Chapter Five - 'A Bouquet Feels Appropriate'

TW: Alcohol consumption

Hermione wasn't sure if she was just being dramatic, but the second she and Malfoy emerged into the Common Room, it felt as if the music went quiet and every eye turned their way. She felt Malfoy freeze behind her, and she was very suddenly aware of some kind of fierce protectiveness in her chest.

"Hello everyone!" she announced as cheerfully as she could. "Er, Malfoy is here!"

She was met with total silence. Biting her lip as she tried desperately to think of the right words to say, she wished for a moment that she hadn't drunk quite so much brandy. "He's a guest. He's, er…cool. I invited him. And, er, if anyone starts anything, I'll hex you. Well, actually, I won't, because I don't approve of that kind of thing, but I think he would. Probably."

There was a ripple of laughter around the room and she felt the tension ease slightly, but not entirely. Some people were staring at her as if she'd just dragged a Snargaluff stump into the Common Room and suggested they engage it in polite conversation. Ron was glaring murderously at Malfoy from his position by the drinks table.

And then, all of a sudden, a lone voice piped up from the far corner. Luna was sat on a table, swinging her legs gently to and fro, the tip of her wand pressed thoughtfully into her cheek. "You were kind to me last year," she said.

There was a heavy silence in the room, laden with disbelief.

"When Mister Ollivander and I were in the cellar. It was really cold. And you brought me a blanket. Didn't you?

Malfoy looked as if he would like nothing more than to lock himself away in the aforementioned cellar. He looked desperately down at the floor for a moment before taking a breath and meeting Hermione's curious eyes. And then he gave a sudden, almost imperceptible nod. Her cheeks felt hot.

Luna smiled and tilted her head to one side. "Thank you, Draco."

The tension broke. Hermione could have kissed her.

Luna was just one of those people that others trusted. Her appraisal of him rippled outwards, a rosette of acceptance to be worn like a badge of honour. Now, he would at least be tolerated. Hermione was sure that certain individuals would take more convincing, but for now, it was enough.

The music resumed and the room steadily filled once more with chatter.

Hermione smiled with relief and turned to Malfoy, only to notice that he looked to be almost on the point of passing out. He looked so unsettled that she put a hand on his arm to steady him, but his face only took on an expression even more akin to a rabbit stuck in the headlights, so she stepped away quickly. "Are you okay?" she asked, and with what appeared to be a great deal of effort, he blinked away whatever panic had descended on him, nodded mutely, and resumed his usual, unaffected expression.

"Drink?" Hermione suggested awkwardly. He nodded once more; and together they stepped out into the middle of the Common Room.

Malfoy seemed to be taking in as much of his surroundings as possible, and as he did so, Hermione watched the anxiety drop away from his features. He was gazing around him in poorly disguised awe, and as she looked with him, it was almost as if she was seeing it for the first time all over again. The cosy beamed ceiling. The plush armchairs and sofas. The luxurious carpets. The roaring fireplace. The people scattered around with drinks in hand, dancing and chatting and laughing. The balloons and banners. The enchanted origami fluttering around the ceiling. The candles and sconces full of yellow light. The tall stained-glass windows. Magic hung in the air, warm and decadent, and it felt to Hermione like stepping into a warm bath, her eyes sliding shut in comfort. She wondered whether he felt it the same way.

"I bet you're the first Slytherin to be in here in a long time," she commented absently, and Malfoy let out a breath that sounded almost like a chuckle.

"I dread to think what my ancestors would say," he murmured.

"Perhaps you shouldn't tell them, then," said Hermione cheekily, starting to peel away the gold foil from the champagne bottle. She had decided to open his gift now, for fear someone else might pinch it if left unattended, and was so busy with this task, in fact, that she nearly missed Malfoy's amused smirk.

The cork burst free with a carrying pop that made some nearby people whoop and someone behind her shriek loudly. Several attempts at an incantation and a few swear words later, she had managed to transfigure her goblet into a champagne flute and pass Malfoy a duplicate. An inexplicable blush appeared to bloom on his cheeks as Hermione filled them to the brim.

