(Note on the title "Esquire" (Esq.) in letters:
The title Esq. (abbreviation for Esquire) is traditionally used in business correspondence in English-speaking countries, especially in the UK and USA, as a formal, respectful form of address after a man's surname—usually a lawyer or a person of a certain social status. Example: John Smith, Esq. In modern usage in the USA, the title is more often associated with practicing attorneys, whereas in the UK it has fallen out of general use, remaining only in formal or ceremonial contexts.)
"I looked at the quaffle, and the quaffle looked at me. Every goal mattered to us, but the quaffle didn't understand that. The quaffle didn't care. The burgundy ball in my hands grew heavier with every minute, longing only to fall to the ground and rest. I hated the quaffle, and the quaffle hated me."
Hermione sprawled in the chair, fighting boredom. She was reading aloud "My Torment with the Ball" by Chaser Dragomir Gorgovitch. "Draggy" held the record for the number of dropped balls in a season, and Hermione, it should be noted, was not at all surprised. The wizard had a strained relationship with quaffles—he claimed they intentionally sabotaged his career.
Pure rubbish, of course, but she had nothing else to do while Draco slept off the effects of the healing potions. The book also distracted her from the other patient in the infirmary—the one lying two cots away from Draco, indifferent to everything and drooling.
Hermione put the book aside and gently brushed the bangs from Draco's forehead. His dark eyebrows and eyelashes contrasted sharply with his pale skin, but a faint flush had already appeared on his cheeks and lips. Hermione tried to adjust the blanket, but the thick layer of healing murtlap essence ointment she had applied to his skin had firmly glued Draco to the sheet.
He must wake up. He just had to. Evening was already approaching, gray clouds hid the slanting rays of the sun, and long shadows made Hermione shiver. At exactly ten, the Vanishing Spell would move her back to that same room. Running was useless. Hiding was impossible. The spell had gone out of control, and they were no closer to a solution.
— Wake up, Draco, I beg you, — she whispered. I'm scared. She leaned over and tenderly touched his lips in a kiss.
But Draco remained motionless, like a marble-carved Sleeping Beauty smelling of murtlap essence.
With a sigh, Hermione picked up the book again. She had just finished the ninth chapter ("Pros and Cons of Jinxing Quaffles") when the screen was pushed open with a crash. Madam Pomfrey flew in, waved her wand, and a long bandage wrapped around Draco's face.
— What are you... — Hermione began, but fell silent upon seeing two men in the lemon-colored robes of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Finally.
The senior healer was waving a clipboard.
— As I said, your records are quite detailed, but I still have questions regarding the initial state...
— All questions to Director McGonagall, — Pomfrey said coldly. — I suggest you attend to your duties.
The second healer, meanwhile, gave Tennant a cursory examination.
— No reaction to external stimuli, — he reported. — Vital signs are stable.
— Madam Pomfrey, couldn't you at least explain how...
— All questions to the Director, Healer Pratt.
He frowned but said nothing more as he and his partner loaded the massive body onto a stretcher. With deft movements, they placed strange pillows under Tennant's head and sides—it looked as if he was being packed for shipment. Pomfrey, meanwhile, was signing documents, her expression remaining stony.
Hermione stood up. She suddenly wanted to say goodbye. To mark this moment somehow. There was no one else. Even Pomfrey didn't deign to glance at Tennant. His teachers and classmates from Durmstrang were far away, busy fighting to preserve their notorious school.
An image of Tennant first stepping into the Great Hall flashed before Hermione's eyes. So commanding. So charismatic. Powerful. He chose this path himself. It was necessary.
She froze by Draco's cot, hesitantly watching as the healers bundled Tennant up so he wouldn't freeze. Healer Pratt took the documents from Madam Pomfrey, then levitated the stretcher toward the exit. The moment was gone. Tennant was no more. Was no more.
Pomfrey watched the healers leave and silently departed, drawing the curtain again. Hermione sat down, removed the bandage from Draco, and, taking a deep, uneven breath, opened the book again.
— "My Torment with the Ball," — she announced. — Chapter ten.
Her voice sounded steady as she read: "It is common knowledge that a soaked quaffle is a miserable quaffle. During our 1996 match against the Caerphilly Catapults, the quaffles flatly refused to leave..."
