Apricity – Chapter Seven

Snow fell Sunday night.

Hogwarts awoke to there being so much of it piled in the windows that darkness prevailed in the castle, even in the morning. So many students slept through their wand alarms that the first class of the day was cancelled by default.

This seemed to caused Granger anxiety, because when Draco finally stumbled out into the hall to use the loo, he could hear her in the sitting room. The sounds of her exerted pants reached his ears in the dim lighting of the hallway and for a moment, he wondered if it was still nighttime.

What in Salazar's name was she doing?

He peered around the edge of the wall, into the room.

Her back was to him, clad in naught but a navy blue camisole with thin straps. She wore a pair of grey cotton shorts that were shorter than any he'd ever seen before, and she was exercising. Alternating between running in place and dropping down to one knee, her curls bounced free and dripped with sweat.

"44 . . . 45 . . . 46 . . . 47 . . ."

His gaze traveled the length of her body and he wondered why she was exercising when she looked to be in shape, but then again he supposed exercise was good for one's health. It certainly was when he'd played Quidditch.

Was this what she did in the mornings before he woke? Or at night? He knew it wasn't nighttime, since he could now see the windows and the morning light behind the packed-in snow. Was she just unaware of the time? Did she think he was already at class?

Why would she skive off her first class period of the day to exercise?

Pushing his fingers into his messy sleep-hair, he stifled a yawn and watched her until she collapsed on the floor. It wasn't until she was choking and gasping for air on her hands and knees, still unaware of his presence, that he realized she'd counted to one hundred.

How was it that she could make it to one hundred knee-drops, or whatever they were, but she'd run into a table at the Three Broomsticks?

She lifted her head and glanced over.

Draco blanched, backing away as quick as he could. Somehow, he felt he wasn't meant to see any of it, so he hurried to the loo and closed the door. By the time he finished showering for the day, she was back in her bedroom.

The weekend had passed much less eventfully than Friday evening had. Draco spent most of his time in his dorm room studying for Muggle Studies. He was struggling quite a bit with it and since he wasn't exactly getting along with Theo right now, he didn't feel like spending time with him and asking for help. The only times Draco left his bedroom were to make food in the kitchenette, and even that he'd done with a wand. He hadn't bothered to go down to the Great Hall.

There were no updates on the Granger-Weaselbee debacle. At least, no dramatic ones. She'd been gone from the common room most of the weekend and Draco had only seen her once. It was Sunday when he was cleaning up after her Saturday mess with a disgruntled expression on his face.

"I talked to him," she'd said as she breezed through on her way to her bedroom. Draco had continued to clean. Then she was leaving the common room again, saying over her shoulder, "If he comes by, don't open the door."

Unsurprising, he remembered thinking. The oaf has the brain of a troll and the temper of an angry werewolf.

Weasley never came by, but Granger returned later that night with two shopping bags from Honeydukes. Draco had been on the couch reading with his feet pulled up onto the seat with him, clad in the same black trackies and grey tee shirt he'd been wearing all weekend.

"Hey," she'd said, her tone chipper.

He'd given her a strange look and replied, "Hey."

But she'd already entered her bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, she'd gone into the bathroom and hadn't come out for forty-five minutes. When she did, she walked into the kitchenette for a glass of water.

"Hey," Draco had said, tone pointed. It was irritating that she was in there for so long, and it wasn't like he wanted to know what she'd been doing in the loo, but it was getting a bit ridiculous. What if he'd needed to use it? He was sick of having to leave his own dorm all the time to use the boys' loo when he was supposed to have his own.

She walked past, the glass of water in one hand.

"Hey," he'd said again.

Granger had drifted to a Luna Lovegood stop and turned to look at him. Her eyes were a bit unfocused and watery, like she'd been crying again. This disturbed him for a moment. Had Weasley said something to her? Or was it just lingering from Friday?

"Hey," she'd said, slow and dreamy, before turning and going back to her bedroom again.

He'd kept reading for a total of fifteen more minutes before she was in the bathroom again.

For an hour.

When he'd had enough, Draco had tossed his book down onto the couch cushion. He'd walked up to the door and knocked. Silence. He paused and then with a grimace, pressed his ear to the door.

