Hermione had never been a fan of Quidditch.

Never liked getting swept into the sea of students as they trekked down the muddy slope to the pitch.

Never liked how the hard, wooden benches made her bum itch after just ten minutes in the stands.

Never liked having to cheer a second after everyone else, because she hadn't been paying close enough attention to the game.

But today, Hermione could say she might even enjoy it.

Yes, the late November weather was a cold, windy beast. And yes, she wasn't quite sure what was going on out on the field. But it hardly mattered, with Lucius bundled up beside her in their shared blanket, his heat radiating into her, one arm wrapped securely around her back and the other clasping her hand to his thigh. Even her bum didn't itch, with all the cushy layers of skirts piled beneath her.

Hermione peeled her eyes away from the match of Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff to admire the wizard beside her. She had convinced him to sit in the Gryffindor stands, along with seemingly most of the school other than the Hufflepuffs, it seemed. It was the last game of the term before the weather turned too miserable, and Viridian had insisted the faculty attend in a show of 'professor-student comradery, goddammit'.

A red and gold scarf wound snuggly around Lucius's neck, trapping his loose locks beneath the thick fabric like a schoolboy who hadn't bothered to adjust anything after his mother bundled him up. It was alarmingly endearing. And he'd hardly fought her on the scarf that morning…though that may have had something to do with her very convincing Sunday wake-up sex.

"You know," Lucius drawled, his eyes still trained on the field, "you would find this is an usually riveting game if you were paying it any attention." A free stand of hair whipped across his face as the wind changed direction.

Hermione smiled sheepishly as she reached over and carefully brushed it back behind his ear. "Caught me."

Lucius smirked. "There goes the beater—quite the maneuver with that under the leg blow." As the crowd cheered, Lucius shifted the blanket more onto their laps, covering their legs. His hand released her's to come flat against her thigh. "Oh, but the Hufflepuff chaser gets a lucky spin away with that gust." Lucius leaned down, as if reaching for his shoe, but instead his fingers slipped up her heavy hem.

"Lucius," Hermione murmured, as he straightened up, his fingers sliding smoothly up her stockinged leg to her knee. Even through the fabric, her skin prickled at the contact.

But he was ignoring her—rather resolutely, it seemed—his eyes still on the pitch as his hand worked up towards the bare skin of her thigh. "Looks like the Gryffindor seeker caught sight of the snitch—drat, the beaters saw it too." His thumb rubbed small, delicate circles into her skin, and it was all Hermione could do to hold back a whimper so it came out as a strained breath. "What are you doing?" Hermione whispered as his fingers stroked languidly up.

"Interesting you," Lucius replied calmly, even as his fingers crept higher and higher. Another cheer crashed through the stands as a wave, "in Quidditch." The hand on her back suddenly snaked up, catching the back of her neck. It was a small gesture—anyone behind them wouldn't have even noticed, with the heavy mane of hair and the blanket blocking the view. But to Hermione, the pressure of those fingers was electrifying. She gasped as his hand gripped hard, directing her gaze away from his face and back towards the field. "Well?" he continued, the hand at her thigh slipping higher to the spot they were both well aware was hidden by no drawers today.

A deep, heady flush rushed over her body. Hermione blinked, trying to focus on the game, but the sensation in her body was overwhelming. Dizzying. "Well…well what?" she managed to squeak out, when the pressure at her neck eased up just a tad.

"Are you interested yet?"

"Mhm." It was all she could say—anything more and she was sure her body would melt right there on the spot.

Another smirk spread over Lucius's face as he finally turned his head to look at her. His grey eyes were dark with interest; the only hint in his otherwise perfect composure that he too was tortured by this too. "Good." He let go of her neck, thumb brushing down the side until it disappeared, making her shiver. The hand on her leg remained, though it slipped down to a much safer spot on her stockinged knee.

"Do you have to be such a tease?" Hermione muttered under her breath as they both turned their attention back to the match. The seekers were zipping around now, evidently after some tiny speck of gold she couldn't see.

"Pay attention like a good little professor for the rest of the game, and I'll finish the job," Lucius commented, his eyes never leaving the pitch.

