"So, what are you dressing up as, Granger?"

Hermione looked up, startled. She was sitting at a small table near the back of the library study area; it was only big enough to accommodate two people, and Draco had just slipped soundlessly into the chair opposite her. She glanced around, then back at him. There were plenty of empty tables nearby; it was a Sunday morning in mid-October; two weeks had passed since the meeting at which the seventh-year students had decided to hold a haunted house fundraiser on Halloween- and yet, here sat Malfoy, pulling parchment, quills, and his Potions text out of his bag, then raising his eyes back to hers, one silver-white eyebrow cocked expectantly.

So unsettled was she by his presence that she opened her mouth, closed it again, fishlike, then finally opened it once more, managing to get out, "excuse me?"

Draco rolled his eyes at her obtuseness. "The Haunted House, Granger. It was your idea in the first place, for Merlin's sake. Have you forgotten? What are you dressing up as for the Haunted House?"

"Oh. Er... I hadn't really thought about it yet. Well actually no, I did a little. I thought I could help with the set-up and then maybe just... take tickets or... or I had this idea that I could run a little butterbeer booth on the side- might prove quite lucrative- what do you think?"

"I think you don't want to dress up. Why not?"

"What do you care, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Just making conversation, Granger. If you'd rather not discuss your weird psychological hang-ups about wearing a costume, that's fine with me-"

"I don't have any weird, psychological hang-ups, Malfoy, you git!" she exploded, her voice an angry hiss. God, he always knew just how to get under her skin, make her lose her cool. How did he do that? "I just don't know what to be, all right? And everyone else knows already. At first I thought maybe a vampire, but there are about five female vampires already. I don't know, I suppose..." she sighed. "I suppose I'll just be a ghost."

Draco looked skeptical. "Ghosts aren't scary, though."

It took Hermione a moment to remember that Draco had grown up exclusively in the wizarding world- no contact with Muggles whatsoever. She was struck again, as she often was with Ron, by just how different her experiences and biases were from those of pureblooded wizards. As a child in the Muggle world, she had grown up thrilling to scary stories of ghosties and goblins and... well, and witches, she thought, a sudden, small smile curving her lips. But for Draco, ghosts were par for the course- just a fact of life, nothing to be scared of- friendly, for the most part, as evidenced by the majority of the Hogwarts ghosts. Still-

"The Bloody Baron's pretty scary," she defended.

But Draco shook his head. "Nah... not once you get to know him."

"Not once you..." Hermione echoed, dumbfounded. She shook her head right back at him. "Really, Malfoy, do tell."

Draco shrugged again. "Nothing to tell, Granger. He's a nice bloke."

"All right, this is officially the most surreal conversation I've ever had. And... and why are you even talking to me, Malfoy? Talking isn't something we do!"

"Call it my good deed for the day."

Of all the arrogance!

"How dare you?! What am I, your newest charity cause? Now I should feel privileged that you would even deign to share my table and-"

"Relax, Granger, you blow everything out of proportion. All I meant was, I'm acting in the name of inter-House cooperation. I'm Head Boy, you're Head Girl, people look to us to set an example, you know. Besides which, we'll be working together all year long. I thought we should get to know one another better."

"Oh," she said, now slightly embarrassed by her outburst. She still didn't trust him, though, damnit. So what if he had fought beside Harry himself last year? So what if the two boys had shook hands after the battle and were on reasonably friendly terms now? Harry and Draco had had words in the past, plenty of them, but Harry hadn't gone years being called a "mudblood" by this prat. That stung! Besides which, there was still the fact that he'd never come clean with his motive for defecting to the Light. Until she knew the real reason for his so-called heroism, she felt no obligation whatsoever to bury the proverbial hatchet.

And yet... he was making an effort. He had approached her, and she knew that had probably been difficult for him to do, far more difficult than he was letting on; for if there had, in fact, been some sort of fundamental shift deep within his personality, it had certainly not affected his pride, which he would have had to swallow in order to strike up a conversation with her like this, knowing, as he must, that he most probably faced rejection.

The least she could so, she supposed, albeit with some reluctance, was meet him halfway.

She sat back in her chair, meeting his steady, cool gaze. "So, what was it you wanted to talk about, then, Malfoy?"

"We already were talking about it. Costumes for the Haunted House. Tell me more about this scary ghost idea. I'm intrigued."

Hermione snorted. "Don't be. It's a pretty lame idea, really. What are you dressing as?"

"Not until you tell me, Granger. I asked you first."

"God, Malfoy, you are such a child! Fine. I'm going to charm my hair white, lighten my skin tone several shades with this Muggle thing called "makeup", wrap a sheet around myself and, I don't know, probably rattle some chains or something. There, are you satisfied? Do I pass muster!?"

