Weeks passed.

For a while, Dumbledore would meet with Draco for a few minutes every day, giving him whatever new information was to be had about his father's plans, vague though it often was. After a while, though, the information stopped coming altogether; it appeared that Lucius had discovered, or at least suspected, that he had an informant on his hands.

If Dumbledore was frustrated at the lack of new intelligence, it was nothing to how Draco felt. He had really only been given enough information to know for a fact what he had suspected anyway; that his father wanted him- wanted him alive, but only for the pleasure of murdering him personally, as he had already attempted to do once. How his father intended to capture him remained undiscovered, and the effect that this had on Draco was predictable; he was becoming rather frayed around the edges.

He flatly refused to modify his routine in any way due to the threat his father posed; to do so would be to grant his father a victory over him, which was something he never intended to do. So he continued to go with Hermione to Hogsmeade whenever the opportunity presented itself though Dumbledore, stopping just short of forbidding him, made it clear that he disapproved, pointing out that it was a likely point of attack. He also continued to sneak out several nights a week- no one knew about this but Hermione- to fly solo over the school grounds and forbidden forest. He loved the quiet and solitude of these nocturnal flights, and it was then that he got some of his best thinking done.

But despite the fact that he would not allow himself to be cowed by his father into hiding inside the school, Draco was constantly worried and stressed out; how could he not be, knowing that plans were being made on his life, but not knowing what those plans were? As a result, and understandably, really, he was becoming more and more short-tempered and snappish as time wore on and no new information was forthcoming- and the person who bore the brunt of his irritability was, of course, the person who was closest to him in every way; Hermione.

00000

Defeated, Hermione dropped her head forward into her hands. Another spate of giggling had come from beyond the large bookshelf, and her concentration was shot. Draco had snapped at her again, as was becoming more and more common these days, and so she had escaped to the solitude of the library to be alone with her thoughts. Settling herself at a small, out-of-the-way table and spreading a large book open before her, she had given the appearance of being deeply engrossed in study, as usual, but really she was contemplating the Draco situation.

Last night had been hard on them both. She had decided, for the first time in several weeks, to attempt a night's sleep without the aid of the dreamless sleep potion, and as a result the nightmare had returned full force. She had awakened, gasping, drenched in cold sweat, in the dead of night and had immediately clamped down on the scream that was threatening to escape her, not wanting to wake Draco. However, it seemed that she must have already cried out while still asleep, for in the next instant he was there, bleary eyed and tousle haired, demanding to know why in the hell she insisted on doing this to herself, to both of them. She had dissolved into tears, those hated, weak tears that seemed always to be lurking just behind her eyes these days, and Draco had run a hand through his hair, hair the color of the moonlight that was streaming through her window, hair that was baby fine and sticking up weirdly in all directions- a rumpled silver halo- had sighed, sat on the edge of her bed, and pulled her into his arms.

Neither of them had slept again, but they had held each other until dawn and, safely ensconced in Draco's arms, she had felt that the two of them together could handle whatever was thrown their way. But then Draco had snapped at her, right in the crowded entry hall after breakfast, and damn it, she KNEW the stress he was under, but that didn't stop it from hurting. It hurt like hell. It had been all she could do to hold herself together, but she had, in large part because Harry and Ron were still breakfasting in the Great Hall, right through the open double doors not ten feet from where she'd been standing, and she hadn't wanted to cause a scene that would result in them running out there and Ron possibly flying off the handle. So she had stalked away with as much dignity as she could muster, had tracked down Professor Vector, who taught Arithmancy, her first period of the day, and had requested that she be allowed to spend the period doing independent study in the library. It was one of the benefits of being Head Girl and the top student in the school that the professor had readily agreed.

But now she couldn't even hear herself think due to all the whispering and sniggering coming from behind the bookcase and God, she knew whose voice that was- it was Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls; they had invaded the quiet library- shattered the fragile sense of sanctuary she had found there- for a gossip session. Hermione groaned softly into her hands. She so did not need this right now.

It had just occurred to her that in all probability they were skipping class, since first period was only half over, and that as Head Girl she would be perfectly within her rights to tell them off, deduct points from Slytherin, and most importantly, MAKE THEM LEAVE, when a snatch of the conversation caught her ear- Pansy had raised her voice slightly above the others- and, heart suddenly thumping painfully, stomach clenching, she leaned forward, listening intently.

