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The hospital wing was unnaturally quiet as evening descended upon Hogwarts. Hermione sat rigidly beside Luna's bed, her thumb tracing small circles on the unconscious girl's pale hand. Luna looked impossibly fragile against the stark white sheets, her silvery-blonde hair spread across the pillow like spilled moonlight. The sight made Hermione's chest ache with a mixture of tenderness and rage that felt almost physical.
Madam Pomfrey bustled over, her normally stern face softened with concern as she checked Luna's bandages. The pristine white dressing contrasted sharply with the angry red line that peeked out from underneath, running from below Luna's ear down her neck.
"Will she be alright?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She was afraid to speak any louder, as though the sound might somehow hurt Luna further.
Pomfrey adjusted the blanket with practiced efficiency. "Miss Lovegood was very fortunate, despite the severity of her injury. The curse was a nasty piece of dark magic—a cutting hex aimed at her throat. Had it struck just two centimeters to the right, it would have severed her carotid artery." The matron's lips pressed into a thin line. "She would have bled out before Mr. Potter found her."
At the mention of Harry, Hermione glanced across the bed to where he sat, still wearing his winter cloak dusted with melting snow. Dried blood—Luna's blood—stained the sleeve where he must have cradled her head.
"I still don't understand how you found her, Harry," Hermione said.
Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, making it stand up even more wildly. "I was heading to Hogsmeade to meet Ron at the Three Broomsticks. I took the shortcut past the shrieking shack and... there she was." His voice caught. "Face down in the snow. At first I thought she'd fallen, but then I saw all the blood..." He trailed off, unable to continue.
"You saved her life, Mr. Potter." Madam Pomfrey's tone was unusually gentle. "Your quick thinking in applying pressure to the wound before apparating directly to the gates made all the difference."
The hospital wing doors swung open as Professor McGonagall entered, her emerald robes sweeping behind her. Her face was grave as she approached Luna's bed.
"How is she, Poppy?" McGonagall asked.
"Stable," Pomfrey replied. "The curse was designed to cause maximum blood loss, but we've countered the worst effects. She'll need to remain here for at least a week while the damaged tissue regenerates. The scar..." she hesitated. "The scar will likely be permanent."
McGonagall nodded grimly before turning to Harry and Hermione. "I need to ask you both some questions. Do either of you have any idea why Miss Lovegood might have been targeted?"
Hermione felt her heart rate accelerate. She couldn't possibly reveal that Luna had been spying on Draco Malfoy at her request. The guilt that had been simmering beneath the surface threatened to boil over.
This is my fault. My fault. I sent her after Draco. I put her in danger.
Harry jumped in. "It might be because of her father. The Quibbler published that interview with me about Voldemort's return. And Luna's been vocal about supporting me." He met McGonagall's eyes directly. "Some people might want to silence that support."
"A possibility worth considering," the professor conceded. "Rest assured, this attack will be thoroughly investigated. Whoever is responsible will face severe consequences." She glanced at Luna's still form. "I've already informed her father. He's currently in Sweden researching some manner of... creature... but will return as soon as possible."
Of course Mr. Lovegood is off chasing imaginary beasts while his daughter lies here, Hermione thought bitterly, then immediately felt ashamed. Luna adored her eccentric father.
"I'll leave you to your vigil," McGonagall said more softly. "But do not stay too late. You both need rest as well." With that, she swept from the ward, the doors closing quietly behind her.
As soon as McGonagall's footsteps faded, Hermione's carefully maintained composure crumbled. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she clutched Luna's limp hand.
"This is my fault," she whispered hoarsely to Harry. "I asked her to follow Draco. To see what he was up to. I put her directly in harm's way."
Harry moved quickly around the bed, kneeling beside Hermione's chair. "You can't blame yourself for this," he insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Luna agreed to help. She knew there might be risks."
"But I should have been the one watching him! Not her!" Hermione's voice broke. "Look at her, Harry. She's lying here because of me. Because I was too busy..."
