by Key
 
 

Chapter 2
Confronted
 

Hermione couldn’t quite focus in her classes for a week after The Incident. She was sitting at
her desk, in Arithmancy while Professor Vector lectured endlessly about things her occupied brain
wasn’t ready to process at the time. The worst thing was that now in their sixth year instead of
Potions class, they were now sharing the Slytherins Arithmancy. Her stomach continued to make
noises, and she slumped back in her seat, sighing, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers, then
shifting the weight of her torso back to the desk again. Her fidgeting was driving Ron crazy. He
already knew of what happened; they both did. Harry had been falsely accused by Filch after all,
but the matter had been settled peacefully by McGonagall when Ron and Seamus had testified that
Harry had been there in the common room with them long after midnight playing chess.

That did not mean that they weren’t angry with her. Malfoy had gotten it right; she hadn’t really
taken permission when she “borrowed” the Cloak. It wasn’t the right thing to do, not really. Her
access to the Cloak was very, very limited now. Hermione had said that she was trying to go to
the Restricted area in the library instead of telling of her real destination. Her guilt was huge, but if
the two had anyone to blame her for her newfound devious nature, they had no one but themselves.
However, she hadn’t thought that her behavior would lead to this big a consequence, and she
hadn’t even told them the whole truth, either!

It’s all his fault, Hermione thought hysterically for the umpteenth time that week, as her pencil
rolled off her table for the third time that morning.

“Honestly, Miss Granger,” came Professor Vector’s chiding voice. “Do try to be more careful,
or is the class too boring for your taste?”

Oh, stop being so melodramatic, Hermione thought, but spoke, “No, of course not. Please,
excuse me.”

And when she had knelt down to pick the offensive object up, a crumpled paper dropped at
her feet. Tensing, she deftly caught it between her index and forefinger to then resume her place
next to Ron. Malfoy had strangely kept to her promise of not reporting her, which, for the life
of Hermione, she could not comprehend. But, she did anticipate him wanting to discuss their
“meeting” sooner or later, whether to tease or blackmail, she did not yet know. It took him a
whole damn week to do it!

Not wasting time, she silently spread the tiny paper, and her scowl deepened when she read
the note.

“What’s that?” leant Ron next to her, making her heart jump.

“N-Nothing,” she stammered, crumpling the paper ruthlessly in her palm, but as fate would
have it, Vector swept down and caught her wrist.

“Give me the paper, Granger.”

Horrified, Hermione stood up, shaking her head. Vector ignored this, and tried to pry her
fingers open when suddenly her eyes widened impossibly, and she dropped Hermione’s hand
to shock the class when she scooped her skirt up to her knees and shrieked when she saw a
legless hairy creature whirl endlessly around her legs, up and down, going too fast for her to
grab...

The class burst in laughter as Professor Vector hopped and kicked around the classroom, still
holding her skirt in her hand, and screaming at the same time. Hermione wasted no time in
muttering an incantation which reduced the blasted note to a mere puff of smoke. She then
ventured a quick glance at Malfoy who wasn’t trying to hide his amusement, as he chortled with
the rest of the class over the Professor’s fret. She then glanced guiltily at Ron, knowing that the
“creature” was the Dancing Spider hex Fred and George had invented only recently. He gave
her a you-better-be-grateful look, although his eyes were sparkling with mirth.

Hermione’s mouth twitched as she saw Lavender hold Professor Vector’s flailing arms, as Patil
grabbed the Spider pinching the Professor’s leg in the process.

There was an angry silence, only disturbed by Professor Vector’s deep breathes as well as a
few subduing sniffles. Professor Vector then pulled her arm violently from Lavender’s grasp, and
walked right over to Hermione, now towering over her like a vertical broomstick.

“Detention. Report this to McGonagall’s office. Now.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror. Her brain refused to process the information the way it
should be processed. She? Detention? Never in all her years at Hogwarts had she ever received
detention, and she had always prided herself on that fact.. which was about to change?