Draco grinned at her. It was disconcerting. In all the years they had been schoolmates, she had never seen Draco Malfoy grin before. She'd seen him smirk often enough, and sneer, and snicker- just about every unpleasant facial expression that started with the letter 's', she'd seen him do, in abundance- but grin, never. The most disturbing thing about it, though, was- and she could hardly believe she was even thinking this, but it hit her suddenly and it hit her strong, and there was no denying it- the most disturbing thing was how attractive he looked while doing it. It made the whole shape of his face much more appealing- no longer did it look quite as thin or pointed- and, she couldn't help but think appraisingly- she was the daughter of dentists, after all- he had a killer smile.

But before she could even ask him just what was so amusing, he had to go and ruin it all- again- just as he'd ruined the only compliment he'd ever given her, in the corridor two weeks ago- by dropping her a suggestive little wink and saying, "whoa, Granger, kinky- chains, no less! I never thought you had it in you."

Hermione blushed crimson. This time the urge to slap him was so strong that she actually started to raise her hand, before bringing herself, with the utmost difficulty, back under control. "You... disgusting..." she spluttered, abruptly rising and cramming her belongings, pell-mell, back into her bag. "Ugh! I don't know why I even tried to talk to you!"

As she turned, furious, and made for the library door, Draco's voice floated after her; "good idea about the white hair, too, Granger... it's dead sexy!"

00000

"Harry? Ron? What's the matter?"

It was T minus a week to Halloween, and counting. Hermione had just plopped herself down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, directly across from Harry and Ron, who were, she then realized, both hunched over a single issue of the morning's "Daily Prophet", their faces wearing identical expressions of shocked outrage.

"What's going on?" she asked, in mounting alarm. In answer to her question, both boys looked abruptly up at her; Ron's face was livid, Harry's pale as death. Before she had a chance to say anything more, Harry quite suddenly shot to his feet and pelted from the Great Hall, through the entrance hall, and out of the castle.

"What on earth-" Hermione half-rose, but before she could make a move to follow Harry, Ron's arm shot across the table, catching her by the wrist.

"Wait," he said. "I think you should read this first." He shoved the paper across to her.

"Ron-"

"Just read it."

She sank back down, smoothing the wrinkled paper as she did so- then gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth as she read the headline,

MASSIVE AZKABAN PRISON-BREAK

Seven Known Supporters of You-Know-Who Escape Guards

Critics Decry Replacement of Dementors with Aurors Following the War

"Oh, no," she whispered, as her eyes rapidly skimmed the rest of the article. She looked up at Ron. "What did he say?"

"It never ends," Ron replied wearily. "He said, 'it never ends.'"

"Ron, we have to find him!"

"I know." Ron got to his feet. "You go in the direction of Hagrid's place. I'll head toward Hogsmeade."

The two of them parted ways just outside the castle doors, taking opposite directions. Hermione privately thought it a futile exercise. Harry had probably, she thought, accio'd his broomstick from outdoors just as he had during the Triwizard Tournament task years ago, and was likely miles away by now, flying fast and hard. That's what Harry did when he was really upset; he flew. He'd come back in his own good time. Still, she had to make an effort, at least... even if it was truly more for her own sake than his. She'd go mad if she had to sit still inside and try to concentrate on schoolwork. It was a Friday morning and, for the first time in her illustrious Hogwarts career, Hermione Granger, Head Girl and bookworm extraordinaire, made a deliberate decision to miss class when not seriously indisposed.

00000

She never did find Harry that morning.

She found Draco instead.

He was in Hagrid's pumpkin patch, sitting on the ground with his back up against a particularly large specimen- a good five feet in diameter, it hid him from her view until, coming around it, calling for Harry, she very nearly tripped over him. His legs were drawn up, arms criss-crossed on his knees and his head bowed forward, resting on them; silver-white hair hiding his face from view.

"Malfoy! What's the matter?"

When he raised his face, she was shocked by the sight of his slate-gray eyes. They looked... haunted.

"Granger?" he said slowly. "What are you doing down here? Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Shouldn't you?" she retorted, but he seemed not to hear her. His eyes widened, as if he'd just had an important realization, and he was on his feet in a flash, gripping her both-handed by the shoulders with a sudden, nearly painful intensity.

"Did you come down here alone?" he asked, and then, when she failed to answer right away, so taken aback was she by this out-of-character behavior that she couldn't seem to do more than simply stare at him, open-mouthed, he actually shook her; a single, rough shake. "Did you?"

"Yes! I'm looking for Harry, he's really upset, have you... Malfoy, what is wrong with you?!"

For Draco had let go her shoulders only to grab her by the wrist, nearly hard enough to bruise, and started back up toward the castle, pulling her along with him.

"Malfoy!" She tried to yank free, but to no avail. His grip was like iron. "What do you think you're doing?"

