Chapter Thirteen- Milk with an Expiry Date of Three Hours

They walked along the corridor in silence. Hermione patted the bag at her side, feeling reassurance in the cushion of the cloak and slight rustle the Map made. It hadn't been one of the terms (she doubted McGonagall, nor the Ministry, even knew of its existence) but it made her feel better to know they were safe, rather than sorry, that she could whip it out at any moment and conserve their secret for just a little bit longer. Her conversation with Ginny had been playing on her mind. If the girl had been spying on her, had seen her disappear off the Map, had she also seen Malfoy disappear too? Had she connected the dots, whatever those dots were? Somehow, for some reason, Hermione figured they were undetected, not least because she didn't think Ginny had the kind of temperament that would put up with her best friend meeting a former Death Eater, who also happened to be awaiting his trial for murder and terrorism, in an intracable room every night. She supposed the absurdity of the situation was an advantage after all. The moment they were discovered, all hell would break loose.

Malfoy stopped suddenly and Hermione nearly walked into the back of him.

"Draco, what-?"

He swallowed. "Is this a good idea, Granger?"

Hermione blinked at him. Her thoughts trailed off. "What?"

Malfoy sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was dressed in black slacks and a black trench coat, dark green scarf tucked around his neck. She knew she must look like a child next to him, with her pink duffle coat, white bobble hat and matching mittens. An eyebrow raised when he'd seen her coming towards him that morning, and Hermione's cheeks had momentarily flushed as bright as her coat. He looked like the Malfoy she knew, the one who cared for his appearance, with every strand of hair falling back into place on his head. Hermione almost hadn't the heart to remind him he'd be invisible for the duration of their trip to Hogsmeade.

"What if someone sees me?" he asked.

"The Cloak isn't as fickle as a simple charm," she said. "It's highly unlikely."

Malfoy nodded. It was too rushed, too harried that she didn't think he had really heard her.

Hermione moved in front of him and, before she could overthink it, took his hand in hers. They were both wearing gloves but Malfoy lurched as though she'd scorched him. She didn't let go. "If you don't want to go, we can go to the Room instead. It's meant to be liberating, not another form of entrapment."

Malfoy looked at her. His eyes were wide. After a moment, he shook his head slightly, detangling their hands and said, "You're right. Besides, I could do with a Firewhiskey."

He carried on walking and Hermione started at his sudden pace, skipping a little to catch back up with him. She rolled her eyes when they finally fell back into step and said, "Would it really have killed you to just leave it at, 'You're right'?"

There was a ghost of his old smirk playing at his lips, and Hermione pondered on the fact that it filled her with a warmth she never would have assumed it could. Hogwarts was empty. Not another student passed them by, most playing out in the snow or having already made their way down to Hogsmeade after breakfast earlier that morning. Each empty corridor they made it down added to the relief she felt lighten her chest. They continued until they reached the Headmistress' office.

Hermione cleared her throat, hugging her bag to her body, and announced, "Rhubarb and Custard."

The stone gargoyle leapt to the side and one by one, the bricks behind him cracked and shifted, raining dust, before the entire wall was slowly rotated to reveal the ascending staircase. She glanced at Malfoy.

"Rhubarb and-?" He began, nonplussed.

Hermione couldn't stifle her grin. "It's a Muggle sweet," she explained. "I'll buy you some one day."

Malfoy said nothing so she began to climb the staircase, motioning for him to follow her. When they reached the top, she paused and she saw Malfoy steal a breath. She let him steal another before she knocked.

"Come in."

The two entered.

McGonagall sat at her desk, marking what looked like a particularly horrifically sized pile of Transfiguration essays. Hermione noticed the perch beside her was empty. Glancing up at them, over the rims of her spectacles, the Headmistress greeted them. "Ah, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy."

"Good morning, Professor." Hermione allowed her eyes to flick to the frame overlooking the desk, only to find it empty too. She quenched any disappointment she might've felt.

"I trust you remember the terms," asked McGonagall, sharp and beady eyes fixed on them both as she stood and made her way closer.

Hermione nodded. She patted her bag. "I have the Cloak."

