Digging into her scrambled eggs and tomatoes, Hermione buried her nose in her Potions book as she crammed for a test that day. She'd gotten up early to cope with the responsibilities heaped on her that day. Ron needed help studying for a quiz on herbs, she needed to pass the exam with Snape, and Harry needed help with the Third and final Task. For that, Hermione had checked out a number of immense, leather-bound volumes on mythical creatures, all of which sat on the hall bench next to her. Across the table, Harry finished his last-minute Divination homework while Ron attempted to clumsily levitate one of his sausage links. Today would be a busy day.

"Good morning, Granger," a cheerful voice chimed in to Hermione's thoughts – she looked up to see a bubbly Pansy Parkinson.

"Uh - hello, Pansy," Hermione stuttered.

"You look unusually decent today," Ron murmured to the standing girl through a mouthful of sautéed potatoes.

Ignoring Ron, the Slytherin extended a copy of Witch Weekly to Hermione and flashed a sour-milk smile. Reluctantly, Hermione took the paper. "Brought you something. You made front page! Thought you might like to share it with Weasley and your little – erm – boyfriend."

"Wait – what? Boyfriend? Pansy, I - "

Before Hermione could finish her statement, Parkinson had skipped off to the Slytherin table. Granger unfolded the paper to see an unflattering picture of herself and Harry caught in what appeared to be an amorous embrace when it was really a hug she gave him before the First Task. An article written by Rita Skeeter followed, including details of how Hermione was toying with Harry and Krum's emotions and making illegal love potions. As Ron and Harry leaned over to read the snippet, Hermione looked over to the Slytherin table. Pansy sat next to Malfoy, giggling into her pumpkin juice. Draco himself held an identical copy of Witch Weekly, and he made eye contact with Hermione, giving her a raised eyebrow and an embarrassed smile saying "Sorry" and "I know" consecutively.

"Where does Skeeter get all this from?" Hermione huffed, exasperated. "Harry, you're just my friend! You're like a big brother to me."

Giving an equally-exasperated exhale, Harry took the newspaper up with fingers smudged with bacon grease and tucked it into his robes so no other prying Gryffindor eyes could see it. "Don't worry about it. It's just that Skeeter bat coming up with some stories to make you look bad."

"But how did she find out about the potions and whatnot?" Hermione grumped. "Sounds awfully suspicious to me."

"No matter what articles are out, we're not going to let that ruin our day," Ron harrumphed, stashing a few bread rolls into his sleeves for later eating. "Come on. Off to Potions. It's not like Snape will be interested in that jumble."

Nodding in affirmation, Harry looked at Hermione and led her off to their classroom. Nothing could phase them, just like Ron said.


How wrong Ron was.

"Granger Gallivants Off With Golden-Boy Potter and Gorgeous Krum in a Galling Love-Game," Snape read the front page news title in his eternally unenthused voice before Hermione's entire Potions class. Jeanie LaLane had been reading the paper when the professor snatched it up. He would've stashed the paper away with the other confiscated items on his desk if he'd not seen Harry and Hermione's amorous embrace on the front.

From across the room, Harry's eyes danced with a green fire as they lit upon LaLane. "I'm sorry you had to read that, Professor." He knew of Hermione's insecurity of the matter, and Granger herself nearly spilled her inkwell as she set up her note-taking supplies for the class, she was shaking so badly.

Snape nodded, cocking an inky brow and folding up the paper. "Miss Skeeter's abysmal alliteration strikes again, it seems. But that should not interrupt our class, should it, Miss LaLane?" The air-headed Hufflepuff wore a look of no regrets and a smile to cut steel. "Perhaps you should lay low for a bit, as far as your house is concerned. Twenty points from Hufflepuff for that little disruption. And as far as my class is concerned, some Potions materials have been stolen from my closet. Mr. Potter, if I could see you after class. Now let us continue."

Hermione huffed on and buried her face so deep in notes the class became a blur. When the bell rang, students filed out and she gathered her things, watching as Snape approached Harry's desk.

"A bit of boomslang skin and gillyweed…now what purpose could that serve you, Mr. Potter?" the Slytherin rasped, cocking his head in a reptilian fashion. "I am pleased to see you actually joined us today in class instead of running off with Weasley. Maybe you could actually learn how to put some of my stolen Potions supplies to use!"

"I didn't steal anything," Harry snapped back.

"You held your breath for a long time under the lake without the help of my gillyweed then, didn't you?"

"Leave him be," Hermione snarled, marching over to Harry's side and meeting Snape's onyx-black eyes. "Why do you automatically accuse Harry of stealing things?"

