FicWad

“Hermione, take a break. It’s not worth it for you. You stopped getting more powerful a week or two ago. I’ve been watching. There’s no sense in you killing yourself if it’s not doing any good.” Harry was holding her hair while she vomited at practice.

“It might kill me if I don’t continue to practice and maximize my potential.”

“I’m always tired and I hurt all the time now. I know you do, too. I’ve seen you wince and lean on something when you think I’m not looking and I’ve seen the number of pain potions you’ve been taking. Give it up. It’s not worth it.”

“I can handle it. You’re hurting, too, probably worse than I am. I’m the one making you do this so I have to do it, too. And maybe I’m just on a plateau and tomorrow I’ll start getting more powerful again. I’m in this fight, too, you know.”

“I’ll protect you, you know that. I can’t always be with you but if I’m there when you’re attacked you won’t die unless I’m already dead.”

“If you have to watch out for me, it might get us both killed. I have to be able to take care of myself. Besides, I owe Dolohov. And a few others, come to that.”

Harry was silent a moment. “You’re right. As always. Up on your feet, Granger! Break time’s over. Start blasting those dummies over there” -- the Room of Requirement accommodatingly provided a set of new dummies which looked remarkably like Dolohov, down to the hateful snarl -- “and don’t stop until you pass out!”

Despite her desire to keep pushing, Hermione had to admit that Harry had a point. Even taking the maximum safe dosage of pain potions every day, and sometimes a bit over that, she hurt all the time. It was easy to see why so few wizards and witches went through this regimen. Agonizing effort, weeks of pain, and limited payoff for most who undertook it. If anything, it was a miracle she had found mention of the technique anywhere.

A week later, she hadn’t noticed any increase in her power in almost three weeks. Her control had improved, but not the amount she could push out. Hermione threw in the towel.

She continued to coach Harry, of course, and to develop her own control and speed and ability to hold her own in a fight, but she gave up on the power training except for comparatively easy workouts to maintain her new power. She felt guilty every pain-free day. She assuaged the guilt by massaging Harry when his muscles cramped.

The daily workouts were working wonders. There was the way that Harry had devastated the ambush by the Slytherin Quidditch team ... and that was after only two weeks of training. A month later, he hadn’t had to deal with direct attacks like that, but his casual, minor use of magic with no wand was in a way more impressive. Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was the enormous increase of his magical core or learning to focus better or willpower or simple confidence in his ability to make things happen by magic. Whatever the cause, Harry seemed to be approaching “Dumbledore” levels of ability. At sixteen.

And perhaps Hermione’s ability was increasing as well. She didn’t recognize it because Harry’s improvement overshadowed hers.

Hermione patrolled the castle one evening, shooing stragglers up to their common rooms before curfew. She was alone, even though prefects were supposed to work in pairs for safety and increased authority, because her partner had chosen to keep the common room quiet. She should complain to McGonagall about Ron’s sloughing off of his responsibilities but she was stopped by years of friendship. There was a good chance that McGonagall wouldn’t do anything, anyway.

Regardless, it left Hermione walking alone tonight, as she did almost half the time when she had duties.

She was alone, so there was no one to warn her about the stunner that was cast from behind her.

But Hermione had been practicing as she walked along. She had boosted her hearing, partly for the practice and partly because it helped her in her duties. As as soon as she heard shuffling feet from behind some hallway clutter she was on the alert. When a muttered incantation began, her wand was in her hand and a shield was up before the stunner had left the other wand.

“Well, Bullstrode, don’t you feel foolish?” Hermione asked the bound, full-body-locked, silenced girl. “The question is whether you’re here alone.” The stunned bully didn’t answer.

A revealing spell showed several humans in the next classroom. Hermione frowned slightly. It was possible that this was a coincidence, that they were innocently studying near where Bullstrode had ambushed her.

Hermione disillusioned herself before opening the classroom door. Three stunners later she was wondering what to do with the three girls who had been waiting, wands out.

“Granger! What are you doing, attacking my students? I’ll see you expelled for --”

Snape dropped. Harry un-faded into view.

“You don’t know how to do an obliviation, do you? No problem.” Harry conjured a shovel and prepared to strike Snape in the head.

“Harry! You can’t kill professors. Not even Snape, unless you can do it and not be caught. Thank you for watching out for me, by the way.”

Harry frowned. “I think it would be safer to kill the Death Eater than to risk him thinking that you attacked him. And you you’re welcome, by the way. Good job taking care of all of them. Do you want to take the first whack? Think of how therapeutic it would be, making up for years of his bad temper.”

“No, Harry.” Hermione thought. Hermione looked at the three upper-year Slytherin girls. Unlike Bullstrode, all three were rather attractive. She recognized two of them as being seventh-years. “Legal” in this world. Hermione looked at Snape. “Can you get some whiskey or wine? And a camera?”

Hermione left with Bullstrode floating alongside her, looking for a professor to report the abortive attack. If it came up, she would claim that she had checked the classroom and found Snape romancing the other three girls with whiskey but that she hadn’t mentioned it because it was too embarrassing. And if Snape threatened her, she had blackmail photos.

...ooo000ooo...

Training continued. School continued. Hermione spent a few evenings with the other seventeen-year-olds, learning to apparate. She’d managed the almost-unheard-of feat of making a shaky jump by the end of the first class, with no splinching but a feeling of nausea. She stopped attending the lessons after the second class, in which she’d managed to make repeated short-distance hops. The teacher, a ministry flunky who didn’t know her reputation, wanted her to keep her progress down to that of the other students, to avoid discouraging them. Hermione didn’t need the teacher any longer; she knew enough to teach Harry and could pick up the rest from books. Furthermore, the time spent in the lessons wasn’t excessive, but having to walk to and from the practice area outside the Hogwarts wards simply took too long, time that she didn’t have to spare.

Harry, of course, picked up the skill almost immediately. Hermione was almost sure that he did this just to annoy her. She would have been quite put out with him, but she couldn’t begrudge him an ability which would help keep him alive. Besides, he explained as they walked back, he’d done it before.

“Didn’t I ever tell you that I accidentally apparated before I started Hogwarts? Today, I knew that I could do it because I’d already done it. And anyway, you learned really quick, too. Think about it, we’ve been really focusing on our magic for a month and a half now. We’re probably the two strongest students here and the two who work the most on control and the two who, ah, think about how we do things with magic. I know that I don’t always do the spells right except when I’m in class and the teacher’s watching. I just think about what I want and push some magic and make it happen.”

Thinking about Harry’s analysis, she realized he was right. She’d been too busy and too caught up in the details to notice, but Hermione Granger, Miss Do It by the Book, was not always using formal spells. Naturally, once she noticed, her performance went down until she told herself, “I know that I can do this because I’ve already done it.”

