Sucker Love

Chapter 15 • Hermione






Chapter
15 • Hermione

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People are very interesting by nature. Philosophers,
scientists, and generally the people themselves have spent years, decades, centuries
discussing what the hell it was with people that made them so...conniving;
greedy; fierce. It was almost as if they’d burn their own neighbor and friend
to better the atmosphere for themselves just a little. It was everywhere—the
greed, the ferocity, the blinding hate and tragedy. Supposing that I gave
humans a little credit, I’d say that perhaps all this rage came from their parents,
maybe the influence of their friends...the influence of their society, I didn’t
know. But I didn’t give people any credit because they proved themselves enough
with their behavior at any given moment—influences or not. Perhaps it som something in the mind that told someone to have an enemy, to fight someone, to
provoke someone so much just for the hell of it. Because no one could stay
peaceful for long.

 

No one.

 

It was like some unwritten rule. Binding it to books would
only cause chaos, so people don’t even acknowledge its presence. But it’s in
everyone. Not one person could honestly admit that they haven’t ever fought,
attacked, provoked, and brutally insulted someone. If they did admit, they’d
lie. Lie through their teeth...because those kinds of people don’t exist. If
it’s not a friend someone gets angry with, it’s someone they’ve only met for
three minutes a million years ago or perhaps an annoying parent whom voices his
concern about his child’s safety. That child, that acquaintance would always
lash out at their counterpart given the right opportunity. And why?

 

Well, it never really has a reason. I supposed one could
blame it on pent-up aggression, but no. That’s crap. It’s human nature. It’s
twisted human nature.

 

“Well, Ms. Grr?” r?”

 

And here I was, thinking of how fucked up people really
were amongst the most positive of company: Dumbledore.

 

The twinkling presence in his eyes was no longer existent
and his brows were turned down slightly, contributing to a quite visible frown
full of disappointment and disbelief. Disbelief—something that the entire
school—professors and students alike—projected towards me after the...recent
occurrence. But I just turned away. I didn’t give a flying fuck. Dumbledore was
a sweet man—he never did me any wrong, personally. But he was also a very
persistent and arrogant man, acting like he knew everything about everyone. And
the fact that most of the time he did know everything about everyone
didn’t help his case one bit. It just made him all the more annoying while he
interrogated me, fourth or so in line after the previous questionings. And my
eyes continued trained on the floor, legs carelessly spread and back slouched,
making me appear as if I was almost lying down in the chair in front of
Dumbledore’s desk.

 

And I didn’t give a flying fuck.

 

I really couldn’t believe this myself. Disbelief was
something that my fellow peers had sweat through their every pore at me,
wondering where I got the nerve, what the hell was wrong with me, and how I
could do...that. Well, it released a dam. Everything I’d been holding
in, that’s been slowly fading and erasing on scratch at a time, came back
tumbling at me full force. I was suddenly reminded of all the fucked up things
in this world and how being at Hogwarts did absolutely nothing to
protect me from them. Of course, reminiscing about it now, it seemed so
dramatic.

 

Poor Hermione. She’s had a hard time. Her life’s taken a
rough turn. It’ll be okay. We just need to give her some space. She’ll be fine.

 

She’ll be fine.

 

She’ll be fine.

 

She’ll be fine.

 

That one was the one that rattled my frazzled nerves the
most: that I’d be fine. It seemed like that sentence was a fragment,
incomplete and begging to be finished.

 

She’ll be fine...after she’s gotten over her issues.
She’ll be fine...after she gets the proper counseling. She’ll be fine...after
Dumbledore issues the proper punishment, of course.

 

These people, these surroundings, this school. I felt on
fire and numb and crazy and scared and daring and ignored. Everything was pulling
on me, tugging me in a thousand different directions, letting out all the
frustration of what had happened before...and what feelings had been brought up
that should’ve remained six feet under. So far down there. And never to
have been brought out. Because crying about them, feeling them out, discussing
them, or...expressing them in my manner didn’t help. It made other
people think that I was overdramatic and high-strung over nothing. It made my
friends doubt my sanity; made my reputation lose its tact and my status in
school lose its throne. And it made me feel unstable, most important of all.
God, I didn’t give a fuck about what other people thought of me. Sure, I’d
worked hard to keep a good status at school and it would be slightnplenpleasant
to walk down the halls and hear the unwell shielded whispers about my insane
habits and disrupted life. But me. I was all I could count on...And I was
ruining me by letting those fucking feelings get to me—rise from the
ground where I’d buried them alive out of necessity. And now...

 

I was ruining me.