"You ought to have a toast," he murmured.

"Oh, you don't need to-"

His familiar smirk reappeared. "Deal with it." He cleared his throat and raised his glass to her. "To you. The 'brightest witch of our age'," he said. "Hermione Granger."

Her heart swelled, and warmth hummed through her veins for a reason other than the alcohol. "Hermione Jean Granger," she added, for no reason at all.

"Alright. Hermione Jean Granger."

She tapped her glass against his with slightly more force than intended. "Cheers."

"Cheers," he repeated, and she took a drink to hide her sudden blush.

The champagne was strong and tart, the bubbles fizzing up her nose and all the way down her throat. Her tongue tingled, making her giggle. "This is wonderful!" she laughed. "Thank you!"

And she saw him grin then, a real grin, and it made her own smile widen. The danger had passed. They were okay. And she felt giddy.

"You said I was cool," Malfoy said with a smirk, and Hermione's thoughts came back to earth with a bump, embarrassment taking over. "Earlier, when you introduced me."

"No I - well, I - I didn't mean like…cool cool… Well, uh, I guess maybe you are, I suppose, but I meant more like…we are. We're cool. Right?" she stammered, and took a gulp – too large – of champagne.

He laughed, but not unkindly, as she spluttered. "Have you ever drunk anything stronger than Butterbeer before?" he asked, apparently genuinely curious.

"Um, once or twice. We had a few drinks sometimes, at the Burrow – er, Ron's house – but probably never this much. I've never had, er, Dragon Barrel Brandy before tonight."

"Dragon Barrel? No wonder!" he exclaimed, and she shoved him playfully, realising suddenly that she felt comfortable touching him. It was as if putting a hand on his arm earlier had broken some kind of contact barrier.

"Thank you for coming," she said softly. She half expected him to go quiet again, but instead their eyes met, and Hermione thought that he seemed at once very intense and very vulnerable.

"It's the first time I've hung out with anyone at Hogwarts this year," he said. There was something else in his expression there, almost like a thank you that he couldn't quite bring himself to say.

"Do you miss your friends?" she asked him, before she could help it. She had been thinking of the Slytherins that had decided against returning to Hogwarts, but she realised as soon as she opened her mouth that her question might remind him instead of someone who never got to make that choice.

He was silent for a moment, and Hermione thought of flames, and broomsticks, and a diadem. "Yes," he said eventually. "But I doubt I'm the only one."

Hermione thought of Parvati's nail polish, and Ron's face at the lake, and then of her own parents, unknowing and oblivious, on the other side of the world. And thought that she agreed with him.

Malfoy's voice pulled her out of her reverie. "But it does mean I get a dormitory to myself, so I can't complain."

"You do? You lucky thing! McGonagall made us share with the seventh years. How come Slughorn didn't do the same for you?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Just some unexpected charitability, I think," he said, but Hermione didn't quite believe that that was the whole truth. "Either way, it's pretty handy."

She laughed. "Handy?! I'm surprised you come to the library at all when you've got a whole dormitory to yourself!"

He gave a small, almost guilty grin, and something in her leapt a little.

At that moment, she felt an arm descend around her shoulders and she startled, nearly dropping her glass. Looking up to see Ron's blue eyes, she immediately found herself wondering whether it would be him or Malfoy who would be first to pick a fight. Was it wrong of her to be so sceptical?

"Hey Hermione. Malfoy," Ron said. Hermione may have been tipsy, but she could hear the tension in his voice and see the way his eyes narrowed. Nope, she thought. She wasn't wrong at all.

"Weasley," Malfoy replied coolly.

"Got bored of your own Common Room, did you?" asked Ron. He was slightly unsteady on his feet, but there was an intensity in his gaze. "Don't blame you. Nasty green lighting. Made me want to vom."

If Malfoy was shocked to discover that Ron had seen the Slytherin Common Room, he didn't show it. "Perhaps," he said flatly.

