All You Want Episode 10 - Harry Potter

 Hogwarts holds its breath after the attack. Drawn by fear and scent, a pack of Alphas crowds the corridor until a single voice cuts the air and stills the room. Draco Malfoy steps forward, claims Hermione as his to protect, and turns a riot into silence, while the staff rush in and the night tilts toward the Hospital Wing. There, a hexed cocoon, a jar of Murtlap, and a hard retelling force Hermione to weigh justice, consequence, and what consent must mean at this school. By weekend’s end she has mapped her options in ink, written letters in secret, and returned to class with suppressants in her bag, Slughorn’s experiments in hand, and Daphne Greengrass at Draco’s elbow. One last choice waits in a shuttered classroom where Hermione closes the door and decides what she is brave enough to ask. 

Transcript

**Chapter 10: What’s Going On?**

Neville’s face was suddenly inches away from Hermione’s, and the first thing she noticed was the way his irises were blown wide. The entire world around her faded, and all she could focus on was the intense presence of a pack of Alphas, each one jostling for space as they tried to get closer.

It was terrifying. They towered over her, all a foot taller, their rippling muscles glistening with sweat and pheromones, barely dressed, their expressions decidedly feral.

An instinctual urge to back away and run surged within her, but something deeper held her in place. Do not run.

She stood frozen, afraid to even breathe as they pressed in closer. She could hear their breaths, their soft sniffing, and for a moment, she felt like prey.

It would have been almost humorous, if not for their size and her vulnerability in the midst of them. Suddenly, she felt a hand brush against her wrist, and she flinched, instinctively turning her wrists inward.

“Are you alright?” Neville growled, his gaze locked onto her face. His expression reminded her of Malfoy’s—enraged, predatory, possessive.

“I’m—I’m fine,” she stammered. “I’m fine.

Anthony tried to bite me, but Malfoy got here in time. I’m fine.

I’m not hurt.”

A collective growl rippled through the group, and Hermione felt it resonate through her entire body, sending shivers down her spine. She pressed her legs together, aware of the tension that hung in the air.

McGonagall could have given her a clearer warning before they left the classroom. Still on edge and flustered from her earlier encounter with Malfoy, she could sense that the boys surrounding her were aware of her heightened state.

Their eyes were dark, and it was only the sheer number of them that kept any one of them from making a move. The atmosphere was charged, taut with the potential for violence if anyone acted too suddenly.

Amidst this chaos, McGonagall’s voice rose above the noise, but her words were lost to Hermione’s racing thoughts. Hermione could barely hear anything over the sound of panting and shifting bodies surrounding her.

She eyed them nervously, her pulse quickening as she tried to figure out what to do. “I’m fine,” she said again.

Was someone sniffing her hair? Yes, someone behind her was definitely sniffing her hair.

She hunched her shoulders and tried to shy away, but there was nowhere to go. “I’m fine,” she repeated.

“You can go. I didn’t mean to call you.” 

Suddenly, a hand slipped around her wrist, and she jerked away, pulling her wrists up to her chest and pressing them against herself.

Another hand caressed her waist. “Stop touching me!” she snarled, struggling to breathe.

The air was thick with pheromones, making it nearly impossible to swallow. She wanted her wand, which was somewhere in the hallway, wherever Anthony had knocked it.

Then, a flash of stunning spells lit up the room. Several of the Alphas, including Neville, dropped to the ground.

The hallway erupted into chaos. Large hands grabbed hold of Hermione, trying to pull her in multiple directions at once.

The professors were attempting to stun the Alphas, while the Alphas instinctively tried to drag Hermione behind them. They were no longer aware of their actions, and there were too many of them.

A witch cannot be dragged protectively in multiple directions at once, but apparently, Alpha instincts lacked the nuance to understand that. She was terrified they might accidentally break her arms as they pulled her.

“You idiots! You’re hurting me!” she shouted angrily, kicking several of them savagely as she struggled to break free.

