A/N: A big thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter. I love hearing from you guys!

The scene between Draco and Teddy can be directly attributed to Monsterbleeds. Hope it's what you were looking for, lovely!

Chapter Eleven: To Share a Meal

April, 2001

Parkinson Place, Tuscany

Pansy threw the missive on the fire the moment she finished reading it. What the hell was Draco thinking, sending something so obviously treasonous?

Keep out of HQ for a few days.

D

As if Pansy would step foot in that place without being ordered. What was happening at the Lestrange Mansion? And why was Draco involved? It had something to do with the Granger girl, Pansy was sure of it. The foolish chit had gotten herself captured some months ago. Pansy felt bad for her, certainly, but was desperately afraid that Draco would get himself killed trying to help her. It would have been better if the Snatchers had finished her off early.

"Amycus Carrow to see my Lady." A house elf intoned through her bedroom door.

The last of the parchment curled into dust and Pansy banished the ashes wandlessly. She took a moment to gather herself, pasting a cool, Pureblood smile on her face and ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Hermione woke to the feeling of being anchored, safe and drowsy. It was warm. Too warm, in fact. The lower levels of the castle were always chilly. Even in summer, Hermione often woke with the desire to curl up into a ball under her quilt to conserve heat. At the moment, she was sweating under her blanket, a wall of rolling heat against her side. There was also a heavy band across her waist.

Her brain woke up all at once and she realized she was being held. She lay on her back, blinking up at her ceiling in confusion. There was a body next to her. Turning her head slowly, Hermione'a eyes latched onto the sight of bright platinum hair. She looked down and saw a pale arm on top of the quilt, the edge of a black tattoo peeking out at her. He was lying on his stomach, facing away towards the lake window, one arm under his head, the other thrown over her.

Hermione soaked up the moment of unreality, keeping herself perfectly still. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had voluntarily come into such close contact with her. It had been sometime before her captivity, to be sure. At first, the distance had been a relief. For months she hadn't wanted anyone to even stand too near. Then it had become a habit. People would automatically step away with an apology when they got too close. In a group, hugs and handshakes would go all around, and a nod was saved for Hermione.

It had become lonely very quickly, but she hadn't know how to ask for what she wanted. Perhaps they didn't touch her because they were disgusted. Perhaps they knew she was broken deep down inside. Did they see the way she flinched? Could they sense her unease? It used to be so easy to embrace Harry, to link arms with Ron, to snuggle against Ginny. As much as she wanted the old closeness, she was also terrified that it might reveal the unfixable parts of herself she knew lurked beneath the surface.

"Don't hyperventilate, Granger." The command was muffled.

Hermione instantly controlled her breathing. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said quietly.

He picked up his head and squinted at her. Sniffing, he sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. The place where his arm had rested was suddenly cold. The muscles under his shirt flexed as he stretched the morning stiffness out of his limbs. He was still dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the night before. They both were. She wondered briefly how he had gotten her on the bed without waking her. Weightless charm, probably.

A heavy fog of awkwardness descended upon her. She had no idea what to say. Malfoy was calmly scratching at his shoulder as if waking up in her bed was normal. He had fallen asleep with her, and then moved her to her bed, and then climbed in next to her and gone back to sleep, cuddled up like - like they were -

"You snore," he complained. "Like a fucking bear."

When he turned back to glare at her, she saw that his hair was standing up on one side and he had a crease through one cheek.

Hermione blinked at him, the tension in her chest loosening. "I do not."

The skin around his eyes was puffy. His shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned at the bottom. There was a small bit of dried drool along the side of his mouth. When he yawned loudly, Hermione caught a whiff of ghastly morning breath. Draco Malfoy was ugly, grumpy, and slightly stinky first thing in the morning, just like everyone else. Was he missing a sock?

"I beg to differ," he grunted as he turned away again. Despite his disheveled appearance Hermione had the urge to lean over and press her mouth to the base of his neck. There was a small bit of skin there, peeking out above his shirt and beneath the edge of his silky hair. She bit her lip, imagining just how amazing that bit of flesh might taste.

"What are you grinning about?" he groused. "I've got a crick in my neck."

"You," she chuckled, flustered and resigned to the flags of color she new adorned her cheeks. "You look a fright. It's made me very happy, actually."

He gave her a look of pure loathing as he swiped at his wayward hair. "Bugger off."

