Hermione sighed in frustration, tugging a lock of frizzy hair behind her ear. The wind, of course, would have none of this—it promptly whipped a few brownish strands back into her face. The witch ceased resisting and instead tugged her coat more tightly around her body. Flurries of snow had begun to fall, and while she normally would have rejoiced at such a visible reminder of the season, her thoughts today were elsewhere.

She'd been distracted ever since last week's dinner at the Weasleys. She'd seen Ginny for the first time in months, so naturally, they'd spent most of the evening catching up with one another. Ginny, with a look of such perfect innocence that it must have been contrived, "let it slip" that Ron was planning to propose.

The mention of engagement, for reasons unknown to even Hermione, sent her spinning into a blind, sickening panic. She could think of nothing else. While such ruthless obsession was quite normal for the famous Miss Granger, such persistent anxiety was not. She was thrilled, make no mistake, but…

That was just it. There was a "but," but she couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was. Why did the idea of a diamond ring frighten her so? Her current state was as irritating as it was perplexing. It was bad enough she'd ruined a sweater when Ginny whispered the news—Hermione dripped scalding tea down her front. She'd been too shaken to perform a proper Cleaning Charm, and she'd been too embarrassed to accept Ginny's offer of assistance.

But it wasn't even unexpected, really! Ronald was endearingly awful at keeping secrets. He'd been tip-toeing around for weeks with the triumphant air of a man who thinks he's cleverly hidden something. Imagining his self-satisfied grin, she shook her head with a fond smile.

The streets of Diagon Alley were growing more crowded by the minute. Vendors called above the chatter of those wandering the streets, declaring the potential of their wares as Christmas gifts. It was early December, and the feverish cheer had already begun to descend on wizards and Muggles alike. Hermione's inner child smirked at the cloaked figures scurrying to and fro. She'd finished her shopping weeks ago, except for a single gift. What on Earth was she going to get for Ron? He was going to propose, for Merlin's sake! How could she top that?

Cocooned in frantic thoughts, she failed to notice the black-clad figure striding toward her. Apparently, he, too, was preoccupied; they collided most spectacularly. Winded, they ricocheted away from one another, and before either of them could so much as blink, both whipped out their wands and held them at the ready. Despite the peace that had reined for several years, old habits were difficult to break.

"Granger?" The voice was familiar, laced with astonishment and the merest hint of disdain.

"Malfoy!" His voice was smooth and cool as a serpent, but she could not keep the surprise from coloring her own. "What are you doing here?" As soon as the question left her mouth, she regretted it. It was undeniably stupid.

Draco's eyebrows raised, and a humorless smile twisted his lips. "Shopping, like most of the rest of the world. I'm sure that you, however, did so in July."

Her traitorous face flushed scarlet at the calmly-delivered line. Although he sounded superficially polite, she was certain some veiled insult slumbered in his words. "No!" she insisted defensively, rattling her shopping bag as if to prove him wrong.

He squinted at the ornate script printed across the front and, without so much as a by-your-leave, stepped forward to peer into the bag. "Applications of Arithmancy in Deciphering Modern Muggle Mysteries? You're the only person I know who would enjoy something so tedious."

She snatched the bag away from him, her face suffusing with even more blood. It was true, though. After desperately searching half the stores in the Alley for a gift for her soon-to-be fiancé (with no luck), she'd decided she ought to splurge a bit, just to calm her nerves.

"If you must know," she said with a very schoolgirlish sniff, "I'm looking for something for Ronald."

The flash of Malfoy's arrogant grin made her want to punch him. "Well, I doubt he'll be able to pronounce the title, much less stay awake long enough to read the whole thing."

She stiffened. Here was the rude, despicable Malfoy she knew. "Oh, grow up, Malfoy! We're not at Hogwarts anymore. You can't use foolish youth as an excuse." Eyes flashing umber rage, she stomped past him, assuaging her embarrassment with fury. In her haste, she slipped on a particularly slick patch of sidewalk and crashed most ungracefully to the ground.

A volley of curses that made Malfoy's pale eyebrows raise spewed from her lips, but she made no attempt to get up. She simply sat in the slush, fuming, her fierce glare daring Malfoy to laugh.

