A/N: Thank you so much for all your kind words! I can't stop rereading them. And a big thank-you to anne, as always, for her exceptional beta-ing.
Hermione tried, again, to eat her dinner. It looked delicious (quail with parsnip and a beetroot reduction) but she hadn't managed more than a bite. The bloody thing was charmed to arrange and rearrange itself into increasingly abstract shapes. She supposed this must be a hallmark of high-end magical cuisine; Slughorn had certainly been very proud to present it to them.
But it was so impractical! Every time she went to pierce a parsnip, it would scuttle out of the way of her fork and perform a stunt, sometimes involving the quail, too.
Draco, of course, encountered no problem eating his dinner. Having mostly finished his plate, he observed her struggle and quietly chortled to himself every time her dinner dodged her attempts to eat it. It was The Monster Book of Monsters all over again, but edible.
Would it be rude to take out her wand at a dinner party? One petrificus totalus and this would be sorted.
Gritting her teeth, she cornered a piece of parsnip with her knife and forced the root vegetable onto her fork. Draco, beside her, was now at risk of making a fool of himself, he was snickering so hard.
Meanwhile, at the head of the table, Professor Slughorn efficiently interviewed all his guests, and Hermione did her best not to think about it too hard.
She knew he'd been at Hogwarts for ages — two generations, at least — but when he'd mentioned earlier in the evening that his tenure began nearly sixty years ago… How many students had he "collected" in this office?
From the fragments she knew of Tom Riddle as a student, she didn't doubt he'd been one of them.
Looking around the room again, she squirmed. So many ghosts.
She pinned down the quail and carved off a piece.
"Lovely, Mr Zabini. And that was where, exactly?"
"Spain, sir…"
Hermione half-listened as Blaise Zabini described the more interesting parts of his upbringing and wondered if her seat had once been Riddle's. Had he occupied this exact chair? Struggled against enchanted food? What had his peers been like? She doubted he'd liked them very much, especially if they were as boastful as Slughorn's present-day recruits.
Zabini began an elaborate story involving a house-elf, a broom, and a very sour portrait. Hermione wrinkled her nose, remembering Sirius' mother in Grimmauld Place. Her own childhood certainly hadn't been anything like that. She wondered, sometimes, what she'd have been like if she'd grown up in a magical household. But no matter what Hermione did, how hard she tried, she would never understand all the subtleties of wizarding society.
Had Riddle felt that, too? Fifty years ago, wizards had been far less understanding of magical children who grew up in the Muggle world. Hermione had been fortunate to have professors and friends willing to guide her through the transition, but she doubted Tom Riddle had found anything like that. Especially in Slytherin.
Maybe that was part of the puzzle. The language barrier — those experiences that made up a magical childhood, that allowed everything about this world to make sense — not even she knew it all, what she'd missed. In fact, she'd actively dismissed investigating it, insisting that being a good witch had nothing to do with how one was raised.
Older now, she acknowledged the shame that had lurked behind those words.
The remains of her dinner vanished on her plate whilst her goblet refilled with rich wine. Conversation quieted in anticipation of the next course, which revealed itself to be a torte alongside several precariously stacked cubes of ice cream. Everyone gushed in appropriate awe. Hermione was just glad this one wouldn't resist her spoon.
"Yes, yes! Go on — dig in! Of course, we shall have quite the spread at Christmas! Far more elaborate than this, don't you worry…"
Hermione scooped a bit of purple-coloured ice cream into her mouth and yelped when it began to fizz violently on her tongue.
"You're not supposed to eat it in one go!" Draco hissed. "It goes with the chocolate — you have to have them together or your mouth will go numb." He took one look at Hermione's watering eyes. "Like that."
Magical food is ridiculous!
At the head of the table, Slughorn clapped his hands. "Marvellous! What a clever little dish, eh? Now, I'm very keen to hear who you've invited to my Christmas party. It's always a thrill to meet more promising students. Now — ah — Miss Granger?"
Hermione swallowed and tried to make her tongue work. "Yes?"
"Who is it you've invited?"
"Oh — Ron Weasley, sir."
"A Weasley!"
"My older brother," supplied Ginny.
"Ah, of course."
"He's on the Quidditch team, too," said Harry with enthusiasm. "Great strategist."
"Is he? I suppose it must run in the family!"
Hermione didn't listen to the rest. Draco softly coached her through the rest of her dessert, lest she trigger any more alarming charms. When her dish was clean, it felt more like winning a chess match than finishing a meal, and she longed for the quiet solitude of her bed where she could ponder Tom Riddle's upbringing in peace.
At last, the dinner ended, the guests disbanded, and Hermione followed Harry and Ginny to the tower, head lost decades in the past.
Winter crept ever closer to Hogwarts. Sunshine became a limited commodity, unlike sleet from the Great Hall's ceiling. Hermione spent most of her time in the library, the laboratory, or nervously watching Harry flip through the Prince's book in the common room. He was still top of the class, Slughorn's darling, and she was outraged.
