Malfoy predictably nursed his condition for all it was worth. She couldn't decide just how conscious the action was for him. In any case, she ended up doing all the work.

"You're just lucky that griffin was mental," Malfoy lounged back and idly kicked at the fire, sending up a sheet of sparks.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she huffed as she dropped another armload of extra firewood, which he'd languishly insisted on, close enough to his legs to force him to move slightly with a sour look.

But she found it difficult to complain beyond what was expected. Draco must have been more scared about her leaving than she had imagined, as hinted to by his maintenance of reasonably good cheer, at least by his standards.

"Griffins naturally attack weaker prey," Malfoy graced her with a haughty smirk, "Did you skip over that part when you read all about them?"

"I've been wondering about that," she murmured as she sank down opposite of him.

Malfoy's eyes glittered. "Been bothering you, hasn't it, the thought of a book letting you down? Probably nearly as badly as not knowing where we're going. I bet it's been tearing you up inside—"

"Probably not nearly as badly as it is feeding your horrible ego." She couldn't give him more than a vaguely amused frown, however. "But that's not what I meant. Even though it may not have seen me right away—it's funny that it didn't attack me first, isn't it? It seemed to be intent on you." She smiled ruefully. "It couldn't have been all that stupid then. But I do hope that it's okay—"

"That—thing—tried to kill us." Malfoy was looking at her disbelievingly.

"No," her smile rose imperiously, "It tried to kill you, remember? Someone might think that it had gotten pretty close to it if they listened to you for very long. Come to think of it, I think it's starting to grow on me. I mean it can't be all that bad if it was after just you—"

"—Besides being driven mad by malicious Death Eaters and then set loose to attack hapless travelers," Draco's disbelieving look had slipped somewhat.

"Well, there is that," Hermione laughed for a moment before drawing a deep breath, "But it was bleeding really awfully. Interesting choice of spell that you used."

"I'll have to thank Potter for it the next time I see him," Malfoy said, "But Snape has better ones than that."

"Oh, yes," Hermione said icily, "I forgot that you two were chummy."

Malfoy merely looked back at her.

That's where the trouble always starts. She mentally kicked herself. "But yes—it is odd though, isn't it? About the griffin I mean."

"Yes, we established that."

That effectively left her with nowhere to go. Sighing, she racked her brain for another less potentially volatile subject. She had never met anyone else in her life that made her worry so much about what to say, and that was when she knew what to say at all.

But why should she always have to think of what to say next? Ideally conversations between two people were supposed to go two ways. It wasn't as if she should need an ideal conversation just to talk to him. She all but adamantly believed that the very concept of an ideal conversation was impossible while Malfoy was involved in half of any tête-à-tête. In fact, the ideal conversation—

It hit her suddenly enough that she almost gasped. Luckily Malfoy didn't notice anything. But as she sat there, she couldn't help but wondering what was so … exhilarating about this thought. And why was it nearly enough to make her gasp? But it was exhilarating, almost to a worrying degree. She nearly started talking more than once before she could catch herself, and she had a light, heady feeling, almost as if someone was pulling her up by the collar of her cloak.

"What would it have done for you?" In actually saying it, she had to wonder where the sense of novelty suddenly went.

But the reaction couldn't have been more apparent. He'd been staring into the fire again with that vacant expression of his. She savored the way his attention jerked back to her. Initially he probably took it the same way she had.

"The Stone," she elaborated, mostly maintaining what she hoped was an innocent expression, "What would the Stone have done for you? We've spent all this time talking about me, but what about you? I don't know how much more of this brooding antihero act I can take. I know you were raised to drink muggle blood, but what could it hurt? You never really talk to anyone like that, do you? Well … you could pretend that I'm Moaning Myrtle, or something, just for a little while."

Smiling encouragingly after rambling on like that was probably closer to adding insult to injury than she could possibly understand. Malfoy's anger was hardly blatant, but his eyes dully flashed the further she went.

"Do you think you've got me figured out?" Malfoy bit out after a long pause. "Don't flatter yourself, you don't know the first thing about me."

Swallowing the all but overpowering urge to tell him that he was wrong, she decided it was best to keep the encouraging air. "How can I know if you never talk?"

"You don't want to know about me."

She nearly choked on the insufferable amount of bitterness in his voice.

She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't."

"It's the same thing," he mimicked her voice almost flippantly as he leaned back on his elbows, any signs of the anger he'd shown before already gone. My, he really was in a generally good mood. "Honestly, Granger. Just because you're tagging along doesn't mean that I want to get chummy." She felt herself blanch slightly before she could reason with herself that it was a perfectly innocent expression. "And just because you're asking doesn't mean that you really want to know. Well, I suppose you do—but I told you before, I'm not an Arithmancy problem."

"Where's your mother?" she asked softly at the question that suddenly came to her mind.

"Like you care," Malfoy sneered almost nonchalantly.

"Yes I do," she protested, but he only laughed.