"I once saw a bear trained to balance on a large circus ball," she continued. "He would hold an umbrella in one hand and a top hat in the other. Seeing you first thing in the morning is far more amusing."

"Happy to entertain," he grumbled as he crossed the room, collecting his missing sock and shoes. Hermione got the feeling that he wasn't quite as calm about the situation as he appeared.

"Draco." He stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn around. "Thank you. I haven't slept a full night in ages." And without nightmares. Wonder of wonders. "It seems my debt to you just keeps piling up."

His shoulders tensed up slightly. "Let's get through this war before we start tallying debts," he said.

The door shut quietly behind him. Hermione put her hand over the spot on her chest where her heart was tapping erratically. The absence of his presence only highlighted his effect on her: she was breathing faster than usual, her skin was warm, and there was an insistent throb in her lower abdomen and between her legs. She briefly imagined what it would have felt like to truly wake up in his arms, her back tight against his front. She might have mapped the dips and curves of the muscle on his arms as they wrapped around her. She might have turned and pressed her mouth to his. Merlin's beard.

Silently ordering herself to stop fantasizing like a school girl, she collected her bathing things and headed for the shower. A cold shower.

George burped a small cloud of alcohol scented breath and tried to cover it with a cough. Hermione was talking to him, and the last thing he needed was for her to notice his state of inebriation. The illegal hooch he made in secret in his workshop could strip paint and was currently tearing up the lining of his stomach. He had taken a sip or two with his afternoon tea and he should have eaten as well, but had been in a hurry. It was less than he usually imbibed, considering the dangerous nature of what he was about to attempt. The small amount of booze was just enough to keep the shakes away, but could still wreak havoc with his insides when he wasn't careful about it.

He had still needed to take his usual bit of Calming Draught, which, while normal for George, was still double the recommended dose these days. Without his potion, it was impossible for him to focus, hard sometimes to even leave his room. With the lovely liquid floating through his veins like sweet molasses, he was quick to laugh, but slow to react. Unfortunately, his current level of sobriety was the best he could do. He was hoping to present his new invention without dropping it and killing half of the Order's forces, while also avoiding another lecture from Hermione about the dangers of abusing potions.

The early sounds of Sunday Dinner distantly reached him as he opened the wooden crate on the ground, his lovely Eggs nestled in amongst some hay. They looked exactly like chicken's eggs, white with a smooth outer shell, but they could be spelled to blend into any environment. They were made of charmed, hollowed out ceramic, the insides packed very precisely with various ingredients that, when combined with an specific incantation - or a jostle strong enough - would cause an explosion the likes of which the wizarding world had never seen.

Hermione had gathered the younger Purebloods, along with Neville, Luna, Ron, Ginny and Harry to witness this demonstration. If he had been clear headed, he would have been nervous. As it was, George simply grinned at them and made a witty comment he forgot in the next moment. Nobody laughed, which he attributed to the tension thick in the air. He thought there was some kind of staring contest going on between Ron and a few of the others, but he couldn't be sure. Trying to decipher any kind of body language was just far too taxing.

"I call it an Exploding Eggbomb," George began, holding one aloft so the gathered witches and wizards could see it properly. "I've fashioned it something like a Muggle explosive, but with more magical ingredients. It's activated by a spell, but it's also pretty delicate, so be gentle. It can kill anything within three meters and seriously damage anything within seven."

"Impressive," Zabini commented.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Ron challenged, his arms crossed.

"And you're going to demonstrate that thing right here?" Malfoy looked around. "In the middle of the village green?"

"I've set up an uncrossable perimeter," Hermione told him. "And I'll cast a protective barrier to contain the blast."

"I don't think this is a good idea." The Parkinson woman was looking at George's invention like it was a snake. A snake. Much like Parkinson. George chuckled to himself.

Malfoy and Parkinson were probably right. George tried to consider all the ways in which this was a bad idea, but cocooned in his drug-induced fur coat, those worries simply floated away. He breathed in carelessly and snuggled a bomb into the thick grass, snickering as he imagined it turning into a reptile and slithering away.

"Look! A snake in the grass!" Nobody laughed, but he did receive a few raised eyebrows.

Inside joke, Georgie, Fred reminded him.

Right you are, Fred, George silently thanked his twin. He needed another dose of his Draught.

"You alright, mate?" Harry was leaning heavily on his cane.

