A/N Sorry again this update took a little longer – having that gap sort of made me lose my rhythm. Thank you so much to those who reviewed the last chapter: that one chapter got me 16 new story follows and 7 new favourites. It would really mean a lot to me if everyone who has been kind enough to follow or favourite the fic left a review.

We're on the home straight now...

Hope you enjoy :)

Chapter Nine:

"If you have made it into the Granian's vulnerable areas, you are close to achieving your goal. Now is the time to push."

Extract from "From Wild Beast to Wizard's Steed, a how-to guide on taming Granian".

Draco turned the corner into his and Hermione's study area and stopped dead at the scene that lay before him.

Hermione was seated at their table, arms folded and chin in the air, whilst Pansy leant over her. Images of how Pansy had treated Greengrass and how vicious she could be in her possessiveness flashed through his head, and he tensed in horror, ready to leap forward… and then realised it wasn't necessary.

Pansy was obviously trying to intimidate Granger with her superior posture, and Granger was equally obviously refusing to allow her to. Another girl would have gotten to her feet to negate the height difference and thereby have made her insecurity clear; the fact that Granger remained seated and had coolly raised an eyebrow in the face of Pansy's aggressive contempt spoke volumes. To an outsider, Pansy's sneer would appear unshaken, but to Draco it was evident that whatever battle they were having, Granger was winning.

"Look, Parkinson, I don't know where you've been getting your information, but it wasn't my idea to begin studying together," Hermione was saying slowly, as if to an idiot.

"Oh, I know that," Pansy said, with a dismissive wave of her hand, whilst Draco silently thanked every Black family constellation that Granger hadn't pointed out that it had been Draco.

Granger executed a small eye-roll. "Then I fail to see what the issue is."

"The issue is that Draco has to associate with a filthy little Mudblood like you!" Pansy hissed. Her tone turned tragic: "A Malfoy forced to such lowness..." Granger executed a much bigger eye-roll; Pansy's voice took an abrupt turn towards outraged screech. "You should count yourself lucky you're getting to study with a pureblood!"

"I do count myself lucky," Hermione replied with false sweetness, effectively sucking the wind out of Pansy's sails, whose mouth was now opening and closing in shock; she always had worn her emotions a little too openly for a Slytherin. "Just as I believe Malfoy does. We're both benefitting from these sessions."

At this point Draco recovered from his horrified stasis. In reality barely a minute had passed since he'd turned the corner, but the potential backlash of having Pansy and Hermione in the same room, discussing this subject, felt like it had already taken several years off his life. All in all he had been fortunate, but the longer the conversation went on the more likely it was one of them would reveal something he didn't want the other to know.

He cleared his throat loudly, immediately pulling both girls' attention to him. For the first time, Hermione appeared a little flustered.

"Pansy, can I have a word?" Draco gifted her with a rare smile and her expression immediately turned fawning. Unseen behind her, Hermione executed the biggest eye-roll Draco had ever seen, feigning nausea. Or possibly not feigning...

"Of course, Drakey." Pansy shot Hermione a venomous smile and followed him out into the stacks.

Once safely out of earshot, he turned to face her, dropping the smile. "Pansy, you're not helping."

Pansy looked chagrined. "But—"

"If you interfere and Granger complains, I'll have Dumbledore on my back."

Pansy looked confused. "Since when do you care about pleasing Dumbledore?"

Draco paused. Since when indeed? He thought quickly. "Come on, Pansy. You must know the rules have changed since fourth year: any Slytherin worth his salt knows to stay on Dumbledore's good side if he wants to get ahead in life." He allowed his tone to turn faintly scoffing, knowing it would push Pansy to agree; she couldn't abide the slightest intimation that she might not live up to the Slytherin name. Which in itself exposed where she was lacking.

Pansy's expression became sage. "Of course. Of course. I understand."

"Good girl." He smiled at her in a way that would have called down immediate retaliation from Granger; Pansy returned the smile. "I'll see you back in the Common Room." He swiftly strode away before she could respond.

Granger was still sat at the table when he re-entered their study area. She raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.

"Lost your adoring shadow, Malfoy?"

