Ch. 10 The Binding Books

Drawn by the undertow / My life is out of control / I believe this wave will bear my weight / So let it flow … Those who feel the breath of sadness / Sit down next to me / Those who find they're touched by madness / Sit down next to me / Those who find themselves ridiculous / Sit down next to me … In love, in fear, in hate, in tears / In love, in fear, in hate, in tears…

'Sit Down', James.

"Ooooh yeah! I got Red!" Blaise exclaimed gleefully.

Draco shifted his eyes from the Muggle Studies textbook on his lap and looked up from where he was sitting on the sofa opposite Blaise in the common room.

"Red?" Draco queried, irritated he'd been distracted from trying to wrap his head around the idea of Muggle kitchen appliances. Why did most Muggles have an electric kettle when they could just as easily heat water up on their hob?

Blaise was grinning down at a small notebook in his lap.

"Yeah, Red! For Alethea's let's-buddy-you-up-and-it'll-solve-everything-project! Honestly, I was dubious at first but now it looks like it's going to be fun! Think how much it's going to wind Potter up for me to be hanging around with his girlfriend, doing 'healing' tasks together!" Blaise laughed gleefully.

The disjointed pieces of information that had been cascading around Draco's mind slotted into place: 'Red' was the Quidditch clique's nickname for Ginny Weasley, so coined due to how her robes and hair made her look like a burning red flame when she flew across the pitch. Draco eyed his school bag at his feet, where his own Binding Book lay.

"Maybe don't wind up the Boy Who Lived too much, mate," Theo, who was sitting next to Blaise, remarked dryly. "Remember how he took down a megalomaniacal dark wizard?"

"Oh, I'm sure I won't need to do anything to wind him up. The very fact I exist and will be able to go anywhere near Red will wind him up. Who'd d'you get anyway?" Blaise gestured to Theo's purple notebook which he'd just retrieved from his pocket.

Theo opened the book and Draco watched closely as his friend's eyebrows flickered into an almost imperceptible frown before his expression became characteristically composed and nonchalant once more.

"Luna Lovegood," Theo stated flatly.

Upon hearing the name, it felt as if someone's hand had clawed through the wall of Draco's abdomen and was twisting his intestines into tight knots. Images flashed in his mind's eye: damp stone walls, a dirty, tear-streaked cheek, pale blond hair smattered with crimson dots of blood. Since the end of the war, Draco had avoided seeing, speaking to, looking at or thinking about Luna Lovegood as much as possible. Thank Merlin he hadn't got her as his partner. But then, why on earth would he?

"You got Loony Lovegood?" Adrian Pucey, who was sitting at a nearby table, mocked.

"No, you fucktard. I got Luna Lovegood," Theo replied calmly and coldly.

"That chick with the white hair, so pale she looks like the walking dead?"

"Yes, her. Luna Lovegood," Theo replied tightly.

Adrian put up his hands in a mock surrender gesture. "I honestly thought her name was Loony. That's what everyone's always called her."

Theo turned to Adrian, his face steely. "Are you fucking serious? Why, in the name of Rowena's saggy tits, would that be her real name?"

"Well, to be fair, the word 'loony' does come from 'luna', because it was thought people's mental states were associated with the moon, especially womens'," Blaise commented cheerfully.

The group turned to look at him. There was a moment of mildly stunned silence, which always followed occasions when Blaise said anything mildly intelligent or knowledgeable. Theo's glare was particularly accusing, as if Blaise had betrayed him in some way, and Blaise seemed to recoil slightly at the sight of it.

"But – I mean – the meaning of 'loony' has changed now – to something derogative," Blaise stammered, then looked at Adrian, and said with forced passion and derision, "So yeah, why in the name of Rowena's saggy tits, would that be her real name?"

Adrian raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised at the vitriol of his fellow housemates. He rose to his feet and shook his head sadly. "Merlin, you people need to chill out. You're no fun anymore." Then he sauntered away, leaving the other three boys alone.

