I shiver, picturing Sebastien Lestrange with his oily eyes and mannerisms. "How would it work? Obviously, I don't want to actually be engaged to you. Er, no offence…"

"I think you might be the first person to say that," he says. His eyes meet mine, and they're as flat and as serious as his tone. "You have no idea how that makes me feel."

I start to chuckle at his straight-faced joke but startle when he suddenly snaps his fingers. "Dobby!"

There is the tell-tale crack of an appearing house-elf, followed by the house-elf itself. It bows low.

"Bring me the Dragon's Fantasy from my personal vault," commands Draco Malfoy, and the house-elf disappears again. He smiles at my confusion. "It's just the name of the ring. Trite, I know, but I inherited many such things, and they've been named by their past owners out of sentimentality."

"I still don't see how an engagement can be much of a deterrent to someone whose moral compass is already in need of tuning." I frown doubtfully; I'm not sold on this idea.

But the blonde wizard in front of me is practically oozing confidence. "This ring is special," he assures, taking the lacquered box from his house-elf when it appears bearing it in its skinny hands. He flips the box open with his thumb. Nestled in the middle of the dark velvet lining lies a miniature dragon with diamonds for scales, tiny pear-shaped emerald eyes, and a large green stone held in its open jaw. It blinks.

"Wow," I breathe. It's beautiful and so very magical. "But why do you refer to it as a ring? How does it work?"

"It will modify your scent by muddling it with mine," he explains, looking on amusedly as wonder and admiration play openly on my face. "All we have to do is feed a couple of drops of our blood into it. Simple." He picks up the piece of jewellery. The shining metal beast sways its proud head and swishes its tail lazily. "And as to your other question, it will wrap itself around your finger when I direct it to."

"What you're describing sounds like dark magic." It sounds borderline illegal, in fact.

He laughs. "Blood magic isn't necessarily dark magic, sweet girl. Here, hold out your hand."

"What, now?" I say in alarm.

Draco Malfoy smirks. "When then? After my cousin has caught you? I think that would be too late."

I bring my hands protectively to my chest. "I- I'm not sure this is a good idea."

He swivels his chair to face me fully. "Hermione, don't be difficult. This will solve a lot of problems."

"I know and I'm very grateful for your help." My eyes flit around, panic building in me inexplicably. "But this doesn't feel right. It feels like I'm going backwards…"

He lowers the dragon back into its box. "Shh, calm down," he soothes lowly. "This was your idea, and it's a good one, but we don't have to do it if you've lost the nerve."

"Okay." I have lost my nerve. "I'm sorry." I frown down at my hands. "I just-"

"The ring will offer you protection," he says placidly. "Don't you want my protection, pet?"

My heart rate is sky rocketing, and I'm finding it hard to think. Protection. Do I want his protection? What do I need his protection from? "Maybe I should do some research on the subject first."

He snaps the box shut and stands. "I really don't like wasting my time, Ms. Granger. You came to me."

I lick my lips, unsure and upset. I've offended him and- "I didn't mean to," I begin. I hesitate, tremble, look at his impassive face, and almost give in. But I look at that shiny box again, and I just can't. I just can't take part in a blood-magic ritual without at least knowing what's written into it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for wasting your time on this matter," I apologise. "But if we can go back to discussing SLOW, I have new-"

He smiles icily, lifting a hand to silence me. "I don't think we can do that today. We're out of time. I'll summon my secretary to walk you out."

The abrupt end to what should have been a successful and productive meeting is like a slap to the face. I jerk back. "Wh-what?"

"You don't appear to value my suggestions or need my help. Like I said, I don't like wasting my time." He snaps his fingers again. "Miss Bulstrode."

The pimply secretary returns and Draco Malfoy coldly gives her orders to escort me out, before he disappears wordlessly up the spiral staircase. I quietly gather up my things and leave, and as the doors to his office close behind me, the portraits along the wall begin to converse in low, derisive tones.

The clink of cutlery on plates can barely be heard over the chattering that echo across the Great Hall. Breakfast is almost over, and prefects and student club leaders are scurrying around delivering messages or calling for attention.

The Gryffindor tables are no exception. "Quidditch trials are in a month," announces Harry loudly, going up and down the long tables. "Kindly register by the fourth by adding your name to this list. I'm going to pin it up in the Common Room…"

"I'll be trying out for Chaser," Ginny declares, stabbing her fork aggressively into the air. "All our subs are incompetent arsewipes."

"Don't get your hopes up," warns Seamus. "I know Harry's sweet on you and all, but I guarantee the starter position will go to Farah."

I yawn and put my head in my arms. I'd been up all night researching Central American logographic systems, and when I close my eyes, columns of fat squiggly glyphs parade past the inside of my eyelids.