"Three hours," McGonagall reminded. She stopped in front of Malfoy, who couldn't even look her in the eye. "Mr Malfoy, if you could show me the band."

Her voice was softer than it had been a moment ago, though not considerably so, not enough for him to notice. Hermione had warned her he didn't take well to pity. McGonagall had made a laugh, at the back of her throat, and said he had nothing to worry about from her, that the Scottish were adverse to the stuff.

Malfoy gulped and his hand shook (though they all pretended not to notice) as he lifted his trouser leg. The band was a thin loop of magic, encased in black so as to be untouchable, though Hermione doubted anyone would ever touch it willingly. It shivered with the tension and capacity of undulated magic, sparking out then recoiling as it hit its own prison. Hermione wondered what spell it was, what made it so volatile and if it was inclined to changing spirit for whatever reasons. Did it reflect Malfoy's mood? Or was it just violent to remind the wearer what was coming?

McGonagall didn't so much as falter. Unfazed, she knelt down and said, "Hold very still, Mr Malfoy. Permissionary spells are complex magic."

Hermione frowned. "Permissionary spells, Professor?"

Malfoy shot her a look, preceded by a slight roll of his eyes. He murmured, "You really couldn't help yourself, could you, Granger?"

She had half the mind to shove him just to see what happened when the spell went wrong.

McGonagall ignored the pair of them. "Spells that have been individually designed and placed and therefore unable to be modified by anyone else, without the original castor's explicit permission. Fortunately, I knew the Wizengamot Witch who cast this specific spell. She, how do you children say it, owed me one."

Without another word, McGonagall raised her wand and started muttering. The magic dripped from the end of her wand, orange and voracious, before tentatively groping towards Malfoy's band. Hermione could see every chord in his body tighten in an effort to keep still. She wondered if a body bind hex wouldn't have been more effective.

Whatever the Headmistress was doing, it was working. Slowly, her fiery, orange magic was absorbed by the band, sinking into the blue light, mixing with it, then replacing it, diving around his ankle, stretching out until it pulsed. The band changed colour from black, staining to a grey. Temporarily freeing him.

Malfoy exhaled shakily, almost like he felt it. Tasted it on the air perhaps. Freedom.

But only for three hours.

McGonagall stood. She straightened her robes and pointed her hat and said, "I'll be notified when you return back on Hogwarts grounds. I'll need you to come to me so I can change it back so as to not alarm the Wizengamot." Pausing, she fixed him with a curt but gentle smile. "Enjoy your day in Hogsmeade, Mr Malfoy."

Malfoy didn't seem to know what to do. He floundered for a second, before Hermione stepped in and said, "Thank you, Professor. We will."

The sound of her voice seemed to wrench him back into reality and he nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Professor, I-"

But he choked on the words, and McGonagall must've known what he was going to say anyway for when she waved them on and told them they'd better not waste any more time in the castle, there was a thickness in her voice.

They left the office, descending the stairs, and the gargoyle jumped back into place behind them as soon as they stumbled out onto the corridor. Hermione looked at Malfoy. He raised an eyebrow.

"How does freedom taste?"

"Like warm milk with an expiry date of three hours."

"What an apt analogy," she said dryly.

Hermione wasted no time in opening her bag and hauling out the Cloak. It was unbelievably soft under her fingers, smelling of adventure and danger and the thrill of curfew. She had to stop herself from inhaling it because she knew the look Malfoy would give her and could almost hear his refusal to wear anything that smelt even remotely of 'Potter.'

She handed it to him. "You don't have to put it on yet, but better to get it out now whilst no one is here."

Malfoy nodded, taking the Cloak from her. He ran his fingers over it, and though he tried desperately to hide it from her, Hermione glimpsed the flash of awe in his eyes.

"Where did he get this?" Malfoy asked. He couldn't tamper the breathlessness in his voice either.

Hermione shrugged and started walking, knowing he'd follow her and catch up if she did. "Family heirloom. Some people get the Chamber of Secrets, Harry inherited an Invisibility Cloak."