Theo turned back to his book, looking thoughtfully down at where Lovegood's name was no doubt scrawled on the page.

"Who'd you get, Draco?" Blaise asked brightly, clearly trying to change the subject.

Draco reached down into his bag, fumbling about until his hand finally clasped around his Binding Book. For the past week or so, since he'd agreed to take part in the project, he'd felt apprehensive about who he would be partnered up with. He'd – possibly naively – hoped for Theo or Blaise, but those options were clearly out now. He really hadn't wanted to do the stupid therapeutic matching task in the first place, but had felt obliged; he'd felt that the Ministry would look down on him if he chose not to.

With a heavy heart he opened the book and read the name that had appeared on the first page. His heart stuttered in disbelief. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, thinking maybe something had gone wrong with his vision. But when he opened his eyes, the same name glared back at him, mocking and irrefutable.

The book felt like it was burning his hand. He wanted to throw it away – get it as far away from him as possible – maybe hurl it into the fire and let it burn to ashes. Instead, he clumsily tossed it towards his bag. Infuriatingly, it missed and landed on the wooden floor with a thud.

"Woah, that bad? Did you get partnered with Pansy?" Blaise joked, which was unfortunate timing because, at that moment, the girl in question was walking across the common room from the girl's dormitory, behind Blaise and hence unseen by him.

"No, he didn't. Idiot," Pansy clipped, hitting Blaise around the head with her own Binding Book as she walked passed behind him.

"Ouch!" Blaise reached up and rubbed the back of his head. "Bitch," he remarked jovially as Pansy elegantly sank down onto the sofa next to Draco, crossing her stockinged legs.

"Because I got Neville Longbottom," Pansy continued slyly, her mouth turning up into a calculating smile.

Draco recognised that expression. It meant Pansy was in the process of working out how she could turn what may be a disadvantageous situation on its head, so that she could benefit from it.

"Longbottom? You seem pretty pleased with that? Don't tell us you wanna follow in the wake of Hannah Abbott? Riiiiide that Longbottom sword?" Blaise accompanied his words with a rather repulsive, crude gesture.

Pansy's lips turned up into a sneer. "Don't be disgusting," she snapped dismissively. "My parents' pre-term prep talk this year involved encouraging me to make alliances with the people that have come out of this vile war at the top of the social hierarchy. And, astonishingly, those people include Neville Longbottom."

"Ah. You're going to work your charms on him so that you're new best buddies?"

Draco wondered if Pansy's new-found mission was also the reason she'd spent so much time talking to Hermione Granger earlier that day. But Draco really didn't want to think about Hermione Granger. A sharp pain was starting to punctuate through his head, as if someone were drilling right through his left eye and into his brain. He'd started getting migraines in the summer and they only seemed to be getting more frequent.

He'd been surprised that he hadn't been called before McGonagall for assault after what had happened at the Lake party the night before. Maybe Granger hadn't reported it yet, and was pocketing it away as blackmail material for later. Although that wasn't really Granger's style...or rather, it hadn't used to be Granger's style...

Draco really didn't know what had gotten into him, what had made him want to bury his hand in Granger's curls and push his lips onto hers, what had made him hiss vile things into her ear. It was as if he'd just wanted to get any kind of reaction from her, even if it was negative. Because, for some inexplicable reason, he couldn't stand to see the dead dullness of her eyes, or hear the lifelessness of her words. And clearly, he'd drunk way too fucking much of the cheap shit that Pucey had gotten from Hogsmeade.

He'd tried to apologise to Granger earlier that day but, irritatingly, Pansy had got to her first. Besides, he was not sure how to apologise – not genuinely, not truly; no one had ever taught him – so he still didn't know what he'd intended to say.

"This whole thing is bullshit," he mumbled, leaning his head back against the sofa and covering his face with his hands; the light of the common room felt severe and blinding. Then, knowing there was no way out of it, he said into the darkness: "I got Hermione Granger."

