Hermione woke up, stretched out comfortably in her bed. Her eyes found the area where Draco's couch had been… it was gone, still. Three days had passed since he'd shared the room with her. She was a little concerned about where he may have gone, and what he might have been up to, but she didn't mind having her own space again, nor did she mind being spared his taxing voice echoing in her head.

She rose and began to ready for the day's tasks. She'd spent hours in the library the last two days, and finished them out with dinner in Hagrid's cabin as he slowly but surely was making a full recovery. She'd crested the middle of her stay this week at Hogwarts, and she felt that she was only a little closer to deciphering the message they had overheard in her flat. She hated to admit it, but she wished Malfoy hadn't abandoned all the research. He had just as much background knowledge as she did—if not more, given Rorofulus's journal, which she had poured herself into the last few nights—and it would have been nice to have had a second pair of eyes on the task. A knock stirred her out of her thoughts and she clutched a robe which suddenly appeared on her bed knob. She smiled, slipping into it.

"Is that you, Malfoy?" she called.

"Nah, it's me: Neville," he replied. She sighed. Why was she so disappointed?

"Come in," she said, flipping her hair out of the robe and tying the belt securely around her waist. He entered and momentarily drank in her appearance before hotly looking away. His ears turned bright red—like Ronald's used to. It made her giggle, though she kept it hidden well.

"Sorry, Neville, I didn't—"

"No, no it's fine. You… were expecting Malfoy? Like… that?" She was at a loss. How to explain the eccentricities of her feelings toward Malfoy? Well you see, Neville, Malfoy and I rather like to argue each other blue in the face and then have a good sexual assault on one another to really get it out of our systems. So what's for breakfast?

No. She was grateful for one thing though, even as it stuck in her craw, and that was that her brief but newlyappreciative attraction toward Neville Longbottom had very much calmed down since her libido had been switched back on. Grateful for the lack of awkward exchanges, but irritated by the implication: there was something specific about Malfoy that was getting to her.

To her immense relief, when she fumbled for an answer in her big, suddenly empty brain, he changed the subject.

"On Thursdays the Herbology Classroom is vacant. It's my day to catch up with the plants, make sure they're healthy, but... I'm ahead of schedule. I thought maybe I'd spend the day, you know, trying to help you out. Reckoned Malfoy would be slacking, so…"

"You reckoned right," she answered, and turned for the changing area. "That's so sweet of you, Neville, really. Mind waiting for me while I get dressed? I won't be long."

He made to sit down on her bed, and froze inches from the sheets, turned and looked at it, and then made for the couch, suddenly back in the room. She smiled, a little embarrassed, and a little disappointed in herself. Here was a gentleman in her presence. He would almost definitely take care of her, if given half a chance to succeed… and she didn't want to let him. There was much familiarity with Neville, as there had always been with Ron. She felt safe. She felt heard. She felt... content.

But, she did very much want his help today, knowing that Malfoy was not going to be joining her, yet again… but would she trade Neville for him if he turned up to dig into a book alongside her? Maybe. At least she could admit that to herself… maybe.

Her suitcase was already behind the oriental changing curtain and she quickly set herself into casual robes and shoes, with a sweater: her old Gryffindor colors. It was a good omen for the day, she figured. It'd bring back good memories and thoughts.

She came back into the light and he rose, stopped shaking his leg. He was anxious, she saw. But why? They'd done research together, before.

"Something up, Neville?" she asked. He shrugged—too quickly, she caught.

"Not at all, 'Mione. Let's go."

What she didn't realize was that for the last decade and a half, Neville Longbottom had always been this anxious in her company... and it was only due to her sudden, blatant curiosity about the opposite sex that she had even noticed, at all.

Draco was enjoying this little game. She was relentless, vivacious, and wickedly smart—qualities he was beginning to admire in spite of himself… but he was about to have her… she'd never be able to recover from this….

"I see your Galderina Huffington, and I raise you… Ned Yonkers. Balderdash, little Cornelia. I think I've just bested you." He watched her little eyebrows knit together, her knuckles white as they held her trading cards. He was smirking, watching on the Great Hall table as Ned Yonkers through a scorching quaffle from his own card, into the middle goal post behind Galderina Huffington. Galderina swore, throwing her fist down. Cornelia copied her.