At this, Ron seemed to become even more determined to provoke a response. "I see you didn't make the Quidditch team this year, did you, huh? No more bribes from Daddy?"

"You don't know the first thing about my father, Weasley," Malfoy said quietly, the edge to his voice as sharp as a dagger.

Ron snorted, pulling at the chink in Malfoy's armour like a loose thread. "I know he's rotting in Azkaban," he grinned. "Too bad you can't sneak one of your little vanishing cabinets past the Dementors."

Malfoy clenched his fists at his sides but otherwise remained stoic. "Too bad I don't know who broke your leg."

Ron frowned at him. "What?"

"Well, you see, I would quite like to have given them flowers. A bouquet feels appropriate, don't you think?"

It took Hermione an inordinate amount of effort to stop herself from laughing. Ron's face twisted into a scowl and he reached for his wand, but she grabbed his arm before the bicker could develop into a full-blown duel. "Ron, please. Stop it. Go and talk to Seamus, he'll get you some water."

Ron shot her a betrayed look, but thankfully turned on his heel and stormed off to complain to someone else.

She let out a breath. "I'm sorry," she said to Malfoy.

But he looked at her oddly. "It's not your fault."

Well. She couldn't argue with that.

Malfoy was silent for a second more, while they both took an awkward drink, but when he spoke again it was careful, calculated. "Would Weasley's broken leg have anything to do with those construction textbooks I saw you with last week?" he asked.

Hermione froze, staring down into the glass in her hand, her tongue solidifying in her mouth. Whatever she had expected him to say, that wasn't it. The music thumped on in the background. "I don't know what you mean-" she mumbled unconvincingly.

"I know Gryffindor lost a lot of House Points that night," he said quickly, deftly. "And all the rubble at the South Corridor disappeared overnight. You told me you were trying to fix something. You were in the out-of-bounds areas, weren't you, both of you? And no doubt Potter too. Were you trying to rebuild the castle?"

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed. She glanced around, half expecting to see someone staring at them in shock, but everyone was too wrapped up in the drink and the music and the company to care what the two of them might be talking about.

"So it is true?!" Malfoy cried jubilantly.

"Just leave it! I already regret it enough."

He stayed silent for a long moment. Hermione was just about to utter some half-baked excuse and slope away from him to escape, when he fixed her with a sudden, bold stare that made her stomach flip. She blamed the alcohol. "I want to help," he said decisively.

Never mind, now that was the most unexpected thing he'd said that night. She gaped at him. "You're not serious."

"I am. I've got a lot of sorrys to say, remember?"

"Wha-?" Hermione closed her mouth around the unintentional word, embarrassed. A cauldron of emotions bubbled away in her stomach, hopeful, shocked, pleased, scared, despairing. She took a long, careful drink from her glass, and Malfoy watched her, waiting expectantly.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said finally. "But it's over. None of the others want to help anymore, not since Ron's injury. Everyone's given up."

"Have you?"

She stared at him, unnerved. She felt oddly exposed beneath his steely grey gaze.

Of course she hadn't given up. But ever since she had come to the understanding that she would be alone in her mission, the fire in her chest had dwindled. It wasn't that she'd abandoned her desire to make a change, she'd just…misplaced it.

Deciding that she didn't know how to answer the question, she settled for shrugging non-committally and looking around the room as if the frivolity was entirely fascinating. Ron was gesticulating violently in an intense conversation with Ernie and Anthony at the other end of the room, Ginny was practically sat on Harry's lap, knocking back Firewhiskey, and Luna and Neville were playing an intense game of Exploding Snap amongst a knot of eager onlookers.

It was very warm.

"Granger."

She looked reluctantly back at him. The champagne was pleasantly acidic on her tongue, and she felt strangely light and heavy all at once.

"I just want to help," Malfoy said again, simply.

"Why?" she couldn't help herself asking.

He scowled. "Let me come with you and I'll tell you."

