On her way to lunch, she saw Draco eyeing her mischievously whilst conversing with Parkinson. The Slytherin witch turned to see what he was looking at and sneered at the sight of her. She snapped her fingers in front of his face to snap him out of his daze.

Hermione didn't know why she found that funny. She turned her face to the side to hide the smile that had crept across her face.

She wore the most unflattering outfit she could find, made her hair even messier—not that it was possible—but she still did it. She didn't even wash her face since she had to go on a date with Adrian after her therapy session, and she hoped that he would stop trying to pursue her after seeing her in this horrific state. There were a couple of unsettling glares and whispers cast at her appearance from around the Great Hall, but she kept her head down and only focused on her food. She didn't want to eat anything salty, so she just grabbed a dessert waffle and poured syrup and granola on top of it.

"Wow. You look—rough," Ginny said, taking a seat next to her, with a terrorized expression plastered across her face.

She rolled her eyes, "And you stink," she said matter-of-factly, sniffing her and opening her mouth as if she were throwing up.

"Yeah, I just got done with training. Hooch literally killed us today. I can't even walk properly," she said, placing three pieces of fried chicken and white rice on her plate, "I think I'm going to have to lay in bed the whole weekend to recover."

Ginny seemed in a pretty content mood overall, which probably meant that she had resolved things with Harry since she hadn't returned to their room last night. She wanted to ask her what the verdict was, but she didn't want to be late for her session. She made a mental note to ask her after her date.

"But seriously," Ginny started, "You look—"

"Horrible? Yes, I know, Gin. Thanks for pointing out the obvious," the redhead rolled her eyes, "It's on purpose," She explained.

"Adrian Malcolm?" Ginny asked.

"No, Adrian Pucey, the one from Slytherin," she corrected, adding a dash of cinnamon on top of her waffles.

"Oh! You never told me about him," Ginny grabbed a tissue to hold the fried chicken to prevent her hands from getting greasy, "I thought we shared everything with each other."

"We do Gin. He just doesn't mean—" she saw Adrian enter the Great Hall, and he gave her a brief smile, which she reciprocated and cast a quick Muffliato around them, in case he was listening, "He doesn't mean anything to me. I only agreed so that Malfoy wouldn't get expelled."

"Why would Malfoy get expelled if you go on a date with him?" Hermione could tell the witch was very confused.

"Because he was about to get in a fight with him. At least that's what I had thought before he denied it," she explained, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Why would Malfoy fight Adrian for you? Does he—I can't even believe I'm asking this, but does he fancy you or something?" Ginny questioned, holding her fried chicken next to her mouth, anxiously waiting for her response.

Hermione found that hilarious, "Fancy?" She retorted, laughing haphazardly, "No. No. It's quite the opposite, actually. Although lately, I feel somewhat okay with his presence because Theo always manages to lighten the tension between us, but if he and I ever stood in a room alone, I guarantee that within less than a minute, one of us would be dead."

"If you say so," Ginny shrugged and took a big bite of her fried chicken.

…

Hermione sunk into her chair and studied the magical wall. She had no clue how the conversation would begin today or even if they would talk, to begin with.

Her partner was full of surprises. She never knew what to expect. It was equally exciting and exhausting for her. She wondered, though, if it was a guy or a girl. She had never tried to picture what they might look like.

Whenever she thought of them, it was their words that lingered in her mind, but she could never attach an image to the almost robotic voice of who could be the one behind the wall. It was a complicated dynamic.

For instance, whenever she thought of Ginny, the first thing she envisioned was her silky red hair and her laugh. For Harry, it was his smile and his interesting choice of words when he told a joke. For Ron, it was the time when she showed him how to use a kite after their first year or him having to painfully sit through one of Molly's temper tantrums.

However, for her partner, she saw emotions. Not pictures, not memories. It felt more real to her to see emotions rather than distant memories.

She felt like she could connect with the words and emotions they projected onto her. Hermione knew they didn't trust her enough to open up to her, so she decided to do the only thing she could.

Patience.

She had to wait till they felt secure enough to confide in her.

Or she could just start talking about nonsense and tell things about herself for them to feel comfortable enough to reciprocate one day.

It would be too hypocritical of her to just sit there and wait for them to open up.

She had to do it. It was the only way to form somewhat of an understanding of each other.

She didn't want to be the first one to do it, but maybe telling them stuff about herself could bring her closer to who she actually is rather than what people expect her to be.

"I don't like dipping my head underwater while I swim," she started, anxiously biting her lower lip. Trying to block all the thoughts that told her that she sounded like a maniac right now.