"Right as rain, my friend. Right as rain." George backed away from the bomb, advising everyone else to do the same. When they had all formed a loose circle a good distance from the Eggbomb, he looked to Hermione.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded her assent, not taking her eyes from the device. George spoke the incantation that would activate his invention. "Decimari!"

Almost simultaneously, Hermione cast a dome of protection over the bomb, and not a moment too soon. A wave of heat escaped just before the ward closed completely, blasting their hair back. There was a flash within the protected circle, the ground jerked underneath their feet, and then a distant boom, muffled by the ward, followed a multi-colored web of energy along the perimeter of the dome as the blast impacted Hermione's magic. The ground started to tremble.

"Uh-oh," George muttered as he backed away.

Now you've done it, Georgie.

He had warned them it was powerful, hadn't he? It wasn't his fault they hadn't believed him.

The ward cracked like glass, splintering into shards and dissipating into the air. The blast impacted them not a moment later, knocking into George's chest like a giant hammer. He flew backwards and landed flat on his back, gasping. He had barely recovered when he was hauled upright by the front of his shirt. Theodore Nott was grinning at him like a clown and clapping him on the shoulder. There was a small trail of blood leaking from the man's left ear.

"Big boom," George slurred intelligently.

"Bloody right!" Nott shouted gleefully in his face. The sound was distant as if filtered through cotton.

A moment later, George felt the cool sensation of a general purpose healing charm slither over him. He shook his head like a dog to clear his brain. He really should have had more to drink. A few people had wandered from their homes, drawn outside by the shaking earth.

Hermione was glowering at the Quaffle sized hole in the ground. "It broke through my ward," she complained, personally offended.

"Your ward kept us alive," Zabini offered. "Absorbed most of the blast."

Malfoy and Zabini were standing just behind her, Malfoy scowling at the curls at the back of Hermione's head, which had caught bits of leaves and grass from her fall. Harry was sitting upright on the ground, blinking slowly. Luna was picking up bits of broken ceramic and pocketing them, talking to herself. Neville was dusting off the back of Parkinson's shirt, as the woman decried the state of her trousers.

"That was amazing, George!" Ron punched him excitedly in the shoulder.

"Well done, mate!" Nott and Ron glanced at each other in accord for a moment before Ron grimaced and looked away.

"Not bad, eh, Hermione?" George called to her.

"I want you to make as many of these as you can before we go to war," Hermione clipped out. "You and Arthur are to work on this exclusively, understand?"

George saluted her, snapping his heels together. "Understood, Captain."

Don't you just love the smell of burning vegetation, Georgie?

He needed a drink.

The tiny tent was much larger on the inside. There were at least a hundred people walking about freely. One half was filled with tables, a large buffet along the other side and a dance floor cleared out of the middle. A wireless was set up against one wall, playing muted music under the low hum of conversation. There was little in the way of decoration, only candles spelled to float above the tables, and a few pots of flowers scattered about. The party-goers were dressed as if going about their normal business, and Pansy felt terribly overdressed in the shirt she had charmed to have a frilly neckline.

There were several people glaring at the six of them as they entered and stood stupidly. Pansy spotted the tall, blonde head of Longbottom near the buffet, but did not see anyone else who might tolerate their presence. Why had they come to this thing anyway? Oh that's right, because Draco had turned into a puddle of goo when Hermione had batted her eyelashes at him and requested their presence. Pansy sighed in disgust.

An older woman appeared out of nowhere. She approached Narcissa, stopping just within reach. Pansy swallowed uneasily. The woman looked like Bellatrix. There was less silver in this woman's hair, and the bright glare of madness was absent from her eyes, but the two women could have been twins. Draco took a breath beside her, and Pansy knew he was thinking the same thing. This must be Andromeda Tonks.

"Hello, Ana." Narcissa said quietly. She appeared completely composed, but Pansy could see the strain around her eyes.

"Welcome, Cissa." There was a long bout of silence. "I'm glad you're here."

The sentence was simple, but the sentiment behind it was vast. Narcissa gave her sister a small smile in return. There were very few overt gestures in the world of Pureblood women, but they were all trained in the ability to convey much with very few words. Pansy felt the magnitude of the sisterly exchange in her bones.

"And welcome, Draco, my nephew." Andromeda stood back and looked the man over. "Not much of the Black in you, lucky boy. We run towards insanity, you know."

Draco blinked at her. "I am aware."

"Yes, I imagine you are."

"Though the Malfoys aren't much better, in my experience," Draco commented.