Shortly before Halloween, something occurred to Hermione as Malfoy slunk off after yet another bout of insults went wrong. Wrong for him, that is. And metaphorically slunk off, that is. He, Crabbe, and Goyle had been pushed into a pile and their hands and legs all stuck together so they had to shuffle in a cluster toward the infirmary. Harry had managed that without a spoken incantation, without a wand, without looking, and apparently without even noticing Malfoy calling Scarlett Lympsham a whore for being with someone who wasn’t Malfoy.

Not that that was an especially appropriate insult, Hermione thought. Going by what other students said afterward, Lympsham had declined to be favored by Malfoy’s attentions the previous evening, choosing instead to do homework with a group of students that happened to include a handsome fifth-year boy in Ravenclaw. Poor, poor Malfoy. His supercilious and insulting attitude and crap bedroom skills were keeping him from getting a date. It wasn’t nice of her, but Hermione snickered to herself at his misfortune.

It was obvious that dealing with Malfoy was no longer doing any good, so far as Harry’s training went. Malfoy’s best efforts at annoying Harry were laughable. His bullying of other students was effective because of family power backing sheer nastiness, but easily stopped if an older student actually stood up to him. Harry might as well be taking milk money from firsties for all the training he was getting out of dealing with the pest.

And Hermione noticed something else: none of the other Slytherin students made it a point to harass Harry. Certain students, the same “certain students” who bullied the Muggleborn, would laugh along with the insults and they had participated in attacks (before doing became too painful) but only under Malfoy’s leadership. It was as if Malfoy had been designated as Harry’s student nemesis. The idea was ridiculous at first glance, but it did fit the observed facts. Possibly Malfoy’s attentions had been directed by Snape since first year. (Or by Dumbledore, she though darkly.) Or perhaps Malfoy had simply called dibs.

Two nights later, Hermione had Harry meet her in an unused classroom. She needed to introduce two new members of the team. The opposing team, rather, but they’d be helping with Harry’s training. Regardless, she didn’t want to let them know how to get into Harry’s training area.

“You know Daphne Greengrass, of course.” Of course he did. Every man in the castle knew Daphne, or wanted to. It was easy to identify the boys who were past puberty because they got stupid in her presence. She wasn’t a classic beauty but she just oozed sex appeal. Like Marilyn Monroe. But with bigger breasts, damn her.

“I don’t think you’ve met Astoria Greengrass, Daphne’s younger sister. Astoria will be helping with your training. She’s agreed to be your designated nemesis.” Astoria would be a classic beauty in a year or two. Right now she was very cute, with delicate features and flawless skin. Her figure was waifish today, but she was a flower poised to burst into bloom, too adorable for words. Damn her.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Potter. Or I should call you Harry and you must call me Astoria. We’ll be working very closely over the next few months.”

“Ahem. Before we get to that, let’s talk about what a designated nemesis does. The idea comes from comic books and other serial fiction. No, Harry, I never read comic books until a few days ago, when I started researching the idea.

“In short, a nemesis tries to make your life miserable. This might include kidnapping you or your loved ones, framing you for crimes, or destroying your possessions. It can range from insulting you in the hallways to luring you into lethal traps.”

“Hmmph. I wouldn’t think I’d need a nemesis. I’ve got Snape and the ministry and the Prophet and of course Derpo Malfoy doing all that.”

“Ah, but that’s the difference. A designated nemesis can do all that in a spirit of friendly competition and with the purpose of making each opponent stronger and more capable. This would not work well in real life but is easily adapted for our purposes here.”

“Friendly competition? That sounds like kind of a stretch. I have read a few comic books, and blowing up your enemy’s -- your nemesis’s -- house isn’t exactly friendly.”

“That’s too literal an interpretation of what I said, Harry. The key point is that many of the characters could kill each other off, but they never do, or very seldom. Of course, that is because the comic book companies want to keep the characters going and keep the story going and keep the sales going. If they resolved everything quickly and cleanly, they’d be stopping the gravy train. Obviously we are not fictional characters and are not having our lives yanked around to keep the gravy train chugging along or because of authorial incompetence, but the similarities are greater than you might think. I suspect that the magical world affects all of our lives, making events more dramatic and minimizing the consequences. How else can we explain all the drama your life and the lack of punishment for those who inflicted it on you?

“However, we are once again veering from the topic. The key point is that taking the idea of nemeses, friendly competitors, from comic books may help with your training.

“Your current nemeses are not at all suitable for the task of strengthening and improving you. Malfoy is just an ass, and an incompetent one at that. Who knows what Snape’s problem is, though I’d bet you could find it in a reference book of abnormal psychology. Astoria here is willing, even eager, to partner with you as your nemesis because she is ambitious and clever but Slytherin House is not helping her to develop the skills to realize her ambitions.”

“That’s right, Harry. Everyone in Slytherin is a thug or a simpleton.”

“Hey!”

“Not you, Daph. I wouldn’t plot against my own sister. But I want to be Minister of Magic someday, and how can I practice my schemes and manipulations against thugs and simpletons?”

Harry blinked, looking at Astoria rather than her sister. “You’re right. I’d never thought of that. A lot of politicians have always come from Slytherin House. You’d think they started their training here in Hogwarts, but how can they now? I wonder if Snape is discouraging cleverness on purpose. I wonder if Malfoy or Fudge told him to do it to cut down on the competition.”

“That’s an interesting thought, Harry, but let’s return to the subject of nemeses. Ideally, a hero and his nemesis work to improve and strengthen each other. One or the other will be victorious in any particular action, but the vanquished will always be left to get better and come back for a rematch. This pattern is convenient here because the two of you do not want to kill each other or even seriously inconvenience each other. Your long-term goals are not incompatible and strengthening each other will more likely help than hinder you both.

“There’s an additional benefit. If the hero and designated nemesis have some attraction to each other, then a successful plot or foiling of a plot can result in, ah, an agreement to congratulate the victor and console the vanquished. In the comics, of course, this is used to increase drama when two lovers oppose each other. In real life, we can use it to make sure the friendly competition stays friendly.

“Now, Astoria has told me that she does not wish to participate in all of the possible congratulatory and consolatory activities with a man she is not married to. This is where Daphne comes in. She’ll fill in as Astoria’s stunt double. They’re not quite doubles, of course, as Daphne’s had almost two more years to mature, but I’m sure you can make do. You won’t object to D-cup Daphne filling in for A-cup Astoria if you --”

“Hey!”

“No offense intended, Astoria -- if you manage to escape Astoria’s fiendish trap while she’s asleep and you have to tie her up in bed, will you? Or if you need information which only she has and and which you will do anything to get, even the dreaded Tickle Torture?”