Too busy fucking Professor Garlick in the greenhouse, her mind supplied cruelly. Her stomach twisted with self-loathing.
Harry squeezed her shoulder. "Luna made her choice, Hermione. We all make choices in this war—and yes, this is part of the war, even here at Hogwarts." His green eyes were intense behind his glasses. "We'll find who did this. I promise you that."
Hermione wiped her tears roughly with the back of her hand. She turned back to Luna, whose chest rose and fell in the shallow rhythm of enchanted sleep. With surprising tenderness, she brushed a strand of silvery hair from Luna's forehead.
"I'll find who hurt you," she whispered, her voice so low that Harry had to lean forward to hear. "And I will make them pay for every drop of your blood they spilled. This I swear."
Harry drew back slightly, startled by the cold venom in Hermione's normally measured voice. For a moment, he didn't recognize his best friend in the vengeful young woman before him.
"Hermione..." he began, uncertainty coloring his tone.
But Hermione didn't respond. Her attention was entirely on Luna, her thumb still tracing gentle circles on the back of the unconscious girl's hand, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the murderous promise she'd just made.
Tomorrow - Morning - The Gryffindor Common Room
The Gryffindor common room was more crowded than Hermione had seen it in weeks. News of Luna's attack had spread through the school like Fiendfyre, and now nearly every member of Gryffindor House had assembled, their faces grim and voices hushed. The usual cheerful chatter and explosive games of Exploding Snap had been replaced by tense speculation and angry muttering.
Hermione had barely stepped through the portrait hole when Ginny materialized at her side, fingers wrapping around her wrist.
"How is she?" Ginny asked without preamble, pulling Hermione into a quiet corner. Her brown eyes were wide with worry.
"Stable," Hermione replied quietly. "Madam Pomfrey says she'll recover, but..." She swallowed hard. "It was a dark cutting curse, Ginny. Aimed at her throat."
"Merlin's balls," Ginny breathed, her freckles now the only color in her face. "Who would do that to Luna, of all people?"
Before Hermione could respond, she noticed the common room had fallen silent. Harry stood by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting dramatic shadows across his face as all eyes turned to him.
"For those who haven't heard the full story," Harry began, his voice carrying easily through the hushed room, "I found Luna Lovegood yesterday afternoon on the path to Hogsmeade. She was face down in the snow with..." He hesitated, visibly steeling himself. "With a severe wound to her neck. Someone had cast a cutting curse at her from behind."
Angry murmurs rippled through the gathered students.
"Cowards," Dean Thomas spat from his seat by the window. "Attacking from behind."
"Is she going to be alright?" asked a wide-eyed second year whose name Hermione couldn't recall.
Harry nodded. "Madam Pomfrey says she'll recover, but she's still unconscious."
"Who would do something like that to Loony—I mean, Luna?" Lavender Brown asked, catching herself mid-slip with a guilty glance toward Hermione. "She's strange, sure, but she's harmless."
Hermione felt a surge of protective anger at Lavender's backhanded defense, but held her tongue. At least the sentiment seemed genuine, if awkwardly expressed.
"Who do you think did it?" Seamus Finnigan called out. "Got to be someone who knows dark magic, yeah?"
A tense silence fell over the common room. Then, to Hermione's surprise, Neville Longbottom stood up. The usually timid boy's face was flushed with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Who else but the Slytherins?" Neville demanded, his voice stronger than Hermione had ever heard it. "Why are we even asking that question? They're the only ones who'd use Dark magic against another student."
The common room erupted in agreement, voices overlapping as students voiced their suspicions.
"Definitely Slytherin—"
"Bunch of Death Eater spawn—"
"Always had it out for anyone who's different—"
Hermione found herself nodding along. While she knew better than to believe all Slytherins were evil, she knew it had been either Draco or any of his idiots.
"If I had to guess," Harry interjected, raising his voice above the clamor, "I'd say Malfoy was involved."