The ever-curious part of her jumped at this offer, but the rest of her remained more sceptical. As much as she wanted to continue her rebuilding efforts, she'd certainly never imagined embarking on such a mission with the man currently staring intently at her over the top of his champagne glass. The idea was almost laughable. Did she really want to get herself in for a year of rule-breaking with Draco Malfoy by her side?

Their gazes locked.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but something squeezed pleasantly in her chest, and she realised that maybe, just maybe… she did.

"Okay," she said eventually, a little breathlessly. "Meet me after Potions on Monday?"

A slow smile spread across his face, and Hermione was too buoyed up by the alcohol in her veins to feel guilty about how much she thought she liked it.

The moment Hermione bid Malfoy goodnight that evening, and he'd vanished through the portrait hole, Ron strode up to her and took her hand with more force than strictly necessary. There was a fire in his eyes.

"Hermione," he said. "Come to bed with me?"

Her stomach contracted with annoyance, and her eyes darted around the Common Room, looking for an excuse. "Not tonight," she said, pulling her hand out of his. "You're drunk."

He retreated, hurt. "But I want to be with you."

She scowled at him. "Well, I don't!"

He looked stunned. "Wh-"

"Are you going to offer any explanation for your behaviour towards Malfoy earlier?" she demanded.

Ron looked as if he couldn't believe what she was saying. "What explanation does it need? It's Malfoy! Did you not hear how delighted he was about my leg? It still hurts!"

"For goodness' sake Ron, you started it! All he did was retort. Maybe you shouldn't have talked about his father like that!"

"Have you forgotten all those years of bullying – oh yeah, and him literally joining the Dark Lord?! After everything he's done! I can't believe you brought him here! I was so excited to spend your birthday with you and instead I had to watch you and Malfoy drinking champagne together! Merlin, Hermione, do you understand how that makes me feel?"

Confused guilt shot through her body like a curse.

Ron took her hand again, more gently this time, and turned her palm upwards. Revulsion in her throat, she stared down at the scarlet letters carved unforgivingly into her forearm. Mudblood. It looked as fresh as the day it happened. She tore her eyes away, feeling sick to her stomach.

"I will never forgive him for standing by and letting that happen to you," Ron said quietly.

She shut her eyes, nausea roiling inside her. Was their argument her fault? Was she being totally naïve? Should she forgive Malfoy so easily? Was she asking too much for her friends to do the same?

She was completely overwhelmed, and she realised suddenly that she was in danger of crying.

The alcohol had suddenly become too much, too quickly. Her pride and her fury and her determination had all been capsized by guilt and grief, and she didn't really know how she felt about anything anymore.

She buried her head in Ron's chest, safe, familiar, easy, and he held her close. All her fractured uncertainties started to pull together, melding into nothingness inside the circle of his arms. He pressed a soft, undemanding kiss to her forehead.

"You'll be alright. I'm sorry for shouting. I'm sorry. I know you only invited him so he wouldn't feel left out. I know you meant well."

She couldn't bring herself to say anything yet. It was like she could physically feel how much he loved her, how terrified he was of her getting hurt. Something about it left her feeling stricken with uncertainty, like it was a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

"Look, uh, you can say no, and that would be absolutely fine, but I really want to be with you tonight. Will you come to bed with me?" Ron asked gently.

She nodded fervently into his chest this time, not trusting herself to emerge just yet, and Ron squeezed her again.

He wasn't perfect. He wasn't always right. But at least he made her feel safe.

"Come on."

He led her up the dormitory staircase, unseen by the rest of the students still laughing and drinking downstairs, to bed.

And as Hermione drifted off to sleep curled in his arms, that last thought that occurred to her was how nice it was simply to be with him. No discomfort, no rising pressure for anything physical, anything sexual. To just be.

Was that normal?

Hermione woke up unsure how many hours later, feeling both hot and cold at the same time, her mouth dry, and her skull feeling as fragile as an eggshell. A quick fumble for her wand allowed her to get herself some water, but she'd never before had a reason to research the best charm for curing a hangover, so she was at a loss for what else to do. She pulled herself away from where Ron's clammy hand laid uncomfortably on her waist.