There was an immediate guffawing sound of amusement and incredulity; Draco knew that had come from Blaise. But Theo and Pansy were silent, which made Draco reluctantly squint his eyes open at them.

Theo was nodding his head slowly, as if taking in the news. "That could be...interesting," he remarked neutrally.

Pansy's eyebrows were raised slightly. It was hard to read her reaction, which was potentially dangerous when it came to Pansy; Draco always preferred to know what she was thinking. "Well, this whole thing could be interesting," was all she said.

"Or just the catalyst for another almighty clusterfuck, as if my life needed another one of those," Draco said bitterly.

No. There must be something wrong with the magic. How, in the name of Salazar, could he possibly have anything useful to offer Hermione Granger?

"It's got to be a mistake. I'm going straight to that bloody mind healer tomorrow to sort this the fuck out."

The next morning, new text had appeared on the second page of Draco's Binding Book. He read it as soon as he woke up.

xXx

Your First Task

Your first task should hopefully be a straightforward one, and it is twofold!

Please arrange a time in the next two weeks to meet up with your partner for this task. We expect you to spend approximately two to three hours on it overall.

Part one: To break the ice a little, eight questions will appear in this book. You and your partner are to ask one another each question and answer each honestly. Don't worry – the questions won't be too taxing! For example, they will be questions about likes and dislikes.

You can 'pass' (i.e. not answer) up to three questions between you. However, if you choose to pass, your partner can choose not to answer that same question too.

When you are with your partner and ready to start the task, write 'Start task 1' in this book and your questions will appear in turn!

At least one of you must write the answers down in this book. The book will know if an answer is false. It is impossible to write an untruth in this book.

Part two: The second part of the task is also simple enough! Together with your partner, agree on a book that you've both read or that you'll read before your first meeting, and when you meet, discuss the book!

It can be any book, of any age, Muggle or magical, just as long as it's been published.

Please write a brief summary of your discussion in this book.

Any questions, please write them here and the book will answer (remember, your partner will see anything you write!) or ask Alethea.

Have a great first task!

xXx

Absolute...fucking...bullshit, Draco thought before pushing himself out of bed and heading to the showers.

A little later, as he sat in the Great Hall for breakfast, Theo leant towards him and said quietly, "Draco...are you sure it's a good idea for you to do this therapy-matching thing?"

Draco frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Well...it possibly means getting close to someone...whether you like it or not...and that could be hard with...you know…your family history and it's – it's unique relationship... familial love thing..." Theo faltered, looking pleadingly at Draco, as if not wanting to have to explain himself any further.

Draco's stomach churned as he realised what Theo was referring to – something that had never been voiced between them, something that not even the Malfoys spoke of explicitly – but which Theo, in his observant, razor-sharp way, had clearly picked up on.

"It's fine," Draco snapped. "It doesn't matter anyway because I'm going to Alethea right after breakfast and pulling out."

Draco didn't miss the flicker of relief in Theo's eyes. "Right. Okay then," he said placatingly, and turned back to his toast.

Draco's eyes unwittingly drifted over to the Gryffindor table; rather oddly, Granger hadn't appeared there for the duration of breakfast.

Once he was finished, he strode purposely through the halls of Hogwarts to Alethea's office; he had about fifteen minutes before lessons started. Draco knocked so fiercely on her door, his knuckles stung with the force of it.

"Draco," Alethea said pleasantly when she opened the door. "Come in."

Draco marched up to the low coffee table in the middle of the room and tossed his stupid little purple book down on the table with a loud thud.

"It's faulty," he stated confidently. "There's something wrong with your matching system. I can't – it can't have got it right. Not for me, anyway."

Alethea, who'd come round to stand on the other side of the coffee table, raised her eyes in surprise.

"It's funny you should say that, because Hermione Granger was standing in this very office only ten minutes ago saying the exact same thing," she said calmly.