 

“Ms. Granger...I realize that your...” Dumbledore paused,
stopping his slow pacing around the room and sitting at his desk for lack of a
better move, his face set into a deeper frown than it’d started out with, “...response
to Millicent’s words was one of self-defense...but I must insist that you
explain to me—to us—what it is that happened.”

 

McGonagall eyed me. Her spectacles didn’t hide the clear
disappointment evident in her student-weary eyes, but she remained silent with
her lips in a thin straight line. Apparently, she opted to let the Headmaster
do all the talking and just glare at me from the side. I spared a complimentary
glance in her direction, out of pity, but looked at her no further.

 

I wasn’t even in the mood to talk to people, let alone be
confronted by the head of my House and the Headmaster at once. Fucking day.

 

“Ms. Granger—”

 

“Nothing—” I started, then sighed irritably and looked
straight up at the Headmaster, my slouching position not allowing me any other
form of eye contact. “Nothing happened. I just...” I shook my head. This
was ridiculous. Millicent already bitched to Snape for a good hour or two,
followed by the same recital with Dumbledore. I didn’t know what was the point
of interrogating me. I already knew I was going to get suspended—or at least
more months of detention piled on top of Snape’s. Oh joy. “I just...reacted.
I don’t see what the big deal is anyway. You know what she said to me; I have
witnesses. Ask Harry or Ron—they were we there.”

 

Dumbledore’s brow wrinkled in protest while his mustache
twitched thoughtfully.

 

“Yes, I’ve heard Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley’s testimony
quite thoroughly,” he informed me, his voice thick and heavy as if he was
building up to something I should already be aware of yet amn’t, “however, I
wish to hear your side of the story as well.” His eyes darkened a bit and he
glanced at naganagall, sitting by his desk and equally disturbed, before he
looked back at me and opened his mouth carefully. “This is a very delicate
situation. As Head of Gryffindor and Headmaster to this school, Professor
McGonagall and I would like to know...why such a trustworthy,
levelheaded student as yourself would go to the great lengths of using Dark
Magic to avenge another student.”

 

The room was silent. I stared at the clock, but the rest
of the occupants in the office—all two of them—were staring at me, awaiting my
deep, meaningful answer. Well, I had none. I couldn’t explain to them why
I cursed Millicent’s ass any more than I could explain to them arenarents’
divorce and what sort of tampons I use; it was private. It belonged to me and
it was mine to keep. But no one would leave me alone—let me leave it under
wraps. It wasn’t as if I was surprised...but that didn’t make me any more
willing to give up personal information that belonged with me—not with the ears
of my worried, disappointed professors or hostile, gossiping student body. But
I had to say something. So I said something.

 

My face indignant and righteous, I pointed my gaze towards
the carpeted ground and tilted my chin up, “She started it.”

 

I walked down the hall, eyes
trained on the doors ahead of me and noisy sounds of dragons or mammoths or
whatever it was we were supposed to be observing and entertaining today. I
sighed and rolled my eyes as I sped up down the already empty hall. Damn. I was
late for Care of Magical Creatures for the third consecutive day and, no matter
how good of a friend Hagrid was to me, even I agreed that he should hurry up
and ‘put his foot down’ towards my attendance. I didn’t know why I couldn’t get
outside on time—it was only a problem I’d developed recently after I agreed to
stay after class for a few minutes in Transfiguration. It wasn’t that far away
from the one of the exits outside. Perhaps, subconsciously I really wasn’t
all that interested in unnamed—and potentially harmful—convict beasts.

 

Luckily for Hagrid, it didn’t
matter what I thought. It was his class.

 

“’Ermione, why ye’ve been
lackin’ in bein’ on time lately,” Hagrid commented as I approached the class,
hurriedly discarding my knapsack in pile with the rest, by the pen gates. We
were grooming and feeding something again. His eyes looked worried as he
absently wrote my name down on the tardy list and wrinkled his brow when he
looked back up. I could tell he was thinking of the day I completely lost in
and fell asleep beside a scared Jill Suan. “Is everythin’ okay? Anythin’ I need
ter know about?”

 

I shook my head. “Hogwarts is a
little bigger than I thought. Indoor transportation is always welcome over
here.”

 

Hagrid smiled, then pointed me
to a pen already occupied by two girls—two that I couldn’t recognize right off
the bat—feeding a crab-looking thing with extreme caution. Good girls. I
praised them with all I had because being who I was—the overachiever who must
succeed in everything, including Care of Magical Creatures—I’d risk my right
arm, literally, to get a good grade. Even if that meant feeding a crab-like
organism.

 

“Everythin’ yer need is in
there,” Hagrid directed, motioning to food in separate bowls by the buckets of
Imitation Crab, as I’d opted to call them. “Everyone’s already in groups, so
ye’ll have to be the third in that little circle.”