Andromeda's face cracked with a smile, deepening the creases around her mouth and eyes. Smile lines. Another difference between Bellatrix and her sister.

"Allow me to introduce my friends," Draco continued. "Persia Parkinson, you know." The two women shook hands. "Her daughter, Pansy." Pansy nodded politely. "And this is Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini." The men bowed over her hand.

"I apologize for not receiving you earlier," Andromeda said. "We've been quite busy, as I'm sure you know."

A small group of boys ran past. Without looking, Andromeda reached in amongst them and pulled out a tall boy with bright green hair.

"This is my grandson, Teddy Lupin." She told them, holding the wiggling boy by his shoulders. "Teddy this is your Aunt Narcissa and her son Draco and their friends."

"You're my cousin." The boy piped up.

Draco looked down his nose at the child. "I suppose."

The boy stared at Draco intensely for a moment, and then his hair started changing color, the wavy green strands turning platinum blonde, straight and fine. His green eyes turned crystalline grey, his cheeks hollowed out a bit, his chin turned more defined and pointed. A carbon copy of nine-year-old Draco stood before them.

"Bloody hell," Theo whispered.

Pansy could see the moment Draco's brain started whirring with ideas. "Metamorphmagus," he said. "You can change your features at will?"

Teddy beamed. "Yup."

Draco considered this for a moment. "That's quite useful. Too bad you're not ten years older. We could have used you."

"Draco," Narcissa chastised him.

"Wanna see more?" Teddy offered. Draco's face broke into what could only be described as a mischievous grin. He and Theo exchanged a glance that Pansy hadn't seen since school.

"Teddy, my boy," Draco drawled. "You have our attention."

Teddy's grey eyes brightened back to green as he beamed at his cousin.

Before the boys could wander off and cause problems, Ronald Weasley appeared. "Everyone's arrived," he told Andromeda, completely ignoring the six other adults. At least he wasn't cursing at them.

"Thank you, Ronald." She turned to her family. "If you'll excuse me."

Andromeda was assisted up onto a chair by Weasley, who offered his shoulder to her for balance as she started to speak.

"Welcome everyone!" Andromeda's magically altered voice carried all the way to the back of the tent, making the noise cease. "This is a very special Sunday Dinner, and not just because it will be our last here at Hogwarts."

There were a few noises of disappointment and fear. Anyone not joining the fight would be leaving by the end of the week. Draco thought they were cutting it too close. Bellatrix could show up with her army at any moment, he had argued, and the Order still had children running about. He had been assured by Potter that the Order's spies would alert them to any incumbent movement. Right now the Legion was preparing for attack, but hadn't made any definitive decisions yet. It was just like Bellatrix to change her mind up until the last moment.

"It is also a very special night because we are celebrating the marriage of two of our favorite people. I am happy to introduce the newly bonded Seamus and Dean Finnegan."

There were cheers all around. Seamus blushed and grinned like a fool when Dean planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Great timing," Pansy snarked. "Now one of them can don widow's weeds when the other is killed next week."

"Rein it in, Pans," Blaise admonished her quietly.

Andromeda was continuing, "Many thanks to Mr. Lively who helped us set up the dance floor."

More cheers. She waited until there was quiet again, her face turning serious.

"I would like to take a moment to give my deepest respect and admiration to those of you who are staying to fight." Silence. "You will be fighting not only for yourselves, but for everyone in our world who has suffered over the last decade. It has been a long war. We have all experienced loss.

"It has been my pleasure to open my home to you, and I consider all of you my family." Pansy noticed the way Andromeda looked directly at her sister for a moment. Then the woman shook her head as if to clear it of bad thoughts and pasted a smile on her face. "Please eat and talk and dance. Enjoy yourselves."

A short round of applause, and then everyone was moving. Some to the buffet, some to the dance floor, some to the tables. Draco grasped Pansy's hand and his mother's elbow and led them to a table, Persia and the boys trailing behind. Just before she seated herself, Pansy cast one last look around the tent, and found her eyes drawn to a tall man with blonde hair and a goofy smile. He was chatting with a tiny woman with big breasts and a slutty smile. Pansy abruptly wondered if the woman would be as pretty with weeping boils all over her face.