Her mouth opened to protest, but she shut it abruptly after she saw the crazy gleam in Professor
Vector’s eyes. She let her head drop in defeat, and looked at Harry intending to gesture for him to
take care of her stuff but met his sympathetic gaze and sighed, looking away. She did not bother
to look at Draco again. He was the cause of all of this. He was probably sneering at her because
he was the reason she was shamed publicly this way. Her grief turned to anger. The stupid note
wasn’t worth all this mess!

Hermione seethed heatedly, as she walked down the corridor which lead to Professor McGonagall’s
office, tears stinging her eyes, and an angry lump stuck in her throat. She finally let out a sob as she
stood briefly by one of the portraits who, to her annoyance, was trying to cheer her up. She dabbed
at her eyes with her sleeve, lifting her head, and attempted to regain her composure. She had to face
this; it was not her fault! She would.. tell Malfoy off? No. She didn’t want to reveal what was in that
note. Hermione groaned, and hit her hand on her forehead. She was crazy! How could she be
thinking of that stupid door when she could be getting herself out of this mess? Then again, it might
further complicate things if she did confess. Things could turn nastier than they already were if Harry
and Ron learnt the truth. McGonagall had not been satisfied completely even with Harry’s proved
innocence that evening at her office.

Dear God. She was now standing out of the Head of Griffyndor’s door. How was she to begin?
She knew Ron counted on her not to utter a word. Hermione pursed her lips. She realized that this
was probably punishment for not telling the truth where it was wanted, and decided to take it
proudly.

She knocked on the door, and when prompted to enter, she did, and stood silently for a moment
as McGonagall sat there jotting down notes. She put her quill down after a while, and looked up
at Hermione, lacing her fingers together, giving the girl an awful sense of dread.

“Well? What may I be assistance of?”

Hermione wet her lips, and took a few steps forward. “There’s been a slight.. problem in Professor
Vector’s class.”

The stern look on McGonagall’s did not change in reality, but Hermione visualized that it very
much did. She winced, then gulped, taking in a deep breath. “S-Someone released a Dan- I mean
some sort of a practical joke on the Professor, and she got angry assuming it was me.”

“Why was this ‘practical joke’ released?” asked McGonagall, raising her eyebrows.

“Um.. I think it was a distraction. I was.. caught with a note.”

“A note? I never thought you the kind to exchange notes in class,” Professor McGonagall shook
her head with a sigh. “Carry on, then. Who was this note from?”

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to think quickly, but McGonagall warned, “I will have nothing
but the truth, Miss Granger.”

It’s punishment, punishment! You don’t run away from it, you have to FACE it! Screamed
her conscience. Hermione shuffled her legs, and looked down. “It was from.. from..”

“From?” McGonagall prompted impatiently, steadying her spectacles on her nose.

“From.. Ron!” Hermione lied, anyway, her conscience officially dead for the time being. “He
wanted to know whether I was going to the library after class.”

“And that is the truth, Miss Granger?”

Hermione raised her eyes to meet the Professor’s. “Yes.”

“She sent you here for detention, didn’t she?” Professor McGonagall asked, leaning back in her
chair. The way she relaxed did not comfort Hermione one bit. There was something very awful
about to happen, her intuition NEVER failed her.

“Y-yes,” Hermione managed. “But she got it wrong! I didn’t hex her with that Dancing Spider!”

“Oh, a Dancing Spider,” McGonagall quietly said, “Was that Ron again?”

“No!” Hermione cried, her face flushing hotly, “No. He didn’t do it. I don’t know who did it. We,
we share the class with the Slytherins—”

“Ah, so they automatically get blamed instead?”

Hermione’s eyes widened, her jaw falling a bit. What was with the gracious attitude, anyway?
“They aren’t known for their good habits, so yes, I was suggesting that it might be a Slytherin.”

“’Aren’t known for their good habits’,” Professor McGonagall repeated slowly, stroking her
chin. She then looked Hermione in the eye sternly. “You do realize that I know it was you who
was sneaking around that night, don’t you, Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s heart sank. Her mouth trembled, but she smiled bitterly. She could not bring herself
to deny it any longer. “How did you know?”

Hermione did not catch Professor McGonagall’s amused smirk. “I know my students, Granger.
Especially your little group. If it isn’t Harry, it’s Ronald. And if it isn’t Ronald, it’s you. However,
my suspicions were confirmed when you were overheard talking about the incident in the hallways.”

