The roles reversed to normal. When Hermione arrived at the lab, Draco was already inside, arranging the pestle and mortar on the benchtop beside the simmering silver cauldron. He seemed more energised than he had been the past few weeks; he looked at her with a tentative excitement instead of the cautious way he'd danced around her as she sorted through her anger. Part of her was amazed by how easy it was to come back to this, like the argument had never happened. There was no resentment here, though he was probably entitled to it.

Hermione set to work without even glancing at the ingredient cupboard. Her scar didn't trouble her much anymore. She hadn't touched murtlap in nearly a week. The smell must have still lingered around her bed, though, because Crookshanks made a point of turning up his nose and trotting away whenever he got too close.

"I saw you outside with Lovegood," commented Draco as he carefully set up the silver filtration system.

Beside him, Hermione worked on grinding the marble into a fine powder. "Oh — yes, we were Nargle-watching."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "And how was that?"

"Quite nice, actually." Hermione grunted and shifted to press more of her weight into the pestle. "Maybe I'll show you one day."

Draco was quiet for a moment, perhaps trying to discern if Hermione was joking. "Alright," was all he said. Hermione heard the metal clinking of the filter apparatus and then the gushing of the hare's blood rushing through. "Is that all you've been up to, then?"

"No." Hermione paused a moment to catch her breath. There were still several large chips of marble to grind and her arm was already sore. "I've been trying to work out what to get Harry for his birthday."

"His birthday is soon?"

"Yes, the thirty-first, so I've still got a week. I don't want to order something, though, given the status of the post at the moment, and I'm not even sure what I would buy! He's turning seventeen, and I know that's an important milestone for wizards, but I just can't think of anything appropriate!" Short of a Horcrux-finding device, Harry didn't seem to want much.

"Well, what gifts have you got him before?"

Hermione picked up the pestle and added another chip of blue marble to the mortar. "I mean, I got him and Ron charmed planners for Christmas once and —"

Draco broke into hysterical laughter so strong it nearly sent the precariously stacked silver sieves tumbling down. "A planner?" he wheezed. "For Christmas?"

"They were charmed!" Hermione crossed arms and glared at him; he was still laughing too hard to stand up straight. "You know, to remind them of due dates and things like that. I thought they'd prefer it to staying up all night finishing assignments they forgot about, or asking me all the time when things were due —"

But Draco wasn't listening. With one arm leaning on the tabletop, he looked at her with such warmth it nearly threw her off balance. "Darling," he chuckled, and Hermione felt heat rush up her spine, "if I were Potter or Weasley and you'd got me a planner for Christmas, I don't think I'd ever speak to you again."

Hermione huffed and turned back to her pestle and mortar, so thrown by his endearment that she couldn't find a response for several seconds. "Well," she said finally, "good thing I'm not getting one for you, either."

Draco was still laughing softly to himself as he returned to his tower of silver sieves. She heard him pour the blood through another round and tried to focus on venting her sudden flustered nervousness into the cracking pieces of stone.

After a minute of diligent work, Draco spoke again, amusement clear in his voice. "I don't suppose Potter's given you a wish-list?"

Hermione sighed. "No. He's not really the type. And he'd never got presents before he came to Hogwarts, and I still don't think he's used to it —"

"He never got presents? Ever?"

Hermione cringed. She had a feeling that was private information Harry would rather not be made common knowledge, and she doubted Draco of all people would understand the nuances of Harry's upbringing at the hands of his Muggle relatives. Come to think of it, what sort of gifts had Draco been used to as a child? She still couldn't fathom the kind of ancient wealth he lived in. Or had lived in.

But before she could figure out how to quell his curiosity, Draco merely shook his head and said, "If that's the case, Potter will probably just be glad you thought of him at all. He doesn't seem like the material type, I suppose." Draco was frowning, and Hermione suspected he'd never really thought about Harry as a person until now.

They carried on in companionable silence. Draco finished filtering the hare's blood long before Hermione had reduced the blue marble to soft powder. He spent a good minute laughing at her red face and irritated grunts as she tried her hardest to crush the brittle stone, before he finally took her hands into his and told her to take a break. Hermione sat next to him, chin on her hand, and watched him work the pestle until the remaining marble was a fine blue sand. He was flushed, too, by the time he'd finished, and Hermione had a hard time looking away from the way the bones and tendons in his hands rippled beneath his skin as he worked.

