Falling Star

End of Summer

Days turn into weeks and there is still no word back from Hermione. My mind has gone from anxious questioning to anger to sadness and everything in between over her lack of response. Did it not make it to her? Did someone intercept it? Is she ignoring me on purpose? Does she not trust me?

The last question is a punch to my gut. I worked so hard my whole time at Hogwarts to prove that I'm not just a carbon copy of my parents. Would my friends still question my loyalty even after all this time?

As the date of Harry's trial loomed closer and closer, I resigned myself to the fact that Hermione, for whatever reason,  was not going to answer. I was going to be completely in the dark about this. Now that the trial is scheduled for this afternoon, I'm too preoccupied with thoughts of that to think about Hermione and the letter I had sent.

"Stop biting your nails. It's gross," Draco orders, staring at me from over the top of his old potions textbook.

I don't answer him, or even look up from my magical creatures book, but I do self consciously lower my hand from my mouth as a blush creeps up my neck. I hadn't even realized I had been biting my nails again. I thought I had had that anxious habit trained out of me by now.

I continue my attempt at reading the same page I've read about four times now. I shut my book in a huff, giving up on focusing entirely.

"You being huffy and annoying isn't going to make the trial go any faster," Draco snaps.

"You being an insensitive git isn't helping anything either," I bite back.

I yank my things off the table and stomp away to my room, where I sit and sulk for the rest of the afternoon. I hear my mother come home from her outing and her shuffling around the parlor. I hear my father's heavy footsteps as he returns from work and the slam of the door to his study. About an hour after Father gets home, I'm called to dinner.

As I sit down at my place at the dining table, I study my father's face for any hint of how the trial went. Working at the ministry, I know that he has heard the outcome already. There is no smugness about his features, which I take as a good sign. His mouth is turned down, and his brows are pinched in a slight scowl. I'm dying to know the trial's results for sure, but I refuse to ask my father outright.

The conversation at the dinner table mainly stays between my parents for a little while: my father prattling on about work and my mother nodding and "hmm-ing" at the appropriate times. Draco and I eat quietly, and I will myself not the fidget with every passing minute that I still do not know if Harry has been carted off to Azkaban or not.

Just before the plates are cleared away, my father clears his throat. "Well apparently Mr. Potter was able to weasel his way out of any consequences."

My heart leaps, but I school my face into neutrality.

The corners of Father's mouth turn up slightly and a disturbing gleam comes over his eyes. "But he must be careful this year. A friend of mine from the ministry will be teaching at Hogwarts this year. And she does not tolerate any steps out of line."

I grimace a bit. "She sounds delightful."

"Indeed." If Father caught my sarcasm, he doesn't let on, simply finishing off his glass of wine before focusing his attention on Draco.

"You and I will be going to the city tomorrow. You need some new things for this term, especially considering you will be a prefect."

Draco beams with the perceived compliment. "I look forward to it."

I already know that I will not be receiving the same invitation. It stings the small part inside of me that remembers when I was still my father's pride and joy.