Essence Behind the Veil

by Key
 
 

Chapter 3
Cornered
 

Hermione miserable and hungry headed towards the library. Miserable because her lips still
traitorously tingled, and hungry because she had had nothing to eat since lunch. She could not
go down to the Great Hall in the state she was in. Ron and Harry had yet to know whom the
note was from, and she didn’t feel like lying right now, nor did she feel like confronting
anyone—she’d done enough of that for one day.

As soon as she was settled, Hermione pulled out her Arithmancy homework, and started writing
down the equations needed. It was a good distraction, she thought absent-mindedly, as she nibbled
on the end of her quill. Speaking of Arithmancy, she had to go and explain herself to Professor
Vector. Her Griffyndor nature all but prompted her endlessly that it was the right thing to do, even
though an unnatural sense of pride overtook her for a moment as she pondered it.

She looked up as the door to the library opened, and her eyes widened when she saw who it was.
His smile was trustful and honest, and it almost pained her to look at him, so she lowered her gaze
pretending to focus back on her homework.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, as he sat across of her.

“Hello,” she smiled briefly, before she looked up at him solemnly.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Harry quietly said.

How observant of you, Hermione sighed. “Didn’t feel like it. Besides, I have lots of homework
thanks to detention. Practically this,” she waved her arithmancy homework before him.

He pulled it from between her fingers, and raised his eyebrows, “These are finished.”

She snatched it back, “They’re easy. I still have—”

“Hermione,” Harry’s stare was growing serious, “Is this because of the note?”

“The note,” Hermione cursed Malfoy’s existence, then leaned back in her chair. She looked back
at the expectant Harry. Now or never. “Harry, remember when I, er, borrowed your Cloak?”

“How can I not?” he attempted to joke, but the humor was not detected.

Hermione let out a deep breath, “Well.. there was a matter I didn’t bring up..”

Slowly, and curiously reluctantly, Hermione told of the trapdoor she had found, that it wasn’t really
the Restricted Area that had been her aim, that she had discovered the trapdoor when she was
supposedly “monitoring” the student-restricted room. And then, she narrated in a slower monotone
her encounter with the Slytherin, conveniently leaving out the finer details.

“Filch then- I didn’t expect he’d return,” Hermione said lowly, her fingers grasping the edge of the
table tightly. “He didn’t find Malfoy.”

“Right,” Harry said flatly. She wasn’t telling him something he didn’t know. Hermione risked a look
at him. He didn’t look angry, but Hermione knew him better than that. Harry avoided looking at her
eyes when embarrassed and angry, and this verily was not a situation of embarrassment.

“Hermione, why? Why’d you hide all this from us?” his eyes widened suddenly. “Don’t you trust us
anymore?”

“It’s.. not like that,” Hermione said in a small voice, still gazing at him wistfully. “I just wanted, I
wanted a secret of my own.”

Harry met her gaze. “A secret of your own?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, her voice, unaware by her, growing a little harsh, “I wanted a secret of
my own.”

Harry then chuckled, and Hermione thought it unsettling, but did not comment. “That’s right,
Hermione. You wanted a secret of your own because we don’t share our secrets with each
other anymore.”

“Damn right you don’t,” Hermione said, clapping her hand hard on the desk, “I’m tired of you
and Ron thinking I’m too “brainy” for your adventures! And don’t look at me like that, all stricken
and pretending, you think I don’t know about last Christmas? At Hogsmeade?”

Harry stared at her blankly, and protested, “But, it wasn’t our secret alone, Ron had his bro—”

“I don’t care about them!” Hermione snapped, standing up to her full height, glaring at Harry, “I
was not fit to be company for the two of you at the time. Fred and George were very clever to
very hardly persuade you to cover it from me. Well, guess what, Harry? I don’t need you if you
don’t need me.”

“Don’t be stupid, Hermione!” Harry stood, trying to grasp her shoulders, but she waved him off
warningly. He then slumped his shoulders, and looked up at her. “Hermione.. you’re making a big
deal out of nothing.”

