Hogwarts Men
Ravenclaw Common Room
POV: Draco Malfoy

I catch her with my hands before she falls and dirties my impeccable robes. I can't help but wonder why Granger would have such a violent reaction to the revelation of the Ravenclaw's name in the portrait.

The fragrance of Granger's apricot scent, caught in the wayward strands of her curly long hair, tickles my nose, surprising me at its utter femininity. The heat and slight weight of her back, only inches from my chest warms me. Simply having these undesired thoughts flit through my tense brain has my stomach roiling with the need to retch.

She is not a Pureblood! I scream in my head.

I catch myself and my straying thoughts as I bodily throw the Insufferable Know-It-All onto Cormac McLaggen who just happens to be standing beside me. Looney Luna whips something out of her robe and sprays Granger's face with it as I focus my violent disgust on dusting my hands off on my now wrinkled and possibly germ-infested robes.

Blasted Mudblood and her propensity to overreact to such trifling things! Now I have to have a house elf place an antibacterial charm on my robes and add extra starch!

"It's a spray-on version of Pepper-Up Potion," Lovegood explains melodically, "I've been working on it in class. It works like Muggle smelling salts." She deftly hands the spray bottle to Potty who uses it to wake up the Weaselette.

Whatever it is that Luna has in the spray bottle certainly works like a … well… like a charm. Both Gryffindor girls shake off their befuddled haze.

While I note that Granger's gaze hastens to the boy in the portrait, the youngest weasel keeps her eyes firmly averted.

Interesting, that.

I surreptitiously take another glance at the Gryffindor bookworm and am greeted with the revolting sight of her and McLaggen making moon eyes at each other. I shake my head slightly, only to feel the unwanted weight of Potter's gaze on me and his internalization of my every reaction to Granger's movements.

I return his unrepentant stare with a narrowed glare of my own and watch The-Boy-Who-Will-Not-Die also catch sight of McLaggen's hands all over the muggle witch. I don't know why it surprises me to see a tightening of his jaw and a touch of possessiveness in his slitted green gaze.

"So, what is it about this Aiden fellow that has all the girls swooning?" one lone masculine voice inquires of the group.

"Notice it's only the Gryffindors who faint dead away? Seems the birds of that house hardly ever catch sight of a real man," I chime in with a smug chuckle, preening as a few of the girls in the other three houses look adoringly my way. The appreciative guffaws of the blokes not in the scarlet and gold house fill the tower room.

"Well, whatever it is this Muestilde's got, we should get the Weasley twins to bottle it up and sell it," continues the faceless voice, "I'd give my eye teeth to have girls react to the sight of me in that way."

"If you give your eye teeth, Justin, the girls will surely faint dead away at your horrifying ugliness," jokes another male voice as the girls twitter.

"It's much easier to learn how to play guitar and sing, Romeo," I hear the now conscious, and standing, Granger softly mutter at the Hufflepuff Mudblood, Finch-Fletchley.

I lift an eyebrow at Granger's mumbled side comment. I take another look at the portrait and realize there is something eerily familiar about the boy in the painting. I store that thought to ponder later.

With a swish of my robes, I turn to go.

It seems I have more important things to do, after all.

In the Corridor Outside Ravenclaw Tower
POV: Hermione Granger

Harry's grip on my upper arm is a little tighter than necessary.

"You can let go now, Harry," I say loudly at him, unable to shake his hold. He seems rather upset. "I'm able to walk on my own, just like Ginny." I motion toward the redhead who is a couple of steps ahead of us, late for her Potions class.

"Ginny, we'll see you later," Harry calls. She waves with a smile which turns into a slight frown at the sight of him still gripping my arm. I wave at her lamely, shooting Harry an annoyed glare.

As soon as she is out of sight, Harry pushes me against a wall, next to a statue, making it look like he's reading the riot act to one of the statuesque coats of armor. He's got one palm against the stone near my head.

"What's going on with you and McLaggen? Or better yet, Hermione, what's going on with you and Malfoy?" His tone is just a touch too inappropriately overprotective for my comfort.