This wasn't working at all. He was too far away, which made this so much more difficult. It was his turn to roll his eyes when she scooted around the fire closer to him. But he looked uncertain, almost threatened in a way that made her smile.

"You ask me questions, why can't you answer just one of mine?" she asked.

Malfoy snorted. "You've been asking questions the whole time."

"But this one I actually want you to answer."

"You didn't want the others answered?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"Why do you have to be so enormously difficult about everything?" she groaned. "You're avoiding the question."

"And what exactly was it again?" Malfoy asked, donning his impersonation of innocence.

She took a long, calming breath as she looked down at him. The humor of this situation wasn't completely lost on her. Here she was trying to wrest another conversation out of Malfoy. It seemed like they took turns alternating who was trying to force the other to talk. Of course, like in all things that Malfoy was involved in, he'd already skipped several of his turns, but still …

She swatted at the annoying idea that he was posing, leaning back on his elbows like he was. Readjusting her expression, she pushed onward.

"What would the Stone have done for you if you had it?"

"Would it have done anything?" Malfoy gave a cynical smirk. "I'm beginning to suspect I have no luck. But maybe—if I had it—I'd be short one annoying, bushy haired harpy."

She couldn't help but smile at that. For a moment it was almost like the old Draco was back, the simpler Draco. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He looked back at her and noticed her smile. His followed with only the barest resistance.

"What would it have done?" she repeated, still smiling.

"Why don't you tell me?" He shifted slightly on his elbows.

"Me? Why?" She feigned confusion even though she saw where he was leading.

"You seem to know all about me, remember?"

"I didn't say that," she shook her head, finding even that small movement somehow all wrong, as though everything had muddled and slowed and she was disturbing it.

"More or less." He blinked almost languidly, as if he was under the same notion.

Was this how he acted around his friends—or his girlfriends? The pomp and the wit and the newly acquired bitterness were all there, but was he this—warm with others? Somehow whenever she pictured the Slytherin common room, muggle sacrificing and rituals to the Dark Lord always seemed to spring up. In that she supposed she was no more biased than Harry or Ron.

This was another rare instance when she not only remembered, but felt that she was truly alone with Draco Malfoy. Staring as he was at her, he couldn't possibly have missed what this realization looked like on her face.

She scrambled to remember where exactly they were in their banter. That was always much easier to do with Ron. If she sat here long enough without saying something, he would no doubt get the wrong impression, if he hadn't already.

"Guess." He shifted his weight again on his elbows. Surely that couldn't be coincidental. But he surely wouldn't lean over. No, it was probably because of something innocent, like his arms falling asleep.

"I—uh," she had to fight to recall what he'd said. And what exactly did he find so funny that was worth smiling about? Draco Malfoy did not smile, or at least as usually as he seemed to be doing now. He had to be laughing at her. "That's not really a fair—I mean, I barely know—"

He laughed, and it took a moment longer than it should have for her to realize that he had leaned over onto his side. She nearly recoiled then, but she knew that would give exactly the wrong impression he was probably getting now. The only way to convince him otherwise was to ignore the fervent inclination to retreat to the other side of the fire again. Managing that was proving to be a commendable feat in and of itself, but she also had to fight to ignore the tingling in her fingertips and the way her breath had become hard to keep hold of.

"It doesn't have to be an essay, Granger. You don't have to be right about everything. Just—you know, guess." He said it in a way that made her wonder why it wasn't against some kind of law for a person to be so relaxed.

"I don't know," she was desperate now, "Maybe it would've helped to you to snog—" she needed no further proof that she wasn't thinking clearly, "No, I mean—" she paused as a new direction came to her, "Well, you were awfully friendly with the old hag."

"What?" his grin became confused for a moment.

"I bet the Stone would've helped you to get on the good side of … her." She put on an air of confidence that she was certainly a long ways from feeling. Though she was admittedly satisfied that she hadn't lost it completely.

"Who?" he asked suspiciously, as though he knew a lot of women that matched that description.

"Oh, you should know," she still had enough wits to cut her shaky laugh short. It was probably best not to risk that again. "You two have everything in common. Let's see here, you're both power-crazed, absolutely caught up in yourselves—"

He sniggered and she knew he had caught on. "That's low, Granger. Really low."

"I'm not the one who was eating out of her hand fifth year. Oh, Dolores Umbridge." She feigned a dreamy look off into space. After a moment she raised her chin and lowered a smug look down at the uncomfortable expression hanging at the edges of his face, "I didn't think anything of it before, but maybe there was something going—"

"Did they really kill the noble Gryfinndor in you?" Malfoy's eyes danced. "I do have some dignity, and standards—Mudblood."

"Oh, isn't Ginny just the cute little blood traitor for you?" Hermione flushed. "So she doesn't figure into your standards?"

Malfoy's face showed hesitation, and she had to fight against the urge to squirm under his examination. "I take it you're not on the best of terms with her either?"