In Pansy's opinion, lying to oneself was the worst kind of weakness. There was power in a well crafted falsehood, but one could only use it to the fullest effect when one's mind clear and free of confusion. It was with this in mind that she silently admitted to herself just how much she coveted Neville Longbottom. His strong hands, the corded muscles on his forearms, the way his very presence softened the sharp edges of her personality. The last bit was a bit frightening. Pansy wanted all of him.

"Alright, Pans?" Blaise was looking at her knowingly and Pansy realized she was staring at Longbottom.

"Shut up." She sat down and kept her eyes at her own table.

They ate alone. No one but Hermione approached the table, and she had only stopped to apologize for not being able to stay. She had decided to sit with Andromeda and the Potters on this, their last supper together. Pansy felt a bit miffed, if she was being honest. They talked amongst themselves and planned to leave as soon as the food was cleared. Pansy spotted quite a few familiar faces. McGonagal was seated not far away. And over to the left was Madame Hooch and Professor Sprout. The meal was almost over when Pansy felt the cold, wet sensation of a drink being poured down her back. She gasped and leapt to her feet.

It was one of Weasley's goons. The man leered at her and laughed. Theo's fragile temper snapped and he wandlessly put the man in a full body bind before anybody could react. The huge oaf landed on the floor like a felled tree. Conversation ceased as Blaise blocked Theo's access to the immobilized man and Draco brought Pansy a napkin. Angry grumbles started up.

"How dare you act this way in my house?" Andromeda thundered, approaching from her table. Hermione was close on her heels. "And to my invited guests!"

Draco released the man on the floor carelessly, his face a mask of calm, but Pansy could feel the tension in the stiff way he stood, shielding her and Theo.

"Apologies, Mrs. Tonks," he told his Aunt.

The woman waved his regrets. "Don't be ridiculous. It's this miscreant who should be apologizing."

"They're Death Eaters!" the man protested, rubbing the back of his head.

"You will behave yourself, or you will leave." The threat was short and effective. The woman snapped around with all the royal flair of a Queen and stalked away, stopping to point her finger menacingly at Weasley. "Control your dogs."

The man got to his feet and sneered at them. "It's you who doesn't belong."

"Don't be a such a cock, Amos," somebody grumbled. There were murmurs of agreement. It broke the tension and the hum of conversation resumed. Amos stuttered, turned red, and stomped out of the tent.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked Pansy.

Pansy dried her clothes with her wand and sat down again with as much composure as she could manage. "Just fine."

They six of them exchanged looks. They couldn't leave now, not with a gauntlet thrown at their feet. Pansy settled in for a long and boring night. The general disapproval of Amos's behavior had been a surprise, and made the prospect of remaining for the duration less painful. She sighed and sipped her juice. Perhaps she would corner Longbottom and see if she could make him blush. Pansy grinned.

Hermione Granger separated herself. When given the choice, she always chose a chair instead of a couch. When standing in a group, she always put her back to a wall or stood at an angle to everyone else, her hands on her hips. At a table, she often tucked a foot under her, making her knee stick out to the side. She looked relaxed, but the action made it impossible for someone to scoot too near.

Everyone seemed to know this about her, and never invaded her space. But Draco noticed she was separated by more than just physical proximity. She hid behind her rank, her responsibilities, and her intelligence, and managed to keep most everyone from getting too close. As a method of distancing oneself, Draco had to admit it was effective. Of course, they all had their desperate affectations: Draco had his arrogance, Pansy her disdain, Theo his humor, and Blaise his logic. For Granger, cool intimidation kept her safe from getting too personal, and leaving herself open to pain.

Everyone had finished eating some time ago, and most were either chatting in groups or dancing. Granger sat in the back corner of the party tent, as far from the impromptu dance floor as possible, folding a napkin in front of her. There was a weariness in her movements and posture that spoke to the countless hours she had been putting towards the final battle, both with the Order and with the Purebloods. Despite the recent bout of sleep Draco had conned out of her, she was still overworked and overtired.

Waking up next to her had been a surprise. He had meant to tuck her into bed and retire to his own room, but she had stirred and almost woken when he had tried to extricate his arm from beneath her shoulder. He had settled next to her to wait until she fell asleep again, and had opened his eyes sometime just after dawn to a face full of short, curly hair and his cock jutting into her lower back. Turning away from her body only a moment before she had surfaced from sleep, he hoped she was unaware of just how close they had gotten during the night.

"I've never attended a party with no alcohol." Draco drawled as he set a glass of apple juice in front of her. "Juice isn't quite the same, though everyone else seems very excited about it."