"What are you on about, Harry? Have you gone completely mental? McLaggen caught me when I… "

What did happen to me in there? One second I was standing there examining the portrait of a rather handsome 7th year Ravenclaw, who could quite possibly be my birth father, then all I remember is black.

I feel Harry give me a little shake and I'm snapped out of my reverie. I slap his hands away.

"It wasn't McLaggen who caught you on your slide to the floor, Hermione, it was Malfoy."

"What?!" I shriek, utterly disturbed. "How could you let that rat touch me?!"

Comforted by my abject horror at the thought of Malfoy's hands on me, Harry sighs apologetically and finally drops his hands to his sides.

"My hands were full at the time. Ginny fainted dead away, too." He sees me start to feel badly that his initial instinct was to catch Ginny. "She was closer and she fainted first," he blusters through his explanation quickly. "Ginny lost it just as she laid eyes on the painting. It wasn't until you heard Marcus say the fellow's name that you went white as a sheet. That's not like you, Hermione."

Behind his spectacles, his green eyes continue to examine me.

I hear a scuffing on the cobblestones nearby and I lower my voice a little, an errant smile touches my lips.

"I know why I reacted the way I did, but why did Ginny?" I ask my best friend, shifting under his scrutiny.

"Why did you… act that way?" Harry demands.

I shake my head, "You tell me about Ginny first, Harry."

Then suddenly, as if making up his mind to do so, Harry steps in closer. His lips a thin line as though recalling a horrid memory.

I can feel his warmth surround me. When had he gotten so tall? My eyes glaze, his scent so familiar, but… and then, I notice his angry stance change. He's staring at me now, as though it's the first time he's ever truly looked at me.

"If it weren't for the hair," he reaches out to stroke down my unruly locks, "…and his cheeky smile," his fingertip trails along my suddenly quirked lips. He shakes his head as though in a daze and his hand quickly drops away. In truth, Harry's always been at ease with touching me, but this? I decide I'm officially confused by his actions since seeing me with Malfoy in the library earlier.

"Well, that Ravenclaw," he continues, clearing his throat, "sure looked a lot like the Tom Riddle of the notorious diary down in the famed Chamber of Secrets. It was that shocking."

I let out a horrified gasp, my hand flies to my mouth, as he nods, putting his own in his trouser pockets.

"So, now tell me your reason," Harry urges.

I purposely louden my whisper, though I move my face against Harry's so I don't have to look at him in the eye. I feel him go stock-still as the softness of my cheek slides against the rougher skin of his.

Fascinating, this.

I'm talking into his ear as though confiding a deep dark secret. I make sure my profile is clear of the sanctuary of the suit of armor.

"There's someone back home, a new friend, sort of. She was an orphan." From my peripheral vision, I watch Harry's confused gaze, which is now focused on me, turn soft. I know this is something Harry is moved by. I also register another whisper of movement to my far left. "She's the adopted daughter of my parents' close friends. We'd spent some time together over the summer and well, I'd wondered, idly if this girl might be magical. So, it was a shock to discover that her last name is the same as that Aiden fellow in the Ravenclaw painting. I think… he might be her dad."

"What's her name?" Harry asks.

"Her name is Emmanuelle Sanguis Mustelidae. She's been attending one of the sister schools of Eton, you know the Muggle school?"

He nods. "Justin, that bloke in Hufflepuff, attended Eton before coming to Hogwarts, do you think he knows her?"

I startle at the revelation. "I'll have to ask," I mumble, my mouth suddenly dry.

Harry seems to take my explanations in stride and appears to have no recognition of the surnames. This is not surprising since Harry might as well be as Muggle as I am.

"But why faint, Hermione?"

"I haven't eaten all day, Harry," I reply sensibly, but am unable to meet his gaze. "I think it was the crowd, the hunger, and all the excitement. I also have to go wash now, to get the Slytherin stink off of me."