Hermione raced through the castle entrance hall, first-years scattering out of her way. She had left the infirmary to have dinner—and, returning back, had run into a "NO VISITORS ALLOWED" sign and set up security charms. Against her!
Screaming at the invisible barrier didn't help; all attempts to break the charms failed. Hermione even began to suspect that the doors were enchanted with blood-protection spells. How dare Pomfrey not let her in! And what about her well-thought-out care plan? And the murtlap essence? She had even brought fresh dittany, kindly provided by Neville, since Madam Pomfrey was constantly complaining about the lack of ingredients! Draco could have already woken up!
Hermione stopped abruptly, catching her reflection in an old mirror on the wall. Romilda had insisted that today she should "dress up at least a little to cheer Draco up," and had pinned her curls with a sunflower claw clip and lent her a green silk blouse, fortunately without ruffles. The blouse was tighter and more revealing than Hermione would have liked, but Romilda was right—at least about the magical nail polish.
But it all turned out to be in vain.
Dejected, Hermione climbed a few more floors and sat on the steps of the Grumpy Staircase, which immediately demanded she not cause dampness.
— I just wanted to help Draco, — Hermione sobbed. — It's not my fault that Madam Pomfrey has no idea about proper...
Her words were interrupted by a black eagle owl flying into the corridor like a giant bat with bulging eyes and perching on the railing.
— Just don't let that bird scratch my balusters! — grumbled the staircase.
Hermione stood up and took the letter:
Dear Hermione,
Thank you for your inquiry about the progress of the astrarium repairs. Such mechanisms take time, and I sincerely appreciate your patience.
I am currently testing a new approach to the layout of the planets and am inclined to think that there is every reason for optimism.
With best wishes,
Justin Finch-Fletchley, Esq.
The owl turned sharply and flew away, causing a new explosion of indignation from the staircase, but Hermione was no longer listening to it. She understood Fletchleyese perfectly, and if the prefect allowed himself words like "inclined to think" and "optimism," it meant he had surely made serious progress in solving the task.
Hermione unfolded the Marauder's Map. Justin was in his bedroom—likely working on the clock right now. Once successfully repaired, the clock could help restore the time component in the Vanishing Spell, which, in turn, would help her and Draco finally remove it. "I sincerely appreciate your patience"... Hermione snorted and shoved the worn parchment into her pocket. She had no intention of continuing to be patient.
A party was just starting in the Hufflepuff common room (after the disaster involving home-made brandy and Justin—butterbeer only). A few curious glances were cast at Hermione, especially when she refused a drink and headed straight for the boys' dormitories, but no one tried to stop her. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar, and Hermione slipped inside without hesitation.
She looked around the room's furnishings with wide eyes: ebony furniture, yellow curtains, and bedding—it all resembled a luxurious hobbit hole sponsored by bumblebees. The windows and doors were round, as was the black stone fireplace. On the far wall hung a duty schedule marked with yellow smiley faces. Justin was leaning over a table covered with gears, crystals, and metal plates.
He raised his head and froze in surprise.
— Hermione?!
She stared at the prefect, dressed in an elegant blue jumper and black trousers. Justin looked bewildered. Was the work not going as well as he had written?
— I received your letter, — her voice was still a bit raspy after long reading aloud.
— I didn't... I didn't expect... — Justin jumped up, his face turning red. — You're in my bedroom!
— You know you need me.
— We... we've already discussed this, — his voice sounded unnaturally strained. — Self-control... base instincts... moral imperative...
— Justin... — she shook her head, and the sunflower clip, under the weight of her hair, jumped out of her curls, falling right at Justin's feet. Hermione didn't know what the sunflower symbolized, but from Justin's expression, she understood it was better not to know.
She brushed the unruly locks from her forehead and took a deep breath—Justin recoiled in fear and crashed into the table. The astrarium wobbled, and they both rushed to save it, Justin's hands ending up over Hermione's palms.
Justin jerked his hands away and assumed a stern look.
— Hermione, this must stop, — he scolded her. — It's impermissible to behave this way with men. I expected more from you.
Hermione shot him a fierce look.
— I came because of the clock, Justin, — she snapped. — I didn't dress up for you, and I don't care what that sunflower means!