He'd known it was dodgy to do that, to listen to the loo when a witch was in there, but this made a total of one hour and forty-five minutes of loo usage. If she was crying again, why didn't she do it in her dorm room? And if she wasn't feeling well, then what if she needed help?

At that thought, Draco had backed away from the door.

He was not the type to help.

He'd gone back to the couch to try and read some more, but found that the words were dancing in front of his vision. Things were only made worse when she finally exited the bathroom and went back to her bedroom. When she came out again, she was wearing a pair of those tight cotton trousers and a hooded jumper with her curls atop her head again.

He stared at her.

"Do you mind if I run back and forth in the hallway?" she'd asked, jabbing at the hallway with her thumb. "Normally, I run outside, but with the snow . . ."

Draco had given her the most perturbed expression he'd ever given someone, but had shrugged.

"D'you need my permission?" he'd said.

"Well, it would be rude for me to . . ." She'd then scowled. "You know what? I don't know why I even bothered to ask you. I'll just do it in my room."

And then she'd marched into her bedroom and slammed her door shut. He didn't see her for the rest of the night.

Now, it was Monday, and he'd just seen her exercising in the sitting room. Did he think it was weird? Obviously. Was he starting to think she was mental? Yeah.

Did he mind seeing a witch clad in so little?

No comment.


Pansy already knew Draco was cross with Theo.

He didn't know how she figured it out from the limited amount of information that Theo had graced her with, but she had. She didn't understand it, and—after chatting his ear off about her trip to Diagon Alley with Zabini that weekend, as well as their spontaneous walk through Knockturn Alley—she questioned him like a member of the Wizengamot all through Charms. Through her excessive needling, she was able to get more information out of him to piece it all together.

"Come on," she was hissing as Flitwick finished up his lecture for the day. "You can't have me believe that the two of you willingly stood there and watched Miss Golden Swot snivel like a little girl in her nappies, all because I fucked Ron Weasley?"

A few rows ahead, Draco saw Granger's head turn. He didn't know if she'd heard, but he knew that she couldn't have without everyone else turning around, too.

"Pansy," Draco snarled below his breath, his gaze heated as it fell upon his friend. "If you don't shut your fucking mouth—"

"You'll what? Make me cry so you can stand there with me in the snow?"

"Bitch," he spat. "You're such a bitch."

Pansy smirked, crossed her arms over her chest, and then crossed one leg over the other. It showed through the open front of her robes. "At least I'm predictable. You, on the other hand, have surprised me. So which of you is it that fancies her? You or Theo?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Draco snapped, struggling to control the volume of his voice. "Pansy. Come off it."

"Don't tell me to shut up—"

"I will tell you to shut up! I will tell you to—"

They went back and forth, hissing like snakes at one another. They stopped only when students began to stand, scraping their chairs back. Pansy kept going, her angry words being spat into his ear as he slammed his parchment and quills back into his satchel.

"I don't know what it is you see in her to be friends with her, or to—to care what happens to her or why she would be crying. Her boyfriend cheated on her. So fucking what? Let her cry about it. Let her snivel. Who the fuck cares, Draco?"

"Maybe I care. You ever think about that?"

"You're—" She lowered her voice as they walked closer to the students filing out of the classroom. Granger was already gone. "You're lying."

"I'm not. I care, and you're just going to have to figure out how to cope."

She sneered. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were boffing the help. What did you do? Get lost in her cunt one cold night?"

Pansy was infuriating. She was absolutelyinfuriating. He couldn't stand her whiny, nasal voice and her inhuman blue eyes and the stupid way she smacked her lips when she talked. She never knew when to quit.

He just needed to shut her up.

"And what if I did?" he said, whirling on her in the corridor. He knew it was a lie, and a poor one at that, but he didn't care. It was the only thing he could think of in the heat of the moment.

Pansy's jaw dropped, her face contorting in revulsion and horror. "You didn't."

"And what . . ." He loomed over her, eyebrows twitching. ". . . If I did?"

Pansy's eyes flashed. "All that time you two spend together, holed up in the Head common room. I'm not surprised she's a slag. She and Weasley cheating on each other, yet she had the nerve to weep?"

