Still reeling from her encounter with Malfoy and his fan club of love predictions, not to mention the Seven Minutes in Hell with Tennant Rowley, Hermione kept her eyes glued to her plate throughout dinner. Deciding the school had enjoyed the show she put on, she borrowed a grey cardigan from Padma.
Ginny, it seemed, was having dinner in her secret hideout tonight. At the Gryffindor table, everyone was having a blast guessing where and how the red-haired witch was spending her time, but Hermione didn't even crack a smile. In her opinion, Ginny Weasley was acting smarter than anyone else in this school this year.
Hermione was sure Tennant had set up that meeting, stealing things from Malfoy's wardrobe and ambushing her in the library corridor. He obviously didn't believe Malfoy could get Hermione's support and took matters into his own hands. And, most likely, he would try again.
She ate quickly and headed for the exit, glancing at the Slytherin table. Malfoy, as usual, sat grimly at the far end. On the opposite side, one of Tennant's fans was feeding him soup. Blaise Zabini sat to his right, his lips curled in disgust. Zabini. Was he among those Tennant hinted at? Unlikely. Blaise's attention seemed to be entirely captivated by Ginny. But who else among the eighth-years could Tennant recruit? Malfoy resisted, Theo despised Tennant, Goyle was useless, Daphne was too smart, and Pansy would never risk messing up her hair. Maybe that seventh-year from Advanced Numerology, with the knitted sweaters featuring snakes—a truly strange type. Bormann? Barnstable? Hermione was still trying to remember his name as she turned into the corridor on the sixth floor.
Like most Hogwarts corridors, the Trophy Room corridor looked practical—minimal windows and decorations. Torches on the walls were rare, and Hermione once again wondered why the awards of the school's best students were gathering dust in such a neglected place. According to the Map, the book-cover portrait hung at the very end of the corridor, just past the Trophy Room. A less-frequented place would be hard to find, but it was perfectly understandable—McGonagall had never favored Gilderoy Lockhart.
Hermione walked through the Trophy Room, her heels echoing loudly in the empty space. Then she raised her wand.
"Lumos."
A golden light flared, and Lockhart immediately came into view, as if standing before her in person. The portrait covered the entire wall and depicted Lockhart at full height so realistically that Hermione involuntarily felt as if Lockhart would step out of the frame to hand her his autographed photo.
Instead, Lockhart struck a dramatic pose—one gloved hand on his hip, the other raised. Above him, in enormous letters, was the inscription: "GADDING WITH GHOULS." In his hand, Lockhart clutched his famous tea strainer like a sword, but the ghoul, sprawled on a rock with a bored expression, was clearly unimpressed.
"Blast it all!" Lockhart exclaimed, "A most beauteous vision has appeared before me! My mind is too meager to sing its praises!"
The painted wizard bowed with a flourish, giving the ghoul a kick in the process. The ghoul's eyes bulged, it sighed, and bowed awkwardly.
"Hello, Professor Lockhart," Hermione said, smiling despite herself. He had been her first childhood crush. Foolish, of course—he turned out to be a useless teacher, not to mention a notorious fraud. But that hadn't stopped her from slipping little notes into her DADA homework, the memories of which made her blush.
Lockhart stepped closer to the edge of the frame. It was strange to see him healthy, blooming, and still polished, rather than a disoriented St. Mungo's patient.
"Just Gilderoy to you," he purred sweetly. "And how may I address you, fair lady?"
"Hermione Granger. You taught us Defence Against the Dark Arts in our second year."
"Hermione..." His face lit up. "Of course! The only one of all my students to get a perfect score on the Fundamentals of DADA exam! Tell me," he perked up, "what's my favorite color?"
"Lilac."
"And my dearest dream?"
Hermione laughed.
"To rid the world of evil and launch your own line of hair care products."
Lockhart flashed the Most Charming Smile, according to Witch Weekly.
"Beautiful and insightful."
"Professor..."
"Gilderoy," he sighed. "Oh, my dear, if only you were a portrait!"
"I hope that's still a long way off," Hermione said. "I'm still alive, as you can see." She frowned. "As are you, for that matter. How is that possible?"
"Technically, I am alive, yes," Lockhart agreed. "But that brilliant image you see before you, alas, is gone. The current Gilderoy Lockhart is but a pathetic shadow." He struck a tragic pose.
Hermione frowned.
"I met that shadow at St. Mungo's and thought him a better version of you."
"That is utterly impossible, Miss Granger," the wizard stated emphatically.
