DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.

Well, this is probably going to be the last update of the summer. I'm going to try and update during the fall months, but it might be a bit tight because I will literally be busy for all the weeks from September to December.

On another note, Theodore Nott finally makes his first appearance! Hopefully, the situation isn't too cliché.

Hermione sighed in frustration, her hand clenched into a fist, her head finding its way to connect with the hard wood of the table in the Great Hall. She let out a strangled moan like that of a wounded animal, and to be honest, she felt like she was one right now. Out was the feeling of excitement of being back in Hogwarts, and in came a familiar sense of dread and foreboding. Someone was out to get her, she was sure of it.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" asked Ginny, looking over at her friend with an expression of mingled surprise, concern, and amusement.

"Look," said the brown-haired girl, shoving the piece of paper she was currently holding in her other hand. Taking the paper curiously, Ginny quickly scanned it, a small mischievous smirk gracing her features. "You're right, this is terrible," she replied with a smug grin. "But it's pretty good for us."

"What," Hermione emphasized the word with a nice bang of her forehead on the table, "in Godric's name is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that it's time for our plan to get back on track."

Hermione ignored Ginny, finding it impossible to decipher what she was trying to say. What plan? How could this possibly, in any way, be beneficial to her or anyone else? Grimacing, Hermione closed her eyes, shutting them tight in an effort to block out the world around her. No less than five minutes ago, a very somber looking Professor McGonagall had came over to the Gryffindor table, tapping Hermione on the shoulder to give her her new schedule for the year. The moment McGonagall had walked away, Hermione had quickly unfurled her schedule, and promptly proceeded to quietly damn herself to the pits of hell. Out of all her years at Hogwarts, she had never, ever had such a terrible schedule.

Monday through Wednesday- Free, Arithmancy with Ravenclaw, Ancient Runes with Slytherin, Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, Lunch, Double Dark Arts with Slytherin, Double Potions with Slytherin.

Thursday- Double Free, History of Magic with Hufflepuffs, Arithmancy with Ravenclaw, Lunch, Herbology with Hufflepuff, History of Magic with Ravenclaw, Double Transfiguration with Ravenclaw.

Friday- Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin, Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, Free, Herbology with Ravenclaw, Lunch, Double History of Magic with Slytherin and Ravenclaw, Double Potions with Slytherin.

"Ginny, I didn't even want Care of Magical Creatures. There's no point in taking it without Hagrid teaching it. I could honestly care less about having Professor Grubbly-Plank teaching us," grumbled Hermione, her voice slightly muffled by her hand. By now, she had propped both of her elbows on top of the table, resting her head on her hands. An embarrassing red mark adorned her forehead, and she rubbed at it angrily. "And practically all my classes are with Slytherin. I even have double Potions every day!"

"You don't have potions today! But yeah, I don't know what they're playing at," said Ginny cheerfully, plopping a large bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth as she did so. Still smiling happily to herself, she patted Hermione on the back. "It's okay 'Mione. You'll live. It's actually quite good you got this schedule."

A very frustrated Hermione could not take any of her cheeky hints any longer. "Okay Ginny. If you're not going to tell me what this brilliant plan of yours is, please don't bother mentioning it."

Ginny looked at her with a face likened to one of a deer in the headlights. "Calm, Hermione, calm. Don't worry. Look, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and I will tell you about it after classes end today. Besides, your schedule today isn't bad at all. No classes with Slytherin at the very least, though Transfiguration is going to be brutal." She frowned, her forehead crinkling. "I heard N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration with McGonagall is terrible. All of them leave the class with headaches."

Still grumbling to herself, Hermione shook her head. "At least they gave me one day of freedom. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be sane after the term ends."

Ginny shot her a look, her eyes suddenly turning a dark brown, as opposed to its usually light color. She gnawed on her lip for a moment, before clenching and unclenching her fist. "I don't know if any of us are going to come out of this sane," she said quietly, her tone dark.

Hermione turned away from the redhead, looking instead at the Slytherin table at the end of the Great Hall. She watched them snicker to themselves, no doubt making malicious jokes about other people. A particularly loud snort from Pansy Parkinson carried out from their table, her nasty, cackling laugh becoming the only thing that people could hear for a brief moment. Besides her, Draco Malfoy sat, banging his fist on the table. It was a disgusting sight.

She thought back to what Ginny had just said. "Amen," whispered Hermione quietly, so soft she wasn't sure Ginny could hear her. "Amen."

