I thought he was!" Harry argued. "Well — there's one bright side. Snape won't last the year."
"What do you mean?" Ron asked.
"The post is jinxed. Nobody's kept it for more than a year. Quirrell died in it. I'll keep my fingers crossed for history to repeat itself."
"Harry!" Hermione scolded.
He didn't get the chance to respond. Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the Hall fell silent.
"Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and growing in strength." The words dropped into the quiet like stones into still water.
The silence that followed was total.
"I cannot emphasise strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer; we are protected in new and more powerful ways — but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions your teachers may impose upon you, however irksome they might seem — in particular, the rule against being out of bed after hours. I implore you: should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and each other's safety."
Dumbledore's blue eyes swept slowly over the students before his familiar smile returned.
"But now, your beds await — warm and comfortable, as I'm told they usually are — and I know that your greatest priority is to be well-rested for tomorrow's lessons. Let us, therefore, say goodnight. Pip pip!"
The Hall broke apart in a scrape of benches and a surge of chatter. Hermione darted ahead to fulfil her prefect duty of leading the new Gryffindors to the Tower and showing them to their rooms.
She took up her position with the other prefects and waited as the first-years gathered, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes for a moment. Perhaps Harry would tell Ron what had happened in the meantime.
"— thought he could spy on us." Malfoy's voice cut through the noise a few feet away. "I had to remind him what happens when you make a move against a Malfoy."
Hermione's eyes opened.
'Spy on us,' she thought.
"So you hexed him?" Theodore Nott asked.
"More than hexed him," Malfoy said, with the satisfaction of someone who had very much enjoyed himself. "First Expelliarmus — knocked the wand right out of his hand. Then Petrificus Totalus, so he couldn't move. And then —" he mimed a stamp with his foot — "I made sure he'd think twice before following me again."
Pansy glanced in Hermione's direction for just a fraction of a second before looking back at Draco, laughing softly.
The blood had risen to Hermione's face before she'd fully processed the decision to move. She crossed the corridor toward him in three strides.
Malfoy was mid-gesture, still relishing his retelling, when her shadow fell over the group. He looked up — and for just a moment, the laughter dropped, a flicker of something startled moving behind his eyes before the smirk reasserted itself.
"Granger," he said. "Come to defend your Chosen One?"
"You broke his nose," Hermione said, her voice low and furious.
"I taught Potter that he isn't untouchable," Malfoy replied coolly. "He walked into our compartment uninvited. A little blood was a fair consequence. Nothing permanent."
"You ambushed him."
"He came to us of his own accord. If he wanted to eavesdrop, he should have been better at it."
Hermione's wand was in her hand. She pressed it to his throat in one sharp movement, and he stepped back instinctively, stopping only when his shoulders met the stone wall. The laughter around them died.
"You're foul, Malfoy," she said, her voice still low, shaking slightly with the effort of holding it there. "And to think I was actually defending you to Ron. That I actually thought — maybe, with your father in Azkaban — maybe you'd make something better of yourself."
Malfoy's expression changed. The smugness was still present, but beneath it there was a flash of something more genuine — surprise, or perhaps indignation — before he pressed it back down and forced his smirk wider.
"Careful, Granger," he said, with elaborate unconcern. "Threatening a fellow student isn't a good look. Especially for someone with so many rules to uphold."
"Do you think I care about that right now?" The fury in her voice surprised even her. "Is it always a joke to you, Malfoy? Does hurting people just — amuse you?"
His smirk deepened with something almost dangerous. He lowered his voice. "Tell me, Granger — why do you care so much what I find amusing?"
"How dare you even —" She stopped herself. "Don't twist my words."
"I'm using your exact words," he said pleasantly. "You asked whether I get off on hurting people. If you'd like me to answer that —"
"I said no such —"
"'Do you get off on hurting people?' You said it not thirty seconds ago." His grey eyes held hers steadily. "Now, if you want an honest answer —"
"Stop —" Hermione said sharply, pressing the wand harder.
Something shifted slightly in his expression. When he spoke again, for one unnerving moment, it didn't quite sound like a performance. "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps you're the one who seeks out this particular confrontation?"
