Hogwarts - Winter 1995
A piece of folded parchment fluttered across the room, landing dangerously close to the roaring flame below Hermione's cauldron. The last thing she needed right now was a public reprimand from Snape and a detention with Umbridge. She covered the note with her hand and glanced around the room for any sign of its sender. When she was sure Harry was distracted by his conversation with Ron, she snuck a peak at the contents of the note.
Where were you last night? You weren't at the library
Even though there was no signature, the loop on the 'y' was a dead giveaway of Malfoy's handwriting. After a few weeks of study sessions, she was sure she would recognise it anywhere. She had spent the night with Harry following his particularly rough Occlumency lesson with Snape; the lessons were critical in helping Harry keep Voldemort out of his mind, but they took a heavy toll on him during a year where he was already worn thin.
Part of her still wasn't sure she could fully trust Malfoy, even if he had warned her about Umbridge, so she decided to answer vaguely.
I was with Harry. He needed me and I couldn't leave. Where were you this morning? You weren't at breakfast.
Harry snorted at something Ron said and Hermione cast a sidelong glance over at Malfoy's station, hoping to catch his attention, but he was meticulously slicing up lacewing flies. Before she could discreetly send the note back to him, the ink disappeared.
Two-way parchment.
She used her textbook to cover half the parchment while she waited patiently for Malfoy to notice her message. After he set down his knife, his eyes caught on her reply and his lips twitched with a smile.
Were you looking for me in the Great Hall, Granger?
It might've been a trick of her mind, but flirtatious undertones saturated the note.
She had been looking for him, though she wasn't about to admit that.
I was simply concerned for your wellbeing as you missed the best day of the year. I know that if I had missed the one day they serve chocolate chip pancakes at breakfast then I would be devastated and in dire need of solace.
His reply appeared almost instantly.
I had no idea that my absence would cause you such distress. Consider this my formal apology.
Before she could decide how to respond, a second message came through.
If you must know, I was fulfilling my end of a trade with Blaise. He also has an unhealthy obsession with chocolate pancakes, and we exchanged Inquisitorial Squad shifts so that I would have my nights open.
His response made her head go fuzzy.
Surely, he hadn't rearranged his patrol schedule to have open nights for her.
But the thought of him doing it for another witch instead made her stomach turn.
"Miss Granger."
Hermione jumped in her seat at the booming sound of Snape's deep voice. "Yes, professor?"
In the blink of an eye, the parchment slipped out from under her hands and settled between his fingertips. "You believe that after twenty years of teaching I would not be able to recognise cheap two-way parchment? Note passing is not tolerated in my classroom and will result in a deduction of house points."
An excuse was on the tip of her tongue just as he inspected the parchment and his frown lines deepend. "It would appear that it was a trick of the light. Stop daydreaming and focus on your potion; it's about to spoil."
Snape was right—the potion in question was on the cusp of boiling over the lip of her cauldron. After some frantic stirring to reduce the rapid boiling, she muttered, "Yes, sir."
When the attention on her had died down, she looked at the note more closely. The parchment looked ordinary with some notes from the earlier lecture on it, and it was almost an exact replica of her handwriting with one exception.
There was an exaggerated loop on the 'y' in dittany.
She could practically feel Malfoy's smirk directed at her from across the room.
The walk to the library that night felt longer than usual. Hermione was plagued with questions about the messages Malfoy had sent her during Potions. After the confrontation with Snape—and near ruin of her Potions assignment—she had ignored the parchment for the rest of the day.
A pair of sixth years passed by her with their hands clasped together. The taller one leaned in closer and whispered something to make his partner smile up in response.
She felt a pang of envy twist inside her.
What would it be like to have that?
Her imagination danced around her head, forming the scene. Due to her small stature, her imagined man would probably be taller than her. She thought of a large hand taking hers and lacing their fingers together. His gold signet ring would brush along her skin, and Malfoy would—
A cold flash of panic doused any thoughts she had been entertaining.
He was in her head.
This had to have been his plan all along. Where she had intended to irritate him and get under his skin, he had to have planned something worse in return. He was Malfoy, her academic rival and the one who spit vitriol at her on a daily basis during their first two years of school.
She shouldn't want anything from him.
She doubled her pace and passed the couple, not sparing them a second glance as she turned down the hall towards the library.