She shook her head.
"No, that Lockhart, perhaps disoriented, would not have abandoned an innocent girl to her fate and attacked students just to preserve his reputation."
"Foul slander!" Lockhart exclaimed, pressing a hand to his chest. "Do I look like a man capable of such things?"
"No," Hermione said, "but I've learned not to trust pretty faces."
The portrait immediately slid aside, barely missing Hermione, and revealed an unlit passage. Lockhart shrieked in pain as the canvas hit the stone.
"Good night, Professor," Hermione called, stepping into the opening.
A muffled squeak echoed:
"Gilderoy!"
The portrait slammed shut behind her, and Hermione found herself in a surprisingly spacious corridor leading downwards. At the end of the corridor, a spiral staircase waited, ascending to a white door with no handle.
"Vigilance," Hermione stated, and the door swung open.
Her mouth fell open in surprise at the sight of a small, dimly lit room crammed to the ceiling with all sorts of oddities. Mad-Eye's trunk with seven locks stood against the wall, an Enemy Detector proudly displayed on a cabinet, and Mad-Eye himself stared at her from his portrait.
"Hermione Granger!" he barked. "Who was my Harry Potter?"
"Mundungus Fletcher," she replied.
"CORRECT!" Mad-Eye roared.
A door she hadn't noticed before creaked open—Ginny stood behind it, wand in hand. A floor lamp lit up, and Hermione spotted Neville's Mimbulus Mimbletonia, its shoots sprawling from a pot onto a small table.
"I agreed to watch him today," Ginny said. "Some idiot tore off a leaf. He feels safe here."
"SECOND QUESTION!"
Ginny ignored Mad-Eye.
"Come in, Hermione."
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
Ginny led her into a small bedroom decorated in Gryffindor colors, with a bed, two armchairs, and a tiny fireplace. Three of the four walls were enormous windows overlooking the Black Lake.
"You can't see this turret from the outside," Ginny said, sinking into an armchair. She gestured for Hermione to take the second armchair, but didn't offer tea.
"Amazing. How did you get Mad-Eye's portrait?"
"The Auror Office was eager to get rid of the portrait, and they gave it to Dad."
Silence. Hermione glanced at the gloomy clouds over the lake. A storm was gathering in the mountains—common for October. Then she turned to Ginny and pulled a scroll from her pocket.
"Here's a record of Tennant's movements from last night. I don't see a pattern, but..."
Ginny's eyes scanned the parchment.
"You don't? Rowley isn't hunting girls. He's stalking you."
"Why would you..."
"Smartest witch of her generation, my arse," Ginny scoffed. "Look, half the time he's hanging around the library and the Gryffindor Tower corridors. Hmm... former DADA office. Do you go there to do homework?"
"I met people there a couple of times," Hermione admitted awkwardly.
"9:20 PM - Grumpy Staircase, seventh floor. Interesting."
"You know that staircase?"
"We have an arrangement," Ginny said. "I put an 'Out of Order' sign on it for a couple of hours every Wednesday, and it tells me who's been up the North Tower that week. Great spot for plotting."
Hermione sighed.
"Now every Sunday I'll have to polish... oh, stop it."
Ginny just smirked.
"Anyway, Tennant caught me there, and the staircase tripped him so I could get away."
The red-haired witch looked intently at Hermione, then stood up and put the kettle on. Returning to her armchair, she shook her head.
"Leave Rowley to me and my DA."
"I'll be more careful," Hermione promised. "And, Ginny, I wouldn't involve the DA. Tennant is using Polyjuice Potion."
Ginny's eyes widened.
"Who was he impersonating?"
"Justin at the Ravenclaw party, and Malfoy today."
"Malfoy." Ginny turned pale. "Did you..."
"No, I didn't tell him anything, and nothing happened. I was lucky."
"So that's why I saw Justin with lighter hair running from the party. I thought it was a prank." Ginny pondered. "We could get Rowley expelled."
Hermione shook her head.
"No, that's not enough. You were right from the start—he's not just harassing girls. He's recruiting followers. If he's expelled, he'll just run off and work for Borgin or something."
Ginny groaned.
"Just what we needed—does he think he's the new Tom Riddle?" Her face darkened. "I hope he's not keeping a diary. Speaking of diaries..."
"How are you getting along with Lockhart?" Hermione asked.
The kettle whistled, and Ginny stood up to get mugs, sugar, and cream.