Harry blushed a bright, bright red. He had trouble looking Daphne in the eye. Though in point of fact he hadn’t made much eye contact with anyone since he’d noticed the cut of Daphne’s blouse. Teenage boys were so predictable. Show them a little cleavage and you own them. But of course the “little” cleavage Daphne was showing was more than Hermione could show if she were topless. Damn her.

“Harry! Pay attention, please. You may earn the chance to make a more personal inspection of Daphne’s bounty later, but only as you manage to overcome Astoria’s plots.” It was the first lesson in the coach’s handbook: you have to motivate your people before you can do anything else.

“Ah, Daphne? Are you sure you want to do this? It almost sounds like you’re getting dragged into this and not getting anything out of it. Not that I’m not interested. I am! But only if this is something you want to do. Not if you’re being used as some sort of prize in a game between Astoria and me.”

Hermione held back both a smile and a sigh. Putting others’ feelings before his own needs was pure Harry. She’d have to work to suppress that. Too bad. It was a fine line she’d have to walk, continuing Dumbledore’s work of hardening him up without going so far that he himself would become a problem.

Daphne’s warm laugh drew Hermione’s attention away from her plans. “That’s why I’m doing it, Harry. I wouldn’t be the stunt double if it were anyone but you. I remember what happened two weeks ago, when Malfoy was calling me a filthy whore when I came back from Hogsmeade with another boy and he mysteriously flew into the door and then his bodyguards mysteriously flew after him and broke his arm. I don’t know that it was you, but who else could have and would have? It’s the same with the other mysterious things that have been happening to the more obnoxious and less tolerant students here. A lot of people are sure it must be you, Harry, even if we can’t prove it.”

Hermione exchanged concerned glances with Harry. If the students at Hogwarts, not known to be the most observant or rational humans on the face of the planet, had figured out what Harry was up to it boded ill for their need to keep it quiet.

“Believe me,” Daphne babbled on, oblivious, “I’ll be happy to fill in for Astoria every time you beat her. And listen, Mister, I’ll be most disappointed if you don’t outwit her regularly. There’s another reason I’m doing this, you don’t have any bad habits to unlearn. I expect you to win often enough that you’ll learn to really please a lady. And you will learn, or else. Most of the boys in school either don’t care to learn or they don’t bathe or they’d treat a little fun as a betrothal commitment. It’s hard for a girl who just wants a little fun before she has to settle down. That’s where you come in, Bucko. You know this is just fun, not anything serious, and you smell good, and I trust you not to go bragging to all your friends. And once it gets out what we’re doing together, and I’m sure it will sooner or later, you’ll be able to protect me if I need it. And it helps my sister, so it’s good for all of us.”

“Ahem. If we may get back on track? Harry, because you and Astoria are not enemies or even rivals, we’ll modify the usual relationship between you and your nemesis. Astoria will act against you to embarrass or inconvenience you. Her actions will be in addition to Snape and Malfoy and all the rest, so if you want to lighten your burden you’ll have to remove some of the other pests.

“That will be your half of the dynamic. You won’t act against Astoria but rather against your other enemies as well as Voldemort’s supporters. Every time you succeed in your own plots, we will treat it as if you’d captured Astoria or something similar. As your coach, I will referee these activities.”

Daphne had been doing her best to pull Harry’s attention away from Hermione’s oration. Her best was very good. She was tarting herself up and looking as if she were having loads of fun doing it. Hermione could see why all the boys lost their minds around her. She should be attracted to the bombshell herself --- the American friend she made over the summer showed her that she was attracted to girls --- but for some reason Daphne did nothing for her. Hermione shook her head. Stay on topic.

With agreement that Astoria would begin her attacks at any time after breakfast the next morning, the meeting was done. Harry held Hermione back a moment after the Greengrasses had left.

“Er, Hermione? I, er, I’ve always kind of liked you. I never said anything, just once or twice, but I always thought you were cute and I wouldn’t mind going on a date and being with you. That is, if I need incentive to work hard. I’d rather be with you than Daphne even with her big, ah, incentives.”

“Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry. I don’t think of you that way. I used to fancy you, but after a friend I made over the summer I realized something. I love you dearly, but I realized you’re not my type at all.”

...ooo000ooo...

The next morning’s practice went very well. Hermione attacked her exercises more enthusiastically than had been the case for the past week. Getting help in Harry’s training was an emotional boost, even if it wouldn’t reduce her workload at all. And Harry’s spell power and physical energy were through the roof. “Motivation,” he answered her, blushing a little. “You’ve set something in front of me that’s more motivating to work for than just hoping to live through the next few years. Good job, Coach!”

Boys!

After that good start, the day went downhill in a confusing way. Hermione shared two classes that day with Harry. In each, Harry had been asked to stay after class. He told her at dinner that the teachers in every class had told him they’d heard rumors of his cheating on homework and tests. Coupled with the dramatic improvement in his turned-in work compared to the previous five years, the rumors were unfortunately plausible and the teachers asked him to explain how he was doing so much better.

Toward the end of dinner on the following day, Daphne drifted over to Harry as he wolfed down a rushed meal. “Poor Harry, losing the first round so badly and so quickly. I’d offer you some consolation this evening, but you’re due in detention in a few minutes, aren’t you? Tut-tut, getting caught copying Draco’s Potions homework. Poor, poor Harry, you couldn’t even pick someone smart to copy from. I wonder how you’ll get your revenge and earn a chance to get in some gloating of your own?” All the while she was Poor-Harry-ing, Daphne was massaging his shoulders and neck. Given that he was seated and turned toward her, that placed his face at a level with her chest and barely an inch away. If any other girl were doing the same Harry would have had more breathing room, but Hermione didn’t notice him objecting.

Harry’s travails didn’t end with that one detention. He was forced to lose his entire weekend, taking proctored exams in all of his courses to demonstrate that he knew the material and hadn’t been cheating. Despite the lack of time to prepare, he managed to get Outstanding in the wand courses and passing or better scores in the rest. He had insisted on a neutral examiner for Defense. “Snape will never grade me honestly. He never has and probably never will. Anyone but a fool can see that. If you make me take a test with that Death Eater, he’ll fail me out of spite. I might as well just leave Hogwarts now. And take that grin off your face, Snape. Think about this: before I leave I’ll make sure that everyone knows the prophecy and that you’re the reason I won’t lift a finger to stop your real master. I can’t believe you’d survive long enough for Voldemort to reward you.”

