Warning: Mild language in later portion of the chapter.

"Draco, we're going to get caught," admonished Hermione as he led her through the deserted halls of Hogwarts, her hand clasped in his, seemingly making blind turns at random.

"Oh, yee of little faith Granger," he teased. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do. But that's beside the point. Do you know how hard it is to sneak about at night? Answer: hard. I have far more experience than you in this subject, and even I'm saying this is a bad idea."

"You flatter me. But, in all seriousness, live a little Hermione. You're nineteen now; you're entitled to a little miscellaneous fun. And you got 102% on that Potions test. How did you do that again?"

"I noticed a spelling error Professor Slughorn made," Hermione admitted as they turned a corner, standing in front of a pair of beautifully carved oak double doors, "and he decided to give me extra credit. Why am I not wearing any shoes again?" she asked, and indeed Draco smirked at her very pink, very fluffy socks.

"To appease the almighty Sock God, of course," he explained, as if it was the most reasonable answer in the world.

"You are utterly ridiculous," she did, mildly exasperated yet smiling softly.

"Ridiculously charming, ridiculously intelligent, ridiculously handsome. But I am not ridiculous, dearest bookworm. Now, shall we? Or are you getting cold feet?"

Hermione laughed, unable to help herself. "That was bad, even for you!"

"I know, I shouldn't have, but the opportunity needed to be seized, and I don't appreciate your cruel teasing, Granger. I'm entitled to a comedic slip-up. Besides, it's not like you're a master of puns."

And for that, she pushed the doors open without a backwards glance, discreetly moving her wand and transfiguring Draco's socks so that they grew fluffy rabbit ears.

"I suppose I deserved that," he chuckled, closing the door behind them, "but perhaps I should turns yours into kittens, since you seem to live your fluffy idiot so. "

"He is not an idiot!"

"He tried to bite my hand!"

"You sat on his tail!"

Draco frowned. "Did I? Thought it was a jumper. Fine, you win. "

"Excellent. Besides, I was a cat once and I must say the experience was not an enjoyable one."

"I don't remember that, I think I would have noticed if you had whiskers, Granger."

"It was when me, Harry and Ron took Polyjuice to sneak into the Slytherin common room and interrogate you about the Heir of Slytherin."

"But that was our second year!"

"And?" Hermione inquired, raising an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of the young man before her.

"Even i would have had difficulty with that spelt set that young an age," he conceded with his trademark smirk.

"Of course, whatever you say. But, moving on to more relevant and pressing matters, why exactly am I standing at the top of a very curling staircase that is, for lack of a better term, 'super' shiny? And is not a staircase at all but more a swirling ramp that does not look safe whatsoever?

"Because," Draco whispered, as if confiding a secret, "we are going to slide down it."

"Slide down this?"

"Yes."

"In our socks."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's fun. And there's a surprise at the bottom."

"Like Alice falling down the Rabbit Hole. Or, in this case, sliding." She giggled at the image of Alice sliding down the stairs in her pristine dress and stockings, the March Hare sliding down on his ears, slurping from a cup of tea and playing cards with the Mad Hatter.

"Who's Alice? And what Rabbit Hole?" Draco inquired, confused.

"I'm sorry, Alice is a famous Muggle literary character. She follows the White Rabbit down the Rabbit Hole and ends up in a magical fantasy world called Wonderland, and has adventures. The Muggle who wrote it, Lewis Carroll, was on drugs at the time so everything's a bit perculiar. But it's great fun, especially when you're little. Although the Disney adaptation is rather creepy, and the bit with the clams used to make me cry."

"Duly noted. Now, are you ready?"

Hermione nodded, trying to summon her Gryffindor courage. "Wait," she pleaded, a thought suddenly occuring. "Are these magic stairs?"

Draco laughed. "If you hadn't noticed by now, Granger, we are in a magic school."

"I'm not even going to respond to that. I just meant, they're not enchanted or have a false step or spit fire or something."

"I'll guess you'll just have to find out," he supplied, and then he pushed her.

Hermione went skidding down the stairs-that-were-not-stairs, the polished wood not meeting any resistance from her slippered feet. She spun round and round until she finally stopped, landing on her back stop a pile of silk cushions and blankets, a table tucked into the round space with a thick beeswax candle burning brightly, casting dancing shadows on the wall in different patterns. One was a rabbit. An enchanted candle, then. She wondered how it worked, what triggered the wick and if the images went in a pre-arranged cycle-

when Draco collided with her.

She thwacked him over the head with a velvet cushion. Repeatedly. The velvet fibres clung to his fine hair, making it look like he'd just rubbed a balloon on his head. Ha! That would be something.

"Thanks for the warning!" she chided.

"What, and ruin the experience? Never." He took the pillow shed just hit him with and put it behind his head, staring down at her where she lay half sprawled on the rug, still dizzy from the slide.

Draco picked at the tasseled fringe, running it between his fingers. Why was he nervous?

"I've never brought anyone down here," he confessed, not meeting her gaze. I found it during my sixth year. Just came across it one day. Used to hide down here when Crabbe and Goyle kept hounding me about fixing that damned Vanishing Cabinet. I guess the castle does cater to all your needs," he joked, letting out a long breath, shoulders settling.