Draco kept his face as impassive as he could manage. "Just fucking shut up, Pansy, and leave it."

"No! I won't leave it, come off it, or do anything of the sort." She grabbed his wrist to stop him, fingers closing over the fabric of his blazer cuff. "It's Granger we're talking about here. Hermione Granger. She's a Mudblood, for Salazar's sake! I know you're a man and you'll dip your wick in any pot of wax you see, but it's Granger!"

Draco gripped the strap of his satchel with one hand, and he used the other to rub his chin. The storm of grey inside of him was starting to swirl darker.

He didn't like hearing that word anymore.

"Don't call her that," he said, casting Pansy a disdainful glance. "And why do you care who I fuck? You can sleep with the Weaselbee, yet if I sleep with Granger, it's a problem?"

Pansy sliced a hand in the air. "Of course it's a problem! What would your father say?"

Draco felt his rage rising. He didn't want to talk, think, or hear about Lucius.

"Pansy, if you don't—"

"Malfoy! Hey, Malfoy!"

The tapping of footsteps on the stone pulled Draco to look behind him. Granger was in the process of running back to where he was, her textbook clutched against her chest and her cheeks flushed from the jog. She wore her robes open over a maroon dress with a hem that floated around her thighs, opaque black nylons, and combat boots. Her curls—normally big and fluffy around her arms—were pulled up into two buns at the top of her head, with a few furls hanging down by her ears.

"What, Granger?" he said, the stress straining his voice. He kept himself positioned in front of Pansy, as if it could help keep the two witches from seeing one another. He doubted Granger cared, but Pansy didn't need to interact with her right now. It was a bad idea.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to help me set up the Prefects' Holiday Luncheon in McGonagall's classroom," she said, the smile on her face as bright as the sun. "Oh. Hello, Pansy."

Pansy didn't respond to her. Instead, she sashayed up to Granger and pushed her face close to hers. Granger didn't flinch, choosing instead to raise one eyebrow in puzzlement.

"You could do better than her, Draco," Pansy said, biting the words out. "I don't see how you could be friends with her, let alone—"

Draco interjected. "Leave, Pansy."

After one last scathing glare sent in Draco's direction, Pansy walked past.

"Wow," Granger said. "Is she always in such a bad mood?"

"Yes," Draco muttered, pushing his hair back. "But she's one of my best friends, so I put up with it."

"Well, we all have to put up with poisonous people from time to time," Granger said. "If anyone knows that, it's me. So, are you free to help me?"

Draco swallowed, feeling his heart begin to race. His gaze slid past her, where he could see that Pansy had stopped walking. She turned to shoot them a glare so vitriolic that it made Draco's palms sweat.

She'd heard her.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered.

Granger turned, and Pansy was there beside her. The ravenette looked like she was seconds away from bursting into flames.

"Poisonous people? And what makes you think you have the right to decide who's a bad person, and who isn't? You've been sitting on a golden throne for far too long, Granger. You wouldn't know poison if you drank it in your tea."

Draco ran both of his hands down his face, stifling a groan. Pansy was insufferable, and so, so dramatic.

But Granger was the Brightest Witch of Her Age and if there was one witch she could tackle, it was Pansy Parkinson.

Without shying away, backing down, or crumbling, Granger merely moved her gaze across the planes of Pansy's face. She studied her like she was an open textbook, all without ever dropping the book she hugged in her arms. The tension in the air had gotten thicker—to the point where Draco thought he might want to grab both witches by the shoulder and pull them apart.

"Pansy Parkinson," Granger said. "How's your mother?"

Draco's eyes widened in stages as he remembered that Pansy's mother was in Azkaban.

For the rest of her life.

"Meet me in the Room of Requirement if you have the free time to help me, Malfoy," Granger called over her shoulder. "If not, have a nice lunch!"

Draco looked at Pansy, but called back, "You're not eating?"

"I'm not hungry." Granger disappeared around the corner.

In a swirl of black hair, Pansy stomped off down the hall.

"And where are you going?" Draco hollered.

"To find Blaise."


Divination wasn't Draco's favorite class, but it was the most interesting one.

