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Anthony Devon · 05-23-2011, 05:05 PM

Sequel to The Last Dance ... Arrogant, self-serving, and often infuriating. That is how Hermione would describe Killian Finn, a reluctant Slytherin. However, she's never met anyone who inspired such passions within her. But what consequences will their secret friendship reap?

All HP characters, locations, and plot points within this story belong to JK Rowling. I do not own, I merely borrow ...

- Chapter One -
Where Loyalties Lie

It was one week into a new year at Hogwarts. The scars inflicted by the death of Cedric Diggory the previous year had not yet begun to heal. All the while, the incessant mumblings of the return of the Dark Lord weighed heavily on the minds of the students and faculty. The weight of the wizarding world’s future hung precariously out of balance.

Foreboding dreariness aside, the morning sky was clear and the air was crisp. As the students commiserated in any one of the numerous courtyards surrounding the castle, they could almost forget the back-alley whispers and monotonous propaganda being spewed about by the Ministry of Magic. For them it seemed, at least outwardly, to simply be the beginning of another term at Hogwarts.

In just such a courtyard, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were taking in some air between classes. Hermione had her head buried in a book, as was customary, while Harry and Ron rambled on about Professor Umbridge and her unusually tame approach to the Defense against the Dark Arts. Normally, Hermione would have interrupted them, as their choice of words bordered on impertinent. Things being how they were, however, she thought that Harry had enough going on inside his head. A healthy rant might do him some good.

“Oi, Hermione,” Ron said when he and Harry had enough lambasting for the moment. “Harry and I are going to check out the Quidditch pitch. Decked it out nice this year. You coming?”

Hermione sighed unconsciously. It was truly the last thing that interested her at the moment, or any other moment, for that matter. While pondering over several possible answers that would allow her to pass on the offer, she suddenly noticed a group of first-years across the courtyard. They were huddled around a familiar sixth-year playing chess with what appeared to be a ferret. A subdued smile arose in Hermione’s face as she closed her book and gathered her things.

“I’ll catch up,” she lied, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

“Where’re you going?” Harry asked quizzically.

“To watch chess.”

Harry and Ron were left dumbfounded, staring at Hermione as she walked off at a brisk pace.

“Watch chess?” Harry asked rhetorically, cocking his head like a befuddled puppy.

“She hates chess,” Ron added, his face contorted and confused.

Shrugging it off, the two headed off towards the Quidditch pitch. As Ron had mentioned, with the previous year’s Quidditch season being cancelled in lieu of the Triwizard Tournament, there had been many enhancements made to the arena.

Back in the courtyard, Hermione quietly approached the first-years. They were hardly aware of her presence, their eyes fixated on the chessboard and its violently animated game pieces. She stood silent as Killian sat on his stone seat, his elbows resting on the flattened trunk of a fallen tree that doubled as a chess table. His hands were folded under his nose as his eyes wandered over the board. Killian’s ferret appeared to be contemplating. After a few moments, the ferret slid his bishop diagonally, taking Killian’s knight in grandiose fashion. The first-years let out a wail of cheers and applause.

“Are you seriously losing to a ferret?” Hermione teased, smiling broadly.

Killian did not look up, but Hermione could see a grin peek from the corner of his mouth. She knew she had gotten into his head. Of course, she also knew that he was not about to let her know it.

“Thomas,” Killian said as his eyes scanned the board, “like all those who I allow within my inner circle, is quite clever.”

Oddly, Hermione never grew tired of his arrogance. Mostly because she knew that a great amount of it was just for show. Also, because she knew that she was, in fact, one of the very few to dwell within the confines of Killian’s inner circle. Killian moved his bishop, only to have it taken rather quickly to the thunderous applause of the spectators.

“Clever enough to have cleared your board,” Hermione pointed out, relishing the effect it was having on Killian as he gritted his teeth and stifled another grin.

“Clever, indeed.” Killian continued to peruse the chess table. As he did, a sudden glint appeared in his eye. Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what his expression meant. “But not clever enough, my weasel-esque adversary.”

Killian took Thomas’ king. The first-years erupted with excitement. Hermione shook her head in a mixture a dismissal and disgust, knowing full well that it was the exorbitant amount of violence associated with the game and not the game itself that intrigued the young ones.

“A good show, Thomas,” Killian conceded as Thomas chirped with random sounds resembling a wet hand being dragged across a balloon. “So that is wizard’s chess,” Killian divulged to his audience with a dismissive wave. “Now, off with you. I have better things to do than indulge your trivial curiosities.”

The scene began to break apart, the first-years mumbling to each other with wide-eyed excitement as they made their way about to explore other areas of Hogwarts’ grounds. Killian gathered up his chessboard and stowed it in his bag as Hermione stood waiting, holding her book against her chest.

“Well this isn’t exactly under the cover of darkness,” he remarked as he looked cautiously about the grounds, referring to the manner in which he and Hermione had maintained their friendship over the last several months.

“I was simply watching a fellow student as he showed off for the first-years,” Hermione came back with a snap of wit.

“I’m certain you were,” Killian nodded with an extreme measure of doubt in his tone.

“I hadn’t seen you in the halls,” Hermione went on as Killian slung his bag over his shoulder. “I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to leave Hogwarts for Durmstrang.”

Killian smiled. “Am I to presume that you were looking for me then?”

Hermione turned her nose in the air in jest. “You are to presume that I am observant.”

“Of course,” Killian conceded, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you get my last letter?” Hermione asked, clutching her book more firmly to her chest.

They had been exchanging letters consistently throughout the summer. Hermione had tried in vain to do the same with Harry and Ron on previous summers, only to find the correspondence to be entirely one-sided. Killian, on the other hand, seemed to embrace the simple tradition of letter writing. With everything that had happened at the end of the previous year, Hermione needed something to keep her mind off of all the overwhelming drama. Killian provided just such a vessel.

“I did.” He fished through his robes and pulled out an envelope. “Unfortunately, due to the late arrival of the letter, I thought a correspondence would not be timely enough to reach you before the term began. So I’ve taken the liberty of hand delivering it,” he concluded as he handed Hermione the envelope.

“You’ve been carrying it with you this whole time?” she asked, perplexed, although not as much as she would have been had it been someone else.

“I figured you’d come looking for me at some time or another,” Killian answered, his arrogant grin beaming across the hollowed features of his face.

Hermione groaned to the sky. She often thought that she ought to be disgusted by his arrogance and self-serving mannerisms. They would certainly be well beyond annoying under most circumstances. However, Hermione could not deny that she had never had such intelligent, deep, and logically sound conversations with anyone else. Even taking into consideration that she and Killian rarely agreed—a circumstance that she believed he purposefully pursued—she often found herself longing for the next time that they could share a moment arguing about the political ramifications of the Goblin Wars or who wrote the best instructional guide to Transfiguration.

“You know,” Hermione pointed out, "you could actually just tell me what you wrote. It doesn’t make much sense to deliver a letter when you’re standing here in person.”

“True,” Killian agreed. “However, writing the letter encompassed a great amount of my time, and I’d like to think that it was not time wasted. Now if you will excuse me,” he added with smile and tip of his head, “I’m going to be late for class.”

He headed off towards the castle with Thomas bounding through the tall grass behind him. Hermione smiled as she went to put the letter between the pages of her book. Before she could secure the correspondence, Daphne Greengrass bumped her from behind, either carelessly or intentionally, as she walked along on the arm of Adrian Pucey, a seventh-year Slytherin. Hermione’s book tumbled out of her arms as the letter blew off.

“Mind your way!” Daphne scoffed as they continued on.

Hermione was going to let it go. After all, it was not the first time that a Slytherin had taken a shot at her, and it certainly was not going to be the last. She always considered herself to be above such trivial acts of aggression. Unfortunately, this time was going to prove different.

“You dropped something,” Daphne cackled out as she deliberately stepped on Killian’s letter, grinding it into the dirt.

Without warning, something in Hermione snapped. Seeing Killian’s letter crumpled under the clumsy gait of Daphne Greengrass summoned a rage within her that erupted like the fire of the Furies. Never one to act without thinking, she uncharacteristically found herself drawing her wand and swinging it through the air.

“Locomotor Mortis!”

Sparks flew from Hermione's wand and struck Daphne square. The unsuspecting Slytherin’s legs went suddenly rigid, freezing mid-step, causing her to fall awkwardly and flat on her face. The theatrical cries that followed were truly something fit for the stage. Pucey drew his wand and reversed Hermione’s jinx before helping the dramatic Slytherin to her feet, still wailing as if she had been lashed and scourged.

“What’s gotten into you, Mudblood?” Pucey shouted at Hermione as he advanced on her, wand at his side, a menacing glare in his eyes. “Feeling awfully brave, are we?”

Hermione stood her ground, if for no other reason than because she did not know exactly what else to do at the moment. She certainly was not feeling particularly brave. Impetuous and stupid would be the words she would have used to describe her actions. This was why she never acted on impulse. Now she found herself in the middle of a courtyard, being advanced upon by a very capable and very angry seventh-year. Her cleverness would unlikely be of much service under these circumstances.

“Let it go, Pucey,” came an extraordinarily welcome voice from behind her.

“Bugger off, Finn!” Pucey scoffed. “This has nothing to do with you!”

“In the interest of fairness,” Killian argued casually as he joined Hermione’s side, “I am disinclined to agree with you.” He addressed Hermione and whispered, “Wonderful example you’re setting for the first-years, by the way.” If not for the fact that she was quite relieved he returned, she would have certainly hit him for the comment.

“Disinclined?” Pucey asked, as if unfamiliar with the term.

Killian rolled his eyes in disgust. “It means reluctant, you uncultured half-wit.”

As Pucey and Daphne exchanged befuddled glances, Nott, Baddock, and Montague—a rather large and unruly seventh-year—joined them in their face-off. Hermione could feel the tension in the air rise, but noticed that Killian remained rather stone-faced. This, she thought, was one of his more Slytherin qualities. That being said, if he was going to subdue his emotions, then she was certainly not going to be outdone.

“Is that how it is, then?” Pucey sneered, glaring at Killian with malicious intent. “And what, exactly, do you plan to do?” he went on, glancing over the motley crew that had gathered by his side. “There’re five of us. Only two of you.”

Killian drew his wand and swung it with purpose towards Montague. “Impedimentia!”

Caught off guard, Hermione jumped as a bolt struck Montague squarely in the chest, hurling him back several yards before he came to rest in the tall grass of the courtyard. The reverberation of Killian’s jinx brought notice from many of the students wandering the grounds. Soon, a small crowd began to gather and huddle around the standoff.

“Four of you,” Killian corrected, his wand still at the ready, as the remaining Slytherins’ faces dropped in shock and awe, baffled by the preemptive strike.

Hermione’s hand was shaking as she raised her wand to the ready. Although feeling no remorse for Montague, a slight pinch of fear crept over her as she looked into Killian’s cold and emotionless eyes, now fixed upon Pucey. The remaining Slytherins gathered themselves and drew their wands. It appeared that in a matter of seconds, the area was going to digress into something that Hermione would rather not contemplate.

“What’s all the fuss then?” came another welcomed voice as Fred and George Weasley came up alongside Hermione.

“Hey Hermione,” Fred greeted in a jolly tone. “In a bit of a tussle, are you?”

“Wouldn’t be fit to have a row without us,” George added, eyeing the Slytherins with a silly grin.

“Not fit at all,” Fred agreed.

Killian eyes never flinched as the Weasley twins stood by Hermione like some strange cross between lanky redheaded bodyguards and vibrant court jesters. No, his eyes remained locked on Pucey, monitoring his every pulse, waiting for the next move. It was now four on four. The playing field had been leveled.

“Shall we continue with this mathematical equation?” Killian queried, his eyes narrowing, his wand ready to strike.

Seeing that the odds were no longer in his favor, Pucey reluctantly lowered his wand. The rest of the Slytherins followed suit as Nott and Baddock helped a disorientated Montague to his feet. Killian lowered his wand, but held it firmly by his side, his focus still on Pucey. For Hermione, this was all becoming rather surreal. What had she started, and why was she suddenly filled with a confliction of fear and exhilaration?

“You’ve made your bed, Finn.” Pucey scowled as the Slytherins walked off, Daphne returning to her place on Pucey’s arm.

The crowd slowly dispersed, much to the chagrin of many of the onlookers. Not a moment too soon, as far as Hermione was concerned. She was sure that a gathering of students that large was certain to draw the attention of the faculty had it continued on for much longer. She certainly did not want to start the year in detention for being the cause of a riot on the school grounds.

“Well, aren’t we popular this year?” George laughed, putting his arm around Hermione’s shoulder as they watched the Slytherins retreat into Hogwarts.

“Very popular,” Fred agreed.

“And who do we have here?” George gestured to Killian. “Scuffling within your own House? That’s a bit off, isn’t it?

“The Slytherin House at that,” Fred added.

“And standing with a Gryffindor?” George went on.

Fred smiled and gave Killian a nudge in the arm. “One would have to wonder where your loyalties lie.”

“Maybe he’s a Slythindor,” George suggested.

“Or a Grifferin,” Fred suggested further.

Hermione could tell that Fred and George were having entirely too much fun. She also noticed that Killian seemed oddly uncomfortable. His eyes danced between Fred and George as they went on in their usual fashion, as if searching for the right words that would allow him to escape the current company and circumstances.

“Well, I’ll say that I don’t envy your visit to the common room this evening,” George began.

“But any friend of Hermione is right with us,” Fred finished.

“Don’t draw any conclusions,” Killian explained humbly. “I just happened along. That’s all.”

It pained Hermione to hear Killian deny her, but she knew that this was the course they had chosen. She and Killian were not exactly hiding their friendship, but they were not flaunting it either. Neither of them was entirely sure how cautiously or openly to proceed. As they had discussed in the past, the differences between their Houses could potentially wreak havoc.

“You happened along, all right,” Fred concurred, dismissing Killian’s humility.

“And blew Montague right out of his knickers,” George added.

“An excellent strategy, by the way,” Fred pointed out.

“Take out the biggest wand first,” George agreed.

“You’ll have to excuse me, I have to get to class,” Killian interjected as he bent down and picked up the envelope that had set this series of events into motion. “This was yours, I believe.” He, once again, handed the envelope to Hermione. A slight, reassuring grin escaped the corner of his mouth as his eyes met with hers.

She took the letter and smiled, her cheeks warming. “Thank you.”

With that, Killian walked off, leaving Hermione with the Weasley twins, who were still commenting on the distance that Montague had traveled while airborne. She watched as Killian disappeared into Hogwarts, wondering if Fred and George had picked up on anything. Did they actually believe his explanation about having come along by mere coincidence? They had certainly remarked about the oddity of a Slytherin standing by a Gryffindor. Contrary to what many thought, the Weasley twins were not as mindless and unobservant as they played themselves out to be, and they clearly must have suspected there was more to the altercation in the courtyard than what was being let on.

Alas, she dismissed her fears. Even if Fred and George had noticed, there were few people at Hogwarts that she believed she could trust more with such a secret. She gathered herself up, tucking Killian's missive safely away in her robes with a heavy-hearted sigh. With the clock tower bell chiming, the trio made their way out of the courtyard and headed to class.

Chapter Two- Trolls in the Dungeons
Chapter Three - Oaths, Vows, and the Unknown Slytherin
Chapter Four - Dueling Egos
Chapter Five - Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Chapter Six - A Simple Distraction
Chapter Seven - Passion and Control
Chapter Eight - Innocence Lost
Chapter Nine - The Serpent and the Lioness

Mordanyes · 05-25-2011, 06:06 AM

Loved it! Can't wait for more!

Fred and George

Killian

mialovesyoulots · 05-25-2011, 12:47 PM

I loved it! It's amazing!

Anthony Devon · 05-25-2011, 02:16 PM

- Chapter Two -
Trolls in the Dungeons

As evening fell, Hermione made her way to the solitude of the Gryffindor dorms. She knew that everyone would be commiserating in the common room for several hours before retiring for the night. This finally gave Hermione an opportunity to read Killian’s letter with a certain air of privacy. The anticipation had been eating away at her throughout the day as she made several attempts to find a secluded area, only to be thwarted by the usually welcome company of Harry, Ron, or both. Finally, she thought as she carelessly tore through the envelope and removed the letter from within, she had a moment to herself.

Dear Hermione,

Although I sit and put pen to paper, I fear that this letter will not reach you before we return to Hogwarts for the upcoming year. That being the possibility, it is likely that you will have the pleasure of receiving this letter by personal delivery.

In regards to my sister’s wedding ... please stop fidgeting with your hair.

Hermione sighed, disgusted in realizing that she had, in fact, been twirling her fingers through a lock of her hair. He thinks he’s so clever, she thought while making a conscious effort to keep her hands on the letter as she read on.

As I was saying, in regards to my sister’s wedding, it went on as well as can be expected. Due to last minute changes in the arrangements, as my sister has great difficulties with her decision-making processes, the ceremony and frivolities that followed were held on the family grounds. There was plenty of food, drink, music, dancing, and hundreds of guests, most of whom I’d never met. I, myself, stayed long enough to fulfill my obligations as the sibling of the bride before finding a quiet area elsewhere in the manor to lose myself in a rather dry book of short essays on natural calamities. Unfortunately, there was no emotionally frustrated individual wandering the halls to rescue me from my literary torture.