"-see the look on her face?" Pansy was saying gleefully. "Seems there's trouble in paradise. If you ask me, I think the traitor is finally coming to his senses and realizing exactly what he's thrown away for that ugly little mudblood. Not that he'll ever be given a second chance by true Slytherins like us-" there was a hearty murmur of assent at this- "but- just between you and me-" her voice lowered conspiratorially- "I think I'm going to try my hand at seducing him!" This proclamation was met by fits of giggles and a few soft, scandalized exclamations. "Not because I have any feelings for traitor boy, mind you," Pansy continued; "it will just hasten the breakup, that's all! The way I see it, that's what's causing their trouble; Draco was always a- a very physical person, shall we say-" more fits of giggles and some knowing murmurs; "after a year, being with that frigid bitch Granger must be driving him up the wall! I mean, God, I bet her legs are, like, locked together at the knees! Granger, the perpetual virgin!"

"Yeah," came a thick, nasal voice that Hermione recognized as Millicent Bulstrode; "I bet the mudblood wears a chastity belt! Put on her by the Weasel!" Gales of laughter greeted this; they weren't even trying to keep it down anymore. Madame Pince must be filing books in the restricted section or something; clearly, she wasn't nearby.

Hermione felt as though she were sitting in a vacuum; all the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room; suddenly, she couldn't get a proper breath, and it felt as though the library had started to spin. Not consciously aware of what she was doing, she began to shake her head, and raised her hands to cover her ears. The things they were saying- on top of her nightmare last night, still fresh in her mind, and then the trouble with Draco this morning, it was too much; she couldn't take this. She just couldn't. Granger the perpetual virgin- if only they knew!

She shot to her feet, nearly knocking her book to the floor. She couldn't stay here a moment longer. She didn't know where she could go- if the library was no longer a safe haven for her, then what was?- but she had to get out of here. Right now.

In order to reach the library door, she had to pass the table at which the Slytherin girls sat. She managed to hold it together long enough to get by them; walked out from behind the bookcase and past the snickering group- which fell suddenly silent at the sight of her- head held high and eyes for once miraculously dry. Dry and blazing as she sought out and held Pansy's gaze, not breaking it until she was well beyond them and nearly to the door, which she passed though unhurriedly, pulling it firmly shut behind her.

Then she was off and running. Realizing vaguely that she had left her book, her schoolbag, all her belongings back in the library, not caring; she wouldn't go back in there now, not for love nor money. Realizing, not vaguely at all but with perfect clarity, that the expression of spiteful triumph in Pansy's eyes had said, louder than words ever could, that she had planned it all; had somehow known that Hermione was in there, just out of the line of vision of her little group, and had orchestrated that conversation on purpose; had perhaps seen Hermione entering the library and had skipped class and led her cronies in there deliberately for the sole purpose of tormenting her.

And then the tears were there; burning, stinging her eyes, blurring her vision as she raced through the halls with no conscious awareness of where her feet were taking her- not CARING where her feet were taking her, as long as it was away, far away from the library.

The halls were empty; everyone was in class. She was feeling distantly grateful for that fact as she rounded a corner and- slammed into something; a tall, solid, silver-haired something that said "Ooph" and stumbled back a step, nearly falling, but just managing to keep his balance. Draco, who shared her advanced Arithmancy class and had been sent by professor Vector to ask her to rejoin the last twenty minutes of class in order to hear the week's assignment. She stopped for just a moment, panting, staring up at him with haunted, streaming eyes, then shoved him aside and ran on, ignoring his cry of "HERMIONE!", ignoring his footsteps behind her. She was going to run until she found a safe place or until she could run no more; if Draco wanted to run with her, fine, but woe betide him should he try to stop her.

She found herself taking every turn that led down stairs; it was easier and faster than trying to run up. She thought that Draco might be able to catch her if she ran upstairs, and that, she felt strongly, would be bad for both of them. Lower and lower through the school she fled, Draco shouting after her, until she found herself in the dungeons, tearing past the open classroom door beyond which Snape was overseeing a group of third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws engaged in brewing an elementary shrinking potion.

She was unaware of his startled glance as first the Head Girl, then the Head Boy raced past his room, unaware of his ordering the surprised younger students to stop what they were doing and sit tight until he returned, unaware of his leaving a class unsupervised for the first time in his career in order to give chase. She was already down two more flights of stairs by then, deep in the bowels of the school, where virtually no one ever came, in a cold, dimly lit corridor; a deserted corridor where, a little over a year ago-

God. Oh God.

