For the first time in months — years, in fact — Draco slept soundly.

He was behind in his schoolwork, his mother had written to let him know that his pet peacock had passed away and every person in Hogwarts was viscously gossiping about him, once again; and yet none of that seemed to dim his good mood. Because his plan with Hermione Granger was going swimmingly.

Draco wasn't ignorant to her discomfort, her disgust, her obvious dislike of him, but he couldn't help but want to be near her regardless of it. He knew he had earned her ire, her distrust, but her presence alone was enough. While he was with her, he could look at her, he could stare at her sweet pink lips, watch as a stray curl fell over her face, he could taste the scent of her perfume on his tongue; gardenia and tuberose. He could openly and without restraint reach out and hold her hand all with the pretence of it being a pretence.

So he would endure her hostility when they found each other alone with no one to fool. It wouldn't last forever. He felt the cracks in it. In the most minute caress. Every time he touched her, he felt her fracturing. The reddening of her cheeks often betrayed her. At first, he'd mistaken it for embarrassment at what others would say, what they would think, but it soon became obvious that she was embarrassed by him.

From a young age Draco had always considered himself superior to everyone else, but he had never thought he was a particularly attractive bloke. Now with every blush, every stolen glance, he was beginning to think that he was… at least in Hermione's eyes. He could tell she found his physical proximity distracting, and he could also tell that she hated herself for it. If she accidentally allowed herself to laugh with him, it was followed by silence, if she smiled for him, it was followed by a frown. It was as if Hermione was continually reminding herself that unless it was to put on a show, he was someone she hated; and she shouldn't laugh at anything he says nor should she smile at anything he does.

Draco was in the middle of contemplating the curve of said smile as he walked into potions class that morning and saw Hermione sitting alone. Usually, he was the first to arrive but she'd beaten him to it. Even Professor Slughorn was late to the party.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite Gryffindor," he smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him in response and continued writing something on a piece of parchment. It looked to be a letter. "If it isn't my least favourite Slytherin — not that I'm a fan of any of you lot."

"Now, now," he chided coming closer to see what it was she was writing, "Where's that house unity McGonagall has been applauding you for?"

She sent him a cold glare.

"You know," he said in a long drawl, "you don't exactly look like a witch happy to see the bloke she's supposedly falling in love with. Do I need to remind you to hold your end of the deal? Because I've held up mine and—"

Then suddenly he saw it. The clench of her jaw, the gloss of tears in her eyes.

"I was just taking the piss—"

Crumpling up the letter she'd been writing she fled the classroom, shouldering him roughly on her way out. This time, Draco reacted faster. He went after her. He was slow to turn a corner and lost sight of her but the sound of distant muffled cries led him to a dark alcove where she was sitting with her feet up, knees tucked into her chest.

Draco had to force his eyes to remain on her face because if he allowed his gaze to wander down, he could slightly see her blood-red knickers.

"Stop following me," she snarled upon seeing him. "Why can't you just leave me alone!"

"My apologies," he said in a mocking sarcastic tone, "I thought it was the considerate thing to do when someone is crying. Never mind, I must've been wrong."

"I'm not crying!" she protested in a thick voice.

Draco breathed in slowly to calm his mounting temper. "Yes," he breathed out. "You are."

"I'm not," she insisted. But she was, she was crying, and Draco felt sick to see it. It took him straight back to seeing her on the floor of his drawing room at Malfoy Manor. Except this time, he couldn't escape the feeling of being wholly responsible for her pain.

"Really," said Draco running a hand through his hair wishing he could pull out the strands, "I was only teasing—"

"Merlin, not everything is about you, Malfoy."

"Oh," sighed Draco in relief. "Well, okay then, knock it off. Class is about to start."

Her bright brown eyes slowly slid to his, narrowing in a frightening manner. Punctuating every word she rasped, "What did you just say to me?"

Malfoy resisted the urge to gulp. "Class is about to start."