God, he really was her undoing, wasn't he? She had never played these kinds of…power games before, with Ron. Never even thought of it, really. Their sex had always been straight-forward. But her and Lucius had slipped into the dynamic without discussion, without question. Either it was just the way Lucius was naturally, or he had seen something inside her. Something he wanted to bring out. And she absolutely loved it.

Playing along (partly because she was desperately curious to find out what he had in mind, and partly to prove she wasn't just some fawning witch who couldn't keep her eyes off a wizard), Hermione let her gaze wander over the field. The players were grouped up on the right-hand side now, so there wasn't much to see right in front of her. With a sigh, Hermione turned her eyes towards the stands down below.

A group of older Slytherins caught her eye—they were unmistakable, out of the sea of red and gold that had taken over their section. Most of them were sitting down, huddled together and smoking what looked like pipes. But one was standing, getting up from the group and beginning to walk out towards the stairs that led to the ground below. Hermione frowned as she watched him turn towards the exit, his face coming into view. Her breath caught in her chest.

Corvinus.

He quickly disappeared behind the side of the stands. Hermione grew very still, staring at the spot. Practically the whole school was at the game—hardly any prefects or staff to see what he was up to. And Clara wasn't watching him—Hermione had passed her on her way into the stands; she quickly looked towards the girl's spot to confirm she was still there, and yes, the girl was happily cheering away with her friends, oblivious.

Shit. She had to follow him, didn't she? It was the perfect chance for him to nip down into the Chamber. Her eyes flitted to Lucius. He was absorbed in the game again, not paying her any attention but for the hand on her knee.

Home.

You have to get home.

Hermione pushed the blanket off. Lucius looked at her, confused.

"I, er, I'm not feeling so well," she said, standing with a hand over her stomach.

"The potion?"

"I—I think so." Lucius had begun brewing her a contraceptive potion she took each morning, and one of the potential side effects was a turned stomach if she didn't eat enough with it. "I just need to step back inside for a bit."

"Let me escort—"

"No!" Hermione's eyes widened. She quickly put on an apologetic smile. "I mean, it's no bother. I just need to use the toilet. Should be back before the game ends, anyway," she said, casting her gaze towards the field. The beaters and chasers were back at it again, the snitch thankfully lost by both teams.

Concern crossed over Lucius's face, but he said nothing else in protest. He simply kissed her hand and promised to keep her seat warm if she was able to return.

As soon as she was free, Hermione hurried down the stands and towards the rickety wooden steps that led back to the ground. By the time she broke free from the stands, Corvinus was three quarters up the hill back towards the castle.

Hermione grabbed her skirts and broke into a run after him.

By the time she slipped through the castle doors, her lungs burned with the icy air, and her dress was splattered from the knee down from the trampled, muddy grounds left behind from the hundreds of students who had torn it up on their way to the pitch. Only a few students milled about, giving her curious looks as she sped towards the staircase and up to the second floor.

As the stairs groaned and spun on their own before rising up towards the next level, Hermione took a chance to lean back against the railing, breathing hard.

Home.

You have to go home.

The words were cold and hollow and utterly impossible to ignore. Like someone had taken a megaphone to her ear and whispered straight to her brain.

Home.

The stairs stopped moving. She stepped off onto the stone platform.

You have to go home.

She walked quickly but carefully now, not wanting to alert Corvinus to her presence. Her chest heaved. Her boots scuffed too damn loudly against the stones.

Home.

The entryway to the bathroom grew closer. Hermione held her breath, ignoring the burn in her chest.

You have to go home.

Her fingers slowly pulled out the wand hidden under her outer layer of skirts.

Home.

Muffled sounds whispered out from the doorway—what or who, she couldn't quite tell.

You have to go home.

She reached the corner and flattened her back against the wall.

Home.

Ever so slowly, Hermione peeked into the bathroom.

You have to go home.

The trapdoor was closed.

For a second, she feared she was too late to follow him in—though perhaps waiting until he left was a better option anyway—before she heard it again. The muffled sound was louder now, and not quite muffled at all.

It was breathing.

Heavy, labored, panting breathing. And it wasn't coming from her.