Hermione laughed to herself as a warmth arose in her cheeks. The after hours of the Yule Ball flashed through her mind. What an odd set of circumstances it had been that had led to their chance encounter. She could have wandered down any of the snaking halls of the castle that night. She could have just stayed in the dorms altogether. The odds of them crossing paths were astronomically minute at best.

Moving on to your comments about Fenrick Culious and his “unjust” incarceration for carrying a concealed wand within the Muggle community. It would interest you to know that while, in principle, you are correct, his incarceration fell well within the boundaries of the laws of the time. Culious was convicted by the Wizengamot in 1690. The International Confederation of Wizards met in 1692 to discuss and pass laws on several key securities within the wizarding community, including the allowance of any wizard to carry a wand at all times, regardless of the community or environment. It is all documented in “The Laws and Securities of the International Confederation of Wizards.” We have a first edition in our library if you would like to confirm the facts. I would be happy to bring it for your reading pleasure.

Sincerely,
Killian

With a disgusted huff, Hermione tossed the letter onto her bed. She was well aware that Fenrick Culious was convicted in 1690. She was also aware that his actions would have been allowed following the ruling by the International Confederation of Wizards in 1692. That was her entire point regarding his unjust incarceration. After 1692, his crime was no longer considered illegal nor punishable in any regard. Being that his only offense was having a wand on his person, not actually brandishing it in the face of a Muggle, Hermione felt that his sentence should have been overturned.

She grabbed a piece of parchment and quill and began to write her retort. She was sure that Killian knew exactly what she was alluding to in her letter, but was simply going to force her to put it out there in clear detail. He was extraordinarily frustrating in that sense. Regardless, the passion it invoked in her made her almost euphoric as her words raced from her mind and stained the parchment.

As she finished her letter and sealed it in an envelope with a quick wisp of her tongue, Hermione began to ponder exactly how she was going to deliver her reply. Certainly, an owl would be pointless and time consuming. Her solution arrived in the form of one of Hogwarts’ house-elves, who had, as luck would have it, just entered the room to turn down the beds.

Hermione bit her lip in contemplation. Using a house-elf would certainly be going against the very principles of S.P.E.W. However, given the current circumstances, she saw no other viable option. If Harry and Ron were available, she would ask them to deliver the letter, so asking a house-elf to do it would be no different than asking a friend for a favor. This, of course, was complete rubbish, but she would use it as justification just the same.

“Excuse me,” Hermione asked quietly of the house-elf as she delicately began turning down the sheets of the far bed.

The fragile elf jumped, startled that Hermione had spoken to her.

“Would student likes to be left alones?” she asked, her voice trembling, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“No, of course not,” Hermione reassured. “I was actually hoping that you could help me with a problem that I’m having.”

“If pleases student,” the house-elf answered meekly, still failing to make eye contact.

“I need this letter delivered to a particular student in Slytherin House,” Hermione began, presenting the envelope. “Killian Finn. And it is very important that the letter arrives discreetly.”

The house-elf finally looked up at Hermione, her saucer eyes filled with anxiety. “Student asks I goes to the dungeons?”

Hermione’s heart was wrenching as she realized that the house-elf clearly did not want anything to do with wandering the bowels of Hogwarts’ dungeons. Desperately, she tried to think of a way to persuade the timid creature. Before she could muster anything, however, the house-elf took the letter from Hermione’s hand with a humble sigh.

“I do as student requests,” she conceded.

Before Hermione could issue her thanks, the house-elf disappeared with a snap of her fingers. Hermione sat there on her bed for a few moments, conflicted with thoughts twisting and contorting within the vastness of her mind. She felt horrible for sending the house-elf to the dungeons. Perhaps there was a better way. Maybe if she had thought about it for a moment longer, she could have arrived at a different solution.

As Hermione wallowed in thought, she was suddenly interrupted as the house-elf returned with a resounding crack. The timid creature was still holding Hermione’s letter for Killian, her eyes wider than normal, if that were even possible. She trembled with fear, seemingly afraid to speak.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, coming down from her bed and kneeling in front of the house-elf.

“Apologies, apologies,” she began, her lips quivering. “I not delivers letter as student asks.”

“Why?” Hermione questioned further. “Did someone see you?”

“No,” the house-elf answered. “No one sees.”

“Then, what happened?”

“Terrible things,” the house-elf answered direly. “Terrible things in dungeons.”

With that, the house-elf dropped the letter on the floor and disappeared, leaving Hermione to ponder what the cryptic explanation meant. As she attempted to piece things together, she heard a commotion coming from the Gryffindor common room. She picked up the letter and tucked it away in her shirt as she made her way down the spiraling set of stone steps leading from the dormitories.

When she reached the common room, she realized that the news about the dungeons was spreading fast. Dean Thomas was regaling the room with bits of information that he had overheard on his way from the Great Hall.

“Giant hole, I heard!” he exclaimed. “Blown right through the entrance to the Slytherin House! Stones and rubble everywhere!”

“What do you think happened?” Katie Bell asked as the other students listened in awe.

“Maybe there’s another troll in the dungeons,” Ron joked as he popped a chocolate frog in his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Dean went on. “Everyone’s being real hushed about it. But, I’m telling you it was like a bloody battleground, the way I hear it. Ran into Ernie Macmillan on the way here. Said he caught a glimpse of everything before all the students were evacuated. Crazy!”

“Was anyone hurt?” Hermione asked, her face twisted with concern.

“Who cares?” Ron mocked with a mouthful of chocolate. “It’s all Slytherins down there.”

“Slytherins or not!” Hermione shouted angrily. “They’re still students!”

Hermione’s comments were met with the hush of astonished stares. Most noticeable to Hermione among the glassy eyes that fell upon her were the stares of Fred and George, which seemed more contemplative than shocked.

“That’s right, git,” Fred agreed, slapping Ron across the back of the head.

“We’re all students here,” George finished.

Suddenly disinterested with the present company, Hermione stormed back up the stairs to the dorms and threw herself onto her bed. She wanted desperately to reach out to someone and find out what happened, but knew that there was no possible way in which to do so. She was sure that Killian was fine. She just wanted the reassurance. She wanted to hear his voice telling her that he was safe and everything was all right.

As she lay there with horrific images flashing through her mind, she slowly drifted off to sleep. Her subconscious would not give her peace, however, as she dreamt of several mountain trolls cornering her in the dark confines of the castle dungeons, only to find that her wand was nothing more than a piece of half-eaten licorice.

. . .

The next morning, Hermione rushed herself ready and made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast, eager to catch a glimpse of Killian sitting safely at the Slytherin table. Just to see him, to put her mind at ease, that was all she wanted. But as she sat at the Gryffindor table, half-heartedly picking at her bowl of porridge, she saw no sign of him.

The Great Hall was filled with idle gossip and speculations about the previous night’s events, ranging from the mundane to the overly dramatic. Of course, no one had any idea of what had actually transpired, but a lack of facts never tightened any tongues. The idea that everyone appeared to be relishing in the torments of the Slytherin House made Hermione’s stomach turn.

“You all right?” Harry asked, clearly noticing Hermione’s discontent.

“I don’t feel well,” Hermione answered, casting another inconspicuous glance towards the Slytherin table.

“You don’t look well,” Harry pointed out. “You should drink something,” he added, offering her a glass of pumpkin juice.

Ron mumbled something with a mouthful of corn muffin. Although impossible to decipher, Hermione concluded that it was his attempt to agree with Harry.

“I just need to get some air,” she said as she pushed her bowl away and stood, slinging her overburdened bag over her shoulder. With a last glance at the Slytherin table, she left the Great Hall, nervously pulling at a lock of her hair.

Lunch and dinner left Hermione with the same feeling of emptiness, as Killian failed to show for either. She had hardly eaten all day, her mind wandering, her classes a seamless blur. Unable to stomach the aromas that wafted from the tables, she left dinner prematurely and headed out of the Great Hall, much to the continued concern of Harry and Ron.

Making her way to the Gryffindor common room, she found herself alone, the crackling embers of the fireplace providing her only company. Slumping down in one of the long couches, she stared into the glowing coals, feeling helpless. Where was he?

“Hey, Hermione,” George said cheerfully as he and Fred entered the common room with a handful of Exploding Snaps and several apples.

“Feeling a bit off, are we?” Fred asked. “Want an apple?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione replied, trying to temper her tone. She had grown tired of people asking after her well-being.

“Saw your friend,” Fred said, tossing an apple to George, who took an enormous bite. “What was his name again? Flick? Flint?”

“Finn, wasn’t it?” George asked with a glint in his eye.

Hermione sat up instinctively, but quickly attempted to play it off as if she was merely shifting on the couch. She really needed to mind her reactions.

“He’s not a friend,” she scoffed, trying to cover up. Her denial of Killian stung almost as much as his denial of her in the courtyard the previous day.

“Really?” George asked. “Our mistake, then.”

Fred rubbed his chin. “Guess you wouldn’t be interested to know that he just got a letter, then?"

“And headed out to the garden,” George added. “What, five minutes ago?”

“Two at best, I’d say,” Fred corrected.

Hermione sat on the couch, biting her lip and trying to appear disinterested in the information that the Weasley twins had presented. She could feel their eyes on the back of her head as she stared at the embers in the fire, contemplating her next move.

“You can go now,” Fred said, his grin beaming as he cored one of the apples and filled it with Exploding Snaps.

So there it was. An odd wave of relief rolled through Hermione as she leapt from the couch and headed out of the common room. She was now certain that Fred and George knew her secret. She was further relieved in the realization that they would neither betray her nor Killian. If that was their intention, they certainly had ample opportunity throughout the day to so do. It simply was not in their nature.

Hermione raced down the stairs and out into the courtyard leading to the garden. The sun had set, but the sky was still illuminated in the twilight cast from the faint rays peeking from the edge of the horizon line over the Black Lake. As she approached the garden, her eyes still adjusting to the dim light, she heard a man’s voice. Although she could not make out the words, his tone appeared to be quite angry. She glanced cautiously around the corner just in time to see the explosion of paper from Killian’s Howler.

Killian’s head hung low as he slumped down on the stone bench next to one of the many atriums encompassing the garden. Hermione quietly approached, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. Killian, apparently unaware of her presence, flinched unexpectedly. He then spun around and greeted Hermione with a forced smile.

He did not look quite as well dressed as normal. His robes were in order, but his hair, which he religiously kept back in a clean ponytail, was hanging free. A portion of it fell forward and covered his left eye.

“Sorry,” Hermione apologized as she retreated a step. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nonsense,” Killian assured. “That was just ... well, my father sends his regards,” he added with more of a grimace than a smile as he slowly got to his feet, something that did not go unnoticed by Hermione.

“You were hurt!” she gasped.

“Calm down. It’s nothing to be ...” he began dismissively.

Hermione withdrew her wand and directed it towards Killian. “Lumos!”

The end of Hermione’s wand glowed with a bright white light, illuminating the air around them. She could now see a large welt under Killian's eye, partially concealed by his hair, and a nasty split in his lower lip.

“My God, Killian,” she said, covering her mouth. “Your face!”

“It’s nothing,” he offered in a failed attempt at reassurance. “Honestly.”

“What happened?” Hermione pulled his hair aside to get a better look at his eye.

“I fell,” Killian lied as he pulled Hermione’s prying hand away from his face.

“You fell?” Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes. “How many times?”

“Several,” Killian answered, his devilish grin emanating from below his battered features.

“You’re lying to me! It’s all over the school! What happened in the dungeons?”

Killian remained silent. Hermione was not sure if it was because he did not want to answer or because he could not come up with a plausible lie. Either way, she was not about to let him off the hook by his charm and persuasive manners.

“Stop smiling and answer me,” she persisted.

“It was nothing,” Killian insisted. “There was an accident. That’s all. We were strictly instructed not to talk about it. Don’t want to cause any doubt about the safety of the students and all of that. You know how parents can be.”

“An accident?” Hermione asked, doubting whether she could believe this explanation. It seemed to be a bit simplified given the gravity of the damage that the other students had reported.

“You look a fright,” Killian said with a soft smile.

“Well, you don’t exactly look like a basket of fruit,” Hermione retorted, letting her irritation with Killian’s lack of forthrightness melt away.

“I suppose not,” he conceded. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Well, why don’t we head inside?”

The two cautiously made their way out of the garden and through the courtyard towards the castle.

“I was worried sick about you today,” Hermione admitted as they checked to make sure that no one was about.

“Were you?” Killian asked, stopping in his tracks, seemingly genuinely surprised.

“Of course I was,” Hermione answered, slightly insulted that Killian would question that. “I hear that terrible things happened in the dungeons, you don’t show up for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, I don’t see you in the halls—”

Killian placed his hand over Hermione’s mouth in an attempt to cease her nagging. “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It won’t happen again.”

Feeling his skin against her lips made Hermione’s breath quiver slightly. It was the first time they had such an intimate contact since the night they met. With few exceptions, their encounters had consisted mostly of words on paper or brief moments in time that barely offered a simple conversation. However, she was still angry with Killian and was not going to let a simple touch dissuade her.

“Oh, shut up,” she huffed, slapping his hand away and continuing towards the Great Hall. “And you’re a jerk for not letting me know that you were all right.”

Killian smiled and followed. “Duly noted.”

They arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall and peered inside. It was not nearly as full as it had been when Hermione had left. Harry and Ron were still at the table, engaged in some form of conversation or another with several other Gryffindors. Aside from that, the majority of the students appeared to have retired to the their respective common rooms.

“I would suggest that we head in separately,” Killian whispered. "We don't want to make a scene, do we?”

Hermione shook her head dismissively and entered the Great Hall, heading for the gathering at her House table. Harry and Ron immediately noticed her arrival and slid aside, offering her a place to sit.

“There you are,” Ron said. “We were wondering where you’d gone. We were just hearing about the duel in the dungeons.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked, helping herself to what was left on the table.

“Seamus was just telling us,” Harry answered.

“Telling you what?” Hermione questioned further.

“Go on.” Harry gestured to Seamus, who was leaning against the table amongst the listening Gryffindors.

“Well, I went to see Madam Pomfrey,” he began. “Had bit of an accident in Potions.”

“Nearly burned your hand off is more of the way I would have described it,” Lavender teased.

The table broke out in laughter as Ron nudged Seamus, who turned red with embarrassment, shaking his head and gesturing for everyone to quiet down.

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” he asked in a mock threat.

“Of course we do,” Katie answered. “Just keep your wand where we can see it.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, laughing. “For everyone’s safety.”

Hermione wished they would all simply shut up so that Seamus could continue. She feigned disinterest, but kept her ears open, hoping to find some sense of truth in his story.

“Anyway,” Seamus began again. “So I head up, and there isn’t an empty bed in the whole room. There had to be seven or eight students laid up there. All Slytherins.”

“All of them?” Lavender asked with disbelief.

“Every one of ‘em,” Seamus confirmed. “I know, because I asked Daphne Greengrass. She was there, visiting with one of ‘em. She’s a bitter little bat if I ever saw one.”

Daphne’s name rang through Hermione’s ears like the bells of Notre Dame. Daphne Greengrass was visiting someone in the hospital wing? Hermione could think of only one person.

“Who was she visiting?” Harry asked, as if he could hear Hermione’s thoughts.

“Pucey,” Seamus answered. “Though you couldn’t tell it by looking at ‘im. Face looked like it had been through the ringer more than a bit.”

Pucey. Of course it was Pucey. Who else would Daphne take time to visit? Maybe it was a coincidence. Hermione could hope for coincidence, even though every aspect of logic within her argued vehemently against it.

“Who else was there?” Lavender asked, her eyes widened with anticipation.

“How can you even tell?” Ron mocked. “All those Slytherins look the same.”

The group broke out into laugher once again, with the exception of Hermione, who was staring daggers through the back of Ron’s head. His lack of etiquette disgusted her at times. She should not really be angry. After all, Ron had no idea how cutting his words were to her. Then again, maybe that was the point. He never thought about who his words might hurt.

“There were several,” Seamus continued after everyone quieted down a bit. “Nott, Baddock, Montague ...”

“Montague?” Dean exclaimed. “That mug is bloody huge!”

“Yeah,” Seamus agreed. “Well, he’s a bloody mess now. There were others, too. Harper, Bulstrode, and a couple more I didn’t recognize.”

“So what happened?” Katie asked. “Did Daphne say anything?”

“Not much," Seamus admitted. "Said she wasn’t there. Thinks there must have been some sort of scuffle in the common room. Didn’t say about what. Got ugly, though, that’s for sure. Tore the room to shreds, blasted that hole in the House entrance. Snape was bloody furious when he came upon it!”

Harry laughed. “I’ll bet.” He seemed to enjoy the thought of Snape realizing that he had lost control of the students within his own House.

“I bet Montague blasted Pucey,” Dean theorized. “I would have. Pucey’s a real git.”

“Probably,” Lavender agreed. “That would explain why everyone else was hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ron surmised. “Take a good four or five people to separate those two.”

“Not the way Daphne figures it,” Seamus interjected. “Says she thinks it was someone else. Name was Finn or something like that.”

