Noon light filled the large room of the Hospital Wing and except for a slight sore throat, Theo was feeling rejuvenated and well-rested. Whatever Snape or Pomfrey had given him was a real pick-me-up. His only concern was that his stomach had been rumbling demanding to be fed, which was why he was grateful for the fruit basket someone had left him. He was contentedly peeling an orange when one of the large doors' to the infirmary began to open.

Luna's big doe-eyes peaked inside.

"Hello," she said shyly.

Theo wished he had drawn the curtain and been asleep, or that Draco could've at least done him the favor of killing him instead of having to endure this.

"Hi," he said awkwardly setting the half-peeled orange back into the basket.

"That's quite a nice fruit basket you have there," she smiled.

He shook his head in disbelief. Was she the one who had gotten him a fruit basket? The witch obviously had no sense.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

Luna shrugged, her finger tracing the weave of the wicker basket. "I came to check in on you. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he clipped. "Just grand."

"I didn't know you were such a big drinker," she frowned.

Theo rolled his eyes. So was that what everyone was saying? Had a bit too much to drink is all. Can't hold his liquor that one.

"Look," he said sternly. "Think you ought to leave Luna."

She pouted and came to sit on the edge of his bed.

"You're not wanted here," he said bluntly. "Do you understand?"

"No," she sighed. "I don't understand anything. You're lying and I don't know why. You do want me here."

Theo bit his tongue from lashing out at her. He honestly hated to see her, hated that he couldn't seem to escape her, hated her for her existence. He began peeling his orange again hoping that if he didn't speak she'd eventually go. It seemed to work because after a few minutes of silence between them she stood and left. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and leaped up to pull the curtain closed. Settling back into bed he reclined and bit into his first orange slice savoring the citrusy juice. He was eating his second when he heard a movement behind the curtain.

Merlin, he thought with another roll of his eyes. Had she come back?

But before he could chastise her, a different voice came from behind the curtain.

"How sad," it chuckled. "Poor Lovegood. Doesn't even know how much of a pig you are."

Theo swiftly drew his wand and held it threateningly as the curtain parted to reveal a head of blonde hair.

"Come to finish the job?" spat Theo.

Draco smirked. "Well if I wanted to finish the job I'd just have put something in the fruit."

Theo's face went pale as he realized who'd left him the basket. He spat the orange out knowing it was in vain because he'd already swallowed some.

"Oh don't be daft," chided Draco. "It's my peace offering. We're even now."

"You poisoned me!"

The blonde's lips turned into a rueful frown. "You deserved it," he sneered without a trace of remorse. "You know you deserved it."

"You poisoned me— and all for a stupid witch— a Mudblood!"

His steely stare burned into Theo's and for a moment his arm wavered and then straightened, the tip of the wand inches from his friend's chest. "Let me make something clear. Hermione is my Mudblood, mine, and you… the things you said…" Draco faltered, his voice breaking. "You tried to take the girl I love and if you'd succeeded, it would've killed me so as far as I'm concerned you got off easy."

Theo slowly lowered his arm, his eyes softening. "I knew it," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I knew the moment I saw you two at the Three Broomsticks. At first, I laughed at the idea. It's not possible, I thought. She's too smart and level-headed for that. I mean, hell, I thought her and Weasley—"

"They're not together," said Draco abruptly.

He let out a hollow laugh. "Of course they're not," said Theo shaking his head. "How can they be when she's so clearly in love with you... A Malfoy always gets what he wants, after all... I should've known you'd never let it go."

Theo watched as Draco's jaw clenched and unclenched.

"Tell me mate… will she still want to be with you, after she finds out what you really are?"

Some fleeting expression flashed across Draco's face. If it had been anyone else, they'd have missed the slight knowing smile in his eyes and the straightening of his spine; proud and arrogant, a man who already had the answer.

Theo's mouth went dry as the truth dawned on him.

"You have no intention of completing the Dark Lord's mission, do you?"

Draco cleared his throat and looked to the fruit basket. "It's self-replenishing, did you know?"

Ignoring the comment, he hissed, "Don't jeopardize everything Draco. She's not worth your life!"