Hermione balanced on her tiptoes, stretching her right arm out as far as it could go while using her left to steady herself against the library bookcase. Her hand blindly patted back and forth on the high shelf as she tried to feel around for a tome.
Suddenly, a hand appeared above her and plucked the book off the upper shelf with ease. She whipped around and found herself face-to-chest with Malfoy, who held it with an amused expression. "Did you forget you're a witch, Granger? You could've used a first year spell to reach that."
Her face instantly heated; she told herself it was from embarrassment and absolutely not her proximity to the tall blond. She would've felt like this even for Neville. It wasn't Malfoy.
It wasn't.
"Habit, I suppose," she replied, tilting her head upwards to look at him. "I've always been rather short, so I'm used to it."
Tension wound tightly between them as the seconds ticked by.
He took several measured breaths and his throat bobbed with a harsh swallow. His gaze drifted from her flushed cheeks to her lips and darted back up to meet her eyes.
Without another word, Malfoy handed her the tome and stepped out of her path, ducking his chin to his chest. The pair made their way back to their usual table in silence. It had been over a week since Hermione submitted her essay and an entire month of meeting him in the library for their study sessions. As a fifth year student, he was also taking Astronomy. Logically, he had to have known that there was no need for them to continue their ritual.
And yet, he still came to the library and joined her at their table each night.
He had even gone out of his way to clear his schedule so he was available for their recurring study sessions.
Had he waited in the library for her the night before? Hermione's stomach filled with knots at the implication.
Spending time together in a library should be mundane but instead it was the highlight of her day. She found herself watching the clock during class and supper, subconsciously counting down the hours until they were back to bantering in their own little world.
A month ago, she had dragged out their time together as penance for him withholding her book, but the more time she spent with him, the less inclined she was to give him up. Between Umbridge, Voldemort returning, and the slander Harry had to endure by the media, fifth year had been nothing short of a nightmare. In a strange way, seeing Malfoy each night gave her something to look forward to.
Malfoy let out a frustrated groan from his seat and ran a hand through his hair. "Granger, we need to talk."
Her heart plummeted and she waited for the words she had always known were coming.
"McGonagall has gone completely mad with this coursework. I don't see how we're supposed to have enough time to practice vanishing before class on Tuesday, let alone nonverbal." He dropped a book to the desk in frustration.
Her chest sank with the exhale of her held breath. He wasn't ending their nightly meetings just yet. "Oh, that? It's probably preparation for the practical portion of the O.W.L.s."
"It's bloody frustrating, is what it is," he grumbled, cradling his chin in his hand with a slight pout. "Nothing could make me interested in spending my weekend practicing that spell."
Nothing?
It was undeniable that her rivalry with Malfoy had made her a better student and witch. Perhaps she could use his competitive nature to motivate him, as well.
"What if I propose a friendly competition?" she asked, toying with her quill between her fingers. "We could see who receives the higher grade on Tuesday."
His ears perked up at that. "A wager? Now you have my attention. What are the stakes?"
Her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she considered his dangerous question. "If I win, you have to be my personal servant for an entire day. You'll carry my books to class and pull out my chair for me—and sit at the Gryffindor table for meals. You'll have to do anything that I ask of you, within reason."
"Deal."
She was surprised at his lack of hesitation. "And what would you want from me?"
"A flight on my broomstick at the Quidditch pitch." He sounded nonchalant, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary with his request.
Her quill fell to the table. "What?"
"Those are my terms," he replied with a shrug. "Why? Are you concerned that you'll lose?"
"Obviously not. I don't plan on you ever collecting on this wager." She slumped down in her seat and crossed her arms. Her fingernails dug into her biceps as his smirk grew.
Why would he want her to fly his broom? Some sort of amusement or humiliation to highlight her inadequate flying abilities?
"I don't understand why you would ask for that."
His attention dropped back to his open book and he thumbed the corner of the page thoughtfully. "I don't understand why you don't understand. Isn't it rather Slytherin of me to make my reward your greatest fear?"
Her nose scrunched up at that. "Flying isn't my greatest fear."
"Oh?" With a curious cock of his head, he waited for her to continue.
It felt odd to admit out loud, particularly because she'd never told this to anyone before, but for some reason the correction spilled out anyway. "I don't particularly enjoy speaking in front of people—alright? My chest feels tight and my voice starts to shake and the more I try to steady myself the worse I feel."
