Author's Note: 12/12/2021 grammar check

Later that evening, when Hermione laid her tired head down to rest on her fluffy pillows, she was transported to another world – to a lucid romantic dream, where Viktor was nude, and she was dressed in her white bedtime chemise, the indecent hem falling in a soft angle across the middle of her bare shapely thighs.

She rubbed her legs together as she raked her eager eyes over Viktor's naked torso, savoring every hardened muscle on his sun-kissed abdomen that was honed from years of training and sport. She bit her full lip as her eyes followed the thin trail of coarse black hair that traveled from his navel to his groin, ending in a blur of color and shape that wouldn't materialize no matter how long she stared. She had only seen drawings and depictions of male anatomy in her parents' biology textbooks and in The Joy of Sex as a child. Thus, this part of the dream was frustrating and peculiar as her vivid imagination could only do so much. She couldn't quite fathom what Viktor would actually look like in the area where his trail of curly nether hair ended, and her mind tried its best to invent the image.

He wouldn't look like that, her subconscious deadpanned, baffled at the picture that her mind had conjured: a colored and labeled diagram of an uncircumcised penis that stood in flaccid casualness between his fit thighs, where his rigid flesh should be.

Hermione's brows lifted as she decided that her mind's interpretation of a cock was acceptable, as it didn't really matter since this was only a dream, and thus she continued her reckless abandon and reached out her hand, aching to see more of Viktor's body and motioning for him to come to her despite his peculiar and drawn-on anatomy. She longed for Viktor to touch her, to do more, and was just about to beg her request when a clipped, masculine Queen's English accent startled her from behind her shoulder.

"Showing off again, Granger?" Dream Draco murmured in a hot whisper into her ear, his large hands trailing down the sensitive skin of her arms and sweeping around her middle to grip her waist. He planted her rump against his firm hips, and she moaned as she ground her arse into his rigid erection, feeling like she was almost there if he would grind just a little bit lower and move just a little bit faster.

"I thought you only showed off for me," Draco sighed against the side of her neck, his voice raspy as he tugged her chemise over her hips. She shivered as the soft fabric pooled on the small of her waist and shook harder as he slipped his hot fingers under the sides of her knickers, gripping at her firm thighs with his hands.

"Please," she begged through a breathless moan, swiveling her hips in reckless abandon against his lap while her fingers fumbled with his to pull aside the cotton cloth barrier that was covering her soaking cunt. "Please don't stop."

And then, with sudden clarity, she was awake and on the edge of a soaring orgasm, with her fingers rubbing in frantic tight circles over the slick hood of her clit. She arched her back as the spasms began in her muscles and cried out as she tipped over the edge, her thighs quivering in a tight clench and her toes curling as her climax fluttered through her abdomen and pulsed through her vaginal walls in deep, gripping contractions. The aftershocks lasted for several seconds, causing her tender flesh to grip and release at nothing, and she smacked her other hand over her face as she thought about how much better this would be if she was actually doing it with a man. If she was actually pulsing and clenching around a turgid dick.

Like Draco's, her subconscious offered in quick betrayal, and she shoved her pillow over her face to muffle her frustrated screams.

She was so disheveled when she finally allowed herself to get out of bed later that morning that she missed breakfast in the Great Hall. She arrived at Potions only minutes before it was scheduled to start, in a flurry of voluminous frizzy curls and wrinkled, billowing robes, and felt a mix of pleasure and annoyance as she found Draco, punctual as ever, already in his seat.

The Rubik's Cube that she'd given him was in his stupid, sexy hands, and he was fiddling with it on the wooden tabletop as she approached. Hermione tried not to blush as she gazed at his fingers, remembering how they'd looked in her dream when they were gripped around her thighs as he ground his pelvis into her arse. He nodded at her in acknowledgement as she looped her beaded satchel in a clumsy hold around the back of her chair, and she stiffened as she caught Justin's smirking face from across the aisle. The Hufflepuffs were whispering in hushed, excited tones while gesturing at Draco and the muggle toy, and Hermione ground her teeth as she ignored the gossiping duo while she pulled out her chair to sit.