The blonde's calm demeanor faded, his eyes burning with an intensity Theo had never seen before and when he spoke it was with the hard determined quality of his father.

"I decide what she's worth, and there is no price I am unwilling to pay to have her."

Theo's heart sunk as he saw that nothing would dissuade him from the path he'd taken and before he could try a last attempt at talking sense into his friend, Draco had left.

"I'm sorry," whispered Theo at the receding figure.

There was nothing he could do now.

It was April and the weather was beginning to warm but today was particularly hot and the classroom was filled with the sticky humidity of potions brewing on all the tables. Draco hadn't been able to concentrate at all on his own potion, not when she'd taken off her robes and her white shirt was sticking to her back.

Sleeping with Hermione had been a mistake, he knew that now. But it was a brilliant mistake, one he wouldn't mind making again and again. Nevertheless, it had changed things between them; made it so much harder to imagine being without her, made it so much more awful for him to leave. Draco knew what it looked like, what people would say afterward. How he'd taken her virginity, shagged her and left her. The bad immoral pureblood Death Eater. He didn't care what anyone would think, he was past that now, past caring about anything other than being with her. But sex had definitely complicated things. His feelings and good intentions were getting lost in translation. Sex seemed to precede speaking and in fact, Draco realized that they barely spoke anymore. Everything was said with their bodies; a gesture, a sigh, a tremble. He could honestly say that it wasn't his fault alone, this new language. She'd had a hand in creating it.

Really, when he thought about it, she was the problem. She was too sexy, a tease, she pasted herself too close when they slept, smelled too heavenly, touched him too perfectly, screamed too wantonly.

And she let him. She allowed his advances. Welcomed them and he blamed her for doing so, for never saying no, for always wanting it.

He had to stop thinking about her and it was proving nearly impossible today, especially since they'd both agreed to take a break. Just one week to focus on other things; studies, quidditch, prefect duties. They couldn't let things slip any more than they already had. He'd been the one to suggest it and now he was kicking himself for ever trying to lead a balanced double life.

Draco wiped his forehead. He rarely ever perspired but it was so stifling in this bloody room.

"Mate," said Theo. "You alright?"

He nodded in reply. Maybe he was coming down with a fever.

"You look—"

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Bloody hot in here is all."

Theo gave a little shrug and went back to attending to his potion. Professor Slughorn was checking everyone's cauldrons and chatting animatedly, seemingly the only one unaffected by the heat. He'd stopped by Corner's and was boasting, as usual, rubbing his belly with an air of contentment. Draco had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"I met your great grandfather once, did you know?"

"No sir," said Corner distractedly, trying to balance the conversation and his potion's work.

Slughorn smiled. "Oh yes, he was involved in some scandal dating back to the third Goblin rebellion."

Corner looked surprised. "Oh?"

The professor squinted in thought. "When was that again, 1892 or..."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione's hand shoot out as if he'd asked the class a question.

"1894, sir."

The heat must've really gotten to Draco because before he could comprehend what he was doing he'd said, "Actually it was 1895."

Her eyes snapped to his. "No," she said primly. "It was December 17th, 1894 to be precise."

Draco was fuming as he heard Theo snicker on the table over. Weasley and Potter had their lips pursed biting back laughs. "The rebellion started in 1894 but continued for several months and the scandal he's speaking of is the Strait, which occurred in 1895, so the more accurate answer is 1895."

Her eyes narrowed threateningly. "He didn't ask which year the scandal was, he asked when the third Goblin rebellion was—"

"Poppycock! That's a technicality and you know it!"

She folded her arms underneath her breasts. "Do I?" she asked raising an eyebrow. He was too distracted by her cleavage to make a retort. Her hair was up in a bun and a few stray hairs had escaped, some stuck on her neck. He thought about licking that neck.

Pursing her lips, she swiveled around to address Slughorn. "The correct answer is 1894, isn't it sir?"

"No it isn't," huffed Draco abruptly. "But as usual Granger thinks she knows enough to teach the class."

She smiled tightly. The top button of her shirt was undone. "I know enough to teach you at the least."

He ran his tongue over his teeth. He imagined bringing her an apple and being told he was naughty for turning in subpar work. "Go on then," he swallowed. "Start bending over that desk."