She had been looking for a safe place, and her feet had brought her here. Here. Oh God, no.

Still, she couldn't stop. Though she felt now that she was trapped in a waking nightmare- swimming, rather than running, through air that felt suddenly viscous and thick, she kept going; rounded a final bend in the corridor and found herself back in that same stretch of dim hallway where her innocence had been ripped from her and her life had come crashing down.

She knew suddenly that she couldn't go on; this stretch of corridor, where such utter horror and pain had been visited on her, was trapping her, holding her tight. But still she didn't want Draco to catch her, didn't think she could bear to have him touch her, not now, not here. So she whirled about to face him, gasping for breath through her tears, bent nearly double from a stitch in her side, and, one arm wrapped about her midsection, threw the other one out, palm facing him, fingers splayed, in a silent, desperate command for him to stop, to come no closer.

He did stop, spreading his arms out at his sides, in a gesture that may have been intended to calm her, may have meant something akin to "I come in peace"; or may have simply been a sign of deep, helpless confusion. She could see from the horrified expression in his eyes that he too recognized this place. After all, he had come upon her here, unconscious in Ron's arms, shortly after the attack. She had no memory of this, but had been told as much.

Though Draco had stopped advancing, she continued to back away, widening the distance between them, her hand still flung out before her like a small, yet formidable, barricade, until her back hit the wall; cold, rough and damp this far below ground. The feel of that wall at her back was too much; her legs gave out and she fell to her knees, skinning them; her arm still, even now, extended, holding Draco at bay. Then the sobs took her. Huge, wracking sobs of despair, of grief for the part of herself that had been lost right there. Convulsive sobs that shook her slender body and stole her breath, compelled her to finally drop her arm because she needed both hands to steady herself against the floor, her head bowed forward under the weight of her sorrow so that she never saw Draco, some ten feet away, drop to his knees as well; never heard him cry out to her in a choked voice, begging her to tell him what had happened, for God's sake, why was she doing this? Sobs so wrenching and violent that they couldn't be sustained; a moment later she was gagging, retching, choking, struggling to breathe as she was pulled, barely half-conscious, backward into a strong embrace.

Not Draco's embrace.

She realized that instantly, because she recognized Draco's embrace; knew, unquestionably, the feel of his arms around her. A glance in his direction confirmed it; Draco remained on his knees several feet away, watching her, his expression stricken.

Then who was holding her?

An icy bolt of terror shot through her; panic at the thought that she was now being held immobile by some unknown entity in this place of horror. She stiffened, trying to get a deep breath, trying to rally what remained of her strength for a struggle, when a voice, soft but authoritative, spoke in her ear.

"Miss Granger, no harm will come to you. Now please, try to calm yourself."

Snape. She would recognize that voice anywhere. She wondered briefly, vaguely, how he had come to be here, but was too tired and distraught to dwell on it. It occurred to her that Snape must also recognize this place; Draco had told her that it was been the potions master who had carried her up to the infirmary from here. She relaxed back into his embrace, her head falling backward against his chest and her eyes slipping shut as exhaustion born of her flight overtook her. Her breath was still coming in shallow, rapid pants, but a feeling of security was spreading over her now; this man had helped her after the rape, and had snatched her from the air when she had fallen off Ron's broom; she had been safe in his arms twice before; she felt safe in his arms again now.

She was distantly aware of him talking to Draco over her head, giving him instructions.

"…blue crystal vial on the third shelf, right hand, in my private storeroom," he was saying; "you recall the password from when you were assisting me over the summer? Good. Bring it straight back here, and please dismiss my class; the period ends in ten minutes anyway…yes, we'll be right here; get going, boy!"

She heard Draco set off at a run, the pounding of his feet diminishing rapidly into the distance, and felt Snape sigh against her back. "I don't suppose you'll want to tell me what brought this on, will you, Miss Granger?" the potions master asked wearily. She shook her head mutely; she could feel herself drifting away. She wanted to drift away; consciousness had seemed overrated of late.

"Did you come here on purpose?" Snape asked.

She shook her head again, more vigorously this time. God no, this was the last place in the world she had wanted to find herself, bar none. The last.

"I think I'm going to speak to the headmaster about closing this corridor off permanently," Snape said quietly, as much to himself as to her, it seemed. "It is seldom used anymore, and leads nowhere that cannot as easily be reached by other means. Would you like to see this place blocked off, Hermione?"