Harry snickers appreciatively, but quickly turns serious again.

"You really need to take better care of yourself, Hermione," he says, placing a hand on my cheek before turning to go, his thumb idly rubbing away what I can only guess to be an ink mark close to my upper lip. "I have class. I'll see you in the Common Room later. Maybe I can help you unravel the mystery of Miss Mustelidae." Harry is halfway down the corridor before he stops and turns to me, offering his lopsided grin and shouting, "Oh, and stay away from Malfoy. I don't like seeing him so close to you."

I wave Harry off and turn toward the darkened alcove.

"Heard your fill, Ferret?"

"How did you know I was here, Granger?" his tone cautiously curious as his black-clad figure emerges silently from the shadows. His platinum hair glows in the fading sunlight. He'd grown taller over the summer as well.

"I can recognize your annoying, leather-clad strut anywhere, Malfoy. You know, if you're going to be a minion of the dark lord," I sneer at the ridiculous title and add smartly, "you'd best learn some stealth."

"And you'd best mind your manners," he warns. "You could get into serious trouble talking to the likes of me that way. You don't get to boss me around like you do the Boy Wonder and his sidekick the Weasel."

He takes a menacing step forward and I will myself not to flinch away. I raise my chin, my hand finding my wand in the pocket of my robes. "Besides, why is it that you are paying such close attention to me?"

His hands are at either side of my head, now, clearly a threatening stance, a feeling not too unlike the one I'd felt earlier with Harry. He's unnaturally close, too, his breath ruffles the tendrils of my hair. To lessen the effect of his spicy scent, I am breathing through clenched teeth, in contrast, he's breathing deeply through his nose. I find that peculiar.

"Self-defense, really." I'm proud my voice doesn't betray my rattled nerves. I shrug nonchalantly, using my other hand to hold tightly to the strap of my book bag. I stare at him defiantly, "How do you expect that I've managed to successfully stay away from your irritating person all these years? Besides, why do you keep getting in my way when I so clearly want you gone?"

I notice that though he is unnaturally close, he does keep himself propped as far away from me as his arms' length can keep him, yet still effectively trapping me between his body and the wall. His cologne is distracting, to be sure, but I keep my eyes riveted to his steely gaze to remind myself just who I'm dealing with.

"I want to know why you're lying to Potter," his tone menacing, the muscles at his jaw clenching.

"I'm not," I answer too quickly, my eyes darting away.

"You're brilliant at many things, Granger, but lying isn't one of them," he says this so acidly I nearly miss the compliment hidden within. "Why don't you just tell me what you're so worked up about, bookworm?"

"Why in Merlin's name would I do something like that, cockroach?" I glare at him, unsettled by his unusually soft use of the term I dislike my schoolmates using to describe me. "And, moreover, why in the hell should you care?"

I watch something flicker in his gaze. He looks suddenly younger and tired. Terribly tired.

To my utter surprise, there is no venom in his next words.

"Maybe I can help you."

I begin to scoff at the suggestion, just as he did to me when I offered my assistance with whatever it is that he is working on. But, just as I nearly release my haughty sniff, I quickly reel it back, realizing something of an advantage here.

I'm not the brightest witch of my age for nothing.

After all, if there is one person who would know the answer to my question, it just might be this prat in front of me.

"Do you know if Mustelidae is a pureblood name?" I ask outright.

"I told you before, Granger, no. It's not," he very nearly spits this out in his irritation that I hadn't been paying attention before. "You weren't going to find her name in the genealogy book you had earlier. This Aiden person is a half-blood. So whoever sired him is a Mudblood."

I try not to snarl at his use of the epithet because I know he says it to solidify the space between us again, rebuilding the wall that for a moment crumbled, if only microscopically. I can see the dare in his expression, egging me on to shout a hex at him, or haul off and hit him, again.

Seems the pervert might even actually enjoy that!

I shiver, slightly disturbed at the thought.