"Fine," she said. "The shameless philanderer doesn't know I was that girl from the Chamber of Secrets. We rarely talk; usually I just run up to the portrait, yell, 'You handsome chap!' and he gets thrown against the wall."
Ginny handed Hermione a mug of tea and settled back into her armchair.
"Seriously, Hermione, if you don't want Rowley expelled, what's your plan?"
"I want to try and figure out who he's recruiting, and also catch him attempting to undermine the Ministry or free Death Eaters." Hermione took a sip of tea, wondering how much to tell Ginny. "I have an informant."
"Malfoy," Ginny said. Hermione nodded.
"And all this..." the red-haired witch waved her hand from Hermione's neat hairstyle to her high-heeled shoes, "...is part of your recruitment campaign?"
Hermione frowned.
"Sometimes a girl just wants to look pretty."
Ginny rolled her eyes.
"And you trust Malfoy with Rowley?"
"Yes," Hermione said.
Ginny looked skeptical but didn't press.
"Who could Rowley even be recruiting? There aren't likely to be suitable candidates among the other eighth-years."
"What about the seventh-years?" Hermione asked. "That strange jumper-lover... Bellamy?"
"Barnaby," Ginny said. "Quite possible. He's a Parselmouth. Always hissing something under his breath in class."
She took a sip of tea, considering.
"I'll set up surveillance on him."
"And you and your DA should continue with the questioning checks," Hermione added. "You were right from the start."
Ginny looked at Hermione shrewdly over her mug.
"If Rowley is recruiting dark wizards, the Ministry should handle it. Are you going to tell Harry?"
Hermione hesitated. She didn't want to involve the Auror Office until she and Malfoy figured out the Vanishing Spell.
"You don't want to involve Harry," Ginny guessed. She smirked at Hermione's nod. "Yeah, Harry will be thrilled to know Malfoy's replaced him."
"It's nothing like that," Hermione countered. "Harry and I... it was over between us from the start. We were always just friends."
Ginny's gaze turned icy.
"Oh yes, such good friends. You just gave him what he wanted, as a friend. What heroic self-sacrifice."
"I wasn't being heroic," Hermione snapped. "And it wasn't a sacrifice."
Ginny waved her hand dismissively, but Hermione continued.
"I convinced myself it was right, that we were okay, because he needed me. And he really did need me. But that's not the whole truth. I was weak and scared and needed him too."
The mug trembled in her hands, and tea spilled onto her grey skirt. She had vowed to be completely honest with Ginny about Harry, but voicing these thoughts aloud was difficult.
Ginny sipped her tea, completely unimpressed.
"Are you going to tell Harry about Malfoy?"
Hermione shook her head.
"I'm not telling anyone about Malfoy. Only you and Luna know. Well, and one other weird Ravenclaw who thinks..." She sighed. "And that's it. Malfoy and I... this won't last long."
"Just like with Harry," the red-haired witch observed coldly.
"For Merlin's sake, stop it, Ginny," Hermione groaned. "I'm not some bloodthirsty siren luring men. I'm just... romantically incompetent."
"What is, is," Ginny agreed. Her face softened, and she took the wet mug from Hermione's hands, wiping it with a napkin. "Watching you try to seduce Justin was excruciating..."
"I wasn't trying to..."
"As for Malfoy," Ginny continued, "well, he's just pathetic."
"He's not..."
"Who does he have now? You? Tennant Rowley?"
"And who do you have? Neville? Blaise Zabini?" Hermione retorted. "Everyone else is scared of you."
"Malfoy lives with Rowley," Ginny said stubbornly.
Hermione's eyes flashed.
"What are you getting at? That Malfoy's playing both sides? Fooling me while he plots with Tennant?"
Ginny's dark eyes remained cold.
"Perhaps."
Hermione tightly clasped her hands in her lap, trying to contain her anger.
"You're wrong, Ginny. Despite all your attempts to snoop, eavesdrop, and use various magical spy gadgets, you don't understand everything. Tennant is evil. Malfoy isn't." She leaned forward. "And you know it. You looked into Malfoy's mind. And, I bet, into Zabini's too."
Ginny blushed slightly but said nothing.
"I know you're angry with me and Harry," Hermione said softly. She remained leaning forward and took the opportunity to take Ginny's hand. Ginny didn't resist. "You have every right to be. But we're not bad people. Neither is Malfoy. Neither is Zabini, nor Nott. We're all just trying to move on."
Ginny squeezed her fingers.
"Will we succeed?" Her eyes widened, and for a moment she looked like a regular seventeen-year-old girl.
