Rose and Sword

by SanaNGU

Draco Malfoy, due to the prolonged absence of the Ancient Runes teacher, has been stirring up the class as he pleases with the help of his cronies, preventing the other students from studying. Hermione Granger, a responsible and persevering student, is not going to sit idly by.

24. Crevices

Hello, everyone, how are you? 😊 I'm back with a new chapter, again quite long 😂. I hope you like long chapters... whoever doesn't, I'm sorry, I really am! 😂 Grab some snacks, and I really hope you enjoy it 😉

As always, a thousand thanks for your comments 😍. I'm really glad you liked the previous chapter, and the story in general. I hope it continues to do so and don't let the enthusiasm wane, the best is yet to come 😉 hahaha. Thanks to everyone who is reading it and enjoying it! 😍

And, without further ado, I'll leave you with the chapter...

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CHAPTER 24

Crevices

Nott deftly dodged, at the last second, a pair of girls running in the opposite direction from him down the corridor. He glanced back over his shoulder, following them with his eyes as they ran away. The first-years seemed smaller and smaller to him, but more hyperactive. Not to mention their manners. When he was their age, he wouldn't dream of disrespecting an older student, but they didn't seem to mind.

He glanced out of the window to his right as he walked, distracted. It was mid-March, a March that had turned out cold and rainy that year. Small droplets had settled on the windowpanes, slightly distorting the landscape. Nott liked the rain almost more than the sun. The rain was fresh, invigorating, usually accompanied by unpredictable wind that made you feel alive. He found the sun blinding, burning and uncomfortable.

He rounded one last corner, nodded to a couple of House acquaintances he passed, and entered the Arithmancy classroom at last. As he had expected, Professor Vector was not yet there; nor were any of his classmates, for that matter. It was still too early. It was about twenty minutes before the bell rang, but he had finished his lunch early, so he had decided to go upstairs. He had eaten alone, so he had had no one to have a table talk with after devouring a meat pie that he had found particularly delicious.

However, when he took a couple of steps into the silent room, he was astonished to find that he had not been the only one to be early.

"Just who I wanted to talk to..."

"Hello, Granger," he greeted cautiously, when he recognised his companion's thick, unmistakable brown hair. "You're up to class so soon."

The girl, already sitting obediently in her seat, turned at the sound of his voice and gave him a smile. But her appearance, to Nott's surprise, did not match her friendly expression. The young woman's skin looked dull, and there were pronounced dark circles under her eyes, as if she had not slept all night. Even her hair was more tangled than usual, as if she had tossed and turned in bed late into the night and had failed to untangle all the knots that morning.

"Hello, Nott," she replied, in a friendly tone despite her appearance. "I finished my lunch early..."

"Me too," Nott admitted, approaching her. He set his bag down on a random table, and sat backwards on the chair that corresponded to the desk in front of the girl, so that he was facing her. When he looked at her closely, the tiredness on her face surprised him again. "Hey, don't — no offence, but you don't look so good. Have you slept badly?" he questioned, trying to sound polite.

Hermione's smile turned resigned. She looked down at her lap.

"A bit badly, yes," she admitted, more quietly. She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling slightly embarrassed at the prospect of looking bad.

"Did something happen?" he insisted, seeing her expression. She shook her head.

"No, nothing special," she assured him, her voice firmer. "I just felt a little sick, that's all. My... stomach hurt. I didn't sleep much. But I'm better now."

It was a lie, but she wasn't going to tell him the truth. She wasn't going to tell him that she hadn't slept a wink that night, or the night before, because of Draco Malfoy. Because of his unexpected hug in that same classroom, days before. Because of that wild kiss he had given her on one of the desks near the door, which she had forced herself not to look at when she entered the classroom that day. Because of the memory of his voice, buried in her neck, in her ear, hoarsely begging her to push him away. Because of the memory of the taste of his mouth.

Nott nodded distractedly, not even suspecting the reality. He seemed to think for a moment and then murmured:

"I'm guessing you're not in the best mood to talk about this right now, but we're not often alone. Do you mind if we... continue the conversation we started during the Quidditch match?"

Hermione inhaled slowly, taking her time. She had imagined that this moment would come sooner or later. She didn't feel like it, but she didn't have the strength to say no either.

"No, not at all," Hermione conceded serenely, looking at him carefully. "But I don't think there's much more to tell."

Nott's eyes seemed bluer than ever as he gazed into the girl's round orbs.

"It seems to me that the most important thing is missing. Can you just tell me once and for all, without lying to me about anything, what's going on between you and Draco?"

Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at his words. At the certainty with which he had spoken them. It was no longer a hypothesis, a possibility. It was a full-blown accusation. At first, she dared not move a millimetre of her body. But then her hand, unable to contain it, reached up to caress the side of her own throat. The area Draco had bitten days ago. He had left a mark, the shadow of his teeth, reddened and wet, which she had discovered in the reflection of the classroom window, when she wanted to check the reason for the burning she felt in the area. Once she had recovered from the moment of weakness that had assailed her when Draco had left the classroom, she hurried to hide the mark with one lucky spell and return to her Common Room with her friends without further delay. Pretending that nothing important had happened. Still with the taste of Draco in her mouth.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered, praying that her voice wouldn't betray her. "Nott, please, I told you nothing was wrong, why — ?"

"Granger, let's get this straight at once," the boy spat, decisively. He rested his arms on the back of the seat and glared impatiently at her. "I'm sick of stalling. Crabbe and Goyle beat the crap out of Draco after they saw you two together. And I doubt very much that they would do such a thing if it wasn't clear to them that what they'd seen was unequivocally wrong. They saw you two, and I'm pretty sure what they saw happened. Draco has denied to me that what they saw was relevant, and so have you, but I honestly don't believe either of you."

But Hermione wasn't even listening to him. Her brain had stopped at the third sentence uttered by her interlocutor.

"A beating?" she repeated aloud, though it was barely audible in the silence. She had not heard of such a thing. Draco hadn't told her of any beating. He had only told her that he was now branded a blood traitor. She felt the skin on her arms crawl. Suddenly she felt incredulous, and almost furious. How had she been so stupid? It was obvious that something like this had happened, Draco had been caught with a Mudblood. How could they not punish him with brute force? She felt a powerful emptiness in her chest — what had they done to him, and why hadn't he told her about it?

Nott didn't answer her question, or perhaps didn't even hear her.

"If I'm honest, I've suspected something was going on for a long time, but it all seemed so far-fetched that I didn't think it made sense to probe any further," he continued, as if she hadn't said anything. "But now I think it's become too risky, too obvious, and I'm worried about Draco," he hesitated for a moment to take a breath, still staring at her face, sizing her up. "Draco is my friend, perhaps the only friend I have, and I want to know if he's in trouble. And believe me, if my suspicions are correct, he's in a lot of trouble. And you know it all too well. Granger, I'll ask for the last time, is there something going on between you and Draco?"

Hermione opened her mouth involuntarily, intending to answer him, but she was unable to make a sound. She ended up closing it, hesitantly. She looked down at the table, giving herself a few seconds. She felt everything slipping from her grasp. Out of her control. And she hated not being in control. She was ashamed of herself, and it was the worst feeling in the world. She wasn't behaving normally, she wasn't being the strong person she normally was. She couldn't deal with it like she always had. The situation with Malfoy was affecting her more than she had ever thought possible. It was making her desperate and angry in equal parts. She couldn't control it. She couldn't control her feelings. Nor the lump in her throat, nor the tears that had flooded her eyes, and soaked her pillow, the previous two nights, remembering his kisses. Admitting to herself how much she had loved what had happened. How much she had loved being lost in his mouth, in his arms. Realising that it couldn't happen. That she wasn't allowed to feel the way she felt about this boy.

She hadn't spoken to anyone about it. She had been strongly tempted the previous two days, every time she had been alone with Harry and Ron, such was her desperation. But finally fear had won the battle. She wanted to tell them what was happening, wanted them to help her, as they had always done, but she didn't dare. She didn't know how to tell them. She felt that everything had gone too far for it to be understandable now.

"Guys, I need your help, I think I like Malfoy. Yes, Draco Malfoy, that boy who has insulted me for as long as he's known me, with the most humiliating expletive in the wizarding world. The one who has treated you badly for as long as he's known you, just for being who you are. The one who invented a humiliating song to corrupt your nerves and make you a bad Quidditch player, Ron. The one who has mocked your parents' death ad nauseam, Harry. I don't know why, because he doesn't have any of the qualities I look for in a person, but I like him. Oh, and we've kissed. Several times, behind your backs. I've talked to him alone a few times, and lied to you about it, pretending I was going somewhere else. I hope you will forgive me and tell me what I do about it. How do I stop liking him..."

It was ridiculous. She couldn't imagine how she could say such a thing to them. Something so... meaningless. What advice did she expect them to give her? What were they supposed to tell her? That Malfoy wasn't right for her? That he wasn't a good person? That he hated her? That she was being stupid and weak? She already knew everything, she already knew that nothing could happen between them. That he didn't want to be with her. And that she shouldn't want to be with him. It was up to her to sort it out. Her friends couldn't do it for her. Only she could fix what was happening. The only thing she would do, the only thing she would achieve, would be to worry them.

And suddenly, there was Nott. A lonely, discreet boy. Smart, and kind to her. A pure-blood, but one who didn't have the indiscriminate hatred for Muggle-borns that his peers did. Malfoy's best friend, who seemed to be his only friend, in his own words. But he hadn't hesitated to ally with Hermione against him in order to improve his Ancient Runes behaviour.

What if he knew? Would it be so terrible? Could he help her?

The girl wasn't sure about it. It was a very delicate matter, and there was no guarantee that Nott wouldn't run to Malfoy as soon as she told him what was bothering her. But, if Hermione didn't tell someone what was going on inside her, she would go mad. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hagrid and the other loyal friends were out of the question for the moment.

And Theodore Nott was the best candidate she had.

"Nott, I —" she began in a weak voice. She stilled for a few seconds, sorting out her thoughts, and continued a little louder, "I don't know what to tell you, because I honestly don't know what's going on between me and Malfoy. You're... right. We're not behaving normally and... I can't explain why, or how it's happened," she was quiet again for a couple of seconds. "I'm honest when I tell you that there's nothing going on between us. It's just that... when we're alone, sometimes... it happens."

Nott kept his gaze on her, determined not to interrupt her now that it seemed she was finally going to be honest. But, seeing that the girl seemed unable to continue speaking, he tried to give her a boost. He wanted to know everything.