"No, before that."

He knew he was in deep waters but he couldn't help pushing her. Perhaps he'd push her right over the edge one day and she'd take him down with her. In a curt tone he reiterated, "I said knock it off. Stop being such a cry baby."

Hermione shot right up from where she was huddled, her dejected appearance all but vanishing, replaced with a furious scowl. "You are unbelievable!" she screamed with an accusatory finger jabbing his chest on each word. "It wasn't too long ago when you were bawling like a baby—"

"What?"

And then they were shouting over each other, their faces marred with anger.

"—outside the room of requirement!"

"Don't—"

"—so who's more pathetic between the two of us! You or—"

"That was different—"

"Me? Because from where I'm standing—!"

"MY FRIEND DIED!"

The air around them went deathly still.

Hermione blinked up at him with wet eyes, her voice a deadly whisper, "well maybe your friend deserved it."

Draco's lips tugged down into a sneer as he gave her a scathing glare. "When the hell did you become such a bitch, Granger?"

"Ask your aunt," she clipped. "Oh, right, you can't. She's dead too."

He scoffed, shaking his head from side to side, the corner of his lip lifting a little.

"What's so funny?"

"You trying to hurt me." Hermione's jaw tightened in response. "Thinking you can. Thinking I ever cared for my poor deranged, deluded aunt."

"Didn't you?"

"No… but Crabbe," his voice wavered a little, "he didn't deserve to die like that."

Hermione barred her teeth. "He was trying to kill us," she hissed. "He aimed a killing curse at me, he tried to kill me, a lot of your so-called friends were in the habit of doing that… most of them died trying."

Draco let out a soft haunted laugh as if nothing she said came close to touching him. Wiping the damp trail of tears running down her cheek she continued harshly, "I only ever remember him being a bully and a bigot, Malfoy. He failed in being a murderer."

"You mean like me?" he deadpanned.

For the first time, Hermione's steely gaze seemed to falter. The similarities were clear. Draco had been a bully and a bigot for most of his young life, and he'd failed to kill Dumbledore. In fact, he and Crabbe had more in common than he'd first realized.

Draco stepped into her suddenly. He was frighteningly close. "Do you want to know a secret?"

She found herself nodding dumbly, her eyes lingering on his mouth as if she would be able to spell out his next words.

He took a deep breath and upon the exhale he confessed to her, "Fourth year, I caught Crabbe staring at Justin Finch-Fletchley… after I pestered him about it enough, he admitted that he liked the bloke."

At this point, Hermione's mouth had fallen open a little. She noticed and snapped it closed. "I never knew that Crabbe was," she paused lifting her eyes to meet Draco's, "Did he ever tell Justin how he felt?"

"No," replied Draco softly, "He wouldn't have. I made fun of him for…"

"For being gay?" asked Hermione.

"No, for liking a Mud—" he caught his mistake. "For liking a Muggle-born. I told him that I could never be friends with a blood traitor. I guess between me and his psychotic murdering father, well…"

Hermione's expression fell as if she were surprised that he was able to disappoint her any more than he already had. In a soft sad voice, she asked, "How do you live with yourself, Malfoy?"

He thought about it for a moment.

"I compartmentalize," he answered in a flat voice, "I'm a fairly decent Occlumens."

Eyebrows furrowing she asked, "What does that even mean?"

"It means I'm in control. Unlike you, I'm not slave to my every impulse or emotion."

She stepped closer — if it were possible — regarding him carefully. "Are you doing it now… compartmentalizing?"

Draco studied her face. They'd never been this close to each in the light of day; close enough to kiss and for a fraction of a second he considered doing just that; kissing her. He wanted to then, just as he'd wanted that evening in the Dubois' private library.

He'd dreamed of nothing else since.

"Yes," he answered her honestly. "I am."

He watched as she stepped closer still, her eyes pouring into his, the tips of their noses a breath away from touching. When she spoke next, he could taste her breath.