Granger didn't even look up, but nodded in agreement. "Alcohol is pretty much forbidden, but I'm sure there's some around here somewhere." She looked pointedly at George, who was tipping something into his juice from a glass vial. "And fruit is eaten whole here at Hogwarts Headquarters, not squandered for the luxury of the sweet liquid inside."

"Alcohol is forbidden? I seem to remember a bottle of very fine bourbon at the bottom of a very deep drawer in your room." She colored. "And you don't share it with your fellow soldiers? Shameful Granger. Absolutely fucking shameful."

"I shared it with you," she objected, glaring at him.

"Yes you did." The memory suddenly had more weight, now that he knew the scarcity of the drink. He wondered what punishment she would suffer if he revealed her secret. "I don't see you as much of a drinker."

"I've had my moments, but generally speaking, no, I don't drink." The napkin was flipped over, folded, flipped again, folded.

"Moments, eh?" He was intrigued. How much trouble could Hermione Granger possibly have gotten into?

One side of her mouth lifted in a tired smile. "Before Hogwarts, we operated out of safe houses, and sometimes we would be trapped together for weeks in a tiny flat. Every once in awhile, we would sneak away and find a Muggle club, get pissed, dance until our feet hurt, and wander back before dawn." Flip, flop, fold.

"That sounds risky." He was immediately displeased at the thought of her doing something so incredibly stupid. The Legion had spies everywhere, just waiting to snatch up any Order member, much less one third of the Golden Trio.

"Oh it was," she admitted. "But we were kids in a war. We were desperate to feel normal even for a moment."

There was a small smile on her lips. She took a breath and her gaze focused on him. "I looked over Blaise's list of candidates."

"And?"

"I'm quite surprised that Luna's name didn't warrant a space." Granger was watching him closely.

Draco looked at her coolly. "Are you?"

"She's quite talented."

"And insane," he mentioned.

She studied him for a moment, but continued without argument. "I think we can agree that George is not an option."

Draco nodded in approval. The remaining Weasley twin was a drunk. Seeing the genius of the man's inventions only made his current state more pathetic. What a waste.

"If it was just his own life he was risking, I would say we take the chance," she continued. "But he could injure or kill the four guardians of the circle if the magic gets away from him during the ritual."

Draco quite approved of her mercenary logic. "True."

Flip, fold. "Cho is also a problem."

"Fuck!" he swore. "She pickled as well?"

Granger shook her head. "She's lost her right arm and half of her left leg. She gets around well enough and can still fight, but should the missing limbs translate to her dragon form-"

"She won't be able to fly."

"Not much help against Bellatrix." She sounded despondent.

"That's still you and Pansy." Draco attempted to reassure her. Three dragons was more than enough.

"And if we fail? Then it's just you, taking on the Black Dragon on your own."

"You don't think I can manage it?" He was slightly bothered by the fact that she seemed so calm about the possibility of her own death. "I am a dark and menacing machine of death."

"You are a very fierce creature." She laughed quietly. "But Bellatrix is bigger than you. A Hungarian Horntail is the most dangerous breed. She's also been a dragon for seven years."

"Pansy won't fail. She wants it too much." He let her draw her own conclusions from his statement and was rewarded when she sat up straight in her chair.

"I want it too," she declared. "I've been preparing for this since you arrived, and I am more than capable of performing the ritual. I'll have you know that I could create a corporeal Patronus in fifth year."

"Very impressive," he deadpanned. She narrowed her eyes.

"Just you wait." She gave him a devious smile that sent a thrill of - something - up his spine. "You're pretty scrawny for a dragon. I might just be twice your size with a spiked tail. I will out-fight and out-fly you, mark my words."

"I beg your pardon?" he objected. "I am not scrawny! Besides," he continued in a rough voice, unable to stop himself. "When it comes to flying, Granger, it's not the size of the wingspan that matters, it's the thrust."

She blushed a delightful pink and he was aghast at his body's reaction. Then she shocked him further by looking him straight in the eye and replying, "Whatever gets you up, I suppose."

Take her, the Dragon snarled, sending him the memory of a guest room he had seen briefly on his way through Andromeda's house. Draco clenched his fists under the table and schooled his expression. Getting up indeed. Fuck's sake, he wanted to kiss her.

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see who the better dragon is." He looked away from her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes before he was blinded.