"You're not a very good sport, Miss Johnson-Wood," he warned her, gathering the two cards to add to his pile. The girls across from him looked very cross, indeed. All week he'd been snatching their toys from them—towering over them in their little game of Quiddich Cards. Octavia- the Ravenclaw- sat to the right side of her, and Julissa- the Slytherin- to the left. He'd sufficiently gathered nearly all of their Holiday gifts, at this point. He would have felt bad about it… but, evidently, her daddy was going to punch him in the bollocks.

He sat lazily with an empty breakfast plate before him, leg up on the bench, the other bent over it, and he leaned on his elbow. He was growing bored of Hogwarts, now. He understood his past desire to come here… no glowering father… no sobbing mother… no imperfections marring the mask he had to wear, whatsoever. But now that Hermione Granger had peered onto the other side of it, father was put away, and mother was a stark-raving nutter, Hogwarts just didn't have the same pull it once had.

"I don't think I want to play with him, anymore," Julissa said to her two friends, sliding her cards back into her pockets.

"We can't give up!" Cornelia said, defiantly.

"A good player knows when to surrender to avoid defeat," Octavia cut in, also slowly sliding her cards under the table. Cornelia was shaking her head.

Draco looked up, running a hand through his unwashed hair. He'd taken to sleeping in his old common room- the passwords had been easy enough to figure out. The portraits never changed their tunes, even if the students all had. Snake Eyes had been one from his fourth year. It was only his second guess. A shower was a luxury he could do without for the next three days… if it meant staying the Hell away from her.

He had to admit he was a little shocked when she hadn't set to rightly packing when she'd finished that damn diary… all those notes… all those warnings… and not a lick of proof of what had actually happened to "dear" old Uncle Rory. He wasn't sure he even believed in the efficacy of the last entry, to be truthful. Anyone could have written that. Could have been Enzo.

He was going out there, one way or the other, once all his ducks were in a row. He was not going to feel like this, forever. Enzo had it easy. He didn't care what the meaning of it all was. He'd never cared about his blood or his legacy. All he cared about was Dragon Slaying, Potion Making, and now… remembering his brother. No, he was going with or without Granger... but without her, he knew, his chances of being successful were far slimmer.

Draco looked up in time to see her come in, Longbottom trailing along behind her. He smirked. Oh, he knew why he was behind her… that chivalrous, "let me lick your shoes," routine to get into her neat, but a little bit tight pants? Let him try. Granger wasn't interested, and Draco didn't care. It would just be one more nod to his youth: watching Neville Longbottom fall flat on his face.

"Can't let him beat us, girls," he heard, being pulled back into the other game he was still playing.

"He already has," Julissa said, studying her nails, unaffected by the events.

"We can find something good to do upstairs," Octavia reminded her. "We haven't even touched any of the goodies my father bought for us, Cor—"

She slammed her balled fists down on the table. Both girls looked at her, hard. Even Draco was slightly alarmed.

"I'll make you a deal," she said to Draco, her eye contact a bit unnerving.

"One more round… out on the Lake. It's been warm, this week. Winner takes all."

"Oh… kay?" he said, trying to suss out where she was going with this one.

"It'll be more of a… I guess you'd call it… game of chicken."

He grinned. "Yeah? How so?"

"The ice will be melting," she broke into a wide smile. "The giant squid will be waking up."

Hermione and Neville gathered just enough food to satiate themselves and headed for the library, eating as they went. "Scourgify," Neville muttered when they were done, and the plates cleaned and scurried back toward the kitchens. Hermione frowned, in spite of herself.

"What's up?" He asked.

"Nothing," she dismissed, but the question was already in her mouth, and she sighed. "Not "Mondere?" She asked. He shrugged.

"They work just the same for me, I suppose. But my gran was a Scourgify stickler."

"How come?"

"Just liked it, I think. She even used to leave behind little, lemon scented accents on things with it." Hermione pursed her lips. Neville was peaked. He cocked his head.

"Interested in taking up house keeping, Miss Granger?" She blushed feverishly. To this day, it was not easy for Hermione Granger to admit an area she lacked mastery of. She heatedly looked around, instead.

"Any sign of him?" Hermione couldn't help but ask. She cringed, inwardly. Merlin, she felt like she was 16 years old.

"Are you kidding?" he asked, chuckling.

"What?"

"He was sitting at the bloody Gryffindor table, Hermione. You didn't catch him?"

She was shocked. "You're sure?" she asked. He nodded, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, yeah. He's been cheating his way through my students' Christmas presents all week."

Now she was less than shocked. "Oh," she said. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Can't wait to make sense of all of this, for you," he said, gesturing to her papers. She nodded, happy to change the subject.

