Hi, hi! How's everything going? 😊 Here I come with a very special chapter... I am excited hehehe 😉 Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this! And thanks in advance for reading this new chapter! I hope you enjoy it! 😊

CHAPTER 17

The back door of Hog's Head

Ernie Macmillan's predictions in Herbology class had come true. The intense cold that had accompanied the inhabitants of Hogsmeade all week, as well as those of the castle, had intensified even more with the arrival of the weekend, bringing with it a new snowfall that covered the surrounding area in a brilliant, thick blanket of white.

"Where are we going?" Ginny Weasley asked loudly enough for her friends to hear her, without pulling down the scarf she was covering her mouth with.

As soon as they had left the castle, a heavy snowstorm had blown up, forcing everyone to walk bent over to repel, as far as possible, the icy wind. And now Hermione, Luna, Neville and Ginny were waiting at the entrance to the village, not knowing where to go because of the storm. All around them, classmates from different Houses were passing them in various directions, all equally frozen. A few brave ones had ventured to open their umbrellas, which swayed in the strong wind, offering little protection; and most of the youths had resigned themselves to being equally drenched in snow with or without it.

"I don't know!" exclaimed Neville, shivering, rubbing his gloved hands together. "To the Three Broomsticks?"

"It'll be full of lovebirds!" Ginny objected, sneering beneath her scarf. "Valentine's Day and all that, remember?"

"Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop will be worse," Hermione commented in disgust, her arms firmly crossed in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. "Today we will not get rid of that..."

"Shall we go to the Post Office?" Luna suggested, looking up to see the snow fall. She seemed immune to the strong wind, which ruffled her long, dishevelled blonde hair. "We can watch the owls for a while."

"How about we go to Honeydukes first?" Neville proposed, his teeth chattering. A gust of wind threatened to blow his woolly hat off his head. "It's on the way, and we'll be warm."

"For me, awarded!" Ginny exclaimed, freezing to death. The rest gave a murmur of assent. The redheaded girl was the first to start walking towards it, and the others followed her almost gropingly.

In a few minutes, they managed to reach the narrow shop, crowded with people who had had the same idea as them. The smell of freshly made caramel hung in the air, and the heat was truly oppressive compared to the freezing storm outside. It was even hard to breathe. They made their way through the crowd, taking off a few items of clothing such as hats and scarves, trying to regulate their body temperature. Then they divided up to approach the shelves and buy some sweets or treats while they were there. In the cheerful and festive shop, there was a great bustle. People kept trying the free samples of dozens of sweets of different looks, flavours and effects, so that there were people whose hair suddenly turned purple, others who began to float almost to the ceiling, others whose voice turned into the high-pitched squeak of a rat... Some of the sweets in the shop, the most special and expensive ones, were in glass cases that rotated, emitted lights or music, and added to the joyful hubbub.

Luna was soon lost in the crowd in search of some pudding-flavoured gummy frogs. Ginny and Neville spent some time examining a plastic witch who was grinning mischievously and magically stirring a chocolate-filled cauldron in a glass urn. Hermione, meanwhile, in another corner of the shop, was stuffing different types of sugar-free sweets into a paper bag. Eating unsweetened food was a habit she had inherited from her dentist parents.

Suddenly, Hermione felt someone completely stuck to her back. The girl, slightly annoyed at such an invasion of her space, made an attempt to move aside, assuming that she was in the way of some other student's shopping. But the person behind her did not allow her to do so, suddenly reaching out a long, slender arm, wrapped in a dark coat, and blocking her escape. The white hand peeking out from the thick sleeve, which rested on the shelf before her, caused Hermione to feel an emptiness in her stomach. She knew that hand, much to her own dismay.

Before she could take in what was happening, a more than familiar voice whispered close to her ear:

"Hold still for a moment, Granger," said an extremely close Draco Malfoy, with his drawling voice. Hermione couldn't help herself and turned her face slightly, just enough to catch a faint glimpse of the pale, sharp profile of the boy behind her. It was him, no doubt about it. A sudden scent wafted over her, mingling with the caramel smell in the room. It seemed to be cologne, or some lotion, which she couldn't identify. And she guessed it came from Malfoy. His clothes smelled amazingly good.

"Malfoy," she managed to whisper in surprise, returning her gaze to the front immediately. "What are you doing?"

"Just pretend and listen to me," the blond muttered, still close to her ear. She swallowed, unable to hydrate her suddenly dry throat. Obeying him, she pretended to contemplate the different types of liquorice in front of her. Her heart was pounding frantically, bewildered by the unexpected situation. The reduction in the price of the Frizzing Whizzbees attracted her bewildered gaze

"What's wrong?" Hermione insisted, realising that she was even breathing heavily. The boy's torso was pressed against her back, transmitting warmth, pressing her lightly against the shelf in the cramped space of the shop.

"Meet me in an hour at the Hog's Head pub," Draco said, grabbing some Pepper Imps from the jar in front of her to justify his closeness. Hermione held her breath for a moment as she felt his arm almost wrap around her body so he could take the treats. "We need to talk."

Before she could respond, Hermione felt the warmth of the blond boy's body disappear, along with his arm. She turned to look at him, but he was already moving away through the crowd and was soon out of sight. Hermione sighed slowly and deeply as she looked away from the crowd of strangers around her.

A curious, inexplicable feeling of something akin to yearning had come over her as soon as Malfoy had approached, and even though he was no longer at her side, she still felt it. Making her feel like a complete idiot. She bit her lip, immensely frustrated. She was getting tired of the sensations he was giving her. And, worse, she was getting tired of resisting them.

"Hermione?" called a heated Ginny, coming up to her with Neville. Both had bags full of sweets, and the boy had a freshly made lollipop in his hand. "Have you finished? Shall we pay now?"

"Yeah, let's go," the girl corroborated, avoiding their gazes, still a little dazed. Her heart was still beating like a drum.

"Are you okay?" asked the red-haired girl, tilting her head to look at her carefully.

"Of course," Hermione replied, forcing a smile and trying to be natural. "They've run out of the Chocolate Cauldrons your brother wanted..."