 

I nodded. Clearly not Gryffindor
territory, I could tell, but as I walked to the pen, my thoughts drifted to my
N.E.W.T.s study sessions with Professor McGonagall, completely abandoning any
doubts of Imitation Crab or my partners while feeding them. I stepped into the
danger zone—possible bite marks ahead.

 

“Hi,” I announced my presence,
squinting ahead into the bright sun while tucking my hair behind my ears, “I’m
late so Hagrid put me in your group.” I peered into the bucket, coming face to
face with mud-colored, beady-eyed Imitation Crab, not differing too much from
what I’d imagined they’d look like. Wonderful. And I’d have to touch those.
“So, we just feed them?”

 

The two girls looked at each
other, exchanging a glance that I knew must have meant something in their own
little world, then stared at me uncertainly, almost deciding my life worth with
their sole glances. Yes, that was definitely Millicent and Prussia—Slytherin
queens extraordinaires, second to Pansy. What fun group Hagrid graced me with;
this only made my Imitation Crab interaction that much more interesting and
enjoyable.

 

“Yeah,” Prussia finally agreed,
directing me to the bucket with a short nudge; I glared evenly. “Your turn.”

 

I eyed them both. They were
serious. Crap. Well, I knew this would happen. Slytherin queens—I said so
myself.

 

“Fine,” I responded and dribbled
some feed into the crab bucket, successfully only brushing a hand against one
of them. But only a brush. The girls seemed taken aback that I was
almost excused from dealing with the creatures even though Hagrid probably made
them touch it. I could see it in their eyes but thought nothing of it.
Millicent and Prussia stuck ther her like glue so tightly they simulated
fucking Siamese twins. I also theorized that they shared a brain. I doubt
anyone would have been shocked if that was ever uncovered.

 

“So...Hermione, I hear you went
to a Muggle school last year. That’s why you were gone,” Millicent suddenly
piped up after sharing a silent look and giggle with Prussia. They were up to
something. I glanced at them briefly, wiped my hands on my skirt and shrugged.

 

“Yeah,” I responded. “What of
it?”

 

This giggle was louder
ne
neither of them tried to hide their obvious amusement. Still, true to their
act, they presumed to keep their expressions under control and stopped smiling
almost on cue.

 

“Nothing, really,” Millicent
assured, gaining an encouraging look from Prussia. “It’s great that you were
among all those interesting...amusing...Muggles in large quantities.” She
pursed her lips, trying to hide an obvious smile. Prussia joined.

 

I waited. There had to be a
catch.



“Mm,” Millicent continued,
“Mudblood’s finally returned home.” Her eyes immediately dropped their polite
façade, Prussia’s revealing the truth to match, and her lips twisted into a
condescending smirk. “The question is why didn’t you stay where you belong?”

 

It was quiet for a moment with
me waiting to see if there was anything more than that and the bitch queens
waiting to see my reaction. They were impatient—they burst out giggling
full-force before I even reacted. Not that there was much there; I could’ve
predicted that jab from Millicent—or Prussia, whichever—with my fucking eyes
closed. Amateurs.

 

Of course, they bothered me at
that moment, but it was purely their stupidity that itched my neck—annoying me
like an uncomfortable, wool blanket. I was sure about my comment earlier as of
now—I would’ve bet my life when I said that Prussia and Millicent’s
brains were joined and shared.

 

Shaking my head briefly, I
simply raised an eyebrow and smiled patronizingly. The twin idiots continued
their giggling, but turned their attention to me to observe my ‘reaction’.

 

“Well,” I began disinterestedly
as I wiped my hands on my pant legs, “you didn’t stay in the pile of shit you
crawled out from when you were born.” I smiled condescendingly. “I guess we all
abandon our home lands after a while.”

 

Millicent’s face reddened but
that all that she did in retort to my remark immediately. She wanted to keep a
cool façade—and that was fine by me. The only thing ruining this scenario was
Prussia’s constant huffing and puffing concerning my comment. Completely
ignoring her, I kept my glance on Millicent whom, in turn, was straining to
keep eye contact with me and not inflict any physical pain on the opponent. My
expression remained amused with a slight hint of a smirk. Oh, this was going to
be interesting.

 

“Yes, but we’re free to return,
right?” she questioned after a moment, her voice cool and unwavering, her eyes
boring into mine. Finally, she removed her glance from my direction and looked
up at the sky off-handedly, while folding her arms over her chest and walking
slowly from one spot to the next. “Coming here, replacing one more dirt-blood
bitch we thought we’d rid ourselves of wasn’t really necessary, now was it?”
Millicent turned her eyes back to me.

