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CHAPTER 13

New Theory of Numerology

Draco was finally climbing the stairs to his room. He no longer felt the urge to run, though the blood was pumping through his veins at full speed. The brief conversation with his classmate Daphne Greengrass had failed to calm him down. All he could think of now was Nott, and the four things he intended to say to him as soon as he was in front of him. That was easier than remembering the conversation he'd just had with Granger in the Library, minutes before.

He opened the door to the dormitory and instantly gave a small gasp when he saw that he wasn't alone in there.

"You are here!" he greeted in surprise, from the doorframe. Nott, lying face down on his bed, did not look up. He seemed to be deep in concentration on the magazine in his hands. "I was going to look for you now..."

"Well, you didn't have to," Nott replied simply, joking absentmindedly, still reading.

And he said nothing more. Draco felt his skin burn with pure rage. He squeezed the doorknob under his hand tightly. How could he be so calm? How could he care so little? Did he really not have a shred of remorse?

He closed the door at last, with a somewhat abrupt bang, and took two steps towards his bed. He sat down on the edge, facing his friend's bed. He said nothing. Nott continued without looking up. Draco, finding himself sitting up at last, felt tiredness wash over him. But it was more an emotional tiredness than a physical one. Still, he tried hard not to let his fury subside; he needed it to be able to stand up to his friend. He set his bag aside, but continued to hold the book Granger had given him.

Sensing Draco so unusually silent, Nott looked up from his magazine and fixed his gaze on his friend. Seeing that he was piercing him with an unfriendly gaze, his only reaction was to raise a dark eyebrow.

"What's wrong with you?" Nott questioned calmly. He wasn't at all upset. "Hey, but didn't you have Quidditch practice? Was it cancelled or did you finish early?" he suddenly remembered.

Draco was on the verge of throwing something at him. Was he really not the least bit remorseful for what he was doing? For treating Mudbloods as equals? Wasn't his conscience bothering him? The young Malfoy still didn't open his mouth, but he raised his right hand and held the New Theory of Numerology book up to his friend's eye level, showing him the cover. He waited for Nott's reaction, but it left much to be desired: he merely raised his other eyebrow.

"That's mine, isn't it?" asked the dark-haired boy, his voice impersonal. Not a trace of guilt, not a trace of anything. Draco was tempted, again, to throw it at him in a nice little arc towards his big, stupid head, but he settled for throwing it at his bed, imbuing the gesture with as much disdain as he could muster.

"Whose else?" Draco questioned in turn, opening his mouth at last, and making the censure in his voice clear. Nott agreed with a silent, nonchalant nod and picked up the book, reaching over to set it on his bedside table. The blond followed his movement, his blood pounding in his ears. "Aren't you going to ask me where I got it from?" he wanted to know, unable to contain himself any longer.

Nott looked at him puzzled.

"It's silly of me to ask. I lent it to Granger, I suppose she gave it to you so you could return it to me. It's obvious."

Draco's jaw dropped.

"So that's it, and you're just blurting it out to me like that? Don't you care?" the blond stuttered, incredulously, raising his voice. Theodore just blinked.

"I don't care about what?" he asked, genuinely bewildered.

"Don't play dumb!" Draco shouted, rising to his feet. Nott was unfazed by his violent change of attitude. "Are you laughing at me? Or are you really out of your mind? Don't you realise what you're doing?"

Nott had the courage to crack a faint smile.

"Right now I'm just trying to determine how bad the blow to your head must have been."

Draco twitched his fingers, holding back the urge to strangle him. He was still in a foul mood after his conversation with Granger, and Nott had every chance of being his source of relief.

"Stop joking, for fuck's sake, I'm serious!" he took a breath and tried not to shout any more, to avoid anyone hearing them from outside, but it was too hard. "When she came to see you, to leave you some notes, when we were both in the Library, I didn't imagine that things were like this. It didn't even cross my mind that it was such a big deal, that you were so stupid. How could you be such an idiot to get involved with Granger like that? She's a Mudblood, damn it! Do you realise how much trouble you could get into if any Slytherin found out? You don't even pretend in the slightest..."

Nott snorted eagerly, finally understanding what was going on.

"Draco, I told you, it's not a big deal —"

"Yes, it is!" the blond interrupted, unable to conceive of such a thing. "Nott, don't push your luck, dammit!" He lowered his voice to say, "I don't care that the Dark Lord let you down. I don't care, Nott! None of that justifies you consorting with the Mudbloods! You're still a pure-blood! Behave like one!"

"Fuck, I've only spoken to Granger a couple of times in a cordial way, that's all, so why all the drama? I don't think I'm the first pure-blood to get involved with Muggle-borns!" Nott replied, standing up as well, beginning to look angry at his friend's accusations. "Nor will I be the last!"

"Of course you're not! But what do we call them? Traitors, blood traitors. That's what they are. Outcasts. The lowest rung on the pure-blood ladder. Do you really want to be one of them?"

"I don't give a shit," Theodore gasped. "It's one thing if I don't shout from the rooftops that I no longer support the Dark Lord, but it's quite another if I'm not true to my principles. Nobody notices me in our House, I have hardly any friends at Hogwarts apart from you, who cares if I get along with Granger? Why on earth should I have to pretend to be something I'm not here?"

