Chapter Forty-One

For all that he'd meant to do it, Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly happy that his plan had succeeded. As Vaisey and one of the Beaters had lifted him from the ground and helped him limp off the field, still clutching the snitch even as his arms were draped across his teammates' shoulders, Draco held on to the fact that at least they'd won the match. Worthington was probably crying in a corner somewhere over the fact that Draco had snatched the snitch from right under her nose, despite Ravenclaw's well-devised rouse, and, if nothing else, the sounds of Corner spitting curses behind him while Ravenscourt and Heartwick tried to calm him, made the whole thing worthwhile. As they neared the edge of the pitch, heading toward the changing tents, Draco spotted Pansy running toward him, a look of horror on her face.

"Draco!" she cried as she neared him, eyes wide and artfully tear-filled, as if she were his concerned girlfriend once more. As she was neither, Draco almost ignored her completely, before remembering his plan to get in good with Hogwarts' latest secret society.

"Pansy," he acknowledged with a nod of his head, as every other part of his body was occupied in remaining upright. Vaisey and the Beater slowed their pace so Pansy could catch up to them.

"Are you ok?" Pansy demanded, coming to a halt and giving him a fierce look that encompassed several hidden questions beyond the one she'd actually voiced.

"Nothing a few days in the hospital wing won't fix," Draco replied mildly, trying not to grimace too deeply. His leg really did hurt. He was feeling more certain than ever that he'd at least fractured something in his final dive, as he'd caught the snitch only a few feet from the ground and had to throw his body into a twisted roll off his broom in order not to smash face-first into the dirt. One of his feet had hit the ground first, twisting viciously as Draco had taken the second impact on his shoulder and tucked into a bumpy, teeth-rattling, roll across the pitch, though adrenaline and the thrill of victory had dulled the now-burning pain that throbbed in his right leg.

Pansy nodded slightly, running her gaze down his body as if taking in any other injuries he might have failed to mention. Her eyes landed on the snitch and she smirked. "Well, at any rate, you lot taught Ravenclaw a lesson in who's really master of the skies."

At this Draco could naturally agree, and he seized on the topic. "I have to admit that catching the snitch right under Worthington's nose made the game worth it."

"I'd say you cheated, Malfoy," came a sour voice from behind their group, and Draco glanced around to find Micheal Corner standing with his broom hefted against his shoulder. "But the fact that your poor flying skills meant you merely caught the snitch by accident as you crashed into the dirt is obvious."

Draco bristled at the blatant lie, though he was unfortunately in no position to pull a wand on Corner at the moment. Pansy rose to his defence, and though it irritated Draco, he was marginally grateful that she spoke up nonetheless.

"The fact that Ravenclaw used blatantly outlawed bludger moves is the obvious factor here, Corner," Pansy snapped, eyes sparking. "And just because Hooch didn't call you on it doesn't mean that you'll escape punishment in some other form."

Corner's eyes narrowed and he stepped toward Pansy, glaring down at the smaller girl with far less fear of her person than Draco knew he ought to have. "Is that a threat, Parkinson?" he challenged.

Pansy smiled coldly. "It's a promise, Corner," she returned sweetly.

Corner's face turned a blotchy mix of white and red as the two traded glares. "Everyone knows that Slytherins are sneaky, traitorous, backstabbers," he snarled lowly, sharing his dark look with Pansy, Draco, and several other Slytherins who had stopped to listen in on the conversation taking place. "But there are those who haven't stopped watching your actions since the War ended. Not everyone is content to let bygones be bygones."

Draco frowned at Corner's words, a slight sense of discomfort niggling at his confidence. Perhaps Corner hadn't been as cowed as Draco had thought following their wizard's duel all those weeks ago. As Corner turned and strode away, his words hung in the air.

"He's just sore because they lost," Draco said into the silence, drawing Pansy's attention back toward himself. "Come on, Pansy, help a bloke up to the hospital wing."

xXx

Hermione had just lifted a scone covered in a generous amount of clotted cream and strawberry jam toward her lips when there was a loud screech from somewhere high overhead in the vicinity of the magically charmed ceiling. She, along with virtually everyone else in the great hall, raised their heads to squint at the many, many owls who were soaring through the air and dropping down toward the four long tables, tightly rolled scrolls tied with green velvet ribbons clutched in their talons. Though it appeared at first glance that there were enough birds in the air to visit every student at every table, it gradually became clear that the owls were swooping down to only the older students. Quickly, Hermione cleared a space on the breakfast table near her for the large brown owl descending toward her. It dropped a handful of scrolls in the middle of the table before swooping back up toward the ceiling, a thick slice of bacon somehow having replaced its mail.