"Do you ever stop and let your mind rest?"

His mind flashed to the previous night. He'd waited till everyone was asleep. Then he'd quietly gone to the bathroom and pleasured himself thinking of nothing but her lips on his cock. He'd watched Hermione eat a sugar quill that day.

"On the rare occasion."

She frowned, seemingly disappointed with him again, yet he couldn't imagine what for.

"Is that why you're so good at faking it with me?" Draco visibly swallowed, his composure flickering for a fraction of a second. "Sometimes I can't…" she trailed off, her gaze leaving his, falling to his lips. "What happens if you turn it off?"

There was a moment of silence before Draco confessed. "Chaos."

Hermione looked back up at him, biting her lip. Draco saw it, or maybe he felt it… the way she was undressing him… not his clothes, but his mind.

"You're trying to get in," he told her. She stepped back, surprised. And he was as well. She was casting a non-verbal, wandless Legilimency spell. Her magic was impressive, to say the least. The moment had passed to kiss her and he was glad for it. He was certain she would've pushed him away.

Almost sheepishly she asked, "How did you know?"

He tilted his head a little. "I could feel you."

She flushed a pretty pink and he wanted to see more of that colour on her. "Why do you want to get inside my head, Hermione?" And this time he was undressing her too but he didn't need Legilimency to do it. "You're curious," he answered for her, a faint smile touching his lips. "If you want to get to know me… just ask."

He let out a soft laugh expecting a witty quip from her or a carefully worded insult but she just stared at him. And he felt her again. Stronger this time, more intrusive. Except for her steely gaze, you wouldn't be able to tell she was exerting herself trying to break in.

Draco considered letting his walls down for all of three seconds before deciding to push her out. The red was splotched all over her face. Whatever she had been crying about before had been clearly forgotten.

"You're strong," she exhaled.

"I had to be. That was the only way I could keep him out."

Hermione blinked as if seeing him for the first time. A crease appeared on her forehead giving her the appearance of someone who'd just come across an enigma. "Voldemort's gone," she said slowly, "so why are you still hiding?"

He pressed his eyes closed. Between recalling Crabbe's death and Hermione's barrage of questions, accusations and attempts of invasion, he was tired. When he opened his eyes again, there was pity in hers.

Hermione began to say something but they were rudely interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

"Mione?"

Draco turned to see none other than—

"Dean," huffed Hermione with irritation, "What do you want?"

Malfoy gave the Gryffindor boy a glacial stare.

"I wanted to see if you were alright."

Hermione plastered on a fake smile. "Just peachy."

"Look I saw your things in class and…" Dean's eyes slid over to Draco, "are you sure you're okay?"

"She said she's fine," he growled.

Hermione's fingers intertwined with his; a rebellious gesture, more for Dean's displeasure than anything else. "Tell Ron I don't need his friends spying on me."

Draco arched an eyebrow at the other boy. "Weasley sent you?"

Dean glared back at him, his eyes darting between them and their interlocked hands. "He's concerned," he said pointedly. "He's got reason to be. Come on 'Mione, class has already started and Slughorn's wondering where you are." He gave Draco a warning look, "Where you both are."

"I'll come when I'm ready," she said plainly.

Dean looked at them both in turn and with a defeated sigh, he turned and left.

"Is that why you were crying?" growled Draco as soon as Dean was out of sight, "Because Weasley's finally been clued in?"

"Don't ask," she muttered releasing his hand. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Honestly Granger, if you're looking to disparage Weasley, I'm the perfect audience."

Hermione smiled, one of those rare teasing smiles. "So I'm Granger again."

"You are when you're irritating me." Doing little to conceal his anger he added, "Seriously though, crying over Weasley, that ingrate— what?" She clearly wanted to tell him something but seemed reluctant.

"That's not why I was upset," she admitted. "But yes, Ron came to see me last night. Someone — I suspect Dean, although it could've been anyone — told him about us."