"Because he and his family have quite the reputation," Snape continued. "Perhaps a little Veritaserum could shake things loose in his memory. Watch your morning pumpkin juice, Potter."

"You are not to put anything in my friend's drinks," Hermione cut in curtly. "I will be sure of that. Come on, Harry." Taking her friend by the arm, Hermione led Harry to the door.

"I hope you'll be happy with those fifty points missing from Gryffindor," Snape called after them. "It would be best for you to tell me…while you still have the chance!"

As they filed out of the room, Hermione rammed her shoulder accidentally into a large man. Looking up, she saw the mountain of a man, Karkaroff, with his scraggly beard and his massive fur hat. He grunted and pushed past Hermione and Harry into Snape's room, shutting the door behind him – Hermione noticed the huge man smelled like deer musk and forest and all other burly, manly things. It closed with a steely bang.

"Merlin, Snape's in a sour mood today, "Harry snorted, brushing off his robes. "Thanks for sticking up for me, 'Mione."

"Don't worry…Snape's been more stressed than usual, with just what I'm not quite sure," Hermione answered. Turning the corner, they met Ron in the hallway, his hair a shock of orange. He was munching on some leftover rolls from breakfast. The boys stood on either side of Hermione as they walked.

"Guys, yesterday I got a message from you-know-who to meet him," Harry stated, lowering his voice so only his friends could hear him. "I think now would be a good time for a trip down to Hogsmeade."

"I agree," Ron chimed in, chewing a mouthful of bread. "How's about we go to The Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer or something of the like?"

Remembering Hogsmeade brought Hermione thoughts of her trip with Malfoy there, where she buried herself in books before meeting him in Spintwitches. Comfortable warmth surrounded the edges of her mind as she recalled him carrying her books for her back to the carriage. Granger sighed contentedly.

"Earth to 'Mione?" Harry whispered. "You still there?"

"Oh – well, yes." Hermione brushed off her blouse and hugged her books closer. "Sorry, I must've zoned out for a second. Yes, let's go down to Hogsmeade. Let's sort out this business with Crouch once and for all."


Despite her promising proposal, Hermione could still not even focus in Hogsmeade. Draco had been gone all day from school, and it made her worry.

Sirius had met them on the outskirts of the forest beside Hogsmeade. A thin blanket of snow covered the ground, and the trio sat on a log while the ragged man discussed things with them. They'd been over Winky the house-elf and the World Cup, and all Hermione could do was take notes without really listening to what Sirius was saying. All this gossip surrounding the Triwizard Tournament, all the danger Harry was going through, all this confusion with Crouch and the Dark Mark scared and confused her. Memories of Draco beckoned to her like old friends.

"Hey, do you guys remember when we found Crouch in Snape's office?" Ron brought up. "If that doesn't sound suspicious, I don't know what is. Snape's a slimy old serpent."

This peaked Hermione's attention. "I agree Professor Snape may be – stern, once in a while, but Ron, I believe he's reliable."

"'Mione, are you mad?" Harry gaped. "Don't you remember just half an hour ago he was threatening to pour truth potion in my pumpkin juice?"

"He's bonkers!" Ron exclaimed.

"Just because he took some of your candy around Christmastime doesn't mean he's a bad man," Hermione snapped. "And Harry, why would Dumbledore make someone a teacher when they're someone he doesn't fully trust? You know Headmaster's top priority is you. Dumbledore wouldn't be that stupid."

"Hey, hey, whoa! Both of you!" Sirius barked, settling them – Hermione returned to her wits. Sirius' fine black hair fell into his face as he spoke. "I knew Snape as a boy. Though he's a pitiable fellow, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. He's got that Slytherin ambition. Snape lives for Snape."

"See, told you," Ron murmured, giving Hermione a glance out of the corner of his eye as he sat back to chew on a licorice stick from Honeyduke's. A fire burned deep inside Hermione's belly, and she rolled her eyes. Ass.

"Still, a lot is open to the future. I need to go soon – before the evening sets in," Sirius warned them, standing up and pulling his torn old jacket around him. "You three take care. Do not wander outside of Hogwarts, no matter what you do. Harry, be safe at the Tournament." Sirius gave his nephew a big hug. "Ron…you just be careful in general. Hermione…" A smile twitched at his lips. "You keep those two in check. And keep me posted."

"Got it," Hermione grinned. "Oh, and Sirius…I brought you something." Passing him a little bundle inside a napkin, she blushed. Granger knew Sirius Black's weakness for table scraps, so she'd saved him last night's dinner leftovers.