"Oh…oh…oh!" came a high-pitched voice from within, followed by a low grunt. Her brows creased as she listened. It sounded like someone was being hurt.

Still staying close to the outer wall, Hermione stepped fully into the bathroom. Her eyes quickly scanned the trap door, the construction piles, the crates…

Her head cocked. Feet? Two pairs of boots, one smaller and one larger, poked out from behind a large crate.

"Oh…oh…oh! Not so hard!" A grunt answered in reply.

A sour taste rose in her throat as she realized what was going on. Two students fucking. Bloody fantastic. She didn't even know if it was Corvinus, and if it was, she certainly didn't need him to find out she was still watching him after last week's encounter out on the grounds.

Hermione slowly backed away towards the exit when the grunting and panting suddenly stopped. The feet stilled. Whispered fluttered back and forth.

Shit.

Just as Hermione was about to make a run for it, the students scrambled to their feet and stood up from behind the crate.

For a moment, they just stared at each other like three deers caught in the center of the road.

Corvinus stared at Hermione, his outer robes missing and trousers unbuckled.

Adeline stared at Corvinus, her dress sliding off one shoulder and her dark braid a frizzy mess.

Hermione stared at the two of them, wand aimed at Corvinus.

"I believe the punishment for fraternizing with the fairer sex is detention, not a hex, Professor Jean," Corvinus said silkily, his voice ringing clearly through the silent bathroom.

Hermione ran her tongue over her teeth, furious at her instinct for betraying that she thought of him as a threat. She quickly let her hand drop to her side. "Adeline, are you alright?" she said, turning to the girl.

Adeline quickly nodded. Her cheeks were still bright red as she sheepishly readjusted the collar of her dress. "I…we were just…" She glanced hesitantly at Corvinus to continue.

"Professor Jean is perfectly aware of what we were doing in this bathroom, dear." His sunken eyes slowly roamed over the room. "Why else would someone be in this unkempt place?" As his gaze landed back on her, his mouth twisted into a ghost of smirk.

God, he was goading her. And he most definitely knew exactly what she was up to now. Had he seen her in the stands and led her here on purpose? Roped his poor girlfriend into his games just to spite her? And why hadn't he returned to the Chamber yet? Was Henry just a fluke? Did he even plan to strike again?

As the questions whirled through Hermione's mind, she forced her expression to remain cool and assessing, like she was trying to decide what to do about them. Finally, when she spoke, she was grateful her voice wasn't a shaky mess. "Both of you will have detentions this week. I'll write to your head of house to arrange it. Separately," she added, and Adeline gave a little sigh of despair. "Mr. Gaunt, return to the game. Adeline, I wish to speak with you. Remain here please."

Corvinus pulled Adeline in for a kiss on her cheek before grabbing his outer robes and leaving, to her surprise, without another word. Hermione watched him exit the bathroom, hands clasped behind his back and whistling like the pompous prick he was. Finally, when his whistle disappeared down the hall, she turned back to the girl.

"What happened, Adeline? Did he force himself on you?"

"No!" Adeline furiously shook her head. "No, I asked him to."

"It wasn't his idea?" She shook it again, and Hermione's shoulders sagged. "Why then?"

The girl shuffled her boots against the dusty flagstones, staring down at them. "After you explained the marriage bed to me, I wanted to try. It seemed so magical, the way you spoke of it. But just now with Corny, it simply…hurt." She said the word so softly, like a little girl afraid to admit it aloud.

"Oh Adeline, it can be. Eventually." She stepped forward, putting a finger beneath the girl's chin to tilt her face back up. Adeline's eyes shone with tears. "But you don't need to do it before you're ready. And certainly not on the bathroom floor."

Adeline tried to smile, but it came out crooked, like a broken doll's. "I asked him if we could in the common room. You know, when everyone was out at the match? But he insisted we do it here." She wiped hastily at her cheeks as the tears began to leak out. "He told me to wait for him."

"Here? Did he say why?"

"He…he said it would be more private. That no one ever came in here."

Well, that was certainly a good excuse, though the poor girl should have known there were dozens of other hidden spots at Hogwarts far more comfortable than a hard stone floor. Hermione studied the girl's stricken expression, the way she wrapped her arms around her chest. "Are you in any pain, Adeline?"

