"Yes, Dad, I know – "

On the other side of the felly – no, telephone (take that, Ron Weasley and his mispronounced Muggle terms), someone sounded agitated.

"I was at Hogwarts this morning. Everything is fine, I promise." Hermione cast an exasperated glance towards the ceiling, but she patiently set any worries at rest before moving on to the delicate matter of urgently needing £300. In cash. Delivered to Charing Cross Police Station.

When she finally hung up, Draco had long since had enough of examining the curious writing implements chained to the wall (were Muggle pens especially prone to escape?) and was staring at a poster instructing him not to do the bike thief's job for them. No problem there – bikes hadn't appeared on the Muggle Studies curriculum yet, so he wasn't quite sure what they looked like.

Bikes aside, he wasn't going to let St. Granger of Gryffindor get away with this unchallenged. "Aren't you cheating? We're supposed to live like Muggles for twenty-four hours, and you're calling your parents to bail me out."

"That was my dad. He is a Muggle, remember?"

"I still don't think that's very fair." Draco moved on from the mostly incomprehensible posters to the forms beneath them. The Ministry for Magic had a thing or two to learn about bureaucracy, judging by the length of Subsection 5 (c).

"Really? How about finding out about this whole secret world when you're eleven, and being told you're part of it. Only no one ever tells you – or your parents – the rules, so you only find out later that many people hate you simply because of your birth. Some of them even want to kill you. That wouldn't be very fair now, would it?" Granger was properly het up after her little speech, her hair threatening to break loose of its constraints and her chest heaving with the unfairness of it all.

"No." Draco was clever enough not to pick fights he couldn't win (not anymore).

"For once, being Muggle-born is working to my advantage. Be grateful you're benefitting to, ferret boy."

"Being partnered with you wasn't exactly my choice."

"I took pity on you, you mean. Zabini was taking bets at breakfast on how long you'd last. Ron put a Galleon on twenty minutes."

Neither of them had a choice – Muggle Studies was obligatory for all Hogwarts students, even the returning eighth years. The initiative had been promoted as a chance to see the advantages of both worlds. Having been arrested two hours into his second excursion into Muggle territory, Draco remained unconvinced.

"How long will we have to wait?" he asked petulantly.

"Dad will have to drive in from Tunbridge Wells, so it depends on traffic. Could be hours."

"Oh." Draco would never admit it, but he had been looking forward to going on the London Eye.

"Some gratitude may be in order when he arrives."

"Oh, shut up, Granger." She would be insufferable after this.

"I told you it wasn't a wizarding portrait, didn't I?" she continued relentlessly. "And you still had to go and poke Charles I in the eye. Honestly, even Ron knows better than that."

Stung, Draco defended himself. "But I know he was a wizard. We have a portrait of him in the Manor! I thought he was just being rude, ignoring me."

"He was king of the Muggles too. There's other people than wizards, you know."

"I can tell." Draco glared at the yellowing linoleum covering the walls, and the dubious stains on the carpet. The electrick (elecktic? He could never remember) light gave Hermione a sickly pallor and the air was dry and stale like it never was at Hogwarts. Drafts were healthy, Mother always said.

"Professor Gibson will be pleased. Think of all the practice you'll get when your case comes up in court." Hermione looked positively gleeful at the prospect.

"I'll tell them you made me do it."

"Nice try. Even without sound, the CCTV footage will show me trying to pull you back." Smugness was so unbecoming – not that Granger cared.

"Why are you here, then?" he asked.

"Believe it or not, I'm actually trying to help you. Again."

Draco ignored the 'again' – she hadn't been very good at it, if they'd ended up here. "What do you care?"

"There's a few reasons." She looked thoughtful. "It wasn't until recently it occurred to me that Hogwarts should do much more to help Muggle-born students. Maybe a buddy system? I suppose I'm trying to address that, only the other way around. And you did help us to win the war, even if you didn't quite intend to."

Draco was devoutly thankful at least once a day that the right side won the war, but he wasn't telling Granger that.

"Also – " She grinned. " – I can't think of anything that would annoy you more than being rescued by me."

"I'm not being rescued!" He could Apparate out of here any time. He'd take his wand out and – Draco suddenly remembered Gibson confiscating his wand this morning, despite his objections. The whole point of the assignment was to get by as a Muggle, without magic.

Bollocks.

Hermione seemed to take his silence as assent. "We can talk semantics all afternoon, or we can take advantage of the fact that they've forgotten about us to get ahead on that Potions assignment."

Afterwards, Draco tried to argue that spending most of his Muggle Studies excursion arguing with Granger about the properties of asphodel applied to the second Principal Exception to Gamp's Law was proof that the concept was irrevocably flawed. As they apparently became friends in the process – Granger insisted on a cheery 'hello' whenever she saw him, and she kept coming up to him after class – he didn't convince anyone, least of all McGonagall.