 

By this time, spectators of
various Houses had gathered behind and around us. Prussia’s face was twisted
into a smirk of agreement at the previous words of her friend. Soft murmurs
spread through the crowd.

 

“Why you bothered coming back,
I, personally, will never know,” she said as if she had ever entertained the
idea of researching my glorious return, “but I do know that everyone, perhaps
with the exception of your Gryffindor blood-tainted friends, would be a lot
better off if you moved your ass back to the distinct Muggle location you came
from.” Her eyes danced with humor. “Because no one wants—or even wanted—you
back, for that matter.” Surprisingly, her eyes traveled over her shoulder to a
somewhat neutral, yet concerned Draco. “No one.”

 

“She generalized her opinion of you and spoke for everyone
else,” Dumbledore concluded thoughtfully, after my short recount of what had
happened. “She...insulted your presence at Hogwarts and...implied that Mr.
Malfoy did not want you here, either. Is that correct?”

 

He sounded as though he was reading a police report. Did
she insult you? Did she make yeel eel bad? Did she involve any bystanders?

 

Yeah, she involved Draco. Whom did shit by the way
to aide the situation. Stood there like the fucking asshole Slytherin that he
was; as if he didn’t give a damn. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe I was fooling myself
into thinking that some trip to Muggle London changed that. That Millicent
whore looked back at him and he did nothing to deny that she was wrong;
that she should shut up and get the hell out of my way; that she didn’t know
what she was talking about and no one wanted to listen to her useless thoughts
anyway.

 

“I don’t really remember,” I lied, feigning stupidity.
“She could’ve been looking at anyone.” She wasn’t. “It doesn’t really matter
though. He’s a Slytherin. He shares her opinion; thinks equally of me as she
does.” He used to. Maybe he still did. Nothing’s changed. “Still. He wasn’t of
any significance here. She’s the one that got what she deserved.”

 

And I would do it again.



No one would stand this kind
of shit without losing their cool a bit. I mean, I knew this was just
Millicent; it wasn’t as though she lived to torture me, but given the
opportunity she definitely wouldn’t pass it up. So here it was—that opportunity
that she was taking very good advantage of. And for some ungodly reason, I let
her get to me.

 

I was never that much of a
pushover. I mean, if I had my mind set to something, a few taunting words
wouldn’t change it. But now... I suppose it wasn’t all that catastrophic, I
could’ve gotten over what she started saying. But... People had begun to
whisper; words of, “Oh, yeah,” and, “Really...where was she?” and, “Why
isn’t she going back? I mean, honestly...” were being whispered. It all grated
on my nerves. Millicent’s taunting. Prussia’s incessant, irritating giggling.
People’s opinions that Millicent was putting on a fucking showaco aco
not doing one single thing to stop it. Just standing there; watching.

 

I bit back my bile regarding
the sudden realization that my entire school, my entire House, and so-called
learning institution was full of shit. No civilized people would just stand
there and watch ano bei being ridiculed. They were enjoying this; all of them. All
of them.

 

“And do you suppose that your
temporary leave of absence would cause a grievance and uproar in the school?
That if your spoiled ass and limited brain capacity left Hogwarts you’d be
sorrowly missed for all the taunting and secretive grief you’ve done to people?
That people would be happy?” I questioned forcefully. I supposed I could’ve
brushed off her ‘no one cares’ comment, but she got a rise out of me. And that
really was my mistake.

 

Millicent’s expression showed
not even a subtle hint that she’d heard my comment. In fact, her smile widened
at it.

 

She took a step closer to me.

 

“It’s starting to seep
through, isn’t it?” sheed, ed, her voice pitiful and thorough. “You’re finally
understanding, aren’t you? You don’t belong here. You put up your defenses, say
that I’m Slytherin shit but that doesn’t redeem your worthless status
any...does it? You can all you want about me so long as the truth is finally
reaching that highly-spoken of mind of yours. People say you’re so smart,” she
continued, shrugging her shoulders and looking around amusedly before focusing
her eyes back on me, “but you obviously don’t realize how unwanted you are
here. It’s not even your dirty blood.” She took a step forward, amused
expression gone. “It’s that you’re thought to be better even though you’re
tainted shit. It’s that all those high marks get you awards and praise even
though you’re not a real witch. And that’s all okay because the
Gryffindor House accepts all. As for the rest of us, we could care less about
how Mudbloods remain treated. You’re nothing; you don’t count. Shit.”

 

Her eyes were now flaming
with fury but I’d lie if I said mine didn’t match hers. Every fiber of my being
was heating up and reacting to Millicent’s spoiled words. My blood boiled at
her nerve to call me shit...but still people watched. She watch inches closer
to me now than she’d been before and my fists were clenching and unclenching of
their own accord. But Millicent’s eyes held no logic; only hatred. And I knew
my eyes didn’t leave her disappointed in the opponent’s fury.