"It'll certainly help me relax," she said. Together, they entered the library. Her research was all as she'd left it, though the grumpy old librarian, Mrs. Pince, had nearly had a stroke when she'd asked if she could leave it out to save time and energy. Neville and she sat down on opposite ends of the table and set to work.

The silence between them was nice. It was comfortable. Hermione desperately needed comfort back in her life. For so long, it was all she knew. Comfort. Contentment. Predictability. She had learned to rely on it. Nowadays, she felt as if she was flying between polarized emotions, uncontrollable, and totally unpredictable. She was hot and cold, and nothing in between. This was nice, this time alone with Neville.

Was nice, enough?

"Hermione…" he suddenly said. "Can I see the transcription? The prophecy?"

Hermione looked through her pile before handing him a scrap of notepaper. He read, aloud:

"He will not know you. He will not remember them. His wand is broken, in spirit. The essence is gone. In the vault—the lost vault—he lies. He waits. He knows you come for him… but he knows not who you are. The one in charge, he waits for HER. Two halves of one whole—the key. You will set them free. And they will change the world. Be ready for battle. The third week of the fifth month. You'll wear silver."

Her handed the paper back to Hermione. She glanced at all the little notes and blurbs she'd scribbled into her journal.

"And the voices, yeah? They talked about the Mountain of the Sky Chambers… two halves, one path, "Their" wrath… you reckon 'They' are the ones you're setting free? The ones who "will change the world"?"

"That could be," Hermione said. "No one knows what's happened to the Kings of the Mountain... it would stand to reason they could be imprisoned."

"But by who?" He asked.

Hermione pondered. "Something else I find interesting about this prophecy is the "He," who, for lack of a better idea, is waiting for... well... me. The one in charge. Iraq is steeped in old, and dark magic. Somewhere like that... it would attract the very sort of wizard we grew up fighting, Neville."

Nevill's eyes went large.

"A second man. A second 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be—"

"Voldemort, Neville. To call him anything less is an insult to Harry; to your parents."

Neville nodded. "I can respect that. Force of habit," he said.

"I don't think it's Voldemort, himself, though. I think this is something older than Voldemort… perhaps, not the source of all that he stood for, but definitely a power that's been laid to rest for years. It talks of us wearing silver- or at least Draco- when he "sets them free." I have found a poem—a nursery rhyme, rather, about an Ancient War in Sumeria, sort of a satire about Religion, and how it rules the people. It says that The True Knights of Kings wear Silver to be Pure, because Silver is impenetrable from lies and corruption, and will protect them as they make their way to open the cage."

"Not a great nursery rhyme, if you ask me."

"Well, it rhymes in Sumerian." She stuck her tongue out at him. "But, that poem really strikes a chord, don't you think? After all… that symbol of Silver being pure has carried over in SO many cultures… and even Salazar Slytherin was adamant that his colors had to be Silver and Green. Silver for their purity, and green—"

"For their righteous, jealous arses."

Hermione grinned.

"If you only came to make me laugh, you are not helping, Neville Longbottom."

"Sorry, sorry. Carry on, madam." She rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway.

"So, that's the part I'm set on. We're still talking about whatever's happening in Iraq. Draco's uncle found he had to set out for there, and now we have as well. There's something there, that's for bloody certain. And if I'm being honest, and though you know I hate to assume… I think the prophecy is talking about Draco's Uncle, Rory. "He will not know you. He will not remember them…." It seems to suggest that he's being imprisoned, as well, which after all, though not great news, at least he's not DEAD in that case. I just, I feel it in my gut, Neville. My intuition. But… is it enough?"

"You're not gonna find that kind of assurance in these old books, Hermione. Harry always goes with his gut."

"I know," she said. "I'm just… not used to it."

"Hey. You're shacking up with a Slytherin, Granger. Maybe change is your new middle name."

She rolled her eyes and cracked open another book.

"Help me find something concrete I can use, you old troll."

He smiled deeply, righted himself, and set upon helping her research.

Draco was standing on the ice, his head high, though honestly, he was a bit petrified of this little girl. How had such a tiny thing come up with something so completely brutal? And what if she was genuinely hurt in all this? Would he be imprisoned? Was he endangering the welfare of a child engaging in something so irresponsible? McGonagall was going to have his throat if she was hurt. And if he was… well… he reckoned that'd be the second wet dream he'd be able to give Granger.

"Ready?" she asked him, her cards at her feet. His breath stood before him in a humid puff. The sooner he got started, the sooner he could get back to the roaring fire in the Slytherin common room, and all the pumpkin juice the dear little elfies would bring him.