Hermione flushed, and the only thing that stopped Draco from doing exactly that was the audience they had.

Professor Slughorn was clearing his throat. "Both answers are correct. Let's move on, shall we? Er— Mister Macmillan…"

Draco tuned out. He couldn't hear anything except his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. Silly witch thought she was smarter than him, always right, little miss perfect. Well, he'd show her who was right. He'd bend her over that desk and f—

There was a scream followed by gasps. The surface of Corner's table was suddenly on fire. Everyone, including Draco, backed away from the blaze. Professor Slughorn stepped in quickly trying to extinguish it but it was a relentless flame.

"Class dismissed," he said a little nervously. "Leave everything as it is and file out one by one please."

Draco grabbed his things, taking a quick glimpse at Hermione to make sure she was leaving. He didn't want her to get hurt by a stupid fire Corner had started.

A hand grabbed him by the arm in the corridor.

"What the hell did you do that for?" demanded Theo.

Draco was taken aback. "What?"

"It was you," he whispered. "You were staring over at Corner and then presto—fire."

He ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't me, it was Corner, stupid prat messed up his potion."

Theo was frowning.

"Look I'll see you later at dinner, I have to go."

He had a bone to pick with Hermione and he knew where she'd be during her free period.

Draco found himself face to face with the librarian sometime later. The severe-looking woman always gave him chills. He cleared his throat to make his presence known. She raised her eyes to meet his and adjusted her glasses, squinting at him as though he was a specimen under a great magnifying glass.

"Madam Pince," he smiled politely. "Someone seems to have stacked a whole row of books in the wrong order."

Her face fell, her bottom lip began to tremble and he thought for a moment she might cry. Arranging his face into a sympathetic expression he continued. "I thought I should bring it to your attention. It's the sixth isle. They've made an absolute mess of it."

"Depraved wretched children!" she exclaimed.

As she stormed off, Draco went to find his little swot.

Hermione was secretly glad for the fire. She was grateful to have been excused from class if it meant putting some distance between her and Draco at that moment. The more time she spent away from him the better. Their argument in potions had been… irresponsible. She'd caught the innuendo and prayed no one else had.

"Blimey, you think Corner would have more sense," said Ron as they walked down the corridor out of earshot.

Harry looked deep in thought. "I think it was Malfoy who started the fire," he said.

Ron who normally clucked his tongue whenever Harry brought Malfoy up was quiet. Hermione hadn't thought Draco started the fire. There was that little accident when he'd gotten jealous of Ron but what happened today was different. He didn't have a problem with Corner and—

"Did you see the way he was looking at Hermione?"

Her head snapped up. "What? Who?"

"Malfoy," said Ron. "And what do you think he meant by bend over the desk?"

She couldn't help it, she blushed brick red. "He meant to humiliate me of course," she said before Harry could reply. "Probably gotten bored of calling me a Mudblood."

Harry nodded. "He's started to stoop to new lows that Malfoy. Just ignore him."

Hermione was grateful to Harry for believing her so easily. In fact, anyone else who'd heard him had brushed off their argument thinking the same thing. That he'd taken a very inappropriate dig at her and that was it, but Ron seemed to be the only one who had seen the truth. Putting a hand on her shoulder he said, "Look, I know it sounds funny but I think he was flirting with you."

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Don't be ridiculous," she said in her most convincing voice.

"Yeah mate," chuckled Harry. "Malfoy's only called her a—well y'know what— a half dozen times. Probably just trying to get under our skin."

Ron frowned at the two of them. "I don't care how many times he's insulted you. Malfoy was looking at you like… like…"

"Like what?" she demanded. Because part of her wanted to know, wanted to hear it from someone else, wanted to see what they saw.

His cheeks and the tips of his ears were pink. "Like he really did want you to bend over that blooming desk and—well, I can't say the rest!"

Harry started laughing. Ron turned even redder and Hermione couldn't look anywhere but the floor.

"It's no joke," he flushed. "There are certain things blokes want and, it's difficult for a girl like you to understand—"

"A girl like me?" What was that supposed to mean?

Hermione looked to Harry to gauge his reaction but he was avoiding her gaze.