He neither slowed down, nor looked at her. When he spoke, his voice sounded too tight, as if he were biting off his words through clenched teeth. "You shouldn't be this far from the castle on your own, it isn't safe."

"Isn't safe..." she repeated incredulously. "What are you on about? I've been coming down here since I was eleven years old! I'm a big girl, Malfoy, I can take care of myself- and anyway, since when have you ever cared?!"

This was just too bizarre. Her day seemed to be spinning entirely out of control, and it was only nine-thirty in the morning. First there had been the stunning news about the Death Eater prison-break, then Harry had run off, and now Malfoy was treating her as if she were two ruddy years old! She stopped walking abruptly, digging her heels into the ground and pulling back against him so suddenly that she caught him off-guard and managed to wrench her arm free.

"What are you on about?" she demanded again, eyes narrowed.

Draco stopped walking. He was still a step or two ahead of her, still with his back to her. He did not turn around right away. Every line of his body, Hermione could see, was tense- almost to the breaking point, like a bow strung too tight. As she watched, his hands clenched, unclenched, clenched again. Finally, he took a deep breath and turned to face her, raising one hand and raking it through his white-blond hair as he did so. When he spoke, his voice matched his posture; tightly controlled, falsely calm- a thin veneer over the roiling emotions beneath... but what emotions? This was the most unguarded she had ever seen Draco, yet still she couldn't put her finger on exactly what he was feeling, and trying so hard to conceal from her. There was anger there, certainly, but it was a lot more complex than that. Did she detect a trace of fear in those remarkable, pale eyes of his? And if so, fear of what?

"Did you read the morning paper, Granger?" he asked, still in that tight, clipped voice.

"Of course I did. Why do you think I'm looking for Harry? He saw that article and-"

"Did you see the names of the escapees?!" Draco half-shouted.

"No, I just skimmed... oh. Oh. Your father?"

Draco's lip curled back in a derisive sneer. "Brilliant deduction, Granger," he nearly spat, "no wonder you're head of the class."

Hermione would have been wounded by this, but couldn't help thinking, it's still a cover. He's hiding what's really going on in his mind. Why? Although she supposed that answer was self-evident; she'd certainly never gone out of her way to give him reason to trust her, nor made any particular secret of the fact that she did not trust him. Why should he confide in her?

So instead of lashing out defensively, as was her impulse- as, she thought, he perhaps intended her to do- she simply said, "I'm sorry. That must be really hard for you."

Draco recoiled almost as if she'd slapped him. "I don't want your pity Granger," he snarled- then paused, battling once more for self control. Clench, went the hands. Unclench. Clench.

When he spoke again, it was in a tone close to normal- though without any trace of his usual, nonchalant drawl. "What I want is for you to promise me that you won't leave the grounds- preferably not even the castle- alone, until... until this situation is remedied. Promise, Granger."

"But I don't understand..." her voice was little more than a whisper; her head was spinning. Draco was acting so strangely, this whole encounter seemed surreal to her. It occurred to her that an onlooker might think this boy had feelings for her... judging by his agitation, his actions and his words- he seemed almost- concerned about her? But- but that couldn't be, she thought, her mind reeling. Of all the ridiculous, impossible-

She swallowed hard, attempting to gather her scattered thoughts, then blurted out the question that was foremost on her mind- well, besides why he was acting as though he was worried about her; she couldn't possibly bring herself to verbalize that one. "You act as if you think your father's coming here," she said slowly, "and as if, moreover, you think he's an especial threat to me. What would make you think that, Malfoy?"

Draco gave an explosive sigh; a sound of severely tried patience. "For someone who's meant to be that clever, you really are thick, aren't you, Granger? You want to know why I act as if I think my father's coming here? Because I think my father's coming here! You want to know why I act as if I think he's a threat to you? Well, how about because I bloody well think he's a threat to you!"

"But why?"

"He's coming for me, Granger. I'd wager anything I own on that. But my father is also an opportunist at heart, and if another target presents itself, he'll... he'll wreak all the misery and havoc he possibly can. And I believe you'd be an appealing target to him because of your ties with Potter. I don't have to tell you how passionately he hates Potter."

Hermione's eyes widened, panic setting in. "Harry! Malfoy, I'm almost sure he's left school grounds. I have to find him-" she attempted to turn again, but he stopped her once more, grabbing her arm and holding her in place.

