Chapter 2: 'Bring me raisins and I'll hex you'

Thanks for joining me in chapter two! This chapter contains a short Ron/Hermione scene, so please skip if it is not your thing. Enjoy!

"You did what?" exclaimed Ron the next morning, treating Hermione to a lovely glimpse of the food in his mouth. With the dark speckles between his teeth, she guessed (or maybe hoped) it was black pudding.

"Offered to help Malfoy with his Muggle Studies work," Hermione repeated nonchalantly, reaching for a slice of toast. "He said no, of course," she added, as Harry and Ron continued to stare at her in disbelief.

"Earth to Hermione? This is the Draco Malfoy right? The one who bullied you for seven years and made me spew slugs for weeks? The one you punched in the face?"

Hermione grinned as she recalled that particular memory. "Yes, that one. Although I don't think the slugs were technically his fault-"

"Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret?" Ron carried on, undeterred.

"Don't get me wrong, he's still an arse," she acknowledged. "But I felt like even he might deserve some help. Imagine how much you'd struggle, Ron, if you were asked to write about how a plane works?"

"I don't know how a plane works either," was Harry's contribution, through a mouthful of porridge. Ginny snickered. Hermione ignored them both.

"Look, it's not like you need to worry. He reacted pretty similarly to the way you guys did, to be honest, so I don't think I'm going to be overwhelmed by homework help requests any time soon."

"They're just jealous about you doing anyone else's homework but theirs," Ginny grinned.

Ron looked offended. "Sh'up Ginny. I did my own Charms homework last night and all."

"Only because Hermione blew you off-"

Harry, who had been zoning out of the conversation, jerked awake as if electrocuted, and nearly swallowed his spoon. "Hermione what –?!"

"Harry, we've talked about you only listening to half of the conversation…" Ginny said impishly, and she and Hermione burst out laughing.

She could pinpoint the exact moment that Ron got the joke, because the tips of his ears went pink.

"Anyway, I'm going to go and get ready for class," Ginny said, getting up from her seat and brushing herself off. She bent to kiss Harry's cheek and grinned at them all. "See you tonight Harry? Have a good day everyone!"

Hermione was watching Ginny skip away when she noticed Ron level his fork at Harry. "What are you and Ginny up to this evening?" he asked suspiciously.

Harry looked immediately sheepish. "We were just going to go for a walk around the grounds-"

Ron frowned. "As long as she's back in bed before curfew-"

"Oh, come off it Ron," Hermione scolded. "Ginny and Harry are perfectly within their rights to hang out when they please. How would you like it if Percy started monitoring our whereabouts?"

Harry looked pleased, while Ron looked deeply affronted and muttered something into his second plate of bacon that she couldn't quite hear, but sounded awfully like "I'd deck 'im."

"Look, why don't we do something together tonight? You know, just us?" she suggested. "To...distract you?"

She immediately realised what it sounded as if she was insinuating when Ron's face went beet red and Harry slid rapidly down the bench to join a conversation with Neville, who was at that moment deep in discussion with Luna Lovegood about her new set of mini-artichoke-shaped earrings.

"I didn't mean like that," she said quickly. "I just meant like... hang out. Like a date."

Ron swallowed hard, his earlobes still pink. "I'd like that." He shot her a grin. "I've got Quidditch try-outs at six, how does eight sound?"

She considered her schedule. "Yeah, that's good, I was planning to study until then anyway. Do you want to meet me in the library when you're ready?"

"Perfect." Ron grinned at her, then hollered down the table. "Harry, mate, you're alright, it wasn't anything weird, you can come back-"

Luna looked up at him. "Did you know that You-Know-Who was allergic to artichokes?" she asked mildly. Ron froze, looking at her as if she had sprouted a second head. Hermione had to press a hand to her mouth to keep from snorting.

There was a pause as they all looked at one another. Then:

"Imagine that, Harry," Neville said seriously, eyes shining with mirth. "All that fuss about killing the snake, and you could have just lobbed an artichoke at him."