Ginny reached for one of the scrolls with a curious look on her face. As she unrolled it, Hermione became aware that the brief, surprised, silence, that the owls' first appearance had brought over the hall, was fading away to be replaced by a rapidly rising chatter, as all around them students began unrolling and scanning the contents of their own scrolls.

"What is it?" she asked Ginny, who's eyes were still fastened on the elegant, looping handwriting, red ink bright against the pale parchment. In response, Ginny picked up another of the scrolls the owl had dropped and held it out blindly to Hermione, still reading her own. Frowning in confusion, Hermione gently loosened the green ribbon and unrolled the scroll.

Season's Greetings to the Senior Class of

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

You are cordially invited to a

Christmas Masquerade Ball

hosted at Malfoy Manor on

Christmas Eve - 24th December

Please procure your finest dress robes

and most elegant masque for the occasion.

7:00PM - Midnight

Post-party all students will either return to Hogwarts

or be seen safely onto the late night train at

Hogsmeade Station to return to their homes for the holidays.

R.S.V.P. N. Malfoy by week's end

Hermione reread the invitation a second time then lifted her head to look around the table at the rest of the seventh and eighth year Gryffindors. There were many reactions on the faces of her housemates, ranging from confused to indignant, excited to wary. Some of the younger students were complaining about being left out, while many of the older students were exchanging looks and muttering.

"A party at the Malfoy's?" Seamus Finnigan was expostulating to Dean Thomas, his Irish accent strong in his outrage. "Are they kiddin'? Who'd go to that?"

"Well," Lavender broke in across the table, running a perfectly polished nail down her own invitation. "You have to admit it would be interesting to see inside of that house. My mother says that even though they're insufferable, the Malfoys are loaded. I'd personally love to have a peek into their parlour."

"Did you know about this?" Ginny asked, her voice pulling Hermione's eyes back from where she'd been scanning the other house tables, where similar reactions to the Gryffindors' were occurring. She'd noticed that the people sitting around Micheal Corner at the Ravenclaw table had their heads leaned in toward him, intent on some speech he was apparently making as he waved around his own scroll, and the Slytherins, on the other hand, were mostly muttering about mixing with half-bloods or worse.

Hermione shook her head, nonplussed, as she glanced back down at her own invitation. "No, Draco hasn't said anything about it." She glanced back toward the Slytherin table. Draco, of course, wasn't there, being laid up in the hospital wing at present, though she couldn't see Sylvia or Phil or Miguel either. Pansy, on the other, seemed to have had her Gryffindor radar up, and her cold, black eyes, locked on Hermione's for a brief moment, a scowl twisting her features.

"What's this all about, Hermione?" came a boy's voice in her ear, and Hermione turned to see Harry standing in the narrow aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff benches, a curious look on his face. Ron and Violet were crowded in behind him.

"I had no idea, honest!" she protested. "I—well—I suppose it's a gesture of good will?" Many pairs of eyes were turning toward her now, some considering, others narrowed with distrust.

"Good will?" Ron demanded brashly, Violet clinging to his arm. "It would take a thousand years for that blighter to earn enough good will to make up for what they did in that house!"

"Ron," Hermione said pleadingly, "you know Draco's changed."

"Well, not his parents at any rate," Ron pushed back, still glaring at the scroll in front of Hermione, his own crushed and crinkled in his hand.

Harry cleared his throat. "Ah, well, Mrs. Malfoy did kind of help save my life and all," he muttered sheepishly, ignoring Ron's glare. "I suppose I could make an appearance." He shrugged. "In the spirit of the season and all."

Hermione smiled gratefully, relieved to have Harry's support. If he agreed to go then most of the Gryffindors were likely to follow.

Ginny took a deep breath. "Well, I can't let you go alone," she announced pragmatically, a faint grin on her lips. "Though for a family that claims to be high society they haven't given much time for us to get dress robes and the like."

"There is still one last Hogsmeade visit before the break next weekend," Lavender chimed in. "We can go to Madam Malkin's to shop and celebrate exams being over!" All down the Gryffindor table the dark mutterings had started to shift toward excited chatter as students discussed what sort of masks they wanted to buy and if there was time to find an appropriate date. Decision made, Lavender was already making her way toward the Ravenclaw table, her eyes on Carter Ravenscourt.