She nodded without hesitation. Yes, she would like that very much.

"Consider it done. You shouldn't have to worry about being confronted by this place ever again."

They were both quiet for some time as her breathing began to slow. Then, abruptly, Snape asked, "you do realize how much Draco loves you, do you not?"

"What?" The exclamation escaped her before she even had time to think about it, so taken aback was she by this sudden query. She sat up straight, pulling away from him, then scooted around to face him, scrubbing a sleeve back and forth across her face in an attempt to wipe her tears away, succeeding only in causing several curls of her disheveled hair to stick crosswise to her damp, flushed face.

To her utter astonishment, Snape, the most feared and loathed teacher in the school, raised his hand and pushed her hair back in a gesture both tender and undeniably paternal, then, flipping his hand so that it was the back, rather than the palm, that was touching her, pressed it to her cheeks and forehead, frowning.

"You seem quite warm to me," he said seriously, "and your color is high. I'm going to insist on bed-rest for the remainder of the day, and I don't want any arguments out of you. Understood, Miss Granger?"

She probably would have been inclined to argue despite all that had just happened- there was a Defense Against the Dark Arts quiz in the afternoon that she had studied quite hard for- but she was so preoccupied by Snape's mention of Draco that she agreed without thought.

"Yes, but- professor-"

Snape cocked an eyebrow, seeming to have forgotten the turn the conversation had taken before he had noticed her feverish state.

"You said- um- Draco-?"

"Oh, yes," Snape said, sounding pensive, "yes indeed. Draco. I've known Draco for a long time, Miss Granger, and I know that there are very few things that boy values in life, and even fewer people. If fact, as far as people go, I suspect that in a very real sense, you may be it. Certainly he has a good rapport with me, and even seems, for some reason I cannot begin to fathom, to be building a friendship with Potter-" his distaste was clearly evident in the way he spoke Harry's name- "but as far as real love goes- the kind of selfless love that would compel a person to lay down his life for another- I believe that Draco's world begins and ends with you."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment in mute shock, and when she did manage to find her voice again, she didn't quite know what to do with it. "Oh," she stammered, her eyes huge, "um-"

But Snape raised a hand, silencing her. "I know you were running from him when you stumbled down here," he said; "I don't know why, nor do I expect you to tell me. Out of all the teachers in this school, I am hardly the one most students choose to confide in- even the members of my own House, and certainly not Gryffindors. But I will say this- whatever was, or is, troubling you, don't shut Draco out. You're all he has. And though he may never tell you so in as many words, he needs you."

Hermione opened her mouth again, this time to protest that Draco was under a lot of stress and that she was actually the last thing he needed right now, the very LAST, as high-strung as she had been lately, bursting into tears at the slightest provocation; fainting, for God's sake- and she wasn't a fainting kind of girl! She hated girls that were, girls like Pansy herself, the cause of today's little scene, who had perfected the art of the dramatic swoon in order to bask in the fawning attention of boys too stupid to realize that it was an act. All this she wanted to say, but before the words could come tumbling out, the sound of running footsteps alerted her to Draco's return and she shut her mouth again with a snap as Draco rounded the corner and skidded to a halt beside her, dropping into a squat and handing the vial of potion to Snape, though his eyes stayed locked on her. Breathing hard, he pushed his pale, sweat-dampened hair back out of his face in an abrupt, somehow anxious gesture, but did not speak.

Snape, meanwhile, uncorked the vial and handed it to Hermione. "Drink this," he said curtly; "it's a restorative. It should return your breathing to normal, steady you on your feet, and bring your temperature back down. "However," he added, turning his gaze toward Draco (whose silver eyebrows had shot up at the mention of her temperature) though he continued to address Hermione, "I do still insist that you take the remainder of the day off class and use it to recover from this- ordeal. This potion cannot do for you what a day of rest can, and it is rest that you need. I will speak to your other teachers and will trust Mister Malfoy here-" Draco gave a barely perceptible nod- "to look after you, since when it comes to missing class, I'm not entirely sure you can be relied upon to follow my directions, even when they are in your own best interests."

Hermione, studying his face as she downed the potion, was sure she saw the barest hint of a smile flit across it at these words. Was it possible that Snape- Professor Snape- was teasing her? Then the potions master was pocketing the empty vial and standing, he and Draco were both offering her a hand up, and, muttering something about having to go and inspect the damage those dimwitted third years had done to his classroom in his absence, Snape vanished around the bend in the corridor and was gone.