"Just because her uncle's a famous international referee doesn't automatically make her a good chaser," says one of Ginny's mates. Corner, I think. "I've seen Ginny play. She's decent. Loads better than Farah. And anyway, isn't Shafiq being investigated right now?"

"Oh yeah," says Ron further down the table. "I think he's made some bad calls lately. Krum would definitely've caught the snitch if not for…"

I start at the mention of Viktor, but when it's clear it's still just Quidditch related, let my forehead drop back down. I think I'm getting a headache.

Somebody prods me in the back. It's Parvati. "Alchemy now," she says. "Get up. Let's go."

"Mm," I respond, and drag my body up, massaging my temples. Everyone else is getting ready to leave. The chatter increases in intensity. Benches scrape against the flat stone floors. We wend our way through the usual exodus of breakfasted students and head for the dungeons.

"So, here's the plan for tomorrow," says Parvati. "Neville and Seamus have volunteered to get butterbeer and firewhiskey from Hogsmeade-"

"Oh no," I groan. "I don't need any of that. It's just a birthday."

"It's not just a birthday," she snaps. "You'll be seventeen. It's got to be celebrated."

"It's not- Hmm..." I pause to reflect. "You know what? You're right. I do want to celebrate."

My seventeenth birthday will be important in more ways than one. Tomorrow, I'll truly be free. And without the help of blood magic. Yes, I will want to celebrate.

Parvati squeals. "I told you you'd change your mind. We already ordered a Seer's cake. That's traditional, so it's got to be done, and it's really fun. And we got some dragon's firecrackers…" She prattles excitedly on until we meet with her twin near one of the stairs to the lower levels.

"Looking rough, Hermione," she says. "Cramming for the NEWTs already?" She chuckles.

Who says Ravenclaws can't be funny?

"Ha ha," I deadpan. My eyelids feel heavy.

We descend the stairs together, and I pull my mass of curls into a bun on the top of my head as Padma pushes the door to our classroom open.

The new Alchemy classroom is a converted storeroom; last time I was in here it contained a fascinating collection of study skins and other magizoological specimens. But now there's a blackboard, a shelf stacked with spare parchment and gloves, and twelve empty cauldrons sit next to twelve L-shaped workstations in the middle of the room. One of our classmates has already arrived and is busy setting up shop at one of the stations in the middle row.

"Theo!" greets Padma, when we enter. "I knew you'd be in this class. Why weren't you at breakfast?"

I study the blonde Slytherin. Despite attending almost the exact same classes together, I've never actually made any personal connection with him, and although I know he's Theo to most of my classmates, I've never felt comfortable calling him that.

"Morning." He looks up and greets Padma, smiling slightly. "I had a floo-call with my father, and I had to take it in Professor Snape's office..." His eyes slide to me and suddenly I feel self-conscious.

Does he know about the grafting offer? That we almost became siblings of a sort?

"Oh," says Padma. "Sorry that merger fell through, by the way." She raises her eyebrow when he shoots her a funny look. "What? I read about it in Investment Today. It's not exactly small news, is it?"

I place my bag on the station next to the one Parvati has chosen. Financial gossip isn't much more interesting to me than Quidditch gossip, and I need to do something about my tired state of mind before one of our most perceptive and nit-picky professors comes in. "Be right back," I tell the twins. "Since Professor Snape's not yet here, I'm going to go splash water on my face."

Padma gives me a quizzical look. "What for?"

"I need to wake myself up. I won't be a minute."

The twins chortle amusedly while Theodore scoffs. "Merlin, Granger, are you a witch or not?"

Parvati pulls out her wand. "Here." A blast of icy cold air hits my face, shocking me sufficiently to fully wake me. The cold is not enough to stop me from flushing with mortification, and soon I can actually feel the heat in my face. "Sorry," I mutter an excuse. "Brain's practically dead from exhaustion."

She giggles some more. "Sure," she says, patting my back in friendly condescension. "Don't worry, even Hermione Granger's allowed some dumb moments."

The door bangs violently open and Harry, Cetus, and Neville walk in, chattering excitedly. Neville dumps his bag on the table in front of mine and turns around. "Professor McGonagall was looking for you. Says to inform you-" He adopts an exaggeratedly formal tone. "-that your application to take a portkey home tonight has been approved, and to make sure you are present at her office no later than five this evening."

"Huh?" I say. Maybe I actually am brain-dead. "Me? I didn't apply to go home."

Neville shrugs and turns around as the door opens again, this time to admit Professor Snape. He is followed by a flock of Ravenclaws and a few lagging Slytherins. I give Rohesia a quick nod. I'd already known she was going to be taking this class.

