Chapter 11: The Trial

Ginny dragged him from the library before he could think or speak. As they burst out into the corridor, Draco wondered how she'd got to be so strong, and then it occurred to him to be indignant.

"What the hell," he snapped, wrenching himself free.

"Shut up and c'mon," said Ginny shortly, and she led him down to the first floor and, to his increasing confusion, through the oak front doors and out into the grounds.

"Where are we going?" he demanded, disguising his trepidation with annoyance. He very much hoped she wasn't going to try to make him pass the dementors. Ginny turned to face him and rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Draco, we'd be there by now," she said impatiently. "Keep up!" She didn't lead him past the dementors, but off to the side, and into the deserted Quidditch locker rooms. Draco hesitated in the doorway.

"Ginny, if someone finds you here and thinks I've let you in, I'll lose my place on the team."

"I thought you might whine about that," said Ginny casually. "So I checked. No one's using the pitch tonight, we'll have it to ourselves."

"Right," said Draco, frowning. "For what, though?"

"Get your broom," Ginny replied without looking at him, rummaging through a locker he supposed belonged to one of her brothers. Shaking his head slightly, but unsure what else to do, Draco crossed the locker room and obeyed. Having taken a broom herself, Ginny gave him a nod and led the way out onto the pitch. She turned to face him, and Draco realized she'd swiped the Quaffle as well. Dread and curiosity battled for dominance inside him.

"Ginny, what the hell d'you think you're doing?"

"Wood's leaving at the end of the year," she said matter-of-factly, tossing the large, red ball at him. "I'm going to take his place on the team." Draco caught it, more to prevent it hitting him in the face than anything else.

"Right. What's that got to do with me?"

"You're going to help me, you idiot," Ginny told him. Draco frowned.

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because it might help me to forget about what I saw in the library," said Ginny smoothly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," snarled Draco at once. Ginny shrugged, unconcerned.

"Go back inside then, I won't force you."

She mounted her broom and kicked off, leaving Draco on the ground, head spinning. He stared after her for a moment-she really flew quite well, he thought dully-before he shot off in pursuit.

"What is it you saw, exactly?" he demanded, as he drew level with her. She grinned and raised an eyebrow.

"I know you don't play Chaser," she said flatly. "But try not to be shit at it, all right?" Draco gritted his teeth as the hot thrill of competition shot through him. He flew halfway up the pitch before turning sharply to face her as she positioned herself in front of the goal hoops. He studied her movements for a few seconds, planning his attack, and cut a clean, straight trajectory through the air toward the left-hand hoop. Ginny remained in the center until the very last moment, and seeing his chance, Draco turned so sharply he nearly spiraled out of control and lobbed the Quaffle through the center hoop. Ginny dove down to catch it, and when she returned and tossed it back at him, she was grinning and her eyes were alight with fiery determination. This time, Draco approached the hoops from above, feinted right, and Ginny corrected just in time to stop the Quaffle going into the left-hand hoop. For the next few hours they played like this, and despite the bizarre circumstances, Draco didn't think he'd ever enjoyed a Quidditch practice more. He found himself constantly forced to devise new strategies to get the Quaffle past her, and she likewise adapted as he learned her patterns of movement. They only landed back on the ground when it became too dark to realistically continue.

"Maybe you should play Chaser," said Ginny, grinning. Draco waved this away.

"Ginny, why are we out here?" Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"Are you asking me why I wanted your help?" she asked. "Or is this your way of telling me you've got the world's worst short-term memory?" Draco rolled his eyes.

"The first one," he snapped. Ginny considered him for a moment.

"My brothers have played Quidditch in the garden for as long as I can remember," she said quietly. "Mum and Dad were over the moon when Charlie was made Gryffindor Seeker, and by the time he left school everyone hoped he'd play for England." She laughed. "I actually think Mum was a bit disappointed when he went off to Romania. Bill and Percy never cared much for flying, but Fred and George would take Charlie's old broom out in turn before they ever got their own, and they used to make Ron play with them, even though he's never been that good." She paused, and Draco frowned slightly.

"Let me guess. No one asked you to play." Ginny gave a short, humorless laugh.