And suddenly they were all laughing too hard for anything more to be said.

That evening, Hermione opted to take an early dinner in the great hall. Though Harry, Ron, and Ginny were nowhere to be found (Quidditch try-outs, she assumed), she spotted Seamus, Neville, and Parvati at the Gryffindor table and made a beeline for them. Parvati greeted her with a warm hug, the memory of the night before making them both smile, as if with a shared secret. And as she sat down to heap some wonderfully aromatic curry onto her plate, Luna and Padma joined them from the Ravenclaw table, and the conversation was soon alive with stories and jokes.

Hermione really liked how the house system seemed a little more relaxed this year. People only tended to sit in their assigned house tables during celebratory feasts; every other mealtime saw a complete assortment of different students sat at each table. It was even becoming commonplace to see students from other houses in the Gryffindor Common Room – particularly Luna Lovegood, whose near-constant presence had become an equal source of both hilarity and confusion amongst the Gryffindors. The school seemed to be bursting with an inter-house unity that Hermione hadn't felt since the Yule Ball all those years ago.

Parvati was showing off her nail polish – today, a sunny yellow speckled with glitter – when Hermione spooned the last forkful of rice into her mouth and clambered off the bench. A quick goodbye and an encouraging smile at Parvati, and then she was off to the library to get started on some of her outstanding work.

First up, her Muggle Studies essay. What would her life be like if she had been born a Muggle? Hm. She pulled her parchment towards her and started writing.

Twenty minutes later, she was so deep in considering all the hundreds of 'what ifs' that the essay had brought up, that when she looked up and noticed Malfoy sat at the next table, she jumped so suddenly she sprayed ink blots all over her parchment.

She let out an irritated 'tch' before she could help herself, and Malfoy looked up, startled. Panic shooting through her, she put her head back down and stared fixedly at her essay as if the constellation of ink smears across its surface held the answers to the universe. It was times like this that she was thankful for her masses of curly hair – with any luck, Malfoy wouldn't see her burning face.

A De-inking Charm, several paragraphs and a mostly reduced blush later, Hermione had nearly forgotten about her embarrassment - until:

"Pst."

For a second she thought it could have been Malfoy, which was obviously impossible. She stared down at the sentence in front of her: 'The age of eighteen brings with it a whole new world of rights and responsibilities for many Muggle adolescents-', wondering how to continue, when it happened again.

"Granger."

This time, she knew she wasn't imagining it. She looked up slowly, suspiciously, and met Malfoy's eyes. He was sitting slouched at the next table, his furrowed eyebrows bearing an expression of the greatest annoyance, as if he would rather be drinking flobberworm mucus than talking to her.

"What's…" he tried. "What's the Muggle equivalent of a…like a… a Potioneer?"

She gaped dumbly at him, too shell-shocked that he was asking her for help to respond.

He took one look at her blank expression and his face fell into a scowl. "Forget it-"

"Wait," she said, before she realised she had spoken. "Um, I'm not sure. Perhaps an… experimental chef?"

Malfoy looked outraged. "A cook?! You think I'd want to be some sort of House-elf?! Are you mad?"

"Well, don't ask me for my opinion then!" Hermione spat, incensed, turning back to her parchment with such venom that her quill stabbed a hole right through it.

There was silence. Hermione tried to finish writing, but her mind was racing too much to focus. White-hot anger fizzed in her fingertips.

"How about an Alchemist?" Malfoy asked quietly.

She ignored him, teeth gritted, and turned over a page of the textbook she wasn't even reading.

Another pause. Then, to her utter disbelief: "…Please, Granger."

Hermione looked up at him in shock, anger forgotten.

"I…this essay is ridiculous. I can't find the answer in any of the textbooks." His voice was so soft that she could barely hear him, but the frustration in his words was loud and clear.

"Most people might try saying sorry first," Hermione said, fixing him with a determined stare.