"Ready," he said. They sat. On the shore, what must have been dozens of students were watching them. Their little heads poked high over one another to take a guess at who would be chickening out first. He wagered that the money was on Cornelia, but probably not all. She was really something, this little firecracker.

"Draw," she said. They each pulled cards from the full pile beside the tall icepick that stood balanced with its tip digging into the shallow ice which he wasn't sure was holding them up by more than sheer magic, alone. He wasn't sure how many plays it was going to take, laying cards down on that sharp pick before the ice finally cracked, and the danger would be released from below. Draco read over his cards, hungrily. He set his first card down squarely on top of the icepick, and it dug a little deeper toward the murky water below.

"Hollace Showboat," he said. The beater plugged away at the air showing off his bulging biceps. Cornelia nodded, showing her approval. She lay her first card on top of his, and the pick slid just a hair deeper.

"Ziggy Zespy," she said, smiling. "Fastest seeker that ever the World of Quidditch has known." He zipped about on his card, and Hollace appeared, racing toward him. Ziggy flew on behind him, blowing raspberries over his shoulder. Draco put down his second card.

"Peter Gollespie," he said, "Strong. Polish. Smart." He stood blocking Draco's goal posts, poised and ready for battle.

"Arminio Godric Jolly," he said. He was doing a handstand on his broom, spinning about.

"Show off," Draco commented. Arminio righted himself on his broom and sped off with the quaffle toward the goal posts.

"Blake Billows," he said, his first Chaser played. A bludger came from seemingly nowhere and knocked the quaffle out of Arminio's hand. Blake grabbed it and hustled toward a set of empty goal posts on Cornelia's side.

The crowd was whispering. They were starting to get restless, for only the two of them could see the game… and the ice pick was growing steadily closer to the break of the ice. A crack had formed along either side of it. Draco knew it was only going to deepen as they played.

Quickly, Cornelia threw down a Keeper. "Yolanda Supremo," she said. The woman on the broom rubbed her hands together, her long, full braid knotted in sections all the way down to her feet. As Blake sped toward her with the quaffle and chucked it, she spun around, her hair in the air, and knocked the quaffle back to Arminio with her braid. He was heading now for Draco's goal post.

"Scuttle Borges," he said, the Spanish trickster winked as he dove through the sky and down toward the lawn on the field. He waggled his eyebrows as he followed after Ziggy, actively chasing the snitch. He was surfing on his broomstick to catch the speedy flyer's attention. It worked. Ziggy was caught off guard, running headfirst into a goal post. He recovered, but only barely holding on, and snickering, Scuttle was diving after the snitch.

"Alice Hugsbane," Cornelia said, thumping the card down on the icepick… that was all it took. The crack around the icepick deepened, and the icepick shook before diving below the surface. Draco snatched the cards from its surface before it disappeared under the surface of the lake. Three bubbles reached the surface, and the two of them locked eyes.

"Run," he said.

"Not a chance," she whispered. His heart was pounding. Was she serious?! A roar could be heard under the ice, and the surface of the lake began to quake.

A cheer caught Draco's attention. He looked to the crowd, but they were silent, aghast, and waiting for their next move. He looked down at the cards in his hands. Scuttle was crying his fool eyes out, running across the field, and Ziggy had the snitch in his two hands, whistling and cheering. Cornelia's team was running the field carrying him, having won their came of Quidditch Cards. Draco looked up at her, smiled.

"You caught the snitch," he said, handing her the pile.

She beamed, accepting the cards, and another rumble came from beneath them. Her wide eyes focused on the other end of the lake.

"MOVE!" she yelled. Together they stood and half-skated/half-ran from the crack in the ice as the two pieces moved apart. They only barely escaped as The Giant Squid jumped into the air, ice flying every which way, its tentacles grabbing for them as it soared up, then down, breaking a giant hole in the remaining ice on the far side of the bank, and reentering the surface. Though they had reached the grassy lawn, and Cornelia's friends had surrounded her with cheers and applause, the squid continued to search for them, jumping, cracking and breaking, until the lake was awash with icebergs floating on its crystal surface underneath the glorious, setting sun.

"Wait," Cornelia said to her friends who were carrying her away triumphantly. She ran back to Draco. She took a deep breath and held out her hand.

"You are a worthy opponent," she said. He looked down at it for a moment, tiny and symbolic. He shook it. She flicked a card to him.