-

The day proved to be utterly boring. Perhaps the most interesting part of the day was Transfiguration, where McGonagall had progressed to teaching them harder and more advanced Transfiguration. They had gone a long way from their first year, where they only transformed a match into a needle. Today, they had learned about a new branch of Transfiguration that they previously hadn't been taught, called Substance Transfiguration. It was fairly complex magic, and Hermione sure enough found herself struggling for the first time ever at Hogwarts.

"Class, today, we are learning to transfigure Northland Pixies into its Scottish relative. Can someone tell me why this much more difficult than, say, transforming a normal cat into a frog?"

Hermione's hand shot up in the air, much to the Ravenclaws' amusement. "Ms. Granger?" asked Professor McGonagall, gesturing with her hand for her to answer.

"Its Scottish relative, also known as the Nuclid Pixies, are very similar in structure to the Northland Pixies in that they have more or less the same genetic makeup. Their blood serves the same purpose, that is, serving as an antidote to the Siberian Three-Fanged Corpus Snake. The Northland Pixies, however, contain a special substance in their blood that makes it resistant to many changes, one of which includes transfiguring it into something else. Because of this, they are found in even the most remote regions of the world." Hermione said all of this in one breath, her eyes shining with anticipation.

"Very good," said Professor McGonagall. "Five points to Gryffindor." She peered at Hermione over the rim of her glasses in the same motherly way she had back in the first year, and gave her one of her rare small smiles.

By the end of the class, unsurprisingly, only Hermione had managed to make any change at all to her Northland Pixie. She felt it was rather irritated, since it kept on snorting sparks and shaking its small red fist at her.

She hurried out, flinging her schoolbag over her shoulder, before scurrying down to the Great Hall to eat dinner. She was absolutely starved, and found herself wanting to not-so-politely devour a nice steak and kidney pie. While she hungrily carved into a rather large slice of it in front of her, Neville sat down opposite her, pulling a plate towards himself as well. "Hey Hermione," he said pleasantly.

"Mm," she mumbled in response, too preoccupied with the food in front of her.

"Your table manners have really gone down the drain," snickered Neville, amusement coloring his tone.

"Mhmm," Hermione mumbled again through a mouthful of pie.

"Ginny told me about this morning."

Finally swallowing down her food, Hermione looked up to fix Neville with a stare. "She has, has she?" she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Look Hermione, I'm, no, we, are very sorry for not telling you about what we've been doing. I figured since you were so tired, we could have told you some other time, but we did plan on telling you, and somewhere in the very near future."

Hermione cut him off, her eyes turning soft and warm. "No, Neville, you shouldn't apologize. It's been my fault really, I just got here and I shouldn't have overreacted like I did with Ginny."

"Would you ... could you ... could you tell us what you're doing with Harry and Ron? Anything that we could help with?" he asked, hope evident in his eyes.

Hermione sighed, feeling sad at how she couldn't give them any information at all. "You know I can't, Neville, and I'm so sorry for it. If it was up to me, I would tell all of you, every one of you, but Dumbledore told us that we couldn't. But I'm willing to help you guys in any way I can."

"That's brilliant Hermione. C'mon, let's go so we can tell you about what we're doing."

The two rose up from the table, walking quickly out of the Great Hall to avoid prying eyes. Unbeknownst to them, a pair of grey eyes watched their every moment closely, fists clenching and unclenching around his robes.

-

Later that night, up in the Room of Requirements, five students sat hunched around a small table, their heads close together as they discussed in hushed tones. Students talked loudly to one another in other corners, some laughing, some telling jokes to each other. Others sat in other corners of the room, quietly and diligently doing their homework. Some just read their books, the pages illuminated by the flickering candles spaced intermittently throughout the space. But the five students ignored them, absorbed in their own little bubble to pay much attention to the world around them.

"Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" asked Seamus, his shoulders hunched forward.

Neville took over from there, talking quickly. "We were informed by certain members of the Order that Voldemort plans to recruit a fresh wave of Death Eaters into his ranks, starting with the seventh-year students at Hogwarts and some younger people that have already graduated from years past." Hermione gasped at this information, surprised that people were already become Death Eaters at such a young age.

"Sadly, that was about all the information they had. We don't know who, when, or where this is going to happen. We've tried unsuccessfully to spy on the Slytherins, hear snippets of their conversations, but they've remained quiet on the subject," Neville continued.

"Absolutely mum," said Dean glumly.