"Well, you know what I mean," said Ron casually. "You're not very experienced with this kind of thing like other girls and—"

"Other girls like who, Lavender Brown?"

"N-no," he stuttered. "I… look I just thought you should know so you don't… encourage him."

"Encourage him?"

"Ron, mate—"

"Well, arguing back like that. He might think..."

"Think what?" she asked.

He had gone quiet again.

"Nothing," he said after a moment. "Dunno what I was thinking. Malfoy's just being a git."

Ron's eyes rested on Hermione as though trying to figure something out.

Part of her was dying to describe in vivid detail just the things she was experienced in. She wanted to paint him a picture so he could eat his words but instead, she could only say, "Anyway, I'm going to go to the library and pretend that this conversation never happened."

She gave Harry one final look of reproach for not having stood up for her. Hermione understood he didn't like getting involved in their fights but there were times she really wished he'd call Ron out for being a prat. Honestly, who was he to tell her what she was experienced in and who she could encourage? Sometimes he was such a condescending arse.

She was seething by the time she got to the library and could barely concentrate on her work because her mind was playing on loop. What kind of girl was she? Was she the kind of girl to bend over a desk? Her skin fevered as she recalled the things she'd done in the past three months, in the last three weeks, the last time she'd been alone with him and her hands reflexively came up to cover her burning cheeks.

She was aware of how physical the relationship had become despite telling herself she was going to take things slower. She'd forget as soon as she saw him. It was becoming a compulsion, a craving. God help her, she wanted him. She wanted Draco Malfoy, practically all the time.

For the first time in her life, Hermione considered that she may not be a good girl after all.

At that moment Draco walked past her table, giving her a pointed look as he walked down an aisle. Hermione stood to follow.

Perhaps, she thought, you couldn't be a good girl and also be a girl who wanted, very much, to do bad things.

Hermione turned a corner and lost sight of him. Walking forward she thought he might've gone further down and to the left but a moment later a hand grabbed her and she found herself pulled into another row, pinned against a shelf.

"I'm cross with you, Miss Granger."

"And I'm cross with you Mr. Malfoy," she whispered leaning in to kiss him.

Hermione abruptly pulled away. "You're really hot," she said caressing his cheek.

He gave her his trademark smirk.

"No," she tutted. "I mean you're burning up. You're not getting sick are you?"

"No, I just… Merlin, I miss you."

Hermione was learning quickly what that meant. "Let's go to the room," she suggested shyly.

"No," he rasped, his hands running down her arms. "Right here is good."

"Draco!" she chided playfully wondering with a stomach-churning jerk if he was joking or not.

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him she missed him too but it was muffled by a kiss. They'd been so good for five whole days. A kiss couldn't hurt and then she felt his lips on her neck and that was innocent enough. But she supposed that things began to become uncontrollable once he had her buttons undone. His fingers were traveling up her skirt.

"God, Draco, what if someone sees? Madam Pince—"

"Is currently re-shelving an entire aisle and I've put up a repelling charm."

Hermione knew that not long ago Ginny had caught them together in the library.

"Promise, they won't," he whispered reading her thoughts. "Just let me, Hermione."

She supposed this time they'd taken precautions, so she agreed. Here was good. Taking her wand she cast the contraceptive charm she'd learned after their first two times. Draco hadn't even given it a second thought. When she'd told him about learning the charm he'd shrugged and said, "If you think it's best." A statement which scared her because it seemed that he didn't consider her falling pregnant as a horrific mistake. In fact, he almost looked taken aback when she suggested it. She didn't want to consider what that could mean, so she chalked it up to him being a brat and a boy.

His hands worked frenziedly to remove her knickers from underneath her skirt and she was ashamed to have allowed what happened next.

She closed her eyes, her lip caught between her teeth as his fingers toyed with her.

"I love you," he said suddenly.

Her eyes fluttered open.

"You know that, right?"

"I know," she whispered, peppering his face with kisses.

A rush of urgency overwhelmed her and she found herself unbuttoning his trousers. She could feel his hard length beneath the fabric. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as she thought of him being in her again.

"Wait," he said softly. "I want to do it this way."