They were silent for a minute, Hermione examining the books left out on the table, Draco watching her in amusement through half-lidded eyes. They were both thinking the same thing.

"Draco," she started, plowing ahead, "about that Profit article..."

Draco sat up, hair in disarray, and knelt next to her, elbows on the table, knees knocking against her own.

"Listen, Hermione, if you don't want to be friends anymore..."

"What?" Hermione barked, physically recoiling as if he'd slapped her. "How could you think that? I was going to ask you who you thought took the picture and tattled like a child to the Profit, and how you wanted us to proceed in future, if we should just ignore it or go to McGonagall and get her advice. As if not being friends was even an option," she said, feeling hurt.

"I'm sorry, that was a rash thing to say; I guess I'm just not used to people wanting to stick around when faced with obstacles. As for the metaphorical rat in our midst, I have my suspicions, and will go about confirming them tomorrow. At least it's a good picture of me," he smirked, "and you didn't look like you'd traded places with a squirrel and gone rootling though any bushes, which is the most one could hope for."

Hermione through another pillow at his head, seething.

Draco just laughed.

She retaliated with an elbow to the ribs and another pillow. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for girls with curly hair to look after it? I don't want to waste time and magic and energy on something so frivolous and impractical. It's calmed down now. You're lucky, your hair isn't nearly as hard to manage, although you did used to use so much hair gel that I thought the world's supply would soon perish," she shot back, giving as good as she received.

"Fine, fine, your hair is fine, Hermione," he surrendered, although he did throw a pillow half-heartedly in her general direction. And, since they were both teenagers, this resulted in a seventeen and a half minute pillow fight, naturally. Hermione won, although she had a sneaking suspicion Draco was going easy and let her.

They lent side by side, looking up at the underside of the staircase that had been enchanted to look like a canopy of swaying trees.

"Did you do that?" she asked, pulling a particularly long feather from his hair that he'd missed.

"I did. As much as staring at bare wood is so appealing," Hermione giggled at that, "I suppose I wanted to leave my mark, have some tangible, tactile proof that I was here, I suppose."

"You didn't add the candle then?"

"No, it was here when I arrived, and it's pretty to look at, and the magic behind it is quite intriguing, once you break it apart to it's base parts and go from there." She smiled, thinking how shed had that exact thought.

Hermione listened to him explain the magic behind the candle, asking questions as they came to her, him seeming pleased as he answered every one. While she knew he was highly intellectual, for he'd always been just behind her in practically every class, it was so fascinating and refreshing to encounter a mind that worked similar to her own. If she'd mentioned the candle to Ron, he'd have completely ignored it, saying it was just a candle, and it worked, which was all that mattered. Harry may have spent a moment or two on it, then got bored. But it was wrong to compare them. Right?

"So, tell me about Alice," Draco said after their conversation, settling back once again.

"Well, she's a very curious girl, but she has quite the temper and doesn't take things very seriously. She doesn't really think through her actions, eating and drinking strange things just because the label tells her to. She's not overly concerned about the effect her disappearance could have had on her sister, but then again most often in books people don't tend to worry about that, do they. I wonder why."

"Probably because it would ruin the experience," Draco supplied after a moment. "Whilst fantasy has elements grounded in reality, it can not be too real otherwise it is not an escape. But even the Pevensie siblings had to return home at some point. Fantasy can not last forever, and you cannot hide from what plagues you. You taught me that. Not in a bad way, but a good one. That I should be active in solving my problems, targeting than just kicking my feet up and expecting them to resolve themselves."

"I'm glad I helped teach you such an important life skill," she rasped, voice starting to become tinted with a need for sleep.

Gently, Draco turned her wrist to see her watch. "It's nearly midnight. Up you get, Granger," he coaxed, dusting off feathers from his trousers. Hermione ran her hand through the downpour, watching as they drifted and sifted through her fingers.

"But it's nice here. Can't we stay?" she pleaded, perhaps betraying more than she realized with the words.

"No, Hermione, we can't. We have to go back to reality at some point,otherwise the dream would not be as beautiful. Is this because of the books my mother gave you?" he asked delicately.

Hermione nodded.

"They've really helped, and your mother was so generous to give them to me. But what if my magic isn't the problem. What if they don't want to remember me?" she whispered, silent tears falling. She'd gotten used to crying silently, those nights alone when she didn't want to upset Harry, when the weight, the burden of what they had to do felt too much to bear, when she wanted to wake up and be back with her parents, feel safe and loved and protected. When was the last time she'd truly felt that way?

Draco's arms came around her, fingers rubbing up and down. "Hey, hey, Hermione, it's okay," he soothed, voice infinitely gentle and sweet. The voice no one ever got to hear, the side of him no one else got to see. Except her. "Your parents love you, Hermione. And you will restore their memories. You will be happy again. You just have to not give up, even when it would be easier to. All great heroes get tired, but they always pick their sword back up, because they always know that there's something left worth fighting for, even if no one else can see it, even if no one else believes it."

