A/N: Betawork done by AlmondMilkTeaDoubleBoba, LeilahMoon, and lost_poetx.

Sorry this one is a bit late! Life happened, you know?

In case you weren't aware, I'll be taking a short writing break as I wrap up my last two weeks of college. Contingent will next update on the weekend of May 8th, and Vices will update on the weekend of the 15th.

xoxo, carm

They were sitting in silence again.

She'd gotten so used to it because the two of them had been doing it quite a lot lately. The only good thing about it was that the silences had consistently grown more comfortable as time went on. He would sit there, one ankle propped onto his opposite knee, leisurely sipping on his glass of Firewhisky while reading a book. Sometimes, his head would tip back and he'd stare blankly at the ceiling.

Hermione, on the other hand, favored a blunt. Sometimes she'd switch it up between a joint, edibles, or dabs – different methods had different effects. Smoking was infinitely easier with magic on her side – she couldn't imagine rolling a joint the Muggle way. Whatever the case, she very much enjoyed the way it felt coursing through her bloodstream.

This time, she caught him casually eyeing her freshly lit blunt. Deducing the obvious, she inhaled once more and then wordlessly offered it out to him. His eyebrows raised a touch before he leaned forward, bracing his left arm on his knee while reaching his right out to accept.

Her fingers brushed his as he gently plucked it from her hand. Hermione cocked her head, her hooded eyes staring into his own as his lips wrapped around the blunt and he inhaled. He mimicked her posture – he leaned back in his chair, uncrossing his legs and widening them as his head tipped back and smoke slowly escaped the confines of his mouth.

She was entranced, watching him as he willingly pulled the drugs deep into his lungs before expelling them into the atmosphere.

"This is good shit, Granger," he said, the smoke coating his vocal cords, making his voice thicker than normal.

"Well I'd hope so," she quipped, "Zabini says he sells the best, and I'm inclined to believe him."

"I didn't know that's what Zabini was up to these days," he said, taking one more pull and passing the blunt back to her.

"Well, are you surprised?" She paused for another inhale. "His name is Blaise."

"I guess you're right," he acquiesced. "That is a good point."

"See?" she giggled. "I really am always right."

He shook his head, reaching back out to take another hit. "I don't know how Potter and the Weasel would have survived without you."

The tone of the conversation darkened slightly, and Hermione decided to let it. Maybe this was a hump they needed to get over in order to move past their differences. He'd responded well when they'd talked about Lucius, so maybe he'd decide to open up more.

So she'd start with self-deprecating humor.

"Well, if you want to get technical, we almost didn't," she snarked. "Harry almost died in first year. Second year, they solved it while I was petrified. Third year almost went completely down the drain – I've never hated a bloody rat so much. Fourth year, we lost Cedric and Harry was a complete social pariah. Fifth year, that bitch Umbridge ruined everything – and we can't forget us all almost dying in the Ministry. Sixth year, Harry lost his mentor and then we all left to go hunt pieces of the Dark Lord's soul."

"Oh," she added, stepping into dangerous territory. "And not to mention the time I actually almost died over Easter holidays," she said nonchalantly. Hermione peeked at his reaction from the corner of her eye and watched him pale. "Oh, plus the final battle, where Harry actually died," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

Staring at the wall – but peeking at him out of the corner of her eye – she waited for him to gather his words.

"I still dream about that night, you know," he said quietly. "I'd seen so many people... like that, I mean, by the time you lot showed up. I'd had to... practice. And the worst thing about those is that you have no choice but to mean it." His grey eyes cooled as he stared at his covered left arm.

"And it was incredibly hard to mean it. I've been on the receiving end of it, and it's so fucking hard and I–" he cut himself off, squeezing his hand into a fist. "I never meant it. Not really."

"I know," she said earnestly. "You had no choice."

His eyes snapped to hers, suddenly angry. "Of course I had a choice," he said, sarcastically. "But it was an impossible one. Do I pick the right side? The side that'll try their best not to let me die, but my parents will most certainly get punished for my betrayal? Or do I stick with the wrong side, the dark side?" He chuckled once, a low sound. "But I was also a stupid kid. I wanted all of the honor that came with being in his army, and I accepted with barely a second thought."

"You didn't know," she said.

