A/N: Thank you for supporting my story! This week especially, they make me smile.

Thank you, nffizzle, for helping me with this story. This chapter needed a lot of work, after all!
You should all read niffizzle's story for the Summer fest, "A Recipe for Heartache"; it's on this platform now and soooo good!

Over the course of the next few days, Hermione and Draco established a comfortable routine. In the mornings, they would teach three hours worth of different subjects to small groups of five or six students. They had split up the subjects so that Hermione taught Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and History of Magic, while Draco took up DADA, Potions, Ancient Runes, and Herbology. The last course had led to a small quarrel between the professors because they both wanted to be in charge of it.

"But you don't even like Herbology!" Hermione had accused Draco.

"No, I don't like Longbottom; there's a difference!" he had argued back, arms folded in front of his chest.

"But - "

"I am going to use small words for you since your brain has apparently fallen into summer hibernation. Do you honestly think Longbottom grows the plants for Severus' potions?"

Hermione had blinked owlishly. "You are growing them? Why are you doing that?"

"Because, believe it or not, Severus trusts me not to screw up handling delicate flowers."

She had narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you messing with me?" Hermione really hadn't been sure. Severus was notorious for being incredibly picky with his potion ingredients, but Draco had been his top student even after one accounted for all the Slytherin favouritism. Then again, it was one of Draco's past times to egg her on.

"No, I'm not," Draco had answered plainly. "Although he's only letting me do the job because he can't bear Longbottom's incessant babbling in the greenhouse."

That Hermione hadn't argued about; Neville was quite the chatterbox when plants were involved.

"Fine." She had stuck out her nose. "But I'm getting Arithmancy!"

Draco fondly thought back to that afternoon when they had split up the classes between them. He couldn't deny it: the bantering between him and Hermione had become the highlight of his otherwise monotonous day. Now that they were the only teaching personnel, they spent nearly every minute of their free time together.

After lunch hours, they met with the students individually for half an hour to determine what progress they had (or had not) made and to answer specific questions or provide the guidance they needed. Draco was surprised by how much more the students improved in a one-on-one situation. And, as he had previously discussed with Hermione, these individual tutoring sessions also served as a bit of counselling.

When he met with Stevens, he told her stories about his own time in Potions, as well a bit about what it was like to have Severus Snape as his godfather.

"And Professor Longbottom really saw Professor Snape in witches' clothes?" the girl asked with wide eyes.

Draco smiled, remembering, "Well, to be correct, it was a Boggart. But that didn't stop me from giving him a gift certificate to Wondrous Witches Wardrobe the following Christmas!"

With Oliver Masters, he took a different approach. Instead of building the boy up, he tried his best to reduce the young man's overbearing ego.

"Why are you here, Mister Masters?" he demanded during the first study lesson with the young pureblood who sat relaxed in his chair in front of Draco's desk.

"Because the O.W.L. system is a farce," Masters replied confidently.

"Care to elaborate? Just to humour me?" Were the student a bit more aware of anything but himself, he would have noticed the sarcasm in Draco's voice.

"It's obvious, isn't it? Wizards like you and me," he gestured between Draco and himself with his perfectly manicured hand, "who grew up watching duels and studying their family chronicles, can't possibly be expected to take the silly tricks required for exams seriously. We surpass that level of proficiency years before those who first wield a wand when they enter Hogwarts."

Draco's mood grew sour. "Pardon me, but do you really believe the rubbish that just left your mouth?"

Apparently, Masters hadn't expected such an answer from his teacher, for he paled rapidly.

"The last time I heard such an inane amount of arrogance was before May 1998." Draco paused for effect, fixing the boy with a stare. "Do you know what I'm hinting at?"

A timid nod.

"I'm not convinced," the blond continued, his voice still low. "The arrogance you show in lessons and between classes is something ingrained in you, so I won't fault you entirely. However, what is even more disappointing is that your attitude doesn't even match your capabilities; you haven't soaked up one bit of the skills you're privy to in a pureblood household." Despite the whole thing going more than downhill later in his life, the DADA Professor had learned a lot in his youth, from dueling to literature. Growing up in Malfoy Manor had provided him with a lot of useful knowledge - once you peeled away the layers of blood supremacy.