“Yes, Harry, and so are you,” Hermione sarcastically said, as she gathered her belongings,
ignoring Harry’s sigh of protest.

“Don’t you want to hear the whole thing? Where’s your sense of judgment?” Harry pulled away
her Arithmancy book, ignoring the glare he received.

“Don’t you dare patronize me!” Hermione warned, her chest puffing out angrily, “It’s not just that
incident, Harry, it’s almost always been like this, and I’m sick of it!”

Harry wore a look of shock on his face. “Hermione! You’re sounding just like Malfoy!”

The girl in question wore the same look of shock, before her features softened, “I guess I do. I
guess I know how he feels now.”

She snatched away her book from Harry’s unnaturally white hands before she left the electrified
tension of the library behind her.
 

- - - - -

Being a prefect had its advantages as the Griffyndor girl gratefully avoided her fellow Griffyndors
for the rest of the day. She had finished her homework, brushed her hair, her teeth, took a shower,
and was now gazing ruefully out at the dark sky. She crawled towards the windowsill, and set her
chin on the cold surface, still gazing upwards. In reality, Hermione had never intended to enlighten
any soul of her feelings of jealous resentment which were directed at none but her dear, dear friends.
She smirked bitterly, before she drew a sharp shuddering breath, her shoulders trembling. It’s only
the cold. She did not move from the window, though.

It was still strange, she further pondered, how Harry had compared her to Malfoy. Was she truly
like the Slytherin boy? Hermione shuddered. She was nothing like him. He was arrogant, cruel, and
a racist. They were in different Houses; it was proof enough. Yet, reason broke into her swirling
thoughts, she could not ignore that yes, they both were jealous of The Boy Who Lived. But, really,
who would not be? Besides being ridiculously famous, rich, naturally magically-gifted, and automatically
loved by many, everything else life made obstacles of for the average wizard and witch, he never had
problems with. It wasn’t only Harry, either. Ron made her wish she were male at times, which
Hermione found pitifully unnerving.

Throughout her childhood, they had been the ones under the limelight. They were the heroes; she was
the sidekick. Hermione started making small circles with the tip of her finger on the dusty windowpane.
Yes, she had done her role in the adventures before, but had the acknowledgement of her roles really
been publicly awarded as much as Harry’s and Ron’s had been? Dumbledore had given House points
on her behalf previously; the same as he had done with Ron and Harry, but sometimes, sometimes she
wished that there had been more to it. Something less formal.

Her ears perked when she heard a knock on her door. She reflexively looked down at her watch;
11:37. Had Harry decided to come and speak with her again? Or was it Ron? It couldn’t be Professor
McGonagall; somehow the idea was unlikely. Those three were the only ones who knew which portrait
was the opening to her room…weren’t they?

Cautiously, Hermione muttered “Jasmine Waterfalls” to then be presented with the view of none other
than.. “Professor Dumbledore!”
 

“Hello, Hermione. Sorry for visiting you so late,” he said, but extended a wrinkly hand, which she
automatically took, relieved somehow when she felt the fatherly gesture take its effect, “but there is
something very urgent that has come up.”

“Something urgent?” Hermione asked, as she stepped out of the room, thankful she hadn’t bothered
to take off her robes earlier.

“Yes,” he said, squeezing her hand, “There has been a fight, you see, and I would like you to help
settle some matters.”

“Oh no! It isn’t Ron, is it? Don’t tell me it was Harry!” she exclaimed, thinking of their last unpleasant
encounter.

“Actually,” Dumbledore looked at her with an awkward look of both amusement and worry on his
face, “It was both.”
 

- - - - -

Despite the late hour, Hermione managed to enter the Griffyndor Tower mainly because the
Headmaster, for most of the trip, had accompanied her. He had bid her goodnight, smiling at her
one last time, before he walked slowly down the hallway, his feet never making a sound to then
magically dissolve into the air.

Hermione stared a bit resentfully at his disappearing form, before she was startled by a familiar
voice which belonged to none other than the Fat Lady, the Griffyndor’s secretkeeper.

“How nice of you to come by so late,” she said, a little upset at being disturbed, it seemed.