Twin spots of pink bloomed high on his cheekbones. "You've gotten a please from me, Granger, that's already more than the last seven years put together."

She stared at him. There was something in his eyes that looked for a moment as if he might laugh, and she had to look away to make sure she didn't encourage him.

"Are there Muggle Alchemists?" he asked, undeterred.

Begrudgingly, she considered this. "I suppose…maybe chemists? As in Muggle scientists that deal specifically with the properties of chemical substances and how they interact?"

Malfoy thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, that sounds about right." And then, stiffly, as if it pained him: "Thank you."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline, but she couldn't hide the astonished grin that accompanied it. "You're welcome."

And then they went back to their individual essays and didn't speak again all evening.

"Alright, Hermione?"

She looked up to see Ron grinning down at her. "Yep!" she responded brightly, rolling up her parchment and stowing her quill away. "I've managed to finish my Muggle Studies essay, and I think I've finally got that Arithmancy chart memorised, goodness knows it took me long enough."

"You do know it's only the second week of term, right?" said Ron, and she rolled her eyes at him as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and stood up.

"How were try-outs?" she asked.

Ron positively beamed, spreading his arms wide. "You're looking at the reinstated Gryffindor keeper of 1998-99."

"Congratulations!" Hermione cried, wrapping her arms around him in a hug as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

And then he was off, detailing every spectacular save he had made that afternoon. Apparently he had even managed to save some Quaffles thrown by his sister (a fact he repeated several times), which even Hermione knew was no small feat. She smiled, listening to him babble, and thought for a moment that she had spotted Malfoy staring at them as they left the library.

"Right then, any plans?" Ron asked. They had reached the foot of the grand staircase, and as Hermione looked up she could see that the sky outside was amber with twilight.

"Let's go outside," she suggested. "Take a walk."

Ron took her hand and they headed through the huge wooden doors, tracing the path down to Hagrid's hut, just like old times. The ebbing sun at the horizon had bathed everything in a warm syrupy glow that made her feel especially nostalgic, and as they walked in silence, she revelled quietly in the sense of ease spreading over her skin like warm honey.

Ron squeezed her hand. "So…what did you get up to last night?"

"One of Ginny's friends brought us some nail polish to try on. It's supposed to change colour with your mood, but it's a load of rubbish really."

"Let's have a look?"

She showed him her nails and the earthy brown colour that currently adorned them. "I think maybe the charm is wearing off – it was silver yesterday."

"Sounds like fun," Ron said, grinning at her.

They carried on through the grounds, turning left to follow a path around the Great Lake. "Something sad happened afterwards, though," Hermione said, without having planned to.

"Mm?"

She looked at the ground under her feet, unsure how to continue. "It… It was Parvati. She's really missing Lavender, you know. I didn't realise how hard it would be for her, coming back to Hogwarts without her best friend." She tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear, frowning. "I heard her crying after we'd all gone to bed and I went to see what was wrong. She didn't want to be alone, so I ended up staying with her for the rest of the night. I think she really appreciated it, because-"

"You slept in her bed?" Ron interrupted, eyes goggling.

"Well, yeah? It's not a big deal, really. She just needed someone to be there for her. But anyway, when I saw her at dinner-"

"But you slept in a bed…together?!" he pressed, his expression caught between shock and delight. Boys, Hermione thought despairingly.

"Ron, will you please stay focused?"

"Sorry."

She shouldered him lightly. "If it helps, we slept back to back, I was in my ugliest set of pyjamas, and Parvati snores like a Hippogriff."

Ron grinned. "You mean the pink pyjamas with the little cartoon puffskeins on them?"

"Yes, those."

He let out a theatrical groan. "Oh, Hermione, you know I've always thought they were sexy-"

"Stop it!" she laughed, shoving him off course and taking off down the path. Stealing a glance over her shoulder, she grinned at the delighted expression he allowed himself before charging after her.