“Who’s Finn?” Katie asked as the Gryffindors looked amongst each other with blank stares, shaking their heads.

Killian Finn, Hermione thought, her heart aching. Of course they would not know him. He was her secret, and they could not have him. They would not understand.

As she sat there listening to the table of students as they described the person that they had never met nor heard of before that day, Hermione stared at her plate, fighting back the urge to cry. It was her fault. She knew it was her fault. They went after Killian because of her. He should not have come back that morning. He should have kept walking. He could have continued to be an unknown. Now everything had changed.

She glanced at the Slytherin table. Everyone at her table was too engrossed in conversation to pay any attention. She saw Killian sitting alone, his hair still hanging over his left eye to cover the underlying bruises. She also noticed the many Slytherins casting a watchful eye in his direction as he ate.

Even from a distance, she could see him biting his lower lip and wincing uncomfortably as he chewed. He was in more pain than he let on, but that did not surprise her at all. He was too proud for his own good at times.

As she watched him, Hermione was hit with a conflict of emotions. Everything that had transpired was due to her actions. But what had he done? What was he capable of doing? There were several Slytherins currently under the care of Madam Pomfrey, and Killian was not one of them. Why was she not afraid?

Killian looked up from his table, his eyes meeting with Hermione’s for a brief moment. She saw his familiar grin sneak out from the corner of his mouth.

He’s intolerable, she thought as she looked away so as not to be noticed making eyes across the Great Hall.

As she finished her dinner, Hermione smiled to herself. She did not know what tomorrow was going to bring, nor did she even care. He was still her secret. She was not afraid.

harita · 05-25-2011, 05:03 PM

heya! loved the Last Dance and am loving the sequel too...keep up the writing...would want to read more soon...

Cassiopia Malfoy · 05-25-2011, 06:46 PM

WOW! The chapters are so long and awesome (being long is a good thing) I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS STORY! And Killian, I LOVE Killian. He's just so awesome! And taking on EIGHT Slytherins!?!?!?!?

I'd dieeeeee!
Bwhahahahah! I LOVE FRED AND GEORGE! They are just too awesome!
Great job so far! I love it!

Anthony Devon · 05-25-2011, 09:42 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Cassiopia Malfoy

WOW! The chapters are so long and awesome (being long is a good thing) I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS STORY!

Thanks! I must admit that I'm a bit of a compulsive writer ... Have never been able to "sum" up my stories in a short manner, always feel the need to add something more. Makes my publisher crazy when she needs me to write a simple synopisis for my original (non fanfic) works

Alas, I hope you continue to enjoy.

- AD

Mordanyes · 05-26-2011, 08:44 AM

WOAH awesome chapter! Killian is so mysterious

Fred and George make me laugh!

Great chapter!

Anthony Devon · 05-26-2011, 02:04 PM

- Chapter Three -
Oaths, Vows, and the Unknown Slytherin

Several weeks had passed. The students at Hogwarts slowly seemed to forget about the strange happenings in the bowels of the dungeons. At least, it appeared that they had forgotten. Hardly a word was spoken of it. A whisper here, a rumor there. For the most part, whatever had occurred amongst the Slytherins was quietly and entirely being swept under the rug.

This was all well and good for the rest of the school. For Hermione, however, it was entirely different. She was not one to be left curious. Killian’s bruises may have faded, his wounds healed, but visions of that day still burned in her memory as clearly as if they had happened just that morning.

One evening, as the sun began to set beyond the Black Lake, Hermione found her favorite recluse near the shoreline casting stones into the dark waters. Although still hiding in the shadows, her relationship with Killian had somehow grown stronger with the events earlier in the year. Nevertheless, Killian did not seem to handle his sudden notoriety very well, relying more and more upon Hermione’s company as an escape from the watchful eyes around him. He would deny this, of course, but she knew it to be true.

Killian skipped a stone across the water. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“It was difficult to come up with a viable excuse,” Hermione said. “At least one that I hadn’t used already,” she quickly added.

“All these lies and pretexts,” Killian mused. “One would think we’re trying to hide something.”

Hermione cast a narrow glare at Killian. He did love to tease her. Always looking to rile her up about one thing or another.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said simply. “I have nothing worth hiding.”

“Touché.” Killian grinned. “So what meaninglessness is not worth conceling this evening?” he went on, casting another stone.

"Nothing really,” Hermione admitted, grabbing and casting a stone of her own. “It’s been relatively mundane lately. Classes are classes, nothing particularly unexpected. With the exception of Defense Against the Dark Arts, that is. Professor Umbridge is entirely intolerable.”

Killian laughed and shook his head. “You’re just saying that because she’s taking a more rudimentary approach to the Dark Arts.”

“Rudimentary?” Hermione scoffed. “It’s beyond rudimentary! It’s downright pointless! Not fit for an infant, let alone a student.”

“That’s rather harsh, isn’t it?”

Hermione was exasperated. “You’re not seriously defending her, are you?”

Killian turned to her and grinned. She suddenly felt silly, realizing that he had, once again, pushed her buttons for his own amusement.

“I would never defend that hag of an old woman,” he assured. “Professor Umbridge is an obnoxious toad whose venomous virus spreads though these halls like a pandemic. There,” he punctuated. “Feel better?”

“Now you’re just trying to pacify me,” Hermione snipped.

“Oh, come now ...” Killian laughed again. “You know I would never attempt to pacify you.”

This was true. Killian’s personality certainly seemed heavily weighted in infuriating individuals rather than pacification. This was particularly the case with Hermione, a favorite target of his.

Hermione sighed and cast another stone into the lake. As she did, Killian drew his wand and fired upon her stone, attempting to keep it skipping along the water’s surface for as long as he could hold the charm. For several moments, they continued on as such, the only sound being the occasional splash as Hermione’s stone got beyond the reach of Killian’s cast.

“I heard a few students talking about you today,” Hermione said, breaking the lull in their conversation.

“Is that right?” Killian asked, paying little attention to the comment.

“Well, not about you specifically,” Hermione corrected. “Just about that Slytherin. I mean, it was about you, they just didn’t know exactly who you were.”

Killian sighed. “I was hoping such talk would have died away by now.”

“Oh, they weren’t talking about whatever happened … in your House,” Hermione clarified. “It was more about you, in particular.”

Killian now seemed genuinely interested. “What about me?”

“Just things in general,” Hermione answered dismissively. “Who you were, what classes you were taking, how brooding you look, things like that. It was really quite sickening.”

“So these were girls that were talking about me then?”

“Oh stop yourself,” Hermione chastised as she cast her next stone at Killian’s shoulder.

“I’m kidding,” he assured as he flicked the stone away with a wave of his wand. “You know I couldn’t care less about all of this drabble. In reality, I’m rather disappointed that my anonymity has been taken from me. And again, I must thank you for that,” he added with a raised eyebrow.

“Does it really bother you that much?” Hermione asked as a tinge of guilt ran up her spine. "I don't understand why you wish to hide from everyone."

Killian grinned devilishly. “Present company excluded, of course.” He looked down at the water and sighed. “I don’t know. The whispers and gossip are truly numbing to me. I felt better when I was ignored. Now it seems as though everyone is either annoyingly curious or afraid of me.”

“They’re not afraid of you,” Hermione said, attempting some form of comfort.

“It’s sweet of you to lie, but I’m not an oblivious fool,” Killian assured. “Things are just different now, that’s all. But nothing can be done for it, so there’s no reason to wallow about. Although, I admit there are moments when I think of what I wouldn’t give for a Time Turner … Go back and change things.”

“Are you saying that if you could go back and do it again that you wouldn’t have defended me?” Hermione asked, feigning insult.

“Of course not,” Killian answered. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to your own defenses. I would, however, attempt to dissuade a certain someone from instigating a confrontation.”

“Well, I’m not sure Daphne would have listened to you,” Hermione said, turning her nose in the air and tossing another stone.

“Yes ... Daphne. That’s exactly who I was speaking of," Killian said with marked sarcasm as he flicked his wand, causing Hermione’s stone to dance along the water’s surface.

A silence fell between the two once again. This was not uncommon. They often found themselves engaged in conversation one moment and enjoying the quiet company the next. But the silence was never uncomfortable. Not usually, at any rate. This time was a bit different for Hermione. She still felt guilt over the events that took place in the courtyard and the conflicts that had ensued since.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” she asked as she stepped back from the water’s edge and sat on a large stone near the shore.

“What happened with what?” Killian dodged.

“Don’t be difficult,” Hermione chastised. “You know very well what I’m referring to.”

Killian turned to Hermione. “You’re not still beating yourself up over that nonsense, are you?” he asked. “You’re making a fuss over nothing.”

“I saw your face bruised and bloody,” she countered. “It was more than nothing.”

“Better my face than yours,” Killian teased as he placed his a gentle hand against Hermione’s cheek.

She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation for a moment before quickly pushing his hand away. No, she was not going to let him charm his way out of her questions.

“Why won’t you talk to me about this?” she asked coldly. “Every time I bring it up, you dismiss it away.”

Killian gazed into the night sky. He then looked back at Hermione, opening his mouth several times as if to speak, but stopping just short of any actual sound.

“Hermione,” he finally said. “It’s not that I won’t talk of it. I can’t talk of it.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Hermione asked, slightly agitated at the notion. “Why not? Because of some newfound loyalty to your House? Well, loyalty be damned!”

Killian gritted his teeth and stared at her. She could tell that he was contemplating his next words very carefully. It made her smile when she knew that she had frustrated him to the point of speechlessness. She was sure that he would have lashed out at someone else, but with her, he always restricted himself to a more tempered approach.

“All right,” he said after a long, deep, and controlled breath. “You want to know why I can’t speak of it?”

“Yes,” Hermione concurred.

“Fine.” He gestured over Hermione’s shoulder. “Do you see the student sitting in the courtyard, reading?”

Hermione followed Killian's finger and, after a moment, saw the young boy sitting on a stone bench alongside the outer wall of the courtyard.

“What is he doing out on the grounds after hours?” Hermione asked.

“Well, that’s a bit off the point,” Killian answered. “And slightly hypocritical, given our current presence,” he added.

“I’m a prefect,” Hermione dismissed.

Killian rolled his eyes. “At any rate, his name is Peter …Percival … Patrick … something like that. He’s a Slytherin. Go on and ask him about it.”

“If he’s a Slytherin,” Hermione scoffed, “he’s not going to say anything. The whole lot of you haven’t spoken a word of it.”

“He’s a first year, and like all first years, he’s quite naïve,” Killian explained. “Just tell him that you already know of it and ask for some form of clarification. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you. You’re quite persuasive when you want to be.”

Hermione crinkled her nose at Killian. She was a bit upset that he refused to simply answer her questions. But if he was going to play games, she was not going to give up. If she needed to ask the young Slytherin sitting alone in the courtyard, so be it. She got up and made her way across the field. Before long, she was close enough to the first year for him to notice her.

“Oh,” he said, startled as he fumbled his book to the ground. “I’m sorry. I was just reading. The common room—”

“It’s all right,” Hermione assured. “I know the feeling. I’m not going to turn you in.”

“Thanks,” the first year bumbled as he reached for his book and brushed it off. “I know I’m not supposed to be outside after hours.”

“Peter, isn’t it?” Hermione inquired.

“William,” the first year corrected.

Peter …Percival … Patrick … something like that, Hermione thought, with a glance back towards the area where Killian was hiding in the shadows. What an idiot! Collecting herself with a deep breath, she moved on. “William then. How are you enjoying your first year?”

“I love it,” William answered with a bright smile and beaming eyes.

“Probably a bit more exciting than you anticipated,” Hermione led.

“Yeah, a bit,” William agreed.

“I'm sure you weren't expecting anything like that incident in your common room,” Hermione continued.

The first year Slytherin withdrew slightly, looking at the ground and shifting from one foot to the other. “We’re not to speak of that,” he said meekly.

“Oh, it’s all right,” Hermione lied. “I already know about it.”

“You do?” William asked with surprise.

“Of course,” Hermione said. “I mean, I don’t know every detail, but I’m well aware of it in the general sense. Were you there when it happened?”

“Yeah,” William answered with some reluctance. “It was a bit scary.”

“I’ll bet it was. I heard it was dreadful,” Hermione continued on seamlessly, getting anxious as she sensed that she was nearing some answers. “That first jinx, in particular.”

“Whose first jinx?” William asked rhetorically. “There were so many.”

Hermione laughed. “I suppose you’re right. With all of the commotion, I suppose it was difficult to distinguish who was even the first to strike.”

“Well, I guess technically it was—” William began before suddenly cutting off.

A second later, he grasped at his throat as his tongue began to swell and protrude from his mouth, a pulsing mass of muscle and tissue. Hermione gasped and stepped back, unsure of both what was happening and what to do about it.

Killian walked over and casually reached into his cloak. He pulled out several dried pixum leaves and ground them in his hand as the terrified first year gasped and wheezed. Killian then cupped his hand and blew through his fingers, casting a spray of leaf dust across William’s distorted features.

Almost immediately, the first-year's face began to soften and return to its previously innocent form. When his tongue had diminished enough to breath properly, he bent over with his hands on his knees, desperate for air.

“T-T-Thank you,” he stuttered as he regained his composure.

“Don’t thank me,” Killian said simply. “Pixum leaves are only a temporary fix. In about ten minutes you’ll be no better off. Here,” he went on, handing William a piece of chocolate. “Chew on this. It will coat your tongue and slow the process.”

William took the chocolate and jammed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously.

“Breaking our oath, are we?” Killian asked of William, who hung his head in shame.

“I didn’t mean to." William pointed weakly at Hermione, who stood by, speechless. "She said she already knew. I didn’t think—”

“Lesson one,” Killian said with a wink. “Never trust a Gryffindor.”

“I know,” William said, again hanging his head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s a sign of weakness,” Killian snapped at the first year. “Just don’t be so trusting of strangers. Now, off to Madame Pomfrey with you before your tongue explodes again.”

“But she’ll tell Professor Snape,” William said, his eyes wide with fear. “He’ll kill me if he hears.”

“I will speak to Professor Snape,” Killian assured. “Now, off with you!”

Without another word, William turned and raced into Hogwarts.

Hermione glared at Killian, who seemed relatively pleased with himself. “You knew, didn’t you?” she asked, slapping him across the shoulder. “You knew exactly what would happen!”

“Of course I did,” Killian answered. “I told you that I couldn’t speak of it. You didn’t believe me. I figured the only way to resolve the issue was for you to see it with your own eyes.”

“See what?” Hermione exasperated. “I don’t have any idea what I saw!”

“You saw the effects of an Unbreakable Oath,” Killian said simply.

“You can’t be serious!” Hermione said. “There’s no way the school would allow for any students to engage in an Unbreakable Oath!”

“Do not confuse it with an Unbreakable Vow,” Killian said.

“Oath, vow, what's the difference?” Hermione asked.

“You mean, aside from the fact that a failure to adhere to an Unbreakable Vow results in death?” Killian asked with a grin.

Hermione was not amused. She was not quite angry either. She was somewhere in between. She should have been angry. She would have been with anyone else. But at this moment, she was far too intrigued to waste her energies on an emotion so draining.

“An Unbreakable Oath is a simple charm that ensures secrecy,” Killian explained. “When one engages in such an oath, he or she is obligated to keep it less the offending appendage swell to prevent the secret from being revealed.”

“So his tongue began to swell …” Hermione began.

“… to prevent him from speaking,” Killian finished. “If he had attempted to write of the events, his hand would have swollen, and so on.”

“You know you could have just told me that,” Hermione pointed out, kicking Killian playfully in the shin.

“True," he agreed. "However, I found my way much more entertaining."

Hermione frowned and turned away from Killian, heading away from the courtyard and into the surrounding field. Killian followed behind, catching up after only a few steps.

“You’re angry,” he surmised as they walked along.

“I just,” Hermione started. “Not knowing what happened … It’s maddening.”

Killian stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Hermione refused to look at him as he attempted to make eye contact. She felt silly. She felt guilty. She felt a lot of things. Killian finally reached out, placing his hands on her cheeks, restraining her from looking away.

“Please don’t worry yourself over such things,” he said, his piercing green eyes gazing into hers. “All is well … I promise you.”

Hermione said nothing. She simply looked into Killian’s eyes. As always, his eyes did not lie. She had no idea what had happened that night in the dungeons, but she knew that whatever it was, it had passed. She trusted him. And as much as she yearned for answers, she would take him at his word.

“All right,” she said at last, willing herself to believe her own words. “I feel terrible for poor William, though.”

“Who’s William?” Killian asked with a cocked head.

“The boy you just sent to Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione answered as if it was the most ridiculous question she had ever heard.

“Really? William?” Killian asked on. “Guess I must have been thinking of someone else then.”

“Or you’re just stupid,” Hermione teased.

“Also a possibility,” Killian conceded. “Not to worry though, he’ll be fine.”

“Did you see the look in his eyes?” Hermione asked sympathetically. “He was frightened out of his wits. He had no idea what was happening.”

“No, I don’t suppose he did,” Killian agreed. “But I’m sure he’s learned his lesson.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, her tone rich with sarcasm. “Never trust a Gryffindor and never apologize. Very nice.”

“They’re worthwhile lessons,” Killian teased.