"Because you're going to get yourself killed, you stupid git!" Draco shouted at him, losing his temper. "Nott, you know you're going to be forced to become a Death Eater sooner or later, just like your father, whether you like it or not. You know that perfectly well. You've got to start hiding what's really on your mind now. You have to be sure of your ground. You say no one's paying attention to you in here, but are you really going to risk it? How many Death Eaters' children we don't even know will still be around? What do you think will happen if word gets out that you're involved with Mudbloods? Do you think the Dark Lord won't find out? He will, and you'll be killed as a traitor as soon as you set foot outside Hogwarts! And you're just hanging around with that Granger, as if all this has nothing to do with you! If you keep this up, your whole cover's going to be blown! And I'm sure as hell not going to stand between you and the Dark Lord to save you!"

"Do you really think the rest of the Slytherins have nothing better to do than check up on me? If I exchange four lousy words with some Mudblood? It's not like I'm walking around the castle holding Granger's hand, damn it," he snapped, upset. "Just because you know about it doesn't mean it's public knowledge..."

Well, the Gryffindors already know, they already talk about it, Draco thought angrily, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He knew that if he told him about these rumours, Nott would have to agree with him that it was dangerous, and it would possibly worry him so much that he would put the whole thing with Granger aside. But he could not reveal such information.

Granger had asked him not to tell Nott. And that thought blocked his vocal chords beyond help.

Nor — he told himself, trying to find a more plausible reason not to tell him — did he feel like openly confessing that he had been talking to her. And he felt too full of adrenaline from the discussion to make up any lies.

'It's not like I'm walking around the castle holding Granger's hand...'

At those words, a sudden memory flashed through Draco's mind, encouraged by his friend's disturbed expression. He had remembered that, specifically, what the Gryffindors were rumouring was that there was more between Granger and Nott than just... friendship. That there was something between Granger and him. Those had been the girl's words. And he realised then that he hadn't even given it much thought when she'd said it to him. He barely registered the magnitude of her words. The situation in general had troubled him too much to pay attention to such a detail. But now, for some reason, he did. And he felt... worried. Or something akin to worry. But, he thought he remembered that she had denied it to him... She had. Or not?

"But then, you two just… get along, don't you? I mean, you're not hooking up with Granger or anything," Draco then stated, affirming it for him. Giving him no option to say otherwise. The opposite wasn't an option. Full stop. "Don't fuck with me... You couldn't have stooped that low..."

He managed to add it in the most accusing, indignant tone he could muster. His heart had suddenly raced, without that part of the conversation justifying it. But Nott shook his head, reluctantly, not giving his words any weight.

"Of course not, don't be stupid," he sneered, still looking angry at his earlier words. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. "All I've done is talk to Granger at the end of a few classes and lend her some fucking books. And, you know, I'm not going to stop doing that. I don't care about the consequences, I'm sick of it. Worst case scenario, if the Dark Lord found out..." he swallowed, working up the courage to face his friend. "Don't worry, I don't need you to get between me and him. I never asked you to. As far as I'm concerned, you can cover your own back all you want, without meddling in anything to do with me."

It took Draco a moment to fully assimilate what his friend was saying. His denial that there was something more between Granger and him than subtle companionship was still floating around in his mind. In his heartbeat. Reassuring him. Though he hadn't been aware of having become nervous. But, at his new words, his anger towards his friend returned.

"Do you think people won't suspect me if they see you consorting with Mudbloods? We're friends, everyone will think I'm doing it too, and then my whole reputation will go to shit!" Draco exclaimed, unable to believe that his friend didn't understand, that he couldn't put himself in his position. "I'm not going to let the Dark Lord kill me because of you! Or kill my mother!"

Nott let out a gasp. He gritted his teeth. He turned away, unable to look at his friend any longer. He picked up the New Theory of Numerology book on his bedside table with one hand. He stared at it for a few seconds, his back to his friend, furious with himself. With Draco. With everyone.

He turned again to look at the young Malfoy. His blue eyes were almost crystal clear.

"If that's all you're worried about, you can rest assured that no one will think for a moment that you're involved with Mudbloods. I'm not going to stop, but I'll save you the trouble of having a blood traitor friend as a burden," Nott threw the book at him without any delicacy. Draco caught it on the fly, bewildered, thanks to his Seeker reflexes. Theodore moved to the door without hesitation, yanking it open.

And then Draco understood.

"Shit, Nott… Wait…"

But he couldn't hear him anymore. He was out the door like a gale, slamming the door behind him and leaving an unbearable silence in the room. It was as if a typhoon had passed through. Draco was unable to follow him. He wasn't sure if it was because his bloody pride wouldn't allow him to run after him, begging him to listen, or because he knew that doing so wouldn't fix anything. He managed to take a step back and sit on the lid of his trunk, still holding the book in his hands. He felt his heart pumping violently in his ears. He couldn't stand the silence that enveloped him. He couldn't stand Nott's words echoing in his head.

'I'll save you the trouble of having a blood traitor friend as a burden...'