Recounting the encounter later, Harry rolled his eyes. “Dumbledore did his usual ‘Would you really abandon your friends’ bit, of course. He was surprised and, ah, horrified, I think that’s the best word, when I told him Yes. That my only friend not only wants me to leave but calls me an idiot for not getting away from ‘that monster’, and I made sure he knew he was ‘that monster’.

“Hermione. You’re free. I made Dumbledore break that blood ward. We’re going to go away for the weekend to test it. Or else I’ll help you get away for good.”

“Thank you, Harry!” she gasped, finding her arms wrapped around her only friend. Stopping to think for a moment, she asked, “I can’t believe that he would have given in easily. I can hardly believe that he gave in at all. How did you do it?”

“I told him that if he didn’t, I would swear an Unbreakable Vow not to fight Voldemort or any Death Eaters except in self-defense, and that I’d make sure everyone knew it. And why.”

“I don’t think that would work. An Unbreakable Vow is more involved than simply holding up your wand and swearing to do something. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Well...”

“You might as well tell me, Harry. You know how this goes: you try to hide something, I pry, you resist, I worm it out of you, and we both end up feeling annoyed and frustrated. Just skip to the ‘telling me’ bit and we’ll try to avoid the annoyance bit.”

“You’re pretty pushy. Domineering, you might say. Are you sure you don’t ever want to wear that dominatrix outfit I bought you?”

“What? You never--. Nice try, Harry, but it won’t work. Spill it, Potter.”

“I told Dumbledore that I would stay at Hogwarts through seventh year, unless Voldemort was vanquished first.”

“You idiot. Now you’re bound here, which was what Dumbledore wanted in the first place. How bad is it? Exactly what did you promise?”

“I didn’t promise anything, not a magical promise. I just said what I just said: I’ll be here until I should have graduated. I don’t have to graduate, because that would let him cheat by making a teacher fail me. In a year and a half I’ll leave, or early if Voldemort gets vanquished first.

“But the first part of what you said: Don’t you get it? I couldn’t stand it, you being trapped here. I’d have promised a lot more, if I had to, to get you free. Or I’d have killed Dumbledore, but I didn’t know if that would trap you here forever.”

“I love you, too, Harry.”

As Hermione crushed him in her arms again, she made plans for the weekend. She didn’t really think of Harry that way, not any longer, but she loved him more than life itself and she wanted to thank him in the best way she could. It should be easy enough to recall the idle fantasies she’d had about Harry last year. And a shop in Hogsmeade would have what she needed if Madame Pomphrey wouldn’t give her a contraceptive potion.

...ooo000ooo...

Most mornings, Hermione got to the Room of Requirement somewhat before Harry did. Even with the room’s magic doing most of the work, it took a few minutes to set up for the day’s exercises.

One morning she was not there when Harry arrived. He dithered for a minute, then made the door appear and went in, then came out a few minutes later and disappeared down the hall. “Disappeared” in the sense of moving very fast, not turning invisible.

Hermione knew this because she was sitting, “kidnaped”, in a classroom on the seventh floor with a mirror propped in the doorway to give a view of the corridor near the painting of the dancing trolls.

Astoria had been waiting for Hermione near the Room of Requirement’s entrance. “Lurking” would be a more appropriate word. Too bad for her, Hermione had been scanning the environment for spells and people. Astoria was paralyzed and bound before she realized Hermione was near.

“I assume there was some purpose behind your waiting to ambush me?”

“Ah, yes? I don’t suppose you’d release me and allow me to kidnap you as part of my campaign against Harry?”

And so they sat in the classroom to see what Harry would do, Hermione’s role more that of referee than of victim.

Harry’s response was disappointing. It was over ten minutes before he came back, puffing hard, and made it the forty feet to the classroom Hermione was in.

“Astoria, will you excuse us, please? Harry needs some coaching which I think will go better in private. Thank you for your assistance, and better luck next time.

“Now, Harry, what did you do wrong?”

“I didn’t keep you safe.”

“No, that wasn’t it. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. In most circumstances, at any rate. After you suspected something was wrong, how long did it take before you actually caught up to me? Ten to fifteen minutes, depending on just when you noticed while in the Room of Requirement. How could you have found me faster?”

“Keep a tracking charm on you.”

“That would work, but would be easily dispelled by kidnappers. No, given that we were taking by surprise by the kidnapping, how could you have found me faster?”

“I found you with the Marauder’s Map. Almost all the time was in running to get it and then running back here. I should carry it with me all the time.”

“I agree that one of us should keep it. You could also have had Dobby fetch it for you. Even Winky would come if you called, if it concerned my safety.

“The lesson for today did not concern keeping me safe or faster ways to get the Map. The lesson concerns thinking, thinking all the time. You panicked when you found I was missing and you didn’t use your resources to your best ability. It didn’t matter today, but it could get either of us killed in the future.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to score this as a complete win for Astoria. She failed to get me, but that was solely due to my efforts. She could have had me out of the castle by the time you ran to Gryffindor Tower and back.”

Harry nodded. “I’m going to come up with you in the mornings from now on and I’ll either shadow you or watch you on the Marauder’s Map when you’re doing your prefect stuff. You being in danger is about the only thing that scares me. If I know you’re safe I’ll keep my head better.”

Hermione smiled and took his hand. “We have about a half hour left. Let’s get in some power practice. We can skip the lessons. We got a big one today.”

...ooo000ooo...

Throughout all his NEWT studies and extra training, Harry had stayed on the Gryffindor quidditch team. It was his only recreation, his only way to blow off steam from the considerable pressure he was under. He wasn’t playing chess or sitting around idling with Ron, not since their big, public blow-up.

Hermione thought it was a mistake for Harry to continue as captain. Even if not for his extra training workload, the captaincy was hardly relaxing. It added to his stress rather than let him relieve it. Harry had to deal with temperamental personalities, arguments over team selections, and Snape canceling quidditch pitch reservations just before Gryffindor practice times. It was constant work, constant interruptions, and constant stress. It was surely worse than Hermione saw, but she was too busy with her own work to pay much attention.

When she saw how tense her friend became after every little crisis or drama play, Hermione had to bite her tongue to stop herself from suggesting that Harry simply resign the captaincy. Continue to play, of course, because he loved it, but give someone else the headaches. Ron Weasley, now there was a good headache candidate. Ron would destroy the team and any hopes of winning the quidditch championship but it would be worth it just to make him miserable. His little insults and his leaning on her for homework help honestly weren’t as bad as before, because she was too busy to spend much time with him, but her tolerance was lower because she was so busy and sleep-deprived and stressed.