00000

"Where are your things?" Draco asked, after a long and somewhat awkward silence.

Hermione looked around blankly for a moment before remembering. "I left them in the library. I-I was- in a hurry."

"I gathered that," Draco said. He reached out, as though to cup her cheek in his hand, but then pulled back, uncertain; clearly remembering how desperate she had been, just a few minutes before, to not have him touch her. "Are- are you all right?"

She nodded, looking away. She couldn't bear the flash of pain she had seen behind those ice blue eyes when he had withdrawn his hand. No one else would even have caught it, but then no one else knew Draco the way she did. She had caught it, and it broke her heart.

Her attention now returning to the corridor in which they stood, she looked about for a moment in dull, weary horror, then said, in a barely audible voice, "I have to get out of here." Still, however, she didn't move- she remained, even now, paralyzed by the horror of this place. Until-

"Let's go then," Draco said, more gently than she thought she had ever heard him speak, and seizing her by the hand, led her unresisting around the corner and up the nearby stairs.

When they had reached the top of the steps, she felt a sudden rush of dizziness- giddy relief at being away from that evil place- that caused her to stop walking, pull her hand away from Draco's and lean heavily against the wall for a minute. Her legs felt weak; they wanted to buckle, to slide her right down the wall to the floor and allow her to sit for a moment, regaining her equilibrium, but she kept herself upright by force of will. Sliding down the wall would only cause Draco more worry, and he was worried enough already.

God, she hated how worried he was on her behalf, when he had more than enough troubles of his own. He had even said it himself- in a moment of panicked anger, yes, but that didn't make it any less true. As if I don't already have enough on my plate, he had shouted.

And now he was speaking again, in a heartachingly tender voice; "hey- bookworm. You okay? Hermione?"

She felt her breath hitch, remembering what she had been about to say to Snape before Draco had arrived back on the scene, and suddenly she found herself saying all the things she had nearly said to the potions master to Draco himself, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a jumble, aware that she was stammering in her upset and her haste to speak before she lost her nerve; because as difficult as it was to say these things to him, she knew she owed it to him- owed him the opportunity to sever ties if he felt, as she did, that she was far more trouble than she was worth; owed him that choice.

"Draco, listen, um…I know you've got a lot on your mind these days and, um, I've been having a really hard time keeping myself together lately, so…so I guess what I'm trying to say is- is that- I'll understand if- um- if you don't want to be burdened with me anymore. I mean…I've been n-nothing but trouble for you lately, and you can g-go with my blessing if-if that's what you want."

"Jesus, Hermione! What in God's name would make you think that would ever- EVER be what I want? Tell me. Tell me what I've said or done to make you think that! Because whatever it was, it was unintentional. Whatever it was, I take it back!"

"No! It's nothing you've done. It's just that- you could have anyone you want. And I just- in a school full of pretty girls…undamaged girls- I just don't understand why you would want me."

"Undamaged," Draco echoed quietly, sounding aghast. "Undamaged."

She stared at the floor, arms wrapped tightly about herself, blinking hard against the tears that wanted so badly to come, not wanting- not able- to look up until she felt his hand, ever so gently, yet insistently, slip under her chin and tilt her face up toward his.

"Hermione," he said, so softly she could barely hear him, his pale eyes boring into hers, "you listen to me. You are not damaged. You are perfect, and you are the only one I want. The only one I'll ever want. Wild thestrals couldn't drag me away from you. Are you hearing me?"

She gave a tiny nod, constrained by his hand, still under her chin, compelling her to keep eye contact.

"Now I'm begging you- and you know damn well I don't beg- but please, tell me what would even make you think such a thing? Have you ever seen me look at another girl? Because frankly, they don't even register to me anymore. They all look the same." He made a face of extreme distaste. "And the noise! Bunch of primped up, giggling, shrieking-"

She smiled despite herself, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had come.

"I just- um-" she pulled away and looked down again, swallowing hard- "overheard…someone…talking in the library and she was saying that- that you'd be getting tired of me soon because I don't- because we haven't-"

"Pansy." His voice was flat, uninflected, and that flatness was dangerous. Her eyes snapped back up to his face, suddenly frightened. When his voice went quiet like that, it meant he was mad enough to kill.

"Draco-"

"I'm sure you heard just exactly what she intended you to overhear. What did she say precisely?"