I want to keep him talking though, so I ignore it, this time. He blinks, surprised that I do not charge at him. My heart beats a strong staccato in my chest. It's a wonder he doesn't hear it. He's that close. I've had enough of being unnerved by his encroachment into my personal space. I quickly duck under his arm, taking him a little bit by surprise. His head whips around to keep me in his sights.

"How do you know so much, Malfoy?" I ask curiously, my stance offensive, ready to strike should he come nearer.

He shrugs, dropping his hands to his sides and picking up the book bag he'd dropped to the floor. "My father knows the pureblood family lines. The names are not as numerous as you'd think. They've been combed through for suitable pairings for me and I've been schooled to remember these names. My future depends on it, really. Senguis, by the way, sounds familiar, but not truly."

I cock my head at him.

"Why are you helping me, even though I haven't told you what this is about?" I inquire.

He looks utterly lost for a moment but quickly regains his trademark sneer.

"I honestly, don't have the faintest, Granger," he replies. "Morbid curiosity about your girlfriend, maybe," he taunts, waiting for a reaction from me that doesn't come. He shrugs and is surprisingly honest at his next go around, "I'm bored. And it might be a bit of procrastination, I suppose. Seems something less tedious to occupy my time, though, you haven't yet agreed to my assistance. It simply seems your mystery is more solvable than mine."

We stare at each other in silence. I am of the suspicion that he hadn't meant to reveal that last bit to me. In the stillness, I contemplate asking him what puzzle he is meant to solve. He seemed almost approachable a moment ago. I open my mouth and something in the depths of his stormy expression shifts. Where there had been a flash of vulnerability, now lay outright defiance. He wants me to suggest an alliance with him so he can shoot me down again. He wants desperately to regain control of this… whatever this is.

"So, are you lying to Potter?" his voice is silky, unexpected. I riot against what it does to my insides.

In a rush of angry denial and incensed at his snooty persistence, I take a bold step toward him.

"I told you already, NO! Malfoy. I am no-"

Suddenly, a familiar wand is at Malfoy's neck.

"Get away from her, you wanker," Ron, still in his Quidditch workout uniform, seethes at the blond. My red-headed best friend darts a quick look my way. Wand still trained on Malfoy, he pushes his body between me and the aforementioned wanker. "You alright, Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron," I reply, stifling a sigh. "I had it handled, but thanks all the same."

"Now look at what you've done, Weaselbee, you've just interrupted a lovely little discussion I was having with Granger about the benefits of stress relief and how that if the Gryfindorks aren't men enough to give her what she nee-"

I manage not to shake in fury as I shoot a hateful, warning glare at Malfoy. Ron's wand tip digs deeper into the Slytherin's windpipe.

At last silent, Malfoy slides his grey eyes over to meet Ron's icy blue stare. There is a challenge there. Ignoring the threatening wand at his throat, Malfoy shifts his gaze, lewdly raking up and down my body, sending shivers up my spine. I am appalled at his gall and the unbidden response I have to his lascivious perusal. I also know he does it to irritate Ron. Then he drawls suggestively, "Well, perhaps we'll save it for another day, Granger. Besides, methinks the lady doth protest too much. I suggest you consider my offer, bookworm, it will not be posed again." And with an exaggerated bow, he exits, but not before shooting me a searing look indicating he won't be leaving this alone for the near future.

As soon as he is out of earshot, Ron turns towards me. He towers now. I feel rather than see his heated stare on me.

"Hermione?"

My name is an unmentionable question on my friend's lips.

"It's nothing like that, Ron!" I roll my eyes, reassuring him quickly, working to diffuse his notorious temper. "The prat is just saying those things to get a rise out of you."

"But, Hermione, the ferret looked at you like-"

I scoff to interrupt him.

"He's Malfoy, Ron!" I cry "Remember who I am to him? A filthy, dirty Mudblood, right? He would never dare look at me in that way! He's just doing that to make you stark raving mad! Don't give him the pleasure… please!"

"Don't... don't talk about yourself like that, Hermione."