"When we figured that spying on them wouldn't be much of a success, we tried to ... well," Neville paused, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment, "we tried to threaten them, which turned out quite badly."

"It got us two months in detention with the Carrows, it was absolutely terrible," cried Ginny, her hair flying everywhere in her anger.

"Did you honestly think that was going to succeed?" asked Hermione, poking fun at them. She still felt sympathy for her friends though, sure that detention with the Carrows was not one that was enjoyed.

They ignored her question, choosing instead to grimace and look away. Neville continued. "Well, now that you're here and your schedule is so conveniently filled with classes with the Slytherins, we thought maybe you could, you know, befriend one of them and weasel out some information."

Silence rang heavy around the group of five, before Hermione broke it with a sharp intake of breath. "You guys must be absolutely mental. I'm one of Harry's best friends, and Malfoy hates me already, along with probably the whole of Slytherin house. You can't possibly think that they would like me, let alone be my friend."

"I know it sounds bad right now," said Ginny, looking at Hermione with wary eyes. "But there is a slight chance of success. Anything is possible. Just give it a try."

Hermione sat back in her seat, crossing her arms. There really wasn't a choice. What was she going to say, no? She agreed to help in any way she could, no matter how stupid or hair-brained the idea was. She had a duty to do, and she had to fulfill it. She looked up at the expectant and eager eyes of her peers, all of them staring at her. "Alright," she sighed. "I'll do it."

Dean's face broke into a large smile. "That's great, Hermione."

"But first," she held up a hand, before all of them could get too excited, "We need to know any people that might become a Death Eater. There's no use in just going into this blind without any information to go on."

"That's where Harry helped us," said Seamus brightly, pulling out an old copy of a newspaper.

"Harry?" blinked Hermione questioningly, unsure of where they were going with this. "How did Harry help?"

"Remember the interview he did with The Quibbler? He exposed the names of Death Eaters, and lucky for us, four of them have sons in this school right now, in our seventh year. If we were to hedge our bets on who would become future Death Eaters," Seamus snickered to himself, "it would be on them."

Hermione didn't need to read the article. She already knew the names of the people Harry had exposed. "Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott," she said firmly.

"Exactly," affirmed Neville.

"Wait, I still don't know who this Nott person is," cut in Dean, evidently confused.

Hermione answered him. "He's this tall Slytherin. Last time I saw him, he was quite gangly, like Ron."

Ginny let out an unexpected giggle, and a very girly giggle at that. All the guys stared at her questioningly, eyebrows arched up. "He's not gangly anymore. He's ... ah ... muscled up. He's quite cute, really."

Dean's eyebrow twitched. Neville looked at her in amazement. "You're dating Harry, Ginny!"

"That doesn't mean that I can't think of someone else as attractive!" said Ginny, getting on the defensive. "I don't want to date him or anything. It's just an observation! And there are other cute guys too, not just him!"

Hermione smacked her palm on her head in a show of frustration. "Oh my God," she ground out. The others around her just shook their heads, turning away from the Weasley.

They all ignored the indignant cries of "Oh come on" and "I'm just a girl," coming from the clearly frustrated redhead. Ginny was smart, funny, intelligent, slightly shallow though only at times, but above all, she possessed the uncanny ability to make people feel awkward. She was, without a doubt, a very effective conversation stopper.

-

Draco Malfoy was known for his quick temper, and nothing could get him more riled up than Harry Potter or any one of his obscenely irritating friends. And for some morbid reason, the universe had decided to play games with him, sending the only other person that could get him as mad as the Boy Who Lived himself: the damn Mudblood Hermione Granger. When he first saw the familiar bushy brown hair, he couldn't believe it. Surely, surely he was mistaken. There was no way in bloody hell that his father, Professor Snape, or Lord Voldemort for that matter would let Hermione Granger into Hogwarts again.

If they didn't think that she would devise some cock-and-bull plan to bring down everything that his family had sacrificed for, then they were outright fools. The whole lot of them, even the Dark Lord himself.

He paced around the Slytherin common room, his footsteps making patterns on the rich, green and silver carpet below him. Dim, green light filtered in from the ceiling, casting shimmering light around the space. Awards given to Slytherin house were placed around the room, some on top of drawers, some on their own pedestals, each reflecting the light that shone on their polished surfaces. Dark leather sofas were arranged around a large, square coffee-table, which was currently filled with newspaper clippings and notes. The familiar surroundings usually helped calm the blond's nerves, but right now, it did nothing to quell his frantic and hectic emotional state.