“Hello,” Hermione smiled amicably, but was troubled when she tried to think of the last password
to the Tower.

The Fat Lady sighed, dabbing a handkerchief at her forehead, “This is what happens when one
is troubled, I suppose. It is ‘Uncanny Haze’, now recite back to me.”

Hermione wrinkled her forehead wondering at both the apparent knowing gleam in the ageless
woman’s eyes, as well as the HufflePuff-like password which she spoke back.

Her confidence wavered slightly as she stepped into the once homely common room. Somehow,
the ground she walked on felt foreign. It hadn’t been so long since she’d been assigned a prefect,
thus the feeling left her troubled, but other matters were at hand; her friends were looking straight
back at her. Hermione paused, not knowing how to proceed. Had Harry told Ron of their
conversation back in the library? Would he sympathize, or would he jeer? She felt like she had
been cornered right into a trap, even though an angry voice screamed in the back of her head that
friends do not get this kind of feeling in one another’s presence.

“I heard what happened,” Hermione said, approaching the two quietly. They had Ron’s chess set
between them on a table, but no pieces had been moved.

“What happened?” Harry asked back, suspiciously. Hermione glared at him.

“Professor Dumbledore came and told me you two had gotten into a fight with Malfoy.”

“And did he tell you why?” Ron asked, twirling a black soldier between his fingers.

“He would not tell me,” Hermione regrettably admitted, “He said I had better hear it for myself.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you’d tell us why you’ve been lying to us,” Ron suggested, his voice
getting louder as he stared her down. His face told her everything; accusation of betrayal.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She had not been lured out of the safety of her quarters to get into a
fight. “So, you know already. You know the real story. If Malfoy told you anything, you would’ve
known better than to get into a figh—”

“No! You should’ve told us the truth back when Harry got into trouble.” Hermione opened her
mouth to explain, but Ron went on, unfazed. “Is it true? Are you really seeing him in the Astronomy
Tower? Have you lost your mind? Was that what the note was all about? And to think I was
defending you!”

Hermione scowled in horror, as she approached him  hurriedly, but Harry stood up, catching her
attention, “I know he was lying about that last part, but it was still wrong, Hermione. Forget what
was said in the library. Please tell, tell us why you couldn’t trust us enough to give the truth.”

Stricken, confused at her predicament, but above all devastated, Hermione collapsed on the floor,
hiding her face in her hands.

Warmth engulfed her as two strong arms surrounded her, and pulled her back up to her feet. He
guided a sobbing Hermione to the couch, and did not let go.

“I-I’m just, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I was feeling guilty, but I couldn’t tell you!” Hermione
outstretched her arms, trying in vain to make them understand, but the looks of their faces did
not confirm that they did. Defeated, Hermione just hung her head, and accepted that although
they had not liked what had happened, they had forgiven her.
 

- - - - -

Draco Malfoy walked down a hallway. It was funny, really, how persistent he could be when he
set his mind to something. Well, he was in Slytherin, and ambition was their famous characteristic,
he briefly ended that line of thought, as he turned down another hallway. He had a feeling that he
was not going to be caught today. He rubbed his chin, feeling his invisible stubble as a sly smile
slowly spread on his face. It had been worth it; the amusement was still tickling his insides. Let the
redheaded peasant boil in fury. It was somewhat interesting that Four-Eyed joined in the weekly
brawl this time around. He wasn’t in love with the mudblood too, was he?

He chuckled softly at the thought, as he finally found the ever-wandering door. The rooms seemed
to like moving more in the night, helping with Filch’s sadistic case, perhaps. Oh, this is too bloody
sweet. To think there was a dramatic love triangle! And to think the “know-it-all” had no clue; he
liked the irony of that. It delighted him to realize that the Hogwarts heroes had weaknesses. Of course,
he conveniently overlooked the fact that the very reason he was where he was at the moment could
very much qualify as a weakness as well.