Draco pursed his lips to keep from grinning. "Slightly miffed, is he?"

Hermione took a deep breath as if preparing to say something. "He says he wants me back."

That, Draco hadn't seen coming. He felt his expression slip before composing himself again. Clearing his throat, ignoring the pounding in his chest he asked, "And what did you tell him?"

She scoffed as if the answer was obvious. "I told him no. He does this all the time! With Viktor, with Cormac, and he's doing it again now that I'm with you." Hermione paused gritting her teeth. "The only reason he wants me back is because the idea of the two of us together drives him insane."

"I can imagine," murmured Draco watching her chest heave with anger.

"And what's worse is that suddenly everyone is invested in my love life. I got letters from Harry and Ginny this morning — oh, and one from Mrs. Weasley too."

Draco suddenly came to the frightening realization that if news was travelling this fast over a little handholding then it wouldn't be too long till he received a letter from his mother, or Merlin forbid, his father. It momentarily distracted him from Hermione's rant until she said, "—this is all your fault!"

"My fault?" he baulked.

"You're blackmailing me into a fake relationship, all so you can play stupid Quidditch and win a stupid bet you made with your stupid friends!"

"Oh please, with the outrageous demands you're making, I'll be destitute soon, and Blaise and Theo aren't stupid. As it happens, they're really nice blokes."

"They're really nice?" she repeated, her cheeks reddening again. "The really nice blokes who wrote, I bet you have the most beautiful bush?"

Draco felt his entire body flush. He couldn't help it. Even with Occlumency — hearing her say those words out loud — bringing the image to the forefront of his mind and the many hours he'd contemplated on how exquisite it would be to taste her…

"They only did that because they thought it would help my cause," he defended clumsily.

"How?" she challenged. "It's insulting."

"Well it's sort of flattering," he stammered weakly. "When you think about it — not that I would think about it or have thought about it—"

"Be careful Malfoy, your Occlumency is failing you."

And she was smirking. Her eyes alight with some sick idea of a victory.

"Sod it," he snapped, readjusting his schoolbag, "I'm going back to class, are you coming?"

"No."

"No? What do you mean no? We're already late."

Hermione shook her head as if shaking something out of her big hair. "I can't stand the idea of staying in one place right now. I need to get out of here… do something."

"Like what?"

"Want to come to Hogsmeade with me?"

Draco looked at her in disbelief. "Skip class and leave school grounds?" he demanded. "Do you realize how much trouble I'd be in with McGonagall? She could make note of it in my report to the Wizengamot. I'm not even supposed to leave Hogwarts without informing her first."

Hemione crossed her arms, shaking her head in that funny way again. "Right, sorry."

Draco gave her a crooked smile. "So where do you want to go?"

Hermione returned it, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "The book shop."

"Actually," nodded Draco with approval. "That's a good idea. I have to pick up a gift. But Hermione," She looked to him, waiting, "If you try using legilimency on me again, I'll do more than push you out."

Hermione was in an absolute frenzy. "As many books as I want?" she'd echoed in disbelief.

"As many books as you want," he'd said in a slow drawl. So now she was running around Tomes and Scrolls wondering which books to buy and how many books would be considered too many books.

"Are you sure?" she kept asking.

"For Merlin sake, if you ask me that one more time…"

She pursed her lips apologetically. It made sense, she was supposedly dating Malfoy and given his reputation, a wizard-like him would be showering his girlfriend with gifts. But knowing their relationship was a façade made her twinge with guilt. With shame, Hermione looked around her; books were strewn all around piled up here and there blocking an entire aisle. Luckily for them, the bookshop was empty at the time. Malfoy was eyeing the towers of books. "We might need to get them delivered," he said with a snigger. Her guilt at abusing her position as his girlfriend all but disappeared with that snigger.

"No," she said giving him an icy glare, "you're going to carry them back for me."