Then, there was a sudden surge—a magical explosion of sorts—and she was abruptly wrenched free from all the hands. By the time she managed to gather herself and figure out what had happened, she found herself pressed against a wall, with someone standing in front of her, blocking her view.

“She is mine,” he snarled. with enough force that Hermione could have sworn the walls of Hogwarts vibrated.

The hallway fell silent, so quiet she could almost hear a pin drop. “M-Malfoy?” she said, bewildered, trying to peer around him.

The Hogwarts staff and the few Alphas who weren’t unconscious on the floor were staring at them in shock. “Mine,” Malfoy reiterated, his voice low and commanding.

Peter, one of the few Alphas still standing, looked visibly cowed. Malfoy’s glare swept across the hallway, and for a moment, it was terrifying.

Hermione’s mind whispered that it was also strikingly attractive. She quickly dismissed the thought, focusing on the chaos around her.

McGonagall was the first to regain her composure. “Yes, thank you, Mr.

Malfoy. I believe you have resolved the situation.

If you would, please stand down now,” she said, her voice crisp and authoritative. Malfoy didn’t move.

Just then, they heard panting and the sound of running footsteps. Professor Dawlish skidded around the corner, coming to a halt as he leveled his wand at Malfoy.

“Apologies, Minerva,” Dawlish said quickly. “We were nearly to your office when he flung me into a wall and disappeared.

I suspected he might return here.”

“There’s no need to stun him, John,” Minerva replied sharply. “Mr.

Malfoy ended up being uniquely suited to resolving this issue.” 

Dawlish didn’t lower his wand, but he also didn’t cast a curse. Minerva turned her glare toward the still-conscious Alphas, then sighed in resignation as she addressed the House heads.

“I’ll leave you all to handle your students. I’m going to escort Miss Granger to the hospital wing and hope the night resolves itself quietly now.” 

She glanced over at Hermione, who was peeking out from behind Malfoy, and noticed the exhaustion in her expression.

Malfoy remained rooted in place. “I sincerely apologize, Miss Granger,” he said quietly.

“Granger, I had no idea the Alphas would react so strongly to seeing you. That was a serious oversight on my part.

Are you alright?” 

Hermione found herself moving closer to Malfoy, pressing against his robes, fighting the urge to breathe in his scent. “Maybe a bit bruised,” she replied, “but they didn’t break anything.” 

“Perhaps you and Mr.

Malfoy could both come with me to the hospital wing. Rolanda, John, if you’ll accompany me.” 

Malfoy looked down at her, and Hermione was surprised to see that his expression wasn’t feral; he appeared entirely lucid, albeit extremely annoyed.

Their eyes met for just a moment before he looked away, pressed his hands to his face, and let out an exaggerated sigh. Then he turned toward the wall, repeatedly smacking his forehead against it.

Hermione stared in disbelief. Finally, he looked back at her.

“Granger,” he said in a resigned tone, gesturing toward McGonagall. She walked stiffly toward the Headmistress, feeling as if the evening was giving her emotional whiplash.

There was a brief pause, followed by another sigh, and then she heard Malfoy’s footsteps behind her. As she walked, Hermione scanned the hallway, trying to remember where Anthony had grabbed her.

She wanted her wand back. Spotting it lying on the ground near a tapestry, she quickly snatched it up and slipped it into her pocket, feeling a faint sense of relief.

Not having it had stirred a gnawing anxiety within her. Turning, she nearly bumped into Malfoy, who was standing right behind her.

Blushing, she darted over to McGonagall. The Headmistress regarded both Hermione and Malfoy with a thoughtful expression as they approached.

Hermione narrowed her eyes; surely, McGonagall didn’t think she was in some sort of secret relationship with Malfoy? The thought nearly made her laugh out loud.

“Mr. Malfoy…”

“Malfoy,” McGonagall said, “I realized too late that I should have asked you to accompany me to the hospital wing.

It will expedite the diagnosis for Mr. Goldstein.” 

Malfoy let out a faint snort, prompting McGonagall to give him a pointed look.

“Of course, Headmistress. I’ll assist the school in any way I can,” he replied.