The Wolfbane's current stage of brewing, however, meant their heads were still safely ensconced in magic, and so their goodbye was limited to a tender squeeze of their hands. Hermione left the dungeons feeling more off-balance than usual, like her heart couldn't beat evenly anymore.

She did her best to look normal when she entered the Great Hall. Harry waved her over to their usual table, and Hermione quickly sat down and began to serve herself a little bit of everything. It felt important that she have something to do with her hands.

Beside her, Tonks leaned back in her seat, her mustard-yellow Auror robes clashing with the magenta hue of her hair. It was nice to have her join them for meals; it made it feel like summer at Grimmauld Place all over again.

"Oh, by the way" — Tonks grinned at Ron — "congrats on the new sister."

"Heard about that, did you?" said Ron between vigorous bites. "Why can't they wait? It's not fair that we can't go to the wedding because we're stuck here."

"It's not a wedding, they just got married. There's a difference. There'll be a big proper wedding when this is all over, I'm sure." Tonks leaned back on her chair's legs just far enough that Hermione feared she might fall. "You know, I'm really happy for Bill. War is shit. I hope everyone can find someone like that. It'll make this a whole lot more bearable." Tonks surveyed the three of them then, eyes mischievous. "Have you lot got any scandalous romances I don't know about?"

Harry snorted. "With what time?"

Hermione had gone completely still, but nobody noticed. Ron was nodding. "Honestly," he said, "he and I spend most of our time in meetings with you, and Hermione has to spend all her free time brewing Lupin's potion with Malfoy. When do you think we can fit in dates, Tonks?"

Tonks had turned to Hermione, full of curiosity that Hermione wanted nothing to do with. "Draco? And how is my little cousin? Or did you forget" — she raised an eyebrow at Ron, who was spluttering — "that our mums are sisters?"

Truthfully, Hermione had forgotten. It felt wrong, somehow, like she'd intruded somewhere she didn't belong. "He's fine," was all she said, trying to force nonchalance.

"It's weird actually," began Harry. "He's been… well, not nice, but… not awful. He was — well, I can't tell you, actually, but he's actually helped a little bit." Hermione assumed he was referencing Draco's presence that night at the Hog's Head. "And I mean, he's helping Hermione brew this insane potion for Remus, so that's something."

Tonks looked thoughtful. "You know," she mused, "I'm almost not surprised, not since his dad is in prison."

Ron snorted, but his grin faltered when Tonks glared at him, all her usual mirth gone in favour of something cool, controlled. Hermione rarely saw the Auror in Tonks come out. It always unsettled her.

"Azkaban's no joke, Ron," said Tonk lowly. "You've never been there. It's… I can't describe it. Not even being near a Dementor comes close. No-one deserves that hell — yes, Harry, I mean nobody. I'm not saying we should let Death Eaters loose, of course. For now, this is the best we've got. But remember that, alright?" Tonks shook her head, trying to banish whatever images were lingering in her mind. "If his dad's sentence is scaring Draco into better behaviour, then I'm glad for it. Hestia — Hestia Jones, you know her — she's had to spend a lot of time there lately and it's been really hard on her. I swear, once you've been to Azkaban, you can never get it out of you, y'know?"

Tonks' words had made Hermione suddenly nauseous, all that delicious heat deserting her in favour of cold dread. This wasn't what Hermione had wanted to think about as she ate her dinner, but now she knew she wouldn't be able to think of anything else for the rest of the day.

Ron, though, saved them all by raising his eyebrows. "Hestia, huh?"

Tonks the Auror disappeared in a sudden rush of scarlet. Her blush was nothing to the bright red of her hair; she grinned and kicked Ron beneath the table. "I said what I said."

"Oh, so that's why you're so happy for Bill and Fleur!" Harry laughed.

"Oi! Don't make me escort you back to your common room, Mr Potter!"

"You don't have that kind of power." Harry pointed at Tonks with the carrot speared on his fork. "And why are you mad at us? I'm happy for you and Hestia. Really."

Tonks hid her embarrassment behind her goblet. "Fine, but don't go around telling anyone, alright? These sorts of things…" Tonks swallowed. "They can be dangerous. For everyone."

The three of them nodded, solemnly promising to keep Tonks' secret. Dinner then resumed its usual light-hearted atmosphere, though Hermione remained quiet and thoughtful. Lingering spectres hovered nearby; prison ghosts and the shadowy fog of the eerie unknown.