Malfoy gave her his best scowl, "I'm not a bloody errand boy."

Standing up, she smirked, "Don't you get it? You," she pointed, "My finger. Wrapped. If you want people to believe I've really fallen in love with you, you better be a pretty remarkable boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" said Malfoy lowering his voice. "So we're official?"

Hermione shrugged, "I guess — maybe — look, I don't know. People assume it. How did you expect this whole thing to play out? Relationships progress, don't they?"

"I suppose," Malfoy hesitated, looking uncertain, "wait, what do you mean people assume it?"

Hermione kneeled down on the floor and pretended to go back to perusing the books she'd picked out in hopes that he would drop the subject. But she could feel his cool grey eyes on the back of her neck like a blade. When she didn't answer he said, "So you've discussed our relationship. Who with?"

Hermione cleared her throat, "Just people," she said casually.

"Who?" he demanded.

"People… in school… Ginny, Harry, obviously I also spoke to Ron."

Malfoy didn't say anything for a long time, so long that Hermione looked up to check if he was still there. That was her first mistake.

As soon as their eyes locked he asked, "What do they all say?"

Despite wanting to, she couldn't seem to tear away from his gaze. "They mostly say that they don't understand it. They think I deserve better than you."

Whether Malfoy was hurt by the truth, she'd never know because his expression remained the same. He stooped down so they were at eye level. She thought for a moment that he was going to offer her his help with the books but instead, he just stared at her waiting.

"What?" she challenged.

He titled his head, studying her carefully. "Do you think that's true, that I don't deserve you?"

Hermione shook her head wanting to end this uncomfortable conversation. "Yes — no, I mean," she took a calming breath trying to un-fluster, "it's not as if any of this is actually important. Come Christmas this farce will be over, right?"

"Right," he drawled, "so, what did you say to them then?"

This — this was the ultimate question down the path littered with all his other questions she had wanted to avoid. She picked up a book beginning to fiddle with its spine. Without looking at him Hermione answered, "I say 'I don't understand it either', I say 'It's complicated' and I say…" she licked her lips nervously, 'I say I've never felt this way." Her pulse fell; she'd repeated those words over and over again to others but saying them to Malfoy himself felt wrong… almost as if it were true. Even though it wasn't, it absolutely wasn't. Fearfully she glanced up. His expression was unreadable.

"See," she quickly whispered, "Oscar-worthy acting."

His eyes if possible turned charcoal.

"Yeah, good work," he murmured picking up a book and handing it to her. "Do you want this one?"

"Huh — err, no, I've decided that I don't want the books," muttered Hermione weakly, "I already have so many at home and…"

He furrowed his brows. "But you've spent the last hour picking them out."

Stuttering clumsily, desperately wanting to get away from him, she said, "Fine, but not all of them, just choose one for me. I have to go use the loo." Hermione didn't wait to see the perplexed look on Malfoy's face. Her body was all exposed nerve endings and she had to get away.

Practically running from the bookshop, she crossed the street to the nearest restaurant and asked if she could use their restroom. Relieved to be alone, she locked herself in the toilet and sat bent forward in the quiet; her hands clasped together, resting on her knees. Hermione always knew that it wasn't going to be easy to fake a relationship with a former Death Eater, that she'd be reprimanded for it, that there was the risk that they could be caught lying, but she hadn't factored in how confusing it would all feel. She'd once read a book about a spy who went undercover as a double agent. He became so entrenched in the role he was playing that he began to lose himself and forget. Forgetting… that's what Hermione felt was happening to her; she was forgetting who she was, and what was worse, she suspected that she was forgetting who he was too.

Sitting there pathetically, she vowed not to lose herself… she wouldn't forget. Returning to the bookshop with quiet resolve, she spotted him at the register.

"Look," she heard him say calmly, "I just want to buy these books and be on my way."

"Like I said," the clerk behind the register growled, "you're not welcome here."

