A Harry Potter/Throne of Glass/A Court of Thorns and Roses crossover

.17.

The news that Feyre had fainted was now unconscious in the Hospital Wing spread around the school like wildfire. Practically everyone who knew Feyre was extremely worried about her, especially as the cause of her fainting was not known. Even the Headmistress was worried about her, most unusually. It wasn't exactly a secret that Feyre and the Headmistress had had nothing to do with each other all year.

The only thing that was known for certain was that Feyre and Lucien had argued with Hermione Granger in the library that very day. Whispers and rumours said that Hermione had really gotten stuck into them. About what, however, they did not know. When pestered about it, Lucien only told them to go ask that bitch, Granger, while Hermione only told them to go ask that sad old bastard, Vanserra. Talk about pathetic.

Tamlin, unlike the vast majority of Hogwarts' staff and students, saw through the myriad of insults. He knew exactly, what the three of them must have argued about that day. Not wanting to anger Lucien, or break the tentative truce between the two of them, Tamlin went directly to Hermione for answers. If he was right about his suspicions, he couldn't believe that she could be so petty and pathetic.

"We need to talk," Tamlin snapped, storming up to Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, two days after Feyre had been admitted to the hospital wing.

Hermione glanced up from the bridal magazine she was perusing. "Oh, I promised Harry and Ginny that I'd help them plan their wedding. I'm not planning on proposing to you yet, so you don't have to worry."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Hermione, but thanks for letting me know," Tamlin growled.

"Can we talk about it later, then?" she said, idly flipping pages of the magazine. "I still have to keep up with my studies, as well as plan a wedding."

"I'm sure your friends' wedding and your studies can wait one night," Tamlin snarled viciously, barely able to believe her impertinence. "We need to talk, now."

"So, talk away."

"In private," Tamlin hissed angrily, grabbing Hermione by the arm and literally dragging her from the room. By this stage, Tamlin was so furious that he was oblivious to the stares and whispers following them out the common and down the corridor.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Hermione yelled at him in a whisper, as Tamlin dragged her into the nearest empty classroom and slammed the door shut behind them.

"I think a better question would be what in the name of the Cauldron, were you thinking?" Tamlin snarled, temper bubbling away. "What did you do to her?"

"What did I do to who?"

"Don't play games with me, Hermione, after nearly five hundred years; I'm practically a master of lies and manipulation. I've been bullshitting people long before your grandparents were even born. What did you do to Feyre?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said primly, smoothing down her uniform skirt neatly.

"What did you do to Feyre?"

"All I did was tell the truth. It's not my fault that the girl is such a pathetic wuss."

"What did you do to her?"

"It was only a simple little fainting spell. She really ought to have been let out of the hospital wing by now. Maybe the bitch ought to stop faking it. We all know that she's only doing it for the attention."

Just then they heard the door squeak open and Tamlin whirled around in time to see Amren, Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Endymion, Rowan and Lucien enter the room.