When Sirius awoke late the next morning, Hermione, Harry and the other students had already left for Hogwarts. Cursing, he withdrew into one of Grimmauld Place's musty parlours and sank into an armchair. It was too much right now to face anyone else. Fingering a disintegrating tome on the side-table, Sirius thought back on the summer and the joy of having people around him, people he loved. Especially Harry. And Hermione.

He sighed expansively. The hullabaloo at the Ministry over two months ago had given him a taste of action which he now craved more than ever. Being cooped up in this dark abode was almost as bad as Azkaban . . . almost. Then, like now, he found refuge in happy thoughts of the past - of James and Lily, of the Marauders in their innocent youth, of innocence and youth now discovered in one slightly underage witch.

Thinking was giving Sirius a headache. He growled at himself as he rubbed his head in annoyance. Time extended forward for him in a lazy way, as if it had little in store for the slowly aging man, straddled between the planes of youth and age. He felt the poisonous sinews of Boredom clutching at him all too often, but Dumbledore had made it clear on many occasions that it was most sensible – and safest – for Sirius to remain at number 12, Grimmauld Place. Grudgingly, he had agreed.

But when had sensibility and a desire for safety been his strong points?

---

On the Hogwarts train, Hermione put on a façade of compete tranquility, making sure not to seem too rattled or upset, although that was exactly what she felt, for reasons lurking just beyond her grasp. Curled up in a corner of the compartment reading a textbook, Hermione was bitter. It startled her.

She hated herself for this confusion which could not be alleviated by looking up her symptoms in a textbook. This was nothing logic or book-smarts could cure! With a frustrated shake back into reality, Hermione realized she had completely zoned out from reading her copy of 101 Better Study Habits for the Modern Witch. Flipping hastily back through the pages, she struggled to find where she'd last been consciously reading.

"What's up with her?" whispered Ginny, looking quizzically at Harry. He turned to Hermione's huddled form. Her back was hunched, eyes holding a wild look of concentration. A nervous tic plagued her left eye.

"Beats me," he replied. "Probably fell behind on reading through all the assigned."

"Yeah," Ginny chuckled. "You're probably right, mate."

Furiously, Hermione realized they had been talking about her. "Fine, laugh if you want!" she cried out. But when you guys are pulling all-nighters for your next Charms exam, see if I care!" and with a dramatic flounce, she stormed out of the compartment.

It was four startled first years later that she finally found an empty section of the train, which she entered violently, slamming the door open and collapsing on her back in a huff along the seat. It wasn't a minute later that the door opened and familiar voice drawled, "Nice legs, Mudblood."

"Sod off Malfoy," Hermione hissed, sitting up and pulling down her robes from where they had ridden up around her knees.

Draco's laughter echoed around the room as he closed the door and sat down beside her with an evil twinkle in his eye. Hermione rolled her eyes and moved to make a quick escape, but Draco pinned the edge of her robe to the floor with his foot, so she faltered.

"What do you want?" she asked, exasperated.

"Merely the pleasure," his eyes darted up and down her form, "Of your . . . uh, company."

"Bite me, Malfoy" Hermione retorted, flushed with anger. She wrenched away her dress and drew back the compartment door, but before she could exit, Draco pushed it closed. Swiveling around, she gave him a venomous look, but before she could speak he bowed his head and obligingly nipped her neck with his teeth before smirking at her astonished face.

"I didn't mean literally," she stumbled.

"I see puberty finally hit," he whispered in her ear. "I like what it's done to you."

"Geroff!" growled Hermione, pushing him forcefully back. He laughed as she stalked ferociously down the corridor, arms clenched at her sides in humiliation.

"See you!" he yelled back at her, before sliding the door closed. He felt childish, but excited.

How funny, he thought to himself. I almost like her. He smirked at the adolescent thoughts running through his head. Somewhere along the way, his passion had crossed the demure little line between Despise and Desire.

---

Draco finally sought Hermione out three days later, as she was taking advantage of an empty classroom to practice turning a roll of socks into a cupcake. She didn't even notice the presence of her long-time enemy until he had already entered and pushed the door closed.

"Hello Granger," he exhaled.

Hermione's neck snapped back and her eyes darkened as she saw who had invaded her private space. "You" she spat. "What do you want now?"