"Of course," Hermione said firmly. "I'll get eight NEWTs, like Dumbledore, and then everyone better watch out."
"Yes," Ginny agreed with a faint smile, squeezing her hand. "And by the way, you really are very beautiful today. That hairstyle is excellent protection against Polyjuice Potion."
She released Hermione's hand, and an awkward silence fell. Hermione quickly changed the subject.
"What about you, Gin?" she finally asked. "What do you want to do? Become an Auror, like Mad-Eye?"
The red-haired witch snorted.
"And work with Harry? Unlikely." She considered. "I want to start my own business, like George."
"What kind?"
"Not sure yet... I want to help people. Those in trouble. Those looking for something. Those who've been wronged. I want to sort out situations and help..." her voice trailed off.
"A detective agency," Hermione said unexpectedly.
Ginny blinked.
"What?"
"A private detective agency. It's like being an Auror, but unofficial. You open a small office, hire a strange secretary, and wear a trench coat."
"What's a trench coat?"
Hermione didn't answer, completely lost in thought.
"You could put an advertisement in the Daily Prophet for your services. People would come with sad stories, you'd give them a handkerchief and charge them for a consultation."
"Yes," Ginny nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. And a lot of money."
Hermione shrugged:
"Of course. You became a celebrity after the war—clients will flock immediately."
Ginny's smile grew wider.
"It might work. George will help me get started, I know."
She bounced in her armchair, just like a little girl.
"I can set up my... agency, right? Like this tower: a separate secret entrance, a separate main one."
"What will you call it?" Hermione asked.
"DA, of course!" Ginny beamed. "The DA Detective Agency."
Hermione groaned.
"You're joking."
"Better than S.P.E.W."
Hermione ignored the jab and conjured a parchment.
"You'll need good NEWT scores—the more Outstandings, the better, in all the subjects that are part of Auror training." She began writing.
Ginny stretched her neck to look.
"Divination?"
"Most of your early clients will likely be oddballs," Hermione explained. "Looking for magical solutions to ridiculous problems. Ominous portents or silly prophecies they want checked."
She shook her head, remembering the third-year girls with their love notes.
"You'll spend a lot of time spying on unfaithful spouses."
"Ugh," Ginny said, wrinkling her nose.
"Only at the beginning. Once you establish yourself, you can refuse silly cases."
"Cases." Ginny tasted the word. "How do you know so much about this?"
"Private detectives are common in the Muggle world. I'll get you some books—Dashiell Hammett, Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers... Oh!" Hermione pressed a hand to her chest. "Sherlock Holmes!"
"Who's Holmes?"
"I have a collection in my room. A fictional detective, set in the 1800s." Perfect for Ginny, considering the wizarding world was half-stuck in the Victorian era. "Anyway, here's a list of NEWTs and other optional courses, plus tips on setting up an office. A nameplate on the door and a kettle are essential."
Ginny's eyes sparkled—not with her usual mad gleam, but with genuine excitement.
"Yes, yes, thank you, Hermione," she said, scanning the parchment. "Five NEWTs?"
"Plus Divination."
"I don't take Divination. Should I sign up..."
"No," Hermione said hastily. The mere thought of taking classes with Malfoy under Ginny's scrutiny made her heart skip a beat. "Trelawney is useless. You're better off studying the subject independently or with a tutor. Parvati might be suitable. I'll give you my notes on dowsing—many clients will want to find lost items, and I've developed some schemes using Numerology..."
"Hermione," Ginny interrupted, her face flushed. "Why are you helping me? I... I haven't been particularly friendly."
"No, but we're still friends," Hermione said firmly. "You've just been an unfriendly friend."
Ginny clutched the scroll in her hands.
"I know you're not a bad person. And Harry's not bad. I just... I was very angry."
"I know."
"I'm still angry."
"I know," Hermione repeated.
"But you'll still help me as an unfriendly friend?"
"No, as a friendly friend. You're the unfriendly one."
Ginny tried to maintain a stern expression, but the corners of her lips twitched.
"Just want to be clear."
"Crystal clear," Hermione replied, suppressing a smile.
Ginny put down her mug and stood up.
"Come on, I'll walk you out."
They patted the Mimbulus Mimbletonia on their way out of the tower. Mad-Eye's portrait scolded Ginny for her carelessness, but both witches ignored him—as they did Lockhart, theatrically rubbing his bruised arm. Ginny walked her to the end of the Trophy Room corridor and waited for Hermione to make sure Filch wasn't nearby. Even though eighth-years could disregard curfew, encountering Filch was undesirable.