"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," Malfoy teased.
"There is more than one way to be brave," she bristled back.
His jaw worked and he looked as if he were trying to solve a complex puzzle. "Well, if you're going to be Minister for Magic someday then you should work on that. Whenever I'm nervous about speaking, I just find one person in the crowd who I know and then I talk directly to them. It helps you not only to relax but also sound more conversational and less stiff in your speech."
"That's… actually good advice." She tried—and failed—to hold back the bewilderment in her voice.
"The only type I give." A smirk crossed his face and he added, "Don't worry, there will be plenty more advice in advance of your losing flight."
Hermione glared up at him through her lashes. "Very funny, Malfoy, but completely unnecessary. In fact, you better start practicing for your day of servitude."
She felt a sense of unease at his confident smile.
"We'll see, Granger."
The grass was soft and pliant under Hermione's steps, and she quickened her pace to match Malfoy's. "You cheated. I don't know how, and I have zero proof, but you absolutely cheated."
"Oh, Granger, you wound me," Malfoy declared theatrically while clutching his chest with one hand and his broom with the other. He ducked to avoid a low hanging tree branch while they walked. "Perhaps I just needed the right incentive."
Her breath quickened at the sight of the Quidditch pitch and her palms grew clammy.
"Thought you weren't frightened of flying?" He eyed her with curiosity. The look on his face told her that she wasn't hiding her panic as well as she thought she was.
"I never said I wasn't frightened of flying," she grumbled, pushing away a stray curl from in front of her face that had been dislodged by a gust of wind. "I simply said it wasn't my greatest fear. It can still be a fear."
He hummed appreciatively. "Ah, a technicality. How very Slytherin of you."
"I can't tell if you're trying to compliment me or not but it's very unsettling. Also, would you please refrain from the house rivalry for just one night?"
"Refrain? For you, perhaps." He had adjusted his speed at some point and they were now walking closer together. How had she missed that? "Though that could also mean repeat."
"It's a contranym—a word that has two opposite meanings depending on context. And given the context..." she prompted slowly, as if she were talking to one of the students she tutored.
He grinned. "Given the context I should repeat."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, concerned that the effect would be lost in the darkness around them. "Apology is also a contranym."
"Are you trying to seduce me with your brain, Granger? I'm not as easy to beguile as Theo or Blaise but I can't say you're not on the right path."
"Hilarious." She tried to causally shift the subject as they continued down the cobblestone walkway. "Still, we don't have to fly. There are other ways you could torture me instead."
"Then what do you propose?"
Her mind flipped through a dozen possibilities. "What if instead of flying I tell everyone at breakfast that I think you're handsome and brilliant, and any other compliment you wish."
He scoffed. "They'll think I Imperiused you. If you went around proclaiming that to anyone then the first thing they'd do is Floo in the Aurors to drag my arse into an interrogation."
Hermione snorted in reflex and clamped her hand over her mouth. "They would not!"
"You say that now, but the next thing you know you'll be owling me in Azkaban." He grinned and shoved a hand into his pocket. "Although, now that I think about it, solitary would give me plenty of time to work on my latest project—classified of course."
"No need for the theatrics. You might as well tell me. Who else will file the patent for your work when you're behind bars?"
"Theo."
She let out a puff of air resembling a laugh. "Who would you rather form an alliance with when you're in Ministry custody? Theo or me?"
His lips pursed. "You have a fair point. I'm in the midst of developing a ground breaking method of extracting the grease from Snape's hair. Between his swishy cloak creating a gust of air and greasy hair, it's a wonder the basements haven't burned down the whole school. It's a perfect storm."
"You're incorrigible!" she choked out between gasps of laughter.
Malfoy's silver eyes shone in the moonlight when he laughed, and it stopped her dead in her tracks.
"I don't think I've ever heard you laugh like that before," she whispered into the night air. "I like it."
All she could hear was the rustle of the trees and nearby wildlife singing out.
"Though the field of Snape grease extraction is vastly underfunded, there are other areas of study where you could make a real impact outside of making candles."
"First of all, I would never use his grease for candle making. That's disgusting and there's no market. Secondly, where?"