"Draco, stop pacing or you'll rub holes in the carpet," said Blaise Zabini, his voice drifting up from where he was currently sitting on the floor, back pressed against the bottom of an armchair. His white teeth gleamed in the relatively dim light, a sharp contrast to his caramel colored skin. He had taken off his school robes, wearing instead a simple white t-shirt and his favorite pair of plaid dark blue boxers. A few girls sitting across the room giggled and looked at him shyly, and he shot them a small wink and a smile.

"Blaise, stop flirting and listen to what I'm fucking saying!" yelled the immensely irritated Draco, who was damn well close to ripping all his hair out. Blaise quirked up a single eyebrow at him, but nonetheless turned his body toward him, indicating that he was listening. "Granger's planning something, I know it. She and Longbottom have got something up their sleeve, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

A disinterested sigh came from another person, mirroring Blaise's position on the floor. He, instead, was still wearing his Hogwarts uniform, minus the black wizards robe. The first button of his white shirt was undone, his tie hanging loose around his neck, giving him more of a relaxed look, though he still looked pristine. "Draco, don't get into a hissy fit and try to corner Granger every time you see her. Half of us already think you've got quite a fancy for her," he smirked, looking at Draco Malfoy with piercing grey eyes.

The blond let out a strangled cry, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. "I most certainly do NOT have a crush on Granger," he gritted out through his teeth. "And if I were you, Theo, I would be helping me find out just what they're up to."

This time, Theodore Nott stopped joking around. He stared at Draco expressionless, once again climbing back into the uninterested persona that he usually portrayed. "Draco, if you're trying to say that my family name does not hold any more respect, then I'm sorry to say that you're woefully incorrect. I, unlike you, do not have to fear the Dark Lord," he said mechanically, staring at a blank patch of wall across from him.

Draco grew more incensed at Theodore Nott. The two of them were either the best of friends or the greatest of enemies, and it seemed like they were heading toward a rough patch. In more ways than one, he and Theo were similar in their situations, but at the same time, they were also hopelessly different from one another. It was often their deep rooted resentment for their respective situations that caused them to become allies, but it was also their respective situations that set them apart from each other. Both of their pasts were complicated, something that Theo, more so than Draco, was not so keen to discuss.

A heavy silence fell between the three friends. Even Blaise, who often ignored the periods of rough tension between Draco and Theo, knew that this was a different type of tension. Sure, they argued about pretty miniscule things like homework, but if the conversation ever got to their family or their status in the pure-blood hierarchy, the two were as volatile as hippogriffs when insulted. Draco was staring daggers at Theo, his grey eyes boring into Theo's equally grey ones. Theo's posture and face portrayed relative calm, his face expressionless, but Blaise knew better: Theo's fists were clenched with the effort it took him to not strike out at Draco.

Theo stood up abruptly. "I'm going to bed," he said, his tone still devoid of any emotion. He nodded his head at Blaise, and gave Draco one last piercing look before striding up the steps of the Slytherin common room into the boys dormitories.

Draco waited until he was out of earshot, when he banged his fist on the table in front of him, frightening a couple of first years in the process. "I swear, Theo is such a fucking prick. What the fuck is his problem? 'I, unlike you, do not have to fear the Dark Lord,'" mocked Draco, quoting Theo. "The fuck was that supposed to mean?"

Blaise knew better than to respond. Instead, he made a noncommittal grunt, averting his eyes from the blonde standing in front of him. He nervously scratched his shoulder, unsure of what exactly Draco wanted.

-

Theodore Nott twisted and turned in his bed, falling victim once again to the nightmares that had plagued him since he was eight years old. Flashes of green light, a loud, draining scream that seemed to suck the very happiness out of the air, a desperate plea for help, and then a deafening silence pressing in on his eardrums that seemed to stretch for eternity.

His eyes flew open, his body sat bolt upright on its own accord. He cursed softly. The dreams were becoming more common ever since the start of the school term, making almost nightly appearances. To his dismay, he found himself covered in cold sweat. He pushed away the heavy blanket and swung his legs over his bed to carefully and silently walk to the washroom. He passed one of two windows in the room, and stared out to look at the starry, inky black sky. Clouds were creeping over the still dark horizon, a foreboding sign of a big storm to come. Before his eyes, a flash of lightning illuminated the dark sky for a split second.