Although much more concentrated on where he was going, Malfoy's fingers still ran idly over the material bunched in his hands. Cautiously. Delicately. As if it could pull apart at any moment. "You know," he said. "Whenever my mother used to read The Tale of the Three Brothers to me, I always used to think that I'd want the Cloak. Never mind the Wand, or the Stone. I always saw value in the Cloak."

Hermione didn't look at him. It was rare when he spoke about anything even relatively personal that she daren't be too bold, just in case he shut down on her. "How so?"

She felt his eyes flick to her. "The idea of disappearing was very appealing to me. To be able to escape anything, even Death. I thought that was the ultimate display of power."

"It can be Summoned," said Hermione instantly. She didn't know why it was so important that she said it. Malfoy looked at her properly now. "The Cloak. You can use Accio on it. So you can't use it to escape anything in reality, not really."

Malfoy's voice gave way to his sneer. "Don't worry, Granger. I'm not going to do a runner on you. It's just a fairytale."

She glanced sideways at him. He was staring stonily ahead. Biting back a wince, she hastened to say, "I agree with you though. The Cloak is the only one even remotely useful."

Malfoy frowned. Hook. Hermione knew she'd poked at his intellectual curiosity, all but inviting a debate. Line. She waited for him to take the bait.

It was a moment before he replied.

"What do you mean?"

And sinker.

"Well," she said, as they turned right onto the moving staircase. Her hand clutched the bannister in case it decided to be temperamental and move at the last minute. "The Wand was fallible. Not only could it be taken from you, but it marked out a great, big, flashing target on your back. You were asking for Death, being the Master of the Elder Wand. Look what happened to Grindelwald. Look what happened to Snape."

She forgot about his affinity with their old Potions Master and felt a twinge of regret when she saw him wince. Hermione continued quickly, "Harry had the Stone for a while, you know. He used it. To see his parents."

From his quick bursting reactions, she could tell her frankness affected him but there was no point skirting around the issue at hand. This was why he liked the Cloak, thought Hermione, so he could dig his head in the sand when things got honest.

"He told me about it afterwards and I've thought about it a lot. He said they coaxed him to die, told him it was 'quicker and easier than falling asleep.' That doesn't sound like something your family would say now, does it? I came to a conclusion, well, no, it's nothing more than a theory, really, and based on little to no practical evidence-"

He coughed and she shut up and refocused.

"But anyway- I wondered if the Stone didn't just supply a manifestation of the dead channelling Death's voice. His whole purpose of creating the Stone was to entice the Second Brother to him. I think the Stone is merely a facade, Death trying to persuade you to kill yourself so he doesn't have to do it himself. The ultimate victory.

"So by default, and when you consider it was the only successful Hallow insofar as allowing the Third Brother to die on his own terms, the Cloak has to come out on top."

"Granger." In all honesty, Hermione had almost forgotten he was there. They'd made it to the foyer now, and the Great doors were cracked open slightly, spilling a smidge of light onto the stone floor, but largely combatting the wintry world outside. She turned to look at him. Though deadpan, Hermione saw the quirk of his lips. "Congratulations. You just sucked all of the fun out of my childhood."

Her mouth dropped open and she smacked him. He leapt away, incensed.

"Granger! You're not a bloody cat! Stop swiping me!"

She did so but not because he asked. "Put the Cloak on, Ferret. Then I don't have to see your stupid grin."

Malfoy recoiled and whatever amusement had curled his lips dropped. His eye twitched. "Don't call me that, Granger," he said darkly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Or what?"

He didn't reply, draping the Cloak around himself and disappearing in an instant. She swallowed nervously. "Draco?"

Suddenly, her scarf was yanked and wrapped repeatedly around her neck and her hat was wrenched down over her eyes. The shriek that left her lips was small and frustrated. Though she couldn't see him, she heard his sniggering and located a damn good kick to what she guessed was his shin by his excessive use of expletives.

"Serves you right," said Hermione smugly. "Now come on, your three hours will be up before they've even started."

Malfoy kept quiet at that but she had no doubt that he was simply cursing her under his breath now, instead. She pushed open the castle doors and they were enveloped in light.