"To remember me by?" she said. He picked it up. She ran back to join her friends. In the setting sun, he held up the card to view. The card was Humphrey Torvald, a Keeper who bore some resemblance to himself. Draco smiled, a genuine smile. The man was famous for guarding his emotions almost as well as his goalposts... a heart-throb Keeper with the ladies. He pocketed the card, sat down on the lawn, and watched the icebergs float without regret on the perfect surface of the lake.

Though Hermione had discovered nothing new today, she at least had not spent it by herself, anxiously realizing that time was running out. She at least had spent it with a friend. And, she tried to consider, she had at least also told him of her presumptions, and he had sided with her. Perhaps it would be enough for Draco, too, if it was truly enough for her. Together, he walked her back to her room.

"Where's he been staying?" Neville asked casually. Hermione shrugged, then sighed.

"At first, he was with me. Then… we had a bit of a row."

"Yeah? Give him a good one, did you?"

She laughed.

"Too good. He's not been back, since."

"And the couch?"

"For him, of course. The room required for us to sleep separately."

He chuckled, looked down, and a look came over his face that Hermione did not recognize... something like nostalgia? Something like disappointment. She held her gaze on him and he looked back to her.

"You got a thing for him?" It was if an impenetrable, diamond-thick wall came down around her. All sound disappeared but the ringing in her ears. The hairs on her neck were standing on end. He stopped walking, noticing that she had fallen behind and turned to look at her.

"Do I… have a what?"

He smiled at her. "S'okay, Hermione. I'm not going to tell anyone."

She was appalled. "Neville. What could possibly have made you ask me that?"

He looked at her, incredulous, and walked back to her. He slung an arm around her shoulder.

"Hermione… look. I like you. I've liked you for a long, long time. Now- don't get me wrong. I've dated. I'm not lonely, and I'm not pining after you. But... oh, for Merlin sake."

She met his gaze, and became all too aware that he was going to kiss her. She froze, turning pink. He stopped, his mouth inches from hers, and placed a hand on the back of her neck. His thumb tickled her ear. She let out a small breath of air. She closed her eyes, granted him permission, and he softly interlocked with her, for a sweet moment. When he pulled away, she opened her eyes. He was staring at her, his expression unreadable. She blushed.

"That was... nice," she admitted. She half smiled. He sighed.

"I'm sure it was," he started. Her smile faltered. "I'm not blind, Hermione. The banter… the way you two look at one another—"

"It's called revulsion."He took a step back from her. She felt the safe wall he'd placed around her heart, withering.

"No, it's called chemistry. You get worked up about nothing else like you do for Draco Malfoy. And it's clear that he fancies you… if not for the right reasons."

She wasn't sure what to do—or say. He was a lunatic. That's all there was to it. But how to tell him… should she just turn and run? Or maybe she'd obliviate herself gently to make it all go away. She'd said the wrong thing, telling him the kiss had only been nice. She ought to put more oomf into it. Surely there was a strong enough sleeping potion she could take to sleep it all off and convince herself this moment- maybe this whole week- had only been a dream. Instead, she doubled down.

"He's a Slytherin, Neville. He makes us all angry."

He sighed, shaking his head, no longer looking at her. He didn't believe her! She wanted to grab him and shake him. They weren't shagging for Merlin's sake! Well… that is, you couldn't define what had transpired as shagging, really… and it hadn't STRICTLY been something that she'd desired to happen. She just hadn't stopped him, is all. She hadn't stopped Neville, either! He'd stopped himself.

"Answer me one thing," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Anything."

"You've kissed him?"

Her brows knitted together. She felt her whole body turning hot. Neville sighed.

"And when I kissed you, just now, was it even remotely as exciting for you?"

She couldn't lift her gaze from the ground. If she did, the world would fall away, it seemed. How had all the people in her life gotten so much better at understanding her than she understood herself? She saw him nod once, in her peripheral vision.

"Just… promise me something, Hermione."

"Neville, I—"

"If this gets bad… if you two are the two halves to this 'Key…' if what you open is something dangerous, or if it comes down to you or him… just… promise me you won't lose your head. The world is better with you in it. And don't ever let him take you for granted."

With that, he pulled her into his arms platonically and pecked her on the cheek. For once in her life, her head was quiet. Too quiet. The silence was making her nauseas, and she had the gut-wrenching sensation of standing on the precipice of a great cliff, looking down.

"Hope I'm not interrupting your love making session, Granger," she heard from behind her, and then came the scarlet blush across her face.

"Just thought we should start getting down to business."

