Sorry it's been so long, I'm grateful to anyone who's stuck around. To those who follow and favourite, and especially those who review, you are (as always) wonderful.

This chapter is dedicated to MemoirsofaLostCause, without whom this chapter would not be. MemoirsofaLostCause you helped me see there could be value in something even I was beginning to view as a lost cause - thank you.

Discaimer: I regret to report that I own nothing.

Chapter 9:

Draco Malfoy groaned softly into his swan down filled, green silk covered, pillow and tried to shove consciousness away from him. Something in his gut told him he did not want to wake up this morning. But it was no good, the familiar tap of a beak on glass was too insistent to be ignored, and even as his body fought to stay snuggled and relaxed, his mind was switching back to full alert. With a muffled curse he forced his somnolent body out of bed. He made his way across the room sluggishly, even as the frigid morning air and cold floor made him want to rush – if he moved slowly, there was a chance he could go back to bed before he fully woke.

Blindly Draco found the window latch and tugged it open, refusing to look directly at the dawn light which fell about from the window and had already betrayed him by joining with the damned bird to make lingering in the peace of sleep impossible. He turned from the window as he felt the owl brush past and cracked his reluctant eyes open to see it perched on his bed between the tangled sheets and indented pillows. Cheeky thing.

Draco sat on the bed and untied the note from the bird, unconsciously scratching the animals head as he smoothed out the parchment. This was no official stationary; not a letter from his father or some business to do with his Head Boy duties. The folded parchment was a little dented, and Draco got the impression that it had been gripped in someone's fist before posting. It actually looked rather scruffy – a couple of the edges were crude, as though it had been ripped from some larger scroll. Curious now despite his drowsiness, Draco unfolded the letter and read:

Malfoy,

I don't recall when we scheduled the next rehearsal but I can't do tonight. I will be in the studio tomorrow evening after dinner, as usual. I assume that this will be acceptable.

HG

Draco sighed and that's why I didn't want to wake up. Trying to protect myself from realising – from remembering. The fact is, Draco was usually very good at recalling recent events the moment he was roused. It was a necessary skill when a Dark Lord took over your home and the twisting dynamics of his similarly dark court could, if not responded to carefully, have you cursed before breakfast. He was a little slow that morning because the events he had failed to immediately recall had also kept him from sleep for a god few hours last night. With the memory of Granger hurling herself both at and away from him also came memories of lying restlessly awake in bed: of trying to read and taking none of the text in, of counting dragons and wondering how anyone found the task soporific, and of summoning a house elf only to discover that hot milky drinks were not nearly as effective as legend would have it.

Any hopes of a bit more shut eye before class were now thoroughly destroyed. Draco was very awake and very aware to the difficulty he was in, and if recalling Granger's actions were not enough to set his thoughts racing, then her note certainly was. He gazed at the offending parchment in his lap. She'd said hardly anything, yet the peace of paper was large. The creamy white of the empty space seemed to mock him: it taunted him with what he did not understand, what he had failed to ask or glean from her behaviour yesterday. Draco tossed the letter aside, found a treat for the bird and flopped back onto his bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed, then trying to get comfy or distract himself rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the duvet, through which he grumbled something that sounded a lot like 'women'. The owl merely hooted in reply, and flew out of the window to head back to the Owlery.

/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\

Hermione took her time, carefully repacking her bag at the end of her double Advanced Arithmancy class. She had enjoyed the lesson, she always loved working to solve the numeral problems the professor set, but she could not deny that a weariness was settling over in spite of her decision. She had eventually left her refuge last night and crept into the Head's Dorm: she could not bear to face Draco after her humiliating display. In her own room she had lain awake and stared up at the empty ceiling, glancing now and then out of the windows she had not bothered to close. The moon had reached its peak and begun to dip toward the opposite horizon before Hermione ended her vigil and managed to sleep. But the bare windows woke her early and the light of day found her determined. She dressed quickly and went to her desk to compose a note for Draco. She had scourgifyed several attempts at long letters from the parchment, all of which made her appear weak and feel a fool. Eventually she realised that all her dignity could stand was a purposeful note that secured her freedom for the evening and barely filled a fifth of the page. She sped off to the Owlery, sent it, and was done, all before the rest of the school rose for breakfast.

Now she had the means and the opportunity to spend time with her friends. The issues with Ron were the only ones that had overwhelmed her last night which she had the power to begin solving immediately. Hermione was practical enough to realise she should worry more about those than the various things she could not yet change. If I only have the patience to deal with him after so little sleep Hermione thought wryly as she swung her satchel over her shoulder and headed off down the corridor.

She was just heading down the steps into the entrance hall when she heard her name being called, and pausing to turn she found Harry taking the steps quickly. He was smiling warmly at her and Hermione couldn't help thinking of the hundreds of times they must have passed over this spot together, Harry and Ron and her. Laughing, whispering, even arguing - but always together. Being in the last year made everything more poignant, and if Hermione let herself think too hard she was liable to tear up: she had to fix things with Ron. Harry cut into her thoughts.

"Hermione, are you alright? Don't tell me you're still working out your sums? You're the only student I know who actually gets Arithmancy." He grinned teasingly at her as he reached the step she was on.

"Sorry Harry I was miles away…"

"It must be nice there, you seem to disappear off into your own world a lot these days 'Mione" He nudged her playfully as they made their way down the steps towards lunch and both laughed quietly.

"I suppose I do a bit," Hermione smiled up at Harry "although I do wonder where you've been – no bag?"

Harry glanced at her then looked away and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'brightest witch of our age'. When he looked back his expression was resigned and very slightly guilty. "I've already been into lunch, I left my bag with Ginny… there was an atmosphere at breakfast and when I asked Ron what happened yesterday… well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Away from prying eyes. I nipped up to find you but I must have missed you somehow. You are alright, aren't you?"

Hermione sought his hand and squeezed it briefly in thanks and affirmation which she couldn't voice as they entered the hall.

Lunch passed cordially enough and Ginny was a complete saint, introducing a new topic before the conversation ever had chance to reach an awkward lull. It was clear to Hermione that one or other of the boys had told the redhead something of what had happened and Ginny had taken it upon herself to promote peace among the Golden Trio. Hermione was happy for the help, and by the time she was settled down in her afternoon lesson she felt more confident that by the end of the evening she ad Ron would basically be back to their usual friendly terms.

As for the other issue that had arisen last night, she was no closer to finding a satisfactory answer. She had not had to deal with Malfoy today: she had left the Head's Dorm early, and he did not take Arithmancy. Luckily, at both breakfast and dinner Hermione had found a spot on the bench facing away from the Slytherin table. Sometimes during those meals she could have kid herself that she sensed a metallic Slytherin gaze fixed on her – and Hermione was not sure whether her imagination was acting out of paranoia or wishful thinking.