The Hufflepuff cringed under the barrage of her indignation, and she felt a little ashamed.
— Obviously, you've made progress, — Hermione continued, — and time is precious, so explain what you've done.
Justin hesitated, but under the mounting pressure of her gaze, he gave in. They both stared at the polished astrarium, and now Hermione noticed a small agate Uranus orbiting the golden Sun along with the other planets.
— You did it... — she whispered.
— Only one planet so far, — Justin admitted with uncharacteristic modesty. — I realized something today.
Hermione waited patiently.
— Purity, — he said. — That's where we went wrong. You'd think two Muggle-borns would have guessed.
— I don't understand.
The prefect pointed to the failed planets scattered across the table.
— We created them from pure minerals and metals, right? Platinum, agate, water sapphire...
— Yes, yes, — Hermione barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She, after all, had been present then too.
— But real planets aren't all that pure, — Justin continued. — It's a classic misconception that celestial bodies must be perfect. — He took the new Uranus off the clock and handed it to Hermione.
She rolled the planet on her palm.
— It's heavier.
— Exactly, — he agreed. — As I said, the previous planets were made of pure metals and gems. But real planets have cores.
Hermione stared at him.
— Iron cores?
The prefect nodded.
— Isobel helped me realize that. She said that purity seems like a strength, but in fact, it's a weakness.
Hermione still didn't understand.
— But why would clockmakers add iron to planets? They didn't know anything about planetary cores.
— Of course not, — Justin agreed. — Muggle scientists discovered the Earth's core in the 1930s using seismic waves, but only after studying the magnetic fields of planets...
— Yes, yes, I know, Justin. I have basic knowledge of planetary geology. But not the wizard clockmakers of that time.
— The clock knew, — he said calmly. — They rejected the pure planets. Magic is wiser than us.
There was no arguing with that. Magic constantly outplayed wizards—Draco's adventures with the Vanishing Spell vividly demonstrated that. In fact, the only reason Harry didn't die as an infant and survived the war was that Voldemort tried to use magic he didn't understand.
Hermione looked at the prefect, impressed by his logic.
— Justin, — she asked curiously. — How is it that you're not in Ravenclaw?
He raised an eyebrow.
— I could ask you the same question.
— I asked the Sorting Hat to send me to Gryffindor.
— And I—to Hufflepuff.
— Really?
Justin looked at her patronizingly.
— Yes. Why does everyone find it so hard to believe? I wanted to be in a pleasant place where people treat each other well.
Hermione flushed. People perceived Hufflepuff as a collection of those who weren't taken by other houses. In her mind, she understood this was rubbish—Justin, Cedric Diggory, and Tonks were proof of that—but prejudices proved stronger.
— Of course, — she said hastily. — That's a wonderful choice.
Justin remained silent, and for the first time, Hermione imagined how her school years at Hufflepuff would have turned out. She would have been accepted for who she was, despite her obsession with good grades. Classmates would have baked cookies for her before exams. She would have organized fruit basket exchanges and found more supporters for S.P.E.W. And she certainly would have spent less time alone in the library.
She looked at Justin, who was now aligning the clock so that its edge was perfectly parallel to the table, and decided to change the subject.
— How did you determine the exact amount of iron? — Hermione asked.
Justin shrugged.
— By trial and error. The clockmakers likely tested different combinations of minerals until something worked, even if they didn't understand the reasons.
— Ingenious, — Hermione admitted.
— Quite, — Justin shifted the clock slightly to the left.
Hermione looked at him inquiringly, then took her failed Neptune off her chain and handed it to him.
— Continue, — she said. — Since you've figured out the core of Uranus, Neptune should be easier.
These gas giants were very similar in size and composition.
Justin nodded and suspended the blue sphere in the air. Then he uttered a complex spell to soften the material. Another wave of the wand—and a tiny iron core seemed to be attracted to the planet and vanished inside. Neptune descended onto Hermione's palm, and she closed her fingers around the cold gem.
— And that's it? — she asked.
The Head Boy smiled.
— One can only hope.
They both moved a step closer to the clock, and Hermione placed Uranus and Neptune among the other planets. The two little balls first floated down, then rose a few inches and began to orbit the Sun, with Neptune taking the outermost orbit.