"You're not listening!" And this time he wasn't just half-shouting; this was the real deal. A second later, though, he released her, then ran both hands through his silvery hair, clearly struggling for composure. "I'm sorry," he said, "maybe you just don't understand. Let me spell it out for you, because I suppose it's possible for a person like you to fight evil their entire life and never really understand it. My father more than hates Potter, he loathes him. And that means that it's not Potter himself who is in imminent danger, but rather the people he cares about. If my father were to go after Potter and kill him-" (Hermione blanched and paled at these words)- "that would cause him to suffer for perhaps thirty seconds. If, however, my father were to kill you- or Weasley- that would cause Potter to suffer for years, decades. The rest of his life. And that, Granger, is how true evil thinks. Trust me on this one. You are the one who is in danger here. So will you come back to the castle with me, and promise to lay low until the escapees are found?"

"You can't tell me that if Harry runs right into your father, he will pass up an opportunity to harm him, simply because, for whatever sick reason, he would prefer to harm me. Harry's out there somewhere right now, Malfoy, and if he should happen upon your father, or vice-versa..." she trailed off.

Draco looked at her for a long, intent moment. Then, "no, I can't tell you that, Granger," he conceded. "I did say already that my father is an opportunist. If Potter should stumble upon him, or the other way around- whenever opportunity presents itself, he takes it. But I can tell you this: he isn't looking for Potter. He's looking for me, and he's looking for you. I can almost guarantee it. Besides which, I highly doubt that Potter is just going to go bumbling right into him. Surely he can be trusted to display some modicum of caution, right? You said he read the article, so he knows the danger-"

"You didn't see how upset he was," Hermione interrupted fretfully. "He wasn't thinking clearly. And when Harry's not thinking clearly, trouble has a way of sneaking up on him... or maybe it's Harry that has a way of finding trouble... but anyhow, all this conversation has served to do is strengthen my resolve that someone has to go after him, so if you will please excuse me-"

"I'll go."

Hermione, in the midst of turning away, was brought up short by surprise. "What?" she asked incredulously.

"I said, I'll go-"

"But you also said you think your father's actively looking for you-"

His jaw tightened. "I can handle myself. Besides which, you know as well as I do, Granger, that if Potter did leave school grounds, he did so by broomstick. So the logical way to pursue him is on a broomstick. And you don't fly. I do. So you cast the tracking spell, and I'll go- if you promise to go back inside once I've left. Please."

She stared at him for a long moment, at war with herself. Her distrust of him was still present, clanging in her head like a bell, and yet- and yet.... She'd never seen Draco act this way before. Gone was any trace of the smirking, self-satisfied boy she loathed. He truly seemed distraught. In the end, it was his use of the word 'please' more than anything else that convinced her to accede. She had never heard him use that word before, ever. Based on that alone- the fact that he had swallowed his pride enough to throw that powerful little word in there- she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Well, and then there was the fact that what he was proposing did, in fact, make perfect sense. Of course Harry would most likely be flying; she had had that same thought herself earlier. And if there was anyone at Hogwarts who could fly nearly as well as Harry- not as well, of course, perish the thought, but close- it was his fellow Seeker and fiercest Quidditch competitor, Draco Malfoy.

She didn't answer him, per se. She simply pulled out her wand, turned her back on him, screwed up her face in concentration, and began the incantation for the tracking charm, a complex spell the seventh-years had recently been studying. Behind her, she heard a rustle of fabric as Draco retrieved his own wand, then his voice murmured "accio broomstick." A second later there was a sound of rushing air as something pelted toward them around the side of the castle, and when she finished her incantation and turned, Draco's broomstick was hovering in the air beside him, right at mounting-level, thrumming with impatient energy and the will to be gone.

She touched the tip of her wand to the tip of the broom and said simply, "Harry," and the charm was complete. The broom swung in a slow circle, like the needle of a compass, and came to rest at a right angle to the direction in which it had been facing before. The fact that the spell even worked was a firm confirmation that Harry had left school grounds; tracking spells could not locate anyone or anything on Hogwarts land, since the school was unplottable.

"That's it," she said. "It'll know where to go now. Malfoy- er- thank you."

Draco threw a leg over the broomstick. "Don't thank me," he said brusquely. "Just get the hell indoors and stay there. A deal's a deal, Granger. Right?"

He gave her no opportunity to answer. In the very next second he kicked off from the ground, shot into the air like a rocket, hovered for just a split second, about level with the top of the nearest turret, then bent flat over the broomstick, pressing himself down along its sleek length, and was gone in a blur of gleaming waxed wood, dark robes and wind-whipped silver white hair.

Hermione stared after him for a long moment, but there was no longer anything to see but an empty horizon. She sighed, considered following Ron toward Hogsmeade, then decided against it. A deal's a deal, Malfoy had said. It appeared that he was upholding his end of the bargain, so she felt honor bound to do the same. She began trudging back toward the castle's front entrance. Feeling anxious now, over not only Harry but Ron as well and even- yes, even Malfoy, she decided that attempting to join her morning class now would be a lost cause, and so headed up to the library instead, to wait for the nerve-wracking situation she suddenly found herself in to be resolved.