 

“Just shut up and walk away,
Millicent,” I instructed, opting to take the high road, my voice rising with
every word. “Walk away and save yourself the embarrassment. You haven’t the
slightest clue what I’m capable of nor do you want to so just shut the hell up
and walk away.” My voice was strained, muscles taut and lips pursed. The wind
blew through the knit of my sweater but I felt no cold; I was on fire with
anger. I felt no cold.

 

Somewhere in the distance I
could see Ron and Harry push their way through the crowd. My thoughts hadn’t
even wandered to them. I forgot that Slytherin and Gryffindor’s block of Care
of Magical Creatures included my two best friends in the world. I relaxed a bit
at the thought. Worried and confused, the redhead and brunette just stopped and
looked at the two chicks poised in the other’s face, eyes flaming and bodies
tense. And they...watched.

 

“Capable of?” Millicent
laughed then shook her head at me pitifully. “There goes that high-and-mighty
crap they’ve fed you here at Hogwarts. What? You think because McGonagall
doesn’t announce my name every time there’s a best scores list that I don’t
know anything? Baby, you don’t know what I’m capable of. You’ve got
nothing on me. You’ll never be as good as me. You’ll never even come close,”
she taunted, spreading her hands to indicated her thin, curvy body. “You’ll
hope and you’ll pray and you’ll wish that you’d get the same respect,
reputation...boyfriend, but you never will. And the sad thing is you’ll fool
yourself into thinking that this—what you are now—is what you wanted to be.”

 

I looked away, moving only my
eyes. My body was too strained. I saw a sea of shocked and cruel faces. Saw
Harry. He was saying something to Ron but I wasn’t close enough to hear. Or
maybe it was that pounding in my head. Oh, I was getting a migraine. Whispers;
noises; laughs; Millicent’s voice. They were swirling in my mind, ridding me of
any logic or control.

 

“—All the while at the back
of your mind you’d know that you were too inadequate to please—”

 

I shook my head. Told her to
stop. But she wouldn’t. The pounding in my head got stronger. She was lying;
God, she was lying. I was proud of myself. I never wanted to be like her. I was
proud of being a witch and my accomplishments—God, she was lying. The class was
spinning as I turned my eyes back to her.

 

“—too brainy to fit in—”

 

I shook my head once more.
Don’t.

 

“Stop,” I whispered, but it
might as well have to been to the wind. “You don’t know what you’re doing;
stop.” But she didn’t hear. Or she just didn’t listen. Either way, her face
remained contorted into a patronizing grin and her eyes remained cruel and
unforgiving. Though she had nothing to forgive. She was all to blame.

 

“—too ugly to be liked—”

 

No. She was getting through
to me and I didn’t want her to. I tried to block out the words, but her
accusations came out in slow motion, as if a life blurred and words too deeply
pronounced were being hurled in my direction. I was liked. I was liked.
My parents liked me. Harry and Ron like me. Ginny, Neville, too. Crookshanks
liked me.

 

“—too annoying to be loved—”

 

I grasped my head with my
right hand.

 

“Shut up,” I whispered louder
than before, “shut up. You bitch, sup. up. You don’t know...you don’t...just
shut up...”

 

I shook my head. I was losing
control. This couldn’t happen. She was getting to me...her words...fuck. I was
loved. I was loved. I was... I was loved by...by...

 

“Look at you—you’re freaking
out. Would you be if you knew it wasn’t true?” Millicent just wouldn’t fuck
off. She wouldn’t stop. Her echoing world just kept getting thrown my way, her
voice taunting and repeating itself in my head like some broken record player:
‘Too annoying to be loved, too ugly to be liked, too brainy to fit in.’

 

“You know I’m right,
Hermione,” she said, having the audacity to address me by my first name.

 

“No, shut up, just—you don’t know...anything,
just—” I swallowed.

 

“You know that no one
likes you, that you’re only tolerated for the occasional answer on a test, that
you’re only withstood to be used,” her words kept raining in.

 

My eyes focused in on her
complexion. Creamy, but only because of foundation charms. Flawless, because of
blemish cover-ups and soft because appearances are deceiving. Her startling
green eyes locked with mine as the pounding in my head increased tenfold. I
could barely hear what she was saying, though I felt that was a good thing. The
pain in my head doubled and my mind still strained to hear her words that were,
again, uttered in slow motion. I knew I was crazy and looked crazy. This must’ve
happened in two seconds, but seemed like years to me.