The girl hesitated before responding in a small voice, "Just a bit."

Hermione nodded and rubbed a soothing touch up the girl's arm. "Come on, then. We'll go fetch you a pain reliever potion. And a contraceptive too."

Adeline stiffened. "Contra…Professor Jean!" Her red-rimmed eyes grew wide. "I am to be Corny's wife. I cannot take a contraceptive."

"You're not even married yet," Hermione tried to reason. "What if something happens? What if the wedding doesn't—"

The girl backed suddenly away from Hermione's touch, staring at her like she had just cursed her. "Corvinus and I will wed. There is no doubt about that."

"Yes, of course," Hermione answered quickly, trying to keep her voice calm and placating. "But that is months away. Do you really want to be pregnant while you finish your schooling? While you take your exams? And what will your family think, if you wed while already with child?"

"Would you really kill your own husband's baby, because it was inconvenient?" Adeline snapped, color rising back to her cheeks.

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "I would delay until it was reasonable for me to be with child," she said carefully.

Adeline took another step back. "You're just like Corny said."

"Pardon me?"

"You're all the same," she breathed out.

"Adeline…"

"He said you Mudbloods were a curse to our kind," the girl continued in a breathy voice, eyeing Hermione up and down. "I told him you were different, that you were good-hearted. But you're just as he said. That you came here to destroy us and our customs. That you were going to destroy the proud Malfoy line with your wickedness, and if we let you, you'd destroy ours too. And he was right."

Hermione stared at her, speechless. She tried to find the words to calm her, to dissuade her, but they wouldn't come. Yes, she knew what these students thought of her. What everyone thought of her in this time. But to hear it from the lips of a young woman—a girl just as victim to this world as Hermione was—it was more than Hermione could wrap her head around.

"I think you should leave, Professor," Adeline said stiffly, her dark eyes burning with disgust as they met Hermione's.

"Adeline, you're hurting. Let me help you."

"I shall await your notice of detention."

Hermione held the girl's gaze for a long moment before she finally gave up. "Ask the infirmary for a pain potion for menstrual cramps," she said, trying to keep the hurt in her voice at bay. "They won't question you for it. Okay?"

Adeline turned towards the window and didn't say a word.

Hermione walked back out into the deserted hallway, staring dejectedly at the shut classroom doors before her feet began to carry her back through the castle, through the doors, and back towards the Quidditch pitch. When she finally made it in ear-shot of the match, she heard the crowd cheering like maniacs, the boom of the announcer's voice like a drum bursting in her ears.

"And Gryffindor has won!" he cried, as Hermione spotted Lucius up in the stands. He was standing as the others hollered and danced around him, his hair like a lighthouse beacon among all that black and gold and red. When he finally caught sight of her winding her way through the crowd, a smile lit up his entire face.

"There you are," Lucius hummed happily, reaching out to help her up to their bench as others began to clamber out of the stands. "You just missed quite an incredible catch of the snitch. The Gryffindor seeker was parallel to the Hufflepuff one, both hurtling towards the ground when…Hermione? Are you still feeling unwell?"

Her eyes refocused on his. His smile was gone, replaced by genuine concern. "Sorry, er…yes. Still a bit queasy."

Lucius tucked her into his chest and pressed a kiss into the top of her head. "You needn't have come back out, my dear."

"And let you think my interest in Quidditch was only passing? Never," she tried to tease.

Though his eyes were still crinkled with worry, he let out a low chuckle and dipped down to brush his lips against her ear. "I'll just have to tease you some more at the next game."

She lifted an eyebrow. "There are no more games until next term."

"Is that so?" He looked around, assessing pitch with comical interest. "Well, then I suppose an empty pitch, a nice cozy spot beneath the stands, and a warming charm will have to do."

As he led her through the now dwindling crowd and back towards the castle, Hermione tried to fantasize about being fucked beneath the stands like some horny teenager. It was a thrilling thought, but even as she tried to picture it, her mind strayed back to the more pressing matters at hand.

Her sex advice was probably going to get some poor girl pregnant to a monster, said monster was taunting her about getting into the Chamber, and the more she tried, the further she was from getting home.