— Look! — Hermione exclaimed. — It's working!
From the joy overflowing her, she terribly wanted to hug Justin, but the Head Boy, as if sensing this carnal desire, hurried back to the table.
— Only Pluto is left, — he said. Hermione sat opposite and picked up a magnifying glass.
Putting aside doubts about the moral side of the issue, the Head Boy's bedroom turned out to be a surprisingly calm place to work. They barely spoke while Justin created tiny iron cores of slightly varying sizes, and Hermione used his wand to place them in small platinum spheres. One by one she tested them on the clock, but the shiny Plutos sank down every time.
Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully.
— We need to make a bigger core. I think it makes up most of the planet.
But that meant they needed a new way to assemble the planet. Instead of adding a core to the platinum sphere, Hermione and Justin created a larger iron core and then wrapped it in platinum. It took several attempts, but soon the smallest planet was already moving in its inclined, eccentric orbit around the polished Sun.
Now Justin looked happy enough to hug her, but it was good he remained a model of self-control because at that moment Wayne Hopkins and Ernie Macmillan entered the bedroom with bottles of butterbeer in their hands. Justin immediately stood up and began packing the clock.
— Don't mind us! — Ernie said cheerfully.
— She's a feisty one, — Hopkins added with a smirk. — And quite the boggart!
— What's that? A sunflower? Ah, adoration and devotion...
— Justin's been changing sweethearts like gloves lately...
— We're working on a project for the Advanced Astronomy course, — Justin said coldly. He handed Hermione the wooden box with the clock and nudged the witch toward the exit.
Smiling, Hermione let the prefect literally usher her onto the stairs leading to the Common Room.
— We really should do that, — she stated.
Justin twitched.
— The project for the Advanced Astronomy course, — she specified. — We could present the clock for extra credit.
— A wonderful idea. — Justin stepped back. — And now, I hope you'll forgive me if I don't walk you out...
— Of course. — Thanking him, Hermione went up to the Hufflepuff common room, clutching the box tightly to her chest. The prospect of being in Draco's bedroom again now seemed less daunting. She couldn't wait for evening to check if the Vanishing Spell would work as it should today.
Hermione, dressed in a signature Weasley jumper, jeans, and sneakers, landed on Draco's pink bed at the usual time. She was ready to cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and make her way through the dungeons if the Vanishing Spell didn't move her back in an hour.
She spent the rest of the evening with Ginny, practicing wandless magic under a barrage of critical remarks from Mad-Eye's portrait ("Wrist, Granger, turn that damn wrist! And look at the object! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"). Her wandless Summoning Charms were now strong enough to call objects out of her line of sight or wrench them from someone's hands. She had also learned to cast a weak Stunning Spell wandlessly. Ginny smiled at her efforts, clearly imagining her friend in black, with curls braided and pockets stuffed with forbidden Auror gizmos.
— You could be my Watson, — Ginny said with the same spark in her eyes.
Hermione laughed.
— I'd rather be Mycroft.
Now Hermione was back in Draco's bed—alone in a sinister darkness and silence, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock. She immediately scrambled out of bed, suppressing a surge of nausea. ("Now say my name...")
Hermione waved her hand, and the lamp lit up. The shimmering lights and Tennant's trunk had vanished, as had the extra bed and desk. Had McGonagall herself had a hand in making the cursed objects disappear?
Looking around, Hermione noticed that the thick rug was clean again, with no traces of blood or fur. The shards of the hand mirror and the glass beads were gone. On the fireplace with the obsidian hearth, there were no more of Tennant's trinkets, and the polished poker with the silver knob had returned to its place along with the other tools. He's gone. He won't be back. He's gone...
Her breathing seemed too loud in the silence of the room, and the bright light of the lamp dimmed again. She felt as if she were reliving those minutes, feeling the same thing. The disgusting moisture on her skin. The lunar squares of light on the rug. Her last line of defense by the fireplace, cold iron in hand, face to face with...
A loud pop sounded in the room, and Hermione shrieked, casting a Stunning Spell. A red flash sliced through the darkness, knocking over a vase of fresh daffodils, and a piercing squeal answered.
— AAAIIIIH! NO! NO!