But unless she could offer irrevocable proof that the Half-Blood Prince was someone unforgivably awful and dangerous, Harry wouldn't hear any criticism whatsoever. Apparently, the most dangerous thing any of his spells had done was to turn Ron upside down. Hardly the work of a psychopathic killer.
Hermione disagreed. She knew for a fact there were loads of sinister things in the margins of that book and would keep searching for its owner until Harry saw reason.
For now, though, she would trail behind Harry in Potions (by a hair's breadth!) and begin preparing for end-of-term exams. Draco snorted when he saw her colour-coded revision timetable during Ancient Runes. She'd only glared at him and tapped the Arithmancy block with her wand, turning it green.
That was the other thing: Draco was getting thinner and more pallid by the day, like he was dying from the inside out. Maybe she wouldn't have noticed if they didn't spend so much time in close quarters, but as it was, she couldn't look at him without seeing the ashy colour of his skin and how his robes hung off his skeleton. How did nobody else see it?
The first time she brought food to the laboratory, he'd glared at her and snapped about her not being his mother. She hadn't relented, and he'd eaten the sandwich with a scowl on his face.
But he ate it.
He barely showed up at meals anymore. Not that she saw, at least, and she'd become quite good at spotting him in the Hall. She started going to Slug Club parties just to ensure he ate a proper dinner. She couldn't get anything done — in the lab or in Runes — if she had to worry about him starving to death!
After all, if he thought he could be so presumptuous as to kiss her unprompted, then he had no right to complain about her mandating he eat a proper meal every once in a while.
She scowled at her goblet of pumpkin juice. Bloody Slytherin lunatic… pointy, pale idiot!
"Hey, Hermione?"
"What?"
"Oh — sorry — if you're busy I can ask you later —"
"No! No — sorry, Parvati. I was a bit distracted. What is it?"
Excited, Parvati slid into the seat beside Hermione. "Well, I was just thinking — you know the galleons we used last year? To announce D.A. meetings? You used a Protean Charm to do that, right?"
"Yes —"
"Well, Padma and I were thinking of doing something similar, but to a diary. You see, the only way we can talk to each other from our dormitories is with owls, or sometimes a house-elf who will take a note — it's ridiculous! She's my sister! Anyway, we have the diaries already, but we can't get the charm to work. Would you mind helping?"
"Oh…" Parvati's voice wrapped around Hermione's head dizzyingly for a minute before her brain caught up. "Sure — sure, I can help."
"Great! I'll tell Padma. Would you be able to do it tonight, do you think?"
"Er — I have something on later, but if it isn't too late for you, then I can do after. I might have to do some research, though — this sounds like it would take some modifications to the charm…"
"Thank you, Hermione!" Parvati dashed off. Hermione saw her give a thumbs-up to her sister, who was sat quietly at the Ravenclaw table, and pondered the significance of identical twins Sorted into different Houses.
"Are you seeing Malfoy today, Hermione?" Harry smirked at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Yes. I have to go in about ten minutes, actually."
"Be sure to thank him for me. Harper is absolutely rubbish on a broom. If we win the Cup this year, I might send Malfoy a hamper."
Hermione could honestly say Draco didn't care one way or another. Slytherin could come last and he'd barely notice. She added it to the list of things troubling her and scooped some more potatoes and a pie onto her plate. "I'll see you later — don't wait up, though. I don't think I'll be back until well after curfew. Maybe longer, if something goes awry."
"Yeah, no worries, Hermione — are you stealing food?"
She froze, pie half-wrapped in a serviette. "What?"
"Are you that hungry?"
"Oh!" She laughed nervously and shoved the wrapped pie and potatoes into her bag. "It's just that brewing for so long can be exhausting, and since it keeps me up late, it's nice to have something to eat, is all…"
"You never said. We can bring something to the tower, if you like —"
"Yeah!" Ron agreed.
"— that way you have something to eat when you get back without having to carry it everywhere."
"Oh — erm, that's nice of you to offer, Harry but you don't have to, really — actually, I have to go now — bye!"
She glared at Draco's usual seat as she left the Great Hall. This was all his fault.
He didn't thank her, either, when she shoved dinner in front of him. Not that she expected him to. Seeing him sullenly tuck the meal into his bag was thanks enough.
From then on, it was the same monotonous routine of slicing, juicing, stirring, and waiting. Hermione flipped through some Charms notes. Draco scribbled on a piece of parchment. She assumed it was for a lesson (Runes, maybe, since he seemed to be working with some complex diagrams and characters), but when she sat up to stretch her back and glimpsed his work, she frowned.
The parchment was utterly covered in ink, but none of it was anything Hermione recognised. Diagrams, charts, incantations in Latin and Greek… and in the middle of it, a sketch of what appeared to be a wardrobe, of all things.
"What's that?"
He flinched like she'd struck him, and the parchment disappeared. "Homework. Extra theoretical research."