"It's interesting that this process yields physical attributes different from the known breeds of dragons. The features of your dragon form seem to echo your human features." Granger's voice had taken that swotty tone Draco hated. He grunted, still trying to calm the roaring lust clawing at him. "I'm betting Pansy will like a Vipertooth," she opined. "Something venomous."

They both chuckled.

"Care for a dance?" Draco wasn't sure where the offer had come from, but as he watched her brown eyes sparkle with amusement, the words had slipped out.

"Dance?" She repeated the word as if it was a strange concept, then continued, "You want to dance with me? I mean, it's just that people don't normally do things that involve touching me-" She went red and started rambling. "- or rather, involving a close - I mean, intimate- oh! Not intimate, certainly!- not a physical kind of activity." She stopped and shook her head. "Bloody hell."

A moment ago she was tossing him thinly veiled sexual innuendo and now she was stuttering like a schoolgirl. Draco did his best not to burst into laughter, settling for a wide smile. It was an odd sensation. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt inclined to do more than chuckle. "Dancing can be rather . . . close."

She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snort. "Can you Obliviate me and try that again?"

"And deny myself the pleasure of your indignity? Surely not."

Tossing the napkin on the table, she straightened and looked at him ruefully. "I think I could manage a dance if I haven't made you completely uncomfortable."

"I'm a Malfoy," Draco sneered. "I am never uncomfortable."

Except he was. Draco was deeply discomfited as he escorted her past the mostly empty tables to the small space cleared for dancers. He felt the weight of every action as he turned her to face him, one hand loosely holding hers, the other lightly at her waist. He kept as much space between them as possible, dropping into the formality ingrained upon him in his youth in order to keep their positions rigid. He did not want to to embrace her. What resulted was a rather traditional waltz, their steps kept small and precise. Draco tried not to notice the stares they were getting, or the way a space opened up around their dancing forms.

What he did notice, was the way the strain on her face melted away after the first few steps, and how she smiled a private smile at her feet, as if she were congratulating herself. That smile was transferred to Draco after a moment. He formed his lips into a smug grin, knowing he was acting like an arse, but unwilling to allow himself to beam at Hermione Granger like an idiot. Her scent was swirling around him as he pulled her to the left and right, never closer than his locked elbows would allow, but still able to catch the familiar aroma of oranges and sandalwood and parchment. Somewhere deep inside, the Dragon coiled around himself and rumbled his approval.

The song was over in a matter of minutes. Draco spent that time quietly talking about the weather, ignoring the amusement on Granger's face. He kept his face a mask of polite interest, never letting his eyes wander from her forehead, or licensing his hands to creep up her back, or allowing his fingers to intertwine with hers. When the music moved from the measured strains of a waltz to a faster beat, he released his hold on her body and mumbled something graceful about needing the toilet. He bolted out of the tent as fast as his human feet could take him, the Dragon howling at him.

Luna sat beneath a tree a few feet into the Forest, watching the lights from Sunday Dinner and humming lightly with the soft strains of music that reached her ears. It was far too crowded under that tent for her tastes. Besides, the Exploding Eggbomb she had tucked under her shirt needed only a good shove to activate. She knew George had been too high to notice her theft. By the time he realized he was missing one, she would have used it to decimate several Legionnaires. Decimate, decapitate, decompose. She giggled softly.

As usual, the sound of Ron's footsteps alerted Luna to his approach.

"So? What have you discovered about our Pureblood friends?"

Luna had dickered with herself about her agreement with Ron. They both had good intentions. The six Purebloods had no place at Hogwarts, much less in the upcoming battle. She no longer worried that they were spies, or that they were sent into the heart of the Order to wreak sabotage. But how could any Order member trust these people with their lives in the heat of battle? They were a weak link.

However, they had also brought with them the means of winning the war. It was essential that they be allowed to complete the transformations. Malfoy on his own might not be enough to defeat Bellatrix without the loss of other witches and wizards, and Hermione was determined to keep every wand on the battlefield, and out of the reach of the Black Dragon. If anyone was capable of bringing Hermione's goals to a screeching halt, it was Ronald Weasley.

"They have a new kind of magic," Luna told him. "Capable of defeating Bellatrix."

Ron scoffed. "New magic?" He took in the very serious expression on her face. "How real is this, Luna?"

"Very real. I'll tell you the details, but you will not interfere." Luna conveyed the seriousness of her command with a silent threat in her eyes. "At least not until they've given us our victory."

A/N: Happy New Year!