Were they kissing?! Draco was aghast. He'd nearly been eaten by a giant, buggering squid, and he had walked into a different set of tentacles all over a witch he was supposed to be sharing a bloody bed with. He never would have thought that Longbottom had it in him. Or had she instigated? He'd rounded the corner just in time to see him pull away from her- straight as a stick, no hint of melting against him the way he knew she was capable of. He was unashamed, and bloody angry.

When he'd spoken to them, they'd both turned. He couldn't even hear what Longbottom had said. The look on Hermione's face stopped him dead. She was embarrassed, shaky, confused… what had he just done to her? Draco looked between their faces.

"Couldn't get her to kiss you right, Longbottom, so you had to force one out of her?"

His face contorted, looking to Hermione, then back. "Not all right are ya, Malfoy? Time away's made you thick in the head."

"Time away has made me thick, but not in the head. You bloody traumatized her. Look at her!"

"I traumatized her? I care about her! All you do is bloody take!"

Draco laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that what she told you? Take, I did. I took what she was begging me to, and she's been only the better for it."

Suddenly, the tension around them was so thick that the three of them could scarcely move… Draco immediately realized his misconception.

"He better not be serious," he heard Neville mutter. He looked to Hermione. Her face was open as a book, the pages frail and blotted with ink, but the message so clear that it sung. He wanted Granger searching for words. They both realized the mistake, saw the wheels turning, but neither of them came to a resolution in time.

Neville charged at Draco, wand at the ready, but he barely needed it. With one jump he knocked Draco to the floor. He was on top of him, punching, kicking, knocking the very wind out of him. Draco could barely keep up. He was staying afloat only with defensive positions as he tried to keep his sensitive bits covered up. He did the only thing he could think to do. Longbottom was getting the better of him, somehow. He wasn't giving him much choice. He withdrew his wand and muttered, "Ferrum, Factus." His wand transformed in his hands between them to a long, shining dagger.

"Draco, NO!" he heard Hermione scream, but it was too late. His wand was already deep inside Neville Longbottom's gut.

Neville fell sideways off of Draco Malfoy, clasping his gaping wound. Draco made to stand and Hermione pushed him back to the ground, falling beside Neville to dress his wound. She covered it with both hands, closing her eyes. "Revealo," she said under her breath. She let a breath escape her. "No major organs," she said to Neville, who's face was contorted with pain. She pointed her want into the wound, let the blood wash onto its tip. "Episkey," she said, and the wound closed up. Neville caught his breath, his long hair in his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead.

Draco seemed to have realized what had happened. He was leaning over Neville, in a kind of tizzy that Hermione had never seen him in before. Was that regret? Perhaps it was just the dreading of consequences. He must have known that she was going to have to put his bloody lights out for this one. Really. He was in no position to be jealous. And he was so buggering lucky that Neville was going to be all right.

"Let me up, Hermione," he said to her, huskily. He rose. Draco started to speak, then stopped. Neville was breathing hard, his eyes locked on Draco. He walked toward him, right up to his nose. Draco backed up a hair, but Neville closed the distance once more.

"If you ever hurt her, Malfoy… you're going to wake up on fire." He let the comment settle for a moment, let Draco's wide eyes stay locked onto his, before he raised his knee sharply, and it connected with Draco Malfoy's testicles. He collapsed on the ground in a pile of agony and deserved shame. Neville sniffed, wiped the sweat from his face. He looked down at his blood-soaked robes.

"I have to… change. Can't let the students see me like this," he said. She nodded.

"Go," she said. "We're lucky they haven't seen too much, already." He nodded, sent Draco another lingering look, and sped off. Hermione looked down at Draco, half-wanting to leave him there, half-wanting to go off to the Library, finish her research, and head on to her next destination by herself. She'd be safer- she knew it. She'd certainly be more content.

She sunk to her knees beside Draco, and gently let her hand follow the curve of his thigh until it found his hand, where she let it rest. She blinked at him. He opened his eyes and looked at her, his features starting to settle as the pain eased away.

"He was just trying to show me something," she said, quietly. For a moment, only silence passed between them. He swallowed audibly.

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know," she said.

"The things he said, I… I thought you'd told him,"

"I didn't have to."

Draco coughed. He looked away from her. There were some things that neither of them was ready to come to terms with. She felt a small smile pull her lips. She looked away from him.

"You're a blithering idiot," she said gently.

"You're an uptight freak," he muttered.

She smiled. Content without him, she certainly would be.

But that was just the issue. Hermione Granger was tired. She was tired of being content.