She’s not going to turn up. He had resigned to that after a while of useless waiting, as he
gazed into the artificial gleam of his father’s eyes. His sweating fingers made a little squeak on
the Mirror’s surface, as he upturned them a bit covering the fake smile from his view. Somehow,
tonight he had not found the same thrill when he set eyes on the welcoming sight. Was it because
he had expected something else, besides her being the filthy mudblood that she was? That the
anticipation of another event had overridden an expected one’s? Draco frowned slightly. He did
not like that idea. No one was to affect him emotionally, even unknowingly. There was a bit of
irony playing as the very thought had crossed a certain Griffyndor’s in the same room concerning
his persona, no less, but Draco was in unexciting ignorance.

Now that he knew for sure that the girl was not coming, he had to think of a punishment for her.
It never did anyone good to trouble a Malfoy; he had to teach her that in a good old-fashioned
way. He realized that part of her absence was due to the fight he had initiated only a few hours
ago, but that did not excuse her. He was a Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake, and she was nothing but
a mudblood. She had no right whatsoever to waste his time like this. He noticed the candlestick
which he had been aiming at her threateningly that night. He walked over to it, an arm clasped
around his waist, while his other hand covered his mouth. He stared down at the metal rod, and
wondered what would had been if he had hit her that night. If she had bloodied and fell dead to
the ground.

The mental image his mind presented was not a pleasant one. He scowled at his annoyance, and
let out a hiss, waving his arm angrily as he started pacing the room. What will I do with you,
Granger? He found that he recalled the way her body had felt in his arms when he had kissed her
impulsively just this day. His arm slumped down to his side, and he watched a ray of moonlight
flicker slightly, as a stray owl perched on the windowsill. She wasn’t afraid, he thought in
bewilderment as he walked quietly to observe the brown owl. Why? He was deadly serious of
wanting to physically hurt her at the time. Had she known that she had caused him to lose control?
His body stiffened as he grasped the edge of the windowpane, curling up a corner of his upper lip
at the innocent creature. She’s making light of me, he concluded. There was no doubt. She had
not come because she thought he wasn’t serious enough. Well, he would show her; he would
show her exactly how unserious he could get.

Out of unexplainable spite, Malfoy hit the window roughly with the heel of his hand, watching the
startled owl hurriedly fly away into the night. He smiled slowly, before he turned back and walked
as silently as he came out of the Mirror’s room.

Instinct proved the conspiring Slytherin right. He did not encounter the caretaker and his cat not
once that night.
 

- - - - -

Hermione felt slightly better the next morning. A nagging feeling in the back of her mind told her
something was amiss, however, and she wondered what it was as she began to dress. She had
spoken with her friends, and although it could’ve worked out better, she was very grateful. But,
was that what was troubling her? Hermione looked back at her frowning reflection as she began
to brush her hair. Her eyes then widened as she remembered what she had sought out to do the
other day; explain the incident to Professor Vector. She understood the nagging feeling now. It
was a good thing her first class that morning was Arithmancy; as soon as it ended, Hermione
decided she would take the Professor to the side and apologize. It was not her fault, yet she did
not want to get on any Professor’s bad side, and certainly not because of the Malfoy prat. If he
thought he could mess with both her grades and her friends, he was deeply mistaken.

As if I’d ever go to the Astronomy Tower with you! Hermione sneered mentally, as she walked
hurriedly down the hallway, chirping ‘good mornings’ to several familiar faces.

Just as she clapped a hand on Ron’s back, her eyes caught Malfoy’s. As usual, the bastard was
smirking at her, and she scowled back before turning to walk in with her friends. He thought he
had got to her with what happened yesterday; she’ll show him that it did not affect her in the
slightest. Her friendships, if anything, had only strengthened, even though some unwanted matters
were revealed, and she would mend her relationship with Professor Vector soon enough.

Hermione Granger had everything under control.

“Don’t talk to me ever, not once during class!” Hermione warned both Ron and Harry with the
most serious expression she could muster when they had walked into class. They glanced at each
other amusedly, and agreed. Hermione did not want to take any chances.

The Griffyndor girl was nervous all throughout the lesson. It all came back to her as she glanced
at the Slytherin boy again; he had wanted to see her at midnight, in the Mirror’s room, no less. She
knew the cocky bastard would be furious that she did not show up, but even if she had wanted to,
it was not possible. She had been in Harry and Ron’s company at the time, anyway.

