Magic? || Years 5-7

Dumbledore's Mission: Year 6

Amisty studiously avoided Ginny for the next week. And then added Harry to the people she wasn't speaking to after the last Quidditch game. Gryffindor had won, four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty. Apparently, Harry and Ginny had kissed during the celebration in the Gryffindor common room. It was all over the school in a matter of days, boys and girls alike spreading rumors like wildfires about the supposed Hippogriff tattooed onto Harry's chest.

Amisty mumbled a polite congratulations as she passed him on the way to breakfast, pretending not to hear as he called after her.

It wasn't like she didn't want to talk to them, but. . .

She sighed, hunched farther over her Astronomy textbook, and jotted down notes about pagan holidays for her upcoming project. Draco had left the hospital wing a day or two after the Sectumsempra incident, perfectly healed other than the scars on his torso. And yes, that was wonderful, and Amisty was beyond relieved, but—

Pick a side.

Turns out Dark Magic lifted off a textbook wasn't the only thing looming over her head.

"Hey."

"Hi, Hermione," Amisty said, her smile falling flat as she pushed out a chair with her foot. "What's up?"

"He wants to talk to you," Hermione said, straight to the point as she rifled through old editions of the Prophet.

"Hmm," Amisty hummed noncommittally, etching in a few extra details on Litha.

Hermione sighed, and Amisty could feel the weight of her gaze on the crown of her head. "You can't avoid them forever, Amisty."

"Please don't mother me," Amisty said quietly.

"I'm not mothering you." Hermione's gaze never shifted, and grudgingly Amisty rose to meet it, feeling very much like a child being scolded. "But I think you should talk to them. Malfoy's fine now, isn't he? So isn't everything—"

"Do you really think I'd turn on you for him?" Amisty blurted, then clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. "No, sorry, nevermind—I didn't mean to—"

"Oh, Amisty. . ."

"I just—" Amisty swallowed, blinked down at her pages of notes that were now much blurrier than before. "I never chose him above any of you and. . . you're my friends, my family, and I thought," she scrubbed a hand over the bridge of her nose, quieter now, "I thought you all knew that."

"Of course we know that!" Hermione said, her eyes wide. "Amisty, how could you ever think otherwise?"

"Well, Ginny said that I—"

"Ginny is worried about you," Hermione cut in. "We all are."

"You've got a fascinating way of showing it."

Hermione sighed, pushed away all the yellowed, battered copies of the Prophet, and grabbed Amisty's hands. "We know you wouldn't dream of joining the Death Eaters, no one ever thought that, okay? We're just. . . I know it's difficult for you, and that it's complicated and messy, but. . . you can't change Malfoy."

Brow furrowed, Amisty looked up. "What?"

"I know you think he's a good person—and I'm not saying he doesn't have the ability to be," Hermione added before Amisty could protest, "but you can't keep going back to him and hope he's changed his mind. That's not how people work, and it's not your job to change someone, even if you love them."

"But—"

"That's his choice to make," Hermione said. "I know you want to make it for him, but he has to be the one to do it."