All eyes turned to him.
"Why Malfoy specifically?" asked Katie Bell.
Harry shrugged, his casual gesture at odds with the calculating look in his eyes that only Hermione recognized. "He's been even more of a git than usual this year. More secretive. And he's always hated Luna for supporting me about Voldemort's return."
Hermione marveled at how easily Harry had constructed a plausible explanation that revealed nothing about their surveillance of Draco. It was almost... Slytherin of him.
"So what are we going to do about it?" The question came from Cormac McLaggen, who was lounging against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His handsome face was twisted into an unpleasant sneer.
"Do about it?" Harry echoed, brow furrowing.
"Yeah, Potter. Do about it." McLaggen pushed himself off the wall, stepping into the center of the room. "One of our friends is lying in the hospital wing because some snake decided to curse her. Are we just going to sit around and wait for the next attack?"
An uncomfortable silence descended upon the common room. Several students shifted in their seats, exchanging uncertain glances.
"What exactly are you suggesting, McLaggen?" Hermione finally asked, unable to remain silent any longer. Part of her—a dark part she barely recognized—was curious about what the arrogant seventh-year might propose.
McLaggen's eyes raked over her with smug appreciation that made her skin crawl. "I'm suggesting we send a message, Granger. Lovegood might not be a Gryffindor, but she's one of us. Now she's in the hospital, and those snakes are probably laughing about it in their dungeon."
"So?" Ginny challenged, stepping forward beside Hermione. "What's your brilliant plan? Attack random Slytherins in the corridors?"
"If that's what it takes to show some backbone," McLaggen retorted. "The professors aren't going to do anything. Dumbledore's too soft on the Slytherins, always has been. Sometimes you need to take matters into your own hands."
"That's ridiculous," Harry interrupted, voice sharp with authority. "We can't just attack people at random without knowing who was actually responsible. That makes us no better than whoever attacked Luna."
McLaggen's face flushed. "Always the hero, aren't you, Potter? Always playing by the rules while the other side curses people in the back." He looked around the common room, seeking support. "I'm not saying we curse anyone. Just... remind them there are consequences."
A few of the older boys nodded in agreement, but most of the room looked uncomfortable with the suggestion. Hermione found herself caught in an unexpected moral dilemma. The logical part of her brain—the part that had defined her character for six years—knew Harry was right. Random retaliation was wrong and potentially dangerous.
But another part of her, the part that had been growing stronger since her transformation, whispered darker possibilities. Not random attacks, no. But targeted retribution against the actual culprits? That held a certain appeal.
Starting with Malfoy makes sense, she thought, surprising herself with the coolness of her own logic. He had motive. Luna was following him. If he discovered her, or if one of his cronies did...
The image of Luna lying face-down in bloodstained snow flashed through her mind, and Hermione felt a pulse of anger.
"I agree with Harry," she said, careful to keep her voice steady. "Random retaliation is both morally wrong and strategically foolish. If Slytherins were responsible, attacking innocents would only justify further violence."
McLaggen snorted derisively. "Innocent Slytherins. That's rich, Granger."
"Enough, Cormac," Katie Bell interjected. "We're all angry about what happened to Luna, but Harry's right. We need proof before we do anything."
"Fine," McLaggen shrugged, his posture deliberately nonchalant. "When the next student gets attacked, don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he sauntered toward the boys' dormitory stairs, several of his friends trailing after him.
The common room gradually returned to its previous state of tense murmuring. Hermione caught Harry's eye across the room, and a silent understanding passed between them. They would find who was responsible—not for some misguided display of house pride, but for Luna.
Harry nodded slightly, the set of his jaw indicating he'd caught her meaning. No professors. No McTaggen's vigilante nonsense. Just the two of them, doing what they'd always done—solving the mystery and facing the danger together.