The longer she didn't hear them say anything, the harsher she chewed on her lip, "Why is that?"

Hermione let out a breath of relief, intertwining her fingers. At least she made them talk, "My hair gets all tangled and wet, and it makes me feel uncomfortable," she explained.

"Why does it make you uncomfortable?" Draco questioned her, not knowing why they were talking about his partner's hair, but it was better than them asking him personal questions, so he went along with it.

"I don't really," this felt a bit personal, but she pushed through, reciting her motto. Share personal, get personal. It didn't make sense when said out loud, but it made sense to her and pushed her to do so, "Appreciate my appearance when my hair is wet."

"Appreciate?" He repeated. He had always assumed that his partner was a female because no bloke spoke like that or thought about such minor details. He didn't like to assume, but now he was sure. It was definitely a girl.

"Yes, like, the way I look," she answered, feeling a bit awkward.

"Hm," he said, "Is that a thing in general or is it just when your hair is wet?"

Hermione wasn't expecting that question. Full of surprises , she reminded herself. Well, it was true. She didn't like herself anymore. She couldn't even stand in front of a mirror without judging every inch of her appearance, "I think it's become a thing in general actually," she admitted. It was more to herself than to them.

Draco shifted in his seat, folding his arms, "When did it start?"

Ever since, she became conscious of the world's beauty standards and idolized all the celebrities in magazines, on television ads, and on billboards. Everywhere she looked, signs were telling her she wasn't physically good enough, and when she entered the wizarding world, she had hopes that things around here would've been different and there wasn't a societal beauty standard, but she couldn't have been more off.

It was worse. She wasn't good enough in two aspects. Her physical attributes didn't live up to the expectations, plus her blood status, "When I was around seven or eight," she told them, wondering if they related to her.

Seven or Eight.

It was awfully early for someone to dislike their appearance. It wasn't something that had happened to him, at least, "Hm."

There it was again, the Hm.

He didn't know what to say or ask. He never talked about these kinds of stuff. It was very unusual to him, "Why are you telling me this?" He questioned.

Hermione chewed on her upper lip this time, "Because I felt like it," she really didn't. It was for them rather than for her. What she did was actually pretty manipulative when she really thought about it. But, it was the only way she thought would work, "I felt like we practically don't know anything about each other and that it would be a good way to start," she elaborated. Knowing that, she could've come up with a better answer.

"I'd rather keep it like that," he answered, twirling his signet ring.

Hermione wasn't going to ask why because she already knew their reasoning, "I think mint chocolate is one of the worst inventions of mankind," Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose at how random she sounded.

"I disagree. It's the best kind," he said flatly. He actually never understood how people ate chocolate without craving a minty aftertaste to hit their mouth palette. "It's disgusting," Hermione crossed her arms, "It feels like eating toothpaste with chocolate."

"Yeah, so?"

"So?—It's horrible. I don't want to eat chocolate and feel the fiery essence of mint cleansing my mouth," she huffed haphazardly.

"Why wouldn't you want to have a feeling of freshness after eating something sweet?" He retorted, feeling invested. It was the first conversation with his therapy partner where he felt normal. He didn't feel like a test subject that was forced to talk to someone about his past traumas and actually felt like he was having a lighthearted chat in a cafe.

"I don't understand why anyone would want to feel a sense of freshness with bits of floating chocolate in between," she retorted. It was obscene. She couldn't even picture someone eating mint chocolate and feeling satisfied afterwards. It defied all the laws of the universe.

"You get two experiences at once."

"Yeah, two experiences that shouldn't go along together, to begin with. Chocolate and mint should be enjoyed separately. Preferably the former before the latter. I also can't stand eating chocolate right after I brush my teeth."

"So everything is black or white with you? No shades of grey?" He inquired, realizing what he had done. He hadn't meant to alter the conversation to more personal matters, but he couldn't go back now.

She didn't know the answer to that? Were things either black or white for her? Did she consider or have shades or grey? Did she want to spiral into figuring it out? Not really.

"Forget I asked," Draco said, after a while of not hearing a response from them. He was glad they didn't respond because he knew that he would be asked the same question, and he didn't want to answer it.

Them saying that triggered something in Hermione. Now she wanted to answer their question, "I don't know," she commenced, "I'd like to think that things aren't so dead set for me and that I am able to consider the shades of grey. I know my old self did, but I don't know if she—"Hermione bit her tongue to stop herself from revealing any other information about her identity.

"She huh?" Draco smirked, knowing that she knew that she fucked up. It wasn't a big revelation, but it confirmed his theory, "Already knew from the start that you weren't a bloke."