She shifted her weight around and shrugged. "The field of Magical Creatures. There's so much to be discovered and there is a stigma on the field that drives away top talent. I think you'd have a talent for it."
He shook his head. "No. I dislike all magical creatures."
"You can't dislike them all." She thought for a moment. "What about cats?"
"Cats aren't magical creatures."
"My cat can read minds."
Malfoy made a face somewhere between amusement and utter disbelief. "That's impossible. Cats aren't Legilimens."
Crookshanks could absolutely read minds and Hermione wouldn't allow for any Crookshanks slander.
"That argument aside, what could cats possibly need?"
"Thumbs."
"What?"
"Cats are at a severe disadvantage with their lack of thumbs."
"I absolutely refuse to be the one responsible for making cats the new apex predator of the magical world."
"Because of the thumbs?"
"Absolutely."
"But what if we—"
He interrupted her before she could continue. "Now you're just stalling your punishment."
She looked over at the empty Quidditch pitch and wrung her hands in front of herself. "Am not."
"Well, you can't be too mad at me."
He sounded so bloody confident. She scowled at him and asked, "Why do you think that?"
Malfoy strolled past her with a cocky air. "Your hair isn't even up."
Hurrying to catch up to him, she fought the urge to call after him. She didn't want to escape the punishment for note-passing just to be caught sneaking out on the grounds after curfew. "What does that mean?"
"You always pull your hair up when you're upset."
She was startled that he had noticed. "I… just don't like the feeling of my hair on my neck when I'm frustrated. It helps to have it out of the way. I've been like that ever since I was a child."
He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. "And yet…" He reached out and gave a gentle tug to one of her loose curls.
She felt the air leave her lungs in one fell swoop.
There was still a hint of a smile on his face as he extended his hand and passed the broomstick to her.
Despite everything in her begging to decline the flying magical death stick that she'd successfully avoided for the past four years, she begrudgingly accepted it. "What are we going to do if Umbridge catches us?"
He shrugged. "Don't worry about that old toad, we have at least an hour before her nightly meeting with the Imperial Squad and Filch ends. Blaise has covered for me tonight. Anyone who is out right now wouldn't care."
"I can't help but feel like I'm corrupting a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. We are breaking several rules right now," she teased, coming to a stop at the edge of the pitch.
"Curfew, absolutely."
"This wager has to fall under the 'illicit activities' that she's always going on about."
Gesturing to the broom in her hand, he added, "Not to mention that flying is also prohibited."
"And the audacity we have to stand closer than eight inches from each other."
With a glance over his shoulder, Malfoy lowered his voice and whispered, "We would never recover from the scandal. If we are seen without a chaperone then your virtue will come into question."
"I know where this is going, and I have to say that you'd never win a challenge against my father." She twisted the broom handle and inspected it closer. The broom was somehow simultaneously lighter and sturdier than any she had held in the past. It looked and felt expensive. "He may be an academic, but William fenced through uni and is quite skilled with a sword. He's also a dentist and rips out teeth daily. He wouldn't bat an eye when slicing off an arm to defend my honour."
Malfoy choked on his next inhale. "You're not serious about the teeth thing?"
"I suppose I'm not helping my 'Muggles are as civilised as Wizards' case, am I?"
"Not one bit."
They both turned their attention back to the broom. "How long do I have to fly to fulfill my end of the bargain?"
Tilting his head back and forth in thought, he replied, "Three loops around the pitch should do it."
She grumbled to herself and mounted the broomstick, trying to calm the anxiety that gripped at her insides. She closed her eyes and felt her stomach drop when her feet left the grass.
The broom jolted upwards and she threw herself forward, pressing her chest flush against the wood. Her arms wrapped around the wood and she clung to the broom. "Shit."
She was brought back to the moment by the sound of a laugh being poorly covered up by a cough just beside her.
"You're barely off the ground," Malfoy drawled, sounding altogether too amused for her liking.
"Sod off. This is all your fault." Hermione cracked open her eyes and let go of the handle with one hand just long enough to move her curls from in front of her vision. With her weight shifting, the broom wobbled and she let out a squeal.
"I think we'll be stuck here forever if you attempt this alone. May I?"
Without moving her head, her pleading eyes landed on him. His gaze softened and she could see no hint of malice. "Please."