The clerk suddenly noticed Hermione's arrival. "Miss Granger, can I help you?"

"Hi, Mr. Heely I didn't see you in the shop before."

"I was in the back," he smiled, ignoring Malfoy altogether.

Coming to stand right beside the blonde had a blanching effect on Mr. Heely.

"We'd like to buy these books. Is there… something wrong?"

Mr. Heely's beady eyes darted to Malfoy. Clearing his throat, he mumbled, "No, nothing wrong." Without looking at either of them, he begrudgingly accepted Malfoy's galleons and then took the two books that had been lying on the counter and put them into a paper bag. Hermione caught a glimpse of one of the titles. The Adventures of Martin Miggs. The older wizard who always had the habit of chatting to Hermione whenever she dropped by the shop gave her a chilly shoulder in response to her goodbye.

The door closed behind them with a thud, emphasizing the uncomfortable silence that had descended upon them. Trying to lighten the mood Hermione teased, "Martin Miggs? I wouldn't have pegged you for a comics fan."

In a gruff manner Draco bit out, "It's not for me."

"Who's it for then?"

"Myrtle."

"Myrtle as in Moaning Myrtle?" asked Hermione with a look of incredulity.

"Actually," said Malfoy empathetically. "Her name's Myrtle Warren — why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're friends with Myrtle," she said, more a statement than a question.

Malfoy clenched his jaw as if preparing for battle. "Yes, what of it?" he challenged grabbing the bag from her and walking ahead. Quickly catching up to him she said, "Nothing, I have to admit though, I'm surprised."

"She's very misunderstood," he said continuing to walk at a fast pace. Hermione was having too difficult a time wrapping her head around the idea of Malfoy being friends with a Muggle-born ghost for her to respond. "And she's quite funny," he added defensively picking up his pace, "especially when she wants to be."

"But she's incorporeal," said Hermione trying to keep up with him, "I'm pretty sure a few seconds holding anything and it's going to fall right through her hands."

Malfoy was silent all the way back; even when Hermione confided in him that she knew of a secret passageway back to the castle, he merely followed her without a word. It was only when they emerged out of the tunnel into a dark alcove at Hogwarts did he speak.

All of sudden, he snapped bitterly, "Well that went rather well… for a first date."

Hermione gave him a look of reproach. "That wasn't a date."

"Why not?"

"A date requires candlelight and flowers, and long romantic walks and dinner – home-cooked or at a fancy restaurant. Also, I don't think 'my date' would be buying gifts for other girls."

Draco gave a small chuckle. "But the girl in question is dead. And you got a gift too. Doesn't that let me off the hook?"

She laughed, about to protest against it when his expression changed, his eyes looking at something behind her.

Hermione whipped around. Not something. Someone.

"Headmistress," said Malfoy clearing his throat.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger," she said in a deceiving polite tone. "Have you amused yourselves enough for the day?"

"Professor McGonagall," sighed Hermione regretfully, "I can explain. We…" she desperately grappled for a lie, "we were just getting some things for the ball."

"Mr. Malfoy please see you get to your next class, Miss Granger come with me."

Malfoy's eyes met hers and she saw the hesitation in them. "Talk later," she said quickly not wanting him to get into any more trouble than he was already in.

Submissively, Hermione followed McGonagall feeling very much like a hangman walking to the gallows. She cringed at the idea of being back in the Headmistress' office. She really thought that her last year of Hogwarts would be quiet and uneventful. That was quickly proving to be untrue.

"Miss Granger," clipped McGonagall as Hermione took her seat, "Go on. Explain."

"Well, we… we were just brainstorming ideas for the Christmas Ball."

"Instead of attending your class with Professor Slughorn?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Yes," she whispered.

"Did Mr. Malfoy put you up to this?"

"No. I asked him to come with me. I'm so sorry about class, I just—"

"I'm very disappointed in you, Hermione."