"Oh, Merlin…ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs…black pudding…some boiled eggs…oh, fresh-baked bread!" Sirius looked as happy as a dog could be.

"With strawberries to boot," Hermione smiled, holding out another napkin full of ripe-red strawberries from breakfast.

Blithely, Sirius wrapped them in the larger bundle with the leftovers and took Hermione's shoulder. "You're a saint, little one. Thank you. You keep this old hound happy." The convict enfolded Granger in his arms for a tight hug, and she beamed into his chest. Sirius always gave the best hugs…and he smelled like wet dog, but Hermione loved the smell. It smelled, to her, like home.

Drawing back at last, Sirius rustled Harry and Ron's hair before kissing Hermione on the forehead. "Be careful, kids. If you need me, you know where I'll be." Quick as a pinch, Sirius morphed into a muscle-lean shaggy hound. Wagging his tail, the dog picked up the bundle between his jaws, nodded at the trio, and bounded off into the woods. Hermione wished him well in her mind and nodded to the boys.

Together, the Golden Trio made their way back to Hogwarts just before supper.


Staring out the window as the bleak landscape rolled by, Draco cracked his neck and rubbed his sweaty palms onto his pants. No matter how many times he tried to straighten his tie, it was never enough. The emerald-green silk always swayed a degree out of place. Father would never approve of that.

Every month Draco had to visit his father and mother out in Malfoy Manor, in the far reaches of Wiltshire, England. Dumbledore tolerated these monthly visits outside of Hogwarts, though he did not like them, and Draco was assured by his mother this trip only needed two days.

"We're here, young master," said the chauffeur, a shriveled old man by the name of Blackwell. Draco had known Blackwell since he'd been born, and the old man still lived, to his amazement, gnarled as an old tree and still driving the Malfoy's car. Breathing slowly, Draco rolled down his window.

The luxury car crunched down the hedge-lined gravel driveway up to the iron gate. Malfoy whispered the magical words, and then Blackwell drove forward, going straight through the bars as if they were made of fog. As they rolled by, Draco noticed Father's albino peacocks strutting along the tops of the prickly hedges, all prim and lovely with snowy-white plumage bright against the grey skies.

At the end of the long driveway, Malfoy Manor emerged from the darkness, studded with diamond-paned windows from which the only illumination came. Gardens lined the perimeter of the manor house, blossoming with thorny white roses and other beautiful-but-sinister blooms – in the back of the manor stood a lovely fountain, Draco knew, which was a silver statue of a lovely naked pure-blood maiden shooting water out of the tip of her wand to quench the thirst of a parched doe.

Further along the grounds lay a stable where Lucius Malfoy kept his horses – when a guest of high-blood came to dine at their house, Lucius often offered them a ride out on the moor. Draco's father had a way of riding the horses ragged, so much so that once the young groom, Wyll, was ordered to put a mare down because Lucius had whipped her so hard she nearly bled to death. After the mare passed, Draco ordered the orphaned young filly to be taken care of specially for him. He practically adopted the white, gangly-legged thing as his own, naming her Ninim, stabling her next to his own young-blood black Osto. Ninim possessed Arabian blood in her, apparent in her slender build and flowing silver tail, while his own Osto was a huge destrier, with clomping hooves and thick body. Draco wondered how the two had been since his last visit.

Stepping out of the car and nodding to the solemn-looking Blackwell, Draco took his single luggage bag inside the manor with him. Massive front doors opened before him by some magical force, and Draco entered the long hallway, which was dimly lit but sumptuously decorated. He followed the childhood-familiar halls until he entered the drawing room with hands practically dripping with a nervous sweat. Varnish gleamed off the mahogany floorboards. The centerpiece of the drawing room was a marble mantelpiece with a gilded mirror, an intricately scrolled frame on top. Dark purple walls reminded Draco of a rotting heart, especially where they peeled a bit in the corners, revealing the black wallpaper of a previous generation. The Malfoys lived inside a rotting heart.

In a luxurious velvet armchair sat Narcissa Malfoy herself, her face gaunt and hauntingly-beautiful as ever. "Oh Draco, my darling!" she exclaimed, standing and striding the room over to her son, enfolding him in loving arms. Relieved to see his mother at last, Draco hugged her. Narcissa had always been open to whatever Draco had to say to her, and she always comforted him in any situation. As he embraced her, Draco noticed she smelled of her familiar scent: cardamom, absinthe, and sandalwood.

"Hello, Mother," Draco grinned, holding her at arm's length. "How have you been?"