Hermione gave Killian a shove and shook her head, feigning disappointment in his reaction to William’s predicament.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Killian groaned as he rolled his head toward the sky. “Would it make you feel better if I went to Madame Pomfrey and assured that everything is reasonably well enough?”

“It would, actually,” Hermione assured with a nod, knowing how much Killian detested the notion.

“You know I’m only doing this for you, right?” he asked with another groan and glance toward the stars.

Hermione smiled, turning her nose in the air. “All the better then.”

“Give me a moment to get inside before you follow,” Killian said as he reluctantly turned and headed back toward Hogwarts.

Hermione knew the ritual. It was always the same. Sneaking about, hoping that no one noticed them sharing company. It was a bit of work to say the least, but still, it was worth it. Regardless of the fact that Killian was no longer the unknown Slytherin that no one paid any attention to, the simple fact that he was a Slytherin and she was a Gryffindor … The Houses would never accept that.

As Hermione stood in the field, watching as Killian entered the courtyard and made his way to the large wooden doors of the castle, she saw him pause and turn to his right. A moment later, Professor Umbridge appeared from behind a courtyard pillar. She was obviously patrolling the grounds, one of her favorite nocturnal activities.

Killian did not appear to be concerned as Professor Umbridge approached and engaged him in conversation. Hermione could not hear a word of it from where she stood, but assumed that it probably involved Killian being out of castle after hours.

The conversation carried on for several minutes, quite long for a simple scolding. Hermione was sure that Killian was being reprimanded, although his expression seemed rather casual for such an event. Then again, it was not beyond Killian to smile in that face of a verbal lashing. A moment later, Professor Umbridge placed her hand on the reluctant Slytherin’s shoulder and escorted him into Hogwarts.

He would probably receive detention, Hermione assumed. Nothing too severe. Certainly nothing he could not handle. After all, he had handled far worse already.

Mordanyes · 05-27-2011, 10:16 AM

Great chapter!

Anthony Devon · 05-27-2011, 02:51 PM

- Chapter Four -
Dueling Egos

Hermione entered the library, immediately narrowing her eyes as she spotted Killian sitting at one of the many long mahogany tables that lined the rows of dusty tomes. She had been looking for him since she heard the news that morning at breakfast. Of course, everyone was talking about it. If nothing else, the student body was fluid in gossip.

Making her way to the table, Hermione sat directly across from Killian, tossing her bag noisily into the chair next to her in the process. He did not look up. Instead, he continued to read and jot notes on one of several pieces of parchment littered before him.

She knew he was aware of her presence; he was simply being difficult. To remedy this, she gave him a swift kick under the table. Again, he offered no reaction, flipping through his book before continuing with his notes. She kicked him again to the same effect. Refusing to give in, Hermione began to continuously strike Killian’s shin, making sure to use the point of her shoe, hitting the same spot, and increasing the impact with every swing.

“Why, exactly, do you find it necessary to pulverize my leg?” he finally asked, still not looking up from his book.

Hermione leaned across the table “Because I’m angry!” she whispered harshly. “That’s why!”

“Well,” Killian said with a faint smirk, his eyes meeting Hermione’s while his head remained bent, “I’m glad to hear that violent acts of aggression are not the way in which you demonstrate joy.”

“I’m angry with you!” Hermione clarified, trying to maintain her whisper.

“Really?” Killian asked dismissively. “You’ve only just arrived. I hardly think I’ve had enough time to effectively infuriate you.”

He had a smart answer for everything. He knew why she was angry. He knew why she would be. She just could not figure why, exactly, he had done it. Of all the people within Hogwarts, Killian was the last student she thought would ever be a part of something so regulated, for lack of a better term.

“When were you planning on telling me?” Hermione asked, eyeing the silver I attached to Killian’s robes.

“I figured you’d find out soon enough and come bounding by with some form of incessant interrogation,” he answered rather coldly. “And you haven’t disappointed, have you?”

Hermione was completely caught off guard by his response. She huffed in her chair for a moment, unsure as to whether she should continue the conversation—or lack, thereof—or storm off, leaving Killian to himself.

“You don’t get to be upset!” Hermione snapped back, deciding that she was not through just yet.

“I’m not upset, I’m studying,” Killian corrected, his eyes remaining locked on his book. Although at this point, Hermione was certain he was not actually reading.

She then noticed that Killian’s right hand was concealed up to the base of his fingers within the sleeve of his robe. This, in and of itself, did not seem odd. It was more of the fact that it appeared as if he was making a conscious effort to keep his hand within the sleeve, to the point of holding the end of it between his thumb and palm to ensure that it did not slide up.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” Hermione asked, unsuccessfully trying to remove some of the temper from her tone.

“I’m sure that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Incarcerous wrist!” Hermione said with a quick twist of her wand.

Before Killian could react, a series of ropes sprung from the mahogany table top, braiding themselves around his wrist and pinning it down. Hermione quickly pulled his sleeve up, revealing a series of blood red characters carved into the back of his hand.

The Inquisitorial Squad is an honor and a privilege.

Hermione immediately released Killian and sat back in her chair, the anger in her face falling away and being replaced with shamed concern. She had already seen such writing carved into Harry’s hand, and was disgusted by the barbaric practice. Apparently, Professor Umbridge had no qualms about using this technique whenever it suited her needs.

“Are we happy, now?” Killian asked as he concealed his hand within his sleeve, his eyes distant and cold, a look that Hermione had never seen directed at her.

“How many times did she make you write that?” she asked, noting that the crimson scars were far deeper than those that Harry had shown her.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione went on. “There are plenty of students ... well, Slytherins at any rate, who were willing to sign up. Why would she do this to you?”

“Apparently, I’ve developed a reputation,” Killian answered, the continuing coldness of his voice stinging Hermione with every word he spoke. “I was informed that I would make an excellent addition to her little band of brutes, and … let’s just say that Professor Umbridge does not accept refusals.”

“You need to report this,” Hermione pleaded as she had with Harry. “You can’t let her get away with—”

“What I need to do is study. So, if you don’t mind.”

Hermione sat there for a moment, starring at Killian as he feigned reading. Don’t you dare cry, she thought. Regardless, she could feel her eyes begin to swell. Others had talked down to her before, but their words never cut as deeply as Killian’s just did. Salvaging her pride, she grabbed her bag and swept out of the library.

Why are they so ridiculously stubborn? she thought, referring to both Harry’s and Killian’s refusal to report Umbridge to Dumbledore. How could they just let her get away with it? She was arcane, and her practices were intolerable—bordering on illegal—even with the backing of the Ministry.

Hermione left the castle and headed across the covered bridge leading to the open fields near Hargid’s hut. Cursing herself for failing to keep her emotions in check, a thin stream of tears finally burst from her eyes. At least there was no one around to see her.

“Wait!” Killian’s voice echoed through the hollows of the covered bridge behind her.

She stopped, but did not turn around. He had come after her. Oddly, this caused another series of tears to well in her eyes. She wanted him to come after her, hoped that he would. Now, as it became a reality, she had only moments to get herself collected. She would not allow him to see how he had hurt her.

“Hermione,” Killian said, finally catching up.

She refused to turn around. If he wanted to look at her, he was simply going to have to walk around her.

“Please,” Killian said, his voice humbled. “I … I’m,” he stammered uncomfortably.

Killian, as she had wanted, walked around and stood in front of her. She looked up at him, her eyes remarkably clear for someone who had been crying only moments before.

“I didn’t mean …” he began, and then lost his words. “I shouldn’t have …” he began again with the same result. “I was frustrated …” he said at last. “It wasn’t you. I’m …” he stammered again. “Please forgive me.”

“You’re apologizing?” Hermione asked, slightly amused at Killian’s humility, but remaining stone-faced. “Isn’t that a sign of weakness?”

“I …” Killian began once more as if he had something to say, but could not put it to words. “Not always,” he finally conceded with a sigh, biting his lip. “Not with us.”

“That seemed rather painful for you,” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

“More painful than the quill,” Killian answered through gritted teeth.

Fred and George suddenly came up alongside Killian in a manner much more friendly than Hermione would have anticipated. Fred slung his arm over Killian’s shoulder, looking about cautiously.

“Are we set, then, Finn?” he asked with a guarded tone. “Hey, Hermione,” he added with a nod.

“Absolutely,” Killian assured. “Tomorrow. Nightfall. At the boat house.”

“And you’re sure it’ll be clear?” Fred went on.

“Perfectly clear,” Killian assured.

“You’re the best, mate.”

“First rate,” George concurred as the twins headed back over the bridge towards the castle.

Hermione was perplexed. Killian? Fred and George? Mate? This seemed a bit surreal. Had she really just witnessed that?

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes has taken a bit of a hit since Professor Umbridge passed the Educational Decree banning the sale and possession of their products,” Killian explained. “They need a safe harbor to peddle their wares.”

“And you’re helping with that?” Hermione asked, smiling and shaking her head.

“Well, they seemed to realize the benefits of having an ally within the Inquisitorial Squad,” Killian answered with his familiar grin. “I’m surprised there haven’t been others who have realized the potential benefits,” he went on. “Like, for instance, a certain individual who is currently in violation of Educational Decree number 24.”

Hermione thought about responding to Killian’s dig about Dumbledore’s Army, but thought it better to simply turn with a huff and walk away in theatrical jest. She knew he would follow.

With that, the two of them continued down the path, crossing just beyond the border of the woods. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from Hermione’s chest. While the majority of their conversations involved arguing to one degree or another, there had never been any spite in their tongues. It was certainly a feeling that she did not want to revisit.

“You’re still a jerk,” she said, crossing between the trees.

“I’m quite aware. You remind me regularly.”

Hermione bumped Killian with her shoulder as they walked along, nearly causing him to trip over the path.

“You know, you can still join,” she said cautiously, referring to DA.

“And how many Slytherins are in your little group?” Killian asked rhetorically.

“It’s different with you, and you know it,” Hermione pointed out.

“Is it?”

Hermione did not answer, instead resorting to another shove with her shoulder.

“Regardless—” Killian laughed as he regained his balance once again “—I think I have enough problems within my House without having rumors of my joining an underground student rebellion floating about the school. Besides,” he went on, “it’s my understanding that Harry is doing a fantastic job on his own.”

“He is,” Hermione agreed. “He’s a great teacher.”

“I hear you’ve made some impressive strides as well,” Killian went on.

“Is that right?” Hermione asked with a grin. “Have you been checking up on my progress, then?”

“Just seeing if you’re becoming a threat, is all,” Killian teased.

“I’d be more than willing to give you a demonstration.”

Killian offered a mock bow. “I would be both honored and intrigued.”

“All right,” Hermione agreed. “Tonight. After dinner.”

“Location?” Killian asked.

“Here,” Hermione answered, gesturing about the clearing in the trees.

“Done,” Killian agreed, offering his hand to consummate the deal.

Hermione shook his hand and laughed at how silly their conversation had become. But, alas, her next class was coming up. After a brief exchange of words, she left the woods and headed back to the castle, with Killian waiting a safe amount of time to ensure that no one would be able to put them together.

. . .

That night, at dinner, Hermione was noticeably distracted as she hurried through her meal. Too noticeable for even Ron to miss. He glanced at her several times during the meal with a look of warped perplexion.

Finishing off her glass of pumpkin juice, Hermione saw that Killian had already left the Slytherin table. She pushed her glass and plate aside and stood.

“You’re not even ’aving dessert?” Ron asked, his cheek stuffed like a chipmunk.

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione retorted, shaking her head. “Do you ever stop eating?”

“I get ‘ungry,” Ron answered defensively. “Where’re you off to, anyway?”

“To study,” she lied as she began to walk away from the table.

“Yeah, I bet,” Ron huffed as he took a rather oversized bite from a piece of Turkish Delight.

Hermione stopped and turned back on Ron. “And what is that suppose to mean?”

“Nothing,” Ron answered with a scowl. “Been studying a lot lately, is all.”

“Of course I’ve been studying a lot!” Hermione came back. “In case it’s slipped your mind, we still have OWLs to prepare for, and I, for one, am not planning on making a fool out of myself simply because I was ill-prepared!”

Ron sat in his chair, his eyes wide and glazed over as he chewed the remainder of his cheek’s stores. Hermione stormed out of the Great Hall, feeling a tinge of guilt for having lied to Ron. She justified it, however, by convincing herself that maybe her words would convince him to pick up his books and actually study.

Cautiously, she made her way out of the castle and over the covered bridge. Hogwarts’ grounds were particularly quiet that night. The winter snows had not yet fallen and the fragrances of Autumn emanated through the air.

She made her way to the clearing in the woods where she and Killian had agreed to meet and found it empty. A light mist was rolling in from the further reaches of the forest, causing Hermione to second guess her thoughts about the location of their after-hours excursion. As she glanced about the clearing, a familiar shadow emerged from behind one of the ancient trees.

“Running a bit late, aren’t we?” Killian said, twirling his wand in his hand. “It’s highly improper to keep a worthy adversary waiting.”

“Well, I shall remember that when I find a worthy adversary,” Hermione mocked as she drew her wand.

“I assume that the standard dueling protocols are in effect?” Killian removed his robes and took his place several paces from Hermione, who nodded in agreement.

“Any restrictions on spell casting?” Hermione asked, imitating Killian’s arrogant tone as she removed her robes and slung them over the low branch of a tree.

“Surprise me,” Killian responded with a slight bow.

Hermione set herself up, wand at the ready, contemplating her first attack. In the Room of Requirement, the duels had been a bit different. The students were practicing specific spells, so there was very little guessing as to what was about to be thrown. This, on the other hand, was going to be less predictable.

“Stupefy!” Sparks shot forth from the end of her wand.

Killian countered the jinx, and it rebounded off a nearby tree before dissipating into the night air. He grinned. “Very clever. I had anticipated a simple disarming spell. Professor Potter has taught you well. What else do you have?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Killian. The air soon erupted with sparks and flashes of light as they unloaded a barrage of jinxes and counter-jinxes at one another. Dashing from side to side and ducking behind trees and bushes, the two cast relentlessly.

After several frenzied minutes, they took a moment to rest, sitting on the stump of a fallen tree, breathless.

“Not bad,” Killian said, rubbing his shoulder, which he had tumbled on awkwardly in an attempt to evade a Boils Jinx.

“You weren’t even trying,” Hermione chastised.

“Clearly, you’re insane,” Killian protested.

“All your casts were deflection and protection spells,” Hermione pointed out. “You made no attempts to attack me.”

“Obviously,” Killian agreed. “I had no intention of hurting you.”

“Well, my intention was to duel!” Hermione slapped Killian on the shoulder. “Not to take target practice against your defensive spells!”

“Are you saying,” Killian began, as if contemplating Hermione’s words, “that you want me to hurt you?”

“I want you to challenge me!” Hermione answered, exasperated. “Toying with me hardly benefits either of us!”

“Fair enough,” Killian conceded as he got up from the stump and found his mark in the clearing.

Hermione sat on the stump for a moment, watching him as he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and loosened his sliver and green tie. He proceeded to unbutton the sleeve of his wand arm, rolling it up as he twirled his wand between his fingers. He then gestured to Hermione to take her place in the dueling line.

She got up and set herself across from Killian, a slight tremor of nerves starting to rise within her. Perhaps she should have left well enough alone. Then again, he would not really hurt her, would he? She had, more or less, asked him to try. Quite literally asked him to try, in all actuality.

She raised her wand to the ready, eyeing Killian. His expression had become dark and focused. Hermione imagined that his is what Pucey must have seen as he stood across from Killian. She wondered if Pucey had the same nervous reaction that she was experiencing as she stared into those cold eyes.

“On your move,” Killian offered.

Hermione took a deep breath. He won’t hurt me, she assured herself. He won’t. She raised her wand to cast.

“Expelliarmus!” Killian shouted with a twist of his wand before Hermione uttered her jinx, thus expelling her wand from her grasp.

“Accio wand!” Killian continued.

Hermione’s wand arced towards Killian, who caught it out of the air. He then turned back on Hermione, who stood defenseless.

“Rictusempra!” he shouted as a jet of silver light streaked from his wand, hitting Hermione squarely in the chest.

She paused for a moment, shocked. In a matter of seconds, it felt as though a thousand fingers were tickling her ribs and stomach. She tried to fight it off, but quickly fell to the ground clutching her stomach and rolling about, shouting for Killian to call off his jinx, which he eventually did with a casual flick of his wand.

“Feel better now?” he asked, grinning broadly.

“A tickling jinx?” Hermione asked with frustration, getting up from the cold forest floor. “You threw a tickling jinx?”

“I happen to enjoy that one,” Killian explained. “It has the needed effect, and it’s entertaining to watch.”

“Give me my wand!” Hermione huffed as she stormed towards Killian, brushing the leaves from her skirt and sweater.

Killian backed up and held Hermione’s wand over his head, well out of her reach.

“Be nice,” he warned as she reached up in vain.

“Give it to me!” Hermione persisted, hitting Killian on the chest and pulling at his arm.

“You see ...” he teased, his grin infuriating Hermione, “... now you’re getting violent. Not very lady-like."

Hermione continued to stretch for her wand that Killian held just out of her reach. She put her hand on his shoulder to gain leverage, her body pressing firmly against his.