Before she could ask which way, he'd turned her around and made her bend down placing both her hands on the bookshelf. When she tried to lift herself up he pushed her back down again and without warning, he thrust into her.

Hermione gasped. No, they couldn't… this felt so wrong, but then he began to move in and out of with a slow calculated rhythm and she moaned every time he went deeper.

It was the most exhilarating and unnerving experience. She'd never felt so exposed as she did then, her heart beating furiously afraid of getting caught with her skirt up and Draco Malfoy shagging her from behind.

In this position, she felt like an animal, like they weren't making love like they were fucking and it felt awful and fantastic at the same time.

God, she really was a very bad girl.

She adjusted herself a little, so her back was arched and then his hand slid around her stomach and his fingers found their way to her clit. She had to brace herself against the shelf. His head fell onto her shoulder, groaning.

She was on the edge of an orgasm when suddenly he was slowing down and she was losing that exquisite momentum. Her hips pushed back to try find the friction but he was holding her still.

"Draco," she protested wiggling her bum.

"Say it," he rasped into her ear.

Her mind was slow and foggy.

"Say it was 1895."

Arsehole.

She shook her head. "No." She wouldn't.

He drove in deep and she whimpered as she felt the flame of it again. He rubbed her clit and her inner walls squeezed around him trying to rekindle the fire.

"Say it."

Clenching her teeth, she replied again stiffly. "No."

Then he stopped and she bit her lip from crying out in frustration. It was the same repetitive torture and she wanted it to end. He would start slowly and as she was reaching the peak he'd slow again and again. She begged him not to stop. He flicked her clit and she moaned tightening around him. He groaned and she knew it was killing him to stop too.

"Say it."

"No!" she cried.

His hand cupped her breast, pulling her nipple taut and as he started driving into her. She let out a sigh of relief. He rewarded her with another flick and she thought she'd die from the mounting pressure. Then he was slowing and she thought she'd burst into tears if he didn't let her finish.

"1895!" she choked. "1895."

"Good girl," he smiled against her neck.

Pouting, she rasped, "Fuck you."

He laughed softly in her ear.

"You already are."

He started moving faster and she'd never been so grateful, so close to the edge of it that she came soon after; her back arching, her body trembling, releasing a broken cry.

Draco covered her mouth with his hand muffling her moans.

"Shush," he said sternly. "This is a library."

Her legs could barely hold her and as she was coming down, he followed. She heard him whisper something that came out like a muffled groan against her shoulder.

She couldn't be certain but she was sure she heard him call her Miss Granger.

"How do you spell 'belligerent'?" asked Ron, shaking his quill while staring at his parchment. "It can't be B U M—"

"No, it isn't," said Hermione, pulling Ron's essay toward her. "And 'augury' doesn't begin O — R — G either. What kind of quill are you using?"

"It's one of Fred and George's Spell-Check ones, but I think the charm must be wearing off."

"It must be," said Hermione, pointing at the title of his essay, "because we were asked how we'd deal with dementors, not 'Dug-bogs', and I don't remember you changing your name to 'Roonil Wazlib' either."

"Ah no!" said Ron, staring horror-struck at the parchment. "Don't tell me I'll have to write the whole thing out again!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, she thought, Ron could be quite helpless sometimes.

"It's okay," she sighed. "We can fix it." Then she heard three words she'd been waiting to hear for a long time.

"I love you, Hermione."

Her eyes snapped to his as he sank back in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. She regarded him for a moment before turning back to his essay. What worried her most about her relationship with Draco—other than his safety of course—was how it would affect her relationship with Ron. She knew that he'd be furious, though technically, she'd done nothing wrong except for having lied and kept it a secret. And that alone left her with a pang of immense guilt and if she let it, it would consume her. Hermione chewed on her lip as she fixed his essay wondering if their friendship would ever need fixing too. Then something, which oddly enough had never occurred to her before, passed her mind like a dark shadow. It was most likely that Ron would never forgive her; not as a consequence of her blatant and repeated deceit, not as a consequence of losing her virginity, but for what he would perceive as her ultimate betrayal—having fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

"There," she said handing his essay back. "It's done."

"Thanks a million," said Ron smiling at her. "Can I borrow your quill for the conclusion?"