"I didn't need them to," she said flatly, and there was a hard glint in her eyes now. "I started stealing their brooms at night when I was six. I'd wait until they all went to bed, or at least pretended to sleep while they read comics under the covers, and then I'd climb out my bedroom window and down to the broom shed. I'd fly all night, and when it started to get light I'd climb back up through the window and pretend I'd been asleep in bed the whole time. I never got caught, and I always felt so proud that I had this secret none of my brothers knew anything about, but it isn't fun to keep secrets anymore. I want to see their faces when they realize they're wrong about me." She paused. "I'm not just going to play for England, Draco. When I leave school I'm going to be the captain of the team that wins the World Cup." Draco shivered slightly, but he didn't think it had anything to do with the breeze picking up around them.

"I'm still not sure what that's got to do with me," he said softly. Ginny gave him a long, significant look.

"I just want to fly," she said slowly. "It's all I think about, and it's all I want to do for the rest of my life. And I don't think you're going to laugh." Draco stared. No, he wasn't going to laugh, and suddenly he knew exactly why Ginny wanted him-and only him-to train with her. He knew he played well, but he couldn't bring himself to care much about the outcome of the game, the Slytherin team's chances for the Cup, or even matches in which he wasn't directly involved. Watching him play, Ginny had understood that about him.

"Right," he said matter-of-factly. "Slytherin practices Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. And I've never stayed out a bit afterward, nor do I have any plans to start. If I were to stay out, it would obviously be against the rules for anyone to join me. I'm just mentioning it because I'd hate for you to end up in detention." Ginny grinned.

"It's very kind of you to be concerned," she said wryly. "G'night, Draco."

"But they wouldn't actually convict him," said Hermione firmly. She was striding confidently across the grounds, Harry and Ron barely keeping pace with her, huffing along behind. "I mean, yes, it looked bad at the time, but-" she broke off. Somehow, mentioning Draco's name just now didn't seem the best idea. "Anyway, we've just got to convince Hagrid to put together a strong defense. Come on," she added, stopping abruptly and realizing Harry and Ron were about ten feet behind her. She couldn't explain the rush of manic energy flooding her, she only knew that she could practically taste it, acrid and a bit acidic in the back of her throat. Hermione liked to have a plan, and she liked to have the means to put that plan into action-it was the only sure way to see a clear path forward, and unlike her wretched Arithmancy homework or the fate of her friendship with Draco, this situation had an obvious solution and a clear path forward. For the first time in weeks, she was truly in her element.

When they reached Hagrid's hut it was dark, and no one answered Ron's timid knock at the door.

"He must be out," said Harry fretfully. Hermione shoved Ron aside impatiently and rapped, as hard as she could, on the door.

"Hagrid!" she cried. "Hagrid, are you in there?" Silence. Then heavy footsteps, and a moment later the door creaked open. Hagrid stood before them, eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.

"I knew yeh'd come!" he bellowed, and flung his arms around Harry so abruptly that the latter had no time to get his bearings, and found himself swept quite literally off his feet. Ron and Hermione hastened to seize him around the waist and pull him free, and Harry steered Hagrid back into his cabin. Hagrid allowed himself to be heaved into a chair and slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably. Spotting an official-looking letter lying open on the table, Hermione picked it up. She could feel Harry and Ron's presence on either side of her as they leaned in to read.

Dear Mr. Hagrid,

Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident. However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on 20th April, and we ask that you present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee's offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.

Yours in fellowship…

There followed a list of the school governors.

"But...well, Buckbeak isn't a bad hippogriff, Hagrid," said Ron uncertainly. "I bet he'll get off…"

"Yeh don' know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o' Dangerous Creatures!" choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "They've got it fer interestin' creatures!"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but a horrible wet ripping sound from the corner made them all turn sharply. Buckbeak the hippogriff was lying in the corner of Hagrid's cabin, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor. Hermione felt vomit rise in her throat, and swallowed hard at once. Judging by Harry's and Ron's faces, they were having similar reactions.

"I couldn' leave him tied up out there in the snow!" wailed Hagrid. "All on his own! At Christmas!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a look.

"You'll have to put up a good, strong defense, Hagrid," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "I'm sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe."