A few days ago, he'd thought he abhorred it but now that Granger seemed to think they were friends, he couldn't say he hated it anymore. In fact, he wasn't apprehensive about sitting at the same table or being her partner in class any longer.

Maybe now he could actually learn something, instead of spending his time focusing on maintaining his icy, indifferent exterior around her.

The fact that she would be interesting to look at today didn't hurt, either.

He got to class right before it began, having taken a detour to avoid having to walk with Pansy and Zabini. He didn't mind Zabini, but the man was a follower. If Pansy was angry, then he was like a sponge, sucking in all of her negativity and spreading that foul energy to everyone around him.

If Pansy was in a bad mood today, then Zabini would be extra irritating.

Draco wove his way between the crowded, cramped tables, ignoring the wary glances he received as he did so. He was used to them, knowing that they could be for any number of things. The fact that he was a former Death Eater, the fact that he hadn't gotten any time in Azkaban, or the fact that his mother's dead body falling into his lap at his father's trial had been on the front of the Prophet . . .

The only thing that kept their mouths shut was the threat of McGonagall. And he knew he didn't deserve it. After everything he'd done and the way he'd stood by while the Carrows enacted their corporal punishment on the younger students during Seventh Year?

He wasn't sure he deserved anything more than what he'd got.

Taking his seat across the small, circular table from Granger, he set his bag down and pushed his hair back. He glanced at her, and she gave him a friendly smile. He didn't return it and gave her a curt nod.

"Thanks for helping me with the luncheon," she said. "I could have done it myself with my wand, but it would have taken twice as long, and we would have started late."

Draco relaxed in his seat, stretching one leg out. "Don't start crying again, or anything."

The smile faded from her face, but there was a fierce light to her eyes that showed him she knew he was only joking.

Well, half-joking.

"Well," she said, turning her nose up into the air, "I'm just glad you could actually do your duty for once. You know, as Head Boy, you're required to do a lot more than just read on the couch in the common room until you fall asleep."

"Come off it," he said, tipping his head back to stare at the arched ceiling. "You wish you could lay on the couch and read yourself into a coma."

"And why can't I?" She crossed her arms, glaring at him.

"Because you've got every class under the sun on your roster, Granger, and you spend all of your time doing your homework." Or being in the bloody loo.

"Pfft." She blew a curl out of her eyes. "If there's anything I can manage, it's having too many classes. Trust me. In any case, with the amount of sleeping you do, I'm surprised you're not failing yours. When do you study? Hello? When do you study?"

Draco blinked, realizing that he'd just been staring at her.

Was that—her blowing the hair away—cute?

"I study."

"Hardly."

"Hardly, but yes. I study."

She gave him a sour look, then sighed. "Anyway, I'm even more surprised you stayed for the luncheon. Was Theo not looking for you?"

Draco averted his eyes. "Theo's fine. And the food was good. I'm Head Boy, so it wouldn't have made sense if I wasn't there."

"You missed the Back to School Brunch and the Halloween Dinner."

"Yeah, well—this time, I stayed." His eyes met hers. "You hardly ate, though. So why all this banter if you ate like, a pea."

The color drained from her face for a moment—a moment that only a Legilimens could track—and then her smile returned. "Malfoy, just because I set up the lunch doesn't mean I have to eat the lunch. I told you I wasn't hungry. I had a big breakfast."

"Oh, you went down before you did your—jumping thing, or whatever it was?"

"No, and yes I knew you saw me exercising." She shifted in her seat. "I ate in the kitchenette."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "You cleaned your dishes?"

When she didn't reply, he couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"There weren't any in the sink, is why I'm asking."

She started to respond, but Professor Trelawney bustled into the room from the door at the back of the classroom, silencing everyone in the room. She immediately began to prattle on in the discombobulated sort of way she had about her, and her eyes bugged out from behind her thick glasses. As she fell into her lecture, Granger fell into her notes, and someone tapped Draco on the shoulder.

"Time to spill."

It was Blaise Zabini.

Draco turned to take in his shite-eating grin. "Spill . . . What?"

