The next few days pass by in a blur of classes, homework and small blue pills. I'm determined to stretch out the hours as much as I possibly can, squeezing in almost an entire night's worth of studying before going back in time to late afternoon, sleeping for more than thirteen hours, and then waking up to do it all over again. I keep my dorm vacant except for sleeping and changing, choosing to study in the common room so I never interrupt myself. Most of the other Slytherins do this, too, and at all hours of the night there will be the scratching of a quill, the suppressed yawns, the mumbled 'goodnights' as our watch hands collectively tick towards dawn.

I'm working on a particularly brutal assignment — Give, in your own words, a different, better, or more nuanced interpretation of occupation and genocide in the second world war — when Draco clears his throat loudly. I startle, smudging ink across the parchment. When I look around, I see the others have all left. A brief glance to my watch tells me it is almost three o'clock. I raise an eyebrow at Draco.

"You haven't been holding up your end of the deal," he says, leaning back in his chair.

Shit. In truth, I've forgotten all about his alchemy tutoring, my brain so busy cramming for all of Snape's lessons there's been room for little else. Luna's still in Egypt, and I haven't seen Ginny or Harry since the farewell dinner. I haven't even spoken to Hagrid yet, and mentally resolve in that moment to see him this evening, even if it means re-doing time thrice.

"I'm kind of tired, Malfoy," I say. "I have to finish this History essay. I'm having a rough time with it."

"We had an agreement, Greengrass. And if you're not willing to do your part, I won't do mine."

"Blackmail won't work," I point out. "You've already fulfilled your end."

"I'm your second, Greengrass. You know what that means?"

My hands freeze mid-sentence.

"It means I'm a kind of sponsor for your admittance into the Seven," he continues. "One quick word to Snape, one small concern about your ability, and you'll be out."

"That's not true," I say quickly. "There has to be seven in the class."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Even you are not so arrogant to think you're irreplaceable."

"Fine," I snap, slamming my textbook shut and dropping my quill. "I hope you have your copy of a simplified guide to trace evidence. I'm not going into my dorm to get mine."

"We've moved on from forensics." Draco rolls his eyes. "Have you not been paying attention in class?"

I rack my brains for a second. "Newton," I finally remember.

"Spreading yourself too thin?"

I shoot a glare in his direction as I move my parchment to the spot beside him. I look up to speak, snap another insult, but am distracted for a moment by the sight of him in such close proximity. He glows in the candlelight, his hair and skin and eyes all crafted from starlight. Draco's manner is always so hostile, his words so harsh, it's strange to see him in such a flattering way. The muscles tensing in his jaw, the curve of his nose. I realise, too late, that I'm staring again.

"Newton," I say, giving a small shake of my head. "We're moving away from factual evidence and into conjecture of the seventeenth century."

"But that doesn't mean he was wrong," Draco argues. "Newton arguably formed the foundation of what we know today as not only gravitational force, but also the refraction of light."

"He was a good scientist for his time," I concede. "But remember that a lot of his work was superseded by Einstein's findings. And Newton's time was heavily influenced by religious expectation, to say the least. It undoubtedly influenced his understanding of what is and isn't real."

"Who are you to say what is and isn't real?" Draco asks.

I look at him for a moment as though he's gone mad. "Draco, this is a paper for a Science degree. We're dealing with facts, here."

"That's where you're wrong." He shakes his head. "Alchemy is not inherently factual. If anything, it's more philosophical."

"The course is modern alchemy. You think we've jumped from forensic evidence to occult studies?"

"Why else would Snape be bringing up Newton?" Draco argues.

"To discuss the inaccuracies of his work!"

"To broaden our minds." Draco shakes his head.

"Forget it," I mutter. "There's no point in me tutoring you if we can't even agree on an approach."

We glower at each other for a moment. I'm overcome by the irrational urge to cry, proving how sleep deprived I truly am.

"Goodnight, Draco."

I scrape back my chair, but his long fingers close around my wrist before I can leave. The physical contact sends a jolting sensation through my arm, and it's enough to stop me in my tracks.

"Wait," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm the one that can't pass the fucking paper. I should be listening to you."

I sigh, sitting back down. Our hands fall apart.

"No, I'm sorry." I press my fingers to my head. "I think I'm going a little crazy with all this."

"It gets easier." Draco shifts uncomfortably. I get the sense comforting people doesn't come naturally to him.

"I think you're right," I admit, my mind back on alchemy. "Snape would want us to at least explore Newton's theories. Why don't we start with…" I squint at the cramped cursive of the textbook. "The philosopher's stone, proposed conductive matter for creating the elixir of eternal life. Oh boy," I mutter.

Draco smirks. "You never know, Greengrass."

We scratch away with our quills for a while, stopping to debate or discuss points made. Our watches tick closer and closer to dawn, until finally we have no choice but to pack up, or risk coming into contact with our time-turner selves in the morning.

"Can I ask you a question?" I say to Draco, buckling my bag shut.

His face twitches into a frown. "Alright."

"Why do you enjoy Alchemy so much?"

"What makes you think I enjoy it?" he asks, clearing the table.

"Our first conversation together," I remind him.

"You remember that?"

I glance away, uncomfortable. "It was an unusual thing to say, that's all."

He doesn't speak for a moment. "I enjoy it because it's interesting. Maybe because it's so challenging. I feel like I could study it forever, and never be bored." His shoulders stiffen once more. "Though it's a different story with you. You almost had me dozing off many times."

My eyes are so heavy they almost close against my will, a headache throbbing in my forehead. I'm too exhausted to retort, or even bid Draco goodnight. I make my way to my dorm, feet dragging behind me.

"Greengrass," he calls. Hesitates. "This doesn't change anything between us. Don't forget what we are to each other."

I can only throw him a look that I hope is more scathing than droopy, and turn back thirteen hours to finally get some sleep.