Without another word, McGonagall turned and swept toward the hospital wing, with Hermione, Malfoy, and the professors following closely behind. As they entered the ward, Madam Pomfrey rushed to meet them.

“Minerva, thank goodness! I was just about to send word.

I’ve just put Mr. Goldstein into bed and then—” She waved her arm dramatically, gesturing across the room.

“This!” She pointed to a bed that held a chrysalis the size of a kayak. Hermione’s eyes widened as she turned to Malfoy, who was the only one in the room unaffected by the sight.

“I can’t undo it!” Madam Pomfrey continued, her voice rising in urgency. “I ran a diagnostic, and it shows that he is dissolving!

Dissolving! Have you apprehended the student responsible for the attack?” 

“That would be Mr.

Malfoy here,” McGonagall said with a wry tone. “What did you hex him with?” Madam Pomfrey demanded, rounding on Malfoy with suspicion.

“I’m not entirely certain. The moment was a bit of a blur,” Malfoy replied, straightening his robes with a feigned air of innocence.

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes narrowed. “That is one of the most complicated hexes I have ever seen in my career.

You did not transform Mr. Goldstein into a pupa by accident.” 

“Well, if he really is in the process of turning into a butterfly, then I believe the spell came from a book of obscure hexes in my family’s library.

I’m afraid I don’t remember any counter-charm for it,” Malfoy said, his expression unrepentant. “There may not be one.

If I recall correctly, the hexes in that book were all non-permanent and non-lethal. Although I…”

“I couldn’t say exactly how non-permanent,” Malfoy replied casually.

“He is dissolving!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed sharply. “I’m sure he’ll just pupate for a week or two and then emerge transformed to some degree,” McGonagall said dryly.

“That gives me time to decide whether to expel him and strip him of his prefect status. Poppy, since it seems Mr.

Goldstein won’t be doing anything in the immediate future except dissolving, could you check on Miss Granger for injuries? I believe some Murtlap Essence may be in order for her neck, and she might have some bruising on her arms.”

Madam Pomfrey muttered something about irresponsible magic but seemed resigned to the fact that no one considered dissolving an undeserved fate for Anthony Goldstein.

She turned her attention to Hermione. As Madam Pomfrey examined her, McGonagall fixed her gaze on Hermione.

“Now, Miss Granger, would you explain what happened?”

“Well,” Hermione began, feeling her ears heat up, “I lost track of time while reading in the library. When I realized it was past curfew, I headed toward Gryffindor Tower.” She decided to leave out the part about running from Filch.

“On my way, I ran into Anthony and Pansy on prefect patrol. Anthony offered to walk me back to the dorm so I wouldn’t risk a double points loss if I ran into a professor.

I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he—”

Her voice trailed off. “He insisted.

I think he used some kind of Alpha tone on Pansy and me because everything got… blurry for a bit, and then Pansy was walking away, and it was just Anthony and me together.” 

As she spoke, Hermione felt her shoulders tense and her stomach twist. Anger and betrayal washed over her.

She felt stupid for losing track of time, for not resisting Anthony’s voice, for allowing it to happen. Hermione felt a rush of anger as she recalled the encounter.

It was as if her mind had betrayed her, succumbing to Anthony’s commands far too easily. Madam Pomfrey’s hand brushed near Hermione’s collar, and she jumped with a startled yelp.

“Sorry, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said softly. “Could you unbutton your shirt collar?

You’ve got some marks I can heal with a quick charm and a bit of Murtlap Essence.”

Blushing, Hermione stared down at her shoes as she reached up to undo the top three buttons of her shirt. Madam Pomfrey leaned closer, gently pushing Hermione’s hair aside to begin the healing charms.

Hermione hissed faintly, shivering as the magic interacted with her scent glands. It felt like an invasion.

These were such sensitive parts of her, and experiencing Pomfrey’s magic on them was akin to being publicly exposed. The sensation made her skin crawl.