Malfoy doesn't know what you've been dreaming, she reminded herself as she took a calming breath, her empty stomach signaling its rumbling upset into the low chatter of the classroom. Ginny's warning from the night before ricocheted in a taunting thrum in her skull, bouncing through the synapses of her brain in an echoing chant.

"What happens if you start to fancy him in return?"

It won't happen, she argued to herself with irritation as she swept her curly mane behind her shoulders and settled into the back of her seat. She schooled her features into a look of casual, polite interest and ignored the continued grumbling from her stomach. It isn't happening. I can handle Draco Malfoy. She turned her cheek to face her Slytherin companion and found him holding out a piece of caramel candy between his fingers.

"If you want it," He shrugged, setting the wrapper on the table and scooting it in front of her with his index finger. She stared in surprise at the sweet for a brief moment before she mumbled an embarrassed and quiet Thank you as she met his stare. She popped the candy into her mouth and sucked hard on the caramel, sighing as the sugar sated her jittery stomach, and examining him while he fumbled in his satchel. He grabbed a small handful of caramels and placed them on the table between their chairs, reaching for a piece himself and unwrapping the crinkling paper.

They sat in silence for a moment as the chatter of the classroom continued, sucking on their candies while Hermione stole looks at Draco's hands and at the toy that he'd picked back up. She turned in her chair to face him and gestured at him to show off his progress with the puzzle. "Let's see it," she instructed, crossing her legs under her robe and bouncing her foot in a nervous rhythm over her calf, the fabric of her cloak making a soft swish with the jostle.

He smirked as he scooted his chair closer to hers, his hand holding up the multi-colored cube between them for her inspection. He gripped the stiff corners and flipped it with ease to each side for her examination, and she bit her cheek with careful consideration as she tried to ignore how pleasant he smelled when he leaned forward and how his scent made her skin break into gooseflesh.

She cleared her throat and refocused her thoughts, studying the patterns on the cube's faces and deducing with a quick judgment that he'd chosen a pathway that was erratic and without purpose. Her lips curled at one corner as she realized that he had an exceptionally long road ahead of him before he would be anywhere close to solving the puzzle.

"Not much progress then?" She teased, enjoying how his eyes narrowed in response. She felt more comfortable now as they conversed in their chairs and as the chatter in the classroom had increased in volume as the other students gossiped and giggled at their own tables. The feeling of being on center stage with Draco had dissipated, and she grinned as she bantered. "Would you like another demonstration?" Came her laugh as she reached her hand to snatch the cube from his grip, but he didn't allow it. He grinned as he stretched his long torso and arm high above her head, his broad chest expanding in her vision as he held the cube up and out of her reach. She flushed as she crossed her arms over her chest in rebuttal.

"Hilarious," she sighed with a haughty roll of her eyes while he smirked at the top of her head.

"I didn't say you could have it back," he teased, his eyes locking onto hers as he relaxed his arm back on the table. Hermione hadn't paid much attention to Draco's eyes in the past, other than acknowledging their unusual color that wasn't often found in nature. But sitting in such close proximity allowed her to examine him, and she could see that his fair irises were framed by a darker ring of grey pigment – a limbal ring – if she recalled correctly from her parents' biology text.

His pupils dilated under her inspection, and his eyelids drooped in response, and she was startled as she realized that she'd been caught staring. A warm flush crept up her neck and cheeks as she leaned back in her chair to put distance between them, feeling a rush of nervous embarrassment settle in her chest at the realization that she'd been inching her lips closer towards his smirking mouth.

"How long do you think?" Came his gruff voice as he rolled the toy in his fingers in a distracting motion, his intense eyes locked in examination on her flushing face. She shivered at the low tenor of his voice as a familiar thrum of pleasurable sensation wrapped across her abdomen, and she sucked in a quick puff of air as her desperate body responded to his with bold awareness.

It's just our hormones.

"How long do I think what?" She breathed, distracted by his heady aroma and his hooded eyes. He's wearing cologne again, she thought on a ragged exhalation, feeling hot tingles of pleasure from her cheeks to her curling toes. His scent took her back to the privacy of her bedroom – to her wet, erotic dream; to thoughts of her grinding on his lap and him pulling down her knickers – and she bit her lower lip as she shook her head at him, trying to redirect her heated thoughts with essays on magical fractal dimension formulas and random cluster models.

