The next time, they studied outside.

"Granger. I need help. The massive rock near the lake, four-fifteen," he had said to her one day after double potions.

She'd raised an eyebrow. "I thought this was supposed to be one-time thing."

"Well, if I want sixth year potions to be a one-time thing, I need some bloody help."

It was unseasonably warm for April. Hermione was leaning against a large boulder, facing the lake. Malfoy was sitting next to her, with his sleeves buttoned up at the cuffs even though his face was flushed with heat. Just looking at him made Hermione hot, and she rolled up her own sleeves.

They set to work. The only sound was the scratch of quills on parchment, the soft lapping waters of the lake, and the occasional turn of a page. The relative silence was deafening. Finally, Hermione broke it.

"Aren't you hot?"

"You tell me." He smirked.

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "No, I mean, you've got your sleeves all the way rolled down, you must be sweltering." If she were Harry, she might have thought Malfoy was trying to conceal a certain something on his left wrist. But she wasn't. This was a sixteen-year-old boy she was dealing with, not a Death Eater.

"I'm fine," he said defensively.

Okay, maybe this was a little suspicious. There was a bead of sweat on Malfoy's forehead that was threatening to roll down his face. He wiped it away surreptitiously.

"Really, I think you might be able to focus better if you weren't scorching."

"It's not me being scorching that's the problem," he said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Wait, what? He must be trying to distract her. Because, well, right now at least, Hermione wasn't scorching, or hot. She could picture just how she looked. She had shed her tie and uniform sweater to reveal a simple white button-down underneath, and she was almost positive her hair was bushier than usual. She could imagine cute, or maybe even pretty, but hot was not on the list of adjectives she would use to describe herself in this moment. Definitely not on the list Draco Malfoy would use to describe her in any moment. The only explanation was that he was trying to steer the conversation away from himself, and away from the dark mark that was definitely hidden under his rolled-up sleeves. And she could not let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

"I read this study, actually, that being only a few degrees cooler substantially increases brain function." She hadn't, but that didn't matter. "Merely exposing your forearms to the breeze could achieve that."

"Granger, are you going to ignore the fact that I just called you hot? Because that's not exactly an everyday occurrence," he said, almost lazily, and his words combined with the quirk of his lips were enough to deter her from her course.

"I, er, thanks?" she said, blinking. Could he actually be serious?

There was a lull in the conversation. Hermione picked up her quill again.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "I was wrong," he said, like it cost him something.

"About?"

"Not needing help again, looking awful with pink hair, and, oh, I don't know, that half the wizarding population is inferior due to blood status," he said with such lack of cadence that it took a moment to sink in.

Hermione had to take a moment to process this. She put down her quill. Draco Malfoy, voluntarily admitting he was wrong. Draco Malfoy, taking back his prejudices. Maybe even trying to become a better person. And maybe because of her. It was almost too much to believe.

She nodded.

He lifted his left arm, almost like he was going to unbutton his sleeve, or maybe slide it around her shoulder, and when Hermione felt herself tense, she wasn't sure of which it was in anticipation. He did, however, neither. Malfoy caught her eye like he knew what she was thinking.

She cleared her throat forcedly. "Sorry about before. It's just, Harry is always so suspicious of you, and I can't help believing it myself sometimes."

"I get it. I'm in Slytherin, my parents are Death Eaters, and all my friends will be soon too. It's all people see when they look at me. But that's not who I am anymore."

He was staring off at the lake, and she was staring at him, unafraid.

"I see who you are now."

They locked eyes. For an iota of a second Hermione thought that he might be leaning in, and she knew that this time she would not back away.

But he didn't. Instead, Draco grinned and turned back toward the open water, pulling the textbook back onto his lap. Hermione did the same.

She couldn't help but wish the moment had ended rather differently. Thoughts of what it might have been like clouded her mind as she tried to study. She had never kissed anyone before, which had never seemed like a particularly troublesome notion until now. What would it be like? Harry had described his kiss with Cho as wet. But Draco must have been experienced in this field; he would know what to do. Potion-Making was pushed out of her head by these scandalous thoughts.

"I've got to go."

He looked up.

She left.

Hermione didn't exactly have somewhere to be, but if she had stayed there, sitting next to the lake with Draco Malfoy, she would have embarrassed herself terribly. Because now, now she could not deny this to herself any more: Hermione Granger was enamored with Draco Malfoy. And he really was someone good these days, and his smirk was just so alluring, and maybe he even liked her back?

Too late, Hermione realized that they had not set another date. (Date? These weren't dates. Right?) Well, it wasn't like they never saw each other. Things could be arranged. They weren't–at least not for a while–but they could have been. |

Spring turned into early summer, and Hermione did not want to instigate things, and apparently neither did Draco. But they would pass each other in the halls, or make eye contact across a classroom. When he was around her, at least, she did not hear the word "mudblood" escape from his mouth once. He was still sallow and tired-looking all the time, but Hermione didn't let suspicion get to her. When Harry would postulate ridiculous schemes that he might be up to, Hermione shot them down. She offered no explanation to her friends as to why she was so vehement about this, but Ron gave her warning looks, which she ignored.

Hermione had never really allowed herself to fall so head-over-heels for someone. She had always prided herself on maintaining a level head, and had tried so hard not to think I'm not like other girls, because she was a feminist, goddammit, and she wasn't going to engage in that bullshit. She was exactly like other girls, like other humans, so when she found the right person, it was like a light switch.

It took substantial effort to keep a ridiculous grin off her face whenever she saw him or heard his voice. So when he did call her name one day, she almost didn't react.

"Hey, Granger. Hermione," he said when she didn't look up.

"Er, yeah?"