After joining Luna, and paying for all the things they had bought, they reluctantly set off into the cold, snowy outdoors, still battered by a heavy snowstorm. With nowhere else to go, and under threat of hypothermia, they plunged into the crowded Three Broomsticks, seeking to raise their body temperatures. They managed to get a table in the corner, where they shed their thick winter clothes, and then ordered drinks for the four of them from the attractive and curvaceous Madam Rosmerta.

"You were right, Ginny," Luna said, not bothering to lower her voice, when Rosmerta had walked away with the order for two Butterbeers, a Mulled Mead, and a small glass of gillywater. "It's full of couples in love in here. It's awkward."

A boy and a girl, who were kissing enthusiastically at the next table, broke off when they heard her and looked at her spitefully.

"Lower your voice a bit, Luna," Neville said, sheepishly. Ginny, on the other hand, chuckled, amused by her friend's sincerity.

"And Harry and my brother are training in this weather…" the young Weasley wailed, looking absently out of a distant window. "I pity them."

"You were lucky to get out of training," Hermione commented as she tugged at the sleeve of her jumper to reveal her wristwatch, so that she could keep it in plain sight.

"Indeed. Although I confess to you that, if it wasn't Harry the Captain, and they had ordered me to go, I would have tried to get myself out of it without hesitation," she admitted, then letting out an evil laugh typical of Fred and George.

"Speaking of getting out of stuff," Neville interjected, just as Rosmerta was bringing them their drinks, "thank you, Luna, for getting me this month's issue of The Quibbler. I was looking forward to reading the article about how Millicent Bagnold was attacked. I think it's important. Have you read it?" he asked, looking at the rest of the table.

"No, who is this woman, and what did they do to her?" Ginny asked, interested.

"She's a well-known old witch. Apparently they tried to kidnap her, but she managed to get away..."

"I know her!" Hermione intervened, taking the glass of Mulled Mead from her lips, without actually drinking, and setting it down on the table. "She was Cornelius Fudge's predecessor as Minister for Magic for ten years, from 1980 to 1990..."

"Well, the Daily Prophet didn't carry the story, only The Quibbler did. Because, apparently, it's pretty clear that it was done by Death Eaters," Neville said seriously, in a slightly lower voice. There was a few seconds of silence around the table, everyone exchanging uneasy glances. Thinking about the repercussions of the news.

"If the Daily Prophet didn't want to publish it, I'll bet that's what it was," Ginny commented gravely, fiddling with the mug containing her drink. "They're trying hard not to alarm people, and, apparently, they are avoiding telling the truth to do so. What a shame. Did they leave the Dark Mark at that lady's house?"

"No," Luna replied, in a dreamy tone. "They didn't want to alarm the Ministry. But they were Death Eaters, my father interviewed Mrs. Bagnold himself, and she told him about it. She's a lovely old lady, and very well for her age…"

"You'll see when Harry finds out about this," Hermione murmured uneasily. "He insisted that it was odd that Voldemort hadn't made a move. Apparently he's already started. Although it is still not an all-out war..."

"Will the professors know about it?" Neville questioned, as if it had just occurred to him. "Will they increase the castle's protection against possible attacks?"

"I don't know if they'll read The Quibbler," admitted Ginny, with a faint smile. "But surely they'll have other ways of finding out. I'm sure Dumbledore is in contact with the Order, and the Order will know."

"Professor Trelawney knows, too," Luna said softly. "She's a good friend of Mrs. Bagnold's. They both studied at Hogwarts, in Ravenclaw House, and she also confirmed to me that two Death Eaters did indeed attack her. Mrs Bagnold recognised them, but the Daily Prophet has been unwilling to publish her version. In fact, this happened a few weeks ago; they have tried to silence her, but they have not succeeded. My father got the interview last week. On the day she was attacked, Professor Trelawney was very worried about her friend. She told me that she's afraid that she might be a target for You-Know-Who, and that they might try to attack her again."

Hermione suddenly remembered the day she bumped into drunken Professor Trelawney in front of the Library. She felt a surge of pity for her. It must have been that day when they tried to attack her friend. Maybe she was even going to Dumbledore to ask him to protect Millicent Bagnold.

"Well, that former Minister must be very old now, and in theory it must be easy to attack her, but apparently it was not. She put up quite a good fight and managed to get rid of them, though not capture them," Neville said, flattered to see the interest his news caused.

"Blimey, what skill," Ginny admitted. "Some things stay with you to the grave."

"Maybe she managed to turn into a ghost so they couldn't catch her," Luna proposed excitedly. Her friends exchanged a puzzled look. "I wish my father had asked her..."

"How is she going to become a ghost," Hermione asked, frowning, "without… dying?"

"Maybe she's learned how to do it," Luna exclaimed, smiling. "It's an ability that's possible. There was a species of Tibetan Rabbit that was able to turn into a ghost so it wouldn't get caught by predators... My father researched them years ago, but he hasn't been able to figure out how they do it."

"Someday yeh have ter introduce me ter your father, Luna, his research with magical animals fascinates me," said a hoarse but kindly voice suddenly, as a large dark shadow fell over them, taking away what little light there was in the establishment.

"Hi, Hagrid," Neville greeted, smiling, as Hermione sighed in resignation at Luna's eccentric thoughts, so contrary to her rational mentality.

"I'll introduce you whenever you want," Luna assured him, dipping the onion from her glass into the gillywater and popping it into her mouth. "My father and I adore animals and plants. You can learn so much from them..."

The gamekeeper's abundant beard was streaked with snow, but he was hiding a smile.

"I fully agree… Wha' abou' Harry an' Ron, aren' they here?" Hagrid questioned, searching for the boys with his eyes.

"Quidditch practice," replied Ginny, in a knowing tone. Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows.

"Blimey, poor kids..."

"What have you got there, Hagrid?" Hermione asked, pointing to a paper bag sticking out of the pocket of his thick furry coat.