"What happens? The same thing Crabbe and Goyle saw you doing?" Nott asked, his voice calm, as if he was trying not to disturb her. Hermione raised her bright eyes in his direction. "Kiss each other?"

She didn't blink. She didn't look embarrassed. Her face did not alter. She almost looked resigned.

"You know what that means, you don't need me to confirm anything," she said impassively. Nott continued to stare at her with the same stare. She saw him swallow.

"Granger, I don't... I don't understand," he finally confessed, his tone dry yet calm. "How did you two come to do something like this? How did it happen? What changed between you?"

Hermione, unable to help herself, felt immensely grateful to him for the way he was reacting. He was respectful of what she had told him, despite the magnitude of her words. He didn't start shouting at her, mad and furious. Nor did he start pacing around the classroom saying that they were unbalanced and that the whole thing was an aberration. He looked incredulous, and visibly concerned. But he was trying to understand.

"I don't know," Hermione confessed, looking down at the table. She was sitting very stiffly in her chair. "I can't explain what's happened. I don't understand... anything. I haven't even realised when anything has changed."

"But who — who started all this?" the boy wanted to know, frowning. "Was it you, or Draco? There's always a first step. And I can't imagine either of you making that first step..."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, pondering. That icy kiss, by the back door of Hog's Head, came back to her memory and to her lips. It felt like an eternity had passed since then.

"I don't know if I would have had the courage to take the first step," Hermione admitted, not looking at him. Lost in her memories. "I did not take it, but I didn't do anything to stop it either. And that makes me just as responsible."

Nott shook his head slightly, looking puzzled. His eyes moved in their sockets, at the same speed as his thoughts.

"This doesn't make the slightest bit of sense," he finally said, as if he couldn't contain himself. "Draco is a pure-blood. He comes from a conservative family, with very definite beliefs about Mudbloods. He was raised with the idea that his is a superior race, that any non-magical creature, Muggles among them, is a despicable being. With those beliefs, it doesn't make any sense for him to get involved in something like that with someone like you," he seemed so bewildered by the situation that he couldn't even manage to be halfway polite. "If you two are a couple, he —"

"Have you gone mad?" Hermione snapped, interrupting him. She looked at him as if he had just uttered the worst profanity. "We're not. Of course we're not."

Nott almost gave a disbelieving chuckle at her firmness.

"Aha. And what are you, then? Enlighten me."

"I don't... I don't know. I just know that we're not together. We're not," Hermione hastened to correct, almost offended. "We're nothing. There have just been some... stupid things happening. Pointless things. But there's nothing between us," she repeated, and almost sounded frightened. "We can't do something like that."

"You can't... or you don't want to?" he questioned more quietly, after a brief pause. Hermione was silent for several more seconds, staring intently into his eyes. She felt her throat tighten.

"I..." she began, not knowing what to say next. "That's irrelevant," she finished, firmly, "because this all has to end, full stop. It is so, that's all that matters."

Nott allowed himself a brief pause as well.

"Granger, what do you want?" he rephrase the question, in a murmur. He was glaring at her, but he didn't sound accusatory despite his words. Just tense. And worried. She looked at him for a few seconds too. Preparing herself to put everything on the table. Praying she wasn't making a terrible mistake.

"Nott, I don't... I don't want anything. I've never wanted anything. But... I'm human. It's quite possible that because of everything that's happened with Malfoy I've... started to have feelings for him," Hermione said quietly, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Nott looked pale. Or perhaps it was the effect of him unconsciously opening his light eyes wide while listening to her, not saying a word. "I can't help it. It's all so... bizarre. So... unreasonable. It's... a stupid feeling that I can't control. But that doesn't mean I want to have a relationship —" she almost choked on the word, "— with him. Something like that is never going to happen, it's just impossible. It's absurd. We can't... we can't do that. Even if I could feel... attracted to him. Nothing can change between us. Nothing else is going to happen. And he obviously thinks the same way I do. You can rest easy about that, if that's what you're worried about. Malfoy doesn't want a relationship, or anything like it, with me."

Nott swallowed thickly. He moistened his lips, and proceeded to bite them absently, lost in thought, before answering her.

"Granger, as I've already told you, Draco was raised with very specific ideals," he insisted, in the same calm but firm tone, despite his visible displeasure. "With those ideals, he would never even consider having anything to do with you. No contact of any kind. But it has happened," he said, more emphatically. "He's not behaving normally. Something is going through his mind, and honestly, at this point, I can't tell you if... he feels the same way or not. I wouldn't stake my life for it. He's been lying to me since this whole thing started, and he wouldn't have done it if he wasn't hiding something. I really don't know anything for sure," he ran a hand through his dark, thick hair, ruffling it almost unconsciously. "I know him, he would never... stoop to something like that if he didn't feel something. I know it sounds ridiculous, I can hardly believe it myself. But until a month ago I wouldn't have believed for an instant that anything could happen between you two. It would mean that he would turn his back on absolutely everyone in his world. His whole family, his whole circle of friends... He wouldn't risk something like that for anything. And that's what scares me most about all this," Nott's eyes were lost in the distance, in his thoughts, in his fears.

By the time he finished speaking, Hermione had been shaking her head for several seconds, immune to his reasoning.

"He doesn't feel anything, Nott, don't delude yourself," she replied, with fortitude. "You can rest assured, he doesn't. Everything that's happened has just been meaningless nonsense. Something... impulsive. It doesn't lead anywhere, doesn't mean anything. It's taken me a while to realise it, I admit I've hesitated, but that's the way it is. And the more I talk to you, the clearer it becomes. He doesn't feel anything for me, and that's the only coherent thing that's happening. I've told you what I feel because it's the truth. And you've asked me for the truth," she took a shaky breath, "I know it's not right, I know it's illogical and stupid, but that's the way it is," she looked up, and searched Nott's eyes, though he wasn't looking at her. "There's no point in fooling myself. Fooling myself, I can't solve it."

There was a silence that lasted for an interminable few seconds. Nott had gone completely still. For a moment, the girl thought he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, so motionless was he. At last the boy looked up, meeting her gaze.

"Do Potter and Weasley know all this?" Theodore suddenly questioned, and Hermione appreciated the softness in his tone.

But it wasn't enough. The girl thought she couldn't feel more miserable, but she was wrong. Feeling a sudden lump in her throat, and unable to utter a word without bursting into tears, she merely shook her head carefully, that being answer enough for Theodore. He insisted no more, understanding the situation the girl was in, and she was deeply grateful. Though a part of her would have liked the boy to say that he understood her not telling her friends. She needed someone to tell her she was doing the right thing. To minimise the terrible guilt that plagued her, the sense of betrayal that gnawed at her. The feeling of being the worst person in the world to the best people in the world. For hiding something like that from her best friends.

But Nott had said nothing, and the girl confirmed that he thought the same as she did. That doing all this behind her friends' backs was definitely and irredeemably wrong. They didn't deserve it. They deserved her trusting them. But she didn't want to worry them, as she knew they would worry if they knew her situation. And it wasn't as if she and Malfoy were in love, were a couple, and intended to get married in three days' time... They were nothing. They weren't. A silly, childish crush on her part... No, a stupid attraction on her part was not a compelling enough reason to worry them. Especially since it was all supposed to be over now.

Why worry them, why tell them, if it was all going to end at any moment? If possibly, after that passionate outburst in that same classroom, days before, it was already over? It was a waste of time. She was not going to worry them in vain...

Nott was silent for several seconds, then took the floor again.

"Granger, I... I don't know what to say. Despite my suspicions, I refused to believe that things were really like this. That you felt... like this. I apologise for forcing you to tell me. I didn't mean to be so abrupt... I suppose the subject was actually more delicate than I thought it was."

"I told you because I wanted to, don't worry. In fact, I have you to thank for it. I see it all clearly now," Hermione said, no rancour in her voice, and without looking at him. "It's all much simpler than it seems."

"What do you mean?" Nott questioned, quietly, hesitantly. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," she replied as if it were obvious. She looked into his eyes, almost incredulously. A new strength shining in hers. "It will simply end. What's done is done, and we can't change it. But it cannot be repeated. For both our sakes. Nothing can happen again. It's as simple as that. Everything will return to normal."

She had to mute herself to control the high-pitched tone that took over her voice, and to bear the pain she felt in her chest at her own words. How could it hurt so much to give up a relationship with Draco Malfoy that she had never had? She bit her lip, lowering her gaze. Trying to swallow. She clenched her fists in her lap, under her desk, to control the trembling in her hands.

The dark-haired boy stood still, staring at her, not touching her and not speaking. He did not know what he could say. He only knew that he was scared. Very scared. And that he wasn't at all sure it was that simple.

"Yes, I suppose... that's what should happen," Nott agreed, in a very faint voice.

At that moment, voices were heard coming from the corridor, and several of their classmates began to enter the classroom, chatting nonchalantly. Completely breaking the peaceful and intimate atmosphere that had reigned in the room moments before. Hermione hurried to take a deep breath and blink rapidly, wiping away any possible moisture from her eyes. Pulling herself together. Straightening up with composure. Nott looked at the girl, not knowing what to say before he left. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes full of strength, despite looking unusually bright.

"Don't tell Malfoy about this conversation, please. I trusted you with the Ancient Runes thing, let me trust you again. Please, I couldn't bear for him to find out about —" She took a deep breath, unable to finish the sentence. Worry shone in her dark eyes. "Nothing is ever going to happen again. I assure you."

Nott nodded his head a couple of times and then slowly rose to his feet, seeing out of the corner of his eye that the owner of the desk he was sitting at had just entered the classroom.

"Don't worry," Nott conceded, reaching down to pick up the bag he'd left abandoned on the next table. "I wouldn't do anything to harm you. Thank you for... trusting me and being honest. Which is more than I can say for Draco."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered as he walked away towards his desk. Professor Vector had just come through the door to her office, behind her desk, and was calling for order as her students settled themselves in amidst loud voices.

Hermione concentrated on getting the books out of her bag, feeling her brain churning. She wasn't sure if she had been calmer as she finally got out everything that had been driving her crazy for weeks, or if the fear of Nott telling someone had been added to her list of worries. She took another deep breath, making an effort to put her problems aside for an hour so that she could attend class. She still felt a deep ache in her chest, a pain that wasn't physical, but she ignored it with fortitude and pulled out the forty-centimetre parchment that Professor Vector had sent as homework.