At least there was one thing working in her favor—Lucius was still oblivious to it all, and she was determined to keep it that way.

On Monday, after an exhausting class spent mostly on convincing first-years not to hex each other with the Slug-Vomiting spell one of the more precocious boys discovered, Hermione took her seat at the faculty table with a frown. Lucius was missing—which wasn't wholly unusual, as it took him a bit longer to reach the Great Hall that her—but more strangely, there seemed to be some kind of giggle spell placed on the student body.

Hermione observed the tables below as she spooned out roast potatoes and lamb. Half the students were cupping their hands to another student's ears, whispering furiously, and the few girls in the school were practically dancing around in a flutter of teenage excitement. And now that she looked closer…most of the students had envelopes clutched in their hands as they darted back and forth between the different house tables.

"Gibson," Hermione began, turning to the Charms professor beside her. "What are the students all in a tizzy about?"

He let out a choked sound of interest from his mouthful of potatoes before swallowing and turning to her. "The ball, of course!"

"Ball?"

Gibson gave her a pinched little look of exasperation. "You didn't receive your letter at lunch?"

"I wasn't at—"

Before she could finish her sentence, the screech of an owl cut her off. Hermione's face snapped up to see a rather large, rather irritated looking owl flying directly towards her. Hermione gasped as its talons opened up and two letters fell directly onto her plate. It flew off before she could even thank it.

There goes my roast, she thought glumly, before picking up the two envelopes. They were thick, heavy things, one with Lady Jean Malfoy and the other with Lord Brutus Malfoy scrawled in thin loopy lettering.

After wiping off a bit of potato from the paper, she set Lucius's aside and cracked the Hogwarts seal on her own.

Dear Lady Jean Malfoy,

Hogwarts School of School of Witchcraft and Wizardry hereby requests the pleasure of your presence at the Sixth-Hundred and Eighty-Second Yule Ball, held on the evening of December Twenty-First in the Great Hall.

Please come dressed in your finest gown or dress robe as we enjoy the holiday in a celebration of elegance, propriety, and good cheer. All faculty are expected to attend and chaperon.

Regards,

Vindictus Viridian

Headmaster

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Well that explains the fuss," Hermione muttered as she ran a finger along the golden ink. Her own Yule Ball wasn't exactly a state of elegance and propriety—more like fourteen year-old raging hormones and too much unsupervised spiked punch—but it had certainly gotten her excited at the time. At least before Ron had stood her up, that is.

"Mm. And imagine the excitement of being a young wizards," Gibson chimed in. Hermione gave him a questioning look. The boys had hardly seemed to care at her own ball, before it was nearly too late. "Well, the young ladies, of course. They'll be escorted in from all across Britain."

Ah. Well that explained her next question, seeing as the female student population at this time was so drastically low. And the reason why the boys were just as giddy as the girls. Hermione read over the letter one more time, then just as she was about to set it aside she caught sight of another paper tucked behind the first. Frowning, she pulled it out to read.

Lady Jean Malfoy,

Your presence is also requested on the evening of December fifth, twelfth, and nineteenth in classroom 1B at eight o'clock for waltz lessons.

Please arrive promptly and in appropriate attire and footwear. Absences will only be excused for students bearing detention notices.

Regards,

Juliet Weasley

Matron

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Waltz lessons!" Hermione exclaimed. She turned towards Gibson. "Did you get an invitation for that?"

"Of course not," he scoffed as he sawed at his meat. "Waltz lessons are for muggle-born children who don't know their left foot from their wand. And…" He gave her an apologetic smile. "Outsiders."

Hermione let out an indignant huff. Waltz lessons, really! And the letter was from Juliet—what did that strange girl even know about Hermione, thinking she required dancing lessons for a bloody ball? It had to be Viridian's doing. She could imagine him now, snickering at the idea of Hermione having to stomp her way through a sea of awkward teenagers. Just to be sure her indignation was well-placed, Hermione tore open Lucius's letter to see if he had been sent an invitation too.

He hadn't.

Outsiders my arse, Hermione thought bitterly. Of course Lord Brutus wouldn't be expected to attend, despite not a single person at this school even knowing the real him or his dance skills.