One Hour Later - The Common Hall
The Great Hall buzzed with tension as students filtered in for breakfast. Hermione picked at her toast, appetite diminished by worry and the lingering weight of guilt. She'd visited Luna again twenty minutes, but there had been no change in her condition—still pale, still unconscious, still showing no sign of the vibrant girl who spoke of nargles and wrackspurts.
Beside her, Harry pushed scrambled eggs around his plate with similar disinterest. Even Ron looked absolutely furious, and he was not eating food.
A hush fell over the hall as Dumbledore rose from his seat at the center of the staff table. The headmaster rarely addressed the school during breakfast, and his solemn expression suggested this would not be a pleasant announcement.
"Your attention, please," Dumbledore called, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. "It is with great sadness that I must address a most disturbing incident."
Hermione glanced across the Great Hall to the Ravenclaw table, where a conspicuous gap marked Luna's usual seat. Several Ravenclaw girls who normally ignored or even mocked Luna now looked somber, their eyes downcast.
"Yesterday afternoon," Dumbledore continued, "Miss Luna Lovegood of Ravenclaw House was found grievously injured on the path to Hogsmeade. She was the victim of a vicious magical attack—specifically, a Dark cutting curse directed at her throat."
Gasps echoed through the hall. While rumors had circulated, having the headmaster confirm the details made the attack suddenly, viscerally real.
"Thanks to Mr. Potter's timely intervention and Madam Pomfrey's skilled care, Miss Lovegood will recover." Dumbledore's blue eyes, usually twinkling, were cold as ice. "However, I cannot overstate the seriousness of this matter. The use of Dark magic against a fellow student is not merely a violation of school rules—it is a criminal act that will be treated as such."
"The perpetrator of this attack will be identified," Dumbledore continued, his voice hardening further. "And they will face consequences commensurate with the severity of their actions—up to and including expulsion and referral to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Hermione's eyes drifted to the staff table, where Professor McGonagall sat with lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. Beside her, Professor Flitwick—Luna's Head of House—looked uncharacteristically fierce.
And then there was Professor Garlick. The Herbology professor's usually cheerful face was solemn, but when her eyes briefly met Hermione's across the hall, Garlick gave her a look as if to say, 'I am sorry for what happened to Luna'. Hermione felt her cheeks warm at the memory of their encounter in Greenhouse Five, shame flooded her at how she'd been occupied while Luna was being attacked.
"In light of these events," Dumbledore was saying, "all Hogsmeade visits are suspended until further notice, and no student is to leave the castle grounds unaccompanied. Prefects and staff will enforce these measures stringently."
A collective groan went up from the student body, quickly silenced by Dumbledore's raised hand.
"Your safety is our paramount concern," he said simply. "That is all."
As Dumbledore resumed his seat, the Great Hall erupted into frantic whispers. Hermione's attention, however, was drawn to Susan Bones, who had risen from the Hufflepuff table and was making her way purposefully toward her.
"Hey," Susan said softly, sliding onto the bench beside Hermione. Her round face was pinched with worry, strawberry blonde plait hanging over one shoulder. "I just heard about Luna. Is she really going to be okay?"
Hermione nodded. "Physically, yes. Madam Pomfrey says she'll recover, but..." She trailed off, not wanting to voice her deeper fears about psychological trauma.
Susan seemed to understand anyway. "It's awful. Luna's never hurt anyone. She's just... Luna." She reached out, her warm hand covering Hermione's on the table.
"We were together in DA last year," Susan continued. "She was always kind, even when people laughed at her. If you need anything—if she needs anything—just let me know, okay?"
"Thank you," Hermione managed, giving Susan's hand a quick squeeze before pulling away. "That means a lot."
Susan smiled softly before returning to the Hufflepuff table, her plait swinging behind her.
The Great Hall had transformed into a visual representation of House tensions. Gryffindors glared openly at the Slytherin table, their hostility palpable. More surprisingly, the Hufflepuffs—usually so fair-minded and reluctant to judge—were doing the same. Even the Ravenclaws, typically aloof from inter-House politics, had turned collectively cold eyes toward the green-and-silver table.