"But I–" he started.

Hermione cut him off. "No. You didn't know." Her response was fierce and left no room for questions.

He pursed his lips, eyes blazing at her. She held firm, refusing to let her eyes drift. "We were kids. It was never our responsibility to lead, but we got shackled with it anyway. Everything was in our hands when it was never supposed to be."

Remaining quiet, he broke eye contact, seeming to disappear somewhere inside his own mind. Conjuring another blunt, she lit it up and inhaled deeply. Passing it over to him, they established a back-and-forth while they tried to smoke away their shared pain.

After a while, a thought popped into her head. "What did it feel like for you?" she asked quietly. "I've been trying to put a finger on it for ages, but I haven't been able to."

He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, rolling a thought around in his head. It was clear that he was debating whether or not to answer.

Deciding to indulge her, he said, "Like being burned alive, but worse." She inhaled again, drawing the smoke deeper into her, trying not to remember what it felt like. "Almost like every inch of my bloodstream was boiling, and my nerve endings were freezing. Such a stark contrast that it felt like I was freezing and burning at the same time."

"Yeah," she said. "I thought it felt more like my insides were being shredded. Piece by piece." Pausing for reflection. "You know, I wasn't expecting to make it out of there. I'd made my peace with dying on your floor."

He shuddered in his chair, going quiet. "I hadn't." Hermione blinked in surprise. "If you would have died on my floor, I don't think I ever could have managed to make peace with it. Especially since I sat there and fucking watched," he spat the words.

"You couldn't have done anything else," she insisted. "I don't want to have to tell you again, Malfoy. You all but gave Harry your wand, and it won him the war. It won us the bloody war. I don't know why you don't grasp how important that was." Hermione shook her head vehemently, reaching her hand out to brush the back of his, watching as goosebumps popped up. "Your family turned the tide of the war in our favor. I need you to know that."

"I don't buy it." His voice had suddenly turned cool, relaxed. "I wish you'd get off your high horse, Granger. Not everything has a silver lining."

Choosing to overlook the fact that Malfoy somehow knew a Muggle phrase, she slammed her palms down onto the coffee table as she rose to meet her irritation. "I know that better than almost anyone," she all but shouted. "So I think it's safe to say that my opinion is the only one that matters out of the people in this room." Her voice was deadly calm. "You wouldn't be here, having this conversation with me right now, if you still held the same ideals."

Hermione sat back in her seat and crossed her arms, eyes cooling. "Unless you're just an incredibly good actor and are lying about this whole thing. Maybe I'm wrong and you're a part of a terrorist cell who's trying to resurrect the Dark Lord and this is just a ruse."

Malfoy's jaw clenched and his fingers gripped the armrest. Her gaze rested on him defiantly as she waited for him to retaliate.

Finally, he sighed, the tension seeped away and left his body almost entirely.

"Fine, Granger, have it your way." His eyes drifted closed and all the fight left him. "I'm not about to argue with you about this. If you want to be right so bad, I'll let you."

Hermione huffed indignantly. "You daft idiot. It's more than that. It's not me you're fighting with. It's yourself." She twisted a loose curl around her finger. "I've already forgiven you. Once I met your eyes while I was on that floor and I knew that you were... just as stuck as I was." She hesitated. "I knew then that this was not something you would have chosen for yourself."

He sucked his cheek in, mulling over her words. "Maybe you're right. But we'll never know now, will we?"

Lips quirking into a wry smile, she said, "I'd like to think I know the answer. And I like to think that you do too."

The silence coated the room again, but this time it was slightly tense. Hermione took her last hit and passed it to Malfoy. She did love the way that it tipped her conversations in directions she hadn't expected and enlightened so many things for her.

And Merlin knew that this had certainly been an enlightening conversation.

An undetermined amount of time went by as they reflected on their conversation in silence. She watched as something changed in Malfoy's eyes as his gaze snapped back to her. "Well," he said, his voice dropping. "I'm going to get some sleep."

Rising and walking over to her, he gently took her right hand in his, lifting it to his lips. Pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it, his eyes were smoldering at her. Had they smoldered before? Hermione wouldn't have noticed. "Good night... Hermione." Her name fell from his lips in a purr that was so sinful it should be illegal.