“Miss Granger,” Killian said, mocking an official tone, “you are in violation of Educational Decree number 31.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked at Killian, only to realize that she was mere inches from his face. She immediately stopped reaching for her wand, her other hand increasing its grip on his shoulder slightly.

“Which one is that?” she asked, her eyes locked with his.

“Boys and girls are not permitted to be within eight inches of each other,” Killian recited.

“Is that right?” Hermione asked, her pulse beginning to accelerate.

“I'm afraid so.”

“And what are you going to do?” she pressed on. “Take points from my House?”

“I have the authority,” Killian pointed out, his infuriating grin having an entirely different effect on her.

“Yes, you do,” she said as Killian’s free hand slipped down to her waist while the hand that held her wand slowly lowered to hers, The Inquisitorial Squad is an honor and a privilege still brazen and red.

Their contact was suddenly interrupted as an arrow hissed past Killian’s ear and embedded itself into the tree just behind his head.

“Bloody hell!” Killian ducked as his eyes danced about searching for the source of the shot.

“What was that?” Hermione asked, spinning around and scanning the tree line.

Within seconds, the ground began to rumble as a herd of a dozen or more centaurs swarmed the clearing and encircled the students. Killian quickly slipped Hermione her wand as he turned and pressed his back to hers.

“Keep your back to mine!” he said, holding her hip with his free hand while drawing his wand to the ready. “They'll try to separate us!”

“What are they doing here?” Hermione asked, holding her wand defensively as the beasts pounded the ground around them.

“A very good question,” Killian mocked. “Why don’t you ask them?”

One of the centaurs charged at them, raising his front hoofs and kicking at the air. Killian immediately cast a shield charm as Hermione pelted the creature with a blinding flash of light before it retreated back to the herd.

Bane, a particularly large and menacing centaur, raised his arm, and the herd fell into line. He approached the young students, who still held their wands at the ready.

“You trespass on our land!” The mighty centaur growled.

“Trespass?” Hermione asked. “We’re on Hogwarts’ grounds!”

“Land taken from us and now retaken,” Bane declared. “And if your Ministry continues to seize what does not belong to them …” he cut himself off. He did not really have to finish. His point was made quite well. “So, I say again, you trespass on our land! Give me reason not to strike you down!” He drew his bow and put a bead on Killian.

“Well,” Killian began contemplatively, “we were actually engaged in a duel prior to your spectacular entrance. It’s highly likely that we would have killed one another on our own. So, striking us down now seems a bit over the top.”

“A duel?” Bane questioned, narrowing his fiery eyes.

“Um … yes,” Hermione stammered, trying to make her words sound sincere. “We were … I was ... going to kill him.”

Bane seemed to contemplate this explanation. Lowering his bow, his eyes bounced between Hermione and Killian as they stood there.

“Show me,” he grunted, gesturing for them to continue.

“Actually ... as it turns out … ” Killian countered, but then found himself at a loss for words.

“We’ve come to terms with our differences,” Hermione piped in. “Compromises and all of that.”

“We were on our way back to the castle just as you arrived,” Killian continued, following Hermione’s lead.

“With your permission, of course,” Hermione requested humbly.

She knew very well how intensely proud and territorial centaurs could be. She knew that it was pertinent to show humility and respect if they were to escape without hoof prints embedded on their chests. As they waited for Bane’s response, it appeared that Hermione’s approach was working. If nothing else, he had not driven an arrow through either of them to this point.

“Leave!” Bane commanded after what seemed like an eternity of silence, gesturing to the open fields of Hogwarts beyond the edge of the woods.

Killian grabbed his and Hermione’s robes and they cautiously made their way through the herd, who separated just enough to clear a slight path.

“These woods belong to us!” Bane added, his baritone voice echoing through the forest. “Mark and remember!”

Once they cleared the herd, Killian and Hermione raced out of the woods, not stopping until they were several yards into the surrounding fields of Hogwarts. Breathless, Killian sat and rolled onto his back, looking up at the sky.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“They’re obviously upset,” Hermione answered, laying down on the grass next to him and joining in his stargazing. “Hogwarts isn’t the only area the Ministry is restricting.”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” Killian clarified. “You were going to kill me? Not likely.”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione countered. “And I suppose you were going to tickle me to death, were you?”

“I hadn’t decided.” Killian grinned, tossing Hermione’s robes over her face as he rolled to his feet.

Hermione sprang up and threw her robes at Killian, who caught and tossed them back.

“You’re impossible!” She laughed, slapping at him as they walked along the path back towards the covered bridge.

As they got closer to Hogwarts, they had to part ways, still fearful of becoming part of the incessant gossip that poured through the halls like water through a sieve.

Hermione entered first, as had always been the routine. She took several deep breaths, trying to gather herself so as not to look conspicuous to any fellow Gryffindors. She gave one last glance over her shoulder towards Killian, who was waiting in the shadows of the courtyard. An unconscious smile broke across her face. She knew he would not hurt her.

Mordanyes · 05-27-2011, 09:57 PM

Loved the chapter!

PAMS!

Cassiopia Malfoy · 05-27-2011, 11:21 PM

My goodness, two updates! They are soooo good, and every single chapter I read I keep falling more and more in love with Killian, he's amazing.

And, and, and, oooooh, the twins and Killian, that's totally awesome.

Hahahahaha, I love their duel and then Bane showing up, hysterical. Those two's banters are so adorable, I love the two of them.

Awesome job, I love the updates!

harita · 05-28-2011, 01:20 PM

simply beautifully written posts...love it...

Anthony Devon · 05-31-2011, 03:55 PM

- Chapter Five -
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

Hermione awoke the next morning groggy and exhausted, her ribs still tingling from Killian’s tickling jinx the previous night. Her extracurricular activities were taking their toll, but she managed to convince herself that they were worth the deprivation that she was putting her body through.

Rolling out of bed, she got dressed, pulled her hair back, and gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror.

Dreadful, she thought.

A simple disarming charm. How could she have lost her focus? She wanted another shot at him. Images of her mock duel with Killian played back in her mind.

Trying, with little success, to dismiss her displeasure with her performance, Hermione went about her morning. Breakfast, studying, Potions, Transfiguration, studying, library, studying. She had not seen Killian all day. This did not surprise her, as their classes fell opposite each other every Thursday. She expected nothing different on this day.

While crossing the courtyard with Ron and Harry as the trio headed for lunch, Hermione was unexpectedly and incessantly pecked on the back of the neck by a paper hummingbird that flitted after her.

“Blasted little bugger,” Ron said as Hermione watched the odd little bird.

The hummingbird hovered before Hermione at eye level before twisting, turning, and folding on itself, taking the form of a paper flower that floated in the breeze. Hermione reached out and took hold of it.

“Who’s it from?” Harry asked her.

“Probably just a charm gone awry,” she dismissed as she continued to walk along.

“Doesn’t look like it went airy to me,” Ron scoffed as he and Harry followed.

“The word is awry, Ron,” Hermione corrected. “As in ‘away from the correct course.’ And if you don’t believe that can happen at Hogwarts, you obviously haven’t been paying attention for the last five years.”

Harry laughed. “She’s got you there, Ron.”

“Just came right for you, is all.” Ron kicked the ground as he walked. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh, please,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes in her best attempt to seem disinterested. “It’s just a piece of paper.”

“Why don’t you toss it then?” Ron asked.

“Because,” Hermione began to answer, but paused as she pondered a plausible explanation. “I like it,” she said simply and put the paper flower behind her ear.

Neither Ron nor Harry seemed particularly convinced by Hermione’s response, so she resorted to simply dropping the subject altogether. If they did not speak of it, she would not have to come up with any clever responses. Aside from that, she needed to watch herself. She was starting to lose track of the lies she was telling to cover for herself. That was an extra stress that she simply did not want to deal with.

Lunch at the Gryffindor table was filled with the bustle of hushed whispers about Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes opening shop that evening. Apparently, Fred and George had gone to great lengths to make sure that they could distribute their merchandise without interference from Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad. Barrier lines, passwords, and a certain unnamed lookout were only a few of the rumors being passed along. Any final arrangements, of course, were being withheld until the last minute for obvious security reasons.

“Nice flower, Hermione,” Fred said as he sat at the table, accompanied by George and Lee Jordan.

Hermione pulled the flower out of her ear. She felt embarrassed, although was not exactly sure why. As she glanced at the intricate origami in her hand, she saw that there was writing on one of the petals of the flower that she had not noticed before.

Hope you’re feeling all right

- K

He feels guilty, she thought as she massaged her ribs.

A part of her was flattered by his concern while another part was still angry that he had not effectively challenged her the night before. She wanted him to attack her. She wanted him to hurt her. Was that odd? Her mind wrestled with the conflicting emotions as she pressed the flower between the pages of one of the many books she had stacked beside her at the table. Ron, witnessing her demeanor, simply shook his head in disgust and took an oversized bite of his plain cheese sandwich.

“So you’re in for tonight then, right?” Lee asked Hermione.

“Big sale,” Fred said.

“Fifty percent off for our preferred customers,” George added.

“I’ve never been a customer,” Hermione pointed out.

“True,” George conceded.

“But we’d prefer you were,” Fred added, proud of his wit as he and Lee gave each other high fives.

“Regardless,” Hermione went on with a roll of her eyes. “I’d rather not put myself in a position to get expelled.”

“Not to worry,” Fred assured, leaning in and winking. “We’ve got that well covered, as you know.”

Hermione shook her head slightly. Of course, she knew. And it was apparent to her that Fred and George were enjoying the fact that they had an ally within the Inquisitorial Squad.

“How ‘bout you, Harry?” Lee moved on.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “Maybe I’ll stop by.”

“Extra special discounts for our primary investor,” Fred offered.

Harry shrugged it off, smiling uncomfortably. Hermione knew that it was a touchy subject for Harry. He had given his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament to the Weasley twins to start up their joke shop enterprise. However, the cost of the winnings still haunted him.

Lunch continued on as usual. As everyone began to break away for the rest of the day, Hermione caught a quick glimpse of Killian as he headed in the opposite direction towards the dungeons. She smiled to herself as Fred and George bid her a unison farewell. They, along with Lee Jordan, were certain to skip their afternoon classes to prepare for the evening’s events.

Boys, she thought with a sigh as she, Harry, and Ron headed off to class.

. . .

As evening fell across the landscape, Hermione found herself reading in the library. She had just received the last minute instructions to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes via the special chocolate frog trading cards that were being distributed to invitees. Ron had helped himself to the frog, but she managed to pocket the card before it ended up in the Gryffindor fireplace with the discarded box.

Contemplating the ramifications, she tried to convince herself to stay in the library and continue her studying. OWLs were just around the corner and she had wasted so much time already. It was what she should do. It was what she needed to do. Or was it? What did she need? She argued with the voices in her head. Logic versus emotion. Everyone knows how that plays out. She needed to see him. She needed to get it off her chest.

She collected her books and made her way to the Gryffindor common room. She certainly was not going to drag everything with her. Sitting on the couch facing the hearth, she pulled out the card from her chocolate frog. It was an Alberic Grunnion. Nothing fancy.

She flipped the card over and pulled out her wand. “Aparecium.”

Almost immediately, the hidden Weasley message appeared, written in poor penmanship across the back of the card. Simple instructions.

Go to the southeastern exit of the castle and wait for your escort. Gits and nutters beware!

Makes sense, Hermione thought. Southeastern exit. Follow that path and it will take you straight to the boathouse. That was where he would be.

Hermione took that deep breath that had become synonymous with her decisions to go against her better judgment as of late. She then made her way out of the Gryffindor common room and down towards the area indicated by the trading card.

When she reached the southeastern exit, she stopped and looked about. She was a bit surprised that she was the only one there. She had anticipated there would be droves of students all pushing their way through to be the first in line to purchase one form of contraband or another. She was ready to turn back and head to the dorms when she heard a scurrying sound outside on the walk. She squinted as she searched for the source of the noise and saw Thomas bounding towards her.

“You’re the escort?” Hermione asked as the wiry ferret twitched and spun about at her feet. “You are quite clever, aren’t you?”

Thomas scurried back towards the direction from whence he came. Hermione, although feeling a bit odd following a ferret, did so at a brisk pace. For such a small creature, Thomas covered ground rather quickly. He led her around the side of castle towards the long set of stone steps that bent and turned down towards the boathouse off the Black Lake.

As she approached, Hermione saw Killian standing near the top of the steps talking with, of all people, Harry. She continued on, somewhat concerned as to what they could possibly be talking about. It did not take long for her presence to be noticed.

“Hey Hermione,” Harry greeted warmly.

“Hi Harry,” Hermione returned as Thomas scurried away to seek another student to escort. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I suppose,” Harry answered. “Checking out the grand reopening.”

“Where’s Ron?” Hermione asked.

“Reading, actually,” Harry said. “Or trying to, at any rate. You know how he is with books and all that.”

Hermione and Harry stood there for a moment, neither of them saying a word. Hermione’s eyes danced about as she struggled to find a topic of conversation or some other means of lightening the air that seemed to be hanging heavy in that particular area of the castle.

“Well, listen,” Harry finally said. “I’m going to head on down. Good talking to you, Finn,” he said as he offered his hand to Killian.

Killian smiled and gave Harry’s hand a firm shake. “The same, Potter.”

“See you down there?” Harry asked of Hermione.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” she answered.

Harry’s eyes bounced between Hermione and Killian for a second before he nodded with a smile and headed down the stone steps. To Hermione’s surprise, once Harry reached the stone arch that covered the middle tier of the steps, he disappeared entirely.

“He Disapparated!” Hermione gasped. “That’s impossible!”

“Entirely impossible,” Killian agreed. “He didn’t Disapparate. There’s just a barrier charm on archway,” he explained. “You can’t see anything that’s happening beyond the barrier and no sound escapes from within.”

Disbelieving such a charm was possible, Hermione walked down towards the stone arch and cautiously leaned through. Once her head had crossed the barrier, she saw that the dock and boathouse were filled with students laughing and carrying on as they bought merchandise through Lee Jordan while watching Fred and George demonstrate some of their new items.

Thoroughly impressed, she pulled herself back beyond the archway and found it as though someone had simply turned off the sound. The dock and boathouse seemed deserted, and the only sound she heard was the familiar cackles of various nocturnal creatures in the surrounding area.

“This is quite genius,” Hermione complimented.

“I’m afraid I cannot take credit,” Killian admitted. “It was Fred and George’s doing. They’re much more skilled than they let on.”

Killian leaned up against the stone railing that bordered the area surrounding the steps as Hermione made her way back up.

“So what were you and Harry talking about?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Killian grinned, rubbing the back of his quill-scarred hand. “We were comparing penmanship.”

It was stupid of her to ask. Of course he was not going to tell her what they were talking about. Especially not if he knew she wanted to know. Still, Hermione was not sure how comfortable she was with the conversation, whatever it was about. It seemed almost as though her two worlds were colliding. She preferred them to be separate.

“What brings you out this evening?” Killian asked. “I know you’re not here to shop.”

Hermione smiled as she leaned on the rail beside Killian. “I got your flower.”

“What flower?” Killian teased.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Hermione said. “It was very sweet.”

“You came all the way down here to tell me that?” Killian asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione walked away from Killian, looking at the night sky, trying to find the right words. Although her back was to him, she knew he was staring at her quizzically.

“Is there something wrong?” he predictably asked.

She turned back, wringing her hands nervously. Killian stood there, waiting for some form of response. She had to pick the right words.

“I want …” she started before rethinking her verbiage.

“You want what?” Killian asked, awaiting Hermione’s conclusion. “A book? A quick-witted hernhock? The answers to all life’s mysteries? Incidentally, I have several books on the subject that you might--”

“You,” Hermione finally blurted.

Damn, she thought immediately as the words escaped her lips. That came out entirely wrong and she knew it was about to be tossed back at her.

“You want me?” Killian laughed. “Well, that's quite flattering. But as you can see, I’m working.”

At least he had turned it into a joke. It would have been terribly awkward if he had taken it any other way. Regardless, the tension had fallen away and Hermione, oddly enough, felt much more comfortable.

“Oh, shut up,” she huffed as she walked back towards Killian. “I want another shot at you.”

“Another shot at me?” Killian echoed, an uncharacteristic expression of confusion emerging in his face. “Is there some sort of title here that I’m unaware of?”

“I want to duel you,” Hermione persisted. “A real duel. I want to see everything you have.”

“Why?” Killian asked, more perplexed than before.

Hermione advanced upon Killian, eyeing him with a sudden drive of adrenaline. What purpose would it serve? She did not have a good answer. She knew she wanted it. She needed to have it, to experience it, to prove it to herself.

“There are five Slytherins who will never forget the day they crossed you,” she said, attempting to play on Killian’s arrogance. “I want to know what that feels like.”

“There were more than five,” Killian began, indulging in Hermione’s implied compliment, “as irrelevant as that is. Why in the world would you want to know what that feels like?” he continued, his tone deepening.

“I want to experience it,” Hermione went on. “I want you to show me, to teach me.”

“You already have a teacher,” Killian pointed out. “A great one, as you’ve said.”

“Harry is a great teacher,” Hermione conceded. “But he can’t teach me what you can.”