Draco instinctively turned his lips up into a sneer. Of course Granger would have gone running to Alethea, crying that she couldn't bear to spend any time with Big Bad Malfoy, couldn't stand to breathe the same air as him. Well, at least if she had asked to be given someone else, her wish had probably been granted, which got him out of this shitty situation.

He grunted in acknowledgement. "Right. So it was an error. So, I'll be re-matched."

"Oh, no. It wasn't an error," Alethea smiled awkwardly. "I'll admit that, considering you and Miss Granger's history, your pairing up was a little unexpected. But this intervention, the potion and charm, have gone through rigorous testing. I've checked and rechecked the magic for this matching in particular and everything has been done correctly. It seems that you and Miss Granger both have something to give to, and to learn from, the other. From a mind healing point of view."

"That's – that's," Draco bit back a swear word and instead settled for: "That doesn't make any sense. I'd be as useless as a mute mandrake to her."

Alethea gave him one of those small smiles, the ones that nearly tipped over the edge into being pitying but never quite reached it. "Well, I suppose time will tell. During the research studies, this magic paired up some unlikely people, but by the end of the tasks it was clear why they'd been matched...if you don't want to do this, I will respect that decision, although I think it would be a shame. Not least because Miss Granger is willing to go ahead with it."

Draco's knees felt a little weak. He sank down onto the chair behind him. "She was happy to go ahead with it, despite being partnered with me?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Well, maybe 'happy' isn't the most accurate word, but – I'm sure she wouldn't mind me saying – she was aware of what she'd committed to, and she said that once she'd committed to something, she wanted to see it through. She had a lot of questions about how the magic worked and, once I explained them all, she seemed reassured that there hadn't been an error."

Pain sparked up in Draco's temple; his migraine was returning yet again. There seemed to be no way out of this. If fucking Granger had agreed to carry on, he couldn't very well opt out, could he? That really wouldn't look good in Alethea's end of term report to the Wizengamot.

He leant forward, clasped his hand around the book and hauled himself up from the chair, unable to stop a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

"Fine. Fine, I'll do it," he mumbled, before striding out of the office.

"Granger!"

The class was just spilling out into the corridors after their DADA lesson. Hermione came to a halt at the sound of her name being called behind her, her heart thudding as she realised who the voice belonged to.

She reluctantly turned to see Draco Malfoy hurrying towards her. Nott and Zabini, who'd been flanking him, hung back out of ear shot.

"Right," Malfoy started when he reached her. His voice sounded bored, but she also recognised the hint of something strained in it. "I don't like this any more than you probably do, so let's try and make it as painless as possible, yeah? We need to talk about where and when and what."

"Fine," Hermione said. She'd aimed to put more passion into her voice but it came out in the same lifeless way she was starting to recognise in herself.

She'd known as soon as he'd called her name that he would want to talk to her about the mind healing project. After speaking with Alethea, she'd decided to just go ahead and push through the bloody thing. She consoled herself with the knowledge that the first task didn't sound too horrendous.

"So. A book," Malfoy shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes flitting anywhere but at her face; she didn't think she'd ever seen him so fidgety. So awkward. "Right up your street. You probably came in your pants when you read about that," he said dryly.

"Why do you always seem to be talking about me orgasming or having sex?" She couldn't help it, the words just slipped out her mouth; they were a genuine query, not just a mindless retort.

He blinked rapidly, his head jerking back ever so slightly, as if confused for the briefest moment, before his expression turned into a familiar cold one. Nevertheless, her ability to cause him to lose his composure, even for the briefest of moments, felt like a victory of some kind and she had to suppress a smile of triumph that twitched at her lips.

"Let's make this quick," he clipped, as if she hadn't spoken. "Fiction or non?"

"Fiction?" Hermione suggested. "It'd be a break from studying."

"Fine. Muggle or magical author?"

"You'd read a Muggle book?"

"Wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Erm...I don't know…" Hermione suddenly felt overwhelmed by the choice, which was somewhat annoying; she knew this would have been an easy decision to make in the past. "Are there any you'd like to read, or talk about?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes in apparent exasperation and looked over his shoulder at Nott and Zabini, who'd been talking in hushed voices whilst sending furtive looks their way. Hermione looked over her own shoulder, but there was no one waiting for her. She'd left the lesson with Harry and Ginny, but they obviously hadn't realised she'd stopped, and had gone on ahead.

"Look," Malfoy said impatiently. "I don't want to discuss this for longer than necessary. Maybe you decide on a book and just let me know, yeah?"

"So you can spend the whole time mocking my choice?"

"Draco, mate," Nott called out. "We're going to be late for Transfig. And that new teacher hates us enough already."

"It would be entirely your fault if we're late for Transfig and I really wouldn't be happy about it," Zabini exclaimed in a rather impressive impersonation of Malfoy. Nott chuckled at what Hermione surmised was some kind of in-joke.

Malfoy resolutely ignored his friends, keeping his gaze directed at her. "Look, you decide on the book, and I'll decide on whatever it is we have to do for the next task. Think that'll make it easier for the both of us, yeah?" Before Hermione could reply, he was taking a step back from her, readjusting his bag strap on his shoulder. "Message me in our bullshit books."

And then he was off, joining his two friends, and hurrying down the corridor as if he couldn't get away fast enough.

"I mean, I know he was being all protective, which is kind of nice in a way but, really, it can also be a bit little...patronising at times."

Hermione was sitting with Ginny underneath the oak tree by the Great Lake as Ginny recounted her fight with Harry when they'd all found out who their 'therapy matches' were.

"So then he comes running after me, as you know, apologising. And, you know when he's all regretful and self-torturing? It's difficult not to forgive him when he's like that, so we ended up in this alcove together," Ginny's mouth morphed into a conspiratorial grin, "You know, the one behind the new phoenix statue on the fourth floor? And he pushes me up against the wall –"

"Ginny, please spare me," Hermione interrupted, her tone dispassionate. "Harry's like a brother to me. Imagine how you'd feel if I went on at you about what it was like shagging Ron."

"Urgh!" Ginny exclaimed, putting her hands over her ears. "Okay, point taken. Please don't." A rare smile tugged at Hermione's lips at Ginny's reaction. "Well, anyway, I hope you're going to this?" Ginny tossed a piece of parchment into Hermione's lap.

Hermione picked it up and read the words Reconciliation Ball, 31st October 1998 printed across it in elegant, slanting calligraphy. She'd heard of the ball – an effort by the teaching staff to aid the reconciliation between the Hogwarts students that had found themselves on the opposite sides of a war none of them had asked for.

"Oh, no. No, I'm not going," Hermione said dismissively, casting the parchment aside onto the grass.

"What? But you have to! It's going to be fun, Hermione! Remember that? That thing called fun? And I heard McGonogall is going to allow a little alcohol – for those of age."

Recently, Hermione had found socialising at the best of times exhausting. "I'd rather chew my own arm off," she said dully.

"Hermione –" Ginny started to protest again, but she was interrupted.

"Hello!" a sweet voice lilted. Hermione and Ginny looked up to see Luna standing beside them, sporting a multi-coloured skirt and a jumper the texture of candy-floss.

"Hi Luna!" Ginny chirped. "Where're you off to?"

Luna smiled pleasantly. "I'm going to show Theodore the thestrals."

Hermione squinted up at Luna. "Theodore Nott?" she snapped out, instantly realising how redundant her question was – as if there were any other 'Theodores' Luna could be referring to.

"Yes. We met yesterday for our therapy task, and I told him about how I've been feeding the thestrals since my third year – how Hagrid showed me their home in the Forbidden Forest – and Theodore said he'd really like to meet them."

"You've done your task already?" Hermione asked, her stomach curdling. But then, it had been five days since they'd been given the task. She still hadn't even decided on the bloody book; she'd avoided thinking about the whole thing since her conversation with Malfoy.

"Oh, yes. We discussed Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. He suggested the book...it was as if he knew I like rare animals," Luna replied breezily.