She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the bitter taste in her mouth and the discomfort that threatened to show on her face. She pressed her wrists tightly together and held her breath.

It wasn’t as though anyone, except maybe Malfoy, would understand the intrusive intimacy she felt. It was difficult to articulate, even to herself.

She remained tense until the magic finally ceased. “Here’s some Murtlap Essence.

Would you like me to apply it or do it yourself?” 

“I’ll do it myself,” Hermione replied quickly, nearly snatching the jar from the matron’s hands. The thought of someone rubbing anything into her scent glands, especially in front of Malfoy, McGonagall, Hooch, and Dawlish, was simply unbearable.

She shoved the jar into her pocket, rebuttoned her shirt, and set her jaw, forcing herself to continue recounting the incident to McGonagall. “Anyway, Anthony asked me out, and when I said no, he made some incredibly demeaning and sexist comments.

So, I told him I was leaving and started to walk away, and then he used…”

an Alpha tone, and for some reason, I couldn’t resist it like I had before. He got really angry when I fought back and said he was going to bite me.

Then he said he was going to... well, he used a crude word.

According to him, being an unbound omega just makes me an open invitation.”

Hermione's voice shook with anger. If Anthony weren't currently trapped in a cocoon, she might have gone over and hit him with a bedpan.

“He forced me into a submissive headspace, making it impossible for me to keep saying ‘no,’” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact despite the turmoil inside her. “Then Malfoy showed up.

I wasn’t very lucid, but I think they dueled. After that, Malfoy took me into a classroom and tried to pull me out of the sub-space.

I was... well, I was a bit of a mess, and it took him a while to figure out how to help me.”

She glanced up at Malfoy, who remained expressionless, then looked back down at her shoes.

“Anyway, when he finally brought me back to reality, I was an emotional wreck at first, but Malfoy was very kind about it. Then the professors arrived.

That’s everything that happened,” she said quickly. “Did you take the suppressants today?” McGonagall asked slowly.

“Yes. It’s the first thing I do every morning,” Hermione replied tightly, feeling insulted that McGonagall would even suggest she could be so careless.

“Perhaps the potions lose efficacy over time,” the Headmistress pondered. “I’ll have Horace brew a new batch, and we can compare them with your current supply.” McGonagall turned her gaze to Malfoy.

“Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, how did you manage to reach Miss Granger before the other Alphas, especially considering the Slytherin dorm is the farthest from the attack?” 

Malfoy's expression flickered for a moment before growing serious.

“I was violating curfew by practicing charms in a classroom,” he muttered, looking guilty. “Indeed,” McGonagall replied, her tone skeptical.

“And then you sensed Miss Granger’s distress?” 

Malfoy gave a short nod. Hermione studied him closely; she could tell he was lying about something, but she wasn’t sure what.

“And what did you witness when you arrived?” 

Malfoy’s jaw clenched. “Goldstein had her shoved against the wall.

She was saying ‘no,’ and he ordered her to stop fighting him.” 

“So you hexed him,” McGonagall concluded. Malfoy’s expression relaxed slightly, and his eyes gleamed.

“I may have punched him a few times too.” 

“Or more than a few times,” Dawlish muttered. “Well, Mr.

Malfoy, this night has been quite illuminating. I’m afraid that due to your being out past curfew, casting what is currently an irreversible hex, and attacking a professor, I will have to deduct thirty points from Slytherin,” McGonagall said.

Hermione glared at her former head of house. “However, for saving Miss Granger and demonstrating what I understand to have been remarkable self-restraint, and for helping to bring a quick resolution to an extremely unfortunate situation in the hallway, I award eighty points to Slytherin.

If you will, please return to your dormitory now.” 

Dawlish made a faint sound of displeasure. Malfoy’s eyes flickered briefly to Hermione before darting away, avoiding eye contact.

He straightened and inclined his head slightly. “Headmistress, Professors, Granger.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door, pausing only briefly to glance down at the bed where Anthony lay.

Hermione thought she saw him smirk faintly. She watched him disappear through the doorway, trying not to sigh.