"Look at the Slytherins," Harry murmured beside her. "They know they're being blamed. Most of them look defensive, but..."
Hermione followed his gaze. The Slytherin table was indeed a study in calculated indifference, most students affecting boredom or disdain for the hostility directed their way. But Harry was right—there were exceptions.
Draco Malfoy, normally the picture of aristocratic composure, looked distinctly unsettled. His pale face was drawn, dark circles beneath his eyes suggesting a sleepless night. He picked at his food without eating, eyes darting nervously toward the staff table and then back to his plate.
Vincent Crabbe sat beside him, shoveling sausages into his mouth, apparently unbothered by the tension around him. But the empty seat on Draco's other side was conspicuous.
"Goyle's missing," Harry whispered, clearly having noticed the same thing.
"Could be coincidence," Hermione replied, but her mind was already racing ahead. Gregory Goyle was Draco's most loyal lackey—a brutish boy with limited magical talent but a mean streak as wide as the Hogwarts Express.
"When's the last time you saw Malfoy without both his bookends?" Harry countered, green eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
Hermione had to admit he had a point. The trio of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle was as predictable as sunrise.
"We need to find out where Goyle is," she said quietly, just as the bell rang signaling the end of breakfast.
As students began filing out of the Great Hall, she caught Professor Garlick watching her. The redheaded professor gave a nearly imperceptible nod, as if to say she understood what Hermione was feeling.
But she couldn't possibly understand. Not the guilt. Not the rage. Not the dark, unfamiliar desire for vengeance that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat.
"First suspect identified," Harry muttered as they stood to leave. "Now we just need to prove it."
Later
The afternoon sky hung low and gray as Hermione and Harry slipped away from the castle, using the commotion of changing classes as cover. Dumbledore's new restrictions meant they were technically breaking rules by venturing out alone, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to care. Rules seemed trivial compared to Luna lying unconscious in the hospital wing.
They followed the winding path toward Hogsmeade, snow crunching beneath their boots. The trail narrowed as it curved around a copse of skeletal trees, their bare branches clawing at the winter sky.
"It was here," Harry said, stopping abruptly. "This is where I found her."
Hermione surveyed the area with clinical detachment, fighting to keep her emotions in check. The snow had been disturbed—presumably by Harry's rescue efforts and whatever investigation the professors had conducted—but she could still make out a large, darker patch where Luna's blood had stained the ground.
"Are you sure this is where she was attacked here?" Hermione asked, forcing her attention back to the task at hand. "Or was she attacked elsewhere and collapsed here?"
Harry shook his head. "Based on the... the blood pattern," he said carefully, clearly disturbed by the memory, "this is where it happened. She was facing that way," he pointed toward Hogsmeade, "and whoever cursed her came from behind."
"Coward," Hermione spat, the word tasting bitter on her tongue.
"Definitely," Harry agreed grimly. He glanced around to ensure they were alone before pulling out his wand. "I want to try something. I've been practicing it for weeks, but I've never used it in a real situation."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What kind of spell?"
"It's from that advanced Defense book I found," Harry explained, his breath forming clouds in the cold air. "It's designed to detect traces of dark magic—like magical fingerprints. The darker the spell, the longer the trace lingers."
"Harry, that's incredibly advanced magic," Hermione said, impressed despite herself. "Even Aurors struggle with detection spells."
He shrugged, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. "I've had motivation to learn. With Voldemort back... with what happened at the Ministry last year..."
Hermione understood. After Sirius, Harry had thrown himself into learning any magic that might give him an edge in the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort.
"Will it still work? It's been nearly it happened yesterday."
"That's actually why it might work," Harry explained, rolling up his sleeves. "The cutting curse used on Luna was definitely dark magic—Madam Pomfrey confirmed it. Dark spells leave stronger residue than regular magic, especially when they cause harm. The trace should still be detectable."