"Be careful, Hermione," Ginny said. "Wouldn't want Rowley to catch you alone."
"Malfoy's watching him tonight."
Ginny gave her a skeptical look, but only said:
"I'll be expecting a copy of his records too."
"Of course," Hermione replied, mentally preparing herself to beg Malfoy for a report on Tennant's movements. He'd surely make her...
"Come over tomorrow night," Ginny instructed, interrupting her thoughts and making her jump and blush. Ginny rolled her eyes.
"You're both so pathetic."
"Romantically incompetent," Hermione corrected. She hesitated, then scanned the empty corridor. Only the crackling of torches and Lockhart's faint groans broke the silence.
"Things with Malfoy are moving too fast," she admitted. "I think I'm forcing them myself."
"Recruiting," Ginny nodded knowingly. "Good for you."
"I'm not using sex as a recruitment tactic!" Hermione blurted out, then sighed. "It's just... I lose control with him."
Ginny shrugged.
"So what? He deserves it."
"No, he doesn't!" Hermione flared. "He deserves respect... and... and careful consideration."
Ginny's face brightened.
"You're right. Treat him nobly."
"Yesss..." Hermione looked at the red-haired witch suspiciously. "That's what I was going to do."
"Don't do anything with him you're not ready to go all the way with."
Hermione blinked.
"Seriously? That sounds pretty radical, especially coming from someone who kisses Zabini in a supply cupboard."
Ginny wagged a finger.
"No, we're talking about you and Malfoy." Her smirk widened, and she looked alarmingly like Fred and George. "It's not just about your self-respect. It's about his too."
"Self-respect," Hermione repeated. There was something suspicious about Ginny's logic, but she couldn't pinpoint what. It sounded convincing. But she didn't want to...
"Run along now," Ginny said. "And whatever you do, don't give in to temptation!"
Patting Hermione on the shoulder, she turned back to Lockhart.
"Move it, you dim-witted handsome chap!"
Hermione wandered confusedly towards Gryffindor Tower, trying to process what had happened. She had reached the Fat Lady's portrait when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and gasped in horror.
What had she done? Had she just given Ginny Weasley career advice? After the Tennant incident?
She groaned and banged her forehead against the stone wall, ignoring the strange looks from her classmates. Oh, Merlin... Ginny would terrorize the entire wizarding world from her tiny DA office, and it would be entirely Hermione's fault. Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? Harry and Ron would kill her when they found out.
Still upset, Hermione entered the dormitory and found Romilda and Leanne on the sofa, giving each other manicures with their wands. They offered to do Hermione's nails, and she agreed—anything to distract herself from her own foolishness. After a long consultation, Leanne grew Hermione's nails a full inch, shaped them "ballerina," and painted them blood-red, adding golden patterns.
"Are you sure you don't want green?" Romilda asked pointedly. "With silver dragons?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Red and gold."
Romilda finished the procedure with a surprisingly complex spell that shortened the nails during study. Then the witches ran off to show off their manicures to Parvati, leaving Hermione alone with her trunk, wondering what to wear. Never before had she spent so much time choosing sleepwear. She picked up a white short set with an embroidered kitten on the chest, then shook her head and put it aside.
Her own words to Ginny still echoed in her ears: she was romantically incompetent. She had called Draco warm, for Merlin's sake. Could anything be dumber?
Besides, all those kisses. She didn't entirely agree with Ginny—kissing Malfoy in the alcove was perfectly harmless. But kissing him in bed was a different matter entirely. She remembered his expression and his words that night after the Ravenclaw party when she rejected him: "I'm not a toy."
He really wasn't a toy. He didn't deserve to be treated that way. Despite the idiotic situation with the Vanishing Spell and his past behavior, Malfoy had behaved honorably with her. He was trying. And she kept undressing in his bed, with no intention of having sex with him. The thought of sex still made her anxious, and, Merlin, this madness had been going on for... ten nights? Sex could ruin everything, and they still hadn't removed the Vanishing Spell. "We'll just talk," Hermione decided, putting away the short set and putting on blue cotton pajamas with sheep. "An adult, honest conversation."
She would rise above her base instincts. Satisfied with herself, Hermione slung her beaded purse over her shoulder, pulled on thick grey socks, and stuck her wand in her hair before getting into bed. It's always good to have a plan. She would apologize to Malfoy again and treat him with the respect and nobility he deserved.