McGonagall rubbed her temple lightly. “Poppy, tomorrow, if you’re concerned about Mr.

Goldstein, we can send him to St. Mungo’s or—”

“Request a spell damage healer to come examine him,” Madam Pomfrey instructed, glancing over at the cocoon in her hospital ward.

Her expression showed considerably less concern than it had earlier. “Well, I’m sure he’s unlikely to die from it,” she continued.

“I’ll monitor his vitals and see if I can find any references to hexes like that in my medical library.”

“Very well,” McGonagall nodded. “I’ll send word to his parents tomorrow.

Given that the hex was a result of a situation involving an Omega, I don’t believe there can be any legal action taken against Mr. Malfoy.

However, due to the terms of his probation, there’s a chance the Goldsteins may urge the Governor's Board to demand Mr. Malfoy’s expulsion.

We might have to agree to a compromise, allowing Mr. Goldstein to finish his studies instead of expelling him for attempted sexual assault.

If that’s acceptable to you, Miss Granger, he would be carefully monitored.”

Hermione felt a chill at the thought of Anthony staying in school with her, but she tried to mask her discomfort. It would be terrible and profoundly unfair if Malfoy were expelled and sent to prison for saving her.

She steeled herself internally, knowing she would have to find a way to protect herself better. “That’s fine,” Hermione replied, meeting the Headmistress’s gaze.

“I don’t want Malfoy to be punished for helping me.”

McGonagall escorted Hermione up to Gryffindor Tower, and Hermione remained quiet, lost in thought. When they reached the Portrait of the Fat Lady, McGonagall turned to Hermione, her expression serious.

“Miss Granger, I want to respect your autonomy in this matter, but I also need to ensure the safety of you and the other students at this school. Do you have any ideas for preventative measures we might implement to ensure nothing like this happens again?”

“I—I have a few ideas I’d like to explore,” Hermione replied, twisting the cuff of her sleeve.

“But nothing definite yet.”

McGonagall nodded. “Very well.

You’ll keep me informed, won’t you? If there’s any way I or the staff can assist you?” 

“Of course, Headmistress.

I’m sorry about all the trouble I caused by violating curfew.” 

“Just bad luck all around tonight,” McGonagall replied dismissively. “Goodnight, Miss Granger.

You should head up to your dorm now.” 

“Goodnight,” Hermione said, stepping through the portrait hole without another word. She climbed the stairs to her dorm room and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

The other girls were already in bed. Hermione placed the jar of Murtlap Essence on the counter and took a deep breath before beginning to unbutton her shirt.

Dark bruises marred her neck above her collarbones, the darker spots on the side where Anthony had sucked. She could faintly smell both Anthony and Malfoy, a combination that made her skin prickle and her head ache slightly with each breath.

As she pulled her shirt off, she noticed more bruises along her arms and wrists. She started dabbing the Murtlap Essence onto each mark, watching as they slowly faded away.

Her mind drifted back to McGonagall’s question: “I wish to be respectful of your autonomy in all this, but I also need to protect you and the other students in this school. Do you have any idea of what preventative measures we might put in place to ensure nothing like this happens again?” The underlying message was clear: “You are making the school year difficult for a lot of people.” 

In hindsight, it was naive to think that suppressants would solve the challenges of being an Omega.

If it were that simple, the Wizarding world wouldn’t have developed the practice of marrying off Omegas before their presentation. Hermione pulled her shirt back on and walked over to her bed, staring at the calendar beside it.

October 16th. She had barely more than two months until her next heat—just two months to find an Alpha.

She trusted that there was a solution out there somewhere. Gnawing her lower lip, Hermione pulled out all the books she had accumulated.

After Anthony’s attack, she found herself reevaluating many of her assumptions about Alphas and Omegas, as well as how the suppressants really worked. She stayed up all night, researching and cross-referencing texts, taking meticulous notes.

As the sun began to creep over the horizon, Hermione gathered her scrolls and books, slipped several letters into envelopes, took another suppressant, and made her way to the Owlery. Watching the school owls disappear into the distance, she felt slightly hollow-headed from exhaustion.