Hermione's breath caught.
"Enough!" Professor McGonagall's voice cracked across the corridor like a Stunning Spell. "Miss Granger — wand down. This is not the example we set in front of first-years." Her gaze swept to Malfoy. "And you, Mr Malfoy — I am appalled. Thirty points from Gryffindor for the wand. Fifty from Slytherin for that language." She looked between the two of them, her voice dropping. "It is the first evening of term. A divided school is the last thing any of us can afford. I strongly suggest the two of you find a way to put your differences aside." She looked to the Slytherins gathered behind Malfoy. "And are you all Prefects now? Bed. All of you." They scattered.
"Miss Parkinson." McGonagall turned. "Perhaps you and Mr Malfoy could take your first-years down to your common room."
Pansy's eyes moved between Malfoy and Hermione once more. "Come on, Draco," she said simply.
Malfoy straightened his robes, gave Pansy a short nod, and walked with her toward the dungeons.
Hermione looked at her cluster of wide-eyed, silent first-years.
"Congratulations on your Sorting," she said, slightly too briskly. Several of them stared at her.
Ron appeared at her shoulder. "Ready? You alright?"
Hermione put her wand away without meeting his eyes and nodded once. "Yes. Fine." Her voice was a note higher than usual. "Let's go."
---
"That was odd," Pansy said as they made their way down to the dungeons, the first-years trailing at a respectful distance.
"What are you talking about?" Draco said.
"Granger nearly hexed you."
"She's annoying. She can't stand to leave anything alone where Potter's concerned."
Pansy studied him sidelong. "You don't usually bother with her unless Potter's there. Tonight felt different. Almost like you wanted her to react."
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said. "She showed up waving her wand in my face. What was I supposed to do — thank her?"
Pansy shrugged. "Well. Next time you decide to wind Granger up, try not to look quite so flustered when she pushes back."
"Flustered?" Draco said flatly. "Don't make me laugh, Parkinson."
"Was she your girlfriend?" asked a small voice from very close behind him.
Draco stopped dead. The girl behind him walked straight into him.
"Ow," she muttered, stepping back.
Pansy pressed the inside of her cheek very hard between her teeth.
Draco turned to look at the girl — small, dark-haired, looking up at him without any apparent fear.
"Zoe Accington," she said, and held out her hand.
"I didn't ask," Draco said.
She put her hand down. "Okay. So your girlfriend —"
"Granger is not my girlfriend," Draco said, with a precision that he immediately regretted.
"Oh — your friend who's more than a friend, then? My brother's always saying —"
"You're new here," Draco said. "Let me explain something. Hermione Granger and I are enemies. Do you understand that?"
Zoe looked up at him with the enormous eyes of someone who understood perfectly well and didn't believe a word of it. "Got it," she said.
She turned back to the group behind her and whispered, loudly, "I think he likes her."
"I do not like her!" Draco said.
Pansy could no longer contain herself. The laugh escaped before she could stop it. Watching Draco go red in the face over the cheerful certainty of a brand-new first-year was genuinely the most entertaining thing she had witnessed all day.
"Shut up, Pansy," he muttered, turning sharply and continuing toward the dungeons.
The first-years giggled among themselves. Draco walked faster.
"She looked really angry," Zoe reported to the girl next to her, in a carrying whisper. "But like, kind of pretty when she was angry? Don't you think?"
"Granger is not pretty," Draco announced, to no one in particular, in a tone that strongly suggested he was trying to convince himself.
"This is beneath me," he muttered, pushing on.
"It would stop," Pansy pointed out airily, "if you stopped engaging."
"Venin," she said at the entrance, and the stone wall slid open. She turned to the cluster of wide-eyed eleven-year-olds. "Password changes every fortnight. It'll be posted in the common room. Forget it, and you'll be knocking on Professor Snape's door." She stepped aside. "In you go. Classes begin first thing in the morning."
Draco followed, not saying anything else. But as he passed through the entrance, Pansy caught the look on his face — the particular, entirely involuntary expression of someone who was already thinking about something he had firmly told himself he wasn't thinking about.
She said nothing. She didn't need to.