"How do you know?" Hermione grumbled into his shirt.

"Well, I know you, and you never give up on anything. I've seen how brave you are. When you were at the Manor, that was true bravery. When you fought the Death Eaters at the Ministry. When you formed DA."

At her questioning look he just rised a perfectly groomed brow. "What, you didn't really think I'd believe that Potter had the brains to form your merry band of heroes? Come now, Granger, don't take me for a fool."

She laughed, the sound echoing into Draco's chest. He held her a little tighter and tilted them so that they were both standing.

"You really think I'll do it?"

"I really do."

"Then that's enough for now."

"Hello, Theodore," Draco said, spinning around in his chair to face the blond, the gesture reminiscent of many a spy movie. "Won't you have a chat with your old mate?"

"What do you want Draco?" Theo ground out, knowing full well that this wasn't a social call.

"I want to know what Blaise's endgame is." No room for compromise with that tone. Or denial.

"Since when am I privy to Blaise's machinations?" Theo drawled, waltzing over and throwing himself into a padded armchair in the Slytherin common room with his signature lazy arrogance, back forgotten on the floor. He tested a foot on a knee and gave Draco a disinterested smile. Merlin, Draco had forgotten how annoying he could be.

"Since we were two, Theo. Don't make me ask again."

"I do not know Draco," he enunciated clearly, having the audacity to examine his nails while Draco sat there. The git.

"I see." Perhaps Theo really had distanced himself, perhaps Draco could get through to him after all. Great buildings start with only one brick. "And have you recently developed a penchant for photography, say by the Black Lake?"

They both knew what he was asking.

"No I have not." Theo paused, biting his nail down to the quick. When he caught Draco's look he let out a deep sigh and sat forward, hands clasped between his knees. "She's nice."

"Who's nice, Theodore?" Draco questioned, although he already knew. Let him sweat a bit.

"Granger. I dropped my bag the other day, just to see what she'd do, and she picked it up for me. Even said, 'You're welcome, Theo,' to me. I was honestly shocked, given my involvement in that Hogsmeade debacle. It seems you've finally found someone that can put up with your dramatics after all, Malfoy. I must say I'm surprised. You, being friends with Granger of all people. How the hell did that come about?"

As if he'd reveal to Theo how vulnerable and hurt and ashamed and lonely he'd been, how she'd begun to become a bright spot in his day, how he loved seeing her get into heated conversations with his mother, hands flapping about wildly as she talked, eyes bright and invigorated. How she'd sometimes notice him noticing, and she'd just smile and go back to whatever she was talking about. How could he ever tell Theo that? Or Hermione, for that matter?

"That," he said, "is none of your business, or your concern. If you're not going to be helpful then this discussion is over. Close the door on your way out, why don't you, Theodore?" he drawled, although Theo didn't move for the door. Instead he stood in front of Draco, gripping the arms of his old friend's chair.

"You're a prick, Draco."

"True as that may be, I'm doing this for your benefit too. I know you don't want to turn into your father."

"Leave my father out of this," Theo snarled, eyes blazing with hate and anger and...sorrow.

"The world's a different place to the one we grew up in. We can make it better. Tell me you don't believe that Muggle-borns bleed any differently to us? That they aren't entitled to the same things that we are? That they are any less than us just because their parents were not born with magic like ours?"

Theo slumped back into his chair, defeated. "I don't know what I believe anymore," he replied honestly, running a hand through his hair.

Draco sat forward, mirroring Theo's earlier pose. "Believe that, although we have not been close for many a year, I still care about you, and I think you should do something for yourself, for once in your life. For starters, you could stay with my mother so you don't have to live in that house."

The one his mother died in. The one where his father used to beat him. The one so thick with aggression and darkness and hatred it was like a palpable malaise permeating every inch of that damned house.

"I can't, Draco," he rasped brokenly. "This is my burden to bear, for good or for ill."

Maybe now was not the time to push. Not now, but later. He wouldn't watch his friend suffer in silence, tumultuous relationship or not.

"It's your choice," was all Draco said, and he himself was the one who made for the door, hoping Hermione was free for lunch.

"He hates you, Draco. He hates what you've become. I think it's because he wants to change, but simply doesn't know where to start. That, and your relationship with your mother, which he has always envied. I fear he may do something from which there is no turning back, if left to his own devices. I'll do what I can, but I will make no promises."

"And I wouldn't ask you to. Thank you, Theo, I'll keep all that in mind the next time he tries to make a move against me or anyone else I care about. We shall see who's dragging themselves out of a pond being chased by ducks when I'm through with him."

Author's Note: Hello, fellow Potterheads and Dramione shippers! Dun, dun, duuun! What is Draco going to do next? What kind of character is Theo going to turn out to be? We shall have to see. Just out of curiosity, what ship would you want to see: Luna and Blaise or Luna and Theo? Please let me know since this is your story too and I'd love your input. Also, I'd like to personally thank the two readers who sent me such long, lovely reviews. I didn't put your names in case you didn't want to be called out, but I just wanted to say thank you again.

Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you enjoyed! Have a lovely rest of your day.

All my love, Temperance.