She returned to her dorm, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep. Skipping breakfast, she spent the entire weekend in the eighth-year girls' dorm.

The House-elves brought sandwiches, but most of the other students were busy with their own plans, only returning to change or sleep. Hermione missed the library; working on her bed was far less efficient than at a library desk.

Still, she had already gathered most of the existing books on Omegas, and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone approaching her or disrupting her focus. The project felt deeply personal.

She kept the canopy of her bed closed and hung several strips of parchment around it, allowing her to visually track the various theories she was developing. On Sunday evening, while standing in the middle of her bed and staring at all her work, she heard Ginny’s voice.

“Hermione, are you in here?” 

“Hey, Gin,” Hermione replied absently, still focused on the red lines indicating the options she had eliminated. Ginny’s head peeked through the canopy, her expression one of bewilderment as she glanced around.

“What are you doing in here?” Ginny squinted and began reading one of the many scrolls of parchment hanging around Hermione. “A research project on myself,” Hermione replied, reaching over to cross out another option.

“I heard about what happened on Friday night,” Ginny said gently. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione responded, though her tone suggested otherwise.

“I’m just trying to find a solution,” Hermione said quickly. “After all, if I have to spend my whole school year hiding in the girls' dorm, I might as well just study for my NEWTs through a correspondence course.” 

“Do—would you want to get in touch with Charlie?” Ginny asked.

“I’m sure—if you were interested, he’d—”

Hermione sighed. “I thought he didn’t want to get married.

Wasn’t your mum going on about that before he headed back to the dragon reserve?”

“I’m sure it would be different if it was you.”

“I don’t really want to end up with someone just because he’s an Alpha and I’m an Omega. Unless I get pregnant immediately, he’d have to schedule his work around my heat cycles for the foreseeable future.

That doesn’t work very well for dragon taming. And even if he could adjust his schedule, we couldn’t have it as some kind of seasonal arrangement; Omegas—don’t—being alone is—” Hermione hesitated.

“It has a cumulative psychological effect. So being physically committed to someone who’s mostly absent wouldn’t be my first choice,” she finished grimly.

“And I don’t really want to become a dragon tamer or ask him to give up his career.”

Ginny glanced around, her eyes landing on one of the scrolls, and they widened. “Are you really considering—?”

“It’s just an option I’m exploring,” Hermione replied quickly.

“I sent out some letters of inquiry yesterday, just to see if it’s even something I could pursue.”

Ginny looked visibly uncomfortable. “That would be pretty final, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, so is soulbonding,” Hermione said tightly, waving her wand to banish all the scrolls into her trunk before Ginny could read more.

“Did you need anything?”

“I was just worried about you. After I heard what happened, especially since you haven’t left the dorm all weekend.

Although—” she gave Hermione a long look, “—I think I’m more worried about you now.”

“I’m just trying to be realistic and weigh my options,” Hermione replied. “I still have some homework to finish before tomorrow.

I should probably get to it now,” Hermione said stiffly. “Are you sure you don’t want to come down to dinner?

I can walk with you,” Ginny offered. Hermione sighed and shook her head.

“I think I’d rather stay and work. It’s fine.

The elves send sandwiches.”

“Alright…” Ginny replied, her voice heavy with concern. “Just know that the offer is always open.

Me and the rest of the DA, we’d be happy to help you however you need.”

“I’m going to be this way for the rest of my life, Gin. I have to find a better solution than always needing a friend to walk with me.”

“You know none of us would mind that,” Ginny insisted.

“I would mind it,” Hermione said firmly. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Ginny.” 

Hermione remained standing, lost in thought, as she heard the door shut and Ginny’s footsteps recede down the stairs.

She then pulled out her potions essay. It was finished, but she had intended to revise it one more time before class.

The next morning, she blended in with her beta classmates as they made their way to breakfast, and then headed to Potions class alongside Dean, Parvati, and Seamus. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini were already seated when Hermione walked in.

