They trudged down the slippery, muddy hill and into the forest. Hermione withdrew her walkman and popped in the cassette tape of Rumors, by Fleetwood Mac. The hard plastic of the machine was warm from her body heat. Malfoy watched warily as she plugged in the earphones. His eyes were swiveling, spinning, silver spotlights, unsure of what to focus on.

"What is that?" He murmured in a reluctant voice. The chirping of nearby birds and the crunch of their footsteps almost drowned his soft voice out.

"A Walkman." She shrugged, unwilling to elaborate.

"What's a Walkman?"

"It's like a portable way to play music." She said, hitting the button to start the music.

She saw his lips moving in her peripheral vision. She yanked one of the earphones out, "What?"

"I said, how does it work?" He muttered, pointedly looking away from her so she only saw the back of his head. The sunlit golden strands reminded her of the shiny coins at the bottom of the mall fountain. As a child, she would try and pluck them out of the water, enchanted by their magnificent beauty. Her mother would pull her back, gently scolding that they weren't for her, they were supposed to stay at the bottom of the fountain.

"I put the cassette tape in the machine. The cassette tape has a particular album on it that I chose. And then I hit play and the sound goes through these earphones and into my ears." She said, moving to plug the aforementioned earphones back in.

"What is an album?"

"Oh my God." She cried in exasperation.

"Well if you don't want to explain it then don't even bother." He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

"No, it's fine. I'll suffer through it," she relented. She answered all of his questions, Hermione was certain he asked more than any Muggle —even the first to use the Walkman— ever had.

They stumbled into long conversations about muggle inventions and music while digging blushing roses and Dittany from the Earth. She almost walked past the Jewelweed when trying to explain the functioning of a telly.

When she walked back to the Gryffindor common room later, she realized she hadn't heard a single note of music throughout their entire hike.

From then on, each time they met, Malfoy would timidly ask her to explain another Muggle concept. These ranged from automobiles to McDonald's to rubber ducks. She wondered who or what was supplying him with Muggle concepts to question. Judging from his pureblood circle and his controlling father, it wasn't likely that he stumbled across them randomly.

A week passed. This new persona of his gave Hermione whiplash. In the beginning, the questions would slip out sporadically. She'd be lost in thought, collecting the leafs of a Lady's Mantle, and he would break the peaceful silence. The first few times he did this, she would jump, startled by the sudden low timbre, but then she began to anticipate them. It took him anywhere from ten to thirty minutes to work up the courage.

She'd wondered if the delay was due to him trying to resist the temptation, or rather to muster the courage to ask them.

This curiosity was satiated when his tyranny over Hogwarts seemed to single out her more than anyone else. He took a special interest in taunting her, Malfoy had a slew of degrading comments ready anytime he saw her.

She wondered if he was trying to compensate for his innocent curiosity on their hikes.

Even oblivious Harry and Ron began to notice how Malfoy singled her out more than usual. She had to yank them back by their robes each time they jerked towards Malfoy.

But it was getting harder to let his insults roll off her back. What once felt like occasional pellets of pebbles transformed into torrents of stones. She felt pitiful and bruised.

Especially when as soon as they entered the forest, his tone would switch from cruel to curious like the flip of a switch. It was bewildering, he didn't acknowledge the change so neither did she. Everything between them was fragile and unknown.

It was terribly unfair. While dealing with some kind of cognitive dissonance, Malfoy decided to make her the punching bag he took his frustrations out.

And all she'd been trying to do was listen to music on her Walkman.

It wasn't her fault that he was curious about Muggle things. It wasn't her fault that he couldn't comprehend a new development that contradicted his belief in blood superiority.

He would slam his shoulder into her when they passed each other in the hallway. She began to purposefully move a few feet away from his path but he still managed to push her.

She got used to feeling the heat of his smoldering glare. Anytime they were in the same room, he would scowl at her like he couldn't wait to get his hands on her.

Her suppressed anger came to a peak after the Umbridge announced she was introducing an Inquisitorial Squad to Hogwarts. Malfoy was appointed the head of it.

One evening, fifteen minutes before curfew, she was walking back from the library. The halls were lit only by a few torches and rays of moonlight slipping through windows. She felt a burnout similar to the one she'd experienced in her third year while taking eleven classes. Dumbledore's Army, her duties as Gryffindor prefect, studying for O.W.L.s, hiking through the forest four times a week, and dealing with Malfoy were taking a toll on her. She was absolutely knackered.

This was probably why she didn't notice footsteps behind her.

Her head hung low, loose curls framed her face like blinders on a racehorse. She was on autopilot, she could walk the path from the library to the Gryffindor tower in her sleep.

She jumped in shock when a hand clasped around her wrist and yanked her to a halt. Blunt nails bit into the soft skin of her arm, like the snakebites her elementary classmates gave each other on the bus, twisting their arms red and white. Except no one was laughing here, in the dark Hogwarts hallway.

Graham Montague, Slytherin chaser and sixth year, stood before her. There was a shiny silver prefect badge with an embroidered 'I' on his robes.

"Can I help you?" She scowled, but a cold breeze of apprehension wafted through the hall and made her skin prickle. She loathed Graham Montague, but fear slithered and snuck its way into her anger.

"You shouldn't be out past curfew." He grinned. Something in his brown eyes' was unnerving and reptilian-like. He wasn't tall like Malfoy or Ron, but he was built like a lumberjack or a Viking. He looked years older than he was and dressed like it too. Like most Slytherins, he was meticulously primped and polished. It made the unraveled look in his eyes all the more striking.

"It's not curfew yet."

"My mistake Granger," he said checking the time on his prefect pocket watch, "It will be in ten minutes. I wonder how I could fill the time before I turn you into Umbridge." He stepped forward. Hermione froze and discreetly moved a hand towards her pocket. This time, she would not let herself be disarmed.

"It would be a shame for someone to burn that greasy mop you call hair to a crisp," Hermione said, eyelashes fluttering in mock innocence. One hand gripped the end of her sleeve and the other held her wand by her side, she hoped he didn't notice the trembling but the maniacal grin spreading across his face said he had.

"Montague!" A sharp voice splintered the tense air. From the end of the hall, Malfoy paced towards them. When he was a few feet away, his eyes scanned across her as they did when she told him about muggle things. Only this time he was rushed and clinical about it.

"Why are you fraternizing with the Mudblood?" Malfoy snapped, Montagues face heated. His disgusting smile dropped.

"You...you kept going on about her. I thought you wanted us to put her in her place?" The sixth-year said.

"You utter imbecile. Nobody deals with her but me. Is that clear?" Malfoys nostrils flared, Hermione noticed that sometime during this tense interaction he'd shifted so that his body blocked Montagues from view.

Hermione crept away towards the end of the hall. Once she was far enough, she took off in a sprint.