Hermione stepped back, giving Harry room to work. With his jaw set in concentration, he began a complex series of wand movements, more intricate than most charm work she'd observed him perform. His lips moved in a silent incantation, brow furrowed with effort.
Gradually, the air before them began to shimmer like heat rising from summer pavement. The effect spread outward from Harry's wand in rippling waves.
Harry continued the intricate wandwork, sweat beading on his forehead despite the biting cold. The shimmering intensified, patches of colored light appearing like oil on water. Most were faint smudges of blue or white—ordinary magic, Hermione presumed. But hovering over the exact spot where Luna must have fallen was an ugly, pulsing blob of sickly green-black light.
Finally, Harry lowered his wand with a sharp exhale. The magical illumination held for a moment longer before fading, but the greenish tinge lingered over the bloodstain like a malevolent ghost.
"That's it," Harry said, his voice tight. "That's the trace of the cutting curse."
"Can you tell who cast it?" Hermione asked, her heart racing.
Harry nodded grimly. "Every wizard's magic has a unique signature. It's like... like handwriting. The spell doesn't give me a name, but it shows me the pattern. And I recognize this one." His green eyes hardened. "It's Goyle."
"Goyle?" Hermione repeated, her mind racing. Gregory Goyle was Draco's muscle, not his brain. "Are you certain?"
"Positive," Harry confirmed. "It's crude, forceful—all power, no finesse. Just like him."
Hermione felt a surge of vicious satisfaction, her suspicions confirmed.
"What about Malfoy?" she pressed. "Or Crabbe? Were they here too?"
Harry performed another series of movements with his wand, concentration etched into every line of his face. After a moment, he shook his head in frustration.
"I can't tell. The detection spell can only identify the strongest dark magic signature in an area. If others cast spells here, their signatures are being overwhelmed by the trace of the cutting curse." He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Goyle definitely cast the curse that hit Luna, but I can't say for certain if he was alone."
Hermione nodded. "It makes sense. Malfoy's too clever to do his own dirty work. He'd send Goyle to deliver the message."
"But why Luna?" Harry asked, perplexed. "If Malfoy wanted to send a message, why not target someone more directly connected to me? Ron, or..."
He trailed off, but Hermione knew he was thinking of Ginny. The idea of Ginny being the one lying in that hospital...
"Because Luna was following him," Hermione said quietly. "At my request. She must have seen something she wasn't supposed to see."
Harry's eyes widened in realization. "The potion. The green vial we saw Malfoy with in the Room of Requirement. If Luna spotted him with it..."
"He would have needed to silence her," Hermione finished. "Or rather, have Goyle silence her."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"So what now?" Harry finally asked. "We take this to McGonagall? Or Dumbledore?"
Hermione shook her head slowly. "What exactly would we tell them? That you performed an advanced detection spell you learned from a mysterious book? That we know Goyle attacked Luna because she was spying on Malfoy at our request? We'd all be in detention until graduation."
"Then what?" Harry challenged. "What are you planning to do with this information, Hermione?"
"He has to pay," she said simply, her voice eerily calm even to her own ears.
"Pay how?" Harry pressed. "Hermione, I want justice for Luna too, but we can't just—"
"Can't we?" Hermione interrupted, turning to face him fully.
"Hermione," he said cautiously, "I've never seen you like this before."
For a moment, Hermione felt a flicker of her old self—the rule-following, justice-seeking girl who believed in proper channels and moral absolutes. But that version of herself seemed increasingly distant, like a childhood friend she'd outgrown.
"Things change, Harry," she said. "I've changed."
"Whatever you're planning," he said slowly, "I need to know you won't cross a line you can't come back from."
"I won't use an Unforgivable, if that's what you're asking," she finally replied. "But Goyle needs to understand there are consequences for hurting someone I—" She caught herself. "For hurting Luna."
"Alright. But we do this together. No solo heroics from either of us."
"Agreed," Hermione said, extending her hand.