"So you better learn to properly execute those tricks, as you called them," Draco sneered at the now cowering student. "But what's more important is that you learn humility and let your attitude go. Quickly." To add a dose of Slytherin dramatics, Draco leaned in close, staring right into Masters' fearful eyes. "I don't want to wait for another war for you to learn your lesson."

He let his final words sink in, Masters remaining completely silent in the chair, before Draco dismissed the speechless pupil who hung his head in what he hoped was either shame or contemplation.

With only two professors in the castle, Hermione and Draco were always on patrol duty, or rather, a reduced form of it. Having changed the sleeping arrangements in favour of the girls in the Gryffindor tower and the boys in the Slytherin dungeons, they merely checked on them shortly before 10 p.m. and bid them goodnight.

It was on one of those rounds, a week into the holidays, when Draco caught a group of sixth and seventh years exchanging bets - or more accurately, quickly hiding away the evidence of doing so when he entered the dorm - if he identified the rustling of parchment and the clinking of Galleons correctly.

The boys' faces showed the typical signs of getting caught red-handed. They threw unsure glances at each other, some covering the telling sound of coins colliding with a fake cough. Inwardly, Draco grinned, remembering the fun he and his dorm mates had with their silly bets. After all, it wasn't exactly necessary to know that twelve chocolate frogs (completely wrapped!) fit into Theo's mouth or that it took the Ravenclaw girls exactly thirty minutes to fire a spell after discovering the Slytherin boys had created a peephole in their shower wall.

"What are you doing, boys?" he asked, casually entering the room.

"Nothing?" The squeaky voice of Everton sounded more like a question than an answer.

"Nothing? Not even playing Exploding Snap? Or chess? Or -" With an exaggerated snap of his fingers, Draco summoned a hastily stashed away piece of parchment from under a copy of the Standard Book of Spells. "- maybe you are making up some questionable bets?"

They students gasped, but Draco only grinned at them. "What are you betting on, boys?" Maybe I can throw my few Galleons in?"

Just when the professor was about to unfold the parchment, Thomas Prewett jumped up as if stung by a bee, and clamored, "No!"

Draco, more amused than surprised at the Gryffindor's rash behaviour, raised an eyebrow. "No? And why, pray tell, I shouldn't?"

"Uhmmm…" the student stammered. "Because we're betting on something a bit questionable, as you've already suspected."

"Well, that's very noble of you to admit, but this only serves to pique my interest more," Draco said, now highly intrigued by their activity. "What exactly? Come on, I was a student once, too!" For all eyes to see, he unfolded the parchment in his hands. As it seemed, the pupils hadn't gotten so far as to finish the betting yet, for he could only see a table with some names on the left and some numbers next to them, starting with two and not higher than ten. But Draco was smart - and had been an adolescent boy himself, once.

"You're betting on two people getting together by the end of the holidays."

The wide-open eyes and shocked faces told him that he had deduced correctly.

Draco chuckled, remembering similar wagers back in his day. "Oh… Let me guess. Prewett and Miller? I've seen how you look at each other!"

Thomas Prewett's face took the colour of a very ripe cherry.

"No, sir." The sixth year shook his head. "She's nice, but… no."

Draco held up his hand, determined to figure out the potential pairing. "Wait, don't say it… Masters and... Cathy Wickett?" Several boys shook their heads. Pretending to become impatient, he sighed, "Will you tell me or do I need to summon some more of your parchments? Like the one I see Masters is sitting on?"

Then, he saw Everton elbowing Masters. "Tell him we're betting on Granger and him-"

Draco's head snapped towards Everton. "What did you just say?" he pressed.

The dorm was quiet instantly. Awkwardly.

Everton lowered his head and nervously scratched the base of his neck, actively avoiding to look into Draco's eyes. "I said, Sir, that we have been betting on you and Professor Granger."

This was one of those moments when Draco pulled a Lucius-mask from his repertoire. And, always to his surprise and disgust, it worked. The students' faces fell, changed into something akin to fearful. On the inside, Draco didn't really know what to feel. He was aware that teenagers, boys and girls alike, tended to romanticize the relationships of adults. Still, he felt a bit light-headed at the thought.