To little success.

Draco leaned his head forward as if to hear her better, causing his hair to fall in a messy, attractive arrangement across his forehead as his pupils locked on hers. His masculine, raspy voice shot a sharp thrill straight to the sensitive peaks of her nipples, and she rubbed her thighs together under her cloak as he spoke.

"How long until I'll finish, Granger?"

"A long time," she breathed, scooting her chair with a screech to the far edge of the table in an attempt to put as much physical distance and clean air between them as possible. "I would expect it will take you weeks," she continued, taking several clearing breaths and turning her flushing cheeks forward, giving him her profile and letting her hair fall over her shoulders in a protective curtain that blocked his view of her flustered countenance.

She could picture Ginny's pitying expression, and she ground her molars in a way that would kill her parents as she pleaded with herself to think of Viktor… to think of Draco's history as a prejudiced bully… to think of anything except shagging the Slytherin next to her senseless.

He doesn't know what you're thinking, came her sage, comforting reminder, He doesn't know that he's speaking in innuendos.

Professor Slughorn entered the classroom seconds later, his elegant green robes shimmering with iridescence in the morning slants of sunlight. He clapped his hands twice above his lectern to silence the chattering thrum.

"Good morning, good morning – yes, yes, good morning, Miss Patil," he smiled at the polite Ravenclaw in the front row who had her delicate brown hand suspended in the air in a wave. "For your next assignment, you will each choose an established potion to improve upon," Slughorn announced as he walked between the aisles, thumping the table of the snoozing Anthony Goldstein as he passed. "You have until the Christmas Holidays to complete your assignment, so keep that in mind when you're choosing your potions – for as you know, some concoctions take far longer than a few weeks to brew. And as for today, you will have the rest of the lecture to choose your potion from within your text, but you must indulge me in your intentions before you begin your research. And, when your research is complete, and you are ready to brew, you must also provide a written copy of your work for my careful examination before you take to a cauldron. I should not want any adverse reactions for my students."

Several hands shot into the air at once, including Hermione's, as her attention was halfway redirected by the assignment, and Slughorn grinned a toothy smile of rapt delight at each eager hand before he called on the nervous Terry Boot.

"Yes, Mister Boot?"

"When you say, 'improve upon'… w-what does that m-mean?" Terry stuttered as he gulped, his leery feelings obvious as he sank into his chair, still nervous for a repeat of the potted plant explosion. Slughorn waved his hand at the side of his head in a superfluous manner as if this was not the question that he'd wanted to answer.

"It means whatever you choose it to mean, Mister Boot. It could be the taste, the texture, or something else entirely. Perhaps even the function of the potion, if you're brave enough to put in the work."

Slughorn settled his expectant gaze on Hermione, and she flicked her eyes with absent concentration to the wooden planks of her tabletop as she stared at the swirling, etched patterns in the wood. She grabbed another caramel sweet from the pile and popped it into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the sugar as she thought. She knew that Slughorn expected a great deal from the Brightest Witch of Her Age, and so far, she had done little in his class to live up to the moniker.

I've daydreamed so much in this lecture that you would think I'm in Divination, she thought with irritation, her body still simmering from sordid thoughts as she pulled out her textbook.

"Professor?" Padma called, glancing behind her shoulder to Anthony with a giggle, "Are we working alone on this project?"

"Yes, Miss Patil. Although, if you choose the same potion as another student, I can see no harm in pairing you together for your research."

Hermione ignored the room as the other students broke into a loud chatter. She hummed in thought to herself as she thumbed through the pages of her text, debating which potion to choose for experimentation. Her hair was still fanned in a protective curtain over her shoulder, and she didn't notice that Draco had left the table until he was standing at the front of the room, interrupting her thoughts as his posh drawl floated above the others in a muffle as he spoke with Slughorn. She watched his fit backside for a moment as she daydreamed about what he'd looked like in his quidditch uniform, as he gestured at a chapter in his textbook and earned an appreciative nod from Slughorn. Hermione was reluctant to admit that she was burning with curiosity to know what he'd chosen to experiment on with such ease. She cleared her throat as she returned to her own research, pausing as she turned to the cosmetic brewing chapter of her text, and her fingers traced the name of the Helios Elixir entry – the sunshade potion, created in 1974.