 

“You’re just not good
enough,” she declared emphatically, our faces almost touching. Millicent moved
her lips close to my ear. “You’ll never be good enough.”

 

No. No. She didn’t say
that...she didn’t...she didn’t say that...she couldn’t know what he...she
didn’t say that...

 

My mind wouldn’t stop
repeating the one phrase I knew was false. She had said it. She’d said
it after so much built up just like before...before...and she knew what she was
doing. The pounding in my head slowed. Thump, thump—every minute. I felt like I
was in one of those Muggle movies—trapped and looking foolish because I was the
only one going insane. I looked around as if wondering whether anyone else
heard that. What that bitch said. All their face were a blur. I turned
back to her smug face. Harry called something to me in the distance...I think.
But she was laughing. Prussia was behind her; they were laughing. My mind shut
down.

 

Suddenly, everything was
clear.

 

I felt arms around me but
pushed them off. I couldn’t take it. The pounding stopped, everything froze and
my slow motion came to a crashing halt. But I could move. And the world around
me was silent. But I could move.

 

“Poena abda saeta!” I yelled
with all my might, my wand quivering slightly, but too minimally to be noticed.
My words seemed to break glass as that sudden moment of silent clarity melted
into a pitched shriek and a wave of panic. It all happened at once, the
running, the helping, the pulling, the falling. But my eyes were only focused
on one person; and she was getting exactly what was coming to her.

 

Millicent’s hands immediately
flew to her hair as soon as she heard me yell my spell. It wasn’t as though
she’d previously heard it, but the sudden rustling on her head clued her in
that I’d hexed something upon her. It wasn’t until a sweet moment later that
her hands felt her precious locks of burgundy-charmed hair slither out from her
scalp and fall onto her hands and about her feet. The slithering was slow,
meant to torment the victim; give them hope and delusions that they can push it
back in and make it stop falling out. But it wouldn’t. Until every last hair
melted off her head, the spell would continue working.

 

I laughed. My hands were
shaking and I stumbled backwards a bit as Prussia and about half the Care of
Magical Creatures class circled around Millicent to offer words of comfort and
heart-felt gasps of shock at her deterring appearance. But I laughed. I noticed
that the other half of the class continued staring at me as though I was
insane, but that was of no matter to me. I couldn’t give less of a fuck what
they thought of me—they were the ones that justod tod there. And
watched.

 

Watched as Millicent went too
far. As she tugged on my frazzled emotions even harder, hitting a nerve she
didn’t intentionally mean to hit. But she did; and she knew she was provoking
me.

 

Harry and Ron’s gasps were
the first I’d heard as my spell progressed into action but they didn’t move
from my side; just looked over the tops of people’s heads to see what was
happening with Millicent. Luckily, they didn’t try to pull me back into the
castle until Millicent was fabulously bald and her face a look of poetic
fright. Something I would always treasure.

 

“Hermione...what did you...how
did you...” Ron was at a loss of what to say.

 

“Ron, let’s get her inside,
okay? We need to talk to Dumbledore—tell him this happened when Hagrid stepped
out,” Harry muttered impatiently as he watched his friend go into a state of
disbelief. “Millicent is the victim but if we don’t get there in time,
who knows what she’ll tell Snape...or Dumbledore himself. Hermione might be expelled.”

 

Ron nodded his head and
looked at me, a look of confusion and horror upon his features. I couldn’t help
but taunt him, putting on a devious smile.

 

“Oh, God, that was great you
guys,” I exclaimed, all the while softly struggling against the restraints that
were Ron and Harry’s strong arms. “Anytime you need me to take care of anyone
for you—any-one you have a problem with, you just ask. Because I’m your
friend. And I’d make anyone bald for you. Okay? Even Malfoy. You guys
don’t like him, right? I can make him bald. His hair is pretty, but he’d look
alright bald, too. What do you say? Bald buddies?”

 

I stuck out my hand at Ron
who just looked at me strangely. Was that pity? Harry didn’t even bring his
eyes to meet mine, just kept leading the way to Dumbledore’s office as he held
my arm. I was a prisoner. And my hands were still shaking.

 

Glancing back one more time,
I noticed that most of the class had dispersed, along with Millicent and
company. They’d most likely taken her to Madame Pomfrey’s. Wouldn’t they be
surprised when they find out what it takes for good, old Mil’s hair to grow
back.

 

I noticed something, though.
Draco...and Pansy. They hung back. A few milling peers of mine were whispering,
looking at my direction, Millicent’s where’d she’d gone, I presumed, but Pansy
remained calmly sitting on a stack of hay by the imitation crab cages. Her eyes
kept wandering to Draco’s tense and frustrated form where he was standing
beside her, continuously running an agitated hand through his hair. Parkinson
and Malfoy.