"Settle down," our Professor barks, before he's even reached his desk, and before the last student has even entered the classroom. "Who can tell me what Jabir considered to be the four basic qualities of the elements?"

Hands are hitting the air. Professor Snape's eyes rove around before landing on me. His lip curls. "Are we pretending modesty for once, Miss Granger, or have we finally found a subject that you can't get your bushy head around?"

I lower my gaze and roll my eyes safely at my textbook, looking up only after he's called on a Slytherin student, Barty, to answer.

I mouth the answer silently along with my classmate. "Hotness, coldness, dryness, and moistness, Sir."

"Correct," says Professor Snape curtly. "Take five points. And what are the eight known elements of Alchemy?" His eyes survey the room again. "Harry?"

"Er," says Harry, straightening up. "The eight known elements… They'll be aether, air, earth, fire, sulphur, salt, water, and, er… lead?" He frowns at his uncle's irritated headshake. "No? Er, krypton then? No, er… Gold?"

Cetus is snickering.

"Oh!" says Harry finally. "I got it- Mercury!"

"Very good," Professor Snape praises. "Take five points for Gryffindor."

I roll my eyes again. Could he possibly be any more obvious about his favouritism?

I knock on the door to Professor McGonagall's office at five minutes to five. The lion-shaped knocker opens its mouth and her stern voice issues from it: "Enter."

The door opens and I step in. "Professor," I immediately start, not wanting to waste any time; I want to go to the library and finish my essay on logographic systems for Ancient Runes. "I'm sorry but I didn't submit a request to go home-"

"I know, Miss Granger. Your parents did." At my surprised look, she smiles good-humouredly. "I understand you will turn seventeen at exactly seven minutes and thirty-three seconds past eight o'clock tonight. They've sent a letter expressing their desire to celebrate your coming of age the traditional way and requested that you be allowed to go home for the night."

"Wow! I- Really?" I didn't even know there was a traditional way of celebrating a seventeenth birthday. Except that one must have a Seer's cake, apparently. I suppose my parents learned about this from the Weasleys.

"Yes, really," Professor McGonagall responds dryly. She hands me a square paperweight stamped with the Hogwarts Crest and a symbol of a key with wings beneath it. "You will take this portkey home in a few minutes and you will take the same portkey back here tomorrow morning. It will activate at precisely ten o'clock."

"Okay!" I say excitedly. There is a broad smile on my face. I've only been back to school for a couple of weeks, but I already miss my parents, and can't wait to see them. "Thanks, Professor. See you tomorrow." I grasp the heavy paperweight. It's not a moment too soon; there's a jerk behind my navel, and then I'm falling forward into nothing.

I land with an ungraceful stumble in our entrance hallway, still clutching the paperweight. The lovely, slightly musky smell of home is the first thing to greet me, and I take a deep, appreciative breath, before yelling for my parents. "Mum? Dad? I'm back!"

There's no response. The house is silent; almost too silent, and I fear they might be trying to surprise me. It's dark in the hallway even though it's still light outside, because there are no windows. I flick the wall-switch, but it doesn't work.

I sigh in annoyance. I've only been gone two weeks and already things are falling apart. My parents are really bad about calling the electrician. Last year I came home to discover that the TV hadn't been working for months.

I place the portkey on the console table. Even in the darkness I can see that both their keys are here. They're definitely home. Maybe they're upstairs getting ready. "Mum?" I call again. "Dad?" They know I hate surprises, but maybe that's also a wizarding birthday tradition?

I look up the long flight of stairs and decide to head for the living room first. I know from watching movies that that's where one usually gets surprised, and if that's what they've planned to do, it's best to get it over with.

There is a very strange, almost magical peace to the house. "Bizarre," I mutter. This whole thing is bizarre. Did the Weasleys perhaps help them plan whatever it is they are planning? I didn't get the sense from Ron that something like this was happening, and he is terrible at keeping secrets.

I sigh and pause just outside the living room. Am I about to be jumped on by fifteen redheads?

Bracing myself, I turn right and enter.

In the darkened living room, where the curtains have all inexplicably been drawn shut, I find my parents seated side by side on the couch, looking straight ahead of them.

So, no surprise then. "Hey!" I gesture and take a few steps forward. "What's going on? Didn't you hear me calling?"

Their stares remain blank and fixed and they don't appear to have noticed me despite my standing almost directly in front of them. I frown, my heart rate spiking as I suddenly realise that I can hear neither the sounds of the streets outside nor the usual hum of all the electrical appliances in the house. All that is indicative of magical warding.

"What the hell!" I mutter, panic overtaking me. "What's happening? What do I do?"

"Whatever I ask you to do," somebody behind me responds, the smooth, slightly acerbic voice familiar to my ears.