Strange

Who wrote the note?

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of non-consensual sex! No graphic details but it is implied. Update after some time! Enjoy!

P.S. Don't miss out on the exclusive art for this story, available on both Wattpad and AO3! It's a visual treat, offering a glimpse into the 8th year corridors, dorms, and entrances as featured in the chapters. Highly recommend checking it out for some immersive visuals! You can find them at the end of most chapters!

The slam of Hermione's locker echoed through the empty bathroom, startling the other detentionees already clad in their drab jumpsuits. Pansy, Theo, and Blaise lounged by the sinks, their amusement thinly veiled. Neville sat awkwardly under Blaise's playful arm, fidgeting in discomfort.

"Heavy arm?" Pansy smirked, relishing in Neville's fluster.

Ignoring the jibe, Hermione ran a hand through her curls, examining her reflection in the mirror. The dim bathroom lights cast a faint shadow over her face, highlighting the exhaustion that clung to her features. A subtle sadness lingered behind her eyes, a depth of emotion that told a story far beyond her years. There was no way others couldn't see that. She shifted her weight back and forth feeling suddenly insecure at her once-vibrant bushy curls, which seemed to have lost their bounce, falling flat and defeated, much like the spirit she had been struggling to maintain. Even her long eyelashes, which had always been a point of envy, couldn't mask the traces of sleepless nights. The natural blush of her cheeks and the mildly chapped texture of her lips spoke of her enduring youth, a reminder that beneath the weight she carried, a spark of vitality still resided.

A flicker of movement caught her eye – Draco, emerging from the partitioned lockers, zipped up his jumpsuit. The audacity. Barely an hour ago, he'd been embroiled in a petty brawl with McLaggen, facing expulsion until her unwelcome intervention. It almost... they almost... could've buried the hatchet, forged a truce. But a Malfoy, with generations of pureblood arrogance etched in his every sneer, could never consider her an equal, could he?

"Where were you?" Blaise drawled, his gaze swinging towards Draco. 

"Gobstones in the courtyard after practice, remember? It's getting boring knowing I'm going to win every time." Pansy chimed in, her voice dripping with mock concern, a lollipop perpetually glued to her lips. 

Theo perked up at the mention of Gobstones, suddenly interested in the conversation, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Says the one who keeps getting schooled. Maybe I'm just letting you win, building your confidence for a spectacular fall from grace."

Pansy scoffed. "Final year, idiot. Where's that fall supposed to happen?"

Draco, finally acknowledging Blaise's question, offered a curt response. "Quidditch practice went long. You know how competitive things get." His clipped tone was deliberate, a silent jab at Hermione's interference. He wouldn't even be there if she hadn't put herself on the line. She didn't even have to and quite honestly, she still doesn't know why she even vouched for him in the first place.

"You should get that checked, yeah. You look bloody beaten." Pansy suggested noticing the slight bruise on Draco's lip.

"I think it suits him well." Hermione countered, her voice laced with amusement. Draco's silver eyes flickered to hers, a flicker of surprise momentarily breaking through his mask. Only she knew the truth of his predicament, and he wasn't about to share it.

Hermione could see the cogs turning in Draco's mind as he rubbed his thumb and pointer finger together, dropped his eyes, and dragged them up her entire frame. "Perhaps you secretly prefer me looking a bit roughed up."

Draco's suggestive remark, laced with amusement, sparked a blush on Hermione's cheeks. Ignoring the smirks exchanged by her companions, she took Neville's arm and swept out of the bathroom, head held high despite the flutter in her chest.