"Ah, well, nuthin' yet! Speakin' o' magical plants…" Hagrid smiled sweetly at Luna, and then took on a slightly violent expression. "Rosmerta has jus' received some very exotic plants from China ter make I-don'-know-wha' drink. She's called me ter look at them an'…" he rasped sharply, and they all realised with amusement that he meant to take some. "There is familiarity, I can ask her ter show 'em ter yeh, wouldn' yeh like ter see 'em?" he added, diverting the subject slightly, and pointing to the bar with his thumb.

"I would!" Neville exclaimed, jumping to his feet and following Hagrid's heavy footsteps to the bar. The young Longbottom's passion for Herbology was well-known to his friends. The rest declined the invitation with a smile and a wave of the hand.

"I — I have to go too," Hermione said suddenly, standing up and placing some Galleons on the table to pay for her drink.

"Where to?" Ginny wondered, seeing that her glass was still half full. "Do you have an errand to run?"

"Yes, that's right," she mumbled evasively, putting on her coat and hat in record time. "I won't be long. I want to go to Dervish and Banges to see if they have any spare parts for my brass scale, it broke the other day."

"Does it have to be now? We can go when we're done," the redhead offered kindly. She looked at Luna, seeking her support, and she nodded without hesitation. "No problem…"

"No, no, we don't need to go all of us. I won't be long, really... I'll be back soon."

And, without giving her friend a chance to say anything else, she walked away through the crowded tables and out the door to the cold outside.

"Why won't she want us to join her?" Ginny asked Luna quizzically, though it was almost a thought aloud, and then took a swig of her Butterbeer.

"Possibly because she's going to meet Draco Malfoy there," Luna said rather convincingly, and in a nonchalant tone, still sucking vehemently on the small onion of her drink.

Ginny instantly felt the drink she was trying to swallow go down the wrong passage, and was forced to expel all the liquid in her mouth onto her own clothes, the table, and Luna. Several adjoining tables looked at her in shock, but, after observing what had happened, and ascertaining that it was not a life-threatening choking, they went back to their chores.

"W-what — cough — what did you just say?" Ginny managed to say between loud coughs, grabbing a napkin and wiping the beer sliding down her chin.

"I said that she might be meeting Draco Malfoy there," Luna repeated unperturbed, looking at her curiously at her reaction, her big eyes wide.

"Yes, Merlin, I have already heard you, but why did you say she's going to meet that brute?" Ginny was alarmed, mumbling and looking around in dread, praying that no one had heard her.

"Because I saw them talking in Honeydukes," Luna confessed, smiling calmly. "And I thought maybe they needed to talk about something. It's strange that Hermione would leave so suddenly, not wanting us to go with her. Of course, she wouldn't tell us she was going to meet him. She knows we don't get on with him. It's logical, isn't it?"

Ginny blinked and shook her head in disbelief. It seemed anything but logical to her.

"But, what are you talking about? Talk about what? Why would Hermione have to talk to that moron? Has Malfoy done something to her? Has he threatened her in any way?" she said, raising her voice a little more, becoming unnerved at the possibility.

"Oh, no, not at all," Luna dismissed the idea quietly, reflectively. "It does not seem so. I mean, they've had their fights, but it seems like things have calmed down a lot since Malfoy hasn't been stirring up Ancient Runes class. Hermione told me what was going on there. And so did Terry Boot. I like him, he's a nice guy… In fact, I think they're even starting to get along now."

"Who's starting to get along?" stammered the young Weasley, holding onto a vague possibility. "Boot and Hermione?"

"No, woman. Hermione and Malfoy, of course."

Luna gave a dreamy giggle, as if her friend had made a joke on purpose. But nothing could be further from the truth; Ginny could hardly believe her ears.

"Excuse me? Come on, what the...? Luna, you're starting to scare me. Why do you say that?" asked the red-haired girl, now in an unusually hallucinated whisper.

"Oh, well, nothing in particular. I know they've had a few fierce fights, but now, rather than hatred, it seemed to me to be awkwardness, so I dare to think something else must have happened. I told you, they were talking in Honeydukes."

Ginny, who had been about to take another cautious sip of her drink, pushed her glass away instantly, looking at her with renewed surprise. Luna took a small sip from her gillywater, emitting a faint sucking noise. Ginny was as stunned as if Luna had transformed into a pumpkin in front of her.

"How did you come to such a conclusion?" Ginny managed to say, in a desperate whisper.

"By looking at their reactions. They don't hide it very well, really. I'm quite observant, though. I love watching people," she smiled, both with her thin lips and her large, slightly bulging silver eyes, which gave her an air of permanent surprise. "And Neville told me about the fights," she added jovially, as if that detail had slipped her mind. "They argued at Christmas. During meals."

Ginny pinched her nose with two fingers, feeling exhaustion creep over her. Luna was going to kill her if she kept saying things like that. This conversation was taking her completely by surprise.

"Okay, let's calm down," the redhead said out loud, resigned, more to herself than to Luna. "I don't know where you're getting all this from, Luna, but I'm convinced you're wrong. Nothing you're saying makes any sense. Hermione hates Malfoy. She absolutely hates him. And that's understandable, because he's nothing more than a scumbag. So it's impossible that she agrees to meet him anywhere voluntarily. If they were talking in Honeydukes it would probably be about something bad, he'd be insulting her in one way or another... That bastard..."

"Oh, I see...Then yes. That may be another option," Luna replied, cheerfully, immune to Ginny's concern. She didn't seem fazed by either option.

Ginny fell silent, frowning. Trying to take in Luna's startling conclusions, unwittingly wondering if there might be some truth to them. Her friend's way of thinking was truly worth analysing, always straightforward, always seeing beyond what everyone else saw, and so her mind couldn't help but not dismiss it immediately.

The conversation she had had with Hermione, in her dormitory, was coming back to her mind, dulling her senses. Stunning her even more. She remembered the detail of Hagrid seeing her in the grounds with Malfoy, even though she had told them she was going to the Library, her hasty excuse... Had she lied to her? Was there really something going on between them?