Shrieking, Hermione pelted as fast as she could along the bank until Ron effortlessly caught up with her, bringing them both thudding down onto the grass. After settling down more comfortably, their breathing returned gradually to normal as they gazed out across the dark waters of the Great Lake, the air silent.

"I didn't realise how sad I would get, thinking about Lavender," Hermione said softly, after a moment. "It just really hit me when I saw Parvati-"

"I know what you mean," said Ron immediately, and Hermione found herself a little taken aback by the interruption. "When Fred… after Fred died, I felt like I was numb. It wasn't until I saw Mum's reaction, and then…then it really got me."

She stayed silent, watching how the wind formed the surface of the water into small glassy waves that rippled excitedly onto the shore.

"Being here at Hogwarts, I kind of forget about it, most of the time. And I just assume that Fred is with George at the shop, like always…but then I remember, and it sort of feels like I'm seeing him lying there in the great hall for the first time again," he continued.

Hermione leant her head onto his shoulder, her chest once again heavy with grief. "I'm so sorry Ron. It must be so difficult to adjust to when you're not with your family." She paused for a moment. "I'm glad that I've got you and Harry here as my family, when I don't have my parents to-"

"We'll always be your family, Hermione. Merlin knows how I would have coped without mine."

She knew that he was trying his best, but she still struggled not to mind that he kept cutting her off.

But he was the one grieving here. Yes, her parents were somewhere on the opposite side of the world, and no, they didn't remember her, and no, she wouldn't have time to look for them until she'd finished school, and yes, she was terrified that she might never find them, and in that case she would have no other family left-

She stopped suddenly, ashamed. At least her parents were safe. They were alive.

Ron had lost a brother. And he would never be coming back.

So she swallowed her words, all her worries and fears, all the things she desperately wanted to sob into someone's shoulder and be comforted for, and concentrated on being there for Ron. Because he needed her. And she was sure that he would be there for her when she needed him. Right?

She rubbed a soothing hand up and down Ron's back and stared out across the lake as the last strip of sunlight peeled away from the sky.

"Hermione…" Ron breathed, fingertips trailing down her side.

They were curled up together in his bed, the hangings drawn tightly shut, a Muffliato placed around the perimeter. Ron was propped up above her, their legs entwined, his lips soft but demanding. Hermione felt suddenly very exposed in her bra and skirt, even though she was more covered than him.

It's Ron, she told herself. It's only Ron.

She obliged when he dipped down to kiss her, resting hesitant hands on his hips. He leaned back to look at her, smiling. "You're gorgeous," he said, and then he was kissing her again before she had time to blush.

It's only Ron. She couldn't understand why all she could think about was that her mouth was dry, and she was struggling to catch her breath with his weight on top of her, and Ron still smelt a little sweaty from try-outs, and her hair was trapped under his shoulder, and she didn't quite like the way his tongue felt against her lips, and her feverish pulse was making her feel itchy and nauseous, and Ron's hand was on her breast, and she felt trapped. Her heart pounded with worry, and she kissed Ron harder, desperate to damp it down.

"Can I?" he whispered, his thumbs on the waistband of her skirt, and though her head was filled with no, she nodded, eyes squeezed shut. The itchiness was threatening to overwhelm her, so she pushed it back and let Ron pull her skirt off. He kissed a trail down her stomach and his fingers brushed against her underwear, his breath hot against her-

"I'm on my period," she said quickly. She was immediately angry with herself for lying, but she couldn't bear the thought of Ron putting his mouth there for the first time, not now, not while there was a lump the size of a chocolate frog in her throat, not while her skin was closing inwards on her like this. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed hard enough to split apart at the seams. It's only Ron.

Ron reluctantly pulled away and crawled back up to kiss her again. "Sorry," he said. His lips trailed softly across her jaw. "What…what do you want to do?"

His fingers fluttered questioningly at the waistband of her knickers, and she felt suddenly paralysed.

"I'm… I'm sorry Ron. Can we just… keep kissing?"