"I am only repeating this to confirm that I haven't misheard: the people you are betting on to get together are Professor Granger and me?" he said, pronouncing every syllable clearly and coldly.

Crestfallen nods.

Draco folded his arms across his chest, still maintaining his stern glare. "Beside the fact that - crazy has it seems to you - professors also have a right for privacy, I don't know if I should be upset or amused at your behaviour." He shook his head and sighed. "Just do me a favour and don't mention it to Professor Granger, for she will forego upset and amused and jump directly to detention-seeking. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Professor Malfoy."

"And then they jumped into their beds faster than a Nimbus 3000!" Draco retold the happenings in the boys dorm to his female colleague a bit later, conveniently leaving out the part that they had been betting on the two of them.

Shortly before the summer session had started, they had made it their habit to meet in one of their quarters to talk, usually Draco's since he was the one who had the better stock of wine and firewhisky at hand. Until they had emptied their glass of wine, they limited their conversational topics to their teaching. But afterwards, the talked about everything but their job - though gossip about the other inhabitants of the castle was still allowed.

"That's nothing compared to the giggling bunch of girls I had to silence," Hermione countered. "Really now, it's like all the females in this castle have a crush on you!"

She chuckled to herself, but Draco cocked his head. His eyes and his inquiring gaze made her blush in spite of herself. To have something to do, she emptied her wine glass, not wanting her occasional, mild interest in him get the better of her.

"All the females?" he asked with an accompanying grin, inching closer on the sofa they shared. "You flatter me, Granger."

"Oh, don't let this get to your head!" Hermione dismissed. "But, I suppose…" She was surprised to hear that her voice had a subtle, but definite flirty undertone.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Last I checked, you are female."

Hermione patted his head. "Congratulations, Malfoy. It seems you would pass Muggle Biology after all."

Draco thought back to the students' wager. The longer he thought about it, the more he supposed there were some pieces of evidence supporting their claim. To bring up her beloved Muggle sciences, he gathered there was a certain amount of chemistry between them. And as she so aptly confirmed, she was a female. In fact, she was the only adult female in the castle...

Suddenly in a flirty mood, he smirked at Hermione. "Don't change the topic. Does that include you? Do you find me… approachable?"

"My fist approached your face once, remember?" she deadpanned without blinking.

"You're avoiding the question again, Hermione."

Said witch blushed as she realised that there was barely a few inches between them, Draco leaning in even closer to her. That he chose to whisper her first name, which he did rarely, didn't make it any better. Usually, it was 'Granger' or 'Professor Granger' for him, and he reserved 'Hermione' for very special occasions.

"Do you find me attractive?" His voice was low and dark now.

Despite (or because of) her insides being an unstable mass of unsorted emotions, Hermione started laughing. It probably wasn't the most appropriate response to the question, but she didn't trust what her reaction would be otherwise.

"Sorry - I just…" she apologised upon seeing the deep frown on his face. "Draco, come on, don't be such a spoilsport. Of course I find you attractive! You have these grey eyes, and this smirk, and don't think I didn't see those abs when you wiped your face with your shirt on the Quidditch pitch a few days ago. I do appreciate looking at a yummy male in my age."

Hermione could barely believe she had just admitted her attraction to him, but there really was no harm in it. Facts. Just socio-biological facts. Yes. Facts were safe.

Draco, on the other hand, appeared stunned, still seeming to process her confession.

To overcome the sudden, uncomfortable pause in their unexpected conversation, she suggested, "Can I have another glass? This Bordeaux is excellent!"

Fulfilling her wish automatically, Draco stood to fetch the bottle from his wine cabinet. To be honest, he was glad about this chance to collect himself. What had just happened? Had he really flirted with Hermione? And heavily at that? Judging by the tingling in his face and his loins, he indeed had.

Merlin, this woman's proximity was intense. More intense than before. Was it the students' bet, putting ideas in his head like a self-fulfilling prophecy? Or did he need a shag so desperately that he flirted with Granger, whose friendship he had worked so hard to for?

The majority of the summer students were introduced to a revolutionary novelty: staying awake for a whole period of History of Magic.