Hermione huffed in irritation. She could feel the satisfaction they felt through their voice. She hated it, "What makes you say that?" She asked, not confirming anything.

"Men don't try to have meaningful conversations all the time, and they definitely don't say 'Hi' three times," he let out a low scoff.

"Well, that's exactly what a guy would think and say," she clapped back.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed, "I don't really mind you knowing that I'm a guy, unlike you."

"Who said I minded?" She inquired matter-of-factly, checking the clock to see that they were out of time.

…

Hermione dreaded the next couple of hours. She hoped that her date would last as short as possible. They had agreed to meet in the courtyard at three in the afternoon.

Once there, she scanned around until she spotted him. He sat with a bouquet of lilies on his lap. Hermione felt awkward as she approached him. She didn't like receiving flowers in public—not that she had ever received any in public before—but something about people seeing this cheesy traditional gesture made her feel uneasy. She just hoped that no one she knew was around to see.

She walked toward him while eyeing her surroundings. She spotted Ginny at the far end, watching her, with—Theo? Theo acted out kissing motions to tease her and laughed, and she rolled her eyes. He was seriously a kid living in a grown-up's body. She wouldn't be surprised if that were actually the case.

Once her back turned against her friends, she flipped them off, raising her hand to her back.

"There you are," Adrian said, slightly moving towards her to embrace her, but quickly stepped back. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness. Or maybe it was because she looked horrible? Smelled horrible? She discreetly bowed her neck to sniff herself. She smelled fine. Only the way she looked was horrendous.

He handed her the bouquet, "I hope you aren't allergic."

She thanked him with a smile, "No, not at all. They're actually my favorite kind," it was a lie. She hated lilies. They were so simple, and you got exactly what you saw.

She enjoyed more complex flowers, where she had to observe each petal, each telling a different story. Something like The Rothschild's Slipper Orchid, a Moth Orchid or the Passion Flower. All rare and beautiful in their utter complexity.

"I'm glad you like them. Shall we?" He inquired, gesturing his hand outwardly.

They sat at an outdoor table in front of the Three Broomsticks, and she asked for a vanilla oat milk latte and he for a glass of Elf-made wine. Ten minutes into the date, the first red flag had already revealed itself.

She liked to think that it was a known thing that anything elf made was a no-go for her. She even remembered him being in the same class as her in fourth year, when she made a whole presentation introducing the contents of S.P.E.W–a society that promoted liberation and rights for House Elves.

Once madam Rosmerta took their orders and left, she confronted him, "Are you seriously going to drink Elf-made wine?"

He looked at her with brows pulled together, "Yes? Why wouldn't I?" He scoffed, shaking his head at her sudden rise of temper.

Hermione stuck her lower lip between her teeth, " Why wouldn't you? These house elves have no rights. They are ordered to make wine without having a choice or say so that you lot of entitled, selfish pricks can enjoy a glass of unpaid labor!" She snapped. She hated ignorance. It would never be something she would tolerate.

Adrian glanced at their surroundings, "They're drinking it too," he pointed his fingers at a table behind her. She turned around and took a peak at the table he motioned her to look at, "All five of them. Are you going to shout at them too?" He questioned with folded arms.

"Oh please, I didn't shout ," she huffed, "No, I'm not. I do not know them, but what I do know is that right now I am on a date with a man that thinks that enjoying delicacies that are done through a system of oppression and unpaid labor is okay," she tried to control her frustration, but her tone was pure aggression.

"It's not like I made those house elves do it," he retorted, fidgeting with the top of his fork.

"Maybe you weren't the one who did it, but you are contributing to the million galleon industry that makes this system going." She hadn't created S.P.E.W for nothing; after all, it was for the sole purpose of educating people and doing anything she could to liberate them, and she didn't care who or what sat in front of her. She would defend their rights no matter what the cost.

"You said it yourself. It's a million-galleon industry, meaning millions of people are doing the same and will continue doing the same whether you agree with it or not. You're making it seem as if I'm the only consumer of this system," he loosened his tie a couple of inches, "Take a look at the people around you. At least one of the three tables here has a serving of Elf-made wine," he said through gritted teeth, "If you're so bloody irritated and passionate about this, why don't you complain to madam Rosmerta and tell her to stop selling it. I guarantee she would laugh in your face. It's probably the largest source of where her income comes from," he grunted, holding the edge of the table and squeezing it to help him release his built-up tension.

"I—"

He cut her off, "Go on, tell her when she brings us our drinks," he promoted furiously, "You know what, I'm going to cancel my order and get the same thing as you" he got up and stormed into the pub.

Was it really necessary, Hermione?

Yes, yes, it was.