"Oh. Alright." She didn't believe him for a second, but he'd gone all cagey again, so she didn't bother pressing. "Harry says thank you, by the way."
"Whatever for?"
"He seems to think your quitting Quidditch has ensured Gryffindor victory for the rest of the year."
Draco's lips quirked and his eyes glimmered with mischief. "I had no idea he thought so highly of me. Do tell him I'm flattered by the compliment."
Right. I'm sure that's exactly what he was going for.
By the time they finished their work for the night, Hermione was desperate to go to bed. She really hated this phase of brewing; it was so unnecessarily long, in her opinion. Surely future generations of potions masters would figure out a way to condense the recipe into something more manageable? That would make it more accessible for werewolves, too, and the potential doors that would open for them were incalculable. It was outrageous that no-one was interested in doing the research. Not now, at least, when anti-werewolf sentiment was near an all-time high.
Maybe that's why Amortentia smells a bit like Wolfsbane to me. Maybe it represents my passion for justice...?
She removed her Bubble-Head and scratched the itch on her nose that had been taunting her for two hours now. Her hair, too, had fallen into her eyes forty minutes ago, and she pushed it back with a sigh.
"Good night, Draco. See you tomorrow." She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and set off down the corridor. If Parvati had waited up for her, Hermione wasn't sure she'd be able to do much. She hadn't had time to read up on complex Protean Charms, and this one sounded like it would require two charms: one on each diary, which would function simultaneously but without interaction… Frankly, she was already half asleep, and it seemed far more likely she'd cause some sort of irreparable charm loop. She'd have to apologise to Parvati and promise to try again after she visited the library…
"Granger?"
Footsteps hurried nearer; she turned and saw Draco jogging in her direction.
"Yes?" she frowned. "What is it?"
He came to a halt an arm's reach before her. The shadows cast unnerving shapes across his face, accentuating the sharpness of his features and tossing his expression between dark determination and something softer, more uncertain. "D-do you have somewhere to be right now?"
Hermione thought of Parvati and sighed. "No. Just my bed."
"Oh. Right." He visibly warred with himself for a moment; she watched the battle in the shifting of his eyes and the tightness of his lips. "I have a question," he said abruptly.
A question? If he needs homework help, why didn't he ask me in there? "Oh. Alright. What is it?"
"Can I kiss you?"
For an absurd moment, Hermione thought he hadn't meant to say it. Not out loud. He looked shocked; his pupils swallowed his irises and he stood perfectly frozen, without breathing.
She couldn't look away.
Can I kiss you…
No. NO!
They had gone through this before — she had hated it! Loathed every second! Hadn't she? And she had told him as much, that if he ever thought of pulling something like that again, she would like to be asked first —
I have a question.
Something deep inside her squirmed ecstatically.
He wants me so much he listened.
She looked at him, clearly bracing himself for the humiliation of her inevitable refusal.
She didn't want to kiss him — right?
But she did. In truth, despite all the distraction and the masquerading, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it, and she should really turn him down, put an end to this ludicrous whatever-it-was, but that thing in her stomach that flipped and slithered, sending thrilling shivers through her nervous system; it egged her on, because if she walked away, surely she'd spend the rest of her life regretting it —
"Yes."
Neither of them had expected it. Draco released his breath with a soft "oh." Hermione's heart climbed into her throat, accelerating alarmingly.
What is he going to do? Will it be like last time?
It wasn't. There were no rough stone walls, no haphazard crushing of mouths. Just him stepping nearer, his own panicked eyes searching hers, and then he swallowed, steeled himself, and bent down to kiss her lips.
It was so much softer. Brief, too; he gently kissed her lips and then retreated a centimetre. She heard him inhale, stunned, and then slowly return, testing to see how much he was allowed.
The soft heat of it spun down her spine, melting everything on its way. She felt herself smile against his lips; it put their mouths at an odd angle and their teeth bumped. She laughed and he did too, and then the warmth of it pulled her closer to him, a tether she couldn't escape. Her hands crept up his chest, fingers tangling in his robes, in tandem with the weight of his palm settling against her waist.
Distantly, she noted voices nearby, but they sounded so far away and —
The kiss broke roughly. She audibly gasped in surprise at the loss, but it was quickly muffled by Draco's chest when he pulled her tightly against him, silencing her while his arms wrapped around her back protectively as he tugged her deeper into the shadows.
He needn't have bothered — it was just Nearly Headless Nick droning on about the Headless Hunt, probably to an unfortunate ghost who couldn't find a polite way to excuse themselves.
Draco's arms relaxed and dropped back to his sides. For a long second, they looked at each other with all the earnestness they struggled to muster with words, and then that broke, too, and Hermione shuffled her feet.
"I — I have to go — it's late —"
"Right — me too…"
She looked at his shoulder, because if she looked anywhere near his face, she'd probably lose her mind. "G-good night."
"Good night, Granger."
They turned and hurried off in opposite directions.