Hermione felt tears prick the backs of her eyes again at the memory of it, but she fought against them and won- for the time being, anyway. Eyes still downcast, partly because she didn't want him to see the threatening tears, partly because she didn't feel she could look directly at him when repeating Pansy's scathing words, she whispered, "after a year, being with that frigid bitch Granger must be driving him up the wall…that's what she said."

For a moment there was total silence. Then Draco exploded.

"That BITCH! That vicious, conniving little c-"

"DRACO!"

He broke off, his attention arrested by Hermione's cry and the appalled look on her face. Then his eyes, which had gone dark- the color of gunmetal- and slitted with rage, softened and he reached for her, pulling her into a fierce embrace.

"Don't you believe it," he said, speaking into her hair; "don't you believe a word of it, do you hear me? Promise me. You have to promise me that you will never believe what that- that- what SHE says, over what I say. Do you promise?"

She nodded against his chest.

"All right." Draco took a deep breath, seeming to struggle for composure. "All right." He squeezed her once, hard, crushing her against him for a fraction of a second, then pushed her back to arm's length, still gripping her tightly by the shoulders. "Hermione. I wasn't a whole person until I started to fall- until-" he broke off awkwardly, shook his head in frustration, and started again; "I can't imagine being without you. I don't want to. If I ever do get sick of you-" he smiled wryly- "you'll be the first to know, I swear. But believe me when I say, Granger, that I don't foresee that happening for a very long time. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

"Good. Now let's get you back to the Tower. Snape said you should relax for the rest of the day, and I intend to see that his orders are carried out, even at the expense of my own afternoon classes. A regular martyr, that's me!" And he gave her a grin which, though small, was so shot through with mischief that she could not help but return it.

"Poor baby," she said sarcastically as they began to walk side by side. "I'm sure you must be heartbroken at the thought of missing our-" she stopped suddenly, mid-stride. "Defense quiz!" she cried, eyes widening in alarm. "Oh, no- nuh nuh nuh no! I'm not missing that! I've studied too hard!"

Draco rolled his eyes- he should have seen this coming. "Tell you what," he said after a moment's thought, "first period's ending right about now. Soon as we get your things, we'll go find the Nymph- I don't think she teaches second period. If we ask her, I'm sure she'll let us both take the quiz now and then we'll have the rest of the day off. That's the best thing about being head boy and girl- the teachers never tell us no!"

Hermione shook her head disapprovingly. "Being head boy carries a lot of responsibility, Draco- trust you to make it about seeing what you can get away with! And if Professor-" she placed a heavy emphasis on the word- "Tonks ever found out that you call her the Nymph, I think she'd make your whole ferret experience look like a Sunday walk in the park!"

"Hey," Draco said, indignant, "I thought we had agreed never to speak of that again! It's something I'd just as soon forget!" But he was smiling, seeming relieved that his attempt to lighten the mood appeared to be working. "And anyway- you haven't yet said that it's a bad idea."

"No," she agreed, beginning to walk once more. "No, I don't suppose it's such a bad idea at all. It's your utter lack of respect for the professors that I take issue with, not your idea, which is actually pretty clever- for a former Slytherin."

Draco looked deeply wounded. "I'll have you know," he said, "that Slytherins can be very clever. How is one supposed to be cunning, sly and devious without first being clever, hm?"

Hermione's brows knit together in thought. "I suppose you're right," she said slowly, "and after all," she teased, "who would know better than you, seeing as you possess all those qualities in such abundance?"

"My, aren't you a suddenly a snippy little thing?"

"Well, you deserve it," she said in clipped tones, "after your behavior in the entrance hall this morning."

Up a flight of stairs and around a bend in the corridor, Draco spoke again, his voice now serious once more. "I was really worried when you didn't show up for Arithmancy, Hermione- especially after the way I acted before class. I uh- I know I was being a real- um…" he trailed off, brow furrowed.

"Prat?" Hermione supplied gently.

He shot her a quick, keen look from the corners of his pale eyes before facing front again. "Yeah," he said quietly, having the grace to sound suitably chagrined. "And I- I just want you to know that I feel- that I'm really- um- really…"

"Sorry?"

"That's the one," he mumbled, looking everywhere but at her.

"It's all right, Malfoy," she said; "I've always known you were a prat- I love you anyway." And waited, feeling as though her heart had suddenly leapt into her mouth, to see if he might- just might- actually respond in kind.

But all he said, hooking an arm around her and pulling her tightly against his side, was- "Course you do, Granger- you have excellent taste in prats."