He shuffled his way to the washroom, lighting the two lamps that provided just enough light to dimly illuminate his surroundings. He stared back at his reflection in the mirror. The reoccuring nightmares had taken a toll on his physical health- he had deep black circles under his eyes, and he looked paler than usual. His eyes flicked over to the clock on the other side of the wall, noting that it was 2:16 in the early morning. He took a quick cold shower, washing away the sweat.

When he walked out of the bathroom, he nearly tripped over the figure of Draco Malfoy sitting near the entrance. "Fuck, Draco," Theo muttered, toweling dry his hair as he sat down next to the blonde. Both of the two boys didn't speak for a long time, only the occasional rumble of distant thunder filling the silence that hung between the two Slytherins.

Draco was the first to break the silence. He spoke without looking at Theo, his eyes still fixed on the window. "Why won't you help me?" His voice was strained, confused, angry ... frustrated. Despite the obvious tension that he and Theo usually had, they would always eventually see eye to eye with each other. He should know how important restoring his family's honor was to Draco, how much he needed to improve his family's position in the pureblood ranks to ensure their eventual safety from the wrath of the Dark Lord.

What left Draco baffled and more than a little resentful was how Theo always refused to help him whenever he brought up the Golden Trio.

"Well?" asked Draco, his voice raising a little louder than it normally would have been.

Theo stared at a blank space on the wall before answering him. "Everyone has their secrets, Draco," he said quietly, before turning his face to the blonde, staring him straight in the eye. "Let Granger keep hers."

Theo continued to look at Draco, looking for a sign that he understood. Draco's eyes widened a bit, his pupils dilating as he finally took in what Theo was saying.

"You understand?" asked Theo, still staring at Draco.

The blonde looked away, avoiding Theo's eyes because he knew Theo would see right through his lies. "Yeah," he said softly, "yeah, I understand."

But as Theo and Draco both crawled back under the covers of their bed, Draco looked at the blank ceiling above, his hands occasionally fisting the material that covered his body. His teeth clenched as he held the urge to yell and scream, to punch and kick. It was not unnatural for him to become volatile, angry, but this tantrum was different. It wasn't the blind rage that he usually experienced, the kind that seems to permeate through every single fiber of your being.

No, this was very different. It was rage mixed with sadness, an emptiness that seemed to have opened up in the middle of his gut. He tried to push the feeling out, tried to fill that void with something else, but it refused to go away. It gnawed at him, taunted him. He was incensed at Theo. He understood where he was coming from, understood why exactly he wouldn't help him. His past still haunted him, evident today when he saw Theo awake from his nightmare. There was something that stopped Theo, held him back from doing things that Draco would have done. It gave Theo control. It gave him the ability to relate to others, an understanding, almost an unspoken promise between him and others that Draco lacked.

Yes, Draco lacked the sympathy that Theo held for others.

It was precisely for that reason that Draco could not forgive Theo. Because even though he understood what Theo meant, why he couldn't help him, it meant that Draco was utterly alone. Theo was his companion, the person that always kept him grounded. And with Theo gone, who was Draco to turn to other than himself, his own worst enemy? Draco mourned silently to himself, a dull aching still present.

Unbeknownst to Draco, Theo was going through the same thing. He heard Draco's deep intakes of breath, heard him trying to calm himself down. Their relationship with each other was so strong that it seemed as if they could feel what each other was feeling. He knew that Draco wouldn't forgive him for his decision, and if Theo was going to be honest with himself, he didn't know why he was pushing away Draco. He didn't know why Granger provoked something in him like a lost memory, a constant tugging in the back of his mind, beckoning him in.

Theo almost pitied the Granger girl. When he saw her in the Great Hall the previous night, he did not see a strong woman that could weather any storm that threw itself at her. No, that was what Granger tried to portray herself as, and it seemed to work on the vast majority of students ... except Theo. He saw a broken woman, protecting herself in the only way she knew how. He saw a girl still uncertain of what the future held, but willing herself to push forward because it was the only thing she thought she could do.

Theo wasn't saying that Granger was weak; there was no possible way that Granger could be described as weak. But Granger had a complicated past, a traumatic event or events that Theo thought might have affected her more than she let on. There was no doubt that she held a secret, and she most certainly did not want anyone to discover it.

And Theo sympathized with her.

Maybe it was his past, his experiences that enabled Theo to read people so easily, or at least better than other people. Because Theo was like Granger in a way, in that they both had such complicated pasts or experiences that severely altered who they were. The difference between who they would have been had the events not happened, and the person they were now was astounding.