"About you and Granger." He folded his arms on the back of his chair, brown eyes twinkling. "You're boffing her?"

Great.

Of course Pansy would tell him. He was her current flame. She probably told him everything. And now that Blaise believed his lie, it was only a matter of time before it spread everywhere. Draco needed to nip it in the bud now, before it became a real problem.

"Will you—" Draco lowered his voice to a hiss. "Shut up. Don't say that so loudly."

"Do you think that maybe you fancy her, or something? Come on—don't hold out on me."

"No. Salazar, no," Draco whispered. "Pansy misunderstood me. She—"

Blaise searched his eyes in the way that Draco hated. The kind of way that made him feel like he was in front of that bint Rita Skeeter. It made him feel like he was being judged.

"Well, do you wanna maybe explore it a little bit?" Blaise said, voice low enough that no one else could hear. Across his table from him sat Pansy, who was looking down at her painted nails. "I mean, come on. Granger's got a little something there. Don't pretend you don't look at her when you're in your common room."

Draco opened his mouth to whisper back, stopping. He had watched her exercise that morning, and it hadn't had anything to do with the weird dreams or the fact that he'd been seeing the world in shades of grey ever since she punched him in Third Year.

But had he watched her due to some sort of attraction? Or just because she was exercising in the sitting room?

It didn't matter. He didn't fancy Granger, and the thought was absurd. He'd gotten involved with the Weasley row in the common room out of Pureblood respect for a witch. He'd given her a shoulder to lean on while she wept because he wasn't heartless. He'd been having dreams about her, sure, but that didn't necessarily mean he fancied her.

Even if five years of nightly dreams was a long time to have someone floating in his head.

"Pansy misunderstood me," he whispered, leaning closer. "D'you really think I'd want to . . . With Granger?"

"I mean . . ." Blaise's gaze washed over his face. "I mean, it's just boffing, innit? It's not like you'd have to marry her. And why would Pansy misunderstand that?"

Trelawney continued her lecture, either unaware of the fact that Blaise and Draco were holding a whispered conversation at the back of the room, or uncaring of it.

"Because I lied," Draco said. "That's why."

"Because you—"

"Yeah, I lied."

Zabini's facial expression went deadpan. "You lied."

"Yeah," Draco said, nodding as though he were unintelligent. "I lied."

"Well, because you—"

"Yeah."

"But why would you—why would you lie about Granger? Why not—"

"Because how else was I supposed to explain holding a witch while she cried?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed a fraction, but his smile never faltered. "Yeah, but like . . . Why, though? Why would you hold a witch unless you—I mean, unless you cared about her?"

Sweat prickled on the back of Draco's neck, and he reached up to comb his fingers through his hair. The awkwardness of the moment was making it hard to breathe, driving the temperature in the room up to the ceiling.

"I mean, she wants to be friends," he said.

Blaise continued to scrutinize him. "Well . . . Is that what you want?"

"I don't know why you care." Draco rubbed his palms against his knees, and Blaise watched him do so.

"Why do you?"

"Why do you?"

"Well, you know Pansy's the jealous sort," Blaise said. "You'd be better off keeping your birds away from one another."

"Pansy's your bird."

"Pansy's a free spirit. She boffs who she wants."

"Are you saying she's going to boff Granger?" Draco challenged.

"I dunno." Blaise's lips twitched up. "Is Granger boffable?"

"Who am I to decide who's boffable and who's not?"

"Depends. Would you boff the unboffable?"

"Would you?"

"This isn't about me."

"This is—"

"Shh."

The boys glanced over to Draco's left. Granger was glowering at them, her quill in hand. She looked from one to the other.

Had she heard?

"I don't know what's so important," she whispered, "but Professor Trelawney is trying to teach us how to turn our tea leaf readings into actual visions. So, hush, or you're going to look imbecilic during Demonstration."

Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise grinned at her.

"Your little hair buns are cute, Granger."

Granger's eyes widened a bit and the apples of her cheeks darkened with a blush. "Thank you, Blaise."

"I think Draco likes them, too. Don't you, mate?"

Without thinking, Draco lowered his shoulder and slammed his fist into Blaise's side. The air rushed out of him and his grin dissipated as fast as melting snowflakes. He coughed, clutching his side, and Draco stifled a laugh.