Killian looked as though he was going to respond, more than likely in a manner that Hermione was not looking for. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, his attention was suddenly drawn to the stone floor by Hermione’s feet.

Hermione looked down and saw Thomas scurrying about. Killian bent down and picked Thomas up as the fidgety ferret clicked and squeaked.

“Malfoy and Umbridge are coming,” Killian whispered to Hermione.

“You can understand him?” Hermione asked.

“No, Hermione,” Killian answered with a drawling, sarcastic tone. “Thomas is a ferret. He cannot speak. I can, however, see quite well.”

Spinning around, Hermione saw Draco and Professor Umbridge, decked in her bright pink knitted shawl, approaching. Under ordinary circumstances, the sight of Professor Umbridge had the effect of turning Hermione’s stomach. Seeing Umbridge under the current circumstances, however, was much more like having her stomach ripped entirely from her abdomen.

Hermione turned back to Killian and saw that he had his wand at the ready, pointed directly at her. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glazed over with shock.

“Trust me,” he said with a wink.

She did not have time to decide one way or the other. Umbridge and Draco closed in quickly as thoughts began repeating in her head, as if trying to convince her of something she doubted. He’s not a Slytherin, he’s not a Slytherin, he’s not a Slytherin.

“There’s one of them!” Draco announced, pointing at Hermione with his wand. “I told you I’d find them.”

As they drew nearer, Hermione saw that Draco’s face was singed and blackened, his eyebrows nearly seared off. She knew at once that he must have confiscated one of the trading cards distributed through the chocolate frogs. She had assumed that there was some form of jinx placed on the card to prevent any unwanted readers from procuring the message. Even in the predicament she currently found herself in, she could not help but smile with amusement.

“You’d find them? I don’t believe you’ve found anything,” Killian scoffed at Draco’s liberties. “And what happened to your face?”

“Think it’s funny, do you?” Draco snapped before Professor Umbridge raised her hand to silence him, her sickeningly sweet smile beaming across her face.

“And what, exactly,” she asked in her petite voice, “do we have here, Mr. Finn?”

“I heard rumors that the Weasley twins were attempting to set up shop in the boathouse this evening,” Killian explained, his wand still on Hermione. “I came down here to investigate, on behalf of the Inquisitorial Squad,” he added with mock nod.

“And?” Professor Umbridge pressed. “What did you find?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid,” Killian answered. He gestured to the serene waters of the Black Lake and the seemingly deserted boathouse. “It appears that the rumors were merely a clever ruse.”

Professor Umbridge looked to be processing Killian’s information as she glanced down at the boathouse with narrowing eyes. Hermione’s nerves were racing. How could he be so calm? How could he be smiling?

“And who is this?” Professor Umbridge asked, looking Hermione up and down.

Hermione knew that Umbridge recognized her. The Ministry’s representative probably just never took the time to actually remember her name. Or worse still, she would not give a Muggle-born such as Hermione the respect of actually speaking it.

“Hermione Granger,” Draco said with disgust. “A Gryffindor.”

“A Gryffindor?” Umbridge sang. “And why would a Gryffindor be out of the Gryffindor dorms at this hour?”

“Studying,” Killian said. “Needed to get some air, or so she says.”

“And you believed her?” Umbridge asked, batting her eyes and smiling, her eyes still fixed on Hermione.

“No,” Killian answered. “I believed that she was looking for the Weasleys. But after interrogating her, even to the point of offering to reduce the amount of House points deducted, she remained true to her story. I was actually in the process of taking one hundred points from Gryffindor when you arrived.”

“One hundred?” Hermione gasped as she spun around on Killian.

“It could have been fifty, if you had the information I was looking for,” Killian reiterated, grinning broadly.

Hermione was furious. It took every bit of her resolve not to slap the smirk off Killian’s face right then and there. He was playing the part, she understood that. She also knew that he was truly enjoying it.

“Do you have any information that would be of use?” Umbridge asked sweetly of Hermione. “I could still credit a portion of your penalty back to your House.”

“I don’t know anything about the Weasleys setting up anything,” Hermione lied, and rather convincingly at that. “I went for a walk. I’ve been stressed about my OWLs and I needed to clear my head.”

“Studying is important,” Umbridge said condescendingly as she patted Hermione on the shoulder. “But rules are important as well. Mr. Finn,” she directed towards Killian. “You’ve inspected the boathouse thoroughly?”

“Inside and out,” Killian lied, equally as convincingly as Hermione. “Nothing out of place.”

“Still …” Umbridge pondered. “A second set of eyes wouldn’t hurt. Mr. Malfoy—” she gestured to Draco—“go down and have a look. Every detail is important.”

For the first time, Hermione saw a twinge of concern arise in Killian’s eyes. Draco, eager to please, began bounding down the stone steps. As he approached the archway, Hermione thought she saw Killian’s hand clench down on his wand.

“Ah, Professor Umbridge, my dear,” came Dumbledore’s flitting voice as he and Professor Snape approached from the castle, much to the relief of Hermione.

Umbridge spun about, her smile unchanged as Draco paused just shy of the archway.

“Monitoring the grounds, I see,” the silver-haired headmaster went on. “A lovely night for it.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Umbridge sang. “And what can I do for you?”

Snape appeared to be biting his tongue, his distaste for Umbridge disallowing him to even make eye contact with the woman. It was one thing that he and Hermione had in common.

Dumbledore glanced about the area, feigning interest. “Have we discovered anything?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Finn discovered rumors that the Weasley twins were setting up shop in the boathouse,” Umbridge explained.

“And?” Dumbledore asked, looking down at the boathouse. “I see nothing at the boathouse. It appears that these rumors were a red herring of a sort, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Finn?”

“Yes, Professor,” Killian answered, in an oddly respectful tone that Hermione did not recognize. “That was my conclusion, as well. But Professor Umbridge thought it wise to double-check my assertions.”

“I believe that we can all see from here that the boathouse is not playing host to a gaggle of students investing their coin in less than practical novelties,” Dumbledore concluded. “So, seeing as though that matter appears to be settled, I think that you can retire to your dorm, Mr. Malfoy. No need to waste any more time chasing shadows in the night.”

Draco looked at Snape as if asking for approval to continue down to the boathouse. Snape, instead, gave a curt gesture with his head, indicating for Draco to follow Dumbledore’s orders. Scowling at Hermione, Draco made his way up the steps and headed back inside the castle.

“Out for a stroll, are we?” Snape asked of Hermione with narrowed eyes glancing back and forth between her and Killian.

“Mr. Finn caught this one out of dorms after hours,” Umbridge explained proudly.

“I’m certain he did,” Snape drawled. “Exemplary work.”

Hermione could see the wheels turning in Snape’s head. If he was anything, it surely was not stupid. Luckily, however, as with the last time she had been caught by the Potions master, Hermione had the luxury of being with Killian. Snape was not going to allow his House to be penalized, even if it meant allowing a Gryffindor to get away with lies.

“Well, Mr. Finn,” Dumbledore suggested. “I believe it is your duty as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad to escort Ms. Granger back to the Gryffindor tower to ensure she is not wandering the halls. Professor Umbridge?” he went on. “I should actually like to have a word with you regarding a certain Educational Decree number 29 that has been proposed by Mr. Filtch.”

“I would certainly enjoy entertaining such a conversation,” Umbridge obliged.

Even with the niceties, Hermione could feel the contempt breeding between the two of them. Dumbledore glanced at Killian and gave him a sharp nod indicating that now was the time to leave. Without a word, Killian grabbed Hermione by the arm, which she did not appreciate at all, and led her back into the castle.

Once inside, Killian released his grip. Hermione immediately turned and slugged him in the shoulder with everything she could muster.

“One hundred points?” she shouted.

“I had to make it believable,” Killian defended, smiling and rubbing his shoulder. “It worked out well enough.”

“Easy for you to say,” Hermione huffed. “So what happens with the boathouse? You’re not there to watch. What happens if Professor Umbridge comes back?”

“I drew a barrier line around my post,” Killian explained. “Once I crossed it, it sent a signal to Fred and George that something had gone wrong. At this point, I’m sure they’ve closed up shop and are just waiting for the area to clear before heading out. That one, incidentally,” he added with a wink, “was my idea."

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. The rest of the walk was simply idle banter, mostly involving Killian being struck for any number of smart remarks. As they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione paused and looked at Killian.

“I was serious, you know,” she said.

“About what?” Killian asked, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation.

“About the duel,” Hermione answered.

Killian looked at Hermione with empty eyes, as if trying to read her, trying to get inside her head. She would have looked away if not for the fact that she was trying to do the same.

“All right,” he finally agreed, although his tone seemed regretful.

Hermione smiled. “When?”

“Why don’t we let things die down for a bit?” Killian suggested.

Hermione hated to agree with Killian, but he was right. Especially with the evening’s recent events. Reluctantly, she went along with Killian.

“Don’t even try to back out,” she warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Killian smiled and presented Hermione with a noble bow. “Goodnight, Hermione Granger.”

Hermione laughed, tickled by Killian’s silly gesture. “Goodnight.”

Killian turned and left. Hermione stood before the painting of the Fat Lady for a moment, a thousand thoughts pouring through her mind all at once.

“Evening Daffodils,” she said. The painting opened with a broad swing.

Hermione entered the tower, and the painting swung shut behind her. She had her second chance. She would sleep well that night.

harita · 05-31-2011, 04:59 PM

nice one...will be waiting for the second round of duel...

Anthony Devon · 06-02-2011, 01:06 PM

- Chapter Six -
A Simple Distraction

“Tell me again,” Killian asked, clumsily lacing his skate as he sat on a bench beside a frozen pond several blocks from Grimmauld Place. “Why, exactly, are we partaking in this?”

Hermione smiled, already laced and waiting for Killian. “Because it’s fun.”

Hermione was supposed to be skiing with her family over the holiday break. Skiing, however, was not particularly her thing. Instead, she decided to spend Christmas with Harry, Ron, and the others at Grimmauld Place. Especially after Dumbledore informed her of what had happened to Harry.

So after the term ended, Hermione summoned the Knight Bus. Before she left Hogwarts, she managed to convince Killian to meet her at the frozen pond they now occupied. No one expected her at Grimmauld Place, so she now had a few hours to do as she pleased with no watching eyes.

“Fun?” Killian asked with a raised eyebrow, finishing one skate and now working on the other. “Muggle culture is truly odd.”

“Oh, come on,” Hermione teased as she stood on the ice in front of Killian. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“Of course not,” Killian dismissed. “I am merely questioning the logic involved. Ice, in and of itself, provides little traction. So why, in all sanity, would one affix something to oneself in order to further waver their footing?”

“You analyze too much.” Hermione smiled again as Killian finished preparing and stood rather unstably.

“No,” Killian disagreed as he straightened up. “I analyze exactly the correct amount.”

“We could always skip this and go ahead with our duel that you’ve been dodging,” Hermione offered with a grin.

Killian smirked as he took a step. “I believe I shall take my chances on the ice." Instantly, his feet went out from under him, and he slammed into the ice. “Or on my back, as it appears.”

“Oh, my God!” Hermione laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she stood over Killian. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes.” Killian grimaced. “Perfectly fine. Did I mention that aside from being rather slippery, ice is also significantly unforgiving?”

Hermione bent down and helped Killian struggle to his feet. Once upright, he reached into his coat and removed his wand.

“What are you doing?” Hermione gasped as she pushed his wand down, concealing it from view.

“I’m assuring that I don’t fall again,” Killian answered simply.

“You can’t,” Hermione pointed out. “We’re underage and off school grounds. It’s illegal for us to use magic.”

“For you, maybe.” Killian grinned. “But I’m sure I could get away with it.”

Hermione glared at the arrogant Slytherin. “I’d rather not test your theory.”

“Hermione, I …” Killian began.

“Please?” Hermione interrupted.

Killian paused, looking at Hermione as she stared up at him. Reluctantly, he replaced his wand within his jacket.

“You simply wish to see me in pain, don’t you?” He asked with a smile.

Hermione’s eyes beamed as she skated away and wound back again.

“See, now,” Killian pointed out, “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” Hermione assured.

“Having already felt the cold sting of gravity pairing with inertia, I am inclined to disagree with you,” Killian returned as Hermione stopped in front of him.

“Here.” Hermione reached for Killian. "Take my hand.”

Killian sighed as he took Hermione’s hand and cautiously followed her lead across the ice. “Bloody Muggles and their ridiculous practices.”

Hermione and Killian skated along hand in hand. Looking over at Killian, Hermione felt warm with amusement. He was so uncomfortable, so out of place. Yet, there he was. He was there because she had asked him to come. He was there because it was something that she wanted to do. She knew how foolish he felt. Furthermore, she knew he would never allow anyone else to see him in such a state. He was there for her.

“See?” Hermione said as they turned about at the end of the pond. “You’re getting it.”

“Yes,” Killian conceded with a roll of his eyes. “Thrilling.”

As they made their way to the other side of the pond, Killian started to lose his footing once again. Fighting to maintain their balance, they spun off the side of the pond. Killian tripped and fell into the snow bank, pulling Hermione down on top of him.

“Well,” Hermione said, breathing heavily as she surveyed the damage. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

“Maybe from your position,” Killian groaned from underneath her.

Hermione laughed and got to her feet, brushing the snow from her jacket. Killian did the same, albeit not as gracefully. Together, they made their way to the bench alongside the pond and sat down.

Hermione shivered as she rubbed her hands together. “I’m freezing.”

“That’s what happens when you play in the snow,” Killian teased as he took Hermione’s hands. “You are cold.”

He massaged her hands them for whatever warmth it could provide. In truth, the action itself was not as warming as the emotions it inspired. There was so little time at school, so many distractions that kept them apart. Even now, Hermione knew that their time would be short. It was almost five o’clock, and she had to get to Grimmauld Place before it got too dark.

“What are you doing for the holidays?” Hermione asked as Killian continued to work on her hands, their fingers interlacing.

“Nothing that wouldn’t bore you,” Killian dismissed. “Ghastly family gatherings mostly.”

“You can be so enthusiastic at times,” Hermione said, rich with sarcasm. “You should smile during the holidays. That’s what they’re for.”

“I’m smiling now,” Killian pointed out with a wink, causing Hermione to blush slightly.

“You’re intolerable.” She said with a sigh, shaking her head and looking away. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Killian agreed. “And as we’ve just discovered, I’m also a terrible ice skater.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Hermione lied.

“Really?” Killian asked with mocked surprise.

“No, not really.” Hermione laughed. “You’re actually pretty awful at it.”

They sat on the bench for nearly an hour, ignoring the cold, enjoying the company. It was such a simple pleasure, but Hermione would not have traded it for the world. As it neared six o’clock, the light faded and the skies grew dark.

“I need to get going,” Hermione said reluctantly.

“I know,” Killian agreed with equal reluctance. “Shall I walk you?”

“Probably not a good idea,” Hermione answered. “Someone might see us. It’s only a few blocks. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Killian asked. “I’d feel better if I knew you got there safely.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hermione insisted once again.

“All right.” Killian stood, now firm in his footing with the skates removed. “I guess I won’t see you again until after the holidays.”

“I guess not,” Hermione agreed with a heavy heart, her hands still in Killian’s. “I didn’t even get you anything,” she admitted. “I wasn’t sure …”

Killian smiled. “Your company this night is far greater than any gift I could receive.”

As usual, Hermione was not quite sure if Killian was being sincere or clever. Upon looking in his eyes, she decided to believe the former over the latter.

“I don’t want to go,” Hermione admitted as snow started to fall from the heavens.

“There will be other times,” Killian promised. “Unless, of course, you get caught commiserating with a Slytherin around a frozen pond,” he added with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes and slapped Killian across the chest. Killian took Hermione’s hand, bent down, and kissed it softly.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

Normally, Hermione felt silly when Killian would engage in such gestures. This time, however, she threw her arms around him, kissing him warmly on the cheek.

“Happy Christmas.”

She pulled back and saw a smile wash over Killian’s face. Not his customary, arrogant, Slytherin smile. It was different. It was happy, almost cheerful. It was contagious.

Unwillingly, Hermione withdrew from Killian’s embrace.

“I really have to go.”

“Right,” Killian conceded.

“I’ll see you back at school,” Hermione said as she backed away.

Killian nodded, smiling again. “Of course.”

With that, Hermione turned and raced towards Grimmauld Place. When she reached the entrance, she looked around to see if anyone was watching. Down the street, Killian peered from around the corner. He had followed her. Of course he had followed her. He would never allow her to walk the streets at night alone. Not if he could help it.

Giving a slight wave, Killian Disapparated. Hermione stood on the stoop of Grimmauld place for a moment, feeling a warmth around her as the cold snow continued to fall, clinging to her hair and clothes. She needed the simple distraction that the late afternoon provided. More so than she had realized. A moment later, she rang the bell.

harita · 06-02-2011, 06:36 PM

aw...it was superbly written...so very sweet...

Mordanyes · 06-03-2011, 06:01 AM

Woah, I've missed 2 chapters? Didn't realise! Brilliant chapters. I just love Killian!

Can't wait for more. PAMS!

Cassiopia Malfoy · 06-03-2011, 12:53 PM

EEEEEP! They are amaaaazing chapters!