---

When Draco reached the corridor on the seventh floor, and walked in the direction of classroom 7A, the one for Arithmancy, he was surprised to find out that he was not going to wait in solitude for the class in progress to finish.

That quirky girl from Ravenclaw House, the commentator from the last Quidditch match, was also standing in front of the door, facing the opposite wall, her face raised to look at the corner between the ceiling and the corridor wall. She was wearing a pair of striking glasses, large and colourful, with one blue and one pink lens and thick gold frames. She stood very still, staring at the dark, damp-stained corner, as if she expected something to come out of it very soon.

Draco hesitated, puzzled by this behaviour. He couldn't help but cast an uneasy glance at the peaceful ceiling, before stopping a few paces away from the door and the young woman.

"Hello, Draco Malfoy," the girl suddenly greeted him in her ethereal voice, without moving, and without taking her eyes off the ceiling.

The boy was slightly startled. He hadn't even seen her look at him. And he didn't know that she knew his name. His surname, yes, she had said it at the match, but his first name? After a moment's hesitation, he gave an ambiguous grunt, aware that he wasn't going to greet her. He barely knew her, but he knew she was friends with Potter and his fan club of twats. He had seen her accompanied by them several times, especially by the Weasley girl. That was why he had no interest in engaging her in conversation.

He dropped his bag on the floor to give himself more freedom and leaned against the wall. He folded his arms, and stared at the door with a listless air, holding back an impatient snort. It looked like they were still in class, judging by the fact that it was closed. He had just had a free hour that he had filled in the Library, doing a particularly interesting project for Defence Against the Dark Arts, in which he had to compare various characteristics between the Knockback Jinx and the Shield Charm. The hour had flown by. And in a few minutes, when the break between subjects was over, he had a Transfiguration class with the Hufflepuffs. But first he wanted to take the opportunity to get one thing off his mind.

He had asked Nott that morning if they coincided with the Ravenclaw students in any class that week, with the intention of being able to talk to the young Seeker MacDougal at some point. His friend, after consulting the timetable, told him that they would not coincide until Friday afternoon, in the two hours of Potions. But MacDougal didn't even take Potions, so that didn't work for him either. Then Nott had informed him that the girl did go to Arithmancy with him, which was his third subject of the day. And so Draco was there, intending to be a friendly rival. His aristocratic parents had raised him in good manners, and he had always seen them be grateful to any well-born person who did them a favour. Whether it was with another favour, a kindly owl, or a courteous visit. And that young lady had been kind enough to return his shattered broom, there was no denying it. None of his teammates had cared about it, but that girl had. He would feel better about himself if he thanked her.

He barely knew MacDougal, other than having faced the girl in previous Quidditch matches. All of which he had won, it had to be said. Except for the last one. The girl wasn't a bad player, though, and she'd been on the team for a couple of years now. But they'd never spoken, even though they'd attended a few classes together. He did know she was a pure-blood; that information was easy to find out because of word of mouth; especially in his circle, which was quite interested in that subject. But that was all he knew about her.

"Have you seen any Wrackspurt while coming this way?" asked a delicate voice to his right. Draco blinked, snapped out of his thoughts, and turned his face slightly to glance sideways at the young blonde beside him. Were those Butterbeer corks around her neck?

"What?" he had to ask, certain that he had misunderstood her.

"Some Wrackspurt," Luna repeated, more emphatically, as if it made the question clearer, still staring at the ceiling. "I heard them buzzing around here a few minutes ago, but I don't see them now. They don't come out. I think they've gone," she let out a frustrated sigh and took off her glasses, placing them on top of her head, like someone who can't solve an intricate maths problem. "Anyway, I'll look for them later. I think they've been giving me strange dreams tonight. I dreamt I was washing my hands on a Kappa's head, and a Hinkypunk was handing me the soap..."

"Aha," Draco said uninterestedly, looking straight ahead. That girl was mental. Loony Lovegood, that's a good nickname. Very accurate. And what on earth was a Wrackspurt?

There was silence in the corridor. Draco thought he felt a nervous tingle on the right side of his face, and, unable to contain himself, he looked back in the young woman's direction. He could hardly help a start when he found her staring at him, openly brazen, with those two huge, bulging grey eyes. Draco frowned instantly.

"What the hell are you staring at?" he spat sharply. Luna, against all odds, gave him a sweet smile. As if he'd just told her she looked very pretty.

"It's just that you look so tired. I wasn't sure if you had a Wrackspurt in your ear, but I don't think so. It's just that you haven't slept much," she tilted her face slightly. "I know we don't know each other, and you don't want advice from a stranger, I can see it in your face, but I would advise you to try to get more sleep. Sleep is very important. By the way, are you here to talk to Hermione?"

It took Draco several seconds to understand her last question. She had caught him off guard. Trying to figure out how that lunatic had discovered that he'd stayed up all night thinking about Granger, and her delirious kiss, right in the classroom before him. He had to blink, and almost shake his head, feeling completely bewildered.

"What?" he sputtered, incredulous and almost upset. That nutcase... What the hell did she know...?

"I was asking if you've come to talk to Hermione. Hermione Granger. It's just that I did come to talk to her. And to clarify who talks to her first. "

Draco let out an angry snort. He looked away instantly, staring at the closed door. How had he not realised that Granger would be there too? She attended that class with Nott...

"No," he snapped, scornful, as if the question was offensive. "Of course not. I have nothing to say to that Mudblood."

"Oh, you don't? Oh, all right. But, y'know, that's a very rude term," Luna replied, her faint voice becoming slightly more serious.

Draco opened his mouth with the intention of sending her packing with some scathing insult, but the classroom door finally opened and students began to pour out, attracting his attention. Still unsteady at heart at that girl's eccentricities, he picked up his bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, searching for MacDougal with his eyes. It didn't take him long to spot her, being one of the first people to leave the classroom, chatting with a dark-haired boy who, if Draco's memory served him correctly, was called Terry Boot.

Engrossed in her conversation with Boot, the girl didn't notice Draco and simply walked away down the corridor. So he had to trot after her briefly to catch up before she got too far away.

"MacDougal," he called, reaching out and touching her shoulder fleetingly, to get her attention. The young woman stopped her steps and turned, looking dazed. Boot stopped beside her, scowling at Draco, openly annoyed at the sight of him and with no intention of disguising it.

"Oh, Malfoy... Hello," the girl greeted, recognising him, but not yet reducing her strangeness.

"Do you have a moment?" Draco questioned, impassively.

"Sure," she hastened to reply with a gentle smile. She turned to Boot to give him a caress on the arm in farewell. "Go on, I'll catch up with you."

He seemed reluctant to leave, but ended up nodding and turned away, but not before looking Malfoy up and down with suspicion. Draco arched an eyebrow arrogantly, then, once Boot had walked away, returned his attention to the expectant girl.

"I just wanted to thank you for getting my broom back," the boy admitted when they were alone. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes, trying to look nonchalant. "Bletchley told me you gave it back to him. At the match, you know, when —" He put a fist to his temple and pretended to beat himself up, resigned. The girl let out a giggle, embarrassed.

"Don't worry, no big deal," she assured him, flattered, waving a hand to play it down. She seemed astonished that her rival had come to thank her. "I saw Dumbledore stop your fall, and then I noticed that your broom was heading for the stands. I went after it and grabbed it as quickly as I could, that's all. It didn't end up in very good condition, though," she admitted, looking a little apologetic. She nervously tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear. Draco was suddenly surprised to think that she was quite pretty. He hadn't even noticed that detail before. "Have you been able to fix it?"

He shrugged his shoulders in a lazy denial. Unbidden, his eyes roamed the corridor behind the girl, watching the people leaving the Arithmancy classroom. Granger would be around, though he hadn't seen her leave yet... Would she notice that he was talking to MacDougal? Would it catch her eye? Would she... think... something? Would it bother her? Probably not. There was no reason for it to bother her. If they lived in an imaginary world where Goyle was Minister of Magic, and she liked him — Draco — maybe; but that wasn't the case. Even if the two of them had kissed almost in an animalistic way in that very classroom, they were not together. He didn't feel that way about her either, that much was clear. And neither did she. But in spite of that, in spite of not feeling anything, perhaps she might think that there was something between MacDougal and him, seeing them talking? Perhaps there was a chance that she might get jealous? Or would she give a damn, as was most reasonable? Surely... And why did he feel a powerful satisfaction within himself at the thought of Granger being jealous of such a thing? It wouldn't bother him to see her talking to other blokes. Of course he wouldn't mind. Why should he — ?

Wait... Wait, what the hell was he thinking? What kind of train of thought was that?

The 'crazy Wrackspurt girl' was right. He needed to sleep. Urgently.

"Well, no, it was in pieces. I have to buy another one," he finally confessed, haltingly returning his attention to the conversation with his classmate. "I'll use the school ones in the meantime, even though they're rubbish..."

MacDougal gave a sympathetic grimace of agreement.

"The fastest I think is a Twigger Ninety, so you're absolutely right," she said, letting out a giggle. "Even my Comet Two Sixty overtakes it," she joked and, at the half-smile on her interlocutor's face, she encouraged herself to continue the conversation in a cordial manner, "Glad to see you're back on your feet. It was a hard blow."

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly, with a sigh. "I know of two brainless who will never play another match in their lives..."

"I imagine so," she said, grimacing, wrinkling her nose in amusement. "I hope you find new Beaters soon. People don't usually want to go to trials in the middle of term. They're usually busy with homework and exams..."

"That's what Montague was saying to me this morning, crying with his head down the toilet," Draco joked bitingly, arching an eyebrow. The young woman let out an affable, sympathetic laugh.

Hermione stepped through the classroom door at that moment, shoving the last of her parchments into her already overcrowded bag as best she could. Focusing her distracted gaze down the corridor, so as not to bump into anyone as she walked, she came upon the image of a smiling Luna Lovegood, waiting for her with her Spectrespecs placed on top of her head. And her Butterbeer cork necklace around her neck. Hermione could barely suppress a smile at her friend's striking appearance.

"Hello, Luna," she greeted warmly, going to meet her. "Sorry, have I kept you waiting long? The teacher took a long time explaining the homework..."

"Not at all," Luna dismissed, as she reached into her bag. "I've been entertained. There were some sneaky Wrackspurt around here... Here you go..."

She pulled out a magazine, a copy of the previous week's The Quibbler, which she placed in her friend's hands.

"Thank you so much," Hermione sighed, pressing it to her chest. "You have to tell me how to subscribe to it. Then I won't bother you anymore."