Feeling restless and in desperate want of a bath, she nudged Ron awake enough to kiss him goodbye, and sat up, pulling her dress on over her head.

Mercifully, the other occupants of the boys' dormitory were soundly asleep, so she was able to pad across the room to the door and into her own dormitory without eliciting any knowing glances or impish comments.

She paused only briefly to grab some belongings and apologise under her breath to a grumpy-looking Crookshanks, who she had woken up, and then she was off again. She knew she wasn't really supposed to use the Prefects' bathroom anymore, but it was hardly her fault that the password hadn't been changed in five years.

It was still early, so she remained unaccosted all the way down to the fifth floor. She knew she would suffer for her lack of sleep later, but right now, she was eager to shock herself awake and get on with the day.

Several minutes later, as she slipped into the bath, she realised she had grossly overestimated how much of a shock she needed, and she leapt out of the ice-cold water with a shriek. Shivering as she refilled the tub at a more appropriate temperature, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

She was covered in goosebumps, every follicle on her body standing to attention against the cold. Had the hair on her forearms always been that dark? She stepped closer, examining herself. Her lips were white, and a vivid red reaction to Ron's stubble had begun to pepper itself into existence across the skin of her chin and cheeks. Her hair was wild, returned to its chaotic natural state. She was inordinately pale.

Taking all of this into consideration, Hermione thought she rather liked the way she looked, imperfections and all. She didn't much care for what others might think of her appearance, not even Ron. She liked that he liked her, of course. But she wasn't sure if it really mattered all that much to her.

She thought of him for a moment. He had a warm, open kind of face, and she liked the way his freckles danced down his cheeks and onto his chest. He was nice, she thought. But imagining him here with her… she didn't know if it filled her with the same kind of want he seemed to feel for her.

Ron had a way of being harsh at the same time he was gentle. He rarely listened when she wanted him to. He had a tendency to make fun of the things she was proud of about herself.

She tore herself away from the mirror and tested the bathwater again. It was perfect. Sinking down into it, she closed her eyes. The warm water cradled her skin, soothing some of her aches and pains, washing away the frivolities of the night before.

Ron loved her despite all of the things he teased her for. He shared things with her that he didn't tell anyone else. He'd been a part of her life for so long that she didn't know if she could see a future without him.

And yet… The thought of being Mrs Hermione Weasley was, quite frankly, terrifying.

Maybe she was just too young to think of marriage. That's right, she decided. She had a whole career to set in motion before she could even think of settling down. Her success would come first. And perhaps her life was in place, she would start wanting all of that.

With Ron.

There were so many things to think about, but it was all so far in the future. All those big decisions for her love life could come later. She was… content with Ron. She enjoyed spending time with him. He made her smile. And that was enough for now, right?

Much more imminently…there was the small issue of reinstating the castle renovations, and the associated rulebreaking...

…With Malfoy.

The breakfast table was an interesting sight that morning.

Ginny sat rigidly at a bench with her arms tightly folded, glowering at a stack of pancakes as if they'd managed to personally offend her. Ron was shoving sausages and bacon into his mouth with the desperation of a starving man, offset only minutely by the obvious pain elicited with every chew. And Harry was simply lying face down in his bowl of cereal.

"Morning everyone," said Hermione brightly.

There was a dull ache in her head, but she felt a million times better than they all looked. Unsurprisingly, there was a fairly unenthusiastic response to her greeting. Harry raised a hand to wave but remained otherwise firmly buried in his Cheerie-Owls.

Ginny winced as Hermione took a seat. "Is it always this bright in here?" she whispered.

In response, Hermione grabbed Harry's discarded glasses from next to the butter dish and transfigured the lenses a shade or five darker. Emitting a groan of satisfaction that made Neville go a little pink, Ginny jammed the bespoke sunglasses over her nose and sank gratefully into a slouch. "No-one talk to me," she said, and set about eating with such ferocity that Hermione couldn't help but feel highly sympathetic for the pancakes involved.

"Feeling particularly chipper today, are we?" she joked drily.

