The Invisible Wars

Chapter 8: Gray areas

The tabby cat let out a huge yawn for the twelfth time, eyes set on the empty chairs of the classroom. It lifted its paw to rub a patch of fur near its left eye, a habit mastered out of boredom. The first student to come arrived just when she raised her yellow eyes to the grandfather clock situated at the back of the room. His movements are minimal and cautious, he scanned the room for a brief moment with his icy grey eyes hooded under his blonde fringe that was usually swept back in a sleek, then after seeing the ashen lump of fur on the table, sat on a chair with a grunt. The classroom is big, surrounded with tall windows and has four rows of three desks leaving enough room for other apparatuses such as cages and shelves plus the table where the rigid cat is perched. They both waited, one patiently and the other with obvious dislike.

At nine o'clock they heard the clearly identifiable murmurs of the other three students they were waiting for in the hallway getting louder as they move closer to the room. The cat snapped its head at the direction of the entrance when they came in and leaped in the air, but before it landed on the floor it shifted its shape into the form of Professor McGonagall with her spectacles perched perfectly on her nose and grey hair unruffled. "You're late" was her immediate greeting to them.

"We're sorry Professor." Hermione responded timidly, her face flushed from running. Beside her stood Harry with his untidy jet-black hair and Ron who was clutching his chest to catch his breath.

"Take your seat." Professor McGonagall ordered, motioning them to a vacant chair beside Malfoy.

Draco regarded them with a sharp look.

Trying to ignore a pair of cold grey eyes boring into her, Hermione settled uncomfortably beside him along with Harry and Ron.

"So for your detention task, you will be polishing these candelabras until they are bright and clean." McGonagall summoned four boxes containing heavily ornate candle holders and placed them in front of the students along with four clean rags.

"Can't we do something more exciting than cleaning?" Ron appealed.

McGonagall stared at him briefly as Hermione berated Ron mentally for even speaking and then after a moment of thought said, "As you wish Mister Weasley. You shall do it without magic." She watched as their mouths fell open in incredulity and held out her hand towards the four, waiting as they unwillingly dump their wands at her open palm.

"You can't be serious." Said Ron, his eyes shifting back and forth the Headmistress's stern features and to her extended hand.

"I very much am, as a matter of fact, to add to the excitement I expect you to finish everything in under an hour." She clipped. "So I'll leave you to it." Giving them a final look, McGonagall turned on her heels and went out of the room.

"Thanks, Ron, really." Harry muttered sarcastically, eyeing the heap of dusty devices in front of him.

For a very long time, Draco made no movement, he simply frowned at his own pile of candle holders as the other three begrudgingly started on their task. He found his interest at making Hermione feel unease as she was just sitting beside him fervently scrubbing at the soot covering the brass candelabras.

"Mione, you um—you have dirt on your nose." Ron said touching his own nose to point the location, rag at hand.

Hermione knitted her brows and lifted her hand to touch the spot only to miss it by one inch.

Harry chuckled. "Not there, right here."

Terrific. Draco thought as he grudgingly listened to the three's irksome giggles and ramblings. But after he grew tired of glowering at the witch and used all his strength of mind not to look, still there was something pulling at his eyes to linger. Without knowing at what point his angered glances had turned to curiosity, he realized how never gave much attention to her physical appearance in seven years that he knew her as he became conscious for the first time of how much Granger had changed. Her bushy hair, which is a lot, would usually cover most of her face and if there is any part left for people to see it would be hidden behind mountains of hardbound books. Now it is tamed in a plait at the back of her neck giving less impression of wild twigs springing out from trees. It's as though for the first time she wanted people to see her potential beauty. Draco scrunched his face at the thoughts running in his head and had to remind himself that he was mad at her.