She could tell from the look on his face that it wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for, but he smiled nonetheless, and pulled her close to press a kiss to her cheek. "Of course. You know I'll wait for you."

"I know," she responded, trying a smile.

The smile he gave her in return was warm and kind, and far more than she deserved. Hermione pulled her hair out from where it had gotten trapped under his shoulder and leaned in to kiss him again. When their lips slotted together, and his palm was gentle on her hip, and the noises in his throat were soft and encouraging, Hermione could forget about her fear. It was nice. It was familiar.

It was right.

Right?

"Nice love bite, Granger."

"Shut your mouth," Hermione responded delicately, taking a seat.

Malfoy leered at her from the next table. "Looks like someone didn't get much sleep last night," he drawled.

He was right about the lack of sleep, but not the reason why.

She ignored him.

It was Saturday morning, and after waking up in Ron's bed a couple of hours ago, Hermione had kissed him a quick goodbye and made her way back to her own room. She had felt altogether quite embarrassed about the night before, and had slipped away before the guilt could set in.

Deciding to try and ground her scattered emotions, Hermione had freshened herself up, apologised to an affronted-looking Crookshanks, grabbed her Potions textbook, and headed straight to the library for some personal recuperation in the name of studying. And of course, Malfoy was there. It made a sick kind of ironic sense that on the day she most needed space to breathe, he'd be there. Being a prat, as per usual.

Not to be intimidated away from some much-needed quiet time, she pulled her textbook towards her and spent longer than technically necessary finding the chapter she needed. The chapter in question was all about how clockwise or anticlockwise stirring affected the final properties of a potion, and it was fascinating stuff, but mostly she was just glad to have the distraction.

Not that Ron and Harry would understand it for a second, but Hermione found that throwing herself into schoolwork could be really cathartic. It forced her to think logically, comforted her with its familiarity, and took her mind off any other worries. All in all, a morning session in the library could just be exactly what she needed to encourage her heart to accept what her head had: that last night was a panicky reaction over nothing, and that things would be easier next time.

A couple of hours and eighteen inches of parchment on stirring theory later, she was feeling much more settled. A quick glance over at Malfoy, hunched at his desk with 'Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles' open in front of him, confirmed that he was still working on that 'If I Were a Muggle' essay. She wondered idly how he could be getting on, now that he'd decided that Muggle Draco would become a chemist.

He would be trying to apply for university now, she thought. Probably one of the old traditional ones, or perhaps some fancy foreign college. Chemistry would be a three year course; she wondered what modules he would pick, whether he'd enjoy experimental or organic chemistry, or maybe-

She pulled herself back with a start and took a moment to remind herself that she didn't care.

Thanks to her stint in the library yesterday, the only other bit of work left to do that weekend was an analysis of the properties of Dendritica leaves in curse wound dressings. It was part of a really interesting module on medicinal Herbology that had made her think that she might enjoy a career as a healer. But she was hesitant to start the essay just yet, because then that would leave her with nothing left to occupy her time – and her thoughts – for the rest of the weekend. And there were a fair few thoughts that she would rather spend her weekend being distracted from.

Annoyed by her own indecisiveness but too stubborn to make a choice just yet, she decided to procrastinate by finding a pamphlet on career options post-Hogwarts. But as soon as she stood, a wave of dizziness crashed down around her ears, her vision going dark, and she was forced to crouch to the floor with her head between her knees. She grimaced into her robes. Thanks, vascular system, she thought, for reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since the night before.

When the roaring in her ears had faded, she looked up to see Malfoy half-out of his seat, eyes wide. As soon as their eyes met, he sat abruptly back down with a thump that knocked all his parchment onto the floor.

"I'm fine-" she started to say.

"I didn't ask," he snapped.

Hermione watched him fumble at his parchment as she slowly stood up. "You don't have to lash out at me, you know. I didn't trick you into anything," she said crossly.

His silver eyebrows settled into an even deeper frown before he took a breath and composed himself. "No, you didn't."