"All you have to do is fill in and send the form on the last page, indicating your favourite marine animal in the quiz. Don't worry, there are several possible answers," she laughed mischievously, fiddling with a lock of her long blonde hair. "But don't worry either, it's no bother. Thus we see each other. I always like talking to you," she tilted her face slightly, looking at her affectionately, "You want to check if there's any news about the missing Beauxbatons girl, don't you? Ginny told me that's what you wanted the magazine for..."

"Exactly," Hermione admitted, more quietly. "The Daily Prophet won't be publishing anything about it in the future, most likely. Only The Quibbler will. But, Luna, is your father sure about this? The Death Eaters will come after him. I'm sure you read about what they did to the Daily Prophet's offices in Diagon Alley..."

"He is not afraid of them. He says the most important thing is that people are informed of the facts. Besides, he's been contacted by the Order of the Phoenix," Luna's voice dropped slightly, so that only Hermione could hear her, knowing that mentioning the secret society in public was not a good idea. Although there was such a commotion in the corridor that no one was paying any attention to them. "They're going to protect him. That reassures me. And I'm safe as long as I'm at Hogwarts, so he's calm too."

"I'm so glad," Hermione said with a sigh. Luna was a wonderful mix of innocence and coherence; she was a member of Ravenclaw House for a reason.

"Bye, Granger," called a nearby voice to her right. She turned her face, and found the usual serious expression of Theodore Nott, who had just left the classroom behind her and was waving goodbye.

"See you tomorrow, Nott," she replied hastily, waving him off with the same gesture. The young man turned his back on her and took a few steps down the corridor, undoubtedly approaching...

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't looked in that direction on her way out, and hadn't noticed until then. She could barely keep her face from turning pale. She didn't even remember that she was talking to Luna. Her eyes roamed over the scene, taking it in with difficulty.

Draco Malfoy was standing there, hands in his pockets, several feet away, talking to a visibly pleased Morag MacDougal who was currently smiling broadly at something the boy had said. Draco's face looked relaxed, almost affable. Slightly arrogant, but that was his usual expression. A half-smile curved his lips, and the words he spoke next seemed biting, or perhaps mocking, judging by his expression. Words that caused MacDougal to nod her head enthusiastically, and then reply something, gesturing with both hands.

Hermione swallowed, finding herself unable to look away. She had never seen Malfoy talk to MacDougal before. She didn't know that they knew each other, or that they got along. Which was not something that should surprise her: there was no way she knew about all of the boy's friendships. They were by no means that close. Quite the opposite. Nor did she know hardly anything about the young woman, apart from her name and the House she belonged to. They had never spoken, though they had been in many subjects together in the past, being in the same year. She remembered that MacDougal and Draco had faced each other a week before, in the Quidditch match. They were both Seekers. Maybe that's what they were talking about. They had a common hobby.

She felt the heat of envy in her chest. The uncontainable ache of jealousy that she desperately forced herself not to feel, to no avail. A bitter feeling in itself, much more so in her situation. A tightness in her throat from shame came over her. It made no sense for her to feel jealous. It was stupid of her. Malfoy wasn't doing anything wrong by talking to MacDougal. In fact, they were just talking, to begin with, it meant absolutely nothing. And it seemed childish of her to attach any sort of romantic connotation to a simple conversation. But she could hardly bear to see him smile as he looked at her. Seeing how he seemed relaxed beside her. How his grey eyes looked at her without any kind of hatred.

He had never looked at her... like that.

"Don't worry, there's nothing between them."

Hermione barely heard those words. They seemed to echo in her brain. As if a deep cave had formed inside her head, stalactites included. She turned her face to meet Luna, looking at her serenely. Her lips were curved into a quiet smile. Hermione felt her cheeks instantly warm.

"What?" she forced herself to ask. She was almost panting with nervousness. How long had she been staring at Malfoy?

"Malfoy and MacDougal. They're not together," Luna repeated, calmly, as if she were giving her the weather report. "Malfoy was outside waiting for her; but he didn't look excited, like someone waiting for someone they have a crush on. Besides, MacDougal is in love with Terry Boot. They've been going out for almost a year. And they make a really cute couple."

Hermione opened her mouth, and let out an incredulous gasp. Blinking very quickly. Trying to pretend the whole thing was ridiculous to her. But she felt the knot in her stomach loosen.

"Luna, what are you saying? All that — I don't care. You see — I mean — I wasn't looking at Malfoy," she articulated, with more awkwardness than she could remedy. Her cheeks burned hotter. "You're mistaken. I was looking at Nott, he was... waving at me."

Luna curved her mouth into a perfect 'o'.

"Ah, all right. I thought you were looking at them," she excused herself, not making a big deal of it. But Hermione used her words to quickly clarify the situation.

"In fact... Luna, did you think there was something between me and Malfoy? That I had feelings for him? Ginny told me that you mentioned it to her..." Hermione wanted to know, hurriedly. Luna shrugged, not looking embarrassed, and nodded her head softly.

"Oh, yes. Well, I thought about it. It was an option," she said, without erasing her smile. Apparently not noticing that her interlocutor was nowhere near as calm as she was.

"An option," Hermione repeated incredulously, more coolly than she intended, and then let out a frustrated snort. She shook her head, trying to reassure herself, "You're wrong. It's... it's not an option, Luna. There's nothing going on between me and Malfoy... We've hated each other forever, we've a terrible relationship. We've —"

"Oh, all right, I didn't know that," interrupted the young blonde, eagerly, without looking upset.

"What I mean," Hermione added hastily, "is that we're not together, in any way..."

"Okay, fine," Luna repeated calmly, still smiling. She nodded her head a couple of times, as if it was all clear now. Hermione stopped her stumbling defence, surprised at her reaction.

"Really? And that's... that's it? You... you believe me? Just like that?" Hermione protested, almost unable to take in how easy it had been. How calm Luna looked in front of her.

"Of course, why wouldn't I believe you? You're my friend. If you tell me you're not together, you're not together. Friends don't lie to each other."

Luna widened her radiant, dreamy smile. Hermione, feeling an immediate emptiness in her stomach, couldn't reciprocate. She felt the heat of embarrassment return to her face. But, before she could add anything else, Luna's eyes widened wider than seemed humanly possible. She was staring behind Hermione's shoulder, immune to her friend's almost disturbed expression.

"Oops, there they are! Sorry, Hermione, it's the Wrackspurt, I can hear them buzzing around. I've got to go... See ya!"

With the attitude of someone about to catch a notorious serial killer, Luna put her Spectrespecs back on and strutted down the corridor. Leaving Hermione shaking with various emotions. Even though she didn't want to, even though she knew it would hurt, as she found herself free of Luna's dangerously intelligent gaze, she turned her face to look back at Malfoy. MacDougal had already left, and now Draco and Theodore were talking together in the middle of the corridor. Draco's face was serious again. Serene and listless. As if nothing exciting had happened in his life lately.

'Friends don't lie to each other...'

Hermione swallowed, feeling it thick in her throat, and turned away abruptly. She had no intention of exchanging so much as a glance with him, if she could help it. She was determined to get her life back, to have no reason to lie to her friends, nothing to hide from them. She wanted to feel comfortable with herself and her thoughts again. Proud of the person she was, and of her actions. With that motivating thought, she strode down the corridor with large, purposeful strides, following the same path Luna had taken. In the opposite direction to Malfoy and Nott.

---

Draco tapped the edge of the inkwell gently with his beautiful jet quill, so that the excess ink would run off and not spoil the parchment. He then placed the sharp nib on the yellowed paper and continued with his brief letter. He was alone in his room, sitting at the desk, dimly lit by the table lamp, and surrounded by everything he needed for writing. To one side was the thick wad of parchment that his parents had been sending him regularly over the years, the top of which bore the distinctive Malfoy family seal, drawn in black ink, ornate and beautiful. He always used them for letters.

This one was for his mother, who had also written him one a couple of days ago. Every time his big owl flew over the Great Hall at breakfast time, Draco felt like he gained years of life. The fact that his mother was able to write to him regularly was depressingly encouraging. Although the letters didn't say much that Draco was interested in at the moment. His mother talked about the manor, how she had taken care of certain exotic plants they had in the gardens, that one of her albino peacocks had fallen ill, a new house-elf she had gotten, some old friend who had visited her... Nothing in reference to the Dark Lord, for obvious reasons.

And that was precisely the information Draco was really interested in. He longed with all his might to ask his mother if she was all right, if she felt lonely, if He had done anything to her, tortured her in any way... He, or any of the Death Eaters who sporadically inhabited the manor. He always began his letters with 'Dear Mother, how are you?', and she never replied directly. She would always say things along the lines of 'everything is fine at home'.

Draco wanted to know if she was all right. He wanted to be there to support her, to help her. To take care of her. His mother was not a true Death Eater, she did not have the Dark Mark on her arm, unlike his father, nor did she openly participate in the service of the Dark Lord, despite sharing, of course, ideals about the purity of blood. But she was only a hostess.

Although Draco was not a person who was easily homesick, he missed his mother more than ever that last year. And it was a new feeling for him, one that made him feel slightly stupid, almost babyish. He hadn't shared it with anyone. There was nothing Draco hated more about himself than feeling weak or immature. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the situation at home couldn't be easy that filled him with an overwhelming sense of responsibility. The feeling that he should be there with her, protecting her.

Now that his father was not with them...

Besides, since he hadn't been home for the Christmas holidays, thanks to his mother's ploy to postpone the inescapable moment when he finally took the Dark Mark, he hadn't seen her since the summer. Neither of them had ever been particularly affectionate in a physical context, but the boy had found himself wanting to hug his mother terribly over the past few months.

Especially when everything involving Hermione Granger had been haunting him like the nightmare that it was.

Although he tried hard not to bring the two worlds together, claiming that what was happening was just schoolboy stupidity and that it would never leave those walls, sometimes the shame and worry made it difficult for him to breathe. Just the thought that his parents might find out what was happening, what he had done, was enough to make his throat dry. If his father found out that he had kissed a Mudblood, several times... he couldn't even imagine what would happen. He would disown him as a son. He would disinherit him. He was utterly convinced of it. He trembled with anxiety just imagining it. And the worst thing was that to Draco such behaviour seemed the most reasonable thing in the world. He would do it too if he were in his place. He wasn't so sure what Narcissa's reaction would be, normally more calm and reflective than her impulsive husband, but it certainly wouldn't be far off either. The disappointment and disgust he would see on his mother's face, Draco hardly dared to imagine. It was too painful.