"What on Earth is that?" Ron asked with a laugh one summer day at The Burrow as Harry and Hermione slapped thick handfuls of white sun cream over their arms. Her mother had packed two oversized bottles into her luggage for her short summer visit – an overestimation of product, to be certain.

"It's sun cream," Harry replied with annoyance as he rubbed the heavy liquid over his freckling skin, splattering the white fluid onto the grass below, "It prevents sunburn. Do you not wear any?"

Ron shook his head and held up a small phial of yellow opaque liquid, shimmering in the outdoor light, "We use a Helios Elixir for that. It tastes like dirt, but it works."

Hermione tabbed the corner of the page and carried her heavy text to Slughorn's lectern.

"Ah, Miss Granger – expeditious, as always. Let's have a look-see," he smiled at her approach, waving her up to his lectern. She flipped her text for his review, and he paused, arching his brow at her tabbed page and settling her with a questioning look.

"Ah – Mister Malfoy has also chosen this potion," He admitted, looking over her shoulder at the table from where she came. She stiffened in surprise and followed his gaze to Draco, who was oblivious to their scrutiny and was scribbling notes on his sheaf of parchment.

"Has he?" She replied with light derision, reaching to retrieve her textbook from Slughorn's grasp and snapping the cover shut in her hands. She tucked the heavy text under her arm as Slughorn pursed his lips.

"Indeed," He replied, steepling his hands on his lectern, "An interesting coincidence, to be certain, though I should think that you're attuned to working together at this point. If you both so desire to continue?"

She nodded her stiff head at him as she fought down a hysterical bout of mocking laughter. Of course we would choose the same potion, she seethed in her mind, feeling that the universe was conspiring against her wishes for space from her attractive, off-limits potions partner. She schooled her features into a neutral expression and finished disclosing her intentions for the potion's improvement to Slughorn, having already decided what elements she wanted to address.

"That's a rather difficult task, Miss Granger," Slughorn replied with an impressive quirk of his brows at her confident expression, "Though I imagine that the Brightest Witch of Her Age will accomplish it."

With Slughorn's nod of approval for her research plans, she walked with haste to her tablemate and slid her heavy text in front of his parchment, opening the chapters to her tabbed page and tapping at the title with her index finger while he paused and leaned back at her disruption.

He studied the open page with a puzzled expression and then smirked up at her as realization dawned, "Copying my idea, Granger?"

"No," she bit out, certain that he wasn't tackling the same issue that she was and trying not to take more breaths than necessary while standing so near to him, "Why did you choose this potion?"

He raised a pale brow and pointed his finger at the inscription of the potion's creator, and she narrowed her eyes as she read the initials:

N.M.

"So?" She asked, taking her text and moving to stand at her seat on the other side of the table, where the air wasn't as intoxicating or spicy and where she could think without falling into the trap of her hormonal urges. He finished packing his satchel and checked his expensive timepiece as she waited. They were allowed to leave after Slughorn approved their projects, and he looked ready to bolt out of the door.

"That's my mother, Granger. She created this potion," he answered with careful neutrality, his attractive face guarded of emotion.

Surprise fluttered through Hermione's chest at his confession, and she gaped at his expressionless face, sputtering, "Your mother was a potioneer?"

Her mind raced through its catalogue of every detail that she'd collected about Narcissa Malfoy over the years, which granted – was a small list, as they had little in common and ran in separate social circles.

Mrs. Malfoy often appeared in the Society section of Ginny's copies of Witch Weekly, and Hermione was confident that she'd never read of any affiliation with the Ministry or with the Potions Association. The Society articles were complimentary and tame when they covered the blonde aristocrat, often depicting her fashionable, elegant robe choices, her elaborate and extensive holiday parties, or her various and sizeable charitable contributions to non-profit organizations – of which there were many.

"For a brief time," Draco replied with indifference as he ducked his chin at Hermione and teased, "Why did you choose it? I would have thought that you'd pick Amortentia based on the volumes of romantic research on your bookshelf."