She was breathless when she answered him, her eyes just as heated. "Good night... Draco." It was only proper to return the sentiment, wasn't it? She would assume that it was the way to go in this scenario.

There was nothing she wouldn't do to hear the way his voice caressed the sound of her name.

Hermione.

A shiver wracked her body at the memory of the way it had sounded.

And then she was wondering what she'd have to do to hear it again.

Hermione woke up late.

And by late, that meant later than normal. She'd always woken up far before she needed to for class because she liked to have time to herself to just relax. The quiet mixed with the sun rising slowly over the hills was such a calming combination, and she knew she deserved it after the last few years.

Heading into the kitchen, she waved her wand and brewed some tea. Normally she preferred to do it by hand, but she was running behind schedule.

As she started to make a light breakfast, Malfoy stumbled haphazardly into the kitchen. And it stood to note that he was, in fact, shirtless. After an undetermined amount of time, Hermione forced herself to drag her eyes away before he caught her staring. She was sure he'd never let her live it down. Luckily, he still seemed half-asleep, so he was far from noticing.

She hadn't realized quite how chiseled he was. Whether it was Quidditch or just general upkeep, it seemed that Merlin really did play favorites.

He brushed against her as he moved to grab the kettle. Goosebumps rose as his skin came in contact with hers, and she did her best to ignore them.

"Morning, Granger."

Is that what he sounded like every morning? How had she never noticed? His voice was coated in sleep, and it sent chills down her spine. It was so fresh and raspy and she cursed Merlin again for so clearly playing favorites.

Realizing the silence had stretched on for a beat too long, she brightly – maybe too brightly – replied, "Morning."

It was too early to dwell on their discussion from the previous night, and Hermione was almost scared to burst the bubble of cooperation and – dare she say – friendship that had occurred between them.

Plus, if this was what happened as a result, she wasn't going to complain. She would, of course, appreciate all of this in silence, but she would appreciate it nonetheless.

He walked past her again, brushing against her on his way to the table. That had to be on purpose, didn't it? There was enough room in the kitchen for him to comfortably pass her, wasn't there?

She chose to ignore it. At least, ignore it to the best of her ability.

Watching him from the corner of her eye, he sighed and propped his head up on his arm. Hermione tried her best not to stare at the bicep that showed as a result, but she could hardly help it.

Immediately, her mind jumped to a visual of him over her, and that very same bicep caging her in, and–

No.

No, no, no. It was far too early for this. Granted, yes, he had changed – but it still remained that it was Draco Malfoy. Her longtime nemesis. They worked together and got along just fine, but that was it.

Plus, it wasn't like she could just proposition him.

She sighed loudly, pushing all wanton thoughts from her head, thankful that he couldn't read her mind.

There was still a lingering question in her mind, though – when did she start to look at him differently?

She supposed it would have started after their conversation last night – he had been more open with her than she'd ever expected. When she'd started talking about her unfortunate stay at Malfoy Manor, that endlessly long stretch of time, she had half expected him to run for the hills.

He'd been so open with her lately. Telling her why he'd made the decisions he had, what he'd felt when it came to being Crucioed – it had been a refreshing experience.

Being able to conceptualize the idea that Draco Malfoy had internal motives that actually made sense, now that was... different. But she'd appreciated it on a level she wasn't used to. It was jarring to view him in a new light. Gone were the days of mindlessly dismissing the jabs that left his mouth on a whim.

Now, when he poked fun at her, it was exactly that – unless he was yelling at her to clean up.

She'd always known that he was smart, but being able to have open, candid conversations about not only academics, but some of the events that transpired over the last seven years was a welcome change.

It was genuinely satisfying to finally spar with someone of her caliber.

Hm, she thought as she snuck a look at him again. Apparently, when he wanted to, he could be more than just a pretty face. A small smile stole her lips as she thought that at least he still had that going for him too if all else failed.

Later the next day, Draco walked into his common room to find it completely and totally wallpapered in notes, lists, and pictures.

Granger had somehow managed to charm all of the Spill the Tea missives they'd received so far – the ones she hadn't thrown away in anger, she'd written down from memory – to the wall, highlighted and underlined with red ink. A few different lists were scattered throughout, as well as more lists with logic outlining her reasons for why they were possible suspects.