Hermione stared in shock at the sobbing elf on the rug.
— Tully?
— Please don't kill Tully! Tully apologizes for being late! AAAIIIIH! — The elf began banging her head on the floor.
— Don't! Stop!
— Tully was needed in the kitchen! A big pudding for tomorrow! BIG!
Hermione fell to her knees beside her.
— I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?
The elf looked up with eyes full of tears.
— Tully is fine — AAAIIIIH! — She jumped and recoiled to the wall, as far away from Hermione as possible. — NO SOCKS!
— No socks. — Hermione raised her hands. — I promise. No socks, or hats, or scarves.
Tully's eyes narrowed.
— Or tiny-winy jumpers.
Hermione, standing up, flushed because she did indeed have an unfinished tiny green jumper with a white letter "T" in her room.
— No jumpers, — she agreed.
The elf was still suspicious, but at least she stopped crying.
— What are you doing here, Tully? — Hermione asked.
— Master Malfoy ordered it, miss. Tully is to bring tea, or cocoa, or firewhisky.
Hermione blinked, wiping away tears that suddenly welled in her eyes. Draco had thought of her. He had woken up, thought of her, and sent this little elf so Hermione wouldn't be alone.
— Draco woke up? — she clarified. — Is he eating? Taking his potions?
— Yes, yes! — The elf nodded. — Master Malfoy wants to leave, but Tully says no. Master Malfoy needs to be treated. TREATED!
Hermione jumped, startled.
— That's, um, a very reasonable judgment, Tully.
Nevertheless, the elf didn't look happy—in fact, it seemed she'd like to bang her head some more, but managed to restrain herself and just slid down the wall, turning gloomy.
— I'd love some cocoa, Tully, — Hermione said, hoping to cheer her up. — If it's convenient for you and brings you joy.
The elf beamed.
— TULLY WILL BRING COCOA! — she exclaimed. — COCOA! — She vanished with a crack.
Hermione couldn't help but smile. The lamp was burning brightly again, and Hermione walked over to the fireplace, drawn by a strangely shaped object on the rug. It turned out to be her neatly folded red robe, and on top, pink and black lace underwear—it looked brand new. Hermione blushed—house-elves were thorough about things. She picked up the clothes and touched the pink ribbons. Draco's hands on her bare shoulders. His ragged whisper against her skin. The burning of the rug as he ripped the lace from her body, his lips...
CRACK! Hermione shrieked and saw Tully putting down a tray.
— Th-thanks, Tully.
The elf didn't answer—she was now hiding under the bed, following the letter of Draco's instructions, if not the spirit. Hermione sighed and stuffed the robe and lace bodysuit into her beaded bag. She had a tutu that would have fit so well...
— Meow! Meow! — Three white kittens jumped off Draco's desk and raced toward her. What, in the name of Merlin's mice, was going on here?
— Are you Draco's inkwells? — she asked the kittens. Honestly, this was the strangest room in the whole castle.
The kittens, of course, couldn't answer her, only meowed piteously. Hermione poured them some cream into a saucer. (Tully somehow knew that Hermione liked to add extra cream to her cocoa). The kittens began to lap the cream, then started rolling on the rug, resisting all of Hermione's attempts to pet them. Finally, she gave up and retreated to the sofa with her cocoa. Tully sneezed under the bed, which attracted the kittens' attention, and the fluffy trio disappeared under the edge of the green bedspread.
— AAAIIIIH! — Tully's squeal drove the kittens out and made Hermione spill the drink on herself.
— Oh! — Hermione cried. — Hot!
The elf poked her head out from under the bed.
— Cats make Tully sneeze — ATCHOO!
Hermione poured another cup of cocoa. Time flew by as she watched the kittens chase Tully around the room. Finally, the grandfather clock began to strike. Hermione jumped to her feet and grabbed her beaded bag.
— Okay, listen up everyone, — she called. — I hope I'll disappear from here in eight seconds. Tully, I don't know why Draco's inkwells are constantly turning into kittens, but I think you should pet them. And thank you.
— ATCHOO!
— If you won't pet them, at least leave them some...
But she didn't have time to give out instructions because with the last—eleventh—stroke of the clock, Hermione vanished from the Slytherin bedroom.