Hermione looked up. She wanted to ask who that student was so she could give him or her a
piece of her mind, but she knew better than to ask.

“I think this has carried on for too long, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall continued, and
Hermione groaned inwardly, realizing this wasn’t about detention nor Professor Vector’s resentment
anymore. “You are a prefect. An example. There is a big chance that you are to be selected Head
Girl, but how do you think you would manage that with the way you’ve been behaving?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, her eyes flashing at the revelation that she might be Head
Girl. “I-I won’t do anything of this sort anymore. I promise you. It will be the very last time.”

The Head of Griffyndor looked tired all of a sudden. “Be careful, Miss Granger. There are people
here who would jump at the chance to ruin Griffyndor. Our House had been successful for years,
but life doesn’t remain the same. And you very well might be the sacrifice if you don’t start to behave.
This goes for Potter and Weasley, as well.”

“Who do you mean?” Hermione looked horrified. It was like she was referring to someone very
evil, not related to Hogwarts in any sense. “How are they going to ruin Griffyndor?”

Professor McGonagall shook her head, and stood up, prodding a reluctant Hermione to the door.
“You do not have to know anything beside having to stay out of trouble at all costs. You must
understand this: if a complaint comes out of any of you three one more time, something very
unexpected, and I would think, rather dreadful will happen. Good day, Miss Granger, and inform
Professor Vector that you will stay behind to clean the desks after the class is over.”

Hermione gritted her teeth, but the door was already shut. Something dreadful? She a sacrifice?
What on EARTH was she talking about?
 

- - - - -

The only consolation Hermione relieved her punishment with as she wiped the Arithmancy desks
clean was that they were not the Potions desks. Her cheeks hurt from clamping her jaw shut too
tightly, but Hermione didn’t give it any attention. She could not believe the way things were going.
This was a cruel twist of fate. Trelawany might be an idiot, but Hermione believed in fate and
destiny minus the flowering words and the stargazing. McGonagall’s words of caution came to
her again then again. Who are these people? She asked herself uselessly, as she wet her rug in
the bucket to start scrubbing again. Had McGonagall resorted to telling her this because she
thought she was beginning to be useless? Hermione flushed at the thought, a new sheen of liquid
covering her eyes. Her perfect history was about to be stained; she just knew it. And the lie about
Ron passing her the note.. Dear Lord. How had she said that? The guilt was now tearing at her
insides, and she put up the rug to her forehead, wiping her eyelashes with her other hand.

“Poor mudblood. Finally realized your position in life? You can’t believe how right you look with
that rug in your hand.”

Hermione looked at Draco with venom shooting out of her eyes. She might have been feeling
guilty over Ron, but she could never feel guilty over wanting Draco Malfoy’s long and painful
death. She turned her back on him, and started wiping away. Her apprehension heightened when
he neared her; she felt his gaze on her back as she worked, but did not turn towards him.

“Was a good joke back in class, wasn’t it?” He grinned, leaning over one of the desks, arms
crossed, as he looked sideways at her scowling face.

“I would hardly call it a ‘joke’, Malfoy,” Hermione spat, grabbing her bucket, and stomping
off to the other side of the room, ignoring Draco’s amused chuckle. “You just had to drop that
note in Vector’s class, didn’t you?”

Draco shrugged. “It seemed right at the time. And funny.”

“Well I should assume that you think before acting, Malfoy!” Hermione snapped, tightening her
grasp on the rug till she squeezed out water. “This is all your fault!”

“Sure,” Draco rolled his eyes, then grinned at her, walking towards her.

Hermione frowned slightly. Malfoy was being obnoxious today, but not atrociously obnoxious
which was strange to say the least. Hermione’s dread intensified.

“So,” he began once he settled himself on a desk, childishly swinging his legs as he smiled at her,
“Are you going with me?”

“Malfoy,” Hermione looked at him straight in the eye. “I’m serving detention right now and not
enjoying it. I suppose you wouldn’t want detention either, would you?”

“You didn’t seem to care much about detention that night,” Draco’s grin widened, then his
expression grew thoughtful, “Or should I change my mind and report you to McGonagall?”