Malfoy hadn’t really liked Hermione much during their few years at Hogwarts, and neither did
she. In fact, they both hated eachother’s guts very much, for different but equally strong reasons.
He despised her for her bloodlines, for being a Griffyndor, for being Harry Potter’s friend, and
for being able to best him academically again and again; she despised him for all the trouble he
had put her and her friends through over the years, his attitude towards muggle-borns, and
generally his bad character. If he had hated her that much, and she had angered him by not
meeting him, then she was naturally in for a nasty surprise.

Hermione was simply waiting.

Her focus shifted uncomfortably between the solemn-looking Professor who had understandably
not given any attention to Hermione so far, and Malfoy. She was growing more nervous by the
second, and Hermione opened her Arithmancy book looking for her especially perfected homework.
Her lips parted in amazed anger as she noticed that one of the pages were torn out. She did not
recall seeing it that way last night. Who would have wanted to do such a thing to her book?

She looked worriedly over to Malfoy’s desk, but he was boredly gazing at the space above the
Professor’s head, his chin in his hand. A tight knot formed in her stomach when she saw his lips
spread into a cunning grin from between his slightly-parted fingers. He did not look at her once,
but to Hermione’s horror, a white note dropped quietly from his lap near his desk’s legs.

How stupid can he get? Hermione thought in wonder, grimacing in disgust, as she tightened her
grasp on her quill. Did he honestly believe she would kneel down to get it? Was Draco Malfoy
out of his bloody mind? Hermione willed her eyes to Professor Vector’s; she will have to practically
believe that she had nothing to do with this. She had yet to apologize; Malfoy was not going to add
swelter to fire if she had anything to say about it.

Then all of a sudden, Professor Vector did a repeat demonstration of yesterday. However, it was
not Hermione who was caught with the note, it was Draco.

“I see students here believe this is the official class for passing notes,” Professor Vector snapped,
flashing the paper up and down before Malfoy’s seemingly nervous face. “Let us see, let us see
what is much more amusing..”

The Professor’s jaw curiously dropped as her eyes ran repeatedly over the few scribbled words.
Hermione was torn between wanting to read them for herself, and burning the note to ashes. Her
hands were sweating coldly.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Vector addressed Hermione in a sickly sweet way, as she walked over
to her, and handed her the note. “Please read this to the classroom.”

Hermione was too shocked to do anything. She felt Ron’s hand on her wrist, but she looked
defiantly up at the Professor. “I did not write it.”

If looks could kill, both Hermione and the Professor would’ve been lying lifeless on the floor. “Do
not try to deceive me again, it will not work. For the last time, read what you have written to Mr.
Malfoy.”

“I didn’t do it!” Hermione screeched, as she suddenly jolted up, her hands stiffly set on the desk,
her chair stumbling backwards with a loud bang. “Can’t you see? It’s him! He took a page out of
my book, and transfigured his handwriting into mine! It was his doing yesterday too!”

Professor Vector looked stricken for a second, before she turned her troubled stare to Malfoy. The
boy in question shook his head, looking over to Hermione. “I’m flattered you think I could transfigure
my handwriting at the age of sixteen, but I sincerely hope your love for me is not turning hysterical.”

“Don’t deny it, don’t be stupid!” Hermione screamed, pointing repeatedly at the note, both her
hands trembling, “You know you did it! I’ll hex you if you don’t say it! I’ll let them cast a Verita—”

“Miss Granger!” protested Professor Vector sharply, trying to calm the Griffyndor girl down, but
Hermione shrugged away from her. She regretted her action instantly as the classroom’s silence
bored into her ears, as she stared back at the grief-looking Professor. “You believe me, right? I
would never do it, not after yesterday, you know I wouldn’t, don’t you?”

“Miss Granger, and Mr. Malfoy,” she pointedly ignored Hermione’s demanding pleas, and walked
out of the door, “Follow me.”
 
 
 

Back to Chapter 2
Chapter 4