He clenched his fists tightly. If only Nott could understand... What he was doing was disgusting and stupid, and a massive betrayal that Death Eaters would kill him for any day if they ever found out. Besides, Draco couldn't bear the thought of anyone thinking that he was on the same terms with Mudbloods. If his friend did, people would think he was in the same boat, that he shared his beliefs, just as he had told Nott. And that couldn't happen. He had a reputation to uphold. A reputation that not only affected him, but his family as well. The Malfoy family. His father was in Azkaban, and his mother was alone, at home, under the orders and close watch of Lord Voldemort. He could not afford to commit any kind of betrayal. He could not fail at anything. He could not allow any harm to come to his mother.

He covered his face with both hands, and his own words came back to his mind to mortify him and plunge him deeper into darkness.

'And you're just hanging around with that Granger, as if all this has nothing to do with you!'

He remembered what had happened earlier in the Library. The conversation he and Granger had had... They had been speaking... He had not been able to tease her... He grabbed her arm... He had touched her body…

He was doing the same thing he'd accused Nott of. Damn it, he was doing the same thing.

The vibrating bell that brought the class to an end was like a liberating chorus. The Arithmancy students were instantly on their feet, causing such a commotion that they failed to hear Professor Vector's last words, reminding them of the homework they were to do for the following week. After a few seconds, the classroom was completely empty and silent, except for Hermione, who was hastily jotting down homework in her planner, and Nott, who was coming towards her, weaving his way around the desks. Septima Vector went to her office, muttering, exhausted.

"You know you're going to be the only one doing homework, right?" Nott commented, in a kindly voice, as he reached the girl's side.

"Yeah, I know," she replied with a smile, shrugging her shoulders as she finished writing. "Thanks for waiting for me. Do you want anything?"

"Yeah, well…" the dark-haired boy admitted in a low voice, before placing a wad of parchments on the table. "Here, the notes you left me," he said. "Thank you very much."

"Oh, it was nothing," the young woman replied, taking them along with her books and scrolls, to put them in her backpack. "Have you understood them?"

"Yes, indeed. You make very good notes. Your schemes are terrific," he praised warmly, turning and preceding the girl towards the exit. "I even feel guilty about using them. The summary diagram on number 7 was fantastic, it was difficult to understand..."

"Gee, thanks. And no worries," she assured him, letting out a light laugh, blushing with pride.

They both reached the door amidst a somewhat chilly silence. Nott seemed afraid to speak, as if he wasn't sure if he should or not. She was silent, watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally asked, looking awkward, as they crossed the threshold and stopped on the other side.

"Yes, of course," Hermione said expectantly.

"I know I'm being impertinent asking, but…" he hesitated, uncomfortably. "I noticed this morning that you sat alone at breakfast. Did you have a fight with your friends? Potter and… What was his name? Weasley?"

Hermione nodded hesitantly. She didn't feel annoyed that he mentioned it, far from it, but she did feel a twinge in her chest as she remembered that she hadn't spoken to either Harry or Ron in days. And, moreover, his question made her suddenly feel a worrying doubt: had he found out that the discussion had been about him? Was he testing the waters to ask her? Had the Gryffindor rumours bothered him? Yes, obviously...

If he had indeed found out, it would definitely have been thanks to Malfoy. Damn it, she had begged him not to tell him anything... At what point had it occurred to her to be honest and tell Draco Malfoy about her problems? She deserved to be in that awkward situation right now, she deserved it for being an idiot and reckless...

"Actually, yes, we had a fight," she admitted cautiously, closing the classroom door behind them. She looked at him carefully. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, almost apologetically.

"No reason… I just noticed that you were alone. I was surprised not to see you with them," he commented, hesitantly. "Has something serious happened? You three used to be so close..."

Hermione felt relief wash over her, and she fought to keep her face from showing it. Hadn't he found out the reason for the fight? Thanks Merlin... She regretted slightly that she had felt so defensive. He was just being nice. He just wanted to talk to her.

She was enormously grateful that he didn't know that he had been the cause. Or, more specifically, the Parvati and Lavender's fake gossip. She had no intention of telling him. It hadn't been his fault, and she didn't want to worry him about foolish rumours.

She also regretted doubting Malfoy, though that was a more unusual emotion. The most reasonable and logical thing would have been to doubt him, to be sure that he would tell Nott, his friend. The realisation that Malfoy, against all odds, had been discreet about the rumour she had confessed to him was a shocking feeling. A not unpleasant feeling about him. And, because of that, it felt strange. It was a feeling of gratitude and… trust towards someone she couldn't stand.

The scene in the Library was still vivid in her memory, even though she tried to push it to the back of her mind with all her might.

She tried to improvise a vague, believable reason for the fight with her friends, so that she wouldn't have to tell Theodore the truth.

"It was just nonsense. A silly fight over… different opinions. We'll sort it out soon, I just don't really feel like talking to them right now," she half-lied, downplaying the matter. He nodded, understanding. "But thanks for asking," she added, giving him a small smile. He didn't reciprocate, but his features softened. "The truth is, I thought you would have known about it..."

Hermione voiced her thoughts aloud, almost unaware of how strange her words would sound. She regretted it a moment after opening her mouth.