Tomorrow
The abandoned Charms classroom on the fourth floor had become their impromptu war room. Hermione had chosen it carefully—far enough from main corridors to avoid casual eavesdroppers, but not so remote as to arouse suspicion. She'd cast three different privacy charms on the door before allowing the conversation to begin.
Harry perched on the edge of the professor's desk, his wand idly spinning between his fingers. Ginny paced like a caged lioness, her vibrant red hair swinging with each sharp turn.
"We know it was Goyle," Harry said, breaking the tense silence. "My detection spell confirmed it. His magical signature was all over the scene."
Ginny stopped pacing. "Then what are we waiting for? We find him, corner him, and make him regret ever picking up a wand."
"It's not that simple," Hermione countered, though part of her thrilled at Ginny's direct approach. "We need more than just magical evidence Harry can't officially explain. We need Goyle to confess."
"Confess?" Ginny scoffed. "He's thick as a troll, but even he's not stupid enough to admit attacking Luna."
Harry nodded in agreement. "Especially if Malfoy put him up to it. Goyle's loyalty to Draco runs deep."
"Everyone's loyalty has limits," Hermione said, surprised by the cold calculation in her own voice. "We just need to find his."
Ginny studied her with sudden interest. "You have a plan."
"The beginnings of one," Hermione admitted. "Goyle follows the Slytherin Quidditch team everywhere, even though he's not on it. If we can isolate him after their practice tomorrow evening..."
"Perfect," Ginny nodded eagerly. "The path from the pitch to the castle is dark this time of year. We could easily—"
The classroom door swung open without warning, and all three of them whirled toward it, wands raised. Hermione's heart hammered—her privacy charms should have prevented anyone from simply walking in.
Daphne Greengrass stood in the doorway, one elegant eyebrow arched at their defensive posture. Unlike most of her Slytherin peers, Daphne exuded a cool composure that bordered on regal. Her blonde hair was swept into an immaculate chignon, her uniform impeccably pressed. But Hermione immediately noticed the shadows beneath her eyes, carefully concealed with cosmetic charms that couldn't quite hide her exhaustion.
"Lower your wands," Daphne said calmly. "If I wanted to hex you, I'd have done it before announcing myself."
None of them moved.
"What do you want, Greengrass?" Ginny demanded, her wand still pointed directly at Daphne's chest.
Daphne sighed, closing the door behind her. "I have information you need," she said simply. "About what happened to Lovegood."
"And why would you share information with us?" she asked.
"Because contrary to popular Gryffindor belief, not all Slytherins are enthusiastic about attacking defenseless students from behind," Daphne replied, a hint of genuine disdain coloring her normally controlled voice.
"That's touching," Harry said, unconvinced. "But you'll understand if we're not eager to trust a Slytherin right now."
Daphne's perfect composure cracked slightly. "Do you see my sister anywhere in this castle without me beside her since the attack? No. Because I've been personally escorting Astoria between every class." Her voice remained low but took on an edge of steel. "She's fifteen, petite, and a potential target if this escalates into full house warfare."
The raw fear beneath Daphne's controlled exterior struck Hermione as genuine. She lowered her wand slightly.
"Why come to us?" she asked. "Why not go to Dumbledore or Snape with whatever you know?"
Daphne's laugh was brittle. "Slytherin House has its own politics, Granger. Its own rules of survival. Breaking those rules has consequences."
"But betraying your housemates to us doesn't?" Harry challenged.
"I'm not betraying my House," Daphne corrected sharply. "I'm betraying Gregory Goyle, who is a sadistic thug who happens to wear the same tie as me. There's a difference." She smoothed her skirt with practiced elegance. "I can't be everywhere. I can't protect Astoria every moment. If ensuring my sister's safety means letting Goyle take the fall for something he actually did, then so be it."
The calculated pragmatism was so quintessentially Slytherin that Hermione found herself almost admiring it. She fully lowered her wand, though she kept it in her hand.