Ron looked up from his full English as if noticing her for the first time. "I'll be fine once I've eaten half my body weight in sausages," he pronounced.

"I don't know how you can stand greasy food right now," said Seamus from along the bench, looking a tad green. "I don't think I'll ever eat again."

"Have you seen how much I'm shaking?" asked Neville, holding out a wobbly hand to demonstrate. "If I don't get some food in me, I'll pass out halfway up the Gryffindor tower."

"Looks like Harry's already there," Hermione commented, eyeing the milk splatter around his bowl. "Has anyone checked to make sure he's not drowning?"

Parvati leaned over him. "You good?"

Harry grunted.

"He's good," confirmed Parvati, surprisingly the only clear-headed individual at the table, and returned to her breakfast.

"Does anyone know any Hangover Charms?" asked Dean unsteadily, reaching for the toast rack and looking pointedly at Hermione.

"Hangover Charms make you feel ten times worse for a while before you feel better," answered Seamus. "And I genuinely think that if I felt any worse… I would die."

"I guess the Cruciatus curse has nothing on a bottle of Pixie-Pot Rum," said Neville devilishly.

Seamus groaned and threw his face down into his plate in imitation of Harry, slightly less successful for the way his forehead collided with a milk jug and sent the lot cascading into Dean's lap.

Hermione grinned to herself. If there was one thing she was grateful to hangovers for, it was for preventing anyone from asking about why Malfoy had shown up the night before. Either it was considered unimportant compared to their headaches, or they just didn't care. Either way, it suited Hermione.

The weekend was over too quickly, and classes hit again on Monday with the force of a sledgehammer. Hermione would probably feel a lot less weighed down if she wasn't worrying so much about the prospect of meeting Malfoy that evening, especially off the back of her conversation with Ron on Saturday night.

Hermione knew without even having to think about it, that she couldn't tell Ron what she was planning. He would never understand. And if she couldn't tell Ron… she couldn't tell anyone.

Guilt seeped into her stomach, but it was accompanied by a flash of excitement. She wasn't used to keeping secrets from Harry or Ron, and the thrill of it set her heart hammering. It bubbled up in her chest and made her feel so giddy that Slughorn had to remind her twice to extinguish her cauldron fire at the end of class.

When the final bell rang, she tried to take as much time packing her bag as humanly possible. Trying not to seem nervous, she told Harry to go on without her, muttering something about needing to ask Slughorn a question. Thankfully he complied without question, and a part of her wondered briefly whether it was the allure of dinner or the threat of listening to her quiz Slughorn that held the greater weight in his decision. Slughorn disappeared into a store cupboard and the other eighth years filed out of the classroom as she faffed about with a bookmark in her textbook, one by one, until she was alone.

Alone…except for one person.

She held her breath as his footsteps approached. "Granger," said Malfoy.

Cramming the last of her things back into her bag, she turned to face him, heart beating very fast. "Malfoy."

The corner of his lip quirked and for a moment she wanted to laugh at the nervous look on his face. Less than a year ago, it would have been inconceivable to imagine him wearing any other expression but contempt and disdain. And yet here he was.

"So…" he started. "Should we-"

"We need to find somewhere we can talk unnoticed," she said quickly, and he nodded.

"I would suggest the Room of Requirement, but…"

Their eyes met for a moment before looking away, the moment suddenly too intense. Hermione imagined they both remembered far too well what happened the last time they had visited that room.

Slughorn chose this moment to come bustling back into the classroom and performed an elaborate double take at the sight of them standing together.

Malfoy hitched his bag further onto his shoulder and strode out of the room as fast as he could, leaving her staring dumbly after him.

"Is, er, is everything quite alright?" Slughorn asked as if he'd rather not, fiddling uncomfortably with a button on his velvet waistcoat.

She blinked herself out of a daze and mumbled at the floor. "Yes sir."