Hermione rolled her scroll back up and retied the ribbon before slipping it into her pocket. She would have to pay a visit to the hospital wing after breakfast to see what Draco knew about the extravagant party his mother was throwing. She hadn't been allowed in to see him yet, though she had convinced Ginny to swing by with her after the mini-feast had wound down the previous evening. They'd been shooed away by a particularly stern house elf, wearing a Hogwarts tunic and a nurse's cap, who'd threateningly informed them that Mr. Malfoy required rest. Picking up her scone, Hermione took a large bite, the jam tasting sweeter than normal as thoughts of Christmas with Draco filled her mind.

xXx

Draco was sitting up in his cot looking thoroughly put-out about something as Hermione entered the hospital wing half an hour later, and he wasn't alone. She lifted her hand in a wave to Phil and Miguel as she drew nearer, and both boys acknowledged her arrival in their own manner.

"Ah, Granger, have you come to bestow a kiss of revival on our felled Slytherin Prince?" Miguel called out, laughter underscoring his tone as he ducked out of range of Draco's swinging fist; it was clear that such a move was a natural survival instinct for him.

"Hello, Hermione," Phil joined in cheerfully. "I see you too received a special delivery." Hermione noted the twin scrolls to the one she'd just pulled out of her pocket laying on top of Draco's bed covers.

"I did," she agreed, a little wryly, "and I have to say the delivery method was less than subtle." She reached the bedside and Phil immediately slid off his stool and gestured for her to take his place. She smiled at him and sat down. "Been planning this long?" She directed this question to Draco, who looked slightly pained.

"My mother suggested it to me in a letter about a month ago," he replied, glancing at her scroll surreptitiously as he spoke. "She initially only wanted me to host the traditional guests—"

"Only Slytherins," Phil broke in, his expression faintly embarrassed.

"—because of pressure from my father," Draco went on, slanting a look at Phil for his interruption but not pursuing it. "However, I told her that if she wanted society to see us differently we needed to extend the invitation to everyone. It took a little cajoling, but she agreed in the end. My father wasn't pleased, but sod him; he had his chance." Draco ended his explanation with a dark look over at the water jug on his bedside table, glaring at it as if it were the one who'd done him wrong.

"How did the rest of the school react?" Phil inquired, cutting right to the heart of the matter. "We were all here when the owls arrived; I imagine there were some interesting responses in the Great Hall."

Draco seemed to tense at Phil's words, as if he were waiting for Hermione to tell him that a mob was on its way to the hospital wing, either intending to laugh mockingly in his face for thinking he could charm his way back into their good graces with a party, or to tear him limb from limb to show just what they thought of his family and their offer.

She hesitated, then told the truth. "Well, there was some talk at first—"

Draco muttered under his breath, his expression pinched. "I knew this was a bad idea. What did they say?"

"Well, some people were… surprised…" she hedged—and heard Phil snort, a grimace on his face as he muttered, "I bet they were," under his breath—"but it didn't take long for curiosity to overtake most of them. I think that a lot of people will want to attend. Everyone likes a good party, and it's been years since the Yule Ball after all. A school-wide event like this will be a sensation I doubt people will want to miss out on—regardless of their views on, well, your family's past."

Draco's expression had lightened somewhat at her words, and she felt pleased to have lifted his mood.

"Will you attend?" Miguel asked, and Hermione flushed faintly as all three boys turned to look at her with interest.

"I…" Hermione paused to gather herself, thrown by the intense looks the Slytherin boys were giving her. "Well, yes, I thought I would. A Masque sounds like an interesting twist on a traditional Christmas party."

"We're lucky there's still one more Hogsmeade weekend left before the holidays," Phil said, looking around at them all. "I'll need time to get my trousers hemmed."

"And to pluck up the courage to convince Melville to allow you to escort her?" Miguel murmured pointedly, his voice low enough to suggest he hadn't meant anyone to overhear, yet loud enough that there was no way any of them could miss his words.

Phil blushed hotly, his fingers fidgeting with his scroll. "Ahem, well, maybe… that is…"

"And you, Granger?" Miguel went on, grinning, exchanging a look with Phil. "Have you given any thought to an escort yet?"