"Well that's very nice of you," said Draco with a mock hurt tone in his voice. "I drop by to say hello to a classmate and she spurns me. How delightful. You really are so charming." He leaned his hands against the desk Hermione was working at and gave her a cheeky grin. It was an odd change from his characteristic smirk and Hermione felt wary. She realized she was getting tired of feeling so. . .

"Is that all?" she asked in a bored voice. The past few days she had occupied her thoughts mostly with the topic of Sirius, and she had run threadbare the memory of their last night together.

"What if it isn't?" bantered the blonde boy, leaning closer to her. He put his hand gently on her arm as he moved in, eagerly and almost menacingly. Hermione's initial reaction was to flinch at his touch, but she felt a warmth tingle through her body.

"Hermione?" said a familiar voice, as the door creaked open. A sliver of light entered the poorly-lit room, illuminateing dead center Draco poised over Hermione at her desk.

"Get out, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, raising his wand. "Leave Hermione alone!" He walked quickly into the room and Hermione saw that Draco too, had pulled out his wand. But rather than staying for a fight, he smirked at his scar-faced adversary and moved towards the exit.

"You're not even worth my time," he drawled, leaving. Harry trailed him with a scowl, then dashed over to his friend.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his concerned face now leaning over hers where Draco's had been moments before.

"Yes, I – Yeah. I – I'm fine, Harry," stammered Hermione, avoiding his gaze as she rose from her seat. His eyes followed her as she walked away, suspicious of the silence. "You know," she said, turning around, "You really didn't need to do all that." There was something almost spiteful in her voice. "I don't need your interference."

"Hermione, what's with you?" Harry asked incredulously, following her. He grabbed her shoulders and peered half jokingly into her face. "You aren't acting like yourself."

Hermione shook him off and gave him a hurt look. "I don't always need you, Harry," she hissed. "Stop acting so righteous and . . ." she paused, " . . . condescending."

Harry could scarcely believe that the impertinently twitching head of brown hair he watched exit the room belonged to one of his closest friends.

---

Hermione ran down the corridor, up to the head girl's dorm she shared with Ron (who had been named Head Boy). Their sleeping quarters were linked by a small common room in which Harry usually (Ginny, Neville or Luna, occasionally) joined them in camaraderie. Whether it was while doing homework, playing chess and drinking butterbeer, or toasting bread swiped from the kitchens on the end of the hearth tongs, the small common room was a center of activity for the trio and their friends. It was cozily equipped with a long couch and two armchairs which flocked around the fireplace. On the other side of the room, a table and set of chairs were placed, supposedly for more academic purposes. The décor shimmered in shades of red and gold, and two Gryffindor banners adorned the walls, one for each of the Heads.

After mumbling the password (banoffe pie) to a marble bust of the sorceress Galinda, Hermione slipped inside. She caught her robes in the door and had to yank them free, cursing all the while.

"What's wrong Hermione?" asked Ron, from his perch in an armchair by the fire.
"Nothing," she said quietly, moving towards her room.
"Come off it, Hermione, you look like someone canceled Christmas," he hedged. "If you don't tell me what's wrong, you'll have to snap out of your little strop, then!"

Ron came up behind her as she reached the door to her bedroom and wrapped his arms around her. She turned into his chest and started to cry.

"Oh Ron!" she sniffled. It seemed to her that over the summer she and this gangly red-haired boy had become closer and closer friends. Harry spent most of the time they hadn't been playing Quiddich at the Weasley's discussing darker matters with Sirius. It had often ended up that she and Ron were left to their own devices, and while these never evolved romantically – although once Ginny had accused them and Ron had blushed – it encouraged a fine intimacy which, Hermione feared, at times threatened to exclude Harry.

"There now, don't cry, it can't be as bad as all that," he chuckled. "All right, maybe it is," he revised, as Hermione started sobbing louder. "But I won't know until you tell me!"

"Come on, let's go sit down." He led her over to the sofa, where they both collapsed, Hermione cradling her face in her hands.

"Ron," Hermione whispered. "I -"

But she was cut off by Harry, (to whom they always gave the password), entering the room.

"Oh -," he stumbled. "I just wanted to –,"

"Hey Harry come on in!" interrupted Ron, drowning out his protestations. Hermione used the cover of Ron's prattle to dab at her eyes and then quickly slip into her room, away from the fuss and bother.