With a sigh of relief, I wonder at the power of words as I watch my Ron visibly cool down, nod at my sensibility, and at last find calm by grabbing me up into a hug.

I notice a couple of my female housemates pass us with snide looks directed just at me, among them, Lavender Brown.

"So what was he after then?"

''He needs to improve his marks in several of the courses that we share. He apparently needs tutoring," I smile wickedly at my white lie which leaves me with a viable excuse should I decide to temporarily take up Malfoy's aid. "He asked me about helping him with Arithmancy, and among other things, Binn's essay."

"Blimey, Hermione, but that isn't due until mid-term!"

"Well, it seems Malfoy is tired of being bested by a Muggleborn. Seems he finally knows how to go about getting the scores he needs."

Ron raises a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Well, he has to come to the source for assistance, of course, doesn't he? I will always be better academically than the Ferret and he knows it! That's why he was here asking me for my help. He even said I was brilliant at many things!" I announce, surprisingly giddy.

Ron studies me for a moment.

"He's up to something," he says suspiciously. "Why would he tell you that? And why in Merlin's name would Malfoy think you would agree to such a thing? All this time, he's been a downright git to you. It doesn't make any sense."

I'm not sure why it stings to hear Ron tear apart Malfoy's unintended compliment.

Though some might think that Ron can be quite thick, he really isn't... not truly. He notices that I pull away and quiet. He seems to understand without words what I need him to say to soothe my ruffled feathers.

"Hey, Hermione, maybe Malfoy isn't as daft as we think he is then," Ron jokes his apology. "At least he's coming to understand, just like the rest of us do, that you're bloody brilliant."

I smile wanly at Ron, noticing he doesn't say just him, before he pulls me back into a half-hug, his arm slung securely over my shoulders.

"No, Ron, Malfoy's not stupid," I agree quietly. Unfortunately, not by a long shot.

"Speaking of helping out with assignments, Hermione…"

I roll my eyes at his less than graceful segue. "It's just that I've got this Potions essay due and I have to practice extra hard on the pitch for the upcoming game..."

I laugh lightly to cover my irritation as his familiar plea hits my ears. I think about the interactions I've had today and am secretly appalled at just how many lies I've told in a manner of under fifteen minutes. I really am not fit for this cloak and dagger business. I silently moan at all the lies I'm going to have to manage now.

Meanwhile… Headmaster's Office
POV: Leopold Mustelidae

"Professor Dumbledore, her name is, Hermione Granger," I say to the aged Hogwart\s headmaster. I worry that with all the students under his care, Dumbledore will not know of the girl I've come to speak to him about. He looks weaker than I'd remembered him while Aiden had been in attendance, but that had been more than 30 years prior, so it is expected, I suppose. I notice as he speaks that he keeps one hand hidden from my view."

"Mr. Mustelidae, I assure you that Miss Granger is quite safe, I've taken every precaution to keep her ignorant of her ancestry. She's in Gryffindor and is as far removed from the Slytherin house as possible."

"Please call me Leo, Headmaster," I say, respectfully, noticing the Dumbledore's uncharacteristic jumpiness.

"Then you must call me, Albus," he replies holding out a candy dish to me. I shake my head at his offering.

"Thank you, Albus. While I am curious at your comment and find myself just now alarmed that you seek to reassure me of her safety here at Hogwarts, I'm afraid, I am here more for answers than to ensure my estranged granddaughter's safety. I know within Hogwart's walls she is perfectly safe. Unless I should be more concerned?"

I notice the Headmaster shift imperceptibly, but he swiftly waves away my last comment. I continue.

"The reason I am here is to ascertain more facts about Miss Granger's ancestry. On her deathbed, my deceased wife told me that Miss Granger is our true granddaughter, but I am confused as to why she was switched, to begin with, and now that she's found her way to Wizarding England - to this very school, why didn't she follow her father's footsteps into Ravenclaw House? And additionally, Albus, you've now added to my curiosity. I am even more concerned about why you find it imperative that she not have any involvement with the Slytherin House?"