He couldn't let his parents down like that. They were the most important thing to him. He wanted to make them proud, he wanted to be a son worthy of them. They would never find out what had happened. They wouldn't.

Rhythmic knocking on the door woke Draco from his reverie, just as the young man finished writing a word and ended the sentence with a full stop.

"Draco, are you there? It's Pansy," greeted a muffled voice from outside. The boy turned in his chair, staring at the door.

"Yes, come in," he replied simply, reaching out to set the damp quill into the inkwell.

His friend opened the door and peeked in, searching for him with her eyes. Spotting him at the desk, she smiled automatically in greeting. Draco was slightly surprised to see some embarrassment in her expression, almost apologetic.

"May I?"

"Sure, come in," the young man repeated, leaning an elbow on the desk to look at her, encouraging her to talk. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Pansy assured him quickly, walking into the room and going to sit on Zabini's bed, which was next to the desk, so that she could be close to the boy. She still looked strangely frightened. Draco then noticed that she was carrying a newspaper under her arm. "I just wanted to spend some time with you. Were you writing?"

"Yes," Draco admitted, glancing sideways at the half-written letter drying on the table. "To my mother, you know."

"How is she?" the girl questioned softly, looking at him with concern. He shrugged his shoulders reluctantly.

"Everything's fine, nothing new," he assured her emotionlessly, determined not to let his friend in on anything that was going on in his head. None of his alarming worries.

A fragile smile curved the corners of the girl's face, before she added more enthusiastically, as if to encourage her friend.

"Have you read today's Daily Prophet? They talk about the social gathering that was held at your house. There are even photographs," she pulled the paper out from under her arm and laid it in her lap, beginning to turn the pages. "I came to show it to you. One of them shows your mother."

"Really?" Draco allowed a slight surprise to alter his serene features. He rose to his feet and went to sit next to her on the bed to look at the newspaper.

"Yes... Look, here it is," Pansy reported excitedly, showing it to him.

Draco tilted his face to look at the whole thing. Sure enough, the Daily Prophet, in its society section, was reporting on a reception held at Malfoy Manor, with some of the biggest influences in the wizarding world today. His mother had told him in previous letters that she planned to host it, as in previous years, despite his father's absence. As an attempt to show that they were still an important family to society. What she didn't tell him, though Draco was sure of it, was that the Dark Lord was possibly behind such a decision. Surely he would have insisted that it be done, trying to show that normality reigned at Malfoy Manor. That they were still simply a rich and influential family. Even though his father had brought dishonour to the family in the eyes of the wizarding world, being locked up in Azkaban on a Death Eater charge. But, now, it was in the Dark Lord's interest to preserve the Malfoy reputation so that no one would ever think to intrude on their domain. So that he would not be discovered there.

"My mother told me she'd be hosting it. I was just going to ask her by letter how it went," Draco commented, examining the photos. "There she is..." he added, pointing to one of the moving black and white photos, which showed the woman in an elegant ball robe, talking to some influential person Draco didn't know. He looked at his mother closely and, despite the poor quality of the photograph, he thought she looked fine. Healthy. She had always been slim, and Draco couldn't tell if she had lost more weight or not. She looked relaxed and comfortable, as the sole representative of Malfoy pride. Playing the best role she could without her husband and son.

"She looks very pretty, your mother has always been very pretty," Pansy opined with a beaming smile. Draco barely broke into a smile of thanks. He was looking over the rest of the article with a critical eye.

"Did they say anything about my father?"

"No," Pansy assured him efficiently. "Nothing at all. I read the whole thing on purpose."

Draco let out some air through his nose, in the form of a subtle chuckle.

"My mother would pay them for it, then."

Pansy's smile turned sympathetic and a little sad.

"Hey," she began unexpectedly, and the sudden nervous tremor in her voice made Draco look at her at last, "I... I wanted to ask you something. I wanted to know if you're angry with me."

Draco looked at her in slight bewilderment, frowning.

"Angry? Why?"

The girl swallowed, a little fearfully. Her face had become hesitant and hurt, and Draco sensed that this was the real reason his friend had come up to find him.

"Because of... Because of what I said about Granger. About her coming to see you in the Hospital Wing after the match," the girl muttered apologetically. "You left in a huff when I told in front of everyone and... we haven't spoken again. I was worried that you were angry with me. I didn't mean to... I just wanted you to know. I realise it's kind of gross, and I guess I should have been more discreet. And not told in front of the team. I'm sorry, really..."

Draco, slowly assimilating the girl's words, felt a strong relief in the form of a cramp at the bottom of his stomach. When the young Gryffindor's surname left his friend's lips, Draco felt as if he might suffer an aneurysm, but as she continued to speak, he managed to calm down. Pansy didn't suspect anything. Quite the contrary. She'd come to apologise for talking about something so disgusting. She didn't doubt him. And she definitely seemed so ashamed of having mentioned it that she didn't seem willing to tell the teachers.

A mixture of embarrassment and deep reassurance came over Draco so strongly that, for a few seconds, he was unable to speak.

"Pansy, that's stupid, why should I be angry with you?" he finally questioned, trying to play it down and looking at her with his face cocked to one side. "It's not your fault that that Mudblood was there..."

Pansy seemed to need to take a deep breath, as if flooded with calm.

"I know, but... I know it was an unpleasant subject. You got angry."

"I wasn't mad at you," he repeated, lifting a corner of his mouth, giving her a smug, complicit smile. "I was mad at stupid Granger. Understand me, I was pissed off. Just to think that she took advantage of me being unconscious to... Anyway, I don't know. I don't even want to remember it. I'll play some pranks on her some other time, so it's clear to her who she's messing around with. But don't worry, I got this. Forget the whole thing, don't dwell on it."

Pansy smiled with her mouth closed, looking embarrassed. But also very relieved.

"Sure, yeah, as you wish about her. I'm... reassured. I don't want you to be mad at me," she muttered with a little pout, tucking her short hair behind her ear. "That's what worried me..."

Draco shook his head, feigning exasperation, and flopped backwards onto the mattress, arms folded behind his head.

"I'm never going to be mad at you," he said more quietly, staring up at the canopy of Zabini's bed. He hadn't been able to say that while looking at her. While the image of Granger was stuck in the back of his eyelids. As he unwillingly recalled the feel of her lips against his.

He heard Pansy let out a relieved chuckle, and then the door opened again, this time without warning. Draco craned his head back a little further, and caught an upside-down glimpse of how the owner of the bed he was lying on had returned to the room.

"Am I interrupting, lovebirds? If you're going to make out, don't do it in my bed, Merlin's beard," Blaise pleaded mockingly, stepping into the room and setting the bag he was carrying down next to his trunk. He looked at Pansy with a half-smile, "What, was he mad at you after all?"

The girl shot him a quick warning glance.

"Blaise, shut up," she warned, angrily.

"What?" Draco replied, slightly amused.

"She's been giving me a hard time since yesterday, saying she wanted to talk to you to make sure you weren't angry with her. She was worried sick," he scoffed, looking at her with malicious amusement. "Which, by the way, you're a pain in the arse, but you didn't tell me why you thought he'd be angry in the end. ..."

"Thank you for being so discreet, you idiot," she replied, annoyed and embarrassed. She had even blushed. "I won't tell you anything ever again. Shut your mouth."

Draco let out a low chuckle.

"Hey, Blaise, was your mum at my house party?" he questioned, changing the subject to help the girl, and raising his head again to look at his schoolmate. Pansy looked up at him, managing an awkward, grateful smile.

"Oh, yes, I think so," Zabini admitted reluctantly. He forgot to bother Pansy and started looking for something in his trunk. "With her new partner..."

"Has she met someone?" Draco asked in mild astonishment, though trying to sound polite. Blaise's mother's reputation for having married up to seven times, and whose husbands died in strange situations, was quite well known in wizarding high society.

"Oh yes, he was in a photograph," Pansy corroborated, glancing at the paper again. "Here's your mother, Blaise... Is this guy her partner?"

The young man leaned apathetically, resting his weight on the mattress with his knuckles, and examined the picture with his dark eyes.

"Yes, that one," he admitted half-heartedly, though Draco could see his eyes moving quickly in their sockets, not missing a detail of the photograph. "I think he works at the Ministry of Magic... I don't know him that well. They haven't been together long."

"Knowing you, you must not have put much interest in getting along with him either," Draco chorused with a slight sneer, looking at his friend mockingly. Blaise agreed with a smug smile.

"You know me well," he confirmed with a theatrical sigh. "I don't need him at all. It's my mother's business, they'd better leave me in peace..."

The door to the room opened for the third time, and two large silhouettes were outlined in the frame, in the light of the stairs. It was Crabbe and Goyle. Draco held back the urge to straighten up suddenly, and instead remained lying down, still with both hands behind his neck. He felt every muscle fibre in his body tighten, despite his best efforts not to alter his expression. Pansy turned her face towards the door out of inertia, but then suddenly looked straight ahead again, looking indignant and not bothering to hide it. Draco realised that she seemed to still be furious with the two of them for what had happened at the match. For attacking him and sending him to the Hospital Wing.

Zabini glanced sideways at the newcomers as well, but then leaned into the trunk again, pushing items aside as he searched for something, albeit with slower movements than before. He said nothing, and his face was no more than a mask of serenity. But he did not miss what was going on around him.

Crabbe and Goyle walked into the room, looking at those present with a defensive, almost on guarded air. They approached their respective beds, only Draco watching them. The blond locked his eyes on them as soon as they came into his field of vision, sizing them up, showing not the slightest hesitation. Showing them, or so he pretended, that he wasn't afraid at all.

"Well, shall we go?" Pansy broke the silence, loud and laconic. She made no effort to hide her contempt. Draco felt a surge of satisfaction that he'd gotten his way. These two were the outcasts of the situation. Everyone hated them, either for being to blame for losing the Quidditch match or for sending him to the Hospital Wing. He had won, at least for the moment.

"Yes, let's go," Draco agreed calmly, nimbly straightening up and getting to his feet. He walked over to the desk and picked up his letter and writing utensils, locking everything in the trunk. He would finish it later.

"Are you coming, Blaise?" asked Pansy, sarcastically, making her dislike of the other two even clearer. He grimaced, almost ironic.

"Oh, of course, please," he said, as if the last thing he wanted to do was to stay in that uncomfortable room. He finally pulled a coat from the depths of his trunk. Crabbe and Goyle looked at them sideways, uncomfortable and annoyed. But with nothing to say.