Hermione hoped that this wasn't due to the fact that there was only a small group of students instead of a whole class, but because she was a decent history teacher. Instead of letting the students drool on their parchment while Professor Binns droned through the centuries, she tried to make it a bit more entertaining.

"Now that we've intensively discussed the witch hunts of the Early Modern Times, let's make some steps forward. Has the wizarding society learned from its sufferings during those times?"

The students looked at her in wonder, as if they didn't know that history was one of the keys to understanding the present. Which, given their experience with history lessons and their ages, probably wasn't the case.

She waited a few moments and decided to challenge them with prompt. "Okay, take a position on the validity of this statement: in the second war against Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, the corrupt wizarding politics enacted a reverse witch hunt against certain individuals and Muggle-borns as a group."

Hermione saw some eyes widening, maybe surprised she'd draw from her personal experience. But she often did that in class; staying authentic is an important part of being a successful teacher, and anecdotes contributed to that.

"By certain individuals, do you mean Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix?" Stephanie Weaver asked, intrigued.

Hermione nodded in agreement, encouraging her to go on.

"Then no, I don't agree with that statement, because the situations aren't comparable," Weaver explained. "While the motivations for the witch hunts in Early Modern Times were largely religious, it was mainly a way for Muggles to explain certain events, such as famines. Even if sometimes other reasons played a role, there rarely was a political institution or group responsible. In the years before the Battle of Hogwarts, on the other hand, Voldemort and his followers were greedy for power, driven by old supremacies, and, in the case of the Golden Trio, even by a personal vendetta."

It was very quiet in Hermione's classroom after Stephanie's statement. The young professor clapped and smiled proudly at her student. "Very well done! That was an excellent and well-thought analysis and assessment. Anyone else want to say something?"

Another hand was raised, and Hermione knew from experience what to expect next.

"Are you still friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley?"

Sooner or later, every group she taught asked her this question. "Yes, of course. I'm their children's godmother!" In what she hoped was a sarcastic tone, she added, "I wanted to spend the summer with them, but then you nasty students came along." Half-sarcastic, at least.

"My grandma says you and Ron Weasley would have made the perfect match!"

As usual, Hermione answered, "And I'm saying that that's my private life."

"What about Professor Malfoy? Do you consider him a better match?" Fiona Wood threw in.

Hermione felt a blush crawling up her cheeks, unbidden, but Thomas Prewett had already opened his mouth. "That's just silly! That would be like in one of your trashy romance novels, wouldn't it?"

"What? Why?" Wood retorted.

"Because she is a 'war heroine' and he was a 'Death Eater'!" The boy emphasized his words with wide gestures.

"She is in the room and it's impolite to talk about her like that!"

The students immediately stopped their bickering and turned their attention to the frustrated look of their professor.

This time, Hermione put a bit more force behind her voice. "There are two things you need to understand. One, and I don't like repeating myself here, whomever I date is my personal business." Agitated, she started pacing in front of her desk. "Two, Draco Malfoy has come a very long way since he was considered a Death Eater, was being the operative word here. He has suffered like the rest of us, but, in contrary to us, wasn't placed on some kind of pedestal in the aftermath of it all. He's undoubtedly made some mistakes in his youth, and only some of them you will find in the history books, but he has worked hard to redeem himself and his family name."

Timidly, Justine Millers raised her hand. "Was it difficult for you to forgive him? I mean, I've read about what happened in Malfoy Manor…" Apparently, the more recent history of the wizarding world proved to be more interesting to her students than she had anticipated.

"No." Hermione's forceful reply came without hesitation. "Not at all." She swallowed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I must apologize. It was highly unprofessional of me to react so emotionally."

"Don't worry, Professor Granger," one of the seventh year boys said with an exaggerated wriggle of his eyebrows, "I bet Professor Malfoy causes emotional reactions from many witches. Correct, Cathy?"

Appreciating the Gryffindor's attempt to lighten the mood, Hermione couldn't suppress a chuckle. And she almost felt sorry for Cathy Wickett, who blushed a deep crimson when confronted with her 'secret' crush. Though, evaluating her own reactions and thoughts, Hermione wasn't sure her own feelings towards the wizard could still be considered a silly crush...