He returned in a matter of minutes and brought the drinks himself. He looked like a completely different person, it's like his old aggravated self disappeared, and a calmer version took his place.

"Look," he said, placing a hand next to hers, "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I shouldn't have said that. You're right, what I'm doing isn't good, and I'll stop drinking it from now on. I also wanted to apologize for how I reacted in the library. I wasn't like myself," he admitted, and Hermione gave him an appreciative look.

Red flag number two: toxicity. She thought of what Theo said to her in class. Did toxicity drive her? This sudden shift of his approach towards her confused her. She didn't know if she liked it or not. It made her head hurt. Whilst he was inside, she had sorted out all the arguments she would go to war with, but now she didn't need any of them. The war was already over.

"Thank you for understanding, and yes, I might have been a bit harsh on you now. I'm sorry about that", she said, tucking her wild curls behind her ear.

"Don't apologize. I was the one acting like a dickhead," he scoffed.

She grabbed her teacup along with her saucer and took a sip of her coffee, "A little," she let out a quick snicker, and he rolled his eyes.

"Test try," he said and took a sip of her favorite drink. He lifted his brow, creating an arch, "It's sweet, but it doesn't taste like anything. I feel like I'm drinking a liquid version of sweetened hay," he explained.

"Hay? Really?" She rolled her eyes, "I don't really get if you like it or not, tough?" She questioned, taking another sip of her 'sweetened hay.'

"It's—not that bad, but I don't think I would ever go out of my way to get it. Do you get what I mean?" He queried, taking a calculative sip.

She nodded in understanding, "I don't," he scoffed at her response, "I think that it's really good actually and it helps satisfy my sweet cravings," she explained, neatly placing down her saucer along with her teacup on the table, "Do you like mint chocolate?"

"A tad random, but okay. No, it's horrible. I don't get why people would ever think of consuming such an atrocious thing. It's like saying a big fuck you to chocolate," he responded, rolling up his sleeves to his biceps. If that was an attempt to impress her, it didn't. She didn't like guys that showed off their muscles like they had something to prove. It was another red flag.

From her limited experience and observations, she came to the conclusion that the men that showed off had mostly nothing to offer, but the ones that didn't were dangerous.

"I know, right," somehow agreeing on not liking mint chocolate wasn't as satisfying to her as arguing why it was horrible.

They walked back to the castle,

"Let's do this again sometime," Adrian said, leaning on a column in the courtyard.

"Sure," she replied with a quick smile. Did she really want to go on another date? Not really.

The date itself wasn't bad, but it wasn't that good either. She felt pretty neutral throughout the whole date—except for the part when they argued about house elves—she felt like talking to a friend rather than a potential love interest. She didn't know why she felt like this. Despite his short temper and slightly bipolar behavior, he was fun to talk to and treated her nicely.

He leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek and waited for her approval. Once she nodded, he planted a quick kiss, "See you," he waved and spun on his heel, heading to dinner.

She watched as he disappeared from her frame of view and turned around to watch the sunset filling the sky with shades of pink, yellow and orange.

A whiff of a cigarette snapped her out of her daze, and she looked around to spot the source. Malfoy was leaning against a column, a cigarette between his lips. He was watching her.

She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to look at the view. The scent of cigarettes became stronger, and she could hear his footsteps near her, "Alihosty, huh?" His voice was like a wolf, deep and feral. Hermione briefly looked at him and cast a charm that blocked the essence of the cigarette from entering her nostrils, "Not my idea," she said, clutching the stone railing and leaning her whole body weight against it.

"I know. You don't seem like the prankster type," he said, inhaling another batch of smoke into his lungs. He tilted his head to the side to exhale the smoke.

"Why is that?" She asked, fidgeting with her necklace.

"Never seen you pull a prank," he said, snuffing out his cigarette on the railing. Hermione frowned at him and cast a spell to clean the small burn that formed on the railing.

"You haven't looked hard enough then," she retorted, with her nose in the air.

"So you're saying that you have pulled a prank before?" He inquired, reaching down to his pockets to light up another cigarette but refraining from doing so in her presence.

"I'm not saying anything. I'm watching the sunset," she shot him a look and watched as his silver eyes glinted in mischief. She scoffed and shook her head, "What?" he asked, shifting his body to the side so that it faced her completely.

"Malfoy enjoying muggle delicacies. Never would've believed it if I hadn't seen it myself," she explained, pushing a strand of her hair to the side that had fallen in front of her eye.

"My once beliefs on certain things have altered a lot this year," from the way he looked at her, it's as if his eyes were claiming hers, with no intention of releasing them.