anyway?" Harry asked, looking around the hall. Granted, it wasn't odd for Hermione to be absent at breakfast. The girl was often up and about an hour earlier than most other students, and was known to take her breakfast with her on her rounds in the mornings. But it was a weekend, and Hermione usually made a special effort to attend breakfast with the rest of her housemates.
Ron was pushing warm madeleines into his mouth, two at a time. "Sheaf at fer mums for the weekend. Letter came jhuff before you arrived downstairs." A neatly folded letter was produced from under Ron's plate and passed to Harry to read. "So much for protection then," Ginny commented, watching with amusement as Tim Gaggleby, a Hufflepuff Beater, narrowed his eyes at Neville and slowly ground a meaty first into a large palm.
"Come on, you lot," Ron appealed. He pushed away his now empty plate and then launched into a long, noisy yawn. "It'd be downright indecent to mope about now. School's finished. Apart from Voldemort and the odd bout of acne, life is sweet."
**
Life had a tendency of throwing you a sticky obstacle when you least expected.
One year ago, she'd been happily consumed with the occasional plot against Wizarding Evil, NEWTS, friends and the various responsibilities that came with the appointment of Head Girl.
One day ago, she'd been reasonably happy, passably carefree, and more importantly, single.
One hour ago, she'd been confident on surviving the remainder of the day.
Hermione wasn't so sure now.
Curiosity might have killed the proverbial cat, but she'd be damned if she was going to let it take her without a fight.
She sat across from Draco in the horseless carriage that would take them on the fifteen minute journey from the tiny magical village of Thimble Creek to Malfoy Manor. Their departure from the dingy Muggle hotel in London had been a quiet, moody affair. The taciturn silence had been welcomed at first. But now, it only served to amplify the tension.
And God, was there tension.
They had made a pit stop at Diagon Alley Post Office, where Hermione had spent an excruciating twenty minutes writing letters, one to Ron and Harry ('just popping over to my mum's for the day') and another to McGonagall ('will be spending the weekend with family. Apologies for the short notice...').
She wasn't particularly good at fibbing, although really, her time with the boys ought to have made her a master in the concoction of dubious truth. While Ron and Harry were adept at delivering effectively gormless expressions, Hermione usually resorted to looks of confusion, convoluted explanations and rapid topic changing, whereupon the unfortunate inquisitor would often dismiss her out of sheer frustration.
This tactic worked well on some occasions (when caught by Filch), and not so well on other occasions (when caught by Snape).
Harry and the others were probably flopped down by the lake about now, beginning the lazy, post party recovery by soaking up the early afternoon sunshine. They'd be playing Exploding Snap, chess or possibly visiting with Hagrid. Ginny would be busy pretending to be smitten by an extremely patient Seamus Finnegan, while avoiding the troubled looks Harry would undoubtedly be sending her.
Neville would probably be assisting Professor Sprout in preparation for his planned Herbology apprenticeship. Blaise Zabini, the very capable Hogwarts Head Boy, would have taken due note of her absence and set about organising the rest of the prefects.
At present, Hermione calculated that she was no more than four hundred miles from Hogwarts, a distance that was of no consequence to one licensed for Apparition. And yet it felt as if she had been catapulted across the other side of the world.
Merely existing had never felt so foreign.
Of course, the tall, moody young wizard riding in the carriage with her had a lot to do with her unease. She had studiously avoided looking at Malfoy since they had climbed into the coach. But she was facing the opposite direction to which they were travelling, and looking out the window at the rapidly backward-moving countryside was giving her motion sickness.
Their brief jaunt through Diagon Alley had been slightly amusing. Hermione was glad that she had not yet sunk so far into panic that she wasn't able to recognise the more comical details of their situation. Malfoy had walked five steps ahead of her the entire time, the hood of his travel cloak pulled down low over his pale face, lest a passerby took note of the fact that a slightly dishevelled looking Hogwarts