The broom dipped slightly as he gracefully climbed on, filling the space behind her. She hadn't realised how close she was to the grass until that moment and she sat straight up. His warm body behind her was a shield to the wind and provided a source of heat in contrast to the cold night air.
"First, you can't be afraid of the broom, otherwise it'll never listen to you."
"What, the broom is a Legilimens?" she joked half-heartedly, trying to centre herself.
"Certainly not to the skill level of your cat, I'm sure," he quipped. "It harnesses your magic to fly, and if you're afraid, your magic can be erratic and the broom will respond the same."
Just having Malfoy on the broom already provided some much needed stability. Still, she wasn't sure how they would be able to fly around the entire pitch without touching. The last thing she wanted was for one of them to be injured and in the Hospital Wing with a broken bone; Umbridge would surely make an example of them for breaking curfew.
"Don't you need to hold on to something? I can't promise you won't fall off otherwise."
After a beat, his fingertips hesitantly moved to her hip and settled just below her waist. His other hand gently guided her to lift the handle and the broom reacted by hovering another foot higher.
"There you go, Granger," he encouraged, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. "Just like that."
Newly emboldened by his praise, she leaned forward and pressed her weight into the handle, directing it to speed up. The broom glided through the air and adrenaline pumped through her veins.
She was flying.
With Malfoy.
Wind whipped around them and they cut through the shadows, their only source of light the bright moon and a splatter of visible stars. They passed the stands that Hermione had sat in a hundred times while watching her friends practice and play a sport she had little interest in. Even though they weren't too high off the ground, everything around them seemed to feel smaller as they zoomed past.
The air was brisk but the fire in her belly kept her distracted enough that she ignored the growing numbness in her fingertips. By the second loop around the field, she had relaxed her grip on the broom and shifted her weight backwards. She leaned back just a fraction too far and her back pressed against Malfoy's chest; he tightened his grip on her hips in response.
Just when she was about to sit back up and pull away, he whispered, "See? You had nothing to be afraid of. You're a natural."
His breath danced across her skin and sent a shiver of delight down her spine. She didn't trust her voice so she simply nodded in reply.
By the third lap, she felt like she finally understood why Harry loved to fly. It felt like they were the only two people in the world and all her worries and concerns just melted away. She felt the sting of disappointment when they came back around to the pitch entrance and Malfoy hopped off the broom before they even reached the ground.
He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "That wasn't terrible, was it? Better than first year flying."
"It was… different." Her legs trembled under her as she dismounted.
"Different how?"
"It just feels different with you." He stilled and she rushed to add, "The way you fly—it's so natural it's almost like dancing."
A smile tugged at his lips and his brows lifted. "Dancing?"
She dropped the broom and looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. "It's a silly analogy, I suppose. It's not as if you know how to dance—"
"Madam Rosier would be mortally offended to hear you say that," he interrupted in faux offense. "She didn't endure years of having her feet trampled on just to have you insult her protegé."
"Excuse me, did you say years?"
Malfoy took a step closer to her and she looked up at him in the moonlight. "I don't think I appreciate your tone," he murmured, but despite his words, he appeared more amused than displeased. "I am the sole heir to my family line, dating back thousands of years. I've been groomed my entire life to represent my family name which includes proper dancing etiquette."
"I suppose that I'm just surprised it was on the curriculum."
"As ridiculous as it sounds, most Pureblood courtships involve some form of dancing. I can't tell you how many bland conversations I've had to suffer through with some witch while our parents stood by and watched, imagining a wedding."
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back her real response. "You're fifteen. Your parents are already working on courtships for you?"
"Granger." His voice had a raw quality to it. "I'm fifteen. That means they've been working on courtships for me for well over a decade."
It didn't make sense how his words burned her insides.
There was no logical reason that she should be invested, and yet she couldn't help but wonder who his parents would select for their son. Perhaps Pansy Parkinson or Daphne Greengrass? They were both part of the Sacred 28 and had to have been raised with a similar education to Malfoy.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice when Malfoy took another step closer. "Granger?"
She blinked in rapid succession with a small shake of her head. "That… that makes sense. I'd just never thought about it before. It's almost like its own little world—your Pureblood society. It's the same for Muggles with their own customs and trends for society that you couldn't possibly understand."
"What do you mean?"