No. Merlin, no, Hermione wasn't like that. She wouldn't be able to hide something like that from them. Understandably, she hated Malfoy. She had made that clear many times, over the years. She wasn't going to doubt her just because Luna thought she saw her talking to Malfoy in the middle of a crowded shop, or because it seemed to her that now they no longer looked at each other with hatred anymore. It was absurd. She felt ashamed of herself for even doubting her friend. She forced herself to take a breath and push such thoughts from her mind.

She was already delirious. She couldn't give veracity to such a thing. Especially not without more solid proof than Luna Lovegood's simple intuition.

Before Ginny managed to fully return to the present, Neville returned to their side, awkwardly attracting her attention. The boy sat up, looking around, noticing that something had changed at the table.

"What about Hermione? Where is she?"

"She's gone on an errand," Luna replied, finally chewing the onion.

"Oh, where?" asked the boy with innocent curiosity, pulling his drink closer to him again. He glanced at Ginny, who was still staring blankly.

"To Dervish and Banges," the redhead answered in a voice from beyond the grave, Luna's words still ringing in her ears. "She won't be long."

Hermione was walking through the snowy streets of Hogsmeade, leaving a trail of footsteps in the thick layer of snow behind her. She passed a few Hogwarts students, but very few were familiar. Fortunately, the blizzard of snow that had been blowing through the town a few minutes earlier had disappeared, and now everyone was taking the opportunity to stroll around and continue their shopping before the weather turned bad again.

She dodged some children, who must have lived in the village and were having fun throwing snowballs at each other, to head straight for the pub near the end of the village, which was almost unnoticed compared to the interesting shops around it. The battered wooden Hog's Head sign, a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it, swayed slightly as Hermione yanked open the icy door and stepped into the establishment.

Her eyes took some time to get used to the darkness inside, compared to the brightness of the snow that covered the streets. The windows of the place always had a thick layer of dirt on them, blocking out most of the light from outside. The intense smell of goat that hung in the air, and the inch-high layer of dust that covered the floor and tables, were some of the reasons why Hogwarts students did not venture into the place. But it did attract a less than picturesque clientele. In the few seconds that the girl spent looking around, she noticed that almost all the customers had their faces covered, and that they were trying to position themselves in the darkest corners, as if they were afraid of the sunlight. The elderly waiter was drying a dirty glass with an even blacker cloth and a look of deep boredom.

Hermione began to walk between the tables, glancing around until she saw him. He was sitting at the corner of the bar, a dusty glass bottle full of Butterbeer in his hand, staring into the void with his usual haughty mask. He hadn't noticed that she had come in, or maybe he was just pretending to.

The girl took a deep breath, removed her hat to lightly comb her hair, fluffier than usual from the humidity, and walked slowly towards him. When she was barely a metre away, the boy noticed her presence. He averted his bright grey eyes, like two lanterns, in the girl's direction, but his face did not vary in the slightest.

"Malfoy," Hermione greeted, formally and cautiously, standing beside him. He didn't return her greeting, but she wasn't surprised either. He just stared at her silently, almost warily. Gauging her with his gaze.

She, seeing that he didn't get up, and not quite knowing what to do, took a seat on the stool next to him, moving slightly away from him to keep her distance.

"You surprised me by summoning me here. I thought this place would be not enough for your status," Hermione added in a lower voice, with slight mockery.

"I'd prefer this to risk being seen with you," he replied nonchalantly, taking a sip from the bottle. His voice sounded the same as ever, dry and petulant. "Did you get rid of your friends easily?" he asked, looking at her with boredom.

Hermione suddenly felt that Draco's gaze was a little different, but she couldn't quite tell what it was. It was as if several dozen ice cubes had been added to his usual cold stare. Because that was what his eyes were expressing: coldness. Even more than usual. There was a strange tension in his eyes, as if they were two snowstorms.

"The term 'getting rid' is a bit strong, don't you think?" Hermione said dryly. Seeing that he just looked at her indifferently, she answered his question with a heavy voice, "Yes, I've made an excuse for them. But I have to get back soon."

Draco averted his apathetic gaze, not giving any importance to her information that she was in a bit of a hurry, and just took another small sip of his drink. Hermione suddenly found herself staring at the way the blond's lips clung to the glass neck of the bottle, and how his throat moved to let the sweet liquid pass through. The girl couldn't help but watch him curiously. She had rarely seen him dressed in anything other than his school uniform. He wore a pair of dark, pegged trousers and shiny, spotless black boots. Also, a button-down coat, equally dark, which accentuated the blond of his hair, providing a pleasant contrast. The dark colour suited him well. He was dressed in a distinguished manner, something quite in keeping with his superb personality, and Hermione sensed that all his clothes were expensive.

Unexpectedly, his eyes moved and watched her, as if silently asking her the reason for her insistent gaze. She flinched, finding herself discovered.

"You have snow in your hair," she said hurriedly, pretending that was the reason she had been looking at him. "Did the storm catch you coming here?"

"Yes," confessed the boy reluctantly, brushing his hand across the crown of his head, "but it was good for me. There was no one in the streets at the time, and no one saw me come in here."

"Lucky you," Hermione conceded, finally looking away from him, forcing herself to look around the rest of the place. "I hope no one saw me come in here. Though no one should think it suspicious."

Draco made a vague grimace, agreeing with her, though she didn't see it. They stood in silence. Neither of them could think how to continue such a peaceful, inane conversation any longer. So little of their style.

Hermione was impatient for him to tell her whatever he had to tell her, but Malfoy didn't seem to be in any hurry, and she didn't dare start the conversation. It didn't feel like it was her job to do so. Instead, she forced herself to stop staring at him and began to look at the other customers in the establishment discreetly. A couple of elderly witches, dressed in dark robes, were chattering happily in an unfamiliar language, drinking steaming goblets. In another corner, a tall man with almost translucent skin and dark circles under his eyes was reading a worn book while drinking from a glass whose contents appeared to be nothing but fresh blood. There was no way to define the other patrons, for their faces and bodies were covered entirely with long, dark cloaks. From the size of some of them, Hermione thought they might be goblins, or gnomes.