Hermione found herself equal to or surpassing the pink colour on Philip's cheeks. "I, well, I only just got my invitation an hour ago…" she stuttered, unable to look at Draco, wondering what he was thinking. "I think, perhaps, I might go with friends," she managed at last, then forced herself to lift her chin and meet Miguel's dancing eyes. "But I'll expect you to save me a dance, Munoz."

Miguel looked delighted at her words. "I would be honoured," he replied, sketching her a bow and grinning, before catching Draco's eye and clearing his throat. "Erm, that said, I'd better go find my own date then, if you're intent on breaking hearts by keeping your own company that evening, Granger." He winked at her. "I don't suppose Weasley and Potter have broken up in the last thirty minutes?"

Hermione sputtered slightly in surprise at this about face, though she knew he was teasing her, and didn't take his words seriously. She did however, realize quite suddenly in that moment, that Draco, for all his own teasing flirtations, didn't initiate the same friendly feeling inside her. There was a different intensity that always seemed to underscore Draco's words, and that feeling had been growing inside Hermione for weeks now. She couldn't brush off his words because she didn't want them to be teasing. She wanted, desperately, for them to be real.

"I'll take my leave, Malfoy," Miguel was saying as Hermione battled her internal crisis of the heart, "and leave you in Granger's capable hands."

"Better Granger than Pomfrey," Phil agreed, jovially, moving to follow Miguel as he headed toward the doors. "Make sure Draco takes all of the Skele-Gro Pomfrey left in that bottle. She threatened to force-feed him if the bottle wasn't empty when she came back."

Hermione glanced at the side table for the bottle and then up at Draco, in time to see the face he had made at the mention of the horrible tasting medicine.

"I'll force-feed you the rest of that bottle if you're still here when I count to three," Draco growled in the direction of the door, but Phil and Miguel only chuckled, not turning back.

"Well," Hermione murmured, feeling a little on edge now that it was just she and Draco in the room—the muted rustling and clinking sounds from the far end of the ward suggested the matron was puttering about her office for the time being—"I should probably get back. Party or not, there's still revising to do. I doubt McGonagall would allow any of us to attend if we failed our exams next week." She started to rise and turn toward the door when a warm pressure on her hand halted her in place. She glanced down and saw Draco's hand atop her own. He wasn't holding her hand, per se, but the gentle weight of his palm rested over her fingers, pressing them into his blankets. She sat back down.

"I'm glad you're coming," Draco said, a faint smile on his lips; his shirt was partially unbuttoned and she could see a glimpse of pale skin beneath the gaping fabric. As with the last time she'd come upon him in a hospital bed, Draco didn't seem at all concerned about baring his chest to her. She tried to keep her gaze from the smooth plains of his pectorals, not entirely sure that he hadn't noticed her staring.

"W-well, of course," Hermione found herself stumbling over her words, distracted as she was by the warmth of Draco's hand. "I love Christmas. And spending time with friends is always enjoyable. It'll be a nice way to relax after our exams." At present, however, relaxation was far from something she felt capable of, especially with the way Draco was staring at her. He always managed to make her feel unsettled, anxious—not in a bad a way, exactly, but in a manner that caused her to be aware of just how aware she was of his every action. She shifted on her seat and swallowed, trying to appear calm, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation with a perfectly normal friend. And not a boy who's very gaze made her heart pound.

"If your dance card isn't full yet, I'd appreciate your saving me a dance as well," Draco continued, that small smile still teasing her from the corner of his mouth, distracting her with its promise of intrigue and sensuality. She could imagine the way the mysteries of Draco's character would be heightened when he was half-hidden behind a mask, and a delicious little shiver ran down her spine. She wondered what sort of person or creature he would choose to embody that night.

She blushed. "I… well, if you really want me to…"

"I do," Draco replied, and his voice was calm and sure, something in it making Hermione's heart skip a beat.

"Alright then." Her voice was soft, and for a moment both of them sat in silence, the promise floating in the air between them. In moments like this it seemed obvious that Draco must have some sort of feelings for her, the way he touched her, even in small ways, with such surety; the way he looked at her with such penetrating confidence, as if he knew exactly what was in his heart and had no qualms about letting her see it. But then she would remember the way he'd talked with Pansy, the lipstick on his cheek, the cold way he'd brushed off her questions, and the hope she'd been kindling would sputter like a doused flame.

The intimacy of the moment was broken by a loud bang as Madam Pomfrey backed out of her office, rump first, her hands occupied by a large wooden tray full of various-sized potion bottles. The matron grunted under the tray's weight and Hermione leaped to her feet, sliding her hand free and hurrying toward the older woman before the tray toppled over.