"Won't make no diff'rence!" sobbed Hagrid. "Them Disposal devils, they're all in Lucius Malfoy's pocket! Scared o' him! An' if I lose the case, Buckbeak-" Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forward, face in his arms.

"What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?" said Harry hopefully.

"Yes, Dumbledore!" Hermione seized gratefully on the idea, unable to believe she hadn't thought of it herself. "He'll be able to help. You've got to go to Dumbledore."

But Hagrid was shaking his head violently.

"He's done more'n enough fer me already," groaned Hagrid. "Got enough on his plate what with keepin' them dementors outta the castle, an' Sirius Black lurkin' around-"

Hermione glanced at Harry, who shrugged slightly.

"Well, it won't help to give up," she said firmly. "I really do think you can-" she broke off, for Hagrid was wailing so loudly she had to raise her voice to compete.

"Er-shall I make a cup of tea?" asked Ron hopefully. Harry and Hermione stared at him. "It's what Mum does whenever someone's upset," he muttered, shrugging slightly. And, strange though it seemed to Hermione, a steaming mug of tea did seem to lift Hagrid's spirits. At last he raised his head and blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth.

"Yer right, I can' afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together…"

It was quite late by the time they returned to the castle, and this time, Hermione allowed Harry and Ron to draw ahead of her. Now that Hagrid had been consoled (for the moment, at least), she was free to focus on why this was happening. And yes, why?

The incident was Draco's fault, pure and simple. He'd heard Hagrid, and baited the hippogriff on purpose, fully aware of the consequences. Yes, he'd looked terrible, and yes, she was sure it was painful, but...why was this happening now? He'd been out of the hospital wing for months, so what on earth was he playing at, having his father complain to the school governors? If this was his way of sending a message to her...well, he wouldn't do that, she told herself firmly. Would he? As they climbed through the dark and mostly empty castle up to Gryffindor Tower, she felt less and less sure. After all, what other possible explanation was there? By the time she pulled her bed hangings shut for the night, she felt positively sick.

"Are you coming into Hogsmeade today?" Draco looked up, startled. He hadn't heard Pansy and Daphne approach, and yet here they were, sitting across from him wearing expressions that communicated, quite clearly, that what followed would be rehearsed and excruciating to watch. He laid aside his fork-he wasn't eating anyway.

"No."

"Blaise and Theo left already," said Pansy matter-of-factly.

"Well...good for them." The girls frowned slightly at one another.

"You didn't come to dinner last night," said Daphne quietly.

"I wasn't hungry." Pansy and Daphne shared another look, and Pansy sighed slightly.

"Come to Hogsmeade with us, Draco. Please. You don't have talk to Theo," she added, interpreting his silence exactly as he hoped. "We don't know why the two of you are acting like idiots, but we're not going to ask." She paused here, and bit her lip. For no reason at all Draco felt a sudden wave of incredible affection for her, and fought bitterly against showing it on his face.

"We miss you," Daphne concluded, and made a face. "I'm never saying that again, mind, so you'd better enjoy it now." Draco sighed slightly. It did sound nice, didn't it? Pansy and Daphne could be quite fun, and he could spend the day pretending nothing was troubling him. He nearly laughed. He couldn't remember the last time nothing was troubling him.

"I can't," he said now, lowering his eyes slightly. "I...sorry." The girls looked at one another once again, and Pansy sighed. They stood. Daphne hesitated for a moment, and then, very awkwardly, as though she'd forgotten how to use her arms properly, placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We're your friends, yeah?" said Pansy quietly. "Just...don't forget." And with that, they were gone. Draco thought, for a moment, that he was going to cry. To his enormous relief, however, a few breaths steadied him. He didn't have time for any of that, not today. In reality, he was going into Hogsmeade. He just needed to do it alone.

He waited until most of the castle had cleared out before he left, earning himself a suspicious glance from Filch as he passed through the doors. The moment he was past the dementors, he hid himself with a Disillusionment Charm and slipped through the village without pausing to look at any of it. It took him a few moments to remember which clump of bushes Crookshanks had led him into, and when he found it he paused for a moment. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, and he was sure he looked pale and afraid and...well, like a child. If he was right about what he'd find when he entered the clearing, he didn't want to look like a child.

