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 classmates from studying. Hermione Granger, a responsible and persevering student, is not going to sit idly by.

32. The staffroom

Hello, everyone, how are you? I come with a new chapter that I hope you like a lot 😊

Intense chapter, the previous one! Did anyone else have a hard time in the argument? 😭 Oh my... Everything got out of hand. Do you think they'll be able to settle things? *wink wink*

Thanks in advance for reading, I hope you like it! 😊

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CHAPTER 32

The staffroom

"Hey, Neville, Neville, wait up!" Ron called, sprinting through a crowded enough group of girls, to get in his classmate's way. The girls let out a few giggles, the pitch of which increased in intensity as Harry pushed through the group behind his friend, apologising with a self-conscious smile for the inconvenience.

Neville stopped in front of Ron, in the middle of the Entrance Hall, causing some people walking behind him to have to go around him.

"Hello," the still sleepy boy greeted.

"Hey, have you seen Hermione?" Ron questioned instantly, frowning with concern. "She hasn't been in for breakfast..."

He and Harry were almost tachycardic. They had been in the Common Room for quite some time waiting for their friend to come down from her dormitory to join them, to no avail. Puzzled when she didn't show up, they assumed she had gone down to the Great Hall by then, but they couldn't find her there either. They asked Ginny, who was already there having breakfast with a friend, but she hadn't seen her either. Unsure of what to do, they sat down at the table, uneasy about their friend's unusual absence. They waited for her to appear, but to no avail. Normally, after breakfast, they would go straight to their first class of the day, which was Transfiguration, but they decided to eat breakfast at full speed and first spend some time looking for their friend. With a grim feeling that something bad had happened to her.

As soon as they left the Great Hall, they ran into Neville, who was not taking Transfiguration with them and now had a free period.

"Yes, she's in the Library," he replied, curiously uncomfortable. "I stopped by before breakfast to return a book and saw her. I went over to say hello, but she made a gesture as if —" he mimed throwing an object with his hand, "so I assumed she was too busy and left her alone."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, confused.

"What's she doing in the Library at this hour?" Ron was alarmed, shaking his head in disbelief. Neville shrugged, hesitantly.

"Studying, I think. She had a lot of books on her table. And she was writing some sort of an essay..."

"Thanks, Neville," Harry muttered, patting his friend on the shoulder before he slipped his bag back on and almost ran with Ron in the direction of the Library.

As soon as they entered the huge room, which was almost empty for such an early hour, they discovered that their friend was sitting alone at a table near the entrance. She was, as Neville had pointed out, surrounded by books, and was writing at full speed on a roll of parchment.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" was Ron's greeting as they reached her side. The girl didn't look up or stop writing at the sound of his voice. "You scared the hell out of us. You didn't come for breakfast..."

"Finishing an assignment," she replied, tersely, without losing her concentration. She was already dressed in her school uniform, and her hair looked a little dishevelled. As if she had rushed out of the dormitory, wasting no time in combing it. Her face was tense, and her eyes looked tired. She didn't look as if she had slept much.

"But these books are for the Transfiguration subject..." Harry mumbled quizzically, taking a quick glance at the items on the table.

"Yeah, because it's the Transfiguration assignment," she said, laconically, with slight impatience.

"What assignment?" Ron mumbled, incredulously. "The one we have to hand in right now?" Hermione swallowed and just nodded dryly. Ron gave Harry a fleeting glance and then looked back at his friend, dumbfounded, "How could you have left it to the last minute?"

"It wasn't on purpose," she mumbled angrily. "I was going to do it last night, but I had my head somewhere else —" on that smug, arrogant, narcissistic prat Malfoy "— and it totally slipped my mind."

"You forgot? You? How could you forget to do one of McGonagall's essays?" Ron stammered, unable to believe it. "You never forget to do your homework!"

Hermione let out an affected gasp and finally stopped writing. She turned her face sharply, murdering her friend with her gaze in a way that made him take half a step back.

"Yes, Ron, yes, I forgot!" she exclaimed, indignantly, barely remembering not to raise her voice in the Library. "I totally forgot, sorry to disappoint you! I'm not perfect, blimey! I think I'm entitled to forget things, just like any other human being! Can't I make one lousy mistake?"

Someone shushed in the distance, calling for silence. Hermione fell silent as her voice dropped, stricken. She gritted her teeth and swallowed, holding her shaky breath. Surprised at herself for losing her temper like that. But Ron's criticism had brought back too many unpleasant memories...

'You forgot! Yes, it's quite clear to me! That bloody Potter, or whoever else, makes you forget about me as if all this doesn't matter a damn!'

Ron cringed slightly, looking a little embarrassed. Harry stared at his friend with discomfort plastered on his face.

"Of course you can... I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that —" Ron tried to make excuses for himself in a mortified mumble. "It's just not like you..."

"No, Ron, you forgive me," she interrupted him, her voice tight. She set the quill down on the parchment and turned in her chair to face him. An apology hovered in her sad expression. "I am nervous. I woke up at five, startled, remembering that I'd forgotten to do the essay. I've been here since six o'clock, since the Library opened... And I'm starving, too..." she mumbled, rubbing her tired eyes.

"If we'd known, we could have brought you something to eat," Harry offered, checking his wristwatch to see if they had time to rush to the Great Hall to get her breakfast. The corners of Hermione's mouth trembled, but she just shook her head.

"It doesn't matter, there is no time left. I'll survive until lunch. I'll be done in a minute, if you'll wait for me..."

"Of course," said Ron, staunchly, with renewed firmness. "There's still time for class to start, don't worry. And if we're a bit late, that's fine. I'll pick this up for you..." he offered, piling up some books on the corner of the table that she wasn't using.

"And don't overwhelm yourself," Harry encouraged in return, giving her a brotherly smile and rubbing her back with one hand. "Anyone can make a mistake."

Hermione let out a heavy sigh. If only it were that simple...

"I don't usually slip up like that. I don't know what's gotten into me lately..." she muttered, almost to herself. Speaking through the lump in her throat, she said, "I'm on cloud nine."

"We all have our rough patches," Ron added, downplaying it, "And getting ready for N.E.W.T.s I think it's the worst patch of my life..."

Hermione couldn't bring herself to smile, and simply resumed her writing with urgency. The minute she had predicted turned out to be thirty seconds, after which she jumped to her feet, ready to pick up. After a brief scuffle with Ron, who was pretending to put the books on the nearest shelf to save time, she bothered to put them neatly on one of the trolleys provided for that purpose. Hermione tucked her writing utensils into her bag, and the books and parchment she carried in her hands to save time. In two minutes she was out the door, preceding her friends. Despite all the setbacks, they had plenty of time to get to class.

"Hey, Harry, look, it's stopped raining!" Ron suddenly exclaimed, grinning, breaking away from his friends and walking over to one of the windows in the fourth-floor corridor. Outside, the sky was a dreary grey. "Shall we go and play Quidditch after Transfiguration? We've got a free period..."

"Okay, why not," agreed the dark-haired boy, smiling, still walking. "We haven't trained all week, with the bad weather we've been having..." