She heard Malfoy curse, and the first thing that struck her was that it wasn't one of his funny epithets, but a real one, with anger and a little panic behind it.

They were surrounded by wizards, and for the briefest, hysterical moment, she thought the Death Eaters had risen up and captured her again. Traditional robes. Masks. The signature druidic circular formation. All designed to raise the hair on the back of her neck.

She felt Malfoy grab her shoulders and they tussled for a bit as she attempted to push him behind her. After all, she was the one with a wand.

He won.

"What the bloody hell?" he was saying, slower and with less vehemence. A bit stagey. "Hey, Hermione, look what's happening. Is this a performance of some kind?"

His hand reached down and found hers, squeezing twice in a grip so hard that she wanted to pull away.

He wanted her to play along. "Er, I don't know, Mal-Draco. It might be?" Oh, God, she sounded so fake. He was side-eyeing her with a longsuffering expression on his face and she smiled weakly. She sounded like she was the straight man for a comedic duo. A really bad comedic duo. He was right-she really was bad at this. Completely out of practice.

"What's going on?" he asked, shoving her behind him (and succeeding this time) in a tough, that's-my-gal act.

The robed and masked men really freaked her out. There was something so dehumanizing about masks. Except, yes, she realized that they all had the same headdresses, of which a falcon head in profile featured in the center. They were very different from what they had seen in the ritual at Luxor.

"The Sons of Horus," she squeaked, and felt Malfoy start and his hand was then squeezing hers so tightly in warning that she winced in pain.

One figure that Hermione saw was wearing a gold sash around his middle. He pronounced something and gestured towards them. Two other figures bowed slightly and circled them.

If only they could reach the portkey, Hermione thought. But she couldn't guarantee that they would touch it at the same time. Portkey travel wasn't like apparation; they both had to be touching it at the same time for it to work, and she couldn't risk being whisked away and leaving Malfoy behind. Maybe she could cast a reducto, except that would probably get her in very bad trouble. Or maybe they were a troupe of actors. She blamed this all on Paxton; if she had had more time to plan this trip, she would've been better prepared.

She was panicking; she could feel it happening.

"Wait," commanded Malfoy, and for a moment, the two figures stopped in their tracks before moving forward again.

And then Malfoy said something in a different language.

X.x.X

Granger was panicking.

He could feel it.

He was too, but to a lesser degree. The thing to do, obviously, was to accio the fucking portkey to them. There was a slim chance they'd both touch it at the same time. They were holding hands, after all. Or Draco could catch it. Granger could apparate away since she still had a wand.

Except she wasn't using her wand and it definitely wasn't in her hand. He had no idea where she had stowed her wand, but she had completely frozen.

There was no good reason for tussling with her for dominance, he realized a scant second after he had thrust her behind him, except that he was sure she was about to do something insane instead of brazening it out and get themselves into worse trouble. For a mad moment, he considered that maybe she was the reason Harry Potter was always in trouble. There was a pulse to her, the kind that went before really impetuous actions.

With the way his luck was going, he'd be caught in the crossfire and make a fun tale to relate back home. For others, that was, since he'd be dead.

A second after that, he decided he was a bloody idiot, because of the two of them, she was the one who had gone head to head with one of the head Death Eaters and won while his greatest achievement was not succeeding at the first and only assignment he had ever been given in his days as a cult follower. That was followed by the slightly hysterical notion that he might not be as smart as he always thought he was, which was also a ruddy ridiculous thought.

And as previously demonstrated, he understood not a word of Arabic or ancient Egyptian. He had, however, a working knowledge of several magical languages. "Wait!" he said in Greek. Later, it struck him as strange that he wouldn't try Latin first, as that was the language he had heard in Luxor.

The leader in a gold sash paused. Draco noticed inconsequentially that his apparel had seen better days, and his sandals were decidedly scuffed.

The two lackeys approaching them didn't stop, though, and then the worst thing to happen happened. A hex flew through the air and both he and Granger fell to the ground, completely stunned and frozen by a petrificus totalus.

"The language of our oppressors," the man wearing the gold sash said in Greek. "Set this man loose, Samid, so that he can speak."

Draco was prepared for invisible bonds after the petrificus totalus had been taken off, but he had no wand. Hermione had a wand, but she was unable to use it. And honestly, where on earth had she stowed it? It had been right there in her hand, but he knew from their grappling that it was nowhere immediately apparent.

"Who are you?" Gold Sash asked him, a wand flashing in front of Draco's nose in gruesome replay of some of the hairier moments of his life.

Draco considered his options. If he played this off as a Muggle, they risked being obliviated and incapacitated. Also, there was bound to be a Muggle repelling ward, so Gold Sash would know they weren't normal tourists anyway. He didn't like it, but he considered honesty to probably be the safest option here. Undoubtedly Granger could think of a better solution if she weren't imitating a statue.

"We're from abroad," he said.

"Wizards, too," Gold Sash replied, gesturing towards him with his wand in a way that made him completely tense. "Otherwise the wards would have rebounded. This is too much of a coincidence, though, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Draco said quickly. "This place is famous. Lunar rites and all that." Damn, he should have paid more attention in divination.

"Do you know who we are?" Gold Sash asked.

"Sons of Horus?" he ventured. And then he got suspicious when Gold Sash turned to his companions and laughed, saying something he couldn't understand.

"You are right," Gold Sash said solemnly, turning back to him. "And we are oppressors of the innocent."

"Er," Draco said, getting a really bad feeling. "We're just visitors, so perhaps you could just let us go."

"Where are you from?" Gold Sash asked, seemingly genuinely curious.

"England," Draco replied and watched with alarm as Gold Sash's hand tightened on the wand.

"Look," Draco said in a placating tone. "Most people in England have never heard of Sons of Horus. If you are truly oppressors of the innocent, wouldn't it be better to let us go so that we can increase your renown? Create more fear?" That was what all these masked groups wanted anyway.

"That is a good point," Gold Sash said. "What about her? Your woman?"

"What, her?" Draco said, making a pshaw face in an attempt to draw their attention away from Granger (and her wand). "I could do better." His chivalry didn't work that well with his current raggedy appearance and he could tell Gold Sash also thought he was overdoing it.

"Then why do you protect her?"

"I didn't," Draco denied. "I thought she was going to do something stupid or something. She's like my parole officer."

"The Sons of Horus believe women can possess magic, but that is a ridiculous notion. Only men are warriors," Gold Sash said.

That was confusing. So was this man opposing what his group believed? This all jarred with the impression they had gotten in Luxor, which was of women very clearly holding all the power, but Draco couldn't be surprised. He had only found it surprising that more men hadn't staged an uprising at the ritual he witnessed. Also Draco couldn't wait to tell Granger about this latest development-that was, if they made it out alive. Draco blinked. "So you are an offset of the Sons of Horus or something?"

"We are the Sons of Horus!" the man barked out. "We shall set you both free to spread our ill intent. You because you are a man, and that woman, even though she has stolen what does not belong to her. But first, you must turn over your wand."

"I lost it," Draco said. "No, I really did. That's why I look so terrible."

"Search him," Gold Sash ordered his men, and when they didn't move, reiterated his order in their language.

Draco's impression of incompetence deepened. Then followed a very thorough but quick searching, because Draco didn't have anything on him. He refrained from saying I told you so.

"What about her?" Gold Sash asked.

"Why do you say that it's ridiculous women cannot possess magic?" Draco asked to distract the other man.

Gold Sash looked pleased to be asked. "Because women are the weaker vessel, naturally. Women should defer to men in all matters of greater import, and magic requires decision making of a kind that is best left to the stronger sex."

Draco listened without an expression crossing his face. He even nodded once to create the impression of acquiescence. Inside, however, he was both reevaluating his impression of this group. Women the weaker vessel indeed. Draco wondered what they would think if they ever met his mother, who manipulated men in ways they didn't even understand. Or Bellatrix Lestrange. Or Pansy. Or any slew of women he knew, all of whom were capable of doing ball-busting things, wand or no wand.

The witch behind him also, making grunting sounds in her throat in a poor attempt to tell him what to do, although she wasn't currently at her best. And were these imbeciles not aware of the witches currently reenacting the emasculation and reattachment of a major organ several hundred kilometers away in Luxor? Or were they a completely different group?

"Also, we're a poor organization, so I'm compelled to relieve you of some of your possessions."

Poor? Draco wanted to protest, remembering the jeweled penis pendants the witches in Luxor had worn.

Another motion and Gold Sash's minion came to take Draco's shoes. "Are you serious?" Draco groused. "I need my shoes!"

"Yes, but these are very high quality dragon-hide shoes. Your belt too. I'm sorry, my friend."

"Can't you leave me anything?" Draco asked. "A pair of slippers or something. How am I supposed to get down from this mountain?" He was supposed to be happy they were sparing his life, but seriously now, have a care for his daily needs here.

Gold Sash growled. "Fine, we'll leave you something."

Then he made another motion, and Draco felt himself moved to the side. "Now, your female friend."

Granger, finding herself freed from the petrificus totalus and bound by ropes like him, looked terrified. "Malfoy, what the hell is going on?" she yelled.

He winced. They were going to find her wand and her bottomless bag of goodies. Then they were really going to be stuck here. "Granger, I'm really-really sorry about this," he said, shaking his head.

Her mouth made an O and then she started struggling in earnest.

"Just, just give it to them," he said with resignation.

"Like hell I will!" she screeched. "Damn you, Malfoy!"

And then followed a litany of curses with a fluency that surprised him.

Gold Sash grimaced. "Your friend is not the quiet type, is she?" he said and flicked his wand. Granger continued to twist and yell, but now no sounds emanated from her mouth.

One minion approached warily and attempted to take Granger's bag from her, and she aimed an ineffectual kick at him. He skirted away, along with Granger's things.

"Now, as a kindly last token, since you are but visitors to my country, Zafar will transport you down the mountain."

Gold Sash muttered a few things to another minion, one who towered over them, nodded to them and bowed. Draco found his arm grasped, and Granger, kicking and screaming in silence, was also jerked forward, and they were all zipped away.

They landed at the foot of the mountain.

"Don't come back," growled the giant in halting English, and threw something at Draco, before apparating away.

Draco glanced down at his hands, which had caught the ratty pair of thong slippers thrown at him. He dropped them instantly and reluctantly put them on over his argyle socks.

"What. The. Hell. Was. That?" Granger bit out in between bouts of heavy breathing, having regained her vocal chords. "Malfoy!" she screeched at approximately the volume and pitch of a thousand dying thunderbirds.

He winced. "Obviously we were just robbed and sent on our way."

Granger seemed to calm down a bit, and she pushed a lock of mussed hair behind her ear. "Is-is that all?"

"Is that all? We don't have anything now, not even shoes! And your wand, Granger! Now we have nothing!" he groaned and uttered a guttural yell that was absorbed by the sandy landscape.

"So, they're not coming back?" Granger mused.

"Let's start walking," he muttered, pressing down on more complaints. This really was the day from hell.

"Wait," Granger said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "Tell me what happened. You talked for so long."

"Nothing happened," he mumbled. "What happened was that now we're both in the same boat. We should have eaten more food at that cafe."

"What were you talking about? Were you speaking Arabic?"

"Greek," he grumbled. "Look, are we not going to move away from here?"

"But our portkey," she protested.

"Forget the portkey!" he ordered.

"But I don't think they even knew it was there. They didn't even look in that direction."

"Do you really want to risk going up there again? Just so you know, you're going to have to make two trips, because I'm not making that hike on an empty stomach and using these sodding slippers."

She glanced down at his feet. "That was weird. Why'd they take your shoes and your belt?"

"They. Robbed. Us. Did you notice that part, Granger? Or do I have to translate that as well?"

"But…" She took a breath and her eyes flicked about, clearly thinking of things to ask. "Look, let's just sit down here for a second, okay? I need to understand what just happened. That way, we can decide what to do next. They clearly aren't a huge threat. They incapacitated us only to take away our things? They didn't try any unforgivables or anything."

He calmed down a bit. "Yeah," he said. After all, there had been a time when unforgivables flew about his head hourly.

"They were Sons of Horus?"

He hesitated. "I thought so, but some things he was saying were kind of strange. For example, at one point he said 'the Sons of Horus believe women can possess magic, but they really can't,' or something like that."

"That is strange," she said, frowning. "Given that it was a whole group of women in Luxor performing the rite of Horus's conception."

"And he said things like, 'the Sons of Horus are oppressors of the innocent,' always referring to themselves in the third person. But, of course, I haven't used Greek in a really long time, so I'm probably out of practice conjugating."

"Oh." She fell silent and then gave a short laugh. "When you-when you turned around and apologized to me, I thought for sure you were turning me over to them."

He grunted, too tired to even be angry at her for her assumptions.

"I thought you said to just give in to them."

"I said, just give it to them."

"Oh."

"But thanks for the show of faith, Granger," he said, mouth twisting to one side. "Glad to know you still think of me as a complete and utter twat."

She sucked in the side of her lips awkwardly. "Thanks for pushing me behind you."

He waved her comment away. "If we get robbed again, I'll hurl you at the robbers, believe me."

"I don't think we'll get robbed again," she said.

"Yeah," he said tiredly. "No kidding. It's time for us to rob someone."

"I'm really sorry, Malfoy," she said.

"Seriously, Granger, aren't you the big, bad war hero? What happened to you back there? You completely froze."

They sat on a rock as the last of the sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon.

"Now what?" he asked. "Luxor was bollocks. This whole portkey business was a sodding failure. I'm still stuck here and now I'm out my favorite pair of shoes."

"Malfoy," she said, and she waited until he looked at her.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," she said, "but we are officially stranded. We are massively, massively bollocksed, to use your words. We now officially are completely stranded in Egypt. I think it's time that you called your house elf. As wrong as that would be, to use an enslaved creature to help get us out of a quandary. Ironic, but, well..."

"No," he said emphatically.

"Malfoy," she said. "Draco. I don't know how I can get you out of here."

"Granger, surprisingly, I'm not your responsibility," he said. "You can go if you want, but I didn't come out here, trying for independence, only to go crawling back to my parents the second things get rough." That hadn't been what he had planned to say, but after she made her suggestion, he realized that doing what she suggested would burn more than roughing it some more.

Seriously, what else could happen to him? He had already been robbed twice. He was dirty and wandless and stranded. Things couldn't get any worse if he were dead. He started to chuckle a bit. He rubbed his chin, which was more stubbly and itchy than it had ever been in his entire life. He should have asked Granger for a shave before things went tits-up. He laughed some more.

"Things are not just a little rough," she was saying. "We're in the middle of nowhere, without identification or wands."

"Then, the only thing that's changed is that you're in the same exact situation that I am. I've been like that since we bumped into each other."

"You're serious then."

"Dead serious. I've never been more serious in my life. I made a stand, and I'm going to see this thing through to the end."

She heaved a sigh. "Hell of a time for you to take a stand on anything, Malfoy, but all right."

"All right?"

"Far be it from me to prevent anyone from independence from their parents. Is it a Pureblood thing, do you think?"

"What is?"

"The whole living at home and letting your mom take care of you thing."

If she were kindling, she would have burst into flames from his glare. "It is rather expected of us, yes."

"It's just you and Ron and...I don't know, Neville, I guess. The whole lot of you Purebloods are very...er, sheltered."

"Stop right there, Granger," he warned her. "I may not have shoes or a wand or, frankly, a fuck to give, but if you know what's good for you, you should shut up right now."

She heaved a sigh. "All right, I'm sorry. You're doing the right thing. You're standing up for something you believe in. I should be supporting this."

"You really should. This whole reckless and impetuous business is right in line with the Gryffindor house motto: how to kill yourself without trying."

"I'm not going to respond to that," she said magnanimously, "given that you've clearly had a trying few days and have just lost your favorite pair of shoes. However, might I suggest we start walking back to civilization, or at least the monastery. Maybe we can bum a ride back to town. I need to think of what we can do."

"Good luck with that," he replied sourly.

They practiced their wandless spells along the way.

"This damned backwards country," he muttered at some point. "There's a reason they're not in the Magical Cooperation Treaty. I've never heard of a magical capital so in shambles."

"Oh, really? You didn't notice the Ministry after the war, then? Or Diagon Alley."

"And Gringotts. All your doing, too, I might add."

"Yes, that's something called war. It tends to ruin cosmetic appearances."

"Yeah, in more ways than one. Say, Granger, you read a ton. Ever read anything regarding removing magical dark marks?"

"You want me to remove your dark mark without a wand when we couldn't even transfigure that rock into a chair? You do have a lot of faith in me, don't you?"

He scowled at her. "It's only a question."

"Have you tried rejuvenating potion?"

"Yes. And now the skin around the dark mark is soft as a baby's bottom. The ink seemed to get fresher as well."

She made a face before it cleared and she looked interested. "That's interesting. Because your skin and the mark have different origins and ages, and both-"

"Yeah, it's bloody fascinating. Can we concentrate here?"

"How about cleaning spells?"

He stared at her as though she were crazy. "Cleaning spells? Merlin, it's not a bloody stain, it's dark magic."

"Oh, sorry, Malfoy, I'm so sorry I haven't been reading books on dark magic."

"You should be sorry," he muttered.

"What's that?"

"Nothing!" he growled.

"Malfoy, it's nothing to be ashamed of if you no longer stand by their beliefs," she said.

"What?" he said in disbelief. "The mark of the Dark Lord is nothing to be ashamed if I don't follow his beliefs anymore? Have you lost it? That doesn't even make any sense! It would only not be something to be ashamed of if I still followed their beliefs!"

"I didn't mean it like that. I mean it's like a mark of your past, so to speak. We all make mistakes. It's a mark of war."

"We don't all have sodding marks crazy people left on us."

"Oh, really."

"Yes, really."

"What do you call this, then?" she demanded, pulling up her sleeve.

He almost choked when he saw the carved out word on her arm. "Oh, ergh…that's horrifying, Granger."

He had almost forgotten she had that, since he had just about blocked out the memory of what happened in that room. And mostly even when it was happening, he had been putting himself in a self-imposed Time-Out, facing the striped wallpaper so that he could pretend they were re-enacting a play behind him. It had almost worked too, especially with him humming to himself.

"Pray go on about how we don't all have crazy people marks on our arms."

"Couldn't you get that removed? I mean, it wasn't used as a conduit or anything."

"It's dark magic though, so the scar won't ever heal."

There was a moment of silence. "I'm sorry, Granger." A pause. "She was crazy. Especially towards the end."

"I'm aware," she replied dryly. "Really, I count myself lucky that she didn't do it anywhere important."

He considered that. "That's true, I guess. You really are a bloody ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

"Sometimes when we were on the run, that was all we had. Pure optimistic hope in the face of nothing else. Not even food."

"Maybe you should have worked on your accio and multiplication charms," he said unsympathetically. "That's usually what I do when I'm hungry."

"Well, luckily for us, we'll soon have the opportunity to test out your wandless food summoning spell," she said sourly.

He lifted a brow. "Chipper Granger getting all huffy, is she? A little miffed when she hasn't had her supper?"

"Let's just catalogue our wandless repertoire. You: multiplication and summoning spells which I'll have to see in action to believe it, and your incredibly useful underwater breathing charm, which should come in handy in the desert. Me: let's see, I can do alohamora, some levitation, a few jinxes."

"How about confundus?" he asked. "As that sounds possibly the most relevant in getting what we want out of unsuspecting victims."

"This sounds horrible and all completely illegal," she sighed. "I don't know how I got myself into this mess."

"You ask yourself this now? After getting in trouble alongside Potter for the better part of seven years?"

"That's a fair point," she admitted. "Oh, look, we're at the visitors' entrance. I've just realized what we can do." Before he could utter a word or even lift a hand to stop her, she had marched off ahead.

Draco found himself thinking, for the second time that day, that perhaps Sainted Potter hadn't meant to do all those impetuous things, but was instead spurred by this completely crazy witch. She was the complete antithesis of every other witch he had ever known. Blood status, obviously, being a given. But the witches he had known were tactical experts in the art of manipulation, able to blink out tears at the drop off a hat. Using their feminine form to perfection to gain the upper hand.

Granger was no slouch in the looks department, but her method of getting her way was to run completely roughshod over any of his objections, no social niceties or feminine wiles doled out. As for showing off her goodies, he still wanted to laugh every time the thought of her in her "rashguard" popped into his brain.

Still, that was something, wasn't it? He couldn't remember the last time he felt like laughing. Life had felt like a complete downer for going on a decade. And spending time with Granger was, when he wasn't being completely infuriated by her, a laugh a minute.

Except, of course, when he went totally berserk on the mountain and started rambling about things that he had no business saying to anyone, much less Harry Potter's best friend.

Something in the atmosphere on the mountain had taken him back to memories of the past, something he did so well to bury in his subconscious.

Sixth year. His helplessness. His terror at the sudden mad fury and spittle foaming from the woman he used to hug as a child. How, for her first years in Azkaban, she had seemed normal, if just less happy. His fear and reluctance to go to the gaol to see her, even though he had adored her as a child, feelings that matured into guilt. His numbness and inability to move when she had broken out and the Dark Lord returned and showed up in his house with her, far from being the glorious wizard his father had claimed and closer to resembling something out of a nightmare. His desire to close his eyes and imagine himself far from it all. The sound of the giant snake Nagini slithering throughout the corridors at all hours. The sound of Greyback's panting and growling when one least expected it. Of dreading those interminable Death Eater meetings that the Dark Lord called together in order to showcase his mad power. The burn of his Mark whenever he wanted him, and being afraid to even think any traitorous thoughts in the event he could read his mind over distance.

And then, a hand reached across the distance to separate the mist of memory, and he looked up to see Hermione Granger gazing at him with something he never thought he'd see in her eyes. He had seen a variety of things from her over the years-smugness, hatred, irritation, anger, and disdain-always the disdain. But never the warmness she showed him then.

Even worse, she had to be the bigger person and not dwell on his confession or scoff or make a big deal of of it.

She hadn't looked at him with eyes of pity, but they were large and brown with the sympathy that acknowledged all the deaths they had mourned, even his, on the wrong side of the war. And as he gazed back at her, there was something strange bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

And then when she smiled at him, it was a wry and lopsided smile that encompassed years and a gulf of distance that suddenly shrank to the arm's length between them.

He hadn't realized until that moment how much he had needed that recognition of his moral struggles and internal conflict. How he had tried, in his own limited way, to do what was right, even if it amounted to nothing in the grand scheme of things. But that was Hermione Granger for you. Top of the class down to the last. Always able to read between the lines. Always with her correct answers and endless morality. Except, and probably not for the first time, he acknowledged that neither were bad things.

Forgiveness and absolution, two concepts he would have thought were impossible to apply to the two of them, seemed to shimmer in the air atop the mountain earlier. Draco was surprised how good they felt.

As the sun sank beneath the horizon, suddenly, Ras Safsafa had seemed like a completely different place-some place substantially brighter and slightly wonderful.

That was Hermione Granger for you-always doing things to him and affecting him in ways that were utterly unforgivable.

Draco almost stumbled when he realized the thought floating through his brain: He liked her.

He honest-to-goodness really liked her. Not just attraction or any of that bollocks because she was the only witch available for miles and he was low on sleep. But he really enjoyed being with her. Conversation with her flowed in a way he couldn't remember it going with any female of his acquaintance, and maybe that was more interesting than it was sad, as he had previously thought.

That thought sobered him up in a hurry. Was he crazy? This was Hermione Granger. Merlin, he could count the number of times she had made him want to scream, and not in a good way. He had found her completely annoying in school, always, always in his way.

But, obviously, that was then. This was now. They were completely different people from their schooldays counterpart. Without the barriers of house rivalry or blood-related issues or annoying friends, there was something between them that flowed. Effortlessly. Smoothly.

And of course he couldn't deny there was some strange chemistry that had always drawn him to her in the past, that made him go out of his way to get her attention in some immature, idiotic way, then as now. He had always had an eye for the best and the brightest. If he were honest with himself, the most attractive trait he found in a witch was how intelligent she was and how fast she could repartee with him. Someone who saw through his shite and could manoeuvre his lightning quick changes of emotions.

There wasn't anyone who fit that description any closer than Hermione Granger.

Merlin's balls on a stick.

But no, that was indeed just talking crazy.

And obviously, bringing her home would be completely over the top. What would his parents even say? His father would shit fireballs. There was no one his father detested more than Harry Potter for besting him, but Hermione Granger came in at a close second. No, Dumbledore was also up there as well. Draco gave up enumerating his father's enemies-there were just too many to count.

He wasn't-was he really considering her in that light? It was one thing to be an enlightened wizard in these postwar times and claim-out loud-that blood didn't matter. It was another to actually indulge in such nonsense. Of course blood didn't matter-at work or at school. But what about in relationships? In his own partner? In the mother of his children?

Draco thought that perhaps he had gone around the bend-it was one thing to not believe in the superiority of one blood over another, but it was another to consider your lifelong enemy as your potential partner, liking or not.

But when he looked at Granger, he didn't see someone who used to annoy the crap out of him and who would never fit in at Malfoy Manor, blood status or not. All he saw was her, brilliant, irresistible Granger, with a mouth begging to be kissed.

Yeah, Draco thought, eyeing the slight swing of her bum as she marched straight through the door of the visitors' centre without a hesitation in her step. He thought that maybe he could probably stand to rile her up every single day of his life.

Except, he realized with a sinking heart, that she didn't feel the same way. Not from her reaction back there.

He couldn't exactly blame her, could he? He was the poster boy for regrets and bad decisions. And after this, he'd have scant opportunity to see her socially.

And he thought with some resignation that seemed about right as far as his life was concerned.