Of course, Theo had never talked to Granger; these were just the thoughts that seemed to drift through his mind as he glazed blankly at the ceiling above him.

He didn't know when it happened, but as the time stretched into the early morning hours, he closed his eyes, and allowed himself to be soothed by the blank darkness that enveloped his mind.

-

The Great Hall bustled with noise, as students piled in for breakfast. Hermione ambled her way into the Great Hall, stretching and yawning, oblivious to the stares she was receiving. Whispers and hisses broke out as the passed the Slytherin table, some jeering and gesturing rudely at her. She paid them no heed, and as a result, she didn't notice a certain Slytherin looking at her with something remarkably like interest, while another one looked at her with something bordering disgust.

She sat herself down at the Gryffindor table, grabbing a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages. Her friends were still sleeping, since they had first period free. She ate her breakfast in silence, distancing herself from the other Gryffindors. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate their company, she really did, but she had a lot on her mind and rather fancied to have the morning to herself to think.

Ever since Neville, Ginny, Dean, and Seamus and told her about their absolutely ridiculous plan, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She felt apprehensive, unsure how she was going to approach Nott. She supposed that she could utter a simple hello, maybe strike up a conversation, but knowing Nott's history and blood status, she doubted that such an advance would be welcome.

BOOM.

A bright flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room, which was previously dimly lit by thousands of flickering candles. Several people jumped in their seats, the clatter of knives falling to the floor ringing around the vast hall for a moment. The bewitched ceiling was filled with ominous dark grey clouds, an almost purple sheen about them. It was unnerving, one of the largest and most violent storms that had rolled through this part of Britain. Another flash of lightning, another rumble of thunder.

Hermione looked at her schedule again, noting wryly that she had Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology today, both outdoor subjects. She glanced morosely at the ceiling again, as she speared another piece of sausage with her fork. But at that moment, Headmaster Snape stood up, his face twisted into an unpleasant sneer. (Then again, when was his face ever not in some expression of disgruntlement?) Next to him, Professor McGonagall was looking up at him expectantly, with the same withering look she reserved for students, her eyes peering at Snape over her spectacles.

Snape cleared his throat as he slowly turned to face the students. Everyone stopped their talking and looked at him, their eyes wide in surprise. The headmaster cleared his throat once more, before opening his mouth to speak. His dull, monotonous, nasally voice filled the room. "All outdoor classes are cancelled for today. Please," he said, his eyes lingering on a few select students, "please do not linger in the hallways. Every student should return to their dormitories or common rooms if their class has been cancelled."

His eyes roamed around the hall, finally resting on Hermione. "Anyone found outside in the hallways doing any suspicious activity will be punished."

No one dared clap or cheer, something they usually would have done had Dumbledore still been Headmaster ... had Dumbledore still been alive. And so the day passed by relatively slowly, nothing extraordinary happening. Hermione soon found herself in double History of Magic with the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but Professor Binns (who still continued to teach like there wasn't a war going on) had placed Hermione at the front of the room. She could not, unfortunately, turn around and observe the Slytherins. She didn't even know if Theodore Nott was going to be in any of her classes, if he had even signed up for the same classes she had. Well, then again, she had only one full day of school, almost two after the day was finished.

And so she entered double Potions with a mixture of apprehensiveness and dread, feeling completely unprepared for what might await her.

She was so nervous, in fact, she didn't notice that she was late for her Potions class until she walked into the dungeon, seeing only a few backs turned to her. A bemused voice spoke from the front of the room, and her head snapped up in response. "Ah, Miss Granger!" said Professor Slughorn jovially, beaming at Hermione, "I presume you have all your potions books?"

"Yes, Professor," said Hermione, gesturing to her bag.

"Excellent, excellent," replied Slughorn, beaming once more. "Now, you can go take a seat right behind Mr. Nott there, yes, right there," he said, pointing at an empty seat.

Hermione shuffled her way to the seat and sat down quietly, never once taking her eyes off the back of Theodore Nott. She still hadn't seen his face yet, but from what she could tell from the back, he was tall, maybe around 6'3". He had brown hair, tussled hair, but they were expertly swept to one side. The muscles of his back seemed to stretch his school uniform, and Hermione could see the contours of his body.

Okay, Hermione admitted it. She was intrigued, but intimidated at the same time.

After a few minutes of observing (or eyeballing) Theodore Nott's somewhat (okay extremely) attractive back, Hermione let her eyes wander around the classroom. It was a small class, with only four Gryffindors (not including herself), two Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and three Slytherins (Malfoy, Zabini, and Nott). She glared at the back of Malfoy, recognizing him instantly by his platinum blonde hair.