"Me? How was I supposed to know? I wasn't planning on asking them, I don't exactly get along with Potter and Weasley," he argued, with a forced, mournful chuckle.

"Yeah, no, of course... It's just that Malfoy found out about it by chance. And I thought he would have told you to make fun of me," she admitted, smiling a slightly embarrassed smile.

Nott's face turned grim suddenly, surprising her. He turned his face to the side, avoiding looking at her.

"Maybe he's been telling it around, I don't know. But certainly not to me. It's just that now… we don't talk to each other," he confessed, staring at his shoes. He spoke with a shuddering seriousness.

"You don't talk to each other? Why is that?" Hermione asked quickly, uneasy. "Well, forgive me, I suppose it's none of my business..."

"No, it isn't," said Nott, hoarsely. "I'm sorry, it's unfair given that I asked you about your friends, but I don't want to talk about it... Speaking of Draco, thank you for giving me back my book."

And, having said that, he walked down the corridor, without waiting for her. Hermione opened her mouth, ready to stop him, but the words didn't come out. She watched him stride away, but didn't have the courage to follow him. He looked very upset about his argument with Malfoy. Why would they have argued? She knew Theodore Nott very little, but he didn't strike her as the sort of person to get angry over a silly matter. Besides, it was obvious that he was very fond of Draco. The argument must have been important. Something serious must have happened. But, as he had said, it was none of Hermione's business.

Or maybe it was...

There was a sudden thought running through her mind, one that filled her with worry after Nott's words. Perhaps she was indeed the cause of the argument. Theodore had allied with her, somehow, in an attempt to improve Draco's behaviour in Ancient Runes class. He had encouraged her to stop him, even though he was his friend. And he had done it precisely because he was his friend. Because she didn't want to see him get into any more trouble. But Hermione had no doubt that Malfoy wouldn't see it that way. Was it possible that Malfoy had found out about it? Was it possible that Nott had said it was none of Hermione's business so as not to make her feel guilty?

She leaned against the window beside her, gazing out at the landscape absently. It was snowing outside, and cold. And she had nowhere to go. She didn't have lessons until after lunch. Harry and Ron would be in the Common Room, maybe with Ginny and Neville, and she didn't feel like seeing them. She knew they had Quidditch practice in their free hour, after the Slytherins had finished, because they'd told her days before they'd argued. She would go to the Common Room when they left. She was still upset about what had happened; upset enough that she didn't want to speak to them. She could go to the Library, of course, but she was already up to date with her homework. Of course, she could always study for exams...

She ran a hand across the glass and wiped away the mist that fogged it so that she could see outside better. She wiped her hand on her robes out of inertia. She hated having wet hands. It was snowing heavily outside. From that window, and from that height, she had a privileged view of much of the lakeside grounds. She caught a glimpse of Hagrid's hut, covered in snow, whose owner was outside with Fang, doing something she couldn't quite make out. Below the window, many metres away, a line of young students, possibly first or second years, were walking in the direction of the greenhouses, sheltering as best they could from the icy wind. To the left, the great Great Lake extended out, majestic. It was not completely frozen, but she sensed that the waters would be icy. A little further on, the Quidditch pitch was visible. She couldn't see much more detail of the grounds, due to the heavy snowfall.

Her conversation with Nott was still echoing in the recesses of her mind, having nothing else of interest to occupy it. She blinked, realising something. She glanced at her wristwatch, with its small white dial and dun-coloured strap. Harry and Ron had training in an hour, after the Slytherins had finished theirs. They used to leave a little time between teams, in case it dragged on; they didn't want to cross paths by any chance, such was the rivalry. The snakes must have finished by now. But maybe he'd still be on the Quidditch pitch...

Hermione took two deep breaths, just to psyche herself up. But she didn't hesitate too long. She looked away from the window, turned around jauntily and walked steadily to her room, in search of a coat and an umbrella.

The first thing Hermione did as soon as she stepped through the door into the south grounds of the castle was to pull her scarf up to her nose. The cold blizzard at the moment was freezing and hurting her face. It was no longer snowing as heavily, but it was still very windy. She took one step at a time, trying to sink as little as possible into the snow, until she could see the Quidditch pitch at the end of the snow-covered path leading to it. As she got closer, doubt crept into her mind, and also a reasonable sense of alertness. If she ran into the entire Slytherin Quidditch team... she'd be in serious trouble. But she couldn't hesitate now; she was almost there. If that happened, she would find a way out of it. She needed to talk to him.

When she reached the wooden double doors leading to the pitch, she discovered that they were open. That meant someone was still inside. And that someone could be a lot of people, she told herself, nervously. She recognised that it was highly unlikely that her plan would work, but she had nothing to lose by trying, since she was there. She walked into the place, through a short corridor, out of the cold blizzard, and into the foot of the field. The oval grassy field was magically kept free of snow, so that the students could practice on it. But no spells had been placed to protect against the icy, face-hurting wind. The three hoops at that end of the pitch, just a few feet away from Hermione, had snow accumulated on the top edge. The girl looked around, contemplating the lonely place. It was strange to be there, without the stands being crowded with people wrapped in the bright colours of the Houses, or without being there to watch her friends practice.