He drew himself up as tall as he could, squared his shoulders, and pushed aside the bushes.

"Right, come out, I know you're not really a dog," he said loudly and far more confidently than he felt. He reached into his bag and pulled out the sack of food he'd stolen from the breakfast table, then waited a moment. Sure enough, the bushes at the far end of the clearing rattled, and out stepped...not a dog. A man, filthy and emaciated, with matted hair hanging down past his shoulders. Draco wouldn't have known he was alive except for the eyes twinkling out of his prominent sockets.

"That was a bloody good Disillusionment Charm," said Sirius Black, in a voice far too smooth and-there was no other word for it-normal, for the way he looked. "I wondered whether I'd be seeing you again. Draco, is it?" He snatched the food from the middle of the clearing and gave an appreciative nod. "God, I've missed Hogwarts cooking," he said with relish. Draco, on the other hand, couldn't seem to stop his head spinning.

"How d'you know-"

"How could I not?" interrupted Black, eyes boring holes into Draco's. "You look exactly like…" there was a particularly intense look on his face, beyond curiosity, but not quite malice. If Draco had to give it a name, he would've said pain or perhaps grief, but neither made sense.

"My mother?" he prompted. Black shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"No." He paused for a moment. "Let's move on to the better question. How did you know it was me?" Draco wished Black would avert his eyes.

"The dormitory door," he said quietly. "A real dog couldn't have gotten out." Black laughed, and Draco recognized the dog's bark.

"I admit I didn't consider that," he said casually. For some reason, this struck Draco as extremely funny.

"You didn't consider it?" he said incredulously. "You're supposedly the most dangerous mass murderer this century, the only one to manage to break out of Azkaban, and you didn't stop to think dogs can't open doors?" He froze. Black was supposedly a dangerous mass murderer. Perhaps he shouldn't be rude. Black, however, appeared unfazed.

"Why didn't you tell a teacher?" he asked. "I'm sure they would've been very interested to know how a dangerous mass murderer got into the castle." Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Who says I didn't tell a teacher?" he asked. Black shrugged.

"I reckon I'd be back in Azkaban or worse by now, if you had." What, Draco wondered, could be worse than an island full of dementors? He frowned slightly.

"You're not, though. Are you?"

"Not what?" said Black softly.

"A dangerous mass murderer." Black laughed.

"You're either very smart or you leap to conclusions far too quickly," he said gruffly. "Which is it?"

"I wouldn't say that," Draco countered. "You've been to the castle twice now, and the first time you passed over an entire Hall full of defenseless children and left just because the Gryffindor portrait wouldn't let you into an empty room, and the second time you came to watch Quidditch. Maybe the real problem is, whatever it is you're after, you're not very good at it." That last bit came out before he could think better of it, and his breath caught in his chest, waiting for some sort of retribution. Black, however, merely studied him with a shrewd, calculating look he wasn't sure he liked. "Er-what is it you're really after?" he asked, after a moment. For the first time, Black looked away from Draco.

"What's the cat's name?" he asked, after a moment. Draco jumped slightly.

"Which one? The black, or the orange?"

"The orange," said Black at once. "Bugger the black one."

"Crookshanks." Black nodded, and then, to Draco's surprise, gave him a mischievous smile. It made him look years-no, decades-younger.

"What's the girl's name?" Draco had never wished more fervently for the earth to swallow him whole. He couldn't believe his own stupidity; it hadn't occurred to him for a second, in the last few weeks, that if the black dog was really an animagus, then...for fuck's sake.

"None of your business," he snapped. To his extreme annoyance, Black gave a low whistle.

"I take it she didn't let you kiss her." Was it possible to die from humiliation? If enough blood rushed to his head, would it explode?

"Shut up," he snarled. "Or I'll…"

"You'll murder me?" Fully struck by the ludicrousness of the situation and unable to think of anything else to do, Draco laughed. Black was quiet for a moment.

"I wonder," he said slowly, "whether you've noticed any other animals behaving oddly in the castle. Opening locked doors, and the like." Draco frowned.