With a smirk, he turned his gaze on Granger's. He could have imagined it, but the look in her eyes seemed a bit expectant. Like she was hoping he really did find them cute.

And he did, now that he was looking at them. It was an interesting hairstyle—one he'd never seen before—and the curls framed her heart-shaped face quite well. She had a nose on the flat and wide side, which he rather liked, and her eyelashes seemed curlier than usual.

Did he like the hair buns?

"Yeah."

She cleared her throat and faced the front again.

When Draco turned back to the Blaise, he was still nursing his side. Pansy was laughing into her hand.

"Stop telling him my business," Draco hissed across their table to her.

Pansy's reply was to give him a disdainful once-over and say nothing.

Trelawney continued to speak for a while longer. Draco found it difficult to focus, knowing that he was in the midst of a real issue. He'd lied to Pansy, who had then told his lie to Blaise. He'd then told Blaise that he'd lied, but it was clear he didn't believe him. How much longer would it be before the lie was all over Hogwarts?

What would Granger say if she found out?

Out of the blue, students got up and started moving their chairs closer together, signifying that Trelawney had announced it was time for Demonstration. Some remained in their space, as not every partner pair was friendly with one another, but for the most part—everyone moved around. The low murmur of chatter lifted up into the air, as Demonstration was the liveliest part of the class period.

"I'm sure you didn't pay one iota of attention," Granger said in a haughty voice as she prepared her tea for the reading.

Draco began to prepare his, too. "Well, that's what you're for, darling."

She shot him a look.

"Ah!" came a cry from the right. "My quill!"

A feather quill floated past, drifting in a lazy circular pattern to the floor by Granger's feet. She looked down at it in surprise.

Pansy walked past, placing her hand on the table in front of Granger as she leaned down to pick up her quill. As she did, Blaise spoke, drawing Granger's gaze toward him.

"Hey, Granger, tell me—what exactly happened Friday?"

Draco's head whipped to the right. He fixed his classmate with the deadliest glare he could muster.

Say nothing, he thought, hoping he could read it in his eyes. Say absolutely fucking nothing.

"On Friday?" Granger sounded perturbed. "I don't really want to talk about that, and I haven't the slightest clue why you would ask me that in class. Hasn't Ronald told the whole school by now?"

"Oh, he has," Blaise said. "But wouldn't you rather put your side of the story out?"

"No," she replied. "Because I don't care about any of it. Ron and I weren't a good match, and that's why it happened the way it did. I don't need to—"

There was a clink noise. Draco and Granger both looked over as Pansy stood back up. Quill in hand, she sneered.

"Next time, move your teacup out of my way. It's fortunate that I didn't spill your tea all over your little dress."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Granger held Pansy's gaze. "I thought a failed Death Eater-in-training said something."

Zabini and Draco exchanged glances and then—at the same time—burst out laughing.

Just then, right as Pansy looked about ready to stab Granger in the eye with the point of her quill, Professor Trelawney floated up in a swirl of skirts and jingling crystals.

"Oh, my, my, my," she said, leaning down into Granger's personal space. "You look so very tired, my dear. This means you could be more susceptible to chaotic cosmic persuasion. This vision spell could have disastrous consequences if you aren't careful. Take care of her, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco arched one eyebrow. "I will, Professor Trelawney."

Trelawney gave him one of her strained, meek smiles, and then she turned to face Pansy. She made a series of dismayed noises, patted her cheek in a sympathetic manner, and then she drifted off to another table.

"Take care of her, Mr. Malfoy," Pansy mocked with an irritated expression. She stormed back to her seat and began preparing her tea. Blaise turned at that point, still laughing to himself, so Draco took it as a sign that the conversation was done.

He sipped his tea. "Did she spill it? Do you have to remake it?"

"No," Granger said, upper lip curled in distaste. "But she almost did. I don't know why she hates me so much. If it weren't for me and Harry, she'd be in Azkaban. A lot of you would."

Draco's teacup froze midway between the table and his mouth.

She was right, but that didn't mean he liked to hear it.