Her eyes darted to the portrait of Professor Snape. He was regarding her with a quizzical frown. "I'll make it up to Professor Slughorn."

Sitting back in her chair, her spectacles falling down her nose she said in a very grave tone, "And Professor Sprout, will you make it up to her? I'm assuming the eleven elves running loose around Hogwarts is your doing."

Hermione must have looked taken aback because McGonagall gave her a soft smile. "Oh, yes, I know all about them. This is my school, after all… my castle."

"Running loose?" gulped Hermione. "Headmistress, I can explain. The house-elves were working for the Malfoy's—"

"You mean to tell me that Mister Malfoy brought his elves to school?" she said angrily.

"No," corrected Hermione quickly, "He, um, sort of, freed them, and now they're following me around. I may have led them to believe I was their new," she paused searching for the proper word, "employer."

The older woman's eyebrows drew together in disbelief. "And why on earth would Mister Malfoy free his elves?" Hermione shrugged innocently. "And why would they be here, following you around? They've been uprooting plants in the school Greenhouse."

Letting out a sigh of defeat, she conceded, "I may have had a hand in that, I told them to find themselves, to try new things, gardening for example. I think they might have taken the gardening suggestion to heart."

"Let me understand this clearly," said Professor McGonagall, "Mister Malfoy granted all his house-elves their freedom because you asked him to... and now they are following you around."

Hermione looked into her lap playing with the hem of her school skirt. "Well, when you put it like that—"

"No, I don't think you completely grasp what you asked of Mister Malfoy. You see, once you release a house-elf, you can't just go out and get another; they're bonded through generation to generation—"

"I know," said Hermione emphatically.

"Then surely you must understand the gravity of what Mister Malfoy has done."

Hermione shrugged again wishing to end the conversation. "I suppose," she said hotly. "But they're not slaves."

McGonagall leaned forward, dropping all the formalities of student and principal. "You know you can always confide in me, Hermione. Make me understand why Draco Malfoy, of all wizards, would agree to such a thing. And skipping class — this isn't like you."

She bit her lip. How could she explain the elves without admitting to the deal she'd made with him. "He freed his elves because… it was a condition of me tutoring him," she lied. "He wants to get an Outstanding in his Muggle Studies exam at the end of the year. I think he's worried about his family's image right now what with his impending probationary trial."

Professor McGonagall sat back in her chair again. Despite speaking so confidently, the Headmistress didn't seem convinced.

"And don't worry," added Hermione, "I already have a plan to help the house-elves. I'm going to establish a transitional home; the S.P.E.W reintegration centre. I'm already in the process of scouting potential locations."

Professor McGonagall took out a piece of parchment and dipped her quill in ink, "Well, for now, they can stay here at Hogwarts," she murmured distractedly as she wrote, "for what it's worth, a home for elves sounds like an inspired idea. But where will you find funding for such a…?" She trailed off, her pen pausing midsentence. Without looking up she continued to speak. "I see," she went back to writing, "Mister Malfoy intends to pay for it."

Feeling the need to defend herself, Hermione pressed, "The centre could be life-changing. I hope you're not angry with me."

"Angry?" she started, looking up, "far from it, Hermione, I think educating Mister Malfoy about the Muggle world, working together on the Christmas Ball and on creature rights is exactly what the Wizarding community needs right now; a unified front. The impact of a centre could be — as you said — life-changing, I'm merely surprised that the funding for it is coming from Draco Malfoy. His family has always donated generously, but to causes which align with their own." She took her spectacles off and pinched the bridge of her nose.

It was difficult to tell whether Professor McGonagall was aware of their fake-romantic relationship. The whole castle knew, so surely she did. Hermione began rubbing the inside of her palm; the hand Malfoy always held; the right.

"I just want you to be careful. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, especially in his case. He'll want something in return."

"Want something?" echoed Hermione weakly, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palm. "I don't know what you mean."