Theodore blushed the moment he saw her and quickly dropped his gaze. Hermione ignored him and settled into her usual spot in the far corner of the room.

Malfoy strode in just before class began, flanked by Pansy and Daphne Greengrass. Daphne’s eyes sparkled when she noticed Malfoy sitting alone, and she quickly slipped into the seat beside him.

Pansy shot her a disapproving look before disdainfully taking a seat next to Parvati. The potion they were about to start brewing was veritaserum.

Hermione focused intently on what Professor Slughorn was saying about Jabberknoll feathers, but she found it hard to concentrate as she watched Daphne lean closer to Malfoy, whispering in his ear. She gripped her quill tightly, pressing down so hard that the tip sliced through the parchment, leaving a large blot.

Once class ended, Hermione lingered as she packed up her notes and textbooks, waiting for the rest of her classmates to leave before approaching Professor Slughorn's desk. “Professor,” she said, “Headmistress McGonagall mentioned on Friday night that you were going to rebrew and compare the suppressant potions this weekend.”

“Ah, Miss Granger,” Slughorn replied, straightening his robes.

“Indeed. Over the weekend, I developed several varieties for you to try.

Quite a subtle bit of magic, suppressants; it requires prodigious skill, if I may say so myself.” He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially, but his joviality faded slightly. “Unfortunately, there’s no reason to think any of them will be more effective than your current batch.

The freshness wasn’t the issue. The magic, comparatively speaking, is quite similar; the primary difference lies in the side effects.”

He pulled a small box from his desk, revealing rows of various colored potions.

“Here’s the first one I made, which causes a coughing fit upon imbibing. This version here produces a faintly green aura.

This one seems to cause fang growth when angry, and this one leads to fuzzy-mindedness.”

Hermione examined the options thoughtfully. “I did some research over the weekend.

I didn’t think the attack was caused by a failure of the suppressants,” she said, fidgeting with the vials in the box. “But thank you for putting so much time into this for me.

I’m very grateful.”

“Think nothing of it. I’m always happy to help exceptional individuals like yourself.

By the way, I’m planning to hold another Slug Club party. You’re, of course, invited, and if you could put in a good word with Mr.

Weasley and Mr. Potter, I’d be tremendously flattered to have you all at my little soirée.”

“I’ll mention it to them next week,” Hermione promised, already certain that neither Ron nor...

“Excellent. Give them both my sincerest regards,” Slughorn said, bobbing slightly.

“Yes, thank you, Professor.” Hermione packed the box of suppressant potions into her satchel and left the potion classroom, heading toward a nearby alcove to check the Marauder’s Map. As she turned into the alcove, she nearly bumped into Daphne Greengrass, who was having an intense conversation with Malfoy.

“Is there something objectionable about my sister or me that makes us completely unacceptable company for you?” Daphne asked, her voice laced with indignation. “Just once!

That’s all I’m asking. The way you’re acting, one would think I was trying to entrap you in a marriage.”

Hermione stared, and Malfoy caught sight of her.

“Granger?” 

Hermione felt her ears grow warm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“You’re not.

Daphne was just leaving,” Malfoy said quickly. Daphne rolled her eyes and shouldered past Hermione.

Malfoy then turned his attention back to her. “Did you need something?” 

“Actually, yes.

If I could have a word with you in private, if possible.” 

Malfoy paused, rolling his jaw slightly as he considered her request. After several seconds, he replied, “Fine.

There’s a classroom around the corner we can use.” 

“Right, lead the way,” Hermione said, stepping back so he could pass. He strode down the hallway deeper into the dungeons and led her into a classroom that appeared to be used for old desk storage.

He crossed to the far wall, then turned to face her. Hermione hesitated for a moment before shutting the door behind her.

“I’d really rather you didn’t shut the door,” he said in a tense voice before she had fully removed her hand from the knob. “I’d really rather we did,” Hermione replied firmly, adding a privacy charm.

She took a deep breath, hoping she wasn’t about to make a total fool of herself.