"Right, well." He sipped the tea, but it tasted more bitter than it should have. "What's the spell?"

Granger scowled and took a large gulp of her tea. When she set it back down on the porcelain plate, she appeared unhappy.

"I knew it. I knew you paid absolutely zero attention to the lecture. This is what I detest about you! I can't be a student and a professor! I don't have the mental capacity to cope with learning, teaching, being Head Girl, dealing with my friendships, cleaning up the bloody common room, studying, and managing school events! It's too much! I don't have a Time-Turner!"

As she ranted, Draco realized that this was not her typical "I'm-the-brains" Golden Girl meltdown. This was an actual problem. Her eyes were wild, searching the air in front of her while she waved her hands about and went on and on and on. She sounded like she was running out of breath.

Was she having a panic attack?

"Granger," he said, interrupting her. "Relax. It's not a big deal. You can go first, I'll pick up the words when you perform the spell, and then I'll go."

She took a deep breath. "I am calm. I'm calm. I just . . . Need you to pay attention during Divination. I can't do everything."

"I'm aware," he said, thinking of the dirty dishes in the common room. "Fuck's sake. Just take a second. Breathe."

"Breathe," she repeated, looking up into his eyes.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Breathe."

She didn't look away as she inhaled, her shoulders rising, and Draco found that he was sucking in his breath, too. As they did, he felt all of the consternation that he'd been experiencing with the dreams and the lie and Pansy crashing against one another. They were trapped inside of him, panicking as he prepared to expel them from his body.

Together, they exhaled without looking away from one another.

He felt calm.

"All right," Granger said, sounding much less anxious than before. She picked up her wand. "Drink the rest of your tea. I'll cast the spell, and then you look at your tea leaves. Once your magical core and your mind recognize what you see, if it worked—you should have a vision. The professor said it will be a bit hazy, but you should be able to make something definitive out."

"Sounds—"

"Barmy, yes," she said. "I'm not a fan of this branch of magic, but . . . Well, let's just get started."

Draco finished the last dreg of his tea, setting the cup down without looking. Then, he heard Granger perform the spell—apocalypsis—and waited for a few seconds. He didn't feel or see anything, but he glanced at the bottom of his teacup anyway.

He couldn't see anything.

"Let me try it on you," he said, and then he waited while she drank the rest of her tea. "What, is it a counterclockwise turn of the wand?"

"Yes," she said, and she frowned. "You can't find anything?"

"No, but I wanna see what happens when you do it." He withdrew his wand from his sleeve and, straightening his back, he flicked his wand in a tight, counterclockwise circle. "Apocalypsis."

He felt the magic flowing through the wand, but there were no sparks or lights to indicate that a spell had been performed. So that part was normal.

Granger seemed to approve, since she picked up her teacup and peered down into it. She turned it this way and that, and Draco decided he may as well try and look again. Everyone around them was gasping and letting out delighted laughs, so he was certain it would work if he just focused.

"Malfoy?"

"Yeah."

"I can't see." Her voice shook a bit, and he figured it was from her apparent failure at the spell.

Draco frowned, turning his cup around and around. No matter how he looked at it, the leaves just looked like dark green sludge. He didn't understand what he was supposed to be looking for. Trelawney was always so vague with her instructions. Was he supposed to be looking for a shape, a face, a name . . . ?

"Me, neither," he said, frustrated. "It doesn't look like anything. But then again, it didn't look like anything for me in Third Year, either."

"No," Granger said and this time, her voice was a high-pitched whisper. "I can't see. I can't see anything."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned to face her. Her eyes—open wide as can be, moving left and right. Unseeing. She shook so hard that he could almost feel it.

The moment he looked at her, he felt it.

What the fuck?

The storm. Rising up within his body, getting stronger and stronger.

What the fuck? What the fuck?!

Until it filled his entire head with darkness. Darkness that crept in on the corners of his vision.

CRASH!

Granger dropped her teacup to the wooden floor, where it fell into hundreds of tiny pieces. She took a breath that Draco felt in his own lungs. The shadows grew larger, until all he could see was a familiar grey haze—a familiar grey haze with flashes of Granger's face.

Like he was in a waking dream.