I must admit I was laughing hysterically when Hermione said she wanted Killian ~~also nodding my head knowing she does~~. Wowwww, you're super talented, and never fail to amaze me with all your skills! Good job, I love the two updates!

Oh, oh OH aaand, I love the banner!

Anthony Devon · 06-06-2011, 04:00 PM

- Chapter Seven -
Passion and Control

Hermione stood across from Killian. The Room of Requirement was much quieter than it had been over the last several months. Dumbledore’s Army had, more or less, been disbanded. Dumbledore, himself, had left Hogwarts in the form of a self-issued exile taken in order to protect Harry from expulsion. A dark air had fallen over the castle.

Killian had been avoiding this night, canceling previous arrangements several times prior. However, he had run out of excuses. Fred and George, whom Killian used often with the explanation that he was standing watch for their floating joke shop, were gone. Feeling that formal education was not exactly what they had envisioned for themselves, they dropped out of Hogwarts. Not before they left a few loving reminders of their presence, of course.

The OWLs and NEWTs were to begin the next morning, so studying, another of Killian’s regular excuses, had also been made nearly obsolete. Hermione, herself, wrestled with the thought that she ought to be studying, but pushed the desire aside. Killian had agreed to meet this night. There was no way she was going to allow him to dismiss it again.

Killian’s expression was one of contemplation. Contemplating how to get out of this, Hermione surmised. She knew he did not want to be there. She did not care. He made a promise and she intended on holding him to it.

“I’m ready when you are, Professor,” Hermione teased.

“Don’t call me that,” Killian said, entirely unamused. “Interesting choice of location,” he added, looking about. “A bit risky, being that Umbridge is now aware of its existence.”

“I rather doubt that she has any interest in this place anymore,” Hermione said with a hint of frustration. “Aside from that, Educational Decree number 24 specifically defines a group as consisting of three or more students. At my count, I see only two. Let her find us. We’re well within the rules.”

Killian nodded, Hermione’s point not being lost on him. However, he still had not taken out his wand. Hermione could see, even from the distance and poor lighting that the Room of Requirement provided, that he was gritting his teeth.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she prodded, her wand at the ready.

Reluctantly, Killian drew his wand and twirled it in his fingers by his side. His eyes narrowed, focused. With a deep breath, he took his place.

“Ready when you are,” he conceded. There was a great amount of tension in face. Hermione could almost feel it.

She and Killian eyed each other for a moment before Hermione suddenly flicked her wand.

“Stupefy!” she commanded, taking the same approach as the last time they had squared off.

Much to Hermione’s frustration, Killian also took the same approach, simply deflecting the spell with no counter attack. Hermione cast several more offensive spells, but Killian did little except avoid, absorb, or deflect them. Fury burned through Hermione as she stormed across the room towards Killian.

“You lied to me!” she screamed, her face inches from Killian’s.

Killian evaded Hermione’s eyes, instead looking off towards the walls, ceiling, or any other direction that suited his avoidance. It appeared as though he wanted to say something but was making his best efforts to bite his tongue—a truly arduous task.

“You said you would try!” Hermione continued, pushing Killian. “You promised me!”

“Why do you want to do this?” he shouted.

“Why don’t you?” Hermione shot back, unwilling to let go of her anger.

“Because ...” Killian began, then stopped, searching for the right words. “Because I’m not a teacher!” he finally went on. “You already have one! Go run off to him for your Defense Against the Dark Arts!”

Hermione was sure that was not what Killian had initially intended to say. She could see it in his eyes. There was something more. There was something that he was not telling her. She wanted to believe that he simply did not want to hurt her. While that may have been true, she could see that there was something even greater weighing on him.

“That’s just it,” she went on. “Harry is teaching us all how to defend against the Dark Arts! I’ve learned defense! Teach me to attack!”

“Are you mad? You don’t need to attack!” Killian argued. “All you need to do is defend! Defend and run! You have no place attacking! None of you do!”

“Would you run?” Hermione shouted.

Her question silenced Killian. For the first time that night, their eyes met without anger. She knew she had hit a nerve. There was no way that he would lie to her and tell her that he would run away. His ego would never allow for it. She had talked him into a corner. He did not even need to respond.

“Don’t ask me to do something that you’re not willing to do yourself,” Hermione said, taking a step back from Killian. “Teach me.”

“You don’t want this,” Killian said solemnly. There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes that Hermione could not place.

“Yes, I do,” she said.

Killian stared at Hermione for a moment. She wondered why he was so hesitant. Was he afraid of being bested by her? He was arrogant, but she thought him better than that. Killian sighed once again. He then proceeded to unbutton his shirtsleeves and loosen his tie, much like he did during their first duel in the woods.

“Passion and control,” he said.

“What?” Hermione asked quizzically.

“That is the root of everything,” Killian explained, refusing to look at Hermione. “Defensive spells, offensive attacks, everything cast is reflective of the passions flowing through the caster. I assume Harry has taught you how to conjure up your Patronus.”

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“And how is it conjured?” Killian asked.

“The Patronus Charm,” Hermione answered.

“Forget the charm!” Killian blasted. “Anyone can say the words! Not everyone can conjure a Patronus! How is it achieved?”

“A happy thought,” Hermione began cautiously. “The happiest thought you can think of. Then it manifests itself in your Patronus.”

“Exactly,” Killian agreed. “And while that works wonders for conjuring a Patronus for your defense, happy thoughts will do very little against your enemy. Pain, anger, fire burning within your soul—these are the allies of your attack. Control them, and they will serve you. Do not, and they will control you. Passion and control. There must be a balance.”

Hermione felt the back of her neck tingle as Killian paced back and forth, still refusing to make eye contact with her. She had never heard him speak in such a manner. There was such reluctance in his voice that it almost made Hermione want to stop. Her burning desire to experience what he knew was the only thing that pressed her on.

“Raise your wand,” Killian instructed Hermione as he finally acknowledged her with his eyes. “Cast.”

“Cast what?” Hermione asked as she unsurely raised her wand.

“It doesn’t matter,” Killian answered.

“Stupefy!” she commanded unimaginatively.

Hermione watched as Killian deflected the spell with a simple wave of his wand. His expression remained stone-faced as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said.

She cast again to the same effect. Several more followed, each one being deflected as though they were butterflies floating in the wind. She began to doubt herself as Killian’s expression stood fast. She almost wished for his infuriating grin to appear. At least then, she would recognize him again.

“Why aren’t you attacking?” Hermione exasperated as yet another cast was deflected away harmlessly.

“Because you do not pose a threat to me,” Killian answered coldly. “Use your emotions, your anger! Fear and compassion will only weaken your attack.”

She cast again, only to find her spell tossed aside. She did not feel angry, she felt inadequate. She saw Killian standing at the other side of the room, looking at her as though she were from another class of existence not suited to be in his presence. It was a horrible feeling, overtaking her senses, causing her casts to become errant and inefficient even in the basic sense.

“It’s not working,” she cried, her feelings of failure pushing her to tears. “I can’t ...”

“That ...” Killian said as he swatted away another of Hermione’s casts, “is because ...” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze upon Hermione. “ ... You are weak, you filthy little Mudblood.”

Something snapped. Hermione suddenly felt a burning sensation rise in her face. How could he say that? After everything that had happened between them? How could he? She straightened up and directed her wand at Killian, who stood at the ready.

“Stupefy!” she cried, her voice wavering with mixed emotions of anger and pain.

It was the same cast that she had thrown a dozen times or more already. This time, Killian could not deflect it away as easily, his Shielding Spell forcing him back slightly as if he had been delivered a raucous body blow.

How could he?

“Stupefy!” she cast again and Killian deflected it, although with noticeably more effort involved.

Dumbledore’s Army had been disbanded.

“Stupefy!”

Dumbledore was gone.

“Stupefy!”

It was his fault!

“Stupefy!”

Killian was supposed to watch out for them!

“Stupefy!”

He was supposed to protect them!

“Stupefy!”

He was supposed to protect her!

“Impedimentia!” Hermione shouted with relentless fury.

Killian, who had been bombarded with the last several casts, could not get his shield up in time and resorted to attempting a counter-jinx. The energies from their wands met in the center of the room, sending bolts of electricity and waves of energy crashing about the duelists, shattering the mirrors on the walls and trembling the foundation pillars.

Hermione, now burning with rage, leaned in on her cast as Killian planted his feet, bracing himself from the barrage of energy that was being thrust upon him. His hair had come free from its neat tail and now flailed about as if caught in a windstorm.

Slowly, the balance of energies began to shift. Killian was forced to one knee in an attempt to gain leverage. Hermione could see that she was draining him. Suddenly, with a violent sweep, Killian succeeded in casting off Hermione’s jinx, blasting a sizable divot in the solid stone wall beside them. The round was over with Hermione standing, her wand still at the ready, and Killian on his knee, palms to the floor for support.

“E-Enough,” he said, breathlessly.

No. Not enough. He had failed her! He was one of them!

“Reducto!” Hermione shouted in a voice that she, herself, did not recognize.

Killian could barely muster a pseudo Shielding Charm before the jinx was upon him. The effort did little to absorb the impact. Killian was thrust back by the explosion that rung through the room. His body crashed high and awkward into the far wall before coming to rest on the floor. Hermione stood there, glaring at her enemy as he made a weak attempt to get to his feet before crumbling under his own weight. She raised her wand again, ready to unleash hellfire upon Killian when a sudden realization overtook her.

“Oh, my God!” she gasped as the rage drained from her body.

Killian was making another painful attempt to rise, his shirt torn, blood trickling from an unseen wound somewhere in his hairline. Hermione lowered her wand and rushed over to him, her heart racing. As she attempted to help him to his feet, however, he pushed her hand away.

“Are we satisfied?” he asked, wiping away a stream of blood that had emerged from his mouth.

“Killian,” Hermione started, “I didn’t ... I don’t know what happened.”

“Congratulations,” Killian offered grimly, his cold eyes staring at Hermione as if she were a complete stranger to him. “Class dismissed.”

With that, he got up and limped his way out of the Room of Requirement, leaving Hermione on the floor to watch him as he left. What had she done? What had happened to her? Mudblood. He had not meant it. She knew he had not meant it. He would never say such things to her. Never. He baited her, trying to bring out her rage—a rage that nearly consumed her.

A horrible feeling ran through Hermione as she sat there on the cold, stone floor. It was like a sickness within her soul. She could not take back what she had done, what she had become. As she absorbed this new reality, a sense of desperation overcame her. She could not let him walk away. She had to make it right. She understood now. She had to find him and make it right again.

Hermione leapt to her feet and raced out of the Room of Requirement. She knew Killian would be heading back to the Slytherin House. She had to catch him before he got down there. She needed to talk to him, to make him understand, to make things back the way they were.

Racing down the steps towards the dungeons, a thousand thoughts raced through Hermione’s mind. Killian’s expression as he looked up at her. The cold empty tone of his voice. His eyes, which had always smiled at her before, now staring through her with an empty icy glare. Her heart felt as though it were being wrenched from her chest.

“Having a bit of a spat, are we?” Draco sneered as he cut Hermione off in the dungeon passage. “On the outs already?”

“Shut up!” Hermione said as she tried to make her way past his intolerable presence. “And get out of the way!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco went on. “He’s in the common room. You won’t be able to see him.”

Draco’s words fell upon Hermione with a crushing weight. It was as if he had somehow stolen her air. Her emotions had so overtaken her that she nearly convinced herself to ask him for help, to have him get Killian and bring him back to her. Luckily, she gained enough composure to realize that a favor from Draco was something that she could never have on her conscience.

“Although it looks like you’ve been caught out after hours again,” Draco added.

“Go ahead and take points from Gryffindor,” Hermione dared as she drew her wand to the ready. “See what happens.”

“Sure you want to do that, Granger?” Draco sneered. “You don’t have your Killian around to protect you!”

“I don’t need any help dealing with you,” Hermione snapped back as Draco eyed her wand.

Hermione watched Draco as his eyes twitched nervously. He kept a strong facade, but she knew he was little more than a mouth full of bravado. On his best day, he could not compete with her.

“Lucky for you I’m not allowed,” Draco finally conceded, raising a cocky eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked.

“On the orders of my father and Professor Snape,” Draco explained, “there are no retaliations allowed against Finn. So I guess that takes you off the table then, doesn’t it?”

“Why would your father care about retaliations against Killian?” Hermione mocked, assuming that Professor Snape had disallowed it for the benefit of his House.

“Are you serious?” Draco scoffed. “You don’t know?”

She did not. With all that had happened already, she was not entirely sure she wanted to. The way Draco seemed to be relishing the knowledge, it had little chance of being something that would bring a positive turn to her current situation.

“His father and my father are affiliates,” Draco informed with an air of supremacy in his tone. "For years."

“You’re lying,” Hermione snapped.

“I’m not,” Draco insisted, his wretched smirk broadening across his face. “I was at his bloody sister’s wedding this past summer. Although I think I had a larger presence there than he did, roaming off somewhere just after it started. Not much for formal engagements, is he?”

Hermione tried to rationalize Draco’s revelation in her mind. The Finns were Ravenclaws. Killian had told her that. The Malfoys were Slytherins. But both families were purebloods. That was all that really mattered to a Slytherin in the end, after all.

“Didn’t know any of this, did you?” Draco went on. “Secrets, secrets, secrets. What else has he been keeping from you? I’m sure I can fill you in. We practically grew up together, so there’s not much about him that I don’t know. Do you want to hear about how much of a disappointment he is to his father?”

“You’d know a lot about being a disappointment, wouldn’t you?” Hermione chided.

“My father wasn’t summoned for a conference with Professor Umbridge about my refusal to accept a position with the Inquisitorial Squad,” Draco pointed out proudly.

“That’s because you jumped at the opportunity,” Hermione mocked. “Killian has more of a backbone than you do.”

Draco face twisted. Hermione thought for a moment that he might actually draw his wand. After a moment of sulking, however, he simply shrugged off her comments with a wave of his hand.

“You’re just lucky that you’re off the table,” he said dismissively. “Why don’t you go run along back to the Gryffindor Tower before I change my mind and start hammering points from your House?”

Seeing no better alternative at the moment, Hermione obliged. As she walked along, she felt suddenly alone. She had not known Killian at all. How was this possible? She knew him. She knew him! His father’s affiliations had no bearing on his own, did they? Hermione, herself, could not decide one way or the other. She wanted to believe that he was the person she had thought him to be, had known him to be. She could not bear to believe that she had lost him.

Anthony Devon · 06-06-2011, 04:13 PM

Ummm ... I have a question to ask. Probably a ridiculously ridiculous question. I read that there is a way to create links for each chapter in a story and place them within the first post of the story thread. Can anyone tell me how, exactly, this is done? I have spent three days trying to figure it out, but can't seem to find a guide for it on the site.

I'm sure that it is an overly simplistic procedure, but am the first to admit that I am a writer, not an internet/computer savant

Thanks!

- AD

Anthony Devon · 06-08-2011, 04:17 PM

Note: ** indicates dialogue taken directly from the works of J K Rowling's The Order of the Phoenix.

- Chapter Eight -
Innocence Lost

That night, Hermione did not sleep. Her mind would not allow for it. Images flashed over and over again. Killian down on his knee, gasping, pleading for mercy as she rained down upon him with relentless rage. It was a nightmare. It was her reality.

Everything had changed in an instant. The simplicity of their complexity was gone. In its place was an actuality of life that, while known, was never attached to them. And this actuality, a demon by its own right, had nearly overwhelmed and shattered Hermione’s very will. Only now, as she lay alone with her thoughts, did she truly appreciate the consequences of her persistent desire to learn what Killian so desperately sought to keep from her. Only now, as her innocence faded away, did she truly understand.

The next morning was agony. OWLs were to begin after breakfast, but Hermione’s mind was elsewhere. As she sat in the Great Hall amidst a plethora of foods and various juices, she feigned studying, burying her head in Achievement in Charming and avoiding all conversation entirely.

Across the hall, she stole an occasional glance toward the Slytherin table. This merely fed her feelings of emptiness as Killian made a brief appearance, grabbing a biscuit before exiting without a word. Even from across the hall, Hermione could see the wounds she had left upon him. He had made an attempt to hide them, but they were still visible to anyone who cared to look.

After breakfast, Hermione headed to her first OWL exam. Charms. It would be simple enough. Even with her mental distractions, Charms was a subject of near second nature to her. This was a curse as much as a blessing. The ease of the exam meant that there was little need for concentration. This allowed for her to wallow in her misery over the next two hours until she answered the final question and turned in her exam.

After the exam, Hermione met up with Ron and Harry in the hope that some simple conversation would offer a distraction.

“Well, it wasn’t too bad, was it?” Hermione asked as they walked along. “I’m not sure I did myself justice in the Cheering Charms, I just ran out of time. Did you put in the countercharm for hiccups?” she rambled on without pause. “I wasn’t sure whether I ought to; it felt like too much. And on question twenty-three …” **

“Hermione,” Ron interrupted, “we’ve been through this before. We’re not going though every exam afterward. It’s bad enough going through them once.” **

Hermione really had hoped for something more from Ron. Perhaps she expected too much. It was not as though she could really blame him. Ron was just Ron. He would never be like … Well, he would always be Ron. Hermione just needed something, anything at this point.

They continued along towards the Great Hall in silence. Harry gave Hermione a sympathetic glance. She knew he could tell that something was wrong. He did not say anything, but he knew. His simple glance was enough to give him away.

Lunch went the same as breakfast. Although this time, Hermione at least forced herself to eat something. Regardless of her emotional state, her stomach insisted that it needed some form of nourishment. Even so, several more glances at the Slytherin table left her feeling much the same as before.

The practical portion of the Charms OWL followed lunch. It went as well as Hermione had expected. After the exam, the rest of the day was a fog. Hermione engaged in conversations with Harry and Ron but could not honestly say what it was they had talked about. It felt as though the world was moving on without her, and she was merely a spectator watching from the outside in.

That night in the Gryffindor common room, all the students gathered around and chatted away without a care. Hermione fell into the sofa across from the hearth, flipping mindlessly through her Transfiguration notes.

“Did you see Finn?” came the voice of a third-year boy.

“I saw him,” said another. “Saw that knot on his head, too. Got himself into a bit of a tussle now, looks like.”

“Looks like,” the first boy agreed. “Who do you think it was?”

“I dunno,” the second said with a laugh. “Didn’t notice anyone missing.”

“Right, that'd be a give away, wouldn't it?” the first chortled in return. “You don’t think someone bested him, do you?”

“Who cares?” came a third voice from another boy who had joined the conversation. “He’s a flippin’ Slytherin … and one of Umbridge’s boys at that.”

Hermione got up from the sofa, seething, as she fought with every ounce of her constitution to hold her tongue. She wished that Fred and George were still there. They would have silenced those insolent third years. They would have never allowed for anyone to speak out against Killian, to speak out against their friend ... her friend … her … something.

But they were gone. Fred and George had abandoned their academics in lieu of starting their own joke shop. Hermione now wished she had left with them. It seemed a far simpler path at the moment.

Taking a deep breath to settle her emotions, Hermione decided to head up to the girls’ dorm. She knew she would not sleep, but that was not really the point. She just wanted to be away from people. She just wanted to be away, in general.

The OWLs continued on the next morning … and the morning after that and the morning after that and so on. Hermione did her best to stay on task. Even still, she found herself constantly looking over her shoulder, hoping that she might find Killian across the hall looking back at her. It was the wish of a fool and, as such, it went unanswered. While she would see Killian in passing most every day, it was as though they were strangers in a crowd … Strangers who averted their eyes and went on without a thought.

Over the next two weeks, the emotions around Hogwarts seemed to mimic Hermione’s. As the OWLs continued, stress levels amongst the fifth years reached a climax. To make matters worse, Professor Umbridge continued to tighten her grip on the student body through further restrictions and regulations.

During the practical portion of their Astronomy OWL exam, the entire class of fifth years witnessed Hagrid being nothing less than assaulted by members of the Ministry. Although Hagrid managed to escape into the Forbidden Forest, it was not before Professor McGonagall was attacked herself while attempting to defend the fleeing half-giant. Everything was falling apart.

The morning after the vicious attack on the grounds outside the Astronomy Tower marked the final day of the OWL exams. The History of Magic. Hermione breezed through the exam with precision, wanting nothing more than to be done with it all. Once finished, she excused herself quietly so as not to disturb the students who continued to scratch away with their quills.

As she exited the Great Hall, she leaned up against the cold stone wall, closing her eyes with a heavy sigh.

At least that’s over, she thought as a drove of students passed by.

Without looking, Hermione turned to head towards the Gryffindor tower. As she did, she slammed right into a passing student who seemed as equally distracted and oblivious as Hermione.

Stepping back and looking up, Hermione’s heart jumped into her throat as she saw Killian staring back at her. The surprise encounter eliminated the chance to look away and ignore each other. Their eyes were locked.

Hermione’s voice was completely lost, not that she had any idea of what to say. She simply looked into Killian’s eyes … Looking for an answer … Looking for a sign … Looking for anything. What she saw, however, was not the confident, arrogant expression that she had grown to know. In its place, she saw a flooding sadness. It was a sadness that she had never witnessed before, pure and unadulterated. It did not show in his face. No, he was a Slytherin. Any show of emotions was buried away behind a stoic facade. It was his eyes that gave him away. His eyes could not hide from her.

As they stood there, mere inches from each other, Hermione begged herself to react, to reach out for him. She could see Killian’s hand flex at his side. She knew he was feeling the same conflict within himself. His jaw clenched and released, his mouth opened and closed ever so slightly, but no words came of it.

Suddenly, there was a commotion coming from the Great Hall. Hermione and Killian’s stare was broken as the doors to the Great Hall swung open and several students rushed out.

“Someone fetch Madam Pomfrey!” one student shouted as the other students in the hall began to gather around the doors.

“What’s happened?” asked a curious onlooker, standing high on her toes, trying to look over the students and into the Great Hall.

“It’s Potter!” the first student answered. “He’s collapsed!”

Hermione gasped at the news. Turning back, her heart sank as she saw that Killian was gone. She should have expected it. She did expect it. But she had hoped … Again, with the wish of a fool.

Cursing the air, Hermione pushed her personal issues aside. Something was wrong with Harry. For the moment, Killian would have to wait.

Anthony Devon · 06-10-2011, 02:25 PM

- Chapter Nine -
The Serpent and the Lioness

The next morning’s Daily Prophet reported a story to the entire wizarding world. It was a story that Harry previously had insisted to be true amidst the insults and smear campaigns set against him over the last year. Cornelius Fudge could no longer trumpet on about wild conspiracies involving Albus Dumbledore attempting to undermine and, essentially, usurp his position as the Minister of Magic. Now, Cornelius was forced to face the fear that he had denied since the night Cedric Diggory was slain in the Riddle family cemetery. Lord Voldemort had returned!

The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had been foiled, however, in their attempt to obtain the prophecy that Voldemort so desperately yearned to acquire. This was accomplished with the joint efforts of the Order of the Phoenix and the recently reformed DA. The small band was aided with a late assist by Dumbledore himself, whose duel with Voldemort nearly shook the Ministry down to its very foundations.

Unfortunately, every victory comes with a price. The prophecy, although not obtained by Voldemort, was destroyed and existed now only in the minds and memories of those who heard it before it was filed away into the abyss of the Ministry’s archives. A far greater loss, however, was the death of Sirius Black at the hands of his deranged cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry had only begun to know his godfather before he, like Harry’s parents, was violently taken away.

Members of DA had their share of casualties as well, though none proved to be fatal. Neville had broken his nose, greatly reducing his ability to cast an effective jinx during the chaotic melee. Luna had suffered minor injuries, but needed little more care than a simple bit of bandaging. Hermione, however, found herself laid up in the hospital wing at Hogwarts for a good time before she fully recovered from her injuries.

It was three days before the end of the term when Hermione was finally released. She had received many visitors during her extended stay. Ron, of course, visited often, offering her chocolates and candies while further offering to eat any of them that she was disinterested in. Several professors, including Dumbledore and, oddly enough, Professor Snape, made appearances. Snape’s visits, however, were far less cordial than the rest of the faculty. A simple “Just checking to see if you’re still alive,” summed up their conversations.

Even Harry, with everything that must have been going on inside his head, made more than one visit to see her. Still, Hermione felt empty and alone. He never came. Outside from the brief moment of awkwardness outside the Great Hall, there had been nothing between them since that night in the Room of Requirement.

Every night as Hermione lay in bed, alone in the hospital wing, she agonized over the last few weeks since that fateful night. How they sat at their respective House tables, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a second, hoping that maybe she would catch a hint of the devilish grin that infuriated her so often before. But it never happened. It never happened, and he never came.

Hermione gathered up her things from the hospital bed and was escorted by Madame Pomfrey back to the Gryffindor Tower. Once there, her peers greeted her with open arms and questions about how she was feeling, what it was like to face off against a Death Eater, and other such questions that she simply did not care to respond to. She went along with it as best as she could, though. After all, it was not their fault. They were curious. How could they not be? How could they know that all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of her life, so that she would not have to feel the pain that was eating away at her?

Harry must have seen it in her face. He came and rescued Hermione from the incessant inquiries that were being thrust upon her. She could not begin to verbalize her appreciation for his gesture. Even with everything that Harry was going through, he was still there for her when she needed him. But then, Harry knew. Harry was clever. Harry was observant. He knew why Hermione was upset. Even Ron, who was neither clever nor observant for the most part, had his suspicions. It simply was not something they would talk about.

That night, it rained with a ferocity that seemed to mimic the tempest of emotions swirling about in Hermione’s head. As the lightning crashed throughout the night skies, she lay in bed, restless, staring at the canopy of her four-poster bed, hoping for sleep to find her. But sleep would not come. Not that night.

As she lay there, Hermione heard an odd drumming amidst the pouring rains. She actually heard the sound several times before acknowledging it. It was a dull thumping against the glass. At first, she thought it to be nothing more than the torrents of rain pelting against the windowpanes. It was not until Hermione noticed several thumps in succession that she turned her head to investigate.

Outside her window, Hermione saw a fluttering image. Curious, she sat upright as her eyes adjusted to the distance and dim light. Several more tiny thumps came from the window as the fluttering shadow slapped up against the glass. Hermione got up from her bed and crossed the room to the window, carefully opening it so as to keep the rains at bay.

As soon as Hermione opened the window, a rain soaked paper hummingbird, whose beak and face had been mashed flat from its repetitive attempts to tap on the window, greeted her enthusiastically. It fluttered in through the window, spraying water from its wings before turning and folding on itself until it was a soaking wet paper flower. This time, however, the flower failed to waft gently in the wind, instead falling like a stone and slapping down on the windowsill.

Hermione picked up the flower, immediately knowing the significance. She stuck her head out the window and saw Killian standing at the base of Gryffindor Tower in the pouring rain. Hermione’s heart nearly burst from her chest as she haphazardly tossed on whatever clothes were nearby.

“What are you doing?” Katie asked groggily from her bed, her eyes squinted and sleep-ridden.

“Nothing,” Hermione dismissed. “I have to get something.”

“Now?” Katie asked.

Hermione raced out of the dorms without answer. Unfortunately, as luck would have it—and poor luck at that—Hermione had the unwelcome pleasure of crossing paths with Professor Snape as she made her way down the steps towards the exit to the courtyard.

“Going somewhere?” he questioned, looking spitefully down his nose at Hermione.

“I was just,” Hermione began. “I was…” she began again. No excuse could come to her. Her mind was already past the Potion's master and in the courtyard.

Snape’s eyes then found the rain soaked flower in Hermione’s hand. His glare danced between the flower and Hermione’s lost expression several times as she babbled through some form of lie or another.

“On your way to the library, perhaps?” he suggested dismissively.

Hermione was taken aback. She thought surely that the next words from Snape’s mouth would involve the deduction of points from Gryffindor, although it was quite possible that there were no points left to spare. Hermione stared at Snape for a moment, wondering whether it was some form of deception on his part.

“Yes,” she finally agreed, cautiously.

Snape cast another quick glance at the flower before sweeping past Hermione and continuing on his way.

“Mind the time,” he warned curtly.

What had just happened? Hermione was sure that she did not care at the moment. Still, though, how odd? But now was not the time. There would be other times to ponder the significance of the odd occurrence. Hermione mentally shrugged off her encounter with Snape and raced toward the exit to the courtyard.

Outside, the rains were still pounding the grounds of Hogwarts. As Hermione stood gazing out into the darkness, she saw Killian emerge from the shadows, looking like a drowned rat in a neat ponytail. He raced to her without saying a word, lifting her in a silent embrace. No words could have expressed it any better. Hermione’s clothes began to swell from the rain, but she hardly noticed as she buried her face in his shoulder, refusing to allow for an inch of space between them.

“You never came,” she cried, her emotions getting the best of her. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I wanted to,” Killian said as he kissed her on the forehead, holding her tight. “Professor Snape...” he tried to explain, but lost his words. “Please believe that I wanted to.”

“I thought…" Hermione began, her voice cracking, “… you were angry… I thought that you hated—"

“Never think that,” Killian insisted, looking Hermione in the eyes, his forehead pressed against hers. “Never, ever think that. Every moment that went by… every excruciating second since…” He paused, his brilliant green eyes piercing Hermione’s. “My life is as death without you.”

Hermione made no attempt to hold back the tears, although they were well hidden amongst the rains that pelted the two of them. Relentless rains... cleansing rains... rains that Hermione suddenly became aware of.

“My God!” she laughed as she placed her hand on Killian’s cheek. “We’re soaked!”

“I don’t care,” Killian said as he pulled her close again.

“Come out of the rain,” Hermione persuaded as she led Killian under the stone canopy.

Shaking the water from their hair and clothes as best they could, Hermione sat on the stone banister. Killian stood in front of her, looking Hermione over as if he had not seen her in years, rememorizing every feature of her face and curve of her body.

“What were you thinking?” he asked. “You could have been killed. All of you.”

“We weren’t thinking,” Hermione admitted. “It all happened so fast, we didn’t know what to do. It seemed right at the time.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Killian went on.

“We hadn’t spoken in weeks,” Hermione answered, her eyes swelling slightly as her words reminded her of the awful emptiness she had felt. “You were avoiding me. I just… I didn’t know what to think.”

Killian took Hermione’s hand, interlacing his fingers through hers.

“I’m sorry,” he began, only the second time Hermione had ever heard him apologize for anything. “I was a fool… I was afraid…”

“Afraid of what?” Hermione asked, thrown off by Killian’s admission of weakness.

“Afraid that... " Killian paused uncomfortably. The tension, the emotion in his face, it was so foreign. "I was afraid that I’d ruined you,” he finally answered as he gently smoothed what could have been a tear or simply droplet of water from Hermione’s cheek. “That night, in the Room of Requirement… The look in your eyes… I should never have…” He cut off, having great difficulty completing his thought.

But she knew what he was trying to say. Hermione remembered the burning rage that had pulsed through her as she stood above Killian’s fallen and crumpled body in the Room of Requirement. She remembered the overwhelming desire to hurt him, to destroy him. She remembered, even more vividly, the horrible aftermath as the realization of what she had done set in. She remembered the desperate desire to erase what had happened and the helplessness she felt knowing that it was impossible. Killian knew the demons that Hermione now carried with her. He had tried to protect her from that. She just would not listen.

For several moments, they remained there, listening to the rain as it drummed the grounds around them, content with the simple sounds that nature provided. But Hermione still had something pressing on her mind. She wrestled back and forth with it before coming to the conclusion that it was not something that could be avoided or prolonged.

“Can I ask you something?” Hermione finally asked.

“Anything,” Killian conceded.

“Will you promise not to lie?”

Killian laughed, his devilish grin returning. “Ask me something else.”

His normally infuriating grin brought such a familiar sense of relief to Hermione that she disregarded his avoidance of her question. She merely put her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest, wanting to feel his warmth. Even as Hermione felt his arms tighten around her and his breath trickle down the back of her neck, she knew she still had to ask.

“Is it true that your father is an affiliate of Lucius Malfoy?” she asked, feeling Killian tense in her embrace.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked.

“Draco,” Hermione answered.

“Weaselly little ferret,” Killian grunted under his breath, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

“Is it true?”

“Yes,” Killian admitted after a moment’s pause. Hermione could feel the strain in his words.

“For how long?” Hermione asked on.

“I’ve never known them not to be,” Killian answered. “The ties between the Finns and the Malfoys go back generations. All politics and proper social mingling.”

One more question. If the Malfoys and the Finns were so deeply connected, then there was still one more question to be asked. Hermione closed her eyes, her hands clenching the sides of Killian’s shirt as if this simple act could somehow guide his next answer.

“Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater,” Hermione went on, cringing as she contemplated what Killian’s response to her insinuation might be.

He did not respond immediately. This did not seem like a promising indication to Hermione, whose eyes remained closed, waiting. She kept her cheek pressed firmly against his chest, trying to convince herself that it would not matter one way or the other.

“My father has done many questionable things,” Killian explained. Hermione felt his muscles contract as he struggled through his words. “But that’s not one of them.”

Killian placed his hand on Hermione’s cheek, directing her gaze upwards, looking her in the eyes.

“And I’m not my father,” he assured. “I promise you.”

Hermione stared up at Killian. His eyes smiled at her. They did not lie. She trusted him. With a deep sigh, releasing all of the tension and frustration that had embedded itself within her, she replaced her head against his chest. Nothing would come between them, not that night. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, the serpent and the lioness. She knew neither what they were nor what they were becoming. All Hermione knew was that they were together once again. As far as she was concerned, time could stand still forever.

the end ...
... to be continued in Sins of the Father

Anthony Devon · 06-10-2011, 02:32 PM

I wanted to thank everyone for reading/reviewing. I also wanted to apologize for not responding to many reviews. Please believe that it is not because I am ungrateful. As readers, you are who I write for. You are who make it all worthwhile. In truth, I must admit that I never know exactly what to say in response without sounding generic or insincere. This is something that I will work on in the future.

So to Mordanyes, Mialovesyoulots, Harita, Cassiopia Malfoy (awesome name BTW) and anyone else I may have missed ... Thank you all

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