Harry and Ron...

She forced herself to put them momentarily out of her depressed mind, and continued to look around, scrutinising the place. And, within seconds, she saw him. A figure, silhouetted against the wood of the snow-covered stands, had caught her eye. He was sitting on one of the wooden benches, facing the centre of the pitch, oblivious to the surrounding snow and the icy wind. Hermione recognised him instantly despite the distance, which was quite disturbing. He wasn't even wearing a hat, and his light blond hair was quite enlightening.

She felt a nervous throbbing in her chest. She could hardly believe that she had, in fact, found him there. It had been a pretty poor chance, but she had wanted to try. She'd actually thought she'd find him in the Changing Rooms, changing clothes, or coming off the pitch. Not sitting on a lonely bench in the stands. Which reaffirmed her intentions to talk to him. She was aware that she didn't know him in depth, nor did she know most of his habits, but she was sure it wasn't like him to hang around the pitch after training, in solitude, without the rest of his teammates.

He hadn't noticed her, which made sense given the vastness of the pitch. Hermione couldn't see his face from a distance, but she sensed that he was lost in thought. The girl looked around one last time, searching for the presence of someone else. But she saw no one. So she moved across the field, towards the stairs that led to the area of the stands where he was sitting. The wind was blowing less inside the wooden structure of the pitch, and the small flakes of snow falling softly were more evident. The umbrella was useful, but not infallible either, and it wasn't long before her thick hair was covered in small flakes.

The good thing about the thick layer of snow covering the ground and the steps, and cushioning her footsteps, was that the figure didn't even notice Hermione's presence when she left the steps behind and walked into the row of benches he was on. Or maybe it was just that he was too absorbed.

"Malfoy?" Hermione called, her voice soft.

Draco's body shuddered involuntarily. He craned his neck instantly, staring at her with a start. Some of the snow that had piled up on his hair and shoulders fell to the ground from the movement. His eyes narrowed in bewilderment and suspicion, incredulous.

"Oh, c'mon, you again? What are you doing here?" he asked curtly, contempt underlining every syllable. Hermione swallowed discreetly.

"I came looking for Harry and Ron," she lied, calmly, moving closer to him until she was standing beside him. Draco snorted through his nose and looked straight ahead again, irritated.

"Wow, so now you're openly admitting to spying on me. Cool," the blond snorted, with undisguised irony. Hermione frowned.

"I'm not here for you. I just told you —"

"A lie. I know perfectly well that you're still fighting with them," he muttered dispassionately. "So you don't come here looking for them… You're too proud, Mudblood. Unfortunately, I know you well."

Hermione snorted with slight irony.

"Oh, really?" she scoffed, trying to sound confident. "What am I doing here, then?"

"Making my life miserable for a change. Don't tell me you missed me!" Draco scoffed, his voice piping with afflatus. Despite his teasing, he seemed more listless than usual. "It's only been a few days since you last harassed me."

Hermione snorted at the accusation.

"It's just that being two minutes without you makes me dread it, Malfoy... Oh, no, wait, sorry, I meant being two minutes with you," the girl sniggered.

"I'm more tolerant than you," Draco commented, arching an eyebrow. His arms were resting on his knees, his hands clasped, and his gaze was fixed straight ahead, "I'm able to tolerate you in small doses of ten seconds every five hours."

"Oh, for God's sake, don't be absurd," Hermione complained, not wanting to argue so gratuitously. "What are you doing here? Are you aware of how cold it is?" she reproached him, sternly. Draco closed his eyes, as if psyching himself up so he wouldn't lose his temper. "You don't even have an umbrella. It's snowing. You're going to get sick again..."

"And what does it matter to you?" he asked emphatically, without opening his eyes, revealing exhaustion and impatience in his voice. "What do you want, Granger? I'm in less of a mood to put up with you today than ever before."

Hermione scrutinised his pale, angular face closely.

"You had a fight with Nott." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "What happened?"

Draco gasped in exasperation and turned his face away from her in undisguised disbelief.

"Wow, I see he ran to tell you, how nice... Did he cry on your shoulder while you offered him a handkerchief with the Gryffindor crest on it?"

"He didn't want to tell me anything, so I'm asking you," she said, calmly.

"And what makes you think I'm going to tell you anything?" He looked back at her, his tone of voice higher, which caused her to wince a little. "Since when is anything that happens to me any of your business?"

Hermione fell silent. If her suspicions were correct, perhaps she did have something to do with it. However, she was surprised that Malfoy didn't accuse her directly if she had been the cause. If he'd heard that Nott had encouraged her to stop him with the whole Ancient Runes thing, he'd tell her directly, wouldn't he? Hermione didn't know how to approach the conversation, fearing that she might put her foot in her mouth in case that she wasn't the cause and she was the one who ended up ratting Nott out. In fact, the idea seemed increasingly unlikely, judging by the boy's attitude, and she felt a little stupid for having gone there in the first place.