His jaw hit the floor at the mess the room had become. At the hands of Granger no less. Fuck, he groaned internally, this was never going to get cleaned up. He was going to be rolling in leftover yarn and random pieces of paper until the end of time. He wouldn't be surprised if it somehow showed up in his bedroom.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" he asked incredulously, the words falling from his mouth without pause. His bag fell loosely off his shoulder to the floor as he walked towards what he so lovingly deemed her Murder Wall.

Granger, however, wasn't in the least bit apologetic – but that was exactly what he expected of her. "You said we needed to figure this out, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm a visual learner."

"Okay." The look on Granger's face was almost more determined than he'd ever seen it, and he'd seen her fight in a literal war. She'd started talking – at him, not to him – the second he'd walked into the room, and his brain was speeding to catch up to where hers was.

A flick of her wand strung up a red thread from wall to wall, and her lists zoomed in front of his face.

"So," she started, "I've compiled a list of every student from six, seventh, and eighth year since no one below sixth year would be capable of the sort of charmwork that it would require." Flicking her wand again, the lists consolidated.

"Here's the list of people I think that may actually be capable of it," she said, barely giving him time to read it before changing the lists, "and this is my current list of viable suspects. Obviously, this is subject to change with any new information we receive."

Draco took in the list in front of him.

Pansy Parkinson

Ginny Weasley

Dean Thomas

Draco Malfoy

Neville Longbottom

Michael Corner

Padma Patil

"Me? Really?" he asked exasperatedly. "Why the hell am I on here?" He would never admit it, but he was actually kind of offended. Granted, he really couldn't blame her, considering the last few years.

"As much as I hate to admit it, you're one of the smartest people here – besides me, of course." Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "If you wanted to, you have the capacity to do the charmwork for it. Maybe you're working with someone." Her eyes glinted and she gasped, whirling back to her wall. "Maybe it's a pair... I hadn't even considered that," she said, adding Parvati to the list

"Granger, relax. Clearly whoever this is isn't going anywhere," he tried to soothe.

"Are you kidding?" she replied. "All the evidence is still fresh. We need to get on this now," she eyed him suspiciously. "You're still on the list until I can rule you out."

"Hey," he asked, "why isn't Nott on this list? He's one of the smartest people in our year." Draco knew for a fact that Nott had an uncanny ability to make charms bend to his will in exactly the way he wanted.

She rolled her eyes, dismissing him easily with a wave of her hand. "We're literally always together. I don't even know when he would have the time to do something like this."

Draco stared at her. "I mean... you know him better than me, so." He ignored the way the air between them grew slightly awkward that Granger knew his childhood best friend on a deeper level than he did. Or maybe that was just him? He sincerely doubted that Hermione Granger felt, let alone acknowledged it.

"I do," she said, effectively ending that part of the conversation.

"Anyway," he said awkwardly. "How do you propose we go about narrowing this down?" He pushed the list back towards her.

"I'm glad you asked." Granger brightened up. "So the course that makes the most sense to me was dropping false hints around the suspects and seeing what makes Spill the Tea. Like obscure, random things that would never be circulating in the Hogwarts Gossip Mill." She paused. "But I'm worried that they'll see through it."

"It works until we can either come up with something better or narrow the list down some more. The issue is that we don't have enough evidence to go off of yet. Only having two missives isn't enough to base an entire accusation on anyone," he reasoned.

"Damn it, you're right again," she groaned. "Okay, well, for now, it's the only plan we have. We could just assign different people different stories and have them drop tidbits in front of our suspects – you excluded – and see if any of them have traction."

He fought the urge to preen – and to keep the gloating off his face. Hermione Granger was telling him that not only she thought him capable of the complicated charmwork but she also considered him to be at the top of the class. Make no mistake, both of those things were true, but never in a million years had he expected her to say it to his face. Not to mention that she'd told him multiple times throughout this conversation that he was right. Draco fought the urge to cast a diagnostic charm and check to make sure she wasn't sick or polyjuiced.

"Alright, Granger," he said, "I'll humor you. At least until we have something to go on." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I still can't believe you put me on that stupid list," he muttered.

"I told you," she argued. "You're one of the smartest in our year. I'd be a fool to not at least consider you."

