A/N: Hi all! I had a few questions on when I'll be updating: for now it will be at least once a week. I can't give a definite day but know that you will be getting at least one chapter a week for this story :D. Also, thank you all so, so much for the reviews! It makes my day to read them, it's such a huge motivator for me to keep writing - both this fanfic and my own stories - and it honestly just makes me so happy that you're all enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it :)). P.S. I was watching Into the Spiderverse while writing this and I really love the "Who's Morales?" scene so I just had to include it! Thank you all, and enjoy! Love, CrazyAsACupcake

He doesn't turn around. He doesn't have to. He knows exactly who is stood behind him.

"Malfoy?" She repeats.

He imagines her stood there with her wide eyes and her bushy hair, and he can't help but smile – even where he sits, crumpled beside the toilet. He thinks about how panicked she must be about leaving Snape's lesson, and he starts laughing. It bubbles up from his stomach and he laughs into the toilet, his cheek still pressed against the porcelain.

It's difficult to believe that only this morning they'd shared an apple, they'd joked and laughed and he'd been okay. It's difficult to believe that this weight that was suddenly crushing him hadn't been there forever.

There's a dull thud from behind him as she drops her bag onto the floor, and then she's crouched beside him. Her arm is slung around his shoulders, her fingers raking through his hair. The sensation of her nails slightly dragging across his scalp is calming, and his eyes shut as he relaxes. It's difficult to believe they'd only been friends for two weeks.

"Oh, Malfoy…" She murmurs beside him, her fingers still running through his hair. She pulls her bag towards her and roots through it, before pulling out a strip of Polo mints. He watches as she peels back the foil, taking one mint out. "Here." He takes it from her, too weak to be suspicious of the little white sweet, places it on his tongue and sucks on it. Soon, he feels slightly better – though he doesn't know if that's from her being here with him, or if the mint is actually helping settle his stomach. Either way, he doesn't need to be hugging the toilet anymore, and so he adjusts his position. He is now leaning against one wall of the cubicle, facing Hermione as she sits against the other. His legs are crossed, and her feet are inches away from his legs, her knees pulled up towards her chin.

She's staring at him.

"Like what you see, Granger?" He asks, though he knows he's not his best. His voice is low and drowsy, he's paler than normal.

"Not as much as I normally do," she answers, smiling gently at him. She holds her hand up, fingers splayed, and he reaches across and laces his fingers with hers. They sit there for a moment, connected. Hermione takes mental pictures of their hands entwined, unsure of when (or if) she will ever be able to experience it again. Her thumb rubs against his skin gently, and he shakes their hands from side to side before letting go.

"Thanks, Granger."

"No problem, Malfoy." She holds out the packet of Polos to him and he takes another one. "I forgot to tell you, I received an owl from my parents yesterday." She nudges him slightly with the toe of her shoe.

"Oh, yeah?" His brow quirks as he talks around the Polo. He crunches down on it; "Merlin, these are good aren't they?"

She smiles shyly as she takes one for herself. "They're my favourites."

"What did it say? The letter."

"Well, they've set the guest bedroom up for you, and they have some rules that they want to explain to you. They're quite worried you might kill them while they're asleep for being Muggles…"

"Oh, come off it, Granger. I couldn't do that," his eyes glint as he smirks at her. "I'm not old enough to use magic outside of Hogwarts."

"Hey!" She reaches across and smacks him lightly on the arm.

"Ow!" He gasps, laughing and rubbing the area where she had hit him.

"Come off it, Malfoy. I didn't hit you that hard."

"I demand an apology!"

"You can demand all you want, you big baby."

"At least give me another one of those," he points at the pack of Polos in her hand, the injured act suddenly dropped.

"There's only 3 left," she moans, pouting as she clutches the packet. He laughs.

"Now who's the baby?"

"Can you let me finish what I was going to say?"

"Okay then, baby." His cheeks flare as soon as he says it. "That's… That's not how I meant it."

"Sure it's not, baby." She smirks as his cheeks glow brighter, his eyes flickering away from hers in embarrassment. "Anyway, my parents said that they've set the guest room up – they said they specifically dug out green bedding for you so I hope you feel special. Oh, and they're not putting the tree up until we arrive, so we're all going to decorate it together." She grins

"So, I'll be going with you straight from Kings Cross?"

"Yes. You don't have to interact with me on the train if you don't want to, in case your friends are going home as well." The way her eyes shift from him, the way her fingers play with the hem of her skirt says otherwise. There is no way she would be fine spending seven hours on the train alone; even the biggest bookworm needs company every once in a while. But she knows it's probably a stupid wish, for him to sit beside her on the train. For them to laugh and talk and exist. It's not possible, not if his friends are going home, because someone will see them, and they will ruin everything. And even though there is an extraordinarily large chunk of Hermione that wants them to sit together and enjoy the first few hours of Christmas freedom together, she knows that if she wants her perfect little impossible friendship to last, it just can't happen.