"Oh, thank-you, dear," the matron muttered distractedly, as Hermione caught and steadied the edge of her tray, helping her settle it onto a table. "Some of these bottles are rather touchy. Can't say what might happen if they were to smash and mix together!" She glanced over Hermione's shoulder toward Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, have you finished the Skele-Gro I left for you?"

Hermione turned too, and saw Draco pull a face—which he quickly smoothed into obedience at the stern look Madam Pomfrey turned on him.

"Very nearly, Madam Pomfrey," he replied guilelessly, the bottle appearing in his hand as if it had been there all along, his voice calm, as if the dance conversation had never happened and his whole mind and soul had been focused on his medicine. "I was… distracted… by my visitors." He dropped Hermione a wink which the matron took for cheek, if the manner with which she was suddenly bearing down on his cot had anything to do with things. Draco paled slightly, and quickly lifted the bottle to his lips. Seizing her opportunity, Hermione turned for the door once more.

"I'll let you get on with things," she called toward Draco with half a smile, amused by the manner with which the matron had so quickly cowed him. "Lavender has insisted on a meeting to discuss our masks. She doesn't want anyone to have the same one as her." Though her voice was faintly exasperated, Hermione was actually looking forward to choosing a mask for the ball. She didn't know what sort she wanted yet, though she'd seen fancy masks in movies back home—a lot of different birds, rams with curling horns, devils with slanted eyes… all of them beautiful and mysterious, hiding the person who wore them behind sequins and feathers. "I'll make sure Harry and the others know you're doing ok." And with that she was out the door, leaving Draco to the matron's tender mercies.

xXx

The next week was a blur of revising and exams, interspersed with constant chatter about the Christmas Masque. Hermione still hadn't decided on what sort of mask she wanted to wear, and had informed Lavender—the tenth time she'd asked—that she'd see what spoke to her at the shop on the weekend and to let it drop or she wouldn't go to the ball at all.

"Oh honestly, Hermione," Lavender huffed as they made their way to the library where they were to meet Harry, Ginny, and Neville to study for their upcoming potions exam. "If you don't make a decision soon all the pretty masks will be claimed!"

Hermione valiantly resisted rolling her eyes. "And what have you decided to go as?" she challenged the girl beside her. Lavender glowed.

"I'm going to go as a swan. The white feathers will compliment my blonde hair and I've simply the most gorgeous white gown to wear with it." She held out the corners of her school robes as if they were the long skirts of her dress, and twirled the next few feet down the hallway as if she were dancing.

"I'm sure you'll look very nice," Hermione acknowledged, and Lavender preened.

"I'll be the envy of all," she announced. "But I promise to give you and Ginny and Parvati the benefit all of my expertise this weekend."

Hermione laughed. "I'm sure we're all grateful for it."

They reached the library doors and made their way inside. The room held its usual occupants: Madam Pince prowling behind her desk and glaring at anyone who so much as whispered, let-alone touched one of her precious books—though she offered Hermione a thin smile as the two girls passed by—Micheal Corner and what appeared to be a Ravenclaw study group, though they all sent much less friendly looks than the librarian had her way as they passed, a handful of Slytherin boys that Hermione almost greeted—before she realized they weren't Phil, Miguel and some of their mates, but rather Anderson and Cartwright and, hidden behind their bulkier frames, Pansy Parkinson—and several other small clusters of students in various states of frenzy as they tried to cram a last bit of knowledge into their brains before the end of the week. Hermione was glad to finally reach the alcove where Ginny and the others were stationed next to a small group of nervously whispering Hufflepuffs half-buried behind a pile of Astronomy textbooks.

Harry waved as they neared. "Thank Merlin you're finally here," he called out in a low voice, casting a quick glance in the direction of the circulation desk and the hawkish librarian who roosted behind it. "Pince has been giving us the evil eye for the past ten minutes, as if merely being in the library means we're up to no good."

Hermione glanced over at the desk where Madam Pince was indeed frowning suspiciously around the room at anyone who so much as breathed loudly, then turned back to Harry. "You have to admit your track record with library shenanigans isn't great, Harry," she teased.

Harry gave her a grin. "As I recall," he returned in kind, moving his bag so Hermione and Lavender would have room to spread out their parchments and books, "you were party to one or two of those shenanigans yourself over the years."