Pansy pointed her nose at the ceiling and reached out decisively for Draco to take her hand before moving very dignifiedly towards the exit, pulling him along. Wanting to openly show her support for the boy. Blaise followed, whistling distractedly through his teeth, and closing the door behind him.

---

"Shit, I can't take it anymore," Nott gasped aloud, jumping out of bed.

He had spent the last thirty minutes, since he had woken up, tossing and turning on the mattress, on the verge of pissing himself. He could hear the bathroom tap running intermittently, a sign that it was occupied, and so he had been holding back for a while. Although the sound of running water wasn't exactly helping. After beginning to feel painful pangs in his belly, he was forced to finally get up and knock on the bathroom door before catastrophe struck.

"Draco!" he called, rapping his knuckles on the door uninterruptedly. He couldn't stop squirming. "How much longer?" He shrank in on himself slightly. Being on his feet was even worse. "Forget it, may I enter?"

"Sure, come in," his friend replied calmly from inside.

Nott sighed with relief and hurriedly opened the door. Draco was already dressed in his school uniform shirt and trousers, unlike Nott, who was still in his pyjamas. The blond stood in front of the mirror, smearing some white cream on his cheeks and chin.

"Phew, I was pissing myself so much, I couldn't take it any longer...," the dark-haired boy mumbled, hurrying over to the toilet.

"Thank you for the information, very valuable," Draco pointed out mockingly, "I can already see it in tomorrow's headlines... 'Seventeen-year-old Hogwarts student pees in his trousers because he has a bladder the size of a Billywig'."

"More like 'Seventeen-year-old Hogwarts student pees in his trousers and then murders his roommate for being the culprit'," Nott grunted. He let out a groan of relief as he began to release the pressure in his crotch. "It's almost eight o'clock, we're going to be late for breakfast at this rate. And I need to brush my teeth. You always sleep late, and on top of that you take a long time in the bathroom..."

"I haven't been here that long," Draco protested, distracted. He picked up the enchanted razor, which he had previously indicated how he wanted the cut, and began to run it across his left cheek. A shadow of a beard had already begun to appear on the young Malfoy's face a year ago, though it was such a light blond colour that he didn't even need to shave. He only did it for the sense of pride it gave him to feel man enough to have to use a razor.

"Oh, no, only thirty-five minutes," Nott complained in a scathing tone. "Seriously, I don't know how you can take so long to get ready," he looked over his shoulder and widened his eyes in astonishment. "You haven't even combed your hair yet!"

Draco couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"And who told you that I've been thirty-five minutes getting ready?" he spat, trying to keep his face serious and proud. "Perhaps I've been doing other, more intimate things... Several times..."

Nott dropped his head forward and burst out laughing uncontrollably.

"How disgusting!" he accused him, unable to stop laughing, picking up some toilet paper and throwing it at his back. "'Several times', you show-off... Please don't do anything dirty in here! We share this bathroom!"

"If I were you, I'd worry more about Crabbe or Goyle," Draco countered, now with a wicked grin. "I hear them getting up every night a few times..."

"Fuck off, don't scare me," Nott lamented, finally buttoning his trousers, and then pulling the chain. He sighed, still chuckling residually, and leaned against the wall, staring at Draco in the reflection of the mirror. He couldn't use the sink to wash his hands, since it was occupied by his friend. "Hurry up a bit, will you? The others have been gone for a while..."

"What a novelty," Draco protested sardonically, wiping the excess cream off the razor in the tap water, "Zabini will want to catch Davis before breakfast to make out with her somewhere, and Crabbe and Goyle will want to go to the Great Hall first to steal the first-years' muffins. I'm sure the team haven't come down yet, they intended to stay up late yesterday..."

"Good summary," Nott replied, mockingly. He hesitated for a moment, reminiscing, then added, "Hey, speaking of the team, how did it end yesterday, the little Creevey thing?"

"Oh, that..." Draco snorted heavily. "Abbot caught us. The Hufflepuff Prefect. And she was with that Mudblood Finch-Fletchley. So, surprise surprise, I'm grounded again," he let out a bitter chuckle.

"Who was notified?" Nott questioned, not being overly empathetic to his friend.

"Sprout. Her office was nearby, coincidentally, and she arrived promptly. She caught us right in the middle of it."

"And the punishment?"

"I have to clean the urinals in the Hospital," Draco confessed, shrugging resignedly. "Just for a couple of days. The others, I don't know what they've got. I think Pucey has to join that git of a gamekeeper... Anyway, at least we didn't get caught by McGonagall. After the last punishment for the Warrington thing she told me that, if she ever caught me getting into trouble again, she'd make me clean the house-elves' urinals," he shivered openly. "That old woman's a nutcase..." he shook his head, trying to push the thoughts out of his mind, "You know, Dumbledore wrote to my mother to tell her how badly I behaved at school," he said, openly mocking, seemingly amused. Nott's eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you serious? And what did your mother tell you?"

"Bah, she replied that she was sure my behaviour was exemplary, and that if she found out I was being punished in any way, she'd send the Board of Governors to inspect the castle," he grinned, openly enjoying himself. "She's the best."

Nott smiled incredulously, arching an eyebrow at Narcissa Malfoy's openly overprotective attitude towards her only son. It didn't take him by surprise, given how much Draco had always been spoiled, but sometimes he admitted that it managed to surprise him.

His smile soon faltered as he remembered his friend's parents, and the stern, righteous attitude they had always had, despite always giving him everything he wanted. They lived for and to protect their only pure-blood son from the scum called Muggles.

And now, it seemed, he and Granger...

Nott had been dying to bring up the subject of Hermione Granger since the day before, but he hadn't found the time. When Draco was tired, there was no human power to get him out of bed, and he had collapsed early that night. Perhaps now was the time. He couldn't think of a better time, taking advantage of the fact that they were unlikely to be interrupted there.

Theodore had a plan, and he was determined to carry it out. Even if he wasn't sure it would work, he wanted to try. He had no intention, not by a long shot, of telling Draco how Granger felt about him. He was quite sure of that. But he was determined to find out what Draco thought about it.

"Hey, Draco..."

"Humm?" he mumbled, his head lifted to shave the underside of his chin.

"I'd like to... ask your advice about something," Nott began. He folded his arms and tried to make his face show some hesitation. "It's... very complicated and I don't know how you're going to take it. But I want your opinion."

"You tell me," Draco agreed resignedly, going back to cleaning the razor. He added wryly, "What better time than now, when we're together in the intimacy of the bathroom?"

Nott smiled faintly. At least he was in a good mood. He would need it.

"All right, here goes," Nott began with mock concern, looking away intermittently, as if he was having trouble holding his gaze. But in truth, he didn't miss a single one of his friend's expressions. "Let's suppose for a moment — let's imagine that... I... am... interested in a Mudblood. In a... Muggle-born."

Draco stopped his movements instantly. He didn't turn, didn't say anything, but stopped sliding the razor over his face. He looked at Nott through the mirror, only moving his eyes within their sockets until he met his friend's.

"What?" Draco managed to articulate, in a calmer tone of voice than Nott expected. "What do you mean, 'interested'?"

"It's just a supposition," Theodore defended himself hastily, without much emphasis.

"Yeah, a supposition, my arse," Draco spat, gruff, and openly incredulous. "Now you can explain what the hell you're talking about..."

"Well, okay, look, I —" he began again, falsely awkward, running a hand through his dark hair, tousling it on purpose. "Don't tell Daphne, please, I'm still... trying to figure it out. But... let's just say I've started to feel a little weird. I know you're not going to back me up on this or anything, you made that clear the other time," he hastened to say, with a faint apologetic smile. "But I need to tell someone. And you're my best friend."

"What are you talking about?" Draco spat, incredulous. He couldn't quite understand what his friend was getting at, but he was beginning to feel a murky warmth in his back. "Back you up? Back you up on what?"

"Well... I'm all messed up, because obviously I'm with Daphne, but... I don't know what to do. I can't control it... This other girl — I'm... I'm really starting to get interested in her. I like her. What do I do?"

Draco let out an angry snort. He shook his head, as if what he was hearing was absurd. He even looked amused.

"Merlin's beard... Anyway, this was bound to happen sooner or later. You've gone mad... Now it turns out you're attracted to Mudbloods. What do you do, you ask? Well, forget the whole thing, Nott, for fuck's sake. Get back to reality. That's what you have to do, remember you're a pure-blood? I think I'm going to write it in big letters and hang the poster on your bed canopy, so you can read it when you wake up," Draco mumbled, as if the whole thing was ridiculous. But then Nott saw something flash across his grey eyes. A fleeting thought that made him blink, and wipe away his half-smile. "Besides, wait, who the hell are you talking about? What Mudblood are you attracted to?" he blurted out then, his voice strained. Nott had to restrain himself with all his might not to laugh at such a question.

"I know, I know the normal thing to do would be to forget it," Nott replied, pretending not to have heard anything. If he had to push his friend to the limit, he would. "I know we can't be together. But, Draco, she's told me that she likes me too. And that... changes everything, don't you think? She feels the same way I do. So, is it crazy for something to happen between us? We both want it."

Draco froze at his last words. Suddenly he was unable to open his mouth. Such a thing was the last thing he expected. The whole conversation was taking him by surprise. And a worrying thought had stuck in his subconscious. How many Mudbloods was Theodore acquainted with...?

It had to be more than one. It had to be.

"Wait, what do you mean... she likes you back?" he managed to articulate, and his voice sounded almost accusing. "That can't be — but have you actually told her?" But he decided that none of that mattered to him, and that there was something he needed to know more, "Nott, which Mudblood are you talking about?"

"Yes, I told her, and she said she felt the same way," Theodore protested, almost offended. "She feels the same way as I do; worried, because her situation is —"

"Nott," Draco interrupted him more forcefully, and sharply, not trying for a moment not to sound accusatory or feign empathy, "what bloody Mudblood are you talking about? Granger?"

The dark-haired boy swallowed, pretending to hold back a shudder. But he had to muster all his willpower to keep from grinning a triumphant smile.

"Granger," Nott forced himself to confess slowly, articulating clearly, staring at him. "Yes, it's about Granger. You could say that... we're spending more time together, since we started talking in Arithmancy class. She's — she's told me that she likes me. And I'm also starting to feel —"

He stiffened theatrically, staring at his friend, feigning embarrassment, hiding an absolute curiosity at his reaction. Draco had stopped breathing. That was his entire reaction. To stop breathing. For several seconds, he didn't move a muscle in his face. Then he blinked twice and slowly turned around, still holding the forgotten razor in his hand, so that he could look straight at his friend, not through the mirror. Nott, though he tried, couldn't put a name to his expression. It was all too subtle, but he thought he saw shock, disbelief, and almost fear. Anger, perhaps, too? He could not be sure. His features were an effective mask of ingenious and believable subtle surprise, and his silver eyes were only a millimetre wider than usual.