"Well...maybe he did…" Ginny said mock-mysteriously. "Did you notice how he kept staring at you at the Lake party, Loo?"

"Did he?" Luna asked innocently.

"Yep," Ginny confirmed.

"Oh…maybe the vivus lusibuses had got his attention. I wonder if he can see them too...but he seemed to be quite interested in what I was saying yesterday. He kept staring at my mouth, which made me think he was rather absorbed in what I was telling him, don't you think?"

"Well, Luna, I suppose that's what he might have been –"

"But are you sure you'll be okay, Luna? Going into the Forbidden Forest with Theodore Nott?" Hermione interrupted Ginny.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

Hermione thought of Nott's green and silver tie, his family's reputation, of how he'd laughed along with Malfoy when he'd called her Mudblood in their earlier years. But then she thought of his tear-stained face as he'd left Alethea's office…and it all left her feeling rather confused, so she ended up merely shrugging, and saying lamely, "No reason, I suppose…" Then, in an effort to change the subject: "Have you done your task with Zabini, Ginny?"

"Nope, but we've chosen a book. Well, I did. Quidditch Through the Ages. I thought: we both like Quidditch, we probably would have both read it," Ginny shrugged, "Simple."

"Oh, well I hope you have a nice time with him," Luna said. "I should go. The thestrals might not be very welcoming if Theodore arrives there before I can introduce them." Luna turned and smiled down at Hermione, her eyes wide. "I hope you come back to us soon, Hermione. I miss you."

Hermione blinked, trying to make sense of what had just been said. She found she spent a lot of time doing that when she talked to Luna. "I'm right here, Luna?"

"Oh. Yes. Well, your body is," she looked around Hermione's head as if searching for something. "And your soul is as well, which is great!" she beamed, as if satisfied. "But your mind is a bit lost, I think. I think it might be hiding – it's understandable it might still be protecting itself. Maybe it will take a while for it to know it's safe now."

And with that, Luna turned away and started to make her way down the hillside. Hermione and Ginny looked after her as she started to skip, her hair bouncing lightly on her shoulders.

"Did she just say that you've literally lost your mind?" Ginny remarked, clearly bemused.

"I think so," Hermione replied resignedly. "But then, it often feels like I have, so…"

Ginny looked at her solemnly for a moment or so, before her mouth curled up into an amused smile. "Well, as Luna would also say: 'you're just as sane as I am!'"

Hermione forced a laugh, because that's what Ginny was expecting – that her attempt at humour was enough to make Hermione feel better.

But she really didn't think she was as sane as Ginny. In fact, she wondered if she would ever feel truly sane again.

Hermione stayed by the Lake well after Ginny had left, until the sun started to set and the air started to swell into a chill breeze, looking out at the black expanse of the water. Finally, when she realised she'd started shivering, she made her way back into the castle.

The corridors were mostly empty, but halfway to Gryffindor Tower she saw Pansy Parkinson striding alone down the hallway towards her, a book clutched under her arm.

Pansy smiled a smile that Hermione still didn't trust and exclaimed, with what sounded like insincere joy, "Hermione! Hi!"

"Hey," Hermione replied more sedately as the two girls reached each other and came to a stop. Hermione eyed the book in Pansy's grip: 101 Plants for Power and Prosperity.

"So, regarding the Reconciliation Ball, I thought I could help with your – " Pansy looked Hermione up and down, at her dishevelled uniform and muddied trainers, looking distinctly unimpressed. "Outfit?"

"Oh, no thanks, I'm not going," Hermione wasn't sure how she was managing to have this conversation for the second time in a matter of hours.

"What? Why on earth would you not be going?" Pansy looked genuinely put out.

"Just...not my thing…" Hermione explained lamely.

Pansy raised her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side appraisingly. "Hmm...well, there's still time to change your mind." Then, smugly and conspiratorially, she said: "In the meantime, there's a party in the Slytherin Common Room in a couple of weeks. I'd like you to be my guest!"