Laugh he did not, though his lips twitched once. To her infinite surprise, he extended a hand to her and said, with all apparent sincerity, "I apologize. Old habits are, I suppose, hard to break."

For a moment, she was too dumbfounded to move. However, the cold wetness seeping steadily through her thick cloak returned her to her senses, and she accepted his assistance warily. She felt that she owed him some sort of response, so she grudgingly muttered, "Thank you."

He released her arm with a nod and bent down to pick up the now-sodden Flourish And Blotts bag. At Hermione's cry of dismay for her precious book, he took out his wand yet again and muttered a quick drying charm. He offered it back without a word, and again she said, "Thank you."

"If you're going to be out for a while longer, I'd suggest you do the same with your robes," he advised.

She could do nothing but nod.

"Also…" And now, for perhaps the first time in her life, she had the jarring experience of watching Draco Malfoy hesitate. "Malfoy Manor has a well-stocked library. The collection is considerably more advanced than anything you'll find in a store, and I'd say considerably more…interesting, as well." A strange edge infiltrated his voice, and for an instant, his face darkened. "You're welcome to drop by and borrow whatever you like." He stared at her, something like a challenge glinting in his icy regard.

Her mouth literally dropped open. "Uh?"

His face wrinkled—it was a uniquely expressive face, she thought idly. "That, if I may say, is rather unattractive. Anyway, consider it a gesture of…friendship. It's past time to bury old grudges, entertaining as they may be." He thrust out his hand, and it irked her to see that both voice and expression were unreadable.

She couldn't tell whether he was being sincere, so she had to assume that he was. Her mouth contorted into a small frown, like the one she got when solving a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem or when she was embroiled in research. She gripped his hand firmly enough, but a slight tremor shivered through her fingers.

"Well, see you around, Granger," Malfoy said eventually after several moments of silence. He turned away with a swish of his cloak and a grace that sent a stab of envy coursing through her, and she stared after him, still thunderstruck.

A tangle of half-formed, confused thoughts churned in her mind as she watched his retreating figure. Her brain felt as heavy and sodden as her cloak. Malfoy wasn't friendly. He just…wasn't.

He'd said he had books. She thought of the enormous library that the Malfoy Manor must boast (even after confiscations by the reformed Ministry), and her mouth nearly watered. No. Absolutely not. This had to be some trick of Malfoy's. She ought to Apparate home straightaway.

Except that she couldn't. She'd forgotten. It was Ron's day off, and he would no doubt be at home, practicing his proposal in the mirror. She'd nearly been caught catching him at it twice since Ginny spilled the beans, and she wasn't sure she could feign ignorance after her rather traumatic morning.

Whatever had numbed her mind, be it snow or surprise or that deep, deep panic, she decided to hold responsible for this ridiculous behavior. She sprinted down the street after the pale-haired man, her curls bouncing. Little puffs of snow, which had accumulated atop her head while she hesitated, now drifted to the ground. Her cloak dragged clumsily at her body.

"Malfoy! Wait!"

He stopped sharply and turned around. Even from a distance, she could see with perfect clarity the fleeting expression of suspicion alight on and vanish from his face.

"I'm not going to hex you," she promised, once she'd caught up to him. "But I want to see your library." Her voice had taken on the mulish tone she adopted when Ron and Harry weren't taking her seriously enough. Her chin even jutted out slightly.

Draco smiled his usual Cheshire-cat grin. "As you wish." He offered her his arm, and she stared at him as though he'd grown a second head. He sighed impatiently. "I'd be much surprised if you could Apparate to the Manor on your own," he said. A hint of his former satin cruelty had returned, and it provided a small comfort to the rattled Hermione.

"Oh. Right." She accepted his arm reluctantly, mentally readying herself for Side-Along Apparation. It was unpleasant for her even in normal circumstances—she did so hate not being in control—but the prospect of being blindly led who-knows-where by Draco Malfoy was more than just unsettling.

Had she somehow hit her head when she'd fallen? She distinctly remembered not doing so, but perhaps the moment of impact was lost in amnesia. She should be Apparating to St. Mungo's, not to Malfoy's house! For Merlin's sake, what was she doing?

The familiar jerk overcame thought, and before long, she was staring at the impressive yet somehow desolate bulk of Malfoy Manor.