Meanwhile, Draco caught himself watching his young companion out of the corner of his eye, taking advantage of the fact that she wasn't looking at him. He watched as her round, intelligent brown eyes shifted in their sockets, as she carefully examined the various people there. How her small hands unwittingly twisted a maroon woollen cap, resting on her lap. How her thick hair, frizzier than usual, framed her face and hid her shoulders. How the tip of her pink tongue peeked between her lips, pale from the cold, and moistened them, leaving them shiny and a little more colour. Slowly. Too slowly.

Enough.

The young blond boy snapped back to reality, and then realised that his mouth was slightly ajar, and his eyes were dry from not having blinked in a while. He blinked hard and pursed his lips in annoyance, looking away. He almost couldn't help but snort through his sharp nose.

The situation was becoming more and more unbearable. He couldn't prolong it any longer. Enough was enough.

He raised the bottle to his lips and downed the rest of the contents in one loud gulp, hydrating his suddenly dry throat. Hermione returned her gaze to him, catching the sudden movement of his arm out of the corner of her eye.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" the young woman finally asked, unable to contain herself any longer, looking at him carefully.

"Not here," Draco replied with unexpected abruptness, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. It seemed to Hermione that he suddenly looked annoyed by something beyond her knowledge. "Let's go outside."

"Outside?" she said, surprised, "Where to?"

"Near," the blond mumbled, and added, not bothering to lower his voice, "You don't expect us to stay in this joint all day, do you?"

"No," Hermione muttered, glancing sideways at the murderous gaze of the bearded old barkeep, who had heard him perfectly well. "But... Blimey, you just said you didn't want us to be seen together. If we go outside, it's more than likely to happen..." she tried to reason, confused.

"I wasn't planning on walking around town with you, Granger," Draco snorted disdainfully, standing up. He caught the bartender's eye with a haughty gesture, and as he approached, he set a few gold coins on the counter and said, decisively, "We'll go out the back door, this will do."

The man said nothing, and merely picked up the Galleons with a single, sweeping wave of his hand. Draco, for his part, walked silently to the back door, just a few feet away from them. Hermione hesitated, annoyed at his authoritative tone, but intrigue at what he had to say won the day and she ended up following him out.

Draco was the first one out of the place and, after looking around to make sure no one was nearby, he nodded to Hermione to come out after him. The door led into the alley next to the pub, located between the pub and the building next door. There were only a few large, empty wooden crates by the back door of the inn. In them, the owners had received their goods and then, it seemed, had left them there because they no longer needed them. It was snowing lightly, but not too disturbing.

"Are you going to tell me why you wanted us to meet?" asked the young woman, sharply. She sat down on one of the empty boxes, after brushing away the snow on top of it, and crossed her arms and legs. "I'm getting tired of all this mystery, honestly. I've got better things to do than meet you everywhere, whenever you feel like it, to talk about nonsense."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow in disbelief at her unpleasant tone. Hermione felt a slight tingle of regret. She hadn't meant to be so rude, but she couldn't help behaving like this. The two of them were alone in a narrow, dingy alleyway, and once again her body was betraying her again, causing her to feel uncontrollable sensations at being so close to this boy. Her mouth went dry. Her breathing quickened, no longer automatic. Her heart throbbed, launching blood through her body, as if it was a thrilling situation. And it was not. And she hated it. She hated feeling like this. She hated what he was capable of provoking her without meaning to. Without deserving to.

"You make it sound like I'm the only one who's determined to make us talk," Malfoy replied, his tone toughening at the girl's grumpiness. "Because, as far as I know, I didn't corner you in the fourth floor bathroom, or in the Ancient Runes office, or on the Quidditch pitch, or in the Changing Rooms —"

"But you insisted on stressing to me how much you hated it when I did it, and now you're doing the same," the girl countered, crossing her arms more tightly. How could he be racing her pulse like that, and at the same time make her so angry that she could hit him? "I'm asking you for the last time, Malfoy, why did you want to meet?"

Draco gritted his teeth and looked away. He was aware that she was right, and that he had to be direct and get it over with immediately; it wasn't worth delaying any longer. But now that the time had come, for some inexplicable reason, he was suddenly beginning to see it less clearly. Suddenly he was assailed by doubts. He wished he had prepared the exact words, because now his brain was slightly dull and it didn't seem to be in the mood to turn him into a great orator to convince her of what he was going to tell her.

It was very clear to him that she had used magic against him. It was the only explanation for everything that was happening. But having her in front of him, feeling her gaze on him, suddenly made it all seem suspiciously very difficult.

But it was now or never. This was no time to hesitate, no time for second thoughts. It had to end. To be himself again.

"Granger —" he began decisively, turning to face her. The girl's round eyes, attentive, insightful, and impatient, bore into his. Granger was unaware of the strength that emanated from her defensive stance, nor of the aura of intelligence that always surrounded her. But Draco was.

And the fault that he could sense it was undoubtedly due to the bloody spell she had cast on him; there was no other explanation. He had to end this, now.

"Yes?" she urged, her face glowing with anticipation and impatience, when she saw that he did not continue.

"You —" he mumbled, unable to say any more. Unable to contain himself, though unwilling to give ground, he forced himself to stare at the snowy ground. He opened and closed his mouth, breathed in and out, but was unable to continue. He didn't know how to continue. Silence pressed on his eardrums.

The words were clear in his mind. But he felt stupid just imagining saying them again.

"Do it," said a dry voice in his head. "Force her to confess that she cast a spell on you. She denied it to you the other time, but she was clearly lying. Tell her to take the spell off you. Cast a curse on her and leave. Accuse her to the Headmaster. Defeat her…"

"I should do that," he replied to the voice inside his mind. "But, I don't know why, I'm not able to."

"And why not? Since when do you have scruples about Mudbloods?"

"It's not that at all…"

"Tell me," Hermione insisted, still glaring at him.

"You —" Draco uttered again, but again he was speechless. He gasped helplessly. Damn it, he couldn't. He wasn't capable of it. He felt too stupid. Too ridiculous. What was wrong with him?

"Stop lying to me, Granger. You've put a spell on me, cast an Imperius Curse on me or given me a potion. Confess at once or I'll go straight to the Headmaster and accuse you. I'm giving you the chance… No, I'm forcing you to take back what you've done. Here and now".