It was the closest to an apology she thought she would ever get.

She smirked to herself. Victory.

"I'm going to head down to the great hall to get some food," she said, and he shrugged dispassionately. "Would you mind keeping an eye on my things so I don't have to take them with me? I'll only be twenty minutes."

He didn't reply, but it wasn't like there was much chance of her things being stolen from the library on a Saturday morning in September, so she turned to leave nonetheless.

"What will you give me in return?"

Aha. A second victory. She didn't turn around, but grinned into her hair instead, where he couldn't see her. "A Danish pastry?" she suggested, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

There was silence as he considered this for a moment. "Only if it's one of the custard ones. Bring me raisins and I'll hex you."

She left the library before she could start laughing, which was harder than she had imagined. Malfoy hated raisins. Who knew they had something in common?

When she got back, pink in the face from being teased by Dean and Seamus about the love bite on her neck, Malfoy was leaning back in his chair, reading, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Double checking that Madam Pince wasn't lurking nearby, Hermione set a plate down in front of him.

"That was twenty-five minutes," Malfoy said without looking up.

"Good thing I brought you two pastries then," she replied smugly.

The corner of his mouth quirked.

It didn't feel like a victory this time, she realised. It was a truce.

Malfoy finished his Muggle Studies essay in the next hour or so without any input from Hermione. She was dying to know what he could have written about, but she was also aware that it would most likely just rile her up, no doubt every sentence hinting at a life of prejudice. Still, when he packed away his things and swept out of the library before she had worked out how to covertly ask what he'd written, she couldn't help but feel cheated.

When Hermione finally decided to call it a day and head back to the Common Room, she passed an exhausted-looking Professor Sprout along the way, murmuring spells as if in a trance. Every waft of her wand sent streams of scattered wood splinters fluttering back up into their rightful place in the roof, which Hermione thought was rather impressive considering the way her eyes were almost closed. The Professor raised a bleary eyebrow as she passed.

"What are you doing out of bed at this time, Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned back to her, frowning. "Professor? It's… Saturday afternoon."

Professor Sprout jerked awake, her tall hat nearly leaping off her head. "It… So it is! Goodness, have I really been going all night?" she asked, staring up into the rafters above.

"You've done a wonderful job," Hermione said kindly, and the Herbology Professor flushed.

"Well, off to bed with you, Miss Granger. Oh, no, I… Gosh. Well. Perhaps I should be off to bed," she mumbled tiredly. And then she trudged away, a trail of air-borne splinters bobbing after her like a troop of ducklings.

Hermione felt very suddenly and desperately sorry for the Hogwarts faculty who were having to work overtime to try and restore the castle to its former glory. Every single one of them seemed stretched to the very limit, and Hermione couldn't begin to imagine the emotional load they must be shouldering.

She pointed her wand at the splinters, which were at that moment following Professor Sprout's hat merrily around a corner. Summoning them towards herself, she racked her brains for an appropriate spell, and then with a simple incantation, guided them back up into the rafters where they belonged. An idea popped into her mind as they slotted neatly back into place, and she hurried on back to the Gryffindor tower.

"Are you serious?"

Hermione scowled at Ron as if it could knock the incredulous look off his face. "Of course I am! You've seen for yourself how much strain the Professors are under at the moment…why shouldn't we try to help?"

Ginny was frowning into the fire from her cross-legged position on the rug. "I don't know Hermione… Reconstruction Charms are complicated things. Wouldn't messing around with them just be overly risky for the sake of it? What if we cause more damage?"

"Not to mention that all the worst-hit areas are out-of-bounds anyway," Harry added.

"Since when has that stopped us? Ever?" Hermione demanded.

Harry looked at the floor.

"As far as I'm concerned," she said, "the Professors need our help. I know our restorative magic could use some work, and we'd probably require some extra study to become competent, and we'd need to work after curfew in areas that are out of bounds… but wouldn't it be exciting? It would be like some kind of secret club all over again – helping return Hogwarts to its former glory!"