"I need help with this thing for, uh, Charms. Extra credit."

Hermione was slightly miffed. Professor Flitwick hadn't told her about extra credit. Although she probably wasn't threatening to fail his class. She nodded.

"Meet at eight in the seventh floor corridor, near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy."

"Okay. See you then," she said, allowing a small smile.

She arrived early, but so did he. He was jumpy, and Hermione wondered if it was her fault. But Draco always looked on edge these days.

"I've been storing it in the room of requirement, actually," he said, walking back and forth across the hall. "It's rather large. You'll see."

A door materialized in the wall in front of them. Draco opened it, and they went inside. Immediately, Hermione was assaulted by the view. There were veritable mountains of junk from wall to wall, some stretching to the ceiling, which was even higher than it had been when they had held the DA meetings. Brightly colored books, congealed potions, broken broomsticks, and other objects, amazingly varied, littered every available surface. This must have been the room Harry had told her and Ron about, where he had hidden the Prince's awful book. She had been afraid he might go back for it, but it seemed as though it would be impossible to find even if he tried.

Draco held out his hand, but seemed to think better of it, and pulled back before she could take it. "Follow me," he said curtly. He led her through the maze, winding around and around until they finally reached an ancient-looking cabinet that was big enough for a person to fit inside. It was almost a wardrobe, really. He opened the it hurriedly, and Hermione felt a twinge of familiarity at the ornate design snaking across the doors.

"I've been trying to repair it so that I can let– get extra credit," he grunted, prying back a panel in the bottom. "But I can't quite seem to fix this last bit."

He sounded a little desperate, and Hermione understood; it would be a nightmare to have to retake Charms. Any qualms she had about helping him dissipated. She drew her wand.

"I think I know what to do," she said, waiting for his approval.

He nodded, and she stepped forward, pointing her wand at the cabinet's inner workings and muttering incantations under her breath. Little blue sparks danced around the edges of the paneling, and she could almost hear metaphysical cogs click into place.

"That should do it."

Draco bent forward, inspecting the smooth wood. "Thanks."

There was a sort of grim smile taking over his face, which was a little unsettling.

"What does this thing do, anyway? It looks so familiar, I feel like I must've seen it before." Wait. Maybe she had. Her mind was reeling back, searching for the ornate swirls that covered the cabinet's doors, and there it was. Months ago, in Knockturn Alley. At Borgin and Burke's. She had given it merely a passing glance, but the cabinet was identical to the one sitting before her.

"Oh, it's a vanishing cabinet," he replied offhandedly.

Huh. A vanishing cabinet. She had read about these. This unit connected, no doubt, with the one in Knockturn Alley. There was no way Professor Flitwick would have given this assignment, knowing the location of the other one. So, either the professor didn't know about the connection, or he didn't know about the cabinet at all. Had she just repaired an object that could be used to bring outsiders into the castle? And since its partner was in Knockturn Alley, dangerous outsiders?

"And Professor Flitwick wanted you to fix it?"

Draco nodded, clearly oblivious to Hermione's revelations.

"Did he mention where he'd got it from?"

"No," Draco said, narrowing his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

There was no reason not to tell this new-and-improved Draco Malfoy. He had seemed so earnest down at the lake, and she could really see that he was trying to be a better person. She would ask him about the cabinet's twin, just to get it off her mind.

"Do you know where the other one is?"

"No," he lied.

It would have been a bad lie even if Hermione hadn't already known it was false. So, okay, this was not good, and she had maybe just created a bridge between Hogwarts and a dark wizard's shop, and all she could think about was that he had lied to her. Had possibly been lying to her this whole time. But this lie, this one was different. It was almost as if he wasn't even trying. Then it dawned on her.

"Was this your plan all along?" she murmured.

The stab of betrayal must have shown on her face, because he smirked. The jig was up, and he didn't even care.

"Well, I really did need to stay afloat in school," he said, clearing the debris from around the bottom of the cabinet with his foot. "This part was unexpected. I mean, I thought I'd be able to fix the bloody thing myself. It was an added bonus for you to put on the finishing touches, though, so you'll be stuck with the guilt."

"The guilt?"

He gave a short laugh. "Don't tell me you haven't figured it all out. The brightest witch in her age can't even see what's right under her nose. Tonight is the night, Granger. The night your precious castle will fall to the Dark Lord, and your beloved headmaster will die."

It was too much. She had done this, had let her heart get in the way of her head, and now Hogwarts would pay. If she hadn't repaired the vanishing cabinet, no one would have died, and this was all her fault.

"How could you?"

He laughed at her again. "It was easy. Just run my hands through my hair," He did. "hint at changing my allegiances. Cake, Granger, it was cake. Stringing you along was another fun extra."

"You were– You were manipulating me this whole time?"
"You played right into my hands. Taking pity on me? Asking me to study with you?" He had to stop speaking in order to snigger. "I should thank you, really."

She brandished her wand at him. "Thank me! Malfoy, I will–"

He cut her off, his voice ringing across the room. "It won't matter." His eyes were not alive with malice, but dull with fear, and maybe sorrow. "They're coming, whether I'm alive or not. I've fulfilled my duty, and soon I'll no longer be of use."

He was right. Perhaps there would be time later, for vengeance and for indulging in guilt, but the best Hermione could do now was to warn the others. She gave Malfoy one last lingering look and sprinted from the room.

Blood was pounding in her ears as she raced through the castle, and she could hear, even more urgently than the situation at hand, Ron's impending "I told you so."

A/N: I would like to formally apologize for the end. You probably signed on for fun dramione, and I gave you fun manipulation instead. Sorry, sorry, sorry. It just had to happen. Feel free to yell at me in a review if you are so inclined.