"What information do you have?" she asked directly.
Daphne's eyes darted between the three of them, assessing. Finally, she spoke.
"I overheard Goyle bragging to Crabbe later that night. His exact words were 'Loony won't be spying on anyone again.'"
The room went deadly silent. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. They'd been right—Luna had been attacked because she was following Draco.
"There's more," Daphne continued, seemingly encouraged by their stunned silence. "According to what I overheard, they caught Lovegood tailing Draco near the Shrieking Shack. Draco ordered Goyle to, and I quote, 'scare her off permanently.'"
"Permanently?" Ginny repeated, her voice tight with fury. "He tried to kill her!"
Daphne's expression remained carefully neutral. "I don't believe Draco intended for the attack to be lethal. Goyle, however, isn't known for his restraint or precision with spellwork."
"That doesn't excuse Malfoy," Harry said harshly. "He gave the order."
Hermione noticed that Harry's face had gone red, and he murmured something under his breath. 'I won't let another die, not again.'
"I'm not here to defend Draco's actions," Daphne replied coolly. "I'm here to give you information. What you do with it is your business, as long as it doesn't endanger my sister."
"You said Goyle was bragging about it," she observed carefully. "Does that mean others in Slytherin know what happened?"
"Some suspect. Few know for certain." Daphne's expression tightened. "Those who know are divided. Some... approve. Others are disgusted but too afraid to speak out."
"And which are you?" Hermione pressed.
Something flashed in Daphne's eyes—anger, perhaps, or wounded pride. "I believe targeting defenseless students is beneath the dignity of Slytherin House, regardless of what my more... zealous... housemates might think."
It was a carefully diplomatic answer that revealed both more and less than it appeared to. Hermione found herself intrigued by the layers of Daphne's position—by the quiet courage it must have taken to come here.
"I've told you what I came to tell you," Daphne said, turning toward the door. "Do what you want with the information. Just leave my sister out of it."
"Wait," Hermione called as Daphne reached for the handle. "Why did you really come to us? The truth."
Daphne paused, her back to them. For a moment, Hermione thought she wouldn't answer. Then, without turning around, she spoke quietly.
"Not all Slytherins agree with what's happening—in the school or... beyond it." Her shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. "Remember that when this is over."
With that cryptic statement hanging in the air, Daphne slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
The three Gryffindors exchanged stunned looks. Ginny was the first to break the silence.
"Well," she said, blowing out a breath, "that was unexpected."
"So Draco ordered the attack, but Goyle went overboard," Harry summarized grimly. "Both are guilty."
"But Goyle cast the actual curse," Ginny pointed out. "He's the one with Luna's blood on his hands—literally."
Hermione felt her rage crystallizing into something cold and focused, a clarity of purpose that was almost exhilarating.
"We start with Goyle," she decided. "He's the weak link. If we can make him confess, it implicates Draco too."
"How do we make him confess?" Harry asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer wouldn't involve asking nicely.
Hermione's smile was thin and dangerous—an expression that would have been unrecognizable on her face a year ago.
"We give him a choice," she said simply. "Confession or consequences."
"What kind of consequences?" Ginny asked, leaning forward eagerly.
"The kind he'll remember," Hermione replied softly. "Every time he looks in a mirror."
"We do this smartly," Harry said right away. "No impulsive revenge that gets us expelled before we can expose Malfoy too, or at least, we should not get caught."
"Of course," Hermione agreed smoothly. "I have something very specific in mind." She glanced at her watch. "Slytherin has Quidditch practice tomorrow at dusk. Goyle always waits for Draco afterward."
"Perfect," Ginny said, her brown eyes gleaming with anticipation. "What's the plan?"
As Hermione outlined her strategy, she felt a strange new power coursing through her veins—something darker and more primitive than the academic prowess she'd always relied on. It was intoxicating, this combination of righteous anger and calculated vengeance.
For Luna, she told herself. This is all for Luna.
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