That was it. That's what he had to tell her. But he couldn't. It was all too… unbelievable.

He closed his eyes in despair and lowered his head, raising a hand to rest on his forehead, covering his eyes with it. He couldn't bring himself to blame her for casting a spell on him. He couldn't accuse her of anything again without feeling stupid under her discerning gaze. He didn't know what the hell to say. Nor could he think, feeling the blood pounding against his ears.

"Why can't you order her to remove the spell?" the annoying little voice questioned again.

"Fuck, because… because the more I think about it, the more ridiculous it seems. Why would she cast such a spell on me? Why would she want me to feel… what I'm feeling?" he snapped back at the voice in his mind.

"Maybe just for fun, to use you, to make fun of you..." the little voice told him mischievously. Draco felt the sting of anger on the back of his neck. If it were so…

"Granger… She doesn't behave like that. She may be a lot of things; an obnoxious know-it-all, a conceited brat… but she goes head-on. She's always stood up to me so far. She's ridiculously determined and reckless. I think her capable of many things... but not something like this," he replied to the little voice, in his mind, feeling his stomach shrink. "This is all nonsense…"

"So…? What's that supposed to mean?" the voice questioned, furious. Oddly enough, it suddenly reminded him of his father's voice, which didn't help him at all.

"I — I don't know —"

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, beginning to worry about his strange attitude and his long silence. Draco heard her get to her feet, and footsteps on the crunching snow indicated that she had approached him. Which didn't help him either.

He couldn't answer. Thoughts whirled around in his head, almost making him dizzy. He needed to sit down. He felt his legs threatening to give out at any moment. He found it hard to breathe. It had all been so easy... He had come so quickly to the conclusion that it was all her fault, that she had used her magic to ruin his life and make him lose his mind, for the sheer pleasure of it, without questioning anything else... But now that, at the worst moment, he was reflecting on it, he was able to see the holes in the plan. He had gone to talk to her, sure of himself, with the clear idea of telling her to remove the spell, but there was no spell to remove. Granger hadn't done anything to him, she'd told the truth, he'd just understood that. But he couldn't accept it.

Loose phrases from the conversation he'd had with Nott echoed in his saturated mind, making him even more dizzy:

'Granger, Mudblood or not, is starting to attract you, Draco. No matter how hard you keep shouting that she does not.'

'Of course you can't be attracted to Granger. You shouldn't be attracted to her. You can't have anything to do with her because of your situation, because you'd be in deep shit.'

"What's wrong?" Hermione kept asking him, though he could hear her as if she were a long way away.

Granger was provoking him… something. Something that wasn't unpleasant. Well, it was. But it was because it was her. If it had been anyone else... if she had been anyone else... Draco would be very clear about what was going on. And that sudden thought almost made him hyperventilate. He forced himself to look for another explanation, unable to accept such a change in himself, in his skin, inside himself. His mind, his convictions, had not changed; his body, his instincts, had. How to control the senses — the heartbeat, the heat in the back of his neck, the dry throat...?

Nott continued to speak in the recesses of his mind, relentlessly:

'Are you really absolutely sure that being attracted to Granger, apart from being a huge problem, isn't a remotely valid option?'

"No, it isn't, Nott," he mulled in his mind, desperate. "I'm sure it isn't. I can't stoop that low..."

"Malfoy!" Hermione insisted, looking at him uneasily.

'Look, Draco, I don't know what the hell happened between you two that you've come to feel the way you do, but I'll tell you one thing. Stop this. Whatever way you want, but stop it, do you hear me?'

He felt a sudden pressure in his chest, over his racing heart, and it took him a few seconds to realise that Granger had placed his hand there, over his coat, trying to get his attention. The gesture snapped him back to reality. Draco finally pulled his hand away from his eyes. The girl had moved forward to stand in front of him, and was looking at him with genuine concern in her still defensive expression. When she saw that he was looking at her again, she withdrew her hand cautiously, wanting to show him that she understood how distasteful he found her gesture.

'Don't fuck up your life in such a stupid way. I know you're not even thinking about it right now, and maybe you never will, but… getting involved with Granger, in any way, would get you into a lot of trouble. It would ruin your life completely.'

He locked his gaze with Granger's, allowing himself to lose in her round, benevolent eyes, allowing his eyes to stare into them without forcing himself to look away right away. No sneer of disdain, no arrogance. There was no contempt in the girl's eyes, either. Only doubt. Only concern. Only distrust.

As he locked his gaze with hers, in the middle of that cold, lonely alleyway, he felt unable to hear Nott's voice inside his head any longer.

Hermione was looking at him almost fearfully at the sudden intensity in his eyes, but, to her own surprise, she was unable to look away. He had her under his spell.

The young Malfoy, without taking his eyes from Hermione's, brought both hands forward and wrapped his fingers around her forearms, unusually gently, as if he was simply trying to prevent her from running away. She, despite the gentleness of the gesture, inhaled sharply. She was completely paralysed. There was something in the situation, in Malfoy's gaze, that was making it very clear to her what was about to happen. And yet, unable to believe it, unable to remain in doubt, she couldn't run away.

Draco, standing before her, could no longer bear the flaming sensation coursing through his veins that was driving him to make what was surely going to be the biggest mistake he had ever made. He was not even fully conscious of his actions. He acted, probably for the first time in his life, on pure instinct. Adrenaline fluttered in his chest like a little bird.

He needed to know what it felt like. He needed to take away the doubt of how it would feel. With her.

He pulled a static Granger to him slightly, tilting his face to one side at the same time. When Malfoy's cold lips covered hers, Hermione was unable to close her eyes. She felt curiously lightweight, unable to think. The narrow, dingy alleyway was blurred at the edges of her field of vision. The only thing that remained still was Malfoy's closed eyelids, in front of her open ones. Then she realised that she had stopped breathing. She had felt his warm breath against her mouth. She felt the soft flesh of his thin lips against hers. Her icy nose, pressed to his pale cheek, caught the scent of his skin.