She colored at his comment and tried to deflect, "I… no … of course not," She feigned a haughty, hollow laugh, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear as she swallowed. If Justin was eavesdropping on their conversation, she would never hear the end of it. "I just thought that… that your mother… I thought that she wouldn't… you know…" she tried, not sure how to say what she wanted to say without sounding presumptuous. Ms. Dawlish's little book had been rather clear about the expectations of a proper witchy wife – serve thy husband, raise thy children, and rule thy house. There were zero mentions of passionate pursuits outside of the home, aside from hobbies and charitable endeavors.

"You thought that my mother wouldn't have a career?" He asked with clipped annoyance, folding his arms over his chest as he studied her.

"Well, yes," she floundered, a splotchy blush staining her cheeks, "You know… not a physical career, or a Ministry one… or a difficult one," she clarified with quiet urgency, not wanting to be overheard by the rest of the class lest she sound judgmental. She was already judging herself for her assumption, and Draco also looked less than pleased by her admission as his pale brows rose into his hairline.

"Then it's time for your second lesson, Granger," he drawled, tilting his chin at her as a mocking lilt entered his voice, "As your book is centuries old and times have changed. There are no limits to what a pureblood witch can do. She has the entire world at her fingertips. And my mother chose to gift the world with her superior knowledge and magic."

"Then why did she stop?" Hermione countered with growing confusion and irritation, searching his face as his smug expression fractured into a frown, "If she was such a talented potioneer, then why did she resign? She would have been in her twenties in the early 1970s, correct?"

Did his father force her to stop? She wondered, glad for the chatter of the other students that muffled their personal conversation. Draco frowned at her forwardness and shoved his hands into his robe pockets, his discomfort with her question apparent in the thin line of his lips. "She lost a pregnancy, Granger. Potioneering is dangerous work," he said at last, turning on his heel to leave.

Hermione ruminated over Draco's confession about his mother for the rest of the week. His comments made her feel unsettled with herself, and as she analyzed her emotions, she realized that what she felt was shame. She recalled his thin expression and his mocking lilt as he expressed his disappointment with her presumptuous theory, and Hermione wasn't proud that she had made such a quick and incorrect assumption about his mother. About a woman who I know nothing about, she thought with tired irritation, rubbing her hand over her face as she vowed that she would do better to hold an open mind before making her judgments. It's what I ask from others, she reasoned, thinking of her status as a muggle-born witch.

The little bond of camaraderie that had formed with Draco felt smothered in the dirt on Wednesday as his formality returned as they started a separate brew of Veritaserum in their own cauldrons. She didn't bother to ask him about his progress on the Rubik's Cube, even though she felt a desperate urge to start a conversation, and she wondered with dejection if he'd thrown the toy in the rubbish bin. She felt flummoxed with herself as she realized that his aloofness stung at her ego like an annoying tiny wasp.

Malfoy and I aren't friends, she reminded herself later that week as she re-read Viktor's letter at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, tuning in and out of conversations with her best friends, It doesn't matter that he doesn't want to speak to me.

"So have you written Viktor back?" Ginny whispered in her ear, drawing the attention of Ron and Harry from across the table.

"What are you two whispering about?" Ron questioned from around a bite of strudel, his cornflower blue eyes bouncing between the two witches with amusement. He had a trace amount of frosted white icing on his upper lip, and Hermione tossed her napkin at his chin as she huffed at his sloppy appearance.

"They're plotting against us," Harry confirmed with a sage nod of his head, grinning at Ginny's delighted smirk and her heavenward eyeroll. Ron dabbed off the icing with the napkin and smiled down the table at Lavender, who was watching him with a dreamy expression on her face.

"Only against you," Ginny quipped to Harry, tossing her straight hair over her shoulder as she waggled her brows. Hermione followed Ron's distracted gaze to his sweetheart, and she motioned down the long table for Lavender to join their group. She was surprised when Lavender actually moved to stand, walking with brisk purpose to Ron's side of the bench with a pep in her step and with her sidekick Parvati trailing in a hot pace on her heels.

"I suppose we can join you since we've finished with our meal," came Lavender's nervous laugh as she squeezed in next to Ron, shoving Harry farther down the bench so that Parvati could fit at her side.