Putting her spectacles back on, she sighed, "Well I think it's fairly obvious. He probably expects you'll testify to his character and the progress he's made at Hogwarts in his final year here." Hermione couldn't help the sigh of relief that expelled from her chest. She unclenched her fists and placed them flat on her lap. "Which, if you feel he's earned it," continued McGonagall, "then I suppose you could vouch for him. I imagine a statement from you would hold a lot of weight."

Hermione smiled. "Right, of course. If I feel that he's earned it, perhaps I will attest to his character growth." She pushed her luck. "So, are Malfoy and I in trouble, or could you let it slide, just this once… please?"

Frowning deeply, McGonagall clucked her tongue. "I'd very much like to punish you both, especially you, Hermione, for instigating this little escapade, but in fact, I have a surprise for you. You'll find it in Hagrid's hut."

"Hagrid's h — Hagrid's here!" she exclaimed happily.

"Yes, yes, run along," clipped the Headmistress. "He'll be thrilled to see you I'm sure."

Dashing out of the office, Hermione practically sprinted out of the castle toward the Forbidden Forest. When she caught sight of a large figure resembling her friend in the distance, she ran even faster.

"Hagrid," said Hermione breathlessly. "Oh, Merlin, Hagrid! When did you get back from Romania?"

Hagrid wrapped his large arms around her, her little body disappearing beneath his large one. "This mornin'."

She was grinning for ear to ear, drinking in the sight of him. "You don't know how good it is to see you but, I thought you weren't supposed to be back till Christmas."

"I'll be headin' back soon, I came ter conclude some business."

"Business, what business?"

"Charlie an' I got our research gran'!" he said triumphantly.

Her grin if possible became even wider, "That's amazing Hagrid, congratulations!"

She knew how long they'd been looking for a financial sponsor and was beyond thrilled to hear they'd finally found someone to support their research in dragon habitats.

'Yeh'll come ter visit us in Romania, won' you?"

"Of course," she said hugging him again. "Next year when I'm done — oh I just can't wait, Hagrid tell me everything."

He gave her a warm smile, but behind it she could sense he was nervous. "Actually… I was gonna ter say the same. What's this I hear 'bout yeh an' Draco Malfoy?"

The happiness she'd just experienced grew cold as the wind picked up. "Harry has a big mouth."

"He's just worried is all."

Folding her arms to fend against the chill she said, "I'm a big girl Hagrid, I can take care of myself."

Hagrid smiled again. "An' that's just wot I told 'im. If anyone can take care o' herself, it's Hermione."

She practically slammed into him on the third hug. "Thank you," she said into his big belly. He gave her a gentle pack on the back encircling her once again in a cocoon. "As lon' as yeh're happy. Yeh are happy, aren' yeh?"

Hermione was quiet, taken aback by the question. Then like a breached dam, she burst, one tear after another.

"'Mione?"

She looked up at him through tears. "Hagrid," she let out a sob. "My parents are having another baby." He seemed shocked. "A girl,' she went on. "Can't you see what's happening? They're replacing me." And then she wept and wept, and eventually when she stopped Hagrid steered her into his hut and made her a cup of hot soothing tea. In between the silence of her sips, she confided in him that Ron had broken her heart, again, that she felt disconnected from Harry, and that her relationship with Draco Malfoy wasn't real. She started at the beginning, explaining how she had slapped the blonde git in the library, how he had stolen her book, how she had cut his cheek open, how he had blackmailed her, how she was exploiting his wealth, how most of the time she couldn't stand him, and yet…

"Twice or thrice now he's walked me to class. He always takes my bag and carries it for me, and then when we get there he leans in and tucks my hair behind my ear. I always think he might try to kiss me but he doesn't, he just smiles at me like there's no one watching, like none of it's for show, like there's no one but us."

"An' tha' bothers yeh, o' course."

Hermione looked into her empty cup, her heart hammering wildly. "No," she whispered softly. "That part, I love."