People strolled through the streets beside the alley, chatting animatedly, oblivious to what was happening there. The snow was still falling all around them, but Draco and Hermione didn't even notice. The sky could have fallen right then and there and they wouldn't have known.

Draco opened his bright grey eyes after three seconds and pulled his lips away, breaking the soft contact completely, still looking into her eyes. He looked deadly serious, and she thought she had never seen a face so effectively expressionless. She, unable to hide her emotions as he did, was only able to return a look of bewilderment and apprehension. She could not speak. And she still couldn't breathe. He clenched his jaws, and she saw his throat move, swallowing saliva. His hands slipped down her arms and eventually released her, leaving them limp on either side of his own body.

Draco stared at her, aware that he had to say something, but not knowing what. He was completely out of place, as if he had just ascended to the surface; as if he was slowly becoming aware of where he was.

And what he had done.

He needed more time. But he didn't have it.

But he didn't need to say anything. A sudden shade of red was taking over Hermione's face. She had begun to tremble with fury. The apprehension vanished from her face, giving way to open resentment.

"What the…?" she whispered stumblingly, breaking the dense silence between them. Her voice sounded strangely weak, and a little twangy, as if she had a cold. "What the hell…? How… how dare you…?" She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find the right words for what he had done. She raised a clenched fist and pressed it to her lips, then took a step backwards, away from him. "You scoundrel... You're... You're a... Malfoy, I swear I'll…"

He suffered a shudder that was even visible to her. He felt a surge of anger towards the girl like he had never felt before. Why did she have to call him by his last name? Why did she have to remind him that he was a Malfoy? Why did she have to remind him like this of the unforgivable mistake, the betrayal, that he had just committed? Why did she have to be so indignant, confirming to him that she hadn't cast a spell on him looking for precisely that?

Draco looked down for the first time, feeling a deep unease wash over him like toxic gas. He felt an absolute, humiliating shame wash over him. He almost felt like pulling out his wand and hexing Granger, so that she would stop babbling furiously about things he already knew. He was suffocating. He couldn't believe what he'd done. It couldn't be true.

"You... You..." she continued to mumble, bewildered. When she saw that Draco was saying nothing, she took a determined step towards him, facing him, "How dare you — ?"

"Get away from me!" Draco suddenly exclaimed, his voice strangely raspy.

Unable to bear the situation he himself had caused for even a second longer, he let out a loud gasp of impotence and rage and turned away without another glance at her. He walked away almost at a run, with long, purposeful strides, and out of the alley towards the street. Hermione, stunned, shocked and outraged, couldn't move a muscle, let alone run after him or shout something to stop him. She couldn't even close her mouth completely.

"He kissed me," thought the girl, as he disappeared from sight in the thin snow that fell around her. Her brain was slowly returning to normal. But it did not make her understand what had happened any better. She felt as if she had been submerged under water. It was the last situation she could have imagined being in. Never in her life had she felt so frightened and outraged in equal measure.

Her eyes were filling with tears of pure rage. Of impotence. Of bewilderment.

"Malfoy kissed me..."

Why had he done such a thing?

Undoubtedly, she thought, the answer could not be anything good. She raised an awkward hand and covered her mouth with it. Her lips felt dry from the cold.

"And I have done nothing to stop him... I have done nothing."

"Ma'am, may we have two Butterbeers, please?" Nott asked for the third time, raising his voice. He was leaning against the bar, stretching himself to look as tall as possible. He waved a hand, trying to get the attention of the barmaid, but the bar in Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop was so crowded with people that no one noticed the boy's small waving hand.

After a couple more attempts at which he was ignored outright, Nott sighed despondently and sat down on a stool in the corner, next to the bar, so that he was facing the tables. He felt himself beginning to sweat; he had dressed in a thick navy blue jumper, and was beginning to regret the thickness of the fabric. But the cold of the street was overwhelming, even though it was quite warm inside. He admitted, resignedly, that, in practice, he had failed to get his clothes right, even though he had chosen them because they were the most elegant he had and his main intention had been to look as handsome as possible. He hoped he had achieved that, at least...

Still, despite the depressing situation, he couldn't help but smile to himself as he looked around the small, crowded establishment. Not even being neglected for his small stature could depress him that day. He looked, with a wistful gleam in his sad eyes, at his date, seated at a table by one of the windows, saving room for both of them. At the moment, she was rummaging in her handbag in order to entertain herself until he returned to her side. She looked so beautiful, dressed in a green jumper that intensified the same colour of her eyes. And they were having such a nice morning... He felt so lucky, so happy with how his life was going, for the first time in many years. Maybe for the first time since his mother died, years ago. He had forgotten what it was like to feel so blissful. To feel like he fit into something. Daphne was so kind, so intelligent... She always had something to talk about, some interesting or absurdly amusing topic of conversation to discuss. He was never bored in her company. And he loved that, unlike himself, she had no trouble being affectionate. Theodore had always found it embarrassing to be so, but it was so easy for her. And she had never demanded that he be any different; she seemed, to Nott's own surprise, to like him just the way he was. She never asked more of him than he could give her. And she didn't seem to be settling, she seemed to be genuinely happy with him. Damn, she made him feel so... loved. Like no one had ever done before. She made him feel enough.

"There ya go," the barmaid's voice suddenly came out, setting two Butterbeers in front of him at the bar. "That'll be four Sickles."

Nott looked at her in surprise, and, having overcome the shock of being overheard by the busy waitress, hurried awkwardly to pay her. Still a little dazed, he picked up both tankards and went to sit next to Daphne, who smiled as she saw him approach at last.

"Thank you," said the young woman, taking the one he held out to her. "Hey, I thought Draco wasn't coming to Hogsmeade…" she commented in a friendly tone as he sat down.

Nott looked at her in surprise, taking some time to assimilate her words.

"Well, he didn't come to Hogsmeade," he corrected her. "He told me he was going to stay at the castle..."

Daphne looked at him in open bewilderment, and that caused Nott's heartbeat to quicken slightly in surprise.