That was the context in which the Gryffindor team walked out onto the pitch one bright November Saturday morning. As usual, the first match of the year was between Gryffindor and Slytherin, getting the most contentious rivalry out of the way quickly and minimizing the chance for bloodshed in the halls. Of course, getting this match out of the way quickly was not nearly as sensible as reducing the bitter rivalry between the two houses or at least punishing violent aggression, but even before Harry had been punished for defending himself in an ambush by the Slytherin quidditch team it was obvious that Dumbledore and McGonagall wouldn’t do anything so sensible. Snape, of course, didn’t even want to minimize the conflict and in fact was one of the instigators.

Harry and Malfoy, the captains, shook hands. Even from her perch up in the stands, Hermione could see that the appearance of cordiality was almost killing them both. Moments later, all players were in the air zipping around the way they did. Hermione watched as Harry veered and accelerated, Malfoy following, when suddenly Harry’s broom slowed to a crawl and gently lost altitude. Harry called a timeout and drifted over to Madame Hooch, the referee. Hermione couldn’t make out the conversation clearly. Between the gestures and Hooch’s “your responsibility” she got the gist. Before long all the players were back in the air.

It was a short game. With Harry’s Firebolt effectively reduced to a child’s training broom, Malfoy didn’t have to worry about competition and could focus solely on finding the snitch. If Fred and George had been playing keeper they possibly could have kept Malfoy from concentrating. Peakes and Coote weren’t skilled enough to do that. Gryffindor’s inexperienced chaser squad give it a valiant effort but could barely manage to stay even with their opposite numbers. Slytherin won the game by 160 points after only an hour and the Gryffindor team slunk off the field to cheers and jeers.

Hermione found Harry and the library a couple of hours later. She noticed immediately that he was not wearing the quidditch captain’s pin. “Was it your decision or theirs?” There was no sense in beating around the bush.

“Theirs, but only because they beat me to it. I’ve been thinking about resigning for probably a month now. It was too much work and I had more important things to do. And most of all, being captain killed all the fun of playing. I’m terrible at taking care of the hundred little things that all have to be taken care of. I don’t have to tell you that. You’ve been telling me that for five years now.” The two exchanged wry smiles.

“What happened to your broom? Is your Firebolt all right?”

“No. Someone got to it. It’s fine unless I try to turn and accelerate at the same time. Hooch wouldn’t cancel the game or even postpone it to let me get another broom. She said it was my responsibility to check the team’s equipment before the match. It didn’t matter to her that it took her and Flitwick most of an hour afterward to find the problem. And it didn’t matter to her that school rules say I had to leave my broom in the broom locker since the last practice or that all of the teachers can open any of the teams’ broom lockers. I’m surprised I didn’t get detention for suggesting that Snape could have opened up the Gryffindor locker and let one of his precious darlings mess with it.

“The school isn’t even paying to fix my Firebolt. Flitwick said he was willing to try to remove the charm but he had never worked with a broom before, especially not something as complex as a Firebolt. And there’s no money in the budget to pay the Firebolt company to fix it. So I’m going to pay for it myself and then keep my broom somewhere safe, not in the locker.”

“Are you on the team still? You don’t have a broom now.”

“I’m off. Let’s just say everyone’s happier this way.”

Astoria and Daphne joined Hermione and Harry at their table. Daphne, as always, swayed enticingly. With her figure, she’d have to be wearing steel armor not to sway, and even that might not do it, but this afternoon she seemed to be deliberately swaying her hips to draw attention to them. By contrast, Astoria was practically bouncing as she walked, pointing up the fact that she had left childhood only recently.

“Well, Nemesis, I think we can count this as an unqualified victory for my side.” Astoria looked as if she were trying hard not to gloat. “Here. These are the charms I put on your broom. I’m not skillful enough to remove them safely myself, but Professor Flitwick or maybe even Hermione here should have no trouble.”

“And now, nemesis of my stunt double, you belong to me. We’d been waiting for you to beat Stori so you could earn a night with me, but I got tired of waiting. I intend to get in all the gloating that Stori is holding back. Hermione, I’ll try to get him back to you by morning. Stori’s had a string of victories and I’m sure I’ll need to train Harry how to congratulate me properly.”

Harry’s face was a study. Stuck at the intersection between anger at the assault on his beloved Firebolt and chagrin at having lost a round so spectacularly, while bulging his eyes as Daphne pushed her breasts up and forward into his face, the result was simply gob-smacked. He didn’t protest as Daphne took his hand and led him from the library.

“I don’t know whether to hex you or to thank you, Astoria. Harry’s quit the quidditch team. He’ll have more time for other, more important activities. On the other hand, this was a bad way for him to shed a stressful, time-consuming activity. He was very upset by the incident, as you can imagine.”

“I thought of that, actually. It was one of the reasons I went after his broom. I want Harry to beat You-Know-Who, too, and I have some idea of what he’ll need to do to accomplish that. We’ll let Daphne have him tonight. He needs to relieve some stress and I know what she has planned. You two do something very early every morning. Daphne knows that and will get him to that special room. Harry will be tired but less frustrated, I virtually guarantee it.”

...ooo000ooo...

Harry was, in fact, tired but in a much better mood the next morning. “Daphne says Thank You,” were the first words out of his mouth in the Room of Requirement. “And thank you from me, too.” This was the first time Hermione could remember him hugging her except the morning after she climbed into his bed on their “weekend get-away”. The first time he’d hugged anyone in his life, so far as she knew.

“I can understand you thanking me for setting you up with her,” Hermione stated cautiously, “but why was she thanking me? One of the reasons I brought her into our team was that she had some experience and would be able to guide someone with, ah, minimal experience. After all,” she continued more cheekily, “my role as coach is to train you in the skills you need in life. Making certain you know these skills is a service not only to your future wife but to all woman-kind.”

“Yes, Coach. I hadn’t realized you had expanded the scope of your duties. I’m sure your service to all woman-kind will be appreciated. But about Daphne. Yes, she’s had a few, uh, dates, but not very good ones. She said they didn’t know anything and didn’t want to learn anything and she didn’t have a very good time and that last night was the first time that anyone, ah, cared if she had a good time. So she wanted to know who taught me. I didn’t tell her about you, but she figured it out in, like, two seconds.

“Um. I shouldn’t have told you any of that, should I? I know you warned me not to tell my dorm mates about you and me, not that I would have anyway. I always thought it was low-class, the way Seamus and Dean talked about what their dates did. I don’t know about talking about my dates to a girl friend. A female friend.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. I was planning on grilling her for the smutty details myself. Girls talk about their dates at least as much as boys do. It’s just that girls don’t like it when their boyfriends talk about them. Yes, it’s a double-standard, but your life will be easier if you don’t talk about your dates.

“Now, if you’re quite finished, Mr Potter, /get to work/! We’re not here to gossip like little girls, we’re here to turn you into an awesome tornado of destruction! Now levitate that pile of rocks and then hold it and shoot fireballs under it. Move it, Potter!”