"I've been…well, I've been alright, Draco." Narcissa Malfoy managed a weak smile. "How about you?"

"Alright as well," Draco replied, giving a stronger smile to please his mother. "Things have been well in Hogwarts. I've been learning much. I'm one of the strongest duelers in my class!"

"Excellent! That is well!" Narcissa smiled, sitting down in her chair again and pouring herself a half-glass of spiced wine. "And how are your friends?" For some reason, Draco's parents always assumed he held a high position in the social pool of Hogwarts due to his pureblood status. Draco knew from first-hand experience pure blood won him cronies, but never too many friends.

"My friends are well," he lied. "Crabbe and Goyle have been very busy with me lately. You should see how many buttons we've sold since all the Slytherins are against this Potter in the Triwizard Tournament nonsense!" Draco conveniently left out the part about all the other houses hating him and calling him The Ferret.

This made his mother laugh through her mauve-colored lips. "Oh, my boy! You were born to be successful. I know you will never prove that wrong, Draco."

Draco wished to sit but refrained – he did not wish to crease his well-pressed pants. "Is – is Father going to be here today?" Anxiousness seeped into his voice.

Narcissa's eyes skirled away from her son's. "Lucius has been called off for a while on business. He will not be able to see you these two days, my son."

As he hasn't been able to see me all those two days in the past, Draco thought darkly. A scrap of his white-blonde hair fell across his face, which he brushed away hastily as his thoughts. Though he was disappointed at not seeing his father, Draco was relieved he did not have to put on his false-front before the imposing Lucius Malfoy. "It's fine, Mother," he grated, but she no doubt could sense the strain of the steel in his voice.

"Dinner will be ready in two hours," she declared cheerfully with a tremulous smile, diverting him from the topic at hand. "You can make yourself comfortable up in your room. I know Wyll would certainly like a visit from you."

Nodding, Draco took his bags upstairs, thanking her as he put his things away in his room and dressed into more casual clothes to check on the horses. Once he'd donned a comfortable outfit, Malfoy went quickly down the stairs and out the back door. His feet plodded through the grass of the moor as he made his way to the stables through a light drizzle. Water pocked his smooth face with gentle kisses.

Entering the Malfoy stables, Draco's grey eyes found Wyll, the groom. Wyll was Draco's age, and he'd grown a few inches since Draco had seen him. The stablehand had stuffed his shock of thick brown curls beneath his work cap, but when he saw Draco with green-grey speckled eyes set deep in his wind-burnt face, Wyll snatched off his cap instantly. "W-Welcome back, young sir!" Wyll smiled. He always had the best of manners. Draco considered Wyll to be one of his closest friends.

"Good to see you, Wyll," Malfoy laughed, clapping the groom on the back, wiping away any trace of his pain before. "Thought we might go for a ride before supper. What do you say?"

"Right away, young sir!" Wyll answered, grabbing Osto's saddle and the rest of his tack before entering the stallion's stall. While the groom saddled his horse, Draco wandered over to Ninim's stall, seeing her moon-colored form shift behind the bars. Soon a large dark-brown eye looked at him, and her nose bobbed through the bars, eager. Grabbing an apple from Wyll's stash in the corner, Draco fed it to the excited Ninim. He chuckled, delighted at the feeling of her velvet nose tickling the palm of his hand as she crunched away. "Good girl, good girl. You're a pretty girl, aren't you, Ninim?" In response, the snow-white mare nickered softly, with a bit of steel in her tone identical to someone Draco knew well. The Granger girl.

Draco was on his way to talk to Wyll when he heard the howl, a long rising wail that moved over the moor like an icy wind. Instantly, Malfoy knew it was his father's dogs, wolfhounds, the both of them. Named Skoll and Warg, the brother dogs were big and scruffy as direwolves, and they were often mistaken by guests as werewolves in their worst form. Hiram, the old kennelmaster, took them out for hunts often to satisfy their lust for blood. Those dogs always scared Draco deep in his heart. He dreamt of how deep at night they would lope into his room, black as shadows to tear his throat out.

Envisioning Skoll and Warg closing in on a rabbit or fox at that very moment sent shivers down Malfoy's spine. Turning to Wyll, who held lovely Ninim's reins, Draco gave him a small grin.

"Shall we ride, young sir?" asked the groom.

Mounting Osto in one swift leg-up, Draco sat atop his ink-black destrier. In response, Draco cracked the reins and dug his heels into Osto's sides, riding him out onto the grassy moor.


Thank you for reading, darlings! Please post a review to tell me what you think. :)