Malfoy knows this, too. He knows what will happen is Blaise or Theo see him with her. He wants to not care – wants to say, fuck it, let them see – but he can't. If anyone saw, one way or another the news gets back to his mother, back to his father, back to Him. What would that mean, he wonders, for his mother? For him? For her? The thought of her even being vaguely in danger makes his stomach churn once more.

"Is there a plan," he asks, moving his thoughts away from a terrible image of Hermione, wide-eyed and unblinking, staring up at him from the polished wooden floor of Malfoy Manor. "For the holiday?"

"I don't know – I don't think so. We'll find out when we get there." She pulls the last three Polos from the foil, crumpling it in her hand and stuffing it into her robe pocket. "Open."

He opens his mouth and she leans forward to put the mint on his tongue. He bites for her fingers and she pulls her hand back, scowling at him, and he can't help but laugh. She's so easy to annoy, so easy to rile up, and even though he knows he should be panicking and thinking of a way – any way – to complete his task, it's almost as if she turns him into someone else. As if when he's with her, he can be Draco Malfoy: Prefect, prospective Head Boy, charmer, friend, (boyfriend?). Not Draco Lucius Malfoy: Blood purist – blood supremacist – Death Eater, prat, bully, the Boy to Kill Dumbledore.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He finally finishes laughing, and opens his mouth again. This time, she is sceptical, hesitating before reaching across. Just before she can shove the sweet in his mouth, he reaches up and grabs her wrist, before licking all the way down her hand – from her palm to where his fingers are around her wrist. As she recoils, shrieking, he snatches the Polo from her and pops it happily into his mouth. "That's for hitting me."

"I barely touched you!" She holds her arm away from her. "Why was it so wet?"

"Because I licked you, Granger. Don't you know what spit is?"

"You're vile, Malfoy." She hisses, her lip curled.

He leans forward, his hands pressed against the tiled floor. Their faces are inches apart, she can smell the mint that is slowly melting on his tongue as he grins at her. "So you keep saying, Granger."

"So you keep proving, Malfoy," she retorts. She swallows, her eyes never leaving his. This close she can see the multiple different colours that swirl in the grey – a hundred shades of green and blue and yellow – and the evil little glint he gets when he's trying to get her worked up. Her mouth feels dry as he smirks at her. She takes a breath, unintentionally inhaling that uniquely Malfoy smell – that intoxicating scent that seems to seep into every nook and cranny of her brain, making it so that she can't stop thinking about him. Or at least, she tells herself that's why she can't stop thinking about him.

In reality, she doesn't want to stop thinking about him.

He stands, reaching down and grabbing her slimy, spit covered hand and hauling her up beside him. "Come on, Granger."

"'Come on' where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere!" He exits the stall and spins, his robe billowing around him, arms outstretched. Behind him, Hermione shakes her head and picks up their bags. "Let's just go."

"We can't 'just go', Malfoy," Hermione laughs, going to the sink and thoroughly washing her hands. He washes his as well (her hand was really wet) and leans against one of the basins as he watches her. As he pulls his bag from her shoulder, his brow creases as he assesses her.

She glances at him from the corner of her eye and sighs, rolling her eyes. "What now, Malfoy?"

"Come on, Granger," he laughs, still not looking away from her. "You love me really."

"Do I? And 'Come on, Granger' seems to be becoming your catchphrase."

"Yes, you do. And yes, it is."

"What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Why'd you do your hair like that?" He points at her bun, and she instinctively reaches up to touch it.

"I just wanted it out of the way, I suppose."

He nods sagely. "It looks nice."

"Well thank you, but I didn't do it for you."

"Did I say you did?"

"No, but-"

"Stop being so defensive, Granger, all I said was it looks nice."

She rolls her eyes again, turning towards him. "And I said thank you."

"That's all that needs to be said." He begins walking backwards towards the door, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. "Come on then."

"Where are we going? You do realise we're meant to be in a lesson, and I don't want to get thrown out for missing anything important-"

"Relax," he interrupts, grinning. "We were meant to be in a double, so we still have an hour left. You're not going to miss much – maybe the practical part of the lesson, but…" He pauses for a second, thinking. "I'm sorry we didn't get to do nonverbal jinxes, by the way. I know you were probably looking forward to causing me some damage."

"Oh, Malfoy. It's cute that you think I can only cause damage during a lesson." She pats him condescendingly on the shoulder as she moves past him, leaving the bathroom (checking to make sure no one would see them not in lesson). He falls into step beside her, his shoes clacking against the stone floor.

"Oh, Granger. It's cute that you think you're not too goody-goody to jinx me outside of class."

"I could!"

"No, Granger, you really couldn't." He mimics her condescending shoulder pat and she practically growls at him. "Where to go, what to do… lets go to the library!"

"Now you're mocking me."