Draco raised an eyebrow back; the sarcasm had been a little too marked. He sensed a promising weakness and zeroed in on it: "Jealous, Granger?"

Hermione's snort was equal parts amusement and disdain, and a little too convincing for Draco's peace of mind... and ego. He was somewhat soothed, however, when she didn't hold his gaze, eyes slipping to one side.

"I just don't get why you're friends with her, Malfoy."

It was Draco's turn to roll his eyes, albeit internally. Firstly because he found Granger's censure a little rich considering her less than stellar choice in companions, and secondly because it was hardly surprising Granger didn't get it. As a Muggle she was biologically incapable of comprehending the duties and traditions a pureblood was born into; the age-old alliances or feuds that had to be upheld. Pansy wasn't a friend – truth be told, at times she grated so much he longed to hex her into next week – but he wouldn't dream of ever following through on that urge. But Granger would never understand why not.

For some reason, he found himself trying to explain anyway: "It's not a case of friendship, Granger. The Parkinsons have been affiliated with the Malfoys for centuries. To distance myself from Pansy would be… disrespectful to my family."

Granger's head was tilted in the same manner as when assimilating some arcane piece of information. "Okay," she said finally.

Draco blinked. "Okay?"

Granger shrugged. "I get it. To me she might be a mentally challenged harpy with all the charm of a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but to you she's family. It's like my Uncle Dennis: he's an absolute nightmare, constantly embarrassing us all, but he still gets invited to all the family parties – even though he inevitably ends up shamefully inebriated – and I still have to dance with him. I wouldn't want to disappoint my Mum or my Gran by refusing to."

Draco blinked again. Had Granger really just reduced the centuries-old intricacies and politics of the paramount pureblood families to a drunken Muggle knees-up? Worst of all, the analogy made a certain amount of sense… Draco wanted to tell her exactly why the analogue was totally inadequate and inappropriate, he wanted to systematically prove why they were poles apart.

Instead, he spoke coolly: "Shall we get down to it? We've wasted enough time this evening."

Granger's head was tilted again. "Okay, Malfoy."

Draco and Granger had been ensconced in the Library for hours, working on a particularly tricky Arithmancy formula. (They had now progressed to collaborating on any and every subject, even consulting one another on subjects neither was taking.) They had reached a definitive point in the equation, and despite the lateness of the hour, Granger was determined not to leave until they had cracked it.

By this point Draco's eyes were turning glassy with lassitude. Granger wasn't any better, dark amber eyes drooping shut every few seconds before they jolted open again. The cosiness of the room was having a soporific effect, and Draco was struggling with the urge to curl up against Hermione's warm softness and just fall asleep.

Catching himself on this thought, he sat bolt upright. "Granger – we need a break."

Granger's sleepiness vanished in consternation. "We can't! If we leave now, we might lose the thread and miss a breakthrough!"

Draco paused, then translated the words into Granger-speak: "Studies show that regular oxidised breaks increase the mind's capacity to concentrate. Remember: 'A weary wizard's work is worthless'."

Granger looked mistrustful. "That's the kind of thing Ron and Harry say when they're trying to get out of working."

Draco felt a stab of annoyance at the comparison. "What, they talked about the brain's need for oxygen and quoted Waffling? Don't tell me Potty and the Weasel said that – I won't believe you."

"Don't call them that," Granger replied absently. "But you make a valid point. Five minute break," she said firmly, with a threatening expression.

"Of course," Draco drawled, at his most urbane, encircling her upper arm and tugging her to her feet. Hermione made no protest; she started to gather up her things.

Draco forestalled her. "Better wrap up – it will be cold outside."

Granger nodded, then reached into her ever-faithful school bag and pulled out a very familiar green and gold striped scarf; she had Transfigured a hat and mittens to match. With a slightly self-conscious air, she wound the scarf around her neck.

Draco inwardly grinned but kept his reflections to himself.

Generally, students weren't allowed outside after dark, but in the winter months, when the sun could go down as early as four o' clock, this rule was somewhat flexible, and as sixth years they had a little more leeway. Curfew was in keeping with Library hours: so long as they were back within their respective common rooms by eight o' clock, they wouldn't have broken any school rules.