"Well now you do realize that this plan won't work on me, correct?" he asked, biting back a grin.

She groaned. "Yes, I know. I don't really think you would pull something like this, but I had to put you on here. You know, for elimination purposes," she said, but he thought that she looked somewhat sheepish.

"Alright," he replied. "So what should our first story be and who should we tell it to?"

"Hm. I was hoping you could come up with that," she said. "I'm too blunt to be sneaky, and you're a Slytherin," she shrugged.

"Okay," he thought. "Considering the other two stories, Veritas is focusing on couples. So we do something revolving around that. Maybe... we rumor two people to be together and see if it gets picked up?"

"Not a bad idea," Granger said. "So, who do we use?"

His eyes glinted dangerously, and he finally felt in control of this conversation. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "Us."

Draco watched in satisfaction as her jaw hit the floor. "What?" she spluttered. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" he crowed. "It's perfect. Reformed Death Eater, Potter's Golden Girl," she winced at the title, "are together. 'She changed him for the better' and all that rot. They'll eat it up."

Granger rolled the idea around, thinking about it, trying out the taste of it. "Alright," she said slowly. "It's not bad, I admit."

"Thank you," he said smugly.

"So, who do we start with?" she asked.

"What about Weaselette? I think she's a viable suspect. But if not her, then I'd say Pansy. She's got her nose in everyone's business and no one has any idea how. It's uncanny." Draco rolled his eyes. The Parkinsons really did have a way of having insight into everything and it was downright creepy.

"Good enough for me," she said. "And if they buy it? What do we do then?"

"Then we fake date," he shrugged. "Come on, Granger, we could pull it off," he smirked and ran a hand through his hair. "Could be fun. Also nice and scandalous. I'm sure my father would be furious." His eyes danced at her as he imagined the Howler he'd get in the mail.

"Well," she started, her eyes light. "Let's go sell it, lover."

Draco refused to acknowledge how his stomach flipped at the nickname.

They stared at the parchment, brushing their lips with the tip of the quill.

Decisions, decisions. What story to run this week? So many options.

Sifting through the tips they'd narrowed down – some of them just downright outrageous, by the way – they decided to select one at random and see if it was any good.

I caught Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott in an empty third floor classroom.

Boring. Everyone already knew they were together. Not fully understanding why it had wound up in the potential pile, they tossed that one aside, searching for another. Hufflepuffs were so lame – they could always tell when a tip came from one of them. It was usually something everyone already knew or something that no one would care about.

Yanking out another one, it read, I swear I saw Pansy Parkinson sneaking around with Roger Davies.

Too vague, too noncommittal. Next.

I think that some Ravenclaws might be running an essay writing ring. I'm pretty sure one of them propositioned me to join.

Rolling their eyes, they knew that that would never be true. Ravenclaws have too much bloody integrity to ever pull a stunt like that. This kid probably just completely misunderstood what they were being offered.

Last week, I caught Theo Nott and Hermione Granger sneaking into the Prefects bathroom.

Their eyebrows shot up. Now that was interesting... maybe they could save that for when they wanted to drop a real bombshell. Death Eater and the Golden Girl... together? Or at least somewhat together. And someone had seen it with their own two eyes. If it weren't for that – and the fact that it had been one of the first tips they received – they probably wouldn't believe it.

Deciding to save that for later, they committed it to memory.

Finally, a tip appeared in the pile that was worth reporting. Biting back a smile at how much they felt like Skeeter sometimes – but clearly, infinitely better than that wench – they waved their wand and performed the necessary charmwork.

It was an intricate spell, and one that they were infinitely proud of. Never having seen something like this before, they'd considered trying to turn it into the Ministry and stake a claim on it.

Maybe after this year. After all, no one had pointed fingers at them yet, although everyone was speculating and trying to figure out.

It was a trip, wielding all of this power. It was also ridiculous how people innately trusted it, even though they had no idea what their intentions were.

Granted, it was for the greater good, like they'd said, but trusting that phrase so soon after a war? Ridiculous. Foolish.

But entertaining.

There was so much up their sleeve, they were almost giddy with anticipation.

But patience was a virtue. And while normally they weren't a very virtuous person, they found that exceptions could be made where it was necessary.