"Granger?" was the first thing Draco managed to articulate in the stillness of the bathroom. His voice sounded strangely raspy. "You and Granger? That cannot be. You and — ? Are you two — ?"

"Well, no... There's nothing between us yet, I guess. But, let's just say — anyway —" Nott had to bite his lip, to hide the amused smile that threatened to betray him and end his charade.

"You guess?" Draco interrupted him again, mercilessly, sharply. And this time there was no hesitation: his voice was strangled. His face stopped looking expressionless and contorted into a grimace of furious disbelief, "It's... it's Granger! She's a Mudblood! What the hell have you done with her? What are you thinking? What the fuck do you intend to do?"

Draco suddenly looked worryingly close to a heart attack. He had begun to breathe with visible effort. He stood proudly erect, his grey gaze fixed on his friend, but the expression on his haughty face was betraying him. His brow had furrowed, his eyes were glittering, moving quickly, taking in the information. He allowed himself to look like that, unable to control himself, praying that Theodore would interpret it as an open rejection of such a situation between his friend and a Mudblood. But that was far from the point.

That couldn't be true, or so Draco thought with embarrassing despair. Nott couldn't... No, Granger couldn't feel that way about Nott. He... He had kissed her. He should be the one who...

He struggled to swallow saliva, but it stuck in his throat, increasing his sense of overwhelm. He tried to at least stop the torrent of thoughts that plagued him, pull himself together, and look more believably disgusted. He would not let Nott know what was going through his mind, working it at full speed, trying to make sense of what his friend was telling him. His heart was bouncing loudly against his chest in surprise. His teeth were clenched in rancour.

He felt the heat of jealousy searing the back of his neck.

As much as Draco was an expert at hiding his emotions, masking them with haughtiness and slyness, there were some things that could not be hidden. Nott, much to his own concern, was getting what he wanted. Unfortunately, he had confirmed his suspicions. Draco's attitude was being like an open book.

Both Granger and Draco felt the same way. Now Nott could see it very clearly. It wasn't just on the girl's side. It was true that it didn't seem as if Draco, despite clearly reciprocating, was capable of having anything with her. He was still too attached to his beliefs, or so Nott thought. But he wasn't going to take any risks. Telling his friend how she felt would be a mistake, a lousy idea. He shouldn't do it. They couldn't be together. Unfortunately, they couldn't.

If Draco knew how Granger felt, would it make any difference, would he ever consider actually having a relationship with her when he knew he was reciprocated? As patently ridiculous as it sounded, Nott wasn't quite clear on the answer at this point.

Draco was still lying to him. He was still pretending that nothing had happened between them. And Nott was sick of playing dumb. He wanted his friend to confess what Granger had already told him. That they had seen each other on the sly, that they had even kissed... He wanted to hear it from his mouth, to hear his justification. He wanted to be convinced that, contrary to all indications, Draco wasn't falling in love with Hermione Granger. He decided to pull the thread further, to continue with his pantomime, just to see how far his friend's feelings went. How far his obvious jealousy of a fictitious relationship between Theodore and Hermione would go. He wondered if he would be able to make his friend see himself reflected in him.

"Nothing, it... it doesn't matter. What we've done doesn't matter..." Nott pretended to shake his head in frustration, unable to cope with his thoughts. He folded his arms, appearing helpless. "I don't know whether to go through with this or not. I know it doesn't make sense, that she's a Mudblood after all, but I can't contain the way I feel. I don't hate the likes of her anymore, but falling in love is a step I don't think I'm ready for. As much as I may like her... I'm going to become a Death Eater imminently, I can't be one and be in a relationship with a Mudblood! I couldn't hide something like that. What do I do? Do you think it's worth fighting for Granger, risking my life, now that we both feel the same way? Would you do it if you were in my place?"

Draco did not blink. The razor was in his lifeless hand, resting on the sink, unmoving. What little foam was still on his chin had begun to slide down his neck, but he didn't seem to notice. His face had been transforming, as his friend spoke, into an icy mask. Nott was now unable to read a single emotion in it. Not even surprise. No anger. Not a thing. He looked frozen by a Petrificus Totalus.

He watched him swallow saliva, his nut twitching in his throat, and finally he parted his lips.

"Nott, what — ?" Draco seemed to need to swallow again, and then his face twisted into a sneer. "Is this for real? Are you actually considering something like this? You can't — this can't be," he spat, raising his voice slightly. Suddenly self-assured, "You can't be with Granger. Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Nott questioned, in a lower, less hesitant voice. Almost mischievous, he couldn't help it. But Draco didn't notice.

"Because it's fucking madness!" he blurted, raising his voice, "Because she's a Mudblood, plain and simple! Is that not enough of a reason? Can't you get it through your head? To have anything with her is sacrilege!"

"Is it?" Nott snapped, with renewed firmness. The hesitant tone in his voice had disappeared. "Do you really think it is?"

"Oh, no. It's quite normal," he sputtered, almost hysterically. He continued in furious disbelief, "Damn it, Nott, you said it yourself, you're going to be a Death Eater. Even if it's against your will. You're going to kill the likes of her. What do you expect me to say, 'Oh, good, you two like each other! Congratulations, so what are you waiting for to be together? What's stopping you? The Dark Lord? Trifles...'"

"Well, yes, I was hoping you'd say something like that," Nott agreed, more firmly, and slightly mockingly. His eyes pierced Draco like two swords.

"What?" Malfoy spat with utter disdain, almost out of inertia. Not understanding his words. Sensing, to his amazement, that Nott hadn't meant them as a joke. And then he noticed the look on his friend's face. He no longer looked worried. He looked almost... scathing.

"What if it wasn't Granger?" Nott then asked calmly, forgetting to look doubtful. "What if it was another Muggle-born, would you think it was madness for me to be with her as well? Or would it not be so far-fetched?"

Draco stared at him for several seconds, mute, looking as if he couldn't believe his ears. It seemed to suddenly dawn on him that he was missing something. And then something changed. His face relaxed. So did the tension in his shoulders. His grey eyes narrowed, becoming two thin, dangerous silver slits.

And Nott realised that he had caught him.

"What's going on?" Draco finally uttered. His voice was a stream of icy air, serious and low. "Are you making fun of me? What's this all about?"

"I just wanted to know your opinion on what you would do if you were in my place," the dark-haired boy tried to say, feigning innocence, but unable to contain an almost sarcastic tone. "If you were attracted to a Mudblood and you were reciprocated."

"Bullshit. You're laughing at me. And you're lying to my face, don't take me for an idiot. It's all bullshit. There's nothing going on between you and Granger. She's told you no such thing," he accused him with renewed firmness. His friend pursed his lips slightly, giving a biting sideways smile, seeing himself exposed. At his mute confession, Draco felt like he was once again in control of his body and the situation. And he felt the rage come over him. "What is wrong with you? What's this all about?"

"I wanted to know how you felt about relationships with Muggles right now," Nott said sardonically, looking at him unembarrassed. "And, since you're so stubborn about it, I wanted to put it to you in a different way. It sounds like you'd be upset if I had a thing with Granger, wouldn't you?"

Draco then let out a derisive chuckle. Still smiling venomously, as if seeing his friend as he was for the first time, he ran his tongue over the surface of his teeth.

"So that's it. There it is. You're still on your fucking theory that there's something going on between me and Granger, aren't you? You think what Crabbe and Goyle saw is true. This is unbelievable," he snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. He turned back to the sink. "And you were trying to get me to confess... You're pathetic, Nott. It would have worked out well for you, if any of what you're suggesting were true. Too bad it isn't."

"Really?" Nott scoffed grumpily, beginning to lose his patience. "Well, pardon me, but I didn't even mention Granger in the first place. I only mentioned a hypothetical Mudblood. It was you who immediately thought of her. She seems to be very much on your mind."

Draco looked like he could rip the tap off the sink and hit his friend with it, judging by the look he gave him through the mirror.

"Look, don't bust my —" he mumbled, his tone calm but equally furious. He wiped the razor under the tap, then realised that his hands were shaking. "Bloody hell, you're exhausting, I can't believe you made such a fuss over that stupid thing. Are you really still on this subject at this point? Didn't I make it clear to you last time? There's nothing going on between me and Granger. Crabbe and Goyle are nutters, but I thought you were smarter than that. I don't feel anything for her, and she doesn't feel anything for me. Surprise! Nobody expected that, did they?" he laughed reluctantly. Then he placed the razor back on his chin, finishing shaving off the small patch of skin he had left.

Nott snorted in disbelief. How could he continue to lie to him so blatantly without flinching? That was the last straw.

"What if she felt it?" Theodore blurted out helplessly, his words leaving his mouth before he could hold them in. He cursed himself instantly, his heart fluttering at what he had let slip out. Shit...

"If she felt what?" Draco spat aggressively. Nott didn't look embarrassed by his accusations. In fact, he was still insisting, immune to Draco's anger, and that annoyed him even more. He had never met anyone as stubborn as Theodore in his entire life. Well, ironically enough, maybe Granger. Feeling an unpleasant shiver run down his back, he set the razor aside at last and towelled off the remains of the cream.

"If Granger had feelings for you," Nott had to clarify, cautiously. "This topic has come up so much lately, I can't help but wonder... You've told me a thousand times that you two don't feel anything for each other, but what if you did?"

He tried to control his tone to sound calm. That Draco would only take it as a hypothesis. That he didn't suspect the truth. But Draco seemed on the verge of losing his temper. A muscle in his jaw began to twitch.

"My goodness..." he had to gasp for air, almost choking with despair. He put the towel aside and lowered his face, closing his eyes and holding onto the sink with both hands, as if giving himself the strength not to murder his friend. "Why is this conversation even happening? How the hell do you expect me to imagine that Granger has feelings for me? Are you aware of what you're saying? As much as you and Crabbe and Goyle are hell-bent on it, it's simply absurd. Bloody hell, if I get an affair with Granger do you get a permanent position at the Ministry or something? You seem to be looking forward to that..."

