Captured

Shadows Ch.8

The sun had barely risen, casting long, pale fingers of light across the worn stone floors of the Head dormitory. Hermione sat at her usual spot, the small oak table by the window, quill in hand and parchment spread before her. The ink on her list gleamed, still wet, but her mind wasn't on the tasks before her. She was thinking of Harry. Of Ron. Of everything that had gone wrong, and of what little hope they had left.

She didn't look up when she heard Malfoy enter the room. His footsteps were quieter than usual, as though he was being cautious around her. Maybe he still felt the tension from last night's conversation, or maybe he'd reached the same conclusion she had: they didn't have the luxury of holding onto grudges anymore.

"Granger," he said by way of greeting, sliding into the chair opposite her without invitation. His tone wasn't hostile, just... flat. He dropped a small stack of parchment onto the table between them, nudging it toward her. "I worked out a few ideas for this ridiculous 'fun day' McGonagall wants."

Hermione glanced at the papers, noting his scrawled handwriting. The corner of her mouth twitched in something close to surprise. He's actually trying.

She nodded in acknowledgment, picking up the top sheet. "Alright. Let's see what you've got."

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. His expression was guarded, but Hermione could see the faint traces of exhaustion in his pale face. He looked as tired as she felt.

"The point of this day is to distract the students," Malfoy said, his tone a mix of irritation and resignation. "But we can't make it too frivolous. McGonagall won't go for that, and frankly, it's a bad idea to pretend things are fine when they're not."

Hermione agreed, though she didn't say it out loud. It was a strange balance they had to strike—offering some kind of reprieve from the horrors of the war without making it feel hollow or forced.

Malfoy tapped one of the sheets with his finger. "I suggested a few outdoor events. Quidditch for sure, maybe some dueling demonstrations—controlled, of course. It'll give the students something physical to focus on, and honestly, we all need to burn off some of this... tension."

Hermione scanned the list, nodding slowly. His suggestions weren't bad, surprisingly practical. There were ideas for a scavenger hunt, a few magical obstacle courses, and even a concert in the evening featuring student performances. For someone who usually couldn't be bothered with anything that didn't serve his own interests, Malfoy had actually put thought into this.

"These are good," Hermione said, almost reluctantly. "It'll give the students something to do, and hopefully take their minds off... everything, for a little while."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not expecting the compliment. "Glad you approve, Granger."

She ignored the sarcastic edge in his voice, reaching for her own list. "I was thinking we could also set up a space where students can just... relax. Somewhere quiet. Not everyone will want to be in the middle of the chaos, and some might need a break."

Malfoy didn't respond right away. He studied her for a moment, his grey eyes sharp and calculating, as though he was trying to figure out why she cared so much. Finally, he nodded. "That could work. You can handle that part. I'm not exactly good at... comfort."

Hermione almost laughed at that, but the moment passed too quickly. There was still too much between them—too much history, too much distrust. Even working together like this, there was always an edge to their conversations, as though they were both waiting for the other to strike.

They continued planning for the next hour, bouncing ideas off each other, refining the details. It was strange how easily they fell into this rhythm, despite everything. Hermione had always known Malfoy was smart, even if he rarely used that intelligence for anything good. Now, seeing him focused and contributing, she had to admit he wasn't entirely useless.

When they finally finished for the day, Hermione stacked the parchment neatly, setting it aside for their next meeting. "I'll present this to McGonagall tomorrow. She'll want to go over everything before we start organizing."

Malfoy gave a curt nod, already rising from his seat. "Fine. Let me know if she has any issues. I've got a few contingency plans, just in case."

Hermione watched him leave, his figure disappearing down the narrow hallway toward his bedroom. The door closed with a quiet click, and for the first time that morning, she allowed herself to breathe.

As the day dragged on, the weight of her responsibilities pressed down on her more and more. She moved through the motions, attending meetings, finishing assignments, but her mind was elsewhere. The list of tasks for the fun day became background noise to the real plan she was forming—the one that kept her up at night.

By the time the sun had set, casting the castle in a deep, foreboding shadow, Hermione was ready. She waited until the dormitory was quiet, until even Malfoy's usual late-night shuffling had died down. Then, with the utmost care, she gathered her things—her wand, her small bag of essentials—and slipped out of the dormitory.

The halls of Hogwarts were silent, as they often were these days. She moved quickly, her footsteps barely making a sound as she navigated the maze of corridors and staircases. Every so often, she paused to listen, her heart pounding in her chest as she strained to hear any sign of a patrol. But no one came.

When she reached the secret passage near the library, she hesitated for just a moment, casting a glance over her shoulder. She knew what she was risking—knew what it would mean if she were caught. But she couldn't let that stop her. The Order needed her.

With a muttered incantation, the wall before her shifted, revealing the narrow, winding tunnel that led beyond the castle's protective wards. She stepped inside, pulling her cloak tight around her, and began the long, treacherous journey to the hidden safe house where the Order was waiting.

The air inside the tunnel was damp and cold, the walls pressing in around her as she made her way through the darkness. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her heart racing as she pushed herself forward. She couldn't afford to think about what would happen if she were caught—not by the Death Eaters, and certainly not by Malfoy.

By the time she reached the end of the tunnel, her legs ached, and her hands were trembling. But she pushed the discomfort aside, emerging into the dense woods that bordered the castle grounds. The air outside was crisp, the stars hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds.

Hermione pressed on, her feet carrying her automatically toward the rendezvous point. The small cottage was tucked away deep in the forest, concealed by layers of protective enchantments that only a select few could bypass. She approached the hidden door, tapping her wand against the wood in the familiar pattern.

The door swung open silently, and she stepped inside.

The interior of the cottage was dimly lit, but she could make out the familiar faces of the Order members scattered around the room. Lupin looked up from a map he was studying, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw her.

"Hermione," he said, his voice a low murmur. "You made it."

She nodded, slipping off her cloak and hanging it by the door. "I didn't have much time. What's the situation?"

Lupin gestured for her to join him at the table. "We've gotten word of a potential location for one of the remaining Horcruxes. It's risky, but we don't have a choice. We need to move, and soon."

Hermione's stomach twisted at the mention of the Horcruxes, her mind immediately flashing to Harry and Ron. Are they safe?

She stepped closer, her hands tightening into fists. "What do we need to do?"

Lupin looked at her, his expression grim. "We're going to need all the help we can get.