Hermione let out a bitter loud laugh at that, bewildering Draco for a moment before apprehension
fell upon his features. “She knows, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, she knows,” Hermione glowered dangerously at him, “And wouldn’t tell me who
“overheard”.I thought if anyone was going to report me it would be you, but I have to admit I’m
surprised which forces me to ask: why didn’t you report me?”

Draco rolled his eyes again, pissing Hermione beyond belief, as he ran a hand through his hair,
“Really, Granger. What’s with you these days? Has Weasel and Potty’s stupidity finally rubbed
off on you?”

“You leave them out of this!” Hermione shouted, throwing the rug on the table. “Just tell me why!”

Malfoy abruptly hopped off the desk, stepping dangerously close towards her, making her gulp,
but didn’t nearly manage to remove her glare from his. “If you want to know it’s because you
saw me there too.”

Hermione frowned, her lips parting. How did he know she didn’t tell him off? She blinked, then
took a good step backwards, finally realizing how close he was to her. He seemed pleased at her
reaction, and leant back on the desk, smiling at her. He seemed to smile a lot today, Hermione
thought resentfully.

She crossed her arms, not knowing how sensually attractive she looked in Draco’s eyes at the
time. The atmosphere was probably playing a role too, they were, after all, alone, and the room
was dimly lit. He looked her up; her hair gathered on the top of her head, wisps of hair sticking
to her sweaty neck, and her rosy cheeks were temptingto say the least. Draco’s eyes softened
as he eyed her, but Hermione did not seem to notice.

“You think I’m as low as you are to take advantage of other people?” Hermione smiled haughtily
at him, totally going against the gist of her words, which made it all the more delightfully cheeky of
her, Draco thought, “I won’t stoop to your level.”

Draco laughed loudly at that, throwing his head back. “A mudblood’s suggesting she possesses
the ability to “stoop” to a Malfoy’s level!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and grabbed her rug throwing it at his forehead. His hand
reflexively caught it before it hit his head, though, and he stared at her in shock before he got up,
his expression turning sinister, throwing the rug angrily to the floor.

“Don’t you dare come any nearer, you slimy git!” she warned, although shakily. She looked back
at the door in a split second, wishing there weren’t so many desks to bypass but as she had expected
there was absolutely no time as he was only a two-foot step away from her anyway. He caught her
wrist, and raised his eyebrows at her glare.

“Don’t I dare get nearer? Isn’t it my right to ask why you dared to throw that dirty rug at me?”

“You deserved it!” she said, not thinking as she raised her chin challengingly.

Draco huffed softly, half-shaking his head, muttering something suspiciously like “stupid mudblood”
under his breath before he firmly put a hand on the back of her head, pushing her face towards his,
as he roughly pressed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss.

Hermione gasped into his mouth, eyes widening in horror, in shock, in disbelief. NO! Draco Malfoy!
Was all her brain could process as she tried shaking herself out of his grasp, but he was much more
stronger. She moaned helplessly into his mouth, sending a shiver down Draco’s spine, as he ran a
hand up her back. Tears were threatening to spill out of her eyes; it was her first time, she couldn’t
believe it, couldn’t comprehend why this position had existed at all. Yes, he had tasted her neck with
his tongue, but that had been under different circumstances, it was like he was “paying” back for
catching him in a weak moment, but this? He did not have the right to kiss her this way; it was too
personal.

Finally, he let go of her, knowing she could see the softness of his gaze this time. Obviously, from the
look on her face, she hadn’t enjoyed it at all. He couldn’t say the same for himself, though. Kissing her
had been like wine, heady and addictive. Forbidden, said a low voice in the back of his head, but he
blinked to eventually respond to her struggle and let go of her, watching her as she scrambled pitifully
towards the door.

“Don’t forget,” Draco raised his voice loud enough for her to hear with just a hint of warning to take
him seriously. Who would have thought, he thought with a slight grin, as he glanced down at the rug
before muttering a few words sending it flying into the bucket, which in turn bumped against the wall,
spilling a few droplets of murky water as Draco glided out of the classroom, his footsteps echoing
faintly down the hallway.
 
 
 

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Chapter 3