"Don't mind me," Harry snorted from his new position at the edge of the table, effectively shoved out of casual talking range, "I'll just sit down here by myself."

"Sorry, mate," Ron quipped from over Lavender's head, kissing her shiny, fashionable curls and murmuring soft words into her ear that only she could hear. Parvati gave Hermione a gentle smile from across the table and motioned towards the letter that she held in her hands.

"Writing to your parents?" Parvati questioned with polite interest, her pretty head bobbing with her words. Parvati wasn't a close acquaintance of Hermione's, but they were of a friendly sort, although they didn't share any lectures this year, and they rarely had a reason to converse. Lavender popped to attention at Parvati's question and leaned her torso over the table, grinning as she saw the address on the letterhead.

"Oh Hermione," Lavender gushed with an abundance of delight, her squeezing grip trapping Ron's thigh under the table in a vice and causing her boyfriend's features to contort into a pained grimace, "Is it from your Viktor?"

Ginny halted making silly faces at Harry's sullen expression and turned her questioning look to her best friend. Hermione blushed at the attention and stuffed her letter into her beaded satchel as her lips settled into a line. She knew that Ron was happy with Lavender, as he'd told her so himself, but it still felt odd to talk about her romantic interest in Viktor in front of him.

"It is," she answered with polite indifference, folding her hands on the table in front of her in a businesslike manner. Ginny's auburn brows shot into her hairline at this statement.

"Is it a new letter?" The redhead questioned with abject curiosity, and Hermione shook her head no.

"I haven't sent him the photograph yet," She replied in a whisper to Ginny's profile, and Ron snapped to attention at that.

"A photograph?" He questioned, a faint blush spotting over his broad cheeks, "Well, I suppose he is rather keen then, yeah?"

Hermione nodded in agreement as Lavender squealed from Ron's side, "He's asked for a photograph, Hermione? Why that's huge!" She grinned, exchanging an excited look with Parvati, who was no doubt already well informed of Hermione's long-distance crush by her gossiping best friend before she ever joined their group.

"Indeed," Hermione answered with a small smile, exchanging an amused glance with Harry down the table who was observing the conversation in silence from his shoved-out position with his lips pursed.

"Well, I think that's great!" Harry pretended to shout after a moment into his cupped hands from only a meter away. Hermione laughed at his theatrics and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, feeling appreciative that the mood at the table was light.

Ginny pretended to stretch her skinny arms and turned her head over her shoulder, hiding her lips behind her shoulder as she whispered with discretion into Hermione's ear, "Why haven't you sent him the photograph yet?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulder in response, and Ginny leveled her with an odd look as she settled back into her seat, pinching Hermione's thigh under the table in a warning. Ginny followed Hermione out of the Great Hall a few moments later and rounded on her best friend in an alcove in the corridor, her freckled face devoid of the humor that she'd carried at dinner.

"You know what I'm going to ask," came Ginny's terse command as she pulled Hermione into confidence.

"I'm going to send it," Hermione rushed, glancing around the corridor to ensure that they were well hidden from listening ears, "I just haven't had time yet. I've been… distracted," she finished with a lame shrug and a shake of her head, grimacing as Ginny's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Is it because of you-know-who?" Came Ginny's conspiratorial whisper as she pulled Hermione's hand towards the stairs.

"No," Hermione deflected and then amended with a whisper to Ginny's profile, "Maybe."

Ginny sucked in an impatient huff of air as the two best friends set a new record for climbing the tricky Grand Staircase to the seventh-floor landing. Breathless as they reached her dormitory, Hermione let loose a wheezing laugh as she unlocked the creaking wooden door with her charmed key, catching her breath as Ginny bounded through the opening and threw her body into a graceless heap on the four-poster bed. Hermione tossed her robe and satchel with careless aim onto the armchair and joined Ginny on top of the covers, pulling the green and blue tartan over her skirt and biting her lip as she waited for the inquisition.

"Out with it," Ginny ordered, kicking off her loafers and fluffing an oversized pillow behind her head as she settled into a comfortable position. She crossed one skinny freckled leg over the other and stared with an expectant, raised brow at her best friend.