"Jolly good!" Slughorn broke into a smile, clearly relieved. "Excellent job on your blood-replenishing potion today, Miss Granger, really excellent. You won't forget the Slug Club reopening party, will you? I've heard such rumours about your Gringotts escapade last year, I've been simply dying to know the full story-"

"I'm sure you'll get it out of me one of these days, sir," she replied knowingly, and he chuckled.

"Oh yes, oh yes! This Friday evening, it's a little fancier than usual, you understand, just a little do to celebrate us all being back at Hogwarts! I would tell you to bring a plus one, but of course Potter and Weasley already have their invites!" he continued merrily. "Do make sure they attend, won't you? Don't forget now!"

"Yes sir…" Hermione mumbled as she headed out of the door, annoyed that she didn't manage to leave fast enough to avoid a Slug Club invite. There was no way in hell that Harry would go, which meant that Ginny and Ron wouldn't go either, and then it would doubtless just leave her and a bunch of strangers and too much mead, forcing them into exchanging shallow pleasantries around Slughorn's enormous belly.

The image was so clear in her mind that she didn't pay attention on her way out of the classroom and managed to bump viciously into Malfoy. Her face collided with his shoulder and she let out an 'oof!' before she managed to steady herself.

"Sorry," she said thickly, rubbing at her nose as her eyes watered. "Ow. Did you have to stand so close to the door?"

He grinned before he could stop himself. "Need an Episkey?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm perfectly competent enough to perform my own Episkey, thank you. But no, no broken bones here. Where shall we head?"

"The Muggle Studies classroom is usually empty after hours," he suggested.

It sounded as if he had attempted it before. She raised an eyebrow at him and he blushed, confirming her suspicions.

"I snuck down last week to see if I could find that diagram on the Muggle educational system," he explained, still pink cheeked. "It's nothing sordid."

"Wha-" she gaped. "I suggested nothing of the sort!"

"Sure," he said archly, and with a small smirk, turned on his heel and set off towards the staircase so rapidly that she had to run to catch up with him. Of course he would do that on purpose. What a prat.

When Hermione caught up to him on the first floor, gasping, they wandered through the still desolate Artifact Room and into the deserted classroom. Hermione threw her heavy bag down onto the floor and skipped over to a seat, placing her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, attempting to return her breathing to normal. "So," she said.

"So." He sank onto a seat a little way away, smiling wryly, frustratingly composed. "I did some reading."

Well, there was Hermione's favourite phrase in the entire English language.

She could practically feel her eyes light up, and she forgot rather immediately about her annoyance. "You did?"

He smirked. "I thought it would be a good idea to get a founding in magical masonry and woodworking. There's a lot more to it than I thought," he explained.

"I felt the same way! It was a bit overwhelming! What did you think about Ordansky's chapter on visualisation? I thought it was fascinating to see how-" She cut herself off, noticing Malfoy's amused stare. "Never mind. I, er, I think it's probably a good idea for us to start small and work up to the big stuff, and then hopefully we can work out what we need to learn as we get better?"

He nodded. "Sounds like a plan." There was pause, and then he looked down at his lap, almost shy. "And I, er… I liked the visualisation theory. I thought it made a lot of sense."

She glowed slightly.

"But anyway. I assume you already tried the South Corridor?" continued Malfoy. "What happened?"

She sighed and began to explain. Though she expected him to be horrified when she mentioned the minor inconvenience of hundreds of potentially deadly curses hidden around the castle, waiting to be unearthed by an unsuspecting Gryffindor/Slytherin duo, Malfoy's face pulled instead into a thoughtful frown.

"I wonder if there's a way to detect them?"

"The only warning we had last time was a slight flash of light – as if the spell was just being cast. Other than that, we had no idea."

"Hm." There was a pause. "Well, that could make things difficult."

Her face fell. "Look, if it's too dangerous, I completely understand, you don't need to put yourself at risk by coming with me."

"Are you mad? I'm not backing out now."

"You still want to help?" she asked in disbelief.

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't plan on seeing it through," he said, as if offended. "Whether you like it or not, Granger, you're stuck with me."

Their eyes met, faces solemn. And Hermione smiled.