Hermione couldn't help but bark out a laugh. The idea of her going to a Slytherin Common Room party was not far off hilarious.

"Sorry, Pansy, that's not really my thing either. And I don't even think I'd be let in."

Pansy frowned. "Firstly: you need to stop apologising all the time. Even to me. Secondly: yes, they'd let you in because I invited you and you'd be my guest. Thirdly: is it that it 'isn't your thing', or is it just that other people wouldn't expect it to be your thing? Because we've talked about you constantly giving into other people's expectations."

"I – well…" she thought of her fellow Gryffindor's faces, as well as some of the Slytherin's, if she went to a party in the snake pit. Surprisingly, the idea of doing something that was so far removed from what they would expect of her was somehow appealing; freeing. And besides, she'd often wondered what the Slytherin Common Room was like, especially what could be seen of the Great Lake and its creatures from it. "Well...maybe but probably not."

"Okay, well the offer still stands," Pansy said graciously, and Hermione appreciated how hard it seemed to be to offend Pansy; she felt she never needed to worry about upsetting or disappointing her. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Then Pansy smiled the smile Hermione didn't know how to interpret and went on her way.

That Sunday evening, Hermione looked at her stack of 'to read and reread' books on her bedside table and out of a frustration at her own indecision, picked one at random.

She opened her Binding Book at the first blank page and wrote the title before she could start doubting her decision:

HG: Wuthering Heights.

She'd assumed it might be hours before Malfoy would read her message, let alone reply, so was surprised when the text flashed momentarily; Alethea had explained that that's what would happen when both partners had their books open on the same page. Hence, it was a strong indication that whatever was written on that page had been read.

She stared down at the page, waiting, but after a minute had gone by without Malfoy replying, she wondered if she hadn't been clear.

HG: It's a novel by – she started to write but a new scrawl appeared on her page:

DM: By Emily Bronte. I know.

HG: You know Muggle authors?

DM: The Bronte sisters formed one of the most notorious witch covens of the nineteenth century. Branwell was a squib. That's why he drank himself to death.

Hermione sighed. This tendency for the Wizarding World to covet anything good, anything renowned that had come from the Muggle one was a common way to denigrate Muggles further, whilst elevating themselves. There was a similar debate over Shakespeare.

HG: That theory hasn't been proven. Some maintain they were Muggles, and there's very good evidence that they were.

DM: Whatever. At least it's one of their shorter novels. Trust you to choose chick lit. We only have a week left to do this. How about Mon eve?

HG: It'sclassical literature not chick lit!. Hermione underlined repeatedly to emphasise her irritation. I have Charms Club Mon eve. Tue?

DM: Quidditch practice. Wed?

HG: Duel

DM: Duelling Club. I remember. They both went to Duelling Club. Thur?

HG: Okay. Where do you want to meet? It's meant to rain all week, we should meet inside somewhere.

DM: Fine. How about that old Divination classroom in the North Tower? Do you know it?

The classroom hadn't been used for years, as far as Hermione was aware. Not many people knew about it but she wasn't surprised that Malfoy did, after all the snooping he'd done in his sixth year.

HG: I know it. See you there at 7?

DM: See you there.

The text flashed a dull colour. She thought back to Alethea's explanations and remembered that that indicated the 'partner book' had been shut. So Hermione closed hers too and put it on her bedside table, relieved Malfoy and her had at least come to a decision about what they were going to talk about in their first meeting.

She scrambled about in the drawer of her bedside table until her hand clasped around a small vial, the contents of which she brought to her lips and downed in one go, before snuggling under her covers.

The potion was meant to make sleep come more easily, without the suffocating shadows of nightmares, and she hoped, as she did every time she drank it, that tonight it would work.

A/N: As always, huge, huge thanks to Frumpologist and scullymurphy for being amazing alphabetas. And thank you to everyone that's let me know your thoughts on this - I treasure reading your reviews! They are loved.