"What d'you mean?" he asked. Black gave a slow, casual shrug, but his eyes didn't waver from Draco's. "Seriously, are you saying there's-are you saying I should have?" he added, when he couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"I'm saying," hissed Black, "that you seem to have a talent for spotting things behaving in ways they shouldn't." Draco wracked his brains for a moment, but try as he might, he was lost.

"Are you...are we still talking about Crookshanks?" he asked. Black gave a single shake of his head.

The conversation haunted him all evening and through the next day. Something about it made him feel profoundly at odds with the world around him; he'd met the man behind the terrifying stories in the Daily Prophet, the one who had slashed the Fat Lady's canvas. He ought to be beside himself with fright, or at the very least, he ought to feel guilty for not being afraid. Instead, lying awake deep into the following night, he found himself grinning up at the ceiling as he realized why his meeting with Black made him feel so strange. It had been fun.

Draco had never stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas before, and he found the castle impossibly peaceful when it was nearly empty. He walked down the huge, empty corridors with relish, and met no one from the dungeons all the way to the seventh floor. He hadn't retrieved Matilda from the mysterious room of hidden things this term-thinking about what Hermione would say if she knew how many times he'd read it had made his throat ache and his chest feel tight-but now...he couldn't explain it, but he needed to read the little girl's story again. It felt as if some harm might befall her if he didn't check, once in a while, that she was all right.

The book was still in its usual hiding place in the golden birdcage, and he snatched it and slipped out of the room, thinking he might conjure a fire to read by in the courtyard. He'd no sooner rounded the corner toward the main staircase when he collided sharply with Hermione.

She sprang back with a yelp, and the book went flying. Draco scrambled to seize it at once, shoving it deep into the pocket of his robes as if it were some deeply humiliating secret he couldn't bear to have her discover. In a way, it was.

"Don't you normally go home for the holidays?" He didn't know what made him say it, nor could he explain his sharp tone. Hermione ignored this. Her face had gone white, and her eyes flashed angrily.

"What d'you think you're playing at, then?" she demanded. He frowned.

"What?" he asked. "You don't own the seventh floor." Hermione gave a derisive scoff, as if she couldn't believe his stupidity. Obviously, he was supposed to intuit something from this.

"I suppose you thought it would get my attention," she went on coldly. "And all right, well done, you've got it. But I-" she broke off, then shook her head irritably. "Honestly, I wouldn't have believed it of you." Draco felt his head begin to spin.

"Believed...I-what?" Hermione wasn't listening.

"Hagrid's devastated, not that you probably care. But I do, all right? And you know that, so what is it? Did you really want to punish me that badly?" She didn't look like herself. For no reason at all the thought crossed his mind that she could hit him, and he took a step back.

"Hermione, I've honestly got no idea what you're on about." He hated the way he sounded then, thin and pathetic next to her righteous anger.

"Oh, don't you?" she snapped. "You didn't think I'd find out about it when you told your father to have the school governors threaten to sack Hagrid and put Buckbeak on trial to execute him over a stupid cut on your arm?" Tears swam in her eyes then, and she opened her mouth as if to continue, but nothing came out. After a moment she shook her head furiously and brushed roughly past him. He stumbled back into the wall, and his brain and body went numb. Of course. He was so stupid.

Of course his father, hearing that he'd been hurt in class, had wanted to look further into the matter. He hadn't given a damn about Draco or his arm, he'd recognized an opportunity to exert further influence over Hogwarts, to prove he wasn't powerless after the disastrous end to last term. And Draco, like an idiot, had gone and given it to him. He was so stupid.

Part of him wanted to chase after Hermione, beg her to listen to him, explain that he hadn't meant anything to happen, he didn't know, he'd do anything to make it right. He felt a sudden and visceral need then to feel her arms around him, but at the same time, if he moved, he was sure he'd be crushed. Besides...whether he'd intended it or not, he had given his father the information he needed to set this in motion. How could he seek comfort where he didn't deserve it?

The pile of books hit the table with such force that Hermione jumped nearly a foot in the air. Draco's eyes held a quiet, vaguely manic glow she'd never seen before and he looked pale and slightly worse for wear, as if he'd been up all night.