Nevertheless, when they wandered out the front of the castle, they had the lake to themselves.

The stars were lustrous pearls against the midnight blue sky and the molten moon was almost full, though a large cloud was dimming its luminescence. Granger seemed startled at how dark it was.

"It must be much closer to curfew than we realised! We should go back, Malfoy."

"Five minutes," he reminded her. "Even bookworms need fresh air occasionally."

She smiled at him, and the cloud rolled back, bathing everything in moonlight.

Including Hermione.

Draco caught his breath as he looked at her. The silver light turned her skin to alabaster; cascading curls were escaping from underneath her knitted hat, and her large, liquid eyes seemed to shimmer.

Hermione met his gaze unselfconsciously, still smiling. She appeared totally at ease.

Draco yielded to impulse.

Reaching out, he gripped the end of the scarf, winding it around his wrist, and then used it to tug Hermione towards him until her lips met his.

They were every bit as soft as he had imagined them; his nerve endings crackled into sudden roaring life. Granger was standing still, seemingly accepting his embrace, but not returning it. Draco sternly reminded himself – and his fiercely protesting nerve endings – to remember the end game and kept the kiss brief and chaste.

When he drew back, those long lashes were fluttering like jumpy butterflies and her dark caramel eyes were glazed.

Draco repressed the instinct to dive back in and remembered the Manual's repeated instruction to remain in control at all times. His voice came out a little hoarsely, but he managed to drawl: "You're right, Granger: it's getting late. Let's go back inside."

Still apparently dazed, Granger nodded and allowed him to take her hand and rest it on his arm before leading her back to the castle. Draco pulled the oak doors open with a courteous bow. Granger went inside (with a slight stumble, a small part of his mind noted in amusement).

He had never known her to go so long without talking.

She paused at the staircase. "Malfoy..." she began (he knew it couldn't last); her eyes were bewildered.

"We can talk in the morning, Granger," he replied. "It's close to curfew and it's a much longer walk for you than for me. You don't want to get into trouble."

That decided her, as he knew it would. With one last look, she began to ascend the marble stairs.

Draco watched her go until the staircase took her out of sight; a decidedly self-satisfied smile curved his lips.

Everything was going according to—

"Ah, Mr Malfoy. Good evening."

Draco almost had a heart attack as a tall, horribly familiar figure suddenly materialised at his elbow.

Only one being in the world had a beard that long.

"How fortuitous – I've been meaning to congratulate you. I understand you have been engaging in private study sessions with the highly talented Miss Granger?"

"Um…"

"In the name of inter-house unity?

"Er…"

"And at my behest, no less."

Bugger.

"I've been given to understand you and Miss Granger spend almost every evening together studying. I must have spoken with great force to convince you to devote yourself so admirably and assiduously to my wishes. Indeed, I must have issued the edict so strongly it sent reverberations back through time with the result that you knew about it before I did."

Dumbledore was jovially smiling, but the expression in his eyes was uncomfortably penetrating.

Draco attempted to brazen it out. "Well, sir, I figured it was about time Gryffindors and Slytherins put aside their differences."

"Mr Malfoy, I applaud you. Such devotion to your school; such devotion to the future good of the wizarding world. It quite moves me." Dumbledore produced a voluminous spotted handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. "But then, I really shouldn't be surprised at your superior judgment: the Malfoys have always had such exquisite taste."

His eyes twinkled and he majestically swept away, leaving Draco blushing and scowling.

Dirty old man.

A/N 2 So, I thought I'd add an author's note at the end of this chapter, since I probably won't be updating until the weekend and a couple of questions/comments have come up several times.

First of all, the scarf: yes, the scarf has come up before; it was a key plot point in chapter five when Draco was trying to get Hermione used to his scent.

Secondly, in Draco's eyes, Project Kiss-met is not yet complete: when he formulated his list in the Prologue, one of his requirements was that Hermione be "warm and willing" and later, in Chapter One, he stated that he needed "one good snog" to get the attraction out his system. So, this peck just wouldn't cut it for him. He'd say it was just a step in his diabolical plan. :-) Though you could also see it at least in part as "couldn't hold out any longer". ;)