"I just saw him running past, he actually seemed to be in a hurry," she said, pointing to the window next to her. "I'm sure it was him. Maybe he thought better of it and came in the end..." she shrugged, almost apologetically.

Nott stared at her in surprise, not quite knowing what to say in the face of such a revelation.

"I suppose..." he finished, though his voice sounded a little faint. The news had taken him completely by surprise. It was very strange for Draco to change his mind on something like this, when he had been so adamant about not going on the trip. Definitely, if it was true, he would talk to him later at the castle.

Where was Draco running to, or what was he running from?

Draco, almost out of breath from his hectic walk, decided to stop aimlessly wandering the crowded snowy streets, and told himself that his best option was to go in somewhere. He couldn't bear the idea of running into someone he knew at that moment. He ended up rushing into the first establishment he saw after making that decision: the crowded Three Broomsticks pub. He sprinted through it until he reached the door to the men's toilets, went inside and closed the door behind him. Before engaging the old metal latch, he walked around the small bathroom without slowing down his brisk pace, peering into each stall to make sure no one was there, and finally plopped down on the lid of one of the toilets. He remained like that for several seconds, sitting abnormally stiff, panting like a wretch, his eyes wide as saucers.

"What have I done?"

He'd screwed up. Everything had gone to shit. He could never look her in the face again... And it was all Nott's fault. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about his words. Something exploded in his brain, and he was unable to stop the disaster.

"It didn't happen, it didn't happen, it couldn't have happened..."

He looked down at his snow-stained shoes, while noticing how an annoying blush was spreading across his face, gradually increasing in temperature. He felt so ashamed that he wished the ground would split under the toilet he was sitting on and swallow him up.

"I've… kissed her," he mumbled aloud into the quiet of the bathroom, staring at the sink in front of him in disbelief. "I kissed Granger."

His heart was going to pound out of his chest. Even his ears were burning. Hearing it out loud was even worse than thinking it. It made it irrevocably true. But he had needed to hear it from his own lips, to make sure it was true, that it hadn't been a terrible nightmare. He needed to assimilate that it had really happened.

"Fuck," he muttered, rising to his feet, unable to stand still any longer. "Fuck, fuck, shit —"

He took several steps around the bathroom, in circles, still panting. He needed to rub his skin with something. He felt dirty. Sullied. As if he had just committed a terrible crime, on a par with murder. And, technically, he had. In his world, what he had just done was tantamount to the ultimate betrayal. He had murdered his honour, and that of his family. He had betrayed his blood.

He had touched a Mudblood, the lowest rung on the human ladder. Perhaps only slightly above a proper Muggle. He had kissed her. In short, he had shown desire for her.

Desire.

He felt like vomiting, and did not rule it out. He felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare.

"It wasn't my fault," he said to himself, trying to calm down. He suspected he was close to having a heart attack. "If I gave her that bloody kiss, it was because of the nonsense Nott had put in my head... I would never have done it of my own free will. It had never crossed my mind before, not even for an instant, to kiss that Mudblood," he lied to himself, trying to push the memory of what had happened at Christmas in the first floor bathroom out of his mind. A memory that, he swore to himself, he would not reveal to any living being.

But he had done it. He had kissed her. And that was beyond remedy.

He couldn't breathe.

"Granger doesn't attract me," he muttered in a very low, hoarse voice. "Of course not. It's ridiculous. She doesn't attract me. She doesn't. She can't… I've kissed a Mudblood by mistake and it was disgusting. Yes, that's right," he convinced himself, determined to believe it. "Of course it was. It must have been. That's it. Confirmed. She doesn't interest me that way. Or any other way. She doesn't…"

Draco took a deep breath through his mouth and slumped back down on the toilet bowl. He was shaking. He covered his face with both hands, resting his elbows on his thighs. He felt so listless that just keeping his head up was a great effort.

Disgusting or not, he had kissed her.

"And now what do I do?"

He had screwed up to the bottom, and was unable to think of a dignified way out. Granger, at that moment, must be hating him with all her might. At least in that position he had left her in that alley. Believing that he had meant to mock her, that he had meant to disrespect her, or whatever else. Options far more coherent than the reality, which Draco was still unable to comprehend.

He gritted his teeth, feeling his brain whirring. Granger hadn't cast a spell on him, he had to forget about that stupidity. He had to stop kidding himself. He'd kissed her because of Nott's stupidities, that was clear to him even though it didn't fix the mess. But what about all the... nameless feelings that had been tormenting him for weeks? Where had they come from?

And that wasn't the worst of it...

What if Granger told someone what had happened? What if Potter and Weasley found out? What if it reached the ears of any of the Slytherins? Would the whole school find out that Draco Malfoy had kissed a Mudblood? Draco wasn't sure he could handle such a humiliation. He couldn't bear the implications of something like that... How could he have been such an arsehole, so reckless?

What if his parents found out?

Now he felt himself turn pale abruptly. He buried his hands in the roots of his hair and tugged hard, frustrated. His throat felt tight, the urge to cry welling up in it. A sob escaped his throat. His shoulders shook, and shuddered. Another sob escaped through his tightly clenched teeth.

Shit.

He tried to catch his breath, trying to control the irremediable weeping. He bit his lower lip, and struggled to relax. He rubbed his eyes with both fists, leaving his eyelids reddened, making any trace of tears disappear. He needed to calm down.

He stood up, and took another deep breath. He decided to go back to the castle. He needed to be in his room, alone. He needed silence to gather his thoughts, and he couldn't spend the whole day locked in that bathroom. Later he would seek out Nott and try to murder him quietly without, of course, telling him a word of what had happened.

He felt a throbbing pain in his temples that threatened to last until nightfall. He went over to one of the sinks, and tried to turn on the tap to wet his face with it, trying to calm himself, but it wouldn't work. No matter how much he turned the rusty iron handle on both sides, not a drop of water came out. He rested both hands on the basin and looked at himself in the cracked and scratched mirror. A pale boy with some almost-melted frost in his blond hair returned an icy stare, behind which was a deep sense of hopelessness.

"Merlin, Granger, don't you ever get tired of making my life difficult?"