Hermione sighed as she nodded, lacing her fingers together and squeezing out her anxiety with her knuckles. "You may have been correct to warn me," she started in a serious tone, and Ginny smacked her foot none-too-gently into Hermione's upper arm at the admission.

"What does that mean?!" Ginny asked with an incredulous expression, her freckled face turning an attractive shade of pink as her jaw loosened into a surprised gape.

"Ouch, Ginny!" Hermione barked, rubbing at her bicep and glaring at her friend, "I'm telling you what I mean! Show a bit of patience, please!" She clipped with annoyance, scooting backward on her bed and out of the redhead's kicking range.

"Sorry," Ginny replied with cheek, not looking very sorry at all. Hermione gave her tender arm one last rub and continued her story, "I'm having dreams about him," she admitted with embarrassment, her cheeks flooding to a hue as red as Ginny's hair with her sordid confession.

Ginny's fingers rubbed in thought at her chin as she teased Hermione, "Do your dreams involve his trouser snake?" She burst into laughter at Hermione's dropped jaw, her riotous giggles increasing in volume as Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

"They do!" Ginny cackled with disbelief, grabbing a fluffy crimson pillow and tossing it at Hermione's embarrassed face, "Hermione Granger, what's gotten into you?!"

"I don't know!" Hermione groaned as she shoved her face into her pillow, muffling her agitated voice through the silk and fluff, "I think it's the forced proximity of his company. I didn't feel this way before our potions assignment."

"Well, there's not much that you can do about that," Ginny surmised with a cheeky little grin, clasping her hands behind her head and watching with amusement as her best friend shuddered into her pillow. Hermione let the pillow fall into her lap as she stared in thought at the pattern on her blanket, attempting to collect her thoughts. "I barely even know him," she admitted at last, meeting Ginny's sobering eyes from across the bed. "He's certainly still prejudiced," she admitted with chagrin as she recalled Draco's callous blood slur to Dean just a few short weeks ago.

"Do you think that he's capable of changing?" Came Ginny's serious question as she bobbed her socked foot in the air. Hermione shrugged her shoulders and snorted as she imagined a doppelganger of Draco Malfoy embracing non-magical culture and rebuking classist ties. "Probably not," Hermione admitted with disappointment, feeling fatigued and annoyed with herself.

"But he liked your little muggle toy," Ginny offered in rebuttal, her thoughtful eyes turning towards the ceiling, "If you had asked me last year if I thought that Draco Malfoy would ever touch a muggle toy, I would have laughed in your face," she huffed, fixing her quizzical expression on Hermione's uncertain one, "Maybe you're not the only one who's affected by working closely with an enemy."

"Maybe," Hermione sighed, her lips tugging into a frown as she plucked at a loose thread on the pillow's silk case.

"Maybe you should show him more things from home," Ginny suggested, lifting her brows as she glanced around Hermione's cluttered room, "Merlin knows that you've brought your entire bedroom with you."

Hermione grinned at Ginny's dry remark about her messy room and snapped the thread off of the case with her fingers as she spoke, "And what? Befriend Malfoy?"

"Maybe," Ginny shrugged, "Or maybe just show him that muggles aren't so different after all. Besides, you know… not possessing a magical gene, like you read about in your book. It's hard to despise something when you realize that it's scarily similar to you."

Hermione pursed her lips at her friend and frowned, "You seriously think that I can influence his opinion?"

"I think that you already have," Ginny replied in earnest, sitting up to level her friend with the full effect of her serious gaze. Hermione swallowed and bit her cheek, "It isn't my job to educate Malfoy," she replied with a haughty huff, finding a new thread to pluck at on the pillowcase, "I would rather spend my time in the company of a wizard who already possesses fine opinions."

Ginny nodded and pursed her lips as she replied in a careful lilt, "So you'll write to Viktor, then?"

Hermione nodded in quick agreeance as she shoved all thoughts of her surly potions partner out of her mind, her nimble fingers snapping off the thin silken thread and dropping it to the sheet.

"Good," Ginny sighed with a dubious brow, rising to stand and ignoring the swath of wrinkles that covered the lower half of her clothing, "So, is this the last time that we'll have this conversation?" She asked with cheek over her shoulder, and Hermione's lips flattened in response.

"Indeed, Ginny. It is."