Professor Slughorn's voice brought her out of her thoughts. "Can someone tell me what a Restorative Potion is?"

Almost as if it was an automatic reflex, Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"A Restorative Potion is the only antidote to the Draught of Living Death. It's extremely hard to make because every ingredient has to be measured to its precise amount. A single gram too heavy and it'll render the potion completely useless. It is also considered a difficult potion to make simply because of how rare its ingredients are, for example, the liver of a Snockleburk, a water-dwelling creature found only on the remote coasts of Novascotia."

In front of her, Theodore Nott couldn't help but smirk. Blaise looked at him inquisitively but Theo ignored him.

"Excellent, Ms. Granger! Take ten points for Gryffindor!" Professor Slughorn turned back to the rest of the class. "As Miss Granger has just wonderfully explained, the Restorative Potion is the only known antidote to the Draught of Living Death. It's extremely hard to make, and the N.E.W.T. level examinations will most definitely ask you questions about the process. Therefore, today, we will be making the Restorative Potion. Please pair up with your partner, and get started."

With a flick of his wand, the blackboard at the front of the room filled with instructions and the lists of ingredients needed for the potion.

Hermione, feeling silly, raised her hand. Professor Slughorn bustled over, and smiled kindly down at her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't ... I don't really have a partner."

"That's no problem!" boomed Professor Slughorn genially. "You can be Mr. Nott's partner from now on."

Quietly, hesitantly, Hermione grabbed her books and her bag and sat down next to Theodore Nott. She carefully arranged them in an orderly fashion before finally looking at the person sitting next to her. She found stormy grey eyes looking at her, with the same type of piercing stare that Dumbledore usually gave his students. His forehead was slightly furrowed, a tiny crease in between his eyebrows. He didn't look at her fully; rather, he was looking at her sideways, almost like he was carefully observing her.

Hermione felt herself flush and she bit her lip out of habit. Theodore Nott looked at the girl with unabashed curiosity. She had big, chocolate brown eyes, her long eyelashes sweeping with every blink she took. Her cheeks were slightly red, her lips pink from her constant gnawing. He saw her fists clench now and then. She looked ... shy. Unsure. But what she was unsure about, he didn't know.

Try as hard as he might, though, there was a little part of him, a small crying voice in the back of his mind, that yearned to learn more about her, to discover her secrets.

Of course, that would've been hypocritical of Theo, since he kept on telling off Draco for exactly the same thing.

Hermione watched the boy that was looking at her, and finally took in the whole of his face (not only his eyes). His tussled brown hair, his perfectly straight nose, the defined dark brown eyebrows, his full lips, all blended together to form one undoubtedly good looking teenager. At the same time, she also noticed the dark purple circles under her eyes, and found herself wondering to herself what could be costing the teenager his sleep. She willed herself to speak, to get on with the plan that Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Ginny had so brilliantly thought up.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger," she said confidently, holding out her hand.

Theodore Nott continued to look at her, but this time, his expression changed to a dull, uninterested mask. He was secretly surprised at how strong Granger's voice was, how there was no trace of a quiver at all in her tone. It was confident and challenging at the same time. She was ... more complicated than he had anticipated. But there were more pressing matters at hand. He looked at her outstretched arm, before turning back to look at the ingredients on the table. "Theodore Nott," he said carelessly, not bothering to stare at her anymore.

Slowly, Hermione pulled back her hand. It was obvious he wasn't going to shake it. She didn't like him already. His voice was deep, smooth, reverberating, powerful yet soft, but emotionless, like a robot. It wasn't monotonous, just empty of any feeling. It wasn't even politely disinterested. It was just ... nothing. She turned away from him, mimicking his position, the tension between them palpable.

"Let's prepare the ingredients first," she said wryly, distaste coloring her tone. "Mmm," came his response, and Hermione took it as a sign of approval.

Hermione peered at him from the corner of her eyes while they set on working together quietly, never once speaking to each other. She was taken aback at what she saw. When Theodore Nott worked, he wasn't the same uninterested person that he put himself out to be. His grey eyes shone brightly, the same light Hermione was sure was present whenever she was working. It was the thrill of learning, of doing something new, a temporary drink to quell the insatiable thirst for knowledge. His hands, his long fingers, worked delicately, touched the potions ingredients with a sort of care that Hermione wouldn't have believed possible. The cuts he administered to the root of the martle plant were so precise, so careful, that the pieces were almost, if not exactly, the same.