However, there was no need to think about it any further. Malfoy's reflexes betrayed him, and his eyes left the front for a second to stare at the portion of bench beside him. Hermione followed his gaze. Half buried in the snow, there lay a thick, dark-bound book. Draco and Hermione exchanged a fleeting glance and, having guessed each other's intentions, moved at the same time. He, realising his rash mistake, tried his best to grab the book and pull it away from her, but Hermione was quicker. She bent down in less than a second and picked up the copy. She took a step back, glaring at it, just in time before Malfoy reached her.

Draco leapt to his feet, his eyes wide. Hermione stepped back even further, not taking her eyes off the book. The title was written in clear letters, and the edges were slightly more worn than the last time the young woman had held that book in her hands, as if it had been carried with him all day. But the title was unmistakable.

New Theory of Numerology.

"Give me that, Granger," he demanded loudly, though his voice trembled slightly, revealing his alarm. He reached out a hand towards her, but Hermione turned her back, still staring at the book. "I said, give it to me, you have no right to —"

But Hermione barely listened to him. She had just understood everything.

"It was because of the book," she muttered, her eyes widening, almost to herself. Draco's hand came suddenly from behind her, over her shoulder, and snatched the book from her.

"Your filthy hands have touched this book enough, Granger," he spat as he took it from her hands, so angrily that there was no hint of doubt left in her mind.

She turned to face him again, her expression aghast. Malfoy was very pale, and he was glaring at her angrily.

"Was it because of the book?" Hermione asked this time in a whisper, shocked. "Were you angry with Nott because he left me a book? Because of what I told you they said about us? Because of his relationship with me?"

The girl could clearly see Malfoy's jaw clench tightly. His hand tightened around the book.

"This is none of your business," he retorted, glaring down at her from his mighty height. "Stay out of this, Mudblood."

"Of course it's my business," the girl protested, disturbed, ignoring the insult. "I'm the one who got Nott in trouble with you. I can't believe you'd —" She began to get indignant and raise her voice once she got over her initial surprise. How would someone as intolerant as Malfoy react if he found out that his friend had lent anything to a Mudblood like her? Or that there were rumours about them?

She had only thought about how Nott would react if he found out. It hadn't occurred to her to think about the reaction of Malfoy himself. Which now seemed utterly stupid of her. Even though he hadn't told Nott about the rumours — for some strange reason that the girl couldn't quite figure out yet — it was clear that the situation didn't please Malfoy at all. And he had confronted his friend.

"I'd what?" Draco spat, his voice rising slightly, "Reminded Nott how he's supposed to behave? That he mustn't go near the Mudbloods because they'll kill him for being a traitor?"

"How are they going to — ?" she despaired at his last question.

"Don't you dare explain to me how my world works, Granger," Draco retorted, so sharply that it made her startle. He turned around, his back to her. "This is between me and Nott. And it's far more complicated than your inferior mind can comprehend. He's just a complete git who doesn't understand that he's going to get in trouble for getting involved with someone like you. Serious trouble."

"Lord Voldemort himself will be the one to kill Nott if he finds out," Draco thought in his mind in despair. "Bloody hell..."

"That's... absurd!" she exclaimed, incredulous. "What does it matter that Nott gets along with me? Such ideas are retrograde. He's not hurting anyone. Who can — ?"

"Who can care?" Draco interrupted, in a loud voice, turning to her again. "Anyone with a modicum of sanity and a clear understanding of social differences. Tell that to the Slytherins, when they find out he's fooling around with Mudbloods and want to kill him! Nott is a pure-blood, and he should behave like one. If he doesn't, he'll get himself into serious trouble. And he'll get me in trouble, too. If people find out that he's involved with you, they'll think I'm involved too..."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. It was like having the argument she had with Harry and Ron all over again.

"That's just stupid!" Hermione snapped, nearly dropping her umbrella, gesticulating, struggling to talk some sense into him. "And it doesn't have to be that way. Nott's actions are not your own. No one can blame you for what he does..."

"Bloody hell, that's the least of it!" Draco yelled, his face twitching, piercing her with a fiery grey glare. He raised a finger and pointed it at her. "I swear to you, Granger, if anything happens to Nott because of you, I will… I…"

Hermione's face softened. It was hard for the girl to realise what she was hearing. Hiding behind his threat, in his racist, closed-minded, old-fashioned way, Malfoy was actually caring about his friend's welfare. She had never believed that someone like Draco could actually genuinely care about someone other than himself. But he had just proved her wrong. Malfoy was afraid of what they might do to Nott.

Draco realised a second later, thanks to Granger's troubled expression, what he had let slip. The way he'd said it, he gave the impression that he cared more about Nott than he did about himself... and he didn't. Or, at least, he didn't plan to show it so openly. He didn't have to reveal anything, least of all to Granger. He felt the fury rise from his feet to the back of his neck. Nott was going to get himself killed. All for not listening to him. And on top of that he had to justify his behaviour to Granger. Bloody hell.

Draco turned his back on the girl, to stare at the other end of the pitch, unable to watch her stare at him in surprise any longer. Like she'd just discovered he was human. And Granger didn't have to find that out about him. She didn't have to know anything about him. None of that was any of her business.

Hermione stared at his back, decorated with piles of snow on his shoulders. Malfoy's fists, clenched tightly and peeking out from under his coat sleeves, were shaking.