"No, I'm not. We can't go to the Quidditch pitch because you don't like flying and it'll be rather boring to fly around on my own. We can't go to the courtyard because first years are probably doing their flying lessons. Lunch won't be ready for another hour, and I don't think either of us want Potty and Weasel to see us together. Which leaves the library, so that's where we're going."

"You didn't seem bored the last time when you were picking on me."

"And as much as I enjoy picking on you, it does get boring after a while. I can be nice, you know."

"Can you?"

"Right, changed my mind." He pivots, robes swishing as he turns down another corridor. "We're going to the pitch."

She smiles. "It's actually nice weather, as well! I have my scarf and gloves in my bag, I can sit and read my book while you fly around, it'll be so relaxing!"

He frowns and shakes his head. "No, I don't think so."

"You don't think what?"

"If we're going to the pitch, I'm going to try to get you onto a broom, too."

"Malfoy, no!" Her stomach drops, her face paling. "You just said about how I don't like flying – I can't even keep it level!"

"I said I was going to try, and I didn't say you had to be on your own broom." They go down a small staircase, coming out at the entrance to Slytherin Dungeon, arriving at the entrance to the Common Room. "I'll be right back." He speaks the password, the wall opens, and he slips away, winking at her as the door slides shut.

With her hands deep in her robe pockets, she scuffs one of her regulation black shoes against the stone floor. There is absolutely no way she is getting on a broom – not alone or otherwise. Thinking about falling, the broom just stopping, plummeting towards the ground with no way to stop because of the panic that would seize her muscles and stop her from thinking about the right spell. Her arms already feel stiff as she crosses them over her chest.

As she's thinking, the wall across from her opens once more, and Malfoy steps out, carrying his Nimbus and a bag.

"Come on, Granger," he grins, eyes sparkling.

"Malfoy, I really really don't want to go on a broom."

"And I won't force you to. Hold this," he hands her the bag and she takes it, slinging it over her shoulder with her bookbag. "The option is just there if you change your mind."

"Believe me, I'm not going to." They exit the dungeon and leave the building. There's a slight chill in the air, so Hermione makes Malfoy stop so that she can dig out her scarf and gloves. She can already feel her nose turning red; she makes a mental note to torture Malfoy if she ends up getting a cold.

"You couldn't have done this while we were walking?" He huffs, rubbing his hands together. She glances up at him and realises he isn't wearing his robe – hadn't been wearing it since their visit to the Slytherin Common Room. His grey jumper seems to emphasise his lean muscles as he crosses his arms, and she darts her eyes away, thankful for the cold air to mask the burning of her cheeks. He wrinkles his nose at her as she pulls her red and gold scarf from her bag. "What was that for, Granger?"

Play dumb.

"Who's Granger?"

Not that dumb!

"What was that look for?" He waits as she wraps the scarf around her neck.

"I didn't give you a look."

"If you say so." It's Malfoy's turn to roll his eyes as he begins walking towards the Quidditch changing rooms, Hermione practically skipping trying to keep up with him. "Give me the bag."

"A please wouldn't go unappreciated," she mumbles, pulling the bag from her shoulder.

"Please can I have my bag?"

"Certainly. There's no need to be a grouch."

He takes the bag from her outstretched hand and glowers at her, one shoulder againt the door to the changing room. "I am not being a grouch."

"If you say so," she smirks, reaching up and patting his face lightly. With one last smile in his direction, she turns on her heel, and walks towards the pitch.

He chuckles to himself as he watches her go, the breeze lifting the hem of her robes and making them flutter behind her. He leans on the door and falls into the small room, and quickly gets changed into his practice gear – his green and grey jumper, black jeans, leather gloves. He kicks his dress shoes off, swapping them for a pair of old brown boots.

At the bottom of the bag, a second green and grey jumper sits, waiting. He pulls it out and smiles softly to himself, before exiting the changing room with his Nimbus in his hand.

Hermione is stood in the centre of the pitch, clutching a pair of red and gold gloves in her hands. Her cheeks are scarlet.

"Nice to know you found some gloves to match your face, Granger."

"Bugger off, Malfoy." The smile on her face tells him she's joking – not that he cares if she's not. "What's that?" She nods at the jumper in his hands.

"In case you decided you did want to come flying after all," her eyes widen and he quickly adds, "I'm not going to make you do anything – I'm not going to force you to fly on your own. But if you get bored you can come sit on the back of the Nimbus, if you want."

He tosses the jumper at her, laughing as she nearly drops it. The wool is soft between her fingers, and she resists the urge to smell it (she knows how weird it would look), wanting to smell that purely Malfoy scent. She watches him with fond adoration as he mounts the Nimbus – she can't help but think about how incredible he is, how she trusts him despite the short time she's known him. She completely and utterly trusts him. "We'll see, Malfoy."

He catches her eye as he rises from the ground, and winks.

"I suppose we will, Granger."