She spent a few more minutes glaring at the envelopes and piercing a fresh scoop of potatoes with too much force than necessary before Lucius's absence began to gnaw on her. It wasn't like him to miss entire meals as of late. Had he thought her suspicious after leaving the Quidditch match yesterday? Had he followed her into the castle? Hermione chewed on her lip, considering. She had been so carried away with following Corvinus, she hadn't even looked back to see if anyone was following her. Surely that would be silly though, to assume Lucius had followed her to the second floor, then hurried back to the stands before she too had returned?

The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Hermione immediately let her lip pop free and touched a napkin to her lip.

A bright spot of blood bloomed in the white linen.

For fuck's sake, Hermione thought, quickly folding the napkin and shoving it behind an empty bread bowl. She was on edge. Paranoid. Paranoid about something she had no reason to be paranoid about when there were so many other things to be paranoid about.

Lucius would calm her down, once she found him and she saw that everything was normal between them. And venting to him about the dance lessons was sure to make her feel better too. Standing, Hermione grabbed the envelopes and began to stride past the faculty table.

"Off to join your husband?" Birdwhistle sneered as she passed.

Hermione stopped abruptly, walked back two steps, and turned to face him. The librarian looked up from his plate, where he'd apparently been determined to cut his potatoes into tiny tooth-sized bites. "And where might that be?" she asked coolly.

Birdwhistle gave her a loathing look. "Insisting on time in the Restricted Section. Again."

"Again?" She hadn't realized he'd been visiting the library at all, actually, though she kept her expression bored. She didn't need Birdwanker to know anything was out of the ordinary, after all.

He popped a bite into his mouth, chewing so slowly Hermione was about to walk away before he swallowed thickly and drawled with a smirk, "You two do realize the library is intended for students, do you? What could you possibly need to read in there? Or is Viridian so desperate that he brings on witches and wizards so lacking in their education that they need to take time out of my day to read up on the basics?"

For a long moment—so long that Birdwhistle shifted uncomfortably in his chair—Hermione said nothing. Then, with a sweet smile plastered to her face, she leaned forward across the table and said in a low voice, "And I thought dealing with a Boggart was part of the basics. Or is Viridian so desperate that he brings on wizards so lacking in their basic education that they wet themselves rather than casting a simple defense spell?"

Birdwhistle's cheeks burned red as his smirk twisted into a scowl. When Hermione stalked off towards the doors, she felt his eyes burning holes into her retreating back.

"Wanker," she muttered, with a smug little smile.

The librarian wasn't totally in the wrong, though—when Hermione finally made it to the mostly empty library and wandered over to the unlocked Restricted Section, she found Lucius slumped over a table, surrounded by hefty leather-bound books. A lock of hair fluttered each time he breathed, and a peaceful expression smoothed out his features. Lucius wasn't an old-looking man for his age, but like this, napping with his cheek pressed into a book and oblivious to the world, he looked like a man who had seen far less of life than he truly had.

The sight of him had all her irritation over the invitations and Birdwhistle melt away. Though he looked rather content, and she felt compelled to let him rest longer, she knew if he woke up with the imprint of a book on his cheek they'd be in for a restless night. Stepping carefully around to his side, Hermione crouched down and laid a hand on his knee. "Lucius?" she whispered, trailing her fingers down his leg. "Lucius, it's me."

He stirred slightly, but his breathing remained deep. Pursing her lips, Hermione slowly rose back to her feet and leaned in close to his head, so her loose curls tickled his arm. "Professor Brutus," she murmured, letting her breath whisper over to his ear. "I have a question for you.."

Lucius shifted again and smacked his lips. "What is it?" he said sleepily, without even bothering to open his eyes.

Hermione grinned. "I require some private tutelage, professor," she continued, stroking a finger down the back of the hand flat against his book. "Something only you can help me with."

At that Lucius finally cracked open his eyes. He squinted at her for a second before rising up with a groan. "Hermione?" he croaked, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked around at the secluded corner of the library, then back at her before his eyes dropped to the book in front of him. He quickly shut it and shoved it towards the rest in the stack. "What time is it?"