"Hippogriffs have been tried for attacking humans forty-seven times since the Medieval Assembly of Wizards," he said flatly. "Six of them this century. Four were executed, one of them got off but as far as I can tell, that's just because everyone was afraid to get near enough to kill it." He opened the book on top of his stack then, and Hermione saw that it was heavily endowed with bits of parchment bearing Draco's handwriting, rather messier than usual. "This one sort of...vanished, no one's quite sure what happened to it. Everyone assumed the bloke who owned it released it into the wild and he was sentenced to five years in Azkaban. I reckon Hagrid's stupid enough to try that, so you'll want to tell him not to." Draco flipped to another page and gestured to a paragraph toward the bottom. "I think this one is interesting. They convicted the hippogriff, but afterward the judge was accused of taking bribes from the men behind the accusations, and the decision was overturned." He paused. "Not that that helped the hippogriff, since it was already...well…" he turned the page and Hermione gasped at the large and graphic depiction of what she felt was an unnecessarily creative execution. She looked up and tried to catch Draco's eye, but he was shuffling through a large stack of notes with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I don't know what my father said to the school governors," he said carefully. "If I had to guess, I really don't think he cares whether the hippogriff lives or not. He probably wanted to see Hagrid sacked, and since that didn't happen, he's punishing Hagrid by making sure his hippogriff is executed. It's...well, it's like him." This last bit was scarcely audible, and Draco looked down at his hands, which were twisted together in his lap. Hermione frowned.

"What d'you mean, you don't know-" she broke off, shaking her head slightly. "Draco, didn't you…" The look on his face was identical to the one he'd worn when he told her his father had opened the Chamber of Secrets. "You didn't know about this," she breathed. He shook his head without raising it. "Why didn't you tell me yesterday?" Hermione demanded, perplexed.

"Because it doesn't make any difference," said Draco quietly. "It's still my fault. You've got every right to be angry with me." Hermione's heart dropped to her shoes.

"It makes a load of difference," she countered at once. She heard the catch in her voice, but she didn't care. "I'm not angry with you." At last, Draco looked up.

"You're not?"

"No." For thirty seconds, or perhaps a minute, or perhaps a year, they held each other's eyes.

"So, you think that Hagrid's best chance at winning is if he can prove the complaint was made using intimidation or bribery?" said Hermione finally, in the most businesslike tone she could summon. She picked up Draco's notes and began to skim through them.

"No, look," Draco told her, and flipped forward a few pages in the book. "See, after that hippogriff was executed, a new law was proposed making it illegal to convict or execute a magical creature without death, significant bodily harm, or lasting impairment in humans. It failed to pass through the Ministry at the time, but since then it's been referenced…" he paused and opened another book, thumbing through it until he came to the right page. "...in these cases this century. It's sort of like...right, maybe they didn't pass the law, but the idea still had enough traction to influence future cases." Hermione gasped.

"Draco, that's-well, that's brilliant."

"I haven't got through these yet," Draco told her, gesturing to the remaining books in the pile. Hermione nodded, glanced at the titles, and snatched the third book from the top. As she opened it, a grin spread unbidden across her face, try as she might to banish it.

Despite the gruesome and depressing content of the books, it was the most enjoyable afternoon Hermione had passed since the beginning of term. A tiny drop of warmth formed between them as they perused the books, looking up once in a while to recite a figure or draw the other's attention to a promising case, and it grew as they passed it back and forth, looking up more and more frequently, exchanging a slight smile here, a timid laugh there, now an exhilarated grin, and finally, when she gasped and announced, so overcome with adrenaline that she half rose from her chair, that she'd found the perfect case for Hagrid's defense, he looked as if he might hug her. Instead, he shrank back slightly, suddenly shy, and gave her a small smile that nonetheless contained enough warmth to fill her heart. She returned to her seat then, and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Draco, I…" she'd had over a month to craft what she'd say in this moment, and yet, words eluded her. "I didn't mean…" He nodded.

"I know." His face twitched slightly, as if whatever was inside him was excruciating to hold. "I should've…I mean, I wanted..." She nodded.

"I know." A moment went by, the most perfect and painful moment she'd experienced in her life.

"Do you still…" he couldn't say it, she could tell. She managed a nod, and the world around them dissolved as he kissed her.