One of Hermione's hands released the umbrella and reached through the air between them to rest on the fabric of his coat, in the middle of his back. The girl didn't know if it was because of her impulsive gesture of touching his body, but suddenly the trembling in Malfoy's hands stopped. He didn't turn away, though. She didn't move her hand away, which was rising and falling in time with his agitated breathing. And he didn't tell her to.

The girl's hand, pressed against his back, was managing to relax his heartbeat, giving him the foolish, false feeling that everything had a solution. That, even if Nott was being reckless, everything could still be resolved. Nothing to regret had happened, he could still fix it. He could still save Nott.

And he felt a bitter pang as he realised that it was precisely Granger, the main cause of it all, who had caused him to think such things. Who made him feel backed.

"I suppose I find it difficult to understand your point of view," Granger said suddenly, behind him, in a low voice. "But I can see that you're not alone in thinking it. And I understand that you are worried about your friend. Talk to him and explain all this to him. Again, if necessary."

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, removing the last traces of frustration from inside him. With a sharp jerk of his shoulder, he pushed Granger's hand away from his body. He turned around, and, to the girl's surprise, his gaze possessed his usual superiority and irony.

"The solution to everything would be for you to stay away from him."

Hermione took a slow breath, saying nothing. Her heart was beating too fast. She didn't want to admit it, but Malfoy's words had made her worry. She had begun a cordial relationship with Theodore Nott because of the Ancient Runes problem, and she hadn't even considered for a moment that it could have so many consequences. She found it hard to understand Malfoy's view, but she knew from experience that he wasn't the only one who thought that way. It was a common thought among a large number of pure-bloods. Sirius Black ended up hated and disowned by his mother; Andromeda Black, ostracised by her sisters; the Weasley family, accused of being traitors and Muggle sympathisers... She didn't want Theodore Nott to experience something similar because of her. Or worse.

Hermione was convinced that these things had to be changed, and changed by example. But maybe she should be more discreet. For Nott's safety. The boy could get into real trouble. His situation was different from Hermione's. His environment was far more dangerous than hers.

"I'll keep talking to Nott whenever I need something from him. Or he from me," she replied finally, solemnly. "Because we're not doing anything wrong, and you won't convince me otherwise. But… I will try to be more cautious. I'll try not to let other Slytherins see us together."

Draco just stared at her. Suddenly, he didn't know what to say. And that upset him slightly. Was Granger being… reasonable?

"Would you do it?" was all Draco managed to say, quietly, earnestly.

"I suppose I have no choice. The last thing I want is for Nott to be in trouble because of me. From what you're saying, it's quite likely to happen. And, much as I don't like it, I suppose you know more about it than I do," she reasoned, firmness and assurance in her voice. She added, more softly, "But I still think you should talk to him. He'll come to understand that you care about him. If I've understood, he can understand too."

"If you're so sure, take that advice yourself first," the blond hinted, smiling suddenly with disdain. She looked puzzled. "Because, if I'm not mistaken, and you've confirmed that I'm not, you haven't spoken to your 'friends forever' yet, huh?"

Hermione took a deep breath through her nose, indignant — how could he have changed his attitude so quickly, and how dare he bring up the subject of Harry and Ron?

"That's got nothing to do with it. It's a totally different case," she mumbled.

"Of course, you can't even compare the two," he chuckled, with a fake grimace of disgust.

"Malfoy, may I remind you that we were talking about you," she snarled, obfuscating.

"Thank you for your consideration, but there's no need to keep doing it. I've had enough; your stupid advice that even you don't use will be very useful to me. I have full faith in it."

"Oh, my God, you're insufferable," Hermione complained wearily. She always ended up exhausted after talking to him. She didn't know why she kept doing it.

"Then we have something in common," Malfoy dropped back into a sitting position, placing his forearms on his knees again. Oddly, he felt more relaxed, despite still being in Granger's company. Which usually kept him in a heightened level of altered rage. But now he felt almost comfortable. Almost calm. Strangely, he was beginning to get used to being in her presence. Because of her, evidently, who was determined to find him and corner him wherever he was.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, forcing him to blink.

He had said it mockingly, to tease her, but... had Granger really gone there to look for him on purpose? Had she known she would find him there? And had she tried to pretend she was looking for her friends when she really wanted to see him? Did she want to know how he was doing after his fight with Nott?

His eyes strayed to her. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, his expression utterly serious. He seemed to be brooding. Hermione looked back at him, feeling a small tingle on the back of her neck at his piercing gaze. An uncomfortable emptiness settled in the pit of her stomach.

"What?" she asked in a soft, uneasy voice. She didn't understand his sudden expression.

"Why are you taking my side?" he questioned in return, curiously curt. She blinked.

"W-what?"

"You said you'd try to be more discreet with your 'friendship'," Malfoy sneered angrily, "and that you think I should talk to Nott again to make him see my point. Either I'm really stupid, or that's saying I'm right and Nott's wrong, right? You're not stupid, Granger, you know as well as I do that Nott is sticking his neck out by even talking to you, not bothering to hide it."

Hermione blinked again, suddenly confused. He was right. Without even realising it, she had sided with the blond.