She returned the smile but not his gaze. "Sure," she replied handing it to him. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and Ron scratching out one last paragraph on Dementors. Harry, who'd had his head buried in the Half-Blood Prince's notes finally came up for air, yawning when—

Crack.

Hermione let out a little yelp making Ron spill his ink all over his freshly completed essay.

"Kreacher!" exclaimed Harry.

The house-elf bowed low and addressed his own gnarled toes. "Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give —"

Crack.

Dobby appeared alongside Kreacher, his tea-cozy hat askew. "Dobby has been helping too, Harry Potter!" he squeaked, casting Kreacher a resentful look. "And Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter so they can make their reports together!"

Hermione paled.

"Reports?" she parroted. "What reports? What's going on, Harry?"

"They've been following Malfoy for me," he replied.

"Night. and. day," croaked Kreacher narrowing his eyes at her knowingly.

"Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!" said Dobby proudly, swaying where he stood.

A week? Oh. dear. God. Oh dear merciful God, a week. Hermione's dread was mounting.

"You should have slept Dobby, but has either of you found out anything?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pureblood," croaked Kreacher at once. "His features recall the fine bones of—"

"We don't need to hear about you being in love with Malfoy," said Harry frowning.

"Kreacher is not in love with Master Malfoy, however the Mudbl—"

"Kreacher!" Hermione yelped. "That's enough of that!"

"Draco Malfoy is a bad, bad boy!" interrupted Dobby with a nervous squeak. He was looking past Harry at her, wringing his hands together. "A bad boy who-who…" Hermione's eyes went wide, silently begging Dobby not to say anything. She was brick red with mortification at the possibility of Dobby having witnessed or heard anything.

Dobby glanced back and forth from Harry to Hermione, with indecision. He held his head in his hands and began to whimper. He ran toward the fireplace, about to dive in. Hermione gave a gasp but Harry had caught him by his ankle just in time.

"Alright, enough," he scolded. "Tell me what you'll know."

Kreacher bowed again, looking furious, and then said, "Master Malfoy eats in the Great Hall, he sleeps in a dormitory in the dungeons, he attends his classes in a variety of —"

"Dobby, you tell me," said Harry, cutting across Kreacher. "Has he been going anywhere he shouldn't have?"

"Harry Potter, sir," squeaked Dobby, his great orb-like eyes looking apologetically at Hermione, "the Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, but… but he is very, very keen to avoid detection. He has been making regular visits to the seventh floor—"

"The Room of Requirement!" said Harry, smacking himself hard on the forehead. That's where he's been sneaking off to! That's where he's doing… whatever he's doing!"

God Harry, she cringed, he's been doing me, that's what he's been doing!

"Maybe the Marauders never knew the room was there," said Ron.

"Dobby, have you managed to get in to have a look at what Malfoy's doing?" said Harry eagerly.

The poor little elf opened his mouth to speak and Hermione gave him another pleading look. Dobby began to back away fearfully at the question as though he dared not speak the answer and before Hermione could think of what to do, Kreacher was pointing at her with a look of utter disdain.

"The Mudblood goes with him, Kreacher believes, to defile the Malfoy boy."

Hermione's pulse fell to her fingertips. She heard a ringing in her ears and thought surely this was a nightmare and she'd wake any moment now.

There was a deafening silence in the common room, the only sound, the crackling of the fire. If she closed her eyes she was back five minutes ago, correcting Ron's essay. Her heart still beating in her chest, not threatening to throw itself up on the floor.

Harry slowly turned to face her. "Hermione?" he asked, seemingly unsure of what he was asking exactly.

The wretched little elf still had his arm extended and pointing at her, accusingly. "You can put your arm down now Kreacher," she murmured defeated.

He averted his big, bloodshot eyes and croaked at the ceiling, "The Mudblood is speaking to Kreacher, Kreacher will pretend he cannot hear—"

Dobby began to make a high pitched wailing sound, crying ugly fat tears. "Dobby wanted to tell Harry Potter but Hermione Granger is a friend and—"

"I don't understand," said Harry ignoring both house-elves. "Are you helping Malfoy do something in the Room of Requirement?"