These were the signs of a potions master; and even more, the signs of a scholar.

She started to feel a grudging admiration for Theodore Nott. No matter how rude he was, Hermione saw the talent and potential that Theodore Nott possessed. "Ready?" she asked as Nott finished his last cut. He looked up, momentarily taken off guard by her question. It was the first glimpse Hermione had of the real Theodore Nott. He forgot to put on his mask, and instead, she saw real emotion. His eyes still shone, eyebrows were arched up high, and a single stray lock of his short hair hung out of place.

He recovered quickly, much to Hermione's dismay. "Yeah," he said quietly, before he took Hermione's ingredients and slowly started to add them to the bubbling potion in front of them. It hissed menacingly as the gizzard of a Norwegian blue-snout disappeared into its frothing depths. Hermione stirred slowly, letting the ingredients mix together evenly and thoroughly.

Suddenly, a very familiar voice hissed from behind her and she whirled around. Draco Malfoy stood behind her, an ugly sneer on his face. "Better be careful, Mudblood," he said acidly. "Where are Potter and Weasley? Couldn't stand your obnoxious attitude anymore? Go live with your filthy muggle parents, Granger. Nobody wants you back."

"Don't!" she yelled shrilly. "Don't talk about my parents!"

He smirked, his cold eyes boring into Hermione's flashing brown ones. "I feel bad for you, Theo," he said, turning to look at the brown-haired teenager. "I would sooner die than work with her."

"Than do that!" yelled Hermione angrily.

"Fuck you, Granger," Draco hissed into her ear, before he returned back to his own table.

Hermione was so furious, she started to stir the potion with much more vigor than she intended to. She mumbled under her breath, silently cursing the sick, obnoxious, egotistical blonde. She wasn't even paying attention to the potion anymore, and as a result, she accidentally got a significant amount of potion onto Theodore Nott's impeccably clean school uniform.

In an almost comical way, Theodore Nott stared down at his ruined shirt, then looked at Hermione. She was horror-struck, one hand covering her mouth as the other gripped the ladle she was using tightly. "I'm so sorry!" she squeaked out, staring at the spot on his shirt and his potion covered hands.

He grabbed a nearby towel that was always there in case of spills, and hurriedly wiped his hands clean. Hermione stared on with horror as it revealed red, raw skin beneath. The potion had burned his skin, leaving angry blotches along his arm.

"I'm so sorry!" she said again, hurrying to wipe his shirt for him. He grabbed her hand, and for a moment, Hermione went still, the warmth of his hand spreading through her arm and into her body. She was struck by the softness of his hands, how warm they were, before she shook herself awake.

"Granger, it's okay," he said, before taking out his wand and pointing it at his shirt. "Scourgify," he said, and the stain on his shirt disappeared.

"But your arm!" whispered Hermione.

"I'll go to Madam Pomfrey," said Theodore, about to get up.

"Wait!" Hermione said suddenly. She grabbed her bag from the floor and hoisted it onto her lap, emptying some of its contents onto the table. She stuck her arm into it, searching for something, when she finally found it. She pulled out her bottle of dittany, before carefully holding his arm. She said another "I'm so sorry" when she saw him wince. She carefully let two drops of the dittany drip onto his arm, and watched with her breath held in her chest as the skin carefully healed itself.

"Thanks," he said, staring at Hermione's still bowed head.

"I'm really really sorry!" she repeated again, lifting her head to look at him.

"Granger, really, it's okay," he said earnestly. "I'm fine."

Hermione bit her lip again before realizing she was still holding his hand. She hastily let that go before awkwardly turning back to the potion. Theodore Nott stared at her for a moment before turning back to the potion again, his mind going a mile a minute. They worked in silence, both not speaking to each other. Professor Slughorn stopped all of the students' work an hour later, and came around bottling the contents of their cauldrons to store for the next potions class when they would continue their work.

Hermione was packing her bags when Theodore Nott spoke to her. "You know, you should just ignore Draco."

She looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"Just ignore Draco. He's just upset." He gave her one of his piercing stares, his grey eyes looking into her brown eyes. "Don't let it get to you," he said softly, before he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of class.

Hermione stared at his retreating figure, utterly dumbfounded at the Theodore Nott's behavior. She picked up the rest of her stuff, and walked slowly out of the room, his departing words still repeating themselves in her head.

Thanks for reading; reviews are always appreciated!