"That's none of your business," she retorted.

"But you want to know mine?" Malfoy gave another smirk.

"It's just a simple question," she huffed as she hastily took advantage of the lull and scooted back a bit, pulling her legs up to her chest. "You make everything horribly difficult, you know that?"

"It's fun," his smile plainly said that he hadn't overlooked her withdrawal, "You should try it sometime—you know, fun."

"You're dodging the question again," Hermione said.

"And you're not?"

"You didn't ask a question,"

"Would you like me to?" he raised his eyebrows.

"This is exactly what I mean!" she groaned and threw her hands up.

There was a long pause before she looked back over to find Malfoy staring at her. And not just staring at her, but staring at her in a way that made the compromise in distance she'd just made seem paltry now.

"What?" she had meant to snap at him, but it came out far too neutral for her taste.

He shook his head after another moment, but he didn't look away—like he always did. "It's funny to see you like this."

"Like what?" she was annoyed at how self-conscious she suddenly felt.

He shook his head again, this time more confidant, this time meaning something by it. "Out of your element. So crazy."

"I am not crazy," she found herself smiling despite herself.

"I'd have to disagree," he broke and sat up on his knees, looking down on her.

That was all wrong. She had thought the logistics separated them, but now it seemed such a casual thing as he crossed the short distance, so natural. He made it that way. His eyes made everything seem so natural.

This had to be a game. There was no other explanation. Somehow he was using this, using her for something. Blinking furiously, as though that might help, she tried to remember what his mood had been like recently. That turned out to be ridiculously difficult, what with him advancing on her. She felt herself begin to panic; she hoped he didn't realize how close she was to bolting.

But what had she been trying to remember? His mood. Things had been going bad today, hadn't they? Yes, they'd fought worse today than they had ever. But could she really say that? Yes, this had hurt worse than it ever had. But that wasn't right either. It wasn't because of him, but the rather deplorable conditions she was being forced into. This was what she had chosen, though.

Why?

Thin wisps of a smile hung on his lips, and she lost her line of thought, coming back to remember that they'd also come to a series of understandings over the day. It had been such a long day.

"What?" she asked suddenly, completely at a loss about whether or not he'd said something. It seemed like he should have, but now his overt smile made her think otherwise. If only she could think.

"What what?" If he had been too close to her before, he was all but physically on top of her now, some compensation granted for her present over exaggeration. But still, if he didn't stop now, he was going to have to touch her at some point. Distractedly she tried to look down at the ground and figure out just when that would happen—if he didn't stop that is—which he was going to do, which he had to do.

"Hermione,"

Her eyes snapped up to his expectant ones.

"What?" she asked, finding it suddenly impossible to swallow.

"What?" he was laughing at her again, almost more warmly than she'd ever seen him, "You said what. What do you want?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she was already inching back away from him before she realized it. "And stop saying my name, it's just—" she nearly cringed at his raised eyebrows, "—Unprofessional, that's what it is."

"I don't think you've ever said my name."

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying when he was talking so differently. So …

"There's a good reason for that," she managed.

His smile had frozen in a way that made her breath catch in her lungs, and for a long moment the only movement was the flighty excitement coursing through her blood, making everything shake slightly. Or maybe it was just her. And then she felt something brush against her knee.

He was already moving forward with it, but surely he couldn't have missed how she barely kept from jumping. Surely he could see how she tensed.

But it was his hand, lightly, almost reverently, resting on her knee. He was touching her. She had to fight to suppress the urge to recoil from it. It seemed so unreal, nothing like this could ever happen. But it was happening, and he was too close to her. She could hardly breath under his presence, and there was the expectant look in his eyes.

She might have mumbled something, but it was hard to remember. She couldn't recall getting to her feet, though it must have been fairly quickly. It was strange though, how she could perfectly picture the way his face fell in small increments, as if time had slowed down.

Her chest was hurting again, but this time it was different.

There was no way he could be doing … this with her. There had to be some underlying motive to it. That sounded familiar. Yes, of course, she'd thought it before.

But what if that isn't true?

That gave her pause, as did the place his expression had come to.

But no, it had to be true. There was nothing he could want with her. She had nothing to offer him, nothing that someone like Ginny could give so easily, or even that dim witted heifer. It wasn't fair, but that was how it was. Malfoy didn't want a nice girl, and she wasn't about to give him what he really wanted. Besides, she'd just be leading him along, giving him false assumptions about how things were between them. And it wouldn't be sensible to hinder how well things were going between them.

It wasn't easy to meet his eyes, and it was much harder than it should've been to smile, but she managed.

"I think I need to get some air." It was probably best if she kept the meaning to her tone, and though it was far shakier than she would've liked, Malfoy evidently got the message.

His face had fallen to a dark expression. In the moment it took for him to incline his chin slightly in what he had probably meant to be a nod, she couldn't have been more convinced that she had just adverted disaster.

But why did he have to be so angry?