"That's not exactly what I meant," she said, but added before he could reply, "But don't say it like it's unusual. You took my side too when you found out I had a fight with Harry and Ron."

Draco laughed through his nose instantly. In an exaggerated way. He suddenly looked very amused.

"I think I missed that part of my life, so could you clarify in what way I took your side?"

"You assumed, without my telling you, that they were to blame for what happened. For the argument," Hermione replied confidently, holding his gaze. "You asked me what they had done to me. And you told me that a friendship where they won't trust me isn't worth it."

The usual smug half-smirk on Malfoy's lips did not falter. Instead, he rose to his feet and strode the scant three feet that separated them. He stood under her umbrella, so close that her forearms, raised to hold the handle, almost brushed the lapels of his expensive black coat. Hermione restrained the primitive impulse to step back, but forced herself not to move. And to hold his gaze with composure. Lifting her chin a little higher.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Granger, but saying that Weasley and Potter aren't worth it isn't taking your side," he clarified, narrowing his light eyes. "It's pointing out a fact that is obvious to half of Hogwarts — that is, the half of Hogwarts that has more than two brain cells. And that includes everyone but the Gryffindors. And some wayward Hufflepuff."

Hermione squeezed the handle of her umbrella tighter, furious at his words. Her heart was pumping to the beat of a drum, but she instantly convinced herself that it wasn't because of the boy's sudden closeness. Of course it wasn't. It was because of his shameless words. He was the most arrogant jerk she knew. And he was standing two feet away from her.

It wasn't because of their closeness. No way. And she had to stop being so self-conscious about it. It was just Malfoy. She'd known him since she was eleven. She'd put up with him since she was eleven. There was no reason to be nervous about his proximity... Even if he was so close that the girl could see that his eyelashes, rather than blond, were actually light brown. That his blond eyebrows were beautifully shaped, straight and elegant. That the outer rim of the iris of his eyes was a darker grey, almost black. That some strands of his fringes, damp from melting snowflakes, stuck to his forehead, making him look a little more unkempt than at other times. Giving him a more human, more youthful air. That his lips were somewhat pale from the cold, making them visually even thinner.

But it was absurd for her to notice all that. Her observant nature was sometimes frustrating. Malfoy only wanted to make her uncomfortable with his closeness, to intimidate her, as he had done for six years. If he had come so close to her, it was only to mortify her, surely he hadn't even realised how extremely close they were, both of them under the girl's umbrella. Hermione knew that the only thing Malfoy felt at her proximity was repulsion, but even that he seemed to be able to endure in order to annoy her. How cute.

But she had to stop thinking about his closeness, and concentrate on his humiliating words.

"How can you insult people so calmly, Malfoy?" she spluttered, indignant. "How dare you judge people without knowing them? And what do you know if they're worth it or not? You don't know anything about them, or about me!"

Malfoy chuckled and arched a blond eyebrow wryly. Hermione surprised herself by noticing the elegant curve of his eyebrow when he did that.

"I'm glad you mentioned yourself, because I happen to know more about you than I'd like to lately, since you've gotten into the adorable habit of following me around."

Hermione opened her mouth and sucked in a sharp intake of breath in dismay.

"But — you —! I don't follow you anywhere, you spoiled brat!"

"Oh, you don't?" Draco scoffed. "So what are you doing here, enjoying the weather?"

The blood rushed to Hermione's face. The temptation to slap him across his pale, angular face was too tempting... Malfoy must have realised the internal struggle she was having, for he widened his malicious half-smile further. His grey eyes, narrowed, were flashing. Happy to annoy her. To tease her. No real malice.

Hermione became aware of her own heartbeat again, noticeably quickening. She could feel them in her ears. Malfoy's presence was making her more upset than usual lately. Perhaps it was because they had been alone so often lately. And her survival instinct was being triggered. She didn't know. But she felt inexplicably agitated. As if part of her wanted to rush backwards to break her closeness to him; but another part, a part that she didn't quite know which part of her body or brain it belonged to, wanted the exact opposite. Just the opposite. It urged her to... to finish closing that proximity. To get closer. His coat was too close. If she took just one step forward, she could press herself against his clothes...

"You're absolutely right. I don't know what I'm doing here... But that's easy to fix," Hermione replied, her voice unsteady but firm. She had to get out of there, and she had to do it now.

She instantly looked away from his face and turned, walking in the direction of the stairs leading down from the stands. As she took a few steps away, she heard a curious sound of snow trailing behind her and realised that Malfoy had turned to look at her. That simple, elementary gesture was enough to make her clutch her umbrella tighter. Surprising herself by not knowing how to walk normally, with his eyes on her back. At that moment she realised how warm her hands were.

"A salute from me to Potty and the Weasel, Granger," said Malfoy's dismissive voice, amidst the rustle of the wind. "I imagine they'd appreciate a greeting from me more than from you, right about now."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, still walking blindly down the stairs away from him. Distance was a great friend in these moments. She didn't dare turn around, not even to defend her friends. She didn't want to look at him again. She felt like a coward for running away from him like that, and possibly she was.

"Gryffindor, my arse," she thought about herself, bitterly.