Harry’s good mood lasted all morning, Hermione noticed, despite the utterly brutal magical workout she’d put him through and his fatigue-driven poor performance in class. His good mood lasted all morning ... until lunch, when Draco Malfoy verbally accosted Daphne Greengrass because she’d been seen leaving the library with Harry. Her Ice Queen mask was in place, so it was uncertain how much Malfoy was affecting her.

Harry was furious. He kept his face still, but Hermione could tell by his tension and jerky movements. “Witnesses, Harry.” It was something Hermione needed to train out of him: he might or might not rise to defend himself from verbal attacks, but attacks on the few people he cared about always raised his ire. He needed to keep a level head and good judgement.

...ooo000ooo...

“Harry, I’ve been thinking.” The Greengrasses were sitting with Hermione and Harry in the library. Daphne said that as long as her reputation was ruined already, she might as well sit with Harry so he could keep an eye on her. It was uncertain how much of that was a joke. Astoria was well ahead in her classwork, several years ahead, and would ask the other three for clarification when the books’ explanations were inadequate.

“Not you, too? Stori, every time I hear those words, it turns out to be a good thing but it means more work for me.”

“Tell me, what do you know of marriages and other familial relationships among the pureblood families?”

“Not much. I know that there’s a good chance that a pureblood had a couple of cousins marry not too far back. When I learned that, I lost interest in pureblood genealogy.”

All three girls rolled their eyes. Where the Greengrasses were mildly annoyed at this characterization of British pureblood magical society, Hermione was annoyed that he had closed down an area of learning, one which could be important in the future, simply because of distaste.

“Really, Harry, while there is some truth to that assertion, there is much more to it than you suggest. In order to rectify your ignorance I’m not sure whether I should craft some diabolical plot which you can escape only through thorough knowledge of customs regarding pureblood families and the relationships between them, or simply to turn you over to Hermione. No doubt she’ll make up flash cards for you and you will not eat a peaceful meal until you’ve memorized them. And I’ll have you know that the Greengrass family has always, for centuries back, been very careful not to marry relatives. We go farther than that: we have a policy of marrying half bloods at least every other generation. Daphne’s and my generation, in fact.

“However, I was not making an idle inquiry about your knowledge. It occurs to me that the Black Family’s estate and money are sitting idle. I asked my father to look into it and he confirmed that, so far as he can determine, Sirius Black’s will has not been read and the Black properties are either sitting idle or are being used illicitly.”

“Sirius was a fugitive when he died, even though he’d never gotten a real trial. There weren’t any other living Blacks, that I know of, except for his three cousins who married into other families. And Sirius’s mother disowned him. Would any of those affect his will being read?”

“I don’t know, Harry. Surely you’ve noticed that the law is rather fluid, depending more on the desires of powerful individuals than on the written law. I would guess that the will reading has been delayed because there is a fight over dividing the spoils. Father heard that the Malfoys are leading contenders for the lion’s share on the basis of Draco being the closest living male Black. I don’t know what other power blocks may be involved.”

“The Malfoys stand for everything Sirius hated. He wanted to turn the family name around. When he wasn’t cursing his family name he was telling me stories about Black history and some truly great things they’ve done, centuries ago. Sirius wouldn’t have wanted the Malfoys to get his money.”

“We don’t want the Malfoys to get his money, either. You know they’d immediately turn it over to You-Know-Who.” Hermione was not afraid to say ‘Voldemort’ but used the euphemisms in deference to the Greengrasses’ trained fear.

“Sirius was my godfather. I don’t know if that counts for anything in inheritance. He told me my grandmother or maybe great grandmother was a Black who married into the Potter family. I have as good a claim as Draco Malfoy, right?”

“That’s right, you are related to the Blacks. I forgot about that. So that means...”

“Yes, Daphne, Draco is my second cousin or something. And if you ever try to use that against me, I will do bad things to you. Very bad things.”

“Really?” Daphne licked her lips and wriggled. “Do you and your cousin --”

“Honestly! Can you two stay focused for five minutes at a time, or should Astoria and I go elsewhere to do all the planning and leave you two boink bunnies alone?”

That evening, after the boink bunnies had been cooled down -- literally; Hermione and Astoria had become annoyed when the two took them at their word and started to push them out the door; they had retaliated with blasts of ice water -- and plans had been made for Harry to ask Van Leuven to file an inheritance claim on Harry’s behalf, Harry pulled Hermione into one of their private spots.

“You know it’s not going to do any good. I can think of three ways this can go wrong and there are probably a dozen more.”

Hermione sighed. “You’re probably right. I’m not optimistic, but this is our best option, likely our only option.”

“It’s not our only option. Lucius Malfoy, the one pushing for Draco to inherit, is a Death Eater. Draco might as well be, even if he isn’t one yet. I don’t know about Narcissa, but I know Sirius was disgusted with the way she turned out and he said something about he’d cast her out if he could. And Bellatrix, but she’s dead anyway as soon as I find her.”

Hermione was silent for a few moments. “I don’t like it.” She didn’t. Yes, she’d set out to train Harry as an assassin, but now, faced with sending Harry out to murder someone, she hesitated. Murder went against all the ethics she’d been taught her whole life. And she was afraid, too, afraid of the consequences if they were caught. “But you’re right. I’m tired now. Let’s make plans tomorrow.”

Murder went against her trained-in ethics, but it needed to be done. There was no way two teens, isolated in the castle, with no legal ability to act on their own, fighting inertia and corruption and bigotry and Lucius Malfoy’s gold, were going to win this “legally”. It needed to be done, but Hermione was going to cry tonight over her loss of innocence.

...ooo000ooo...

Astoria charged at Harry one day between classes. Hermione stepped back and drew her wand, not sure what was happening. Astoria’s attacks on Harry had always been subtle, political, but maybe she was going for a straight-forward physical attack to keep him on his toes.

Harry dropped into a crouch, also ready for anything that might happen.

What happened was a hug and kiss, followed by laughter and cat-calls from nearby students. Harry wasn’t ready for that, judging by the gob-smacked expression as Astoria waived gaily and went on her way.

“No, I don’t know what that was.” Hermione wondered if Astoria was in the throes of a crush on Harry and if so how it would affect her nemesis-hood. Nemesis-ship? Confound it anyway, now that was going to be bothering her, and this dratted castle’s library didn’t have a good dictionary.

“And our heart-throb of a celebrity manages to make his way to class, losing ten points in the process.” Of course the gossip had already gotten to Snape -- it had been over five minutes by this point -- and of course he was sticking his beak into matters which didn’t concern him.

For more than a week the hugs and kisses occurred at least once a day, whenever Astoria passed Harry in the halls. It was strange, he mentioned to Hermione after being accosted yet again, having her spread rumors and plot his grisly demise while kissing him so joyously at every opportunity.

Meanwhile, an additional distraction was building. Several second-, third-, and fourth-year girls came up to sit with him, usually in groups, at meals or when he tried to get in a bit of studying in the library for his next test. All houses were represented. Gryffindors, of course, taking advantage of house affiliation by sitting near him in the common room as well as at mealtime. A few Ravenclaws came by in small groups and a mob of eight Hufflepuff girls descended upon the table at lunch on Sunday, even managing to squeeze in between Hermione and him. Even a few Slytherin girls followed Astoria and braved the disapproving comments of the Gryffindors so that they could sit near Harry.

“I don’t get it,” Harry grumbled after escaping the Hufflepuff twitter-fest. “What do they want? It’s not like they’re rude or anything but it’s like they expect me to say something but they’re not telling me what they want. And the giggling!”

Hermione sympathized completely. Not a giggler herself, she didn’t care to have to hear it. Giggling usually served to cover up a lack of activity between the ears, she grumped, then castigated herself for elitism. It wasn’t their fault that they weren’t born with the brain she was.

The only saving grace was that only Astoria was running up and kissing Harry. Several of the other girls looked tempted but lost their nerve.

Romilda Vane had been placing herself near Harry almost since the beginning of the year. She barely spoke to him, and every time he spoke to her, even something so minor as “Can I squeeze past you? Thanks.” she would immediately run to her friends for a huddled discussion with lots of giggling and staring. Hermione hadn’t spoken to him about it, but it seemed that Harry didn’t even recognize the tacit flirting. He probably didn’t realize that she was hoping he’d be interested in her simply because she was in his line of sight so often.

However, now Vane not only had been talking to Harry but had finally taken the step of giving him a gift, some chocolates. He thanked her, looking a bit confused, and brought the chocolates up to his room before running off for another Snape detention. Hermione didn’t think much about it. It wasn’t her business. Harry was free to date a fourteen-year-old if that’s what he wanted.

But that evening, while Harry was off researching something, Ron Weasley came down to the common room and started slobbering all over Vane before she could escape. It was disturbing to everyone who saw it, and it was a mercy to all concerned when Hermione stunned him. The only problem was that then she had to haul him to the infirmary. A prefect’s work was never done.

“Did you get pictures?” was all Harry said when she told him. Curses. No, she hadn’t even thought of it.

...ooo000ooo...

“Turn out your pockets, Mr Potter. Miss Granger, be on your way.”

Hermione was surprised. While it was in the school rules that a teacher could inspect a student’s possessions at any time for any reason, it was rarely done. Even Snape seldom bothered unless he was in an especially pissy mood. And here was not only Snape but McGonagall stopping Harry in the hall, both looking very serious. Hermione walked a few steps away, enough to claim to be in compliance with McGonagall’s orders but not so far that she couldn’t watch what happened.

In the prescribed fashion Harry emptied out everything he was carrying onto a conjured table. He had nothing beyond the usual pocket litter... until he came out with a half-full bottle of some purple liquid.

“Exactly as reported. Attraction potion.” Snape hadn’t even sniffed it before turning his glare on Harry. “We shall have to find his supplier, as even such a simple potion is beyond this dunderhead’s capability to brew. I shall supervise his detentions, as his intended victim is in my house. Potter! One week of detentions immediately after supper, in the Defense classroom.”

Harry’s protestations of innocence were ignored, of course.

Harry figured it out in his first hour of scrubbing the floor, as he told Hermione later. “She set me up.”

“Of course she did. I figured it out almost a week ago.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“In my role as coach, I need to encourage you to figure things out yourself or deal with problems yourself. In this case, you should have recognized that her change in behavior arose from some cause, then looked for the cause. Given that she is your nemesis, you should have at least considered that her recent actions were intended to cause you some form of inconvenience. I would have told you if you were in any real danger, of course, but a few detentions wouldn’t hurt you and would give you time to think. As they did.”

“I understand. I’m still a little annoyed, mind, but that’s at my friend Hermione, who didn’t tell me. You’re right, Coach Granger, about needing to think more. I’ll work on it.

“I also have to work on revenge,” he continued. “It’s not just that she beat me and made me look like a fool, but she made me waste my time on Greasy’s detentions instead of training or doing homework. And she cost me time with Daphne for countering her plot. Daphne’s promised me something special if I beat Astoria four times in a row and now I’m farther than ever from getting there. Er, forget I said that.”

During the second night of detention, Snape brought in a sizable fraction of Slytherin House, ostensibly to see an object lesson on the consequences of misusing potions. Malfoy and Astoria were in the Potions classroom at the same time.

“It is such a shame that an attractive pureblood witch was forced to sully herself on that half-blood,” he said in a tone of mocking commiseration. “You will never be able to wash the shame off your lips. You can at least console yourself that Our Lord will kill him. If you swear allegiance, I am sure the Dark Lord will allow you to watch Scarhead’s death.”

Harry’s face was a mask and his voice was tight the next morning as he filled in Hermione after the power training. She could tell he was still furious from the way he focused an insane amount of power into his curses. Even stunners, overpowered to that extent, blasted the life-like training dummies to shreds.

Last night, with Snape right there, Harry couldn’t do anything to Malfoy as the Death Eater wanna-be -- or actual Death Eater; he still hadn’t found out which it was -- tormented Astoria to tears. Snape’s and Malfoy’s and others’ running insults against Harry himself didn’t bother him. Why should it? They were scum. More than being scum, Snape was a Death Eater, and not as “reformed” as Dumbledore thought. Harry didn’t care what Snape thought about him because there was a good chance Snape would die by Harry’s hand, sooner rather than later.

Hermione understood Harry’s reasoning but tried to get him to focus on the immediate problem. “Harry, you have to start fighting back against Astoria. She’s beaten you in everything so far. The cheating claims, the broom, the kissing attack. The only action in which she did not succeed was in spreading rumors that you were only interested in younger girls, and frankly, I think the only reason that didn’t work was because you’re so thick-headed you didn’t notice they were flirting with you.”

“Hey!”

“Protest all you like, but I’m right. If this keeps up, you’ll regress in your training and fail every course this year because you’ve spent so much time in detention.”

“I know that’s what I have to do. The problem is, she’s been hitting me so fast I can’t even figure out what’s going on, let alone counter-attack. That’s what I have you for, right, O Giant-Brained One?”

“Nice try, Harry. You have to do this on your own. I’ll help, but the whole purpose of bringing Astoria on is to get you trained up to fight a competent opponent. That’s aside from my role as neutral arbiter between you.

“Now, let’s break this into pieces. How can you defend yourself against Astoria’s attacks, at least those that you care about? I realize you don’t care about the rumors she’s been spreading. What else can she do to you, and how can you pre-empt it or defend against it? On the other side, remember that you’re not working directly against Astoria. Instead, think about how you can hurt Voldemort, Death Eaters, and your other real enemies.”

On the defensive side, Harry charmed his book bag and all of his pockets shut to make sure nothing was added or taken. Only the owner’s touch would unseal the openings. Hermione did, as well. While she wasn’t particularly concerned about pickpockets, it seemed a reasonable precaution that everyone should take.

Harry also set up a long-lasting shield around his body to deflect not only low-level spells but picky fingers. The shield would prevent friendly contact as well as attacks, but they calculated that it was worth it because Harry had many more people attacking and harassing him than hugging and kissing him. Alas, Slimemaster Snape put an end to the shield, giving both Harry and Hermione detention for having magic active in the hallways.

On the offensive side, Harry took it to the Malfoys. This was both Hermione’s long-term strategy against Voldemort and Harry’s short-term planning to get Daphne’s “something special”. Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry’s priorities, but didn’t chastise him because they took him in the correct direction. Whatever worked. Pragmatism, not uncompromising idealism, would see her through the end of this civil war.

Getting to the Malfoys was the hard part.

“Dobby, it’s time for me to attack the Malfoys. They have been doing bad things and they’re going to keep doing bad things until someone stops them. Can you tell me anything that will help me attack them?”

“Dobby can’t say much. House elf bond keeps bad masters’ secrets even after elf is freed.”

“Can you tell us anything about how I can get in? Their wards or anything else I need to be careful about?”

“Bad Malfoys spent much money on very big wards. Many wizards can attack and not get in.”

“Hmm. Besides the wards, do they have any other defenses? Anything else that is dangerous to me?”

“Bad Malfoys have many bad things. Dobby can’t say more.” Dobby started to twist his ears because he couldn’t help Harry.

“Relax, Dobby, it’s OK. You’re doing the best you can. Can you at least tell me where Malfoy Manor is? It would be a big help if I don’t have to hunt all over England for them.”

“Dobby is so sorry, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir. Dobby can’t say.” Dobby was highly distressed now. Hermione not-so-subtly nudged Harry to stop his questioning.

“Dobby! Don’t punish yourself. Never punish yourself. You told me all you could, and that’s all I could ask for. Tell you what, here’s something you can do for me that won’t cause you any problems. Please bring dinner for two here, for Hermione and me. This will be a working meal, not a romantic dinner, so you don’t need to bring candles or anything.”

“Ahem.”

“Ah, right. Dobby, please set up a candle-lit dinner for two here. We’ll work after.”

After a very nice meal, not three Michelin stars and not a date, but still a very nice meal with excellent company, Hermione voiced a thought that had been percolating in the back of her head.

“The Malfoys are prominent people, aren’t they? That is, what I know of them is that their whole persona revolves around being out and about, being seen as being beautiful and prominent and influential people. If you can’t attack their manor and can’t even find it, perhaps you can look around public places like St Mungo’s. Possibly even the ministry, if you can find an excuse to loiter around the entrance. Obviously you can’t do this while school is in session, but it’s a possibility for the winter break.”

“It’s an idea. I don’t know if I want to just wait around, even if I can, but I can keep that in mind if nothing better comes up. I’ll keep thinking about it.”

Their break came with the quarterly meeting of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. The Three Broomsticks had had a nasty magical fire just the evening before --- Who would have guessed that smoking and fire whiskey didn’t mix? Obviously not wizards. --- and so the board meeting took place in the castle. Hermione couldn’t believe their luck when they saw Lucius Malfoy head into the empty lavatory Harry had just left, with no one in sight along the corridor. Harry shimmered and disappeared. Hermione kept walking to the next intersection and sat on a bench, the very innocent picture of a perfectly innocent schoolgirl innocently waiting for a friend.

Not four minutes later a note dropped from nowhere into her lap. /get to class, be seen/.

Hermione got to the Charms classroom to find Harry already there. Already there, and embroiled in an argument with Ron Weasley. That was unusual. True to his word, Harry had cut Ron and Ginny out of his life. They had been on the quidditch team under his captaincy, but outside of practice he had not spent any time with them after one loud conversation at the beginning of the school year in which he had expressed his disappointment with their idea of friendship. That was likely a leading factor in the Weasleys being among the loudest voices calling for Harry’s ouster as captain after their first match, Hermione thought.

Prefect Granger broke up the quarrel before Flitwick came in, to the disappointment of the other students. It was merely their good fortune that this firmly established Harry’s and her location at a particular time.

The aftermath was predictable. Aurors, who were seen investigating the crime scene but who apparently did not interview any students. A sad announcement at dinner that Lucius Malfoy had met his demise from an unfortunate accident in the school and that everyone should be kind to Draco when he returned from grieving. This would show him that he had friends who cared for him.

“An unfortunate accident, Harry?”

“He slipped on a wet floor and broke his neck on a toilet. Very unfortunate.”

Hermione didn’t sleep that night. She had formed Harry into a weapon and now her weapon had killed.

Hermione was still awake at two in the morning the second night after Lucius Malfoy’s murder. Her resolve broke and she went up the stairs to the boys’ dorms.

“Harry? Can I sleep with you? Just hold me.”

The capstone to the Attraction Potion debacle came a week later, after the detentions were all done and Hermione could sleep again. She had declared to his nemesis that Harry had scored a major victory, without mentioning Lucius’s death, and he and Daphne had just returned from a brief congratulation/consolation session. Harry was feeling a bit less grumpy about his public and humiliating defeat.

“Hermione, Harry, do you want to hear something funny?” Astoria chirped. “That potion that Snape and McGonagall found on Harry and which got Harry in trouble wasn’t Attraction Potion. It wasn’t a potion at all. It was glycerin and water with dye to make it look like the real thing.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “You just plain suck.”

“I do not. Not until I have a ring on my finger.”

Credits: At least a year ago I came across a humorous story fragment which had Daphne (I think) taking over as Harry’s nemesis because Draco just wasn’t cutting it. I think Hermione orchestrated it. That was the kernel of an idea which became this story. What I recall of the style makes me think it was from Rorschach’s Blot’s Odd Ideas but I didn’t find it when I looked for it. If you recognize the fragment, and especially if it’s yours, please tell me. I’m trying to give credit, but can’t. There was also Hidden Layers (FFN story 7553126, by Andrew Joshua Talon) featuring pimp!Hermione. The idea was so funny I had to use it.