She clasped her hands in front of her and rocked to the back of her heels. "The Muggles do this dance called the Electric Slide. It's quite intricate and complex. I doubt that was included in your repertoire?"
His brows disappeared behind his fringe. "Certainly not. I will say that my education primarily focused on the classics. That dance sounds particularly painful."
"It is the way my dad does it." Cocking her head thoughtfully, she added, "Though, truth be told, it's only painful for his audience."
"Maybe someday you can teach me."
She tried and failed to stifle the laugh that materialised at the mental image of Malfoy doing the Electric Slide.
His hand reached out for her and she felt her heart skip a beat. "What are you doing?"
"You've questioned my skill and insulted Madam Rosier. I must defend my honour, but I can't provide a demonstration without a partner," he said, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.
"I don't suppose the broom will do?" she quipped weakly.
Bending slightly at the waist, Malfoy kept his eyes trained on hers with one arm fastened behind him and one hand reaching out for hers. "Miss Granger, may I have this dance?"
Her teeth dug into her lower lip and she nodded in silent agreement. Her pulse filled her ears as his hand enveloped hers, much larger than her own, and the other settled in place at the small of her back. The gentle touch of his hand and brush of his thumb along her knuckles left her breathless.
This was nothing like the Malfoy she had spent the last four years arguing with.
He led her through each step, guiding her with an effortless grace. It didn't feel as though he were pushing or pulling her to each position but instead as if they were moving as one in perfect sync.
"It would seem that I'm not the only one who has experience dancing," he murmured.
"My grandmother was a ballroom instructor," Hermione explained, swallowing the lump in her throat as his hands lifted her gently into a twirl. "I used to sit in her studio and watch her classes. Occasionally, I'd join."
"I thought I detected the skills of a professional at the Yule Ball."
"You noticed me at the Yule Ball?" She was close enough that she could feel him tense at her question.
"I'd have to have been blind not to." His voice was low and melodic.
She couldn't look away from him. She was completely mesmerised by the way the moonlight carved shadows into his cheeks as they moved.
The grass squished beneath their feet, a poor substitute for a real dance floor, and the chorus of creatures in the forest was their only music.
It should've been clumsy and uncomfortable, and yet—
She couldn't be sure which one of them had moved closer amidst the elaborate steps but she was mere inches away from being pressed up against him. Her gaze drifted upward and she locked eyes with Malfoy's.
For the first time, she let herself imagine what it would be like to be with him. She thought of how it would feel to toss her legs over his and cuddle up close on a sofa with a book in each of their hands and a roaring fireplace in front of them. She imagined how it would be to try and cook together, laughing as they inevitably ruined the recipe and ended up ordering takeaway. She was swept away with ideas of holding hands while eating ice cream and walking down the cobblestone streets between shops.
She'd never given herself permission to dream of what it would feel like to be wanted by someone like that.
Though she had long forgiven Ron, his words from the year before still rang through her mind during moments of insecurity. Hearing Ron declare, 'Hermione! You're a girl!' as if it were a new revelation had hurt her in a way she didn't have the vocabulary to describe.
Hermione had always been the swotty bookworm, best friend of Harry Potter, and the brains of the Golden Trio. She had never been a love interest, nor a girlfriend, and she had certainly never had anyone to dream about like this before—not like this, not like him.
Then he took her hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing them softly against her knuckles.
His eyes widened. "Granger, you should've said something."
"W-what are you talking about?" she stammered. For a frightening second, she wondered if he had somehow been able to read her thoughts.
Malfoy slipped off his blazer and draped it over her shoulders. "Your hands are freezing. You should've told me you were cold," he scolded.
She had been so distracted that she hadn't even noticed. The blazer dwarfed her; the silk lining warmed against her skin. "How much time do we have before Umbridge finds us?"
"About ten minutes, I'd think."
"I bet I'll beat you in a race," she said, twirling once. She readjusted the blazer on her shoulders and pulled it tighter around her.
"I wouldn't be so confident. What will be my prize if I win?" he asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
She pursed her lips and then replied, "How about you catch me and find out?"
"What?"
She broke into a run back towards the castle.
"Granger!" He fumbled to pick up his broom and chased after her. "I thought you would've learned your lesson not to make a wager against me."
Hermione laughed and doubled down with Malfoy hot on her heels.
Perhaps she wouldn't mind losing to him just one more time.