"Just past supper. And a very interesting supper at that," she said flippantly as she dropped into the seat across from him. "What are you reading?"

Lucius gave a dismissive wave. "Attempting to research a potion's history before my sixth-years turn in their essays on it. Apparently teaching potions required a bit more education than what I remember of Slughorn's lessons after thirty years. I keep needing to come back to look more up." His grey eyes settled on her. "And what's got you all worked up?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The Hermione Granger I know doesn't think of supper as interesting unless she has a story to tell about it. And the Hermione Granger I know doesn't have stories to share unless something has irked or impeded her astoundingly tenacious Gryffindor stubbornness." Lucius steepled his fingers under his chin and arched an eyebrow at her. "Or have I misinterpreted?"

Hermione bit her lip, torn between rolling her eyes and grinning. Merlin, just a couple months ago she would have told him to shove it with that remark. But now?

Now I want him to shove it a very specific somewhere.

"We received invitations," she said, ignoring Lucius's smirk at her segue as she pulled out the envelopes and slid them across the table. "The whole school did."

Lucius quickly read the one addressed to him, his expression unchanged. "The Yule Ball? I admit it slipped my mind that we'd have to attend, but it's not exactly interesting. Faculty were there in my year—and always have been, apparently."

"Open mine."

He did so, passing over the first letter with hardly a glance before landing on the second. "Ah." Lucius set the letter down and fixed her with a curious look. "And you're upset because…"

Hermione let out an indignant huff. "You didn't get a letter! And I was told these lessons are just for muggle-borns."

"You are a muggle-born."

"Who's married to a pureblood lord!"

Lucius shrugged. "I suppose Juliet—"

"Viridian," she said pointedly. "There's no way Juliet gave two shits about me attending dance lessons meant for students. He must have told her to send it. It's payback," she muttered, crossing her arms and staring sullenly at the letters. "For our near miss with the bond signature."

Lucius drummed his fingers against the parchment. "Have you waltzed before?" he asked, his tone so casual that his caution was obvious.

"Once or twice." At Lucius's raised brow, she admitted reluctantly, "Okay, once. At the opening of my own Yule ball. And Viktor Krum stepped on my feet half the time."

"So perhaps these lessons are, in fact, necessary. Think of it, my dear. The ball won't just be Hogwarts students. The Governors will be there, officials from the Ministry, the parents of young lords and ladies. The Yule Ball was much more formal and influential before our time. It's where marriages were often decided, where politics were discussed between sips of champagne and turns on the dance floor." Lucius pushed to his feet and made his way to her side of the table, pulling over a chair so he could sit beside her. "Yes, we've been tested before, but not like that. Not in front of so many all at once who could discredit us with a snap of a finger."

Hermione stared absently at the invitations. She hadn't considered the wider implications of the ball, but Lucius was clearly right. And if she was going to still be in this time by the date of the ball, they couldn't risk their position at the school. "I…agree," she said with a sigh. "But I'm not taking lessons with a bunch of children so Viridian can have me play the fool."

"Fine. But you're still going to learn."

Hermione let out a bitter laugh. "I already said, I'm not—"

"Because I'm going to teach you."

Hermione finally looked over at him, her lips parted in surprise. Then she noticed the hand extended towards her in invitation. "What, here?"

Lucius gazed expectantly back at her. "You need to learn, don't you? I know how to dance, you, I assume, are currently hopeless at it, and we have a quiet, private space all to ourselves."

"Until Birdwanker comes back and sends us to bloody Azkaban for interrupting his peace and quiet!"

"Well, luckily for us, Azkaban doesn't exist yet, as we saw for ourselves. And you've instilled a rather serious fondness in me for annoying that librarian every chance I get. What can I say?" Lucius said with a sly smirk. "The enemy of thy witch is the enemy of thyself."

Hermione couldn't help the smile quickly taking over her face. She pushed herself up and shook out her skirts. "Am I your witch, Lord Malfoy?" Hermione teased, placing her hand lightly in his as she met his bright gaze. "Even if I can't dance for shit?"

Lucius's fingers wrapped around hers, and then with a gasp she was yanked flush against his chest. "Even if, Lady Malfoy."