"Okay, fine, it's absurd. You don't feel anything, and Crabbe and Goyle are hallucinating, I get it. Everyone's crazy but you," Nott interrupted him, speaking more firmly, almost disdainfully. Showing him that he still didn't believe a word of it. "What if Granger told you she had feelings for you? In spite of the hatred you feel," he spat with open scepticism, "Would it change anything? Would you consider having a relationship with her? What would you do?"

"'Having a relationship with her'," Draco repeated slowly, gasping at the words, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard in his life. "Now I have heard everything. I'm gonna finish you off... Damn it, I wouldn't fucking have it! Stop already!" he burst out in furious disbelief, seeing that his friend was still looking at him with total seriousness, waiting for an answer. "I wouldn't do anything! I'd die of disgust! What am I supposed to do, according to you? What do you think I could do? Why do you insist that I even consider such nonsense?"

He moistened his lips and, trying to regain his composure, picked up the razor again and brought it close to his face. Just to have something to do. He needed to keep his hands busy or he would strangle his friend beyond repair.

"Would you really think like that? Really? Are you telling me that, if Granger stood in front of you right now, and told you that she liked you, you'd die of disgust?" Nott snorted, furiously ironic. "Forgive me, but I don't believe a word of it..."

"And what the hell do I care if you believe it or not?" Draco spat, giving him a fierce glare through the mirror. "Why do I have to prove anything to you? What exactly is it that you want from me, Theodore?"

"I want the truth," spat Nott, firmly. "I want you to tell me once and for all what's going on. I want to help you sort it out."

"Nothing's going on!" Draco protested in open despair, staring at him in disbelief. "I've told you a million times! I can't believe you'd believe two greaseballs like Crabbe and Goyle over me! So that's it, that's how this works? You're not going to stop until I tell you what you want to hear? Look I'm... I'm sick of you. Nott, stop it, I'm warning you..."

"I'm the one who's getting sick of you," Nott protested even so, still undeterred, breathing heavily. His voice suddenly sounded shaken. "Draco, stop it, I know everything. I know everything," he emphasised, acidly.

"Know what?!" Draco burst out, withdrawing the razor for a moment so that he could move his jaw freely and speak louder. "You can't know anything, because there's nothing to know! What do you — ?"

Nott let out a loud, desperate growl, raising his face to the sky, before finally bursting out in a powerful voice:

"I KNOW SHE'S CRUSHED ON YOU, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!"

"FUCK!"

The razor landed on the floor with a clatter. Draco had cut his cheek, startled by his friend's unexpected shout. The blond brought one hand to his face, while the other reached for the towel next to him and placed it over the bleeding cut. He then looked at Nott through the mirror. He looked back at him. His chest, sheathed in thin brown pyjamas, rose and fell according to his agitated breathing. The sudden fierceness in his normally calm gaze made Draco unable to say anything at first. Three seconds of silence followed in which a treacherous drop fell from the tap into the sink, producing a slight plop.

Nott closed his eyes tightly. As if a sudden ache came over him. The pain of regret. He brought both fists to his face and pressed them to his eyes.

"Shit," he let out aloud, in a choked wail.

"Oh, shit... Damn it," he also lamented, in his mind.

He smacked his forehead twice, hard, full of frustration with himself, needing to let off steam. Then he lowered his fists, just a little, and dared to look at his friend. Draco had turned again to face him, and was gazing at him with disturbing fixity. His lips were parted in a subtle grimace of bewilderment.

"Shit, fuck... Why did I open my mouth?"

"What are you talking about?" Draco finally uttered, amidst the silence of the bathroom. The habit he'd had of slurring his words since he was a child made the sentence sound almost eternal.

Nott could hardly breathe. He had said it. He had blurted it out. And the worst thing was that Draco had taken it seriously. There he stood, staring at him with absolute coldness and stupefaction. He knew he was reading that it was true in his embarrassed eyes. Nott couldn't take it back now.

"Bloody hell..."

"What you heard," Nott muttered, no longer able to disguise it. "She feels the same way you do. The same way you do, because I know you feel it too. Honestly, I'm sick to death of you lying to me and pretending you don't. And I'm also sick of pretending I don't realise what's going on," he managed to articulate, upset but firm. The hesitant tone of voice with which he had begun this conversation had completely abandoned him.

"But what are you talking about?" Draco sputtered, his voice barely a dry whisper, "What are you...? How can you...? What the hell do you know?"

His friend swallowed hard, and was forced to take a sharp intake of breath in order to speak.

"I know some things... I don't know if I know everything, but I know enough," he cleared his throat a little, giving himself a few seconds to collect his thoughts. "Yesterday, in Arithmancy class, I had a chat with Granger."

Draco kept looking at him. A subtle wrinkle appeared in the middle of his eyebrows.

"And?"

"And," Nott repeated, cautiously, "we talked... about you. About the two of you. She told me about her feelings. She... told me some things. She didn't want to, but I... insisted."

"Feelings?" Draco questioned again, more dryly now. He was as stiff as a broomstick.

"Look... I didn't intend to tell you this. I promised Granger I wouldn't. But, Draco, even though you know how she feels, I'm asking you please not to be so hasty. You're a stubborn sod, and I don't really know how you feel about her, you've got me totally confused. Granger has told me at least part of what's going on between you two... but it's been enough to scare me. Draco, I don't... I don't know how you got into this situation. I don't understand you. But —" he let out a nervous laugh, "— I think you'll agree with me that it's crazy. You don't need me to tell you. What... are you doing?"

Malfoy blinked and looked down. Suddenly he looked curiously absent. Even his eyes were unfocused. He was serious and focused. Pondering, perhaps taking his time to absorb his friend's words, or so Nott imagined.

When Draco looked up again, his eyes were two icicles of ice.

"Granger told you that she feels... what?" he questioned, sudden firmness in his cold voice. Nott moistened his lips and dropped his gaze before answering.

"She likes you," he admitted, staring at one of the floor tiles. Sweeping his gaze along its contours. "She really likes you."

"Yeah, well, that's a lie," Draco spat, as if it were obvious. He finally removed the towel from his face. The cut was superficial, and no longer bleeding. Nott looked at him again in pure surprise.

"I beg your pardon?" he replied, puzzled by his response.

"That's a lie," Draco repeated, confidently. Like someone arguing about the colour of the sky on a clear summer's day. "She doesn't feel that way about me. That's obvious. That's all she's told you? Why would she tell you such a thing?"

"But — but of course it's not a lie!" Nott exclaimed, surprised by his words. "She doesn't gain anything by lying to me, Draco, on the contrary. She's afraid, but she knows —" he faltered, and corrected himself, "— she thinks you don't reciprocate —"

"Reciprocate her? I don't reciprocate anything! I DON'T!" Draco suddenly shouted that last exclamation, loudly, startling his friend.

He threw the towel on the floor and exited the bathroom like an exhalation. Nott stood for a couple of seconds, without being able to move. Feeling his heart pounding against his throat. Feeling terribly helpless. Draco was still trying to deny the undeniable, in a clumsy, desperate way. And Nott thought he understood why.

Draco was blinded by fear. The fear of being reciprocated by the one person he wanted and couldn't have.

Pulling himself together, Theodore managed to move and followed him into the bedroom. He found him standing in front of his bed, shoving the last of his books into his bag with an overwhelming abruptness. He had pulled his uniform robes over his white shirt.

"Draco," he began, cautiously, "please, listen to me. Don't be hasty. Say what you want, deny me everything if you want, I don't care —"

"Don't you dare patronise me, Theodore," Draco spat, not looking at him, stopping his movements for a moment, to control his anger. His hands were shaking. Nott clicked his tongue impatiently.

"Draco, you're going to be a Death Eater. Don't forget that. You can't get involved in such a way with a Mudblood," he warned him, almost desperate. "I told you, Draco, your situation doesn't allow it. You yourself have told me a hundred times. You told me that just getting along with her was dangerous, and now you're taking this kind of risk? Draco, they'll kill you. They'll... they'll kill you for being a traitor. And your parents, too. You have to put an end to what's going on between you. I'm asking you, please..."

"There's nothing going on between Granger and me," the blond articulated very slowly, without looking at him. He picked up the tie, which rested on the trunk, and slipped it around his neck any old how. Nott was afraid for a moment that he might try to hang himself with it. "I would never, ever have a thing for a Mudblood. And she has absolutely no feelings for me, I don't know what she is trying to do by telling you all that. Everything she's told you is a lie. Nothing happened between us. She's nothing but a fucking liar."

"She's the liar? Draco, stop it!" Nott spat, raising his voice in fury, his eyes widening. "What do you gain by this attitude? I'm not your enemy. You trusted me in the Changing Rooms before Valentine's Day to tell me what was bothering you. Why can't you trust me now? It's pretty clear that there's something going on between you two, I suspected it even before Granger confirmed it to me. And, you know, I believe her. I believe everything she's told me. And I'm scared. The only thing I can think of is that, if you didn't care about her at all, if all you wanted to do was have a fling with her, or even make fun of her, use her, you would have told me. But you haven't, you just deny me the undeniable. And that proves that you feel something, something you know perfectly well you can't feel."

"Stop talking about what you don't know!" Draco shouted, turning to look at him. "Stop pretending you know better than I do what's going on in my mind! You don't have a bloody clue about anything and you accuse me with impunity of being a blood traitor! I'm telling you for the last time, there is nothing going onbetween Granger and me, and there never will be!"

"IF THERE'S NOTHING GOING ON, WHY DID CRABBE AND GOYLE CATCH YOU TWO KISSING?" Nott yelled, raising his voice higher than Draco had ever heard him raise it before. "Kissing, Draco, Merlin's beard! Bloody hell, you denied it to me in the Changing Rooms, and after Crabbe and Goyle's beating too... And I tried to believe you! Enough! You've been lecturing me about purity of blood for half the term just because I exchange four words with her! And now you're doing this? And you still have the gall to lie to my face?"

"ENOUGH!" Draco shouted, raising his tone even higher than Nott.

His powerful voice almost echoed in the sparsely-populated dormitory, only to give way to silence. Nott added nothing. His friend's grey eyes flashed with anger, and his pale skin was flushed with the intensity of the dispute. Nott had rarely seen him lose his temper like that. And rarely had he lost it so much himself. But he was beginning to feel like he didn't have the strength to shout any more. In fact, he just felt like crying.

"Draco, don't... don't risk your life for Hermione Granger. Not like this," Nott mumbled, his voice much lower. "If you don't love her, end this immediately. And, if you do love —"

"FUCK OFF!" Draco interrupted him, then grabbed his bag, crossed the room in two strides and slammed the door behind him.