 

I shook my head. More time to
think about that later. Especially why Draco kept looking in my
direction with a concerned expression in his eye. As far as I was concerned, he
was rooting for Millicent.

 

“And that’s when you cast a Poena spell on her?”
Dumbledore asked worriedly. His face kept gaining more and more of a concerned
look upon his features every time he talked of the spell I put on Millicent.
Poenas were almost like the Forbidden Curses. Not nearly as deadly—who would
ever die from locks of hair falling out? They were considered to be big time
Dark Magic, however, and a large ‘no no’ on the part of a Seventh Year. As far
as McGonagall was concerned, I wasn’t even supposed to have know that Dark
Magic existed.

 

I put on a fresh façade of boredom.

 

“Yeah.” My response could not have been more blunt or
emotionless. Yeah, I cursed her. With Dark Magic, even. And the big deal here
is...what?

 

Dumbledore took off his half-moon spectacles he was famous
for, making me wonder whether he even owned a normal pair of glasses. I tried
to imagine a young Albus Dumbledore with school books in the hall, pushing up
half-moon spectacles so they wouldn’t fall off his nose nor would he be blind
for the rest of the day. I concluded that he must’ve worn normal glasses
once upon a time.

 

Meanwhile, said once young schoolboy Albus was very much
aged, sitting in his office, pinching the bridge of his nose while McGonagall
leaned over and whispered something to him rapidly, all the while keeping her
eyes on me. As if I’d jump out of my seat and dive at the chance to hear what that
exciting news must’ve been. The most exciting would inevitably be my
suspension, and I knew I’d have the honor of hearing all about
that. My aching, fear-gripping fear remained at the expulsion station. I knew
that suspension wouldn’t cause me any harm. I wasn’t neither would I ever be
behind on my studies, and a few weeks off to cool down would only do me good.
Expulsion, however, I could not afford to exercise. I had nowhere to go but
Hogwarts. Beauxbatons or any others of wizarding schools were out of the
question—Hogwarts was at least in the same country as I, for crying out loud.
And refused to go back to Muggle education. In a year there I only learned how
many ways there are to smoke a joint and how many girls it took for a guy to
fuck before he was done for the night. I wasn’t going back.

 

“Do you realize what damage you’ve caused Millicent,
Hermione?” McGonagall finally spoke up, her stern expression absent from her
face, a sad, sorrowful one in its place. “Physically and mentally?”

 

I rolled my eyes and re-folded my right leg on top of my
left.

 

“Christ,” I muttered. “Her hair will grow back.” Then, my
glance veered of to the side as I covered a cough with my hand. “In five
months.”

 

But McGonagall heard it. Her stern expression was back.

 

“You’re quite right,” she began flatly. “In five months...with
the proper accoutrements. Potions, charms, healing ability. Do you even realize
what you’ve done?” I stared defiantly back at the lecturing professor. “Had
that been an amateur prank, a charm of revenge of some sort, that girl would be
perfectly healthy and her appearance rightfully altered in a matter of minutes
with Madame Pomfrey’s help. With the Poena that you’ve issued, it will take
weeks—months of sessions to stabilize Millicent’s appearance, if not her mental
state as well. You scarred her and—”

 

“She scarred me too,” I emphasized, suddenly
leaning forward in my chair. “That—” I held back, “—girl had no
right to say to me what she did and she plenty well deserves this. I didn’t
kill her, I didn’t scar her for life and I didn’t damage anything important
that will impair her learning ability. So, she’ll be bald for a few months. Big
deal. Maybe then she’ll learned not to shoot off her mouth at
everyone for no given reason. Maybe then...” I looked at the floor. I wasn’t
about to explain everything to my professors. They wouldn’t understand because
they shouldn’t have to. It wasn’t any of their business why I reacted to
Millicent’s words the way I did. It was mine. So I stood up. “Look, Professor
Dumbledore...Professor McGonagall...if I could just leave, I’d—”

 

“That’ll be fine, Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore issued, his
thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, his spectacles still not
replaced on his aged face. “Go on.”

 

McGonagall looked like she was about to say something—to
whom I’m not sure—but thought better of it and gave me a departing nod.

 

I left the office.

 

If only they knew what this did to me and what wound
Millicent opened by saying all that. If only they knew how right she was about
almost half of that stuff. But they didn’t know—and I was glad. But
they’d at least see my reasoning for it all...if they knew.

 

I sat on the cold floor of
the Astronomy Tower. I knew he’d eventually find me because it was the same
floor he’d led me to when he wanted to show me Alahara. It took him less time
to get there than I’d calculated, though. I expected to be less of a mess when
he came crashing in, furious and questioning, or even gone. But I wasn’t.

 

His eyes widened when he
found me. I wasn’t making any movements. All the harm was done and I just sat
sprawled along the floor, leaning my back against the cool railing and letting
the effect take its course. I stared straight ahead although eluselusional
state was long gone. I knew very well where he was standing and what words he
was saying.

 

He started off with the easy
stuff. Are you okay? Can you hear me? Who did this to you? Then he came
at me with what was really on his mind. What is this? When did you start?
Did you lose much blood? Is this because of Millicent?

 

I didn’t answer him. Not
right away. He was ruining the escape it gave me which only possessed me to
clutch the hand-held blade once more and bring it to my upper thigh. A strong
arm stopped me but I was too relaxed to fight him. Maybe too weak.

 

His voice echoed in my ears
as I looked up at him with glassy, teary eyes that hadn’t shed a single, salty
drop since I got here. Because when I held that blade, I didn’t need tears of
my own to comfort me. I had the burgundy tears of my body to speak for me.

 

He slowly removed the blade from
my hand as if afraid I’d take it and stab myself with it if he didn’t hold onto
it. Then he knelt in front of me and place his knees on either side of my
semi-spread thighs. He didn’t even mind the sticky blood off my legs dirtying
his jeans. He placed his hands on my shoulders.

 

“Why, Hermione?” he asked in
the softest of voices after a long pause of just looking at my disheveled form.
My eyes met his and I dared him to absorb all the pain I put up with, as petty
as it may be. I dared him to take on my problems that I amplify in my head to
make them seem that much more difficult. I dared him to help me deal—help me
get over my demons and haunted nightmares. But he just waited for an answer as
if that wasn’t response enough.

 

“Tell me, damn it,” he demanded,
grief and passion-filled eyes used as bait to lure me out. After another
interval of staring, he dropped one arm from my shoulder and ran his index
finger along a particularly long cut on my inner thigh. The blood rolled onto
his skin like oil and he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger before
smearing it on the crook of my neck and licking it off slowly. I savored the
feel of his hot tongue on my cold flesh. But I didn’t flinch when he touched my
cut and I didn’t flinch now, when I felt passion I didn’t deserve.

 

“Why?” I finally asked, even
unsure that he’d connect it to his previous statement because it’d been so long
since either of us spoke. His stormy gray eyes locked with mine.

 

“Because I care about you,
Mya,” he said, as if using my nickname to gain a deeper field of understanding.
But he didn’t know that there was no deeper field of understanding. Just of
hurt.

 

I stared ahead, then tilted
my head back so that the back of my neck met the cold bars of the staircase
railing.

 

“Do you love me?” I asked.

 

He didn’t take it hastily as
I thought he would, but he didn’t bother to hide the surprise at that question
either. Love me? How could he love me, were his thoughts. This chick’s crazy. I
was crazy in his mind. We’ve never gotten along, always looked down upon each
other on the rare occasions we thought of one another, then had a fun night in
London and all of a sudden love was in the equation? His looked back at me.

 

“No...I don’t,” he answered.
I knew he would answer that. I wasn’t expecting him to say yes; in fact, I
would’veen ten that blade and hurt him if he tried to say yes at a time
when I so desperately needed to hear the truth. But I needed to hear him say it
to prove my point.

 

“That’s why,” I finally
answered, my voice dry and crackly, avoiding his insightful eyes. A single tear
rolled down my cheeks eventually and my body began to shake with involuntary
sobs. “I don’t have anyone who loves me...just like she said.” And I said no
more as tears and painful sobs in my chest took over.

 

Draco just rolled us over so
that I was sitting on top of him instead of him towering over me. I immediately
lowered my tearful face into hit cotton-covered shoulder and wrapped my wounded
legs around his middle.

 

This time, he simply wrapped
me tighter in his arms and let me sob uncontrollably. I knew that he didn’t
know why I was crying. He knew that if I was in a state of sanity, he
could easily come up with a rebuttal for argument that no one loved me. My
friends love me. My relatives. My fucking parents had to love me. But he didn’t
say any of those logical things.

 

He just held the wounded girl
that I’d crumbled down to and let me cry. Slowly, he fingered the blade which
somehow still remained on the floor and put it into his jean pocket before rewrapping
his arms around me. I was aware that he was taking my weapon of choice to heal
the pain, but I let him. Because when he lisd tod to my oh-so-insightful answer
to his rightful, sane questions, he didn’t push me to tell him why I was
sitting alone in the Astronomy Tower at 11:30 on a cold, fall night, clad in
nothing but a tee shirt and shorts with long, self-imposed cuts covering the
length of my two legs and inner forearms.