Despite her passionate speech, the small crowd in front of her didn't look so sure. Harry and Ginny were exchanging glances, Neville was avoiding looking at her directly, Ron was wearing a puzzled expression, and Luna had gone back to doodling a nose on a small piece of white canvas.

"So you're basically saying that we should study a difficult area of magic usually left to experts, get out of bed after hours, go to areas of the castle that have been warded off for our own safety, and attempt to rebuild the castle with very limited knowledge?" said Ginny slowly.

Hermione folded her arms, feeling a blush break out over her cheeks. "Well, yes."

Neville was first to break the awkward silence that followed. "I…I'm sorry Hermione. It's just that I'm having to work hard enough already just to keep up with all this N.E.W.T. level stuff, and it's only week three. I don't think I have any more room in my brain."

"I don't think it's right to meddle in the Professors' process for rebuilding the castle," explained Ginny.

"I'm already struggling to keep up with homework-" said Harry.

"I'm pretty busy with Quidditch-" started Ron.

"I heard the call of a purple-toed Fellyjay from the South Corridor," said Luna.

Everyone turned to look at her.

"Haven't you heard of a Fellyjay? They can be quite dangerous, you know, if you don't know how to handle them. I imagine the corridor's been roped off for a reason."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, yes, it has. And that reason is that the floor's fallen through. But just think, if we could only repair it, that means that we could access the South Wing-"

"I'm pretty sure it's because of the Fellyjay," said Luna thoughtfully, already back in her crossword.

Hermione struggled for a response. "Well, er, in the absence of any concrete proof as to the existence of Fellyjays in the South Corridor or anywhere else, what's wrong with going down there and simply…trying?" she looked round at their reluctant faces, and something in her cracked. "Please? Please, I just… I want to try."

She hated the pitiful way her voice broke, and she was almost on the point of wishing that the floor would open up beneath her, but the atmosphere seemed to soften all of a sudden.

"How about…just once?" suggested Harry hesitantly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "One night down in the South Corridor... Just to see if it's possible."

Despite the palpable unease in the room, Harry's words seemed to have done the trick. One by one, everyone slowly agreed to help, and the decision was made. Monday night, eleven o'clock. Even though everyone had only agreed to attempt repairs the once, Hermione had high hopes that on the night, the thrill of rule-bending coupled with their eventual success, might just get them all completely on board with the plan. And from there… well, the Professors wouldn't have to be on their own anymore.

Hermione couldn't help thinking about her parents. Hogwarts, for the time being, was her only home. And her only home was currently in a state of such disrepair that every time she rounded a corner, she would see another site of destruction. Every shattered window, every stained tapestry, every fallen-in roof, they bored a hole in her chest that only got worse the longer she failed to do something about it. She wouldn't let her home stay like this.

She had to help rebuild the castle before she found her parents. Because then at least if she didn't succeed in recovering their memories… She-

"Right then, what spells are we going to need to learn?" Ron asked.

Hermione spiralled back down to earth, blinking rapidly. "I, er, think I know some of the basics, but just to make sure, let me check in the library…" she said, and as if that was the exact answer they'd been expecting, everyone broke into knowing laughter. She blushed.

By Sunday evening, Hermione had managed to get up everyone up to scratch on some basic Repairing, Reattaching, and Replenishing Charms. They had definitely all been attracting more than their fair share of funny looks as they took it in turns to break and repair various items around the Common Room, but the atmosphere was electric. It felt just like a Dumbledore's Army meeting all over again.

On their way down to the Great Hall for dinner, Hermione overheard a soft snigger from Ginny, and looked over just in time to watch her point her wand at Ron's face and whisper the Sealing Charm Hermione had just spent the last twenty minutes teaching her. Ron's eyelids immediately sealed themselves shut, and he yelped and dove sideways into a suit of armour which leapt back with a testy 'really!'