Hermione opened her mouth but nothing came out. This was a nightmare. She even went as far as closing her eyes hoping when she opened them again she'd be in her bed. They couldn't find out this way.

Ron was staring at Hermione, his arms folded with an indecipherable expression over his face. "No," he said his tone chillingly low. "I don't think that's what she's doing."

Oh God… Ron.

"Kreacher, Dobby," Harry spoke without looking at them. "Thank you, but you have to leave now."

Without another word, the two elves disapparated.

"Hermione," Harry's brows furrowed with concern. "What's Ron talking about, is Malfoy forcing you to do something for him?"

She was shaking her head furiously, unable to admit the truth, unable to lie.

"Tell him," ordered Ron quietly. "Tell him what you've been doing."

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. She shot Ron a remorseful look, unable to hold his gaze. Somehow she knew that between the two of them, Ron would be the first to figure it out. He'd only need a lie that didn't quite fit or to catch them looking at each other just once and he'd see it.

Her voice broke when she finally spoke. "I've been secretly meeting him in the Room of Requirement so we can… spend time together."

Harry smiled uncertainly. "Is this a joke?"

When neither Hermione nor Ron seemed to join his amusement, his face fell.

"Spend time together doing what?" he asked a little nervously. "Studying?"

Hermione didn't know what to say.

Ron was as still as a statue, his brows furrowed in concentration staring at the ground. Then she realized he was staring at her wrist, finally understanding who'd given her the bracelet. He really was much smarter than anyone gave him credit.

Without a word he got up from the couch and made his way to the boy's dormitory.

She wanted to stop him, say something but she couldn't muster the energy or the words to confront Ron. She knew things were complicated, that perhaps things with them would always be a little complicated. Harry didn't try to stop Ron from leaving because he was too busy waiting for her to answer his question.

"Hermione?"

She drew a deep breath, her eyes on the floor too ashamed to look him in the eye. "No, Harry… not to study."

There was another round of deafening silence and she wondered how many more of them would fill the rest of the night. She couldn't gather the courage she needed to look up.

"I don't understand," he said finally. "You don't even like each other. You hate him—wait. Is this some Prefects thing?"

"No... we're involved."

Harry scoffed in disbelief. "So all this time I've been trying to figure out what he's been up to and you've been, what, sneaking off to snog him?"

Hermione looked up from the floor and she didn't know what it was but something about her expression must've given away the true extent of what they'd been doing because Harry was looking at her with wide eyes as if he'd never seen her before.

"I'm in love with him," she whispered as if it was all she needed to excuse the lying, the omissions, the deception.

Just then something seemed to have occurred to him.

"Oh," he sighed. "I think I know what this is— I'll kill him for this—I will." Then he began to approach her slowly, almost like a child that may flee at any minute. "It's ok, let's go see Professor Slughorn shall we?"

Her brows furrowed. "What, why?"

"Let's just go find him, alright?" he smiled gently reaching for her. "I think he'll know what to—"

"For God's sake Harry!" she said wrenching her arm from him. "It's not Amortentia!"

Just then Ron re-emerged. Both of their attention snapped to him as he walked steadily down the steps. It was very late at night but neither of them said anything as he left through the portrait. Hermione turned back to Harry.

"Harry, I can explain—"

He suddenly let out a curse and bounded up the stairs before she could finish. Hermione stared at the empty space where'd he been standing and wondered how she'd allowed this to happen. They'd both become a little careless but she'd never have guessed Harry to set his two house elves to spy on Draco. A minute later, he was running back down the steps.

"Harry," she sighed in relief as if his return meant all was forgiven.

"The Marauders map is gone," he panted. "I searched for it everywhere."

She hadn't taken it, at least, not this time. Sure, she'd hidden it once or twice but she'd always returned it or left it somewhere for him to find. Was he accusing her now of having taken it?

"So?" swallowed Hermione a little worried.

"Your boyfriend's on patrol tonight," Harry spat back disdainfully. "I heard Ron talking with Ernie, they switched."

Hermione blinked still not quite getting the point.

"My Invisibility Cloak's gone too," he said pointedly.

Hermione took off, running out of Gryffindor Tower and into the dark night.