"Yes, well," Hermione muttered, feeling the back of her neck heat as she recalled the last evening she'd been in the library with Draco, and the feeling of the gentle yet firm press of his hand against her calf. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and reached for a textbook at random. "We should get to work. There's only one more exam before the break and I intend to get an O."

"As if you'd get anything else," Neville joined in with an upward tilt of his lips. "If there's some secret to your success, Hermione, do share it with the rest of us."

Hermione glanced around at the group, all of her friends looking back at her with hope in their eyes. "Well," she began, as if unsure if she should proceed. "It is a closely guarded secret…"

Neville leaned in, the pleading in his eyes almost making Hermione change tack, though the she pretended not to notice.

"You have to promise that you won't tell anyone outside of this group, ok?"

Ginny's eyes were glinting with mischief now, and Hermione looked away before she lost her composure.

"The secret to my success is threefold. Are you ready?"

Ginny smirked. Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Lavender frowned as if she was unsure of Hermione's sincerity but was unwilling to challenge her in case there really was some special reason for Hermione's excellent grades, and Neville, well, he looked so anxious that Hermione nearly gave in right then.

"Give it up, Granger," came a snooty voice from behind her just then, and the whole group looked up. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see Pansy and her Slytherin thugs grouped a few feet away. "Even if you did have a sure-fire plan to pass your N.E.W.T.s Longbottom wouldn't be able to comprehend it."

Hermione tensed, her fingers tightening on the quill she'd just picked up. "Neville is far cleverer than you are without even trying, Parkinson."

Pansy snorted her disagreement to this statement, then narrowed her eyes at Hermione. "If you were half as clever as you think you are, Granger," she returned snidely, "you'd get in half as much trouble as you do."

While Harry and Ginny merely glared at Pansy silently for this comment, Hermione felt a chill skitter down her back. "I can take care of myself, thanks," Hermione snapped, and Pansy's thin lips tilted up in a small smirk.

"Do try and not put that to the test, Granger," Pansy said sweetly. "There won't always be someone around to help you when you discover brains aren't enough." With that leading statement Pansy flounced off, Anderson and Cartwright stalking behind her as if they were her bodyguards.

Turning back to the group, Hermione lifted shaking fingers to run them through her hair, pulling in a steadying breath as she met everyone's eyes. "Right, let's get back to it, shall we?"

"Er, is everything ok, Hermione?" Ginny questioned, frowning in the direction the Slytherins had just exited. "Because I'm completely fine with risking Pince's wrath by turning Parkinson into a toad and turning her in for extra credit in Transfiguration."

Hermione allowed a small smile at Ginny's fierce declaration. "That won't be necessary," she quickly assured Ginny, with the broader implication to the group at large. "We have more important things to do at the moment than give Pansy Parkinson any more of the attention she so desperately craves."

Harry was glaring after Pansy and the Slytherin boys. "I don't like what she was insinuating, Hermione."

"Pansy is so desperate for her life to mean something after the failure of last year, that she'll say anything to pretend she's still in control, Harry," Hermione replied, meeting Harry's eyes briefly with a touch of only-half-pretend exasperation. "Don't pay any mind to anything she says. We all know the world is moving on, eventually even Pansy Parkinson will figure it out."

"All the same, Hermione," Neville joined in, a nervous twinge in his voice. "Maybe don't go anywhere alone for a while."

Hermione resisted rolling her eyes for Neville's sake. She knew her friends meant well, but despite Pansy's deliberate barbs, Hermione was determined not to be pushed around. Especially by some Ex of Malfoy's who didn't seem to be entirely aware of her new status.

"I'll be careful, Neville," she promised, smiling reassuringly at him. "Now, is everyone ready for my three sure-fire, no-fail, exam tips?"

"Yes, please!" Neville and Lavender piped together, wide eyes on Hermione's innocent face.

Hermione grinned. "Rule one: Study."

Harry frowned.

Hermione glanced around the table: Neville was writing her words down exactly, Lavender was looking confused, and Ginny was smirking.

"Rule two: study."

Neville's quill slowed and he looked up. Harry opened his mouth to speak but Lavender cut him off.

"Wait a—"

"Rule three: study!"

Hermione barely had time to cast protego on herself before a ball of parchment, two quills, and an ink pot came sailing in her direction, a chorus of exasperated cries from her friends following the barrage. Grinning to herself, Hermione lowered her wand and reached for her Potions textbook.

"Shall we begin?"

xXx

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