The Gryffindors reached the great hall with tears in their eyes from laughing so much (with the small exception of an un-sealed Ron, who refused to lower his Shield Charm even when he sat down to eat). Over dinner, Ginny wasted no time in seeing what else she could 'seal', resulting in dismay from Neville as his lips became sealed around his fork, delighted laughter from Luna as her latest pair of Spectrespecs sealed around her forehead like a tiara, and a disgruntled squeak from Harry as something not visible to the rest of them sealed shut.

"I wonder if I can get any of the Slytherins from here," Ginny said wickedly, giddy with power. "Oh look, why don't I seal that apple to Malfoy's mouth when he next takes a bite?"

"Oh, don't!" Hermione said, before she had thought about it.

Ginny blinked at her. "It's only Malfoy, Hermione."

"Yeah, I know, I just…" She tailed off, realising that she actually didn't know why she was opposed to a harmless prank. "Never mind."

"How's he been in Muggle Studies lately?" Ron asked nonchalantly, his Protego falling just long enough for Ginny to seal his fingers to the table.

"Not that bad, actually. He doesn't contribute in class, so I don't know whether he's taking any of it on board or not, but he seems to be spending a lot of time on his homework," Hermione summarised, unsealing him with a wry grin in Ginny's direction.

Ron snorted, apparently unaware of his role in the girls' battle. "I reckon every time he writes the word 'Muggle-born' instead of, you know, he has an identity crisis. That might slow him down a bit."

Everyone laughed, but Hermione looked back over to Malfoy at the Slytherin table. He was sat on his own again, though whether that was by choice or circumstance, she wasn't too sure. She realised that she was absurdly starting to feel rather sorry for him, and just as she had started up an internal debate over whether that was right or wrong, Malfoy suddenly looked up, and their eyes met.

Anticipating a rude comment, she looked away again.

"I wonder if McGonagall made him take the subject," Luna suggested.

Her idea wasn't all that implausible, but Hermione didn't respond, even as everyone else around the table agreed. She couldn't explain why, but she had the strangest gut feeling that taking Muggle Studies had been Malfoy's choice.

On Monday, she was delighted to find out that she had received an O in her 'If I Were a Muggle' essay. McGonagall had added some helpful suggestions that she immediately started poring through, and she was so invested that she nearly forget to eavesdrop as Malfoy received his essay back, two tables away.

She looked up just in time to see McGonagall handing him back a sheet of parchment with a clear green 'O' inked at the top. "Very insightful," she commented softly, and Malfoy flushed with pride as she moved on to the next desk.

It was all Hermione could do to stop her mouth opening in surprise.

Insightful? Malfoy? On an essay about Muggle life?

For reasons she didn't want to fathom, she was filled with annoyance, and she glowered down at her essay, the 'O' at the top suddenly much less satisfying. She couldn't wait for the end of class so she could stalk down to the greenhouses for Herbology and get as far away from him as possible.

Even as the lesson moved onto Wizard-Muggle communications, she struggled to let go of the feeling of injustice in her stomach. What on earth could Malfoy possibly have written to merit such praise from McGonagall? How could he possibly have talked about being a Muggle without a trace of his bigoted prejudices coming through? She tried to sneak a glimpse at his paper, but it had already been packed away. Malfoy caught her looking as she did so, and her elbow slipped off the desk in embarrassment. The annoyance in her stomach swelled to outright dislike as he smirked.

Their essay for the following week was to be a review of wizard interference in the Muggle world over the last century, and though Hermione would normally be quite excited to find out which mysterious incidents had actually been caused by magical activity, she still couldn't quell her irritation, and so it was with no small amount of relief that she packed up her bag at the end of the lesson.

As she passed Malfoy's desk on the way out, she had the strangest feeling that he was trying to catch her attention to say something. Knowing it was most likely some sort of jibe or taunt, she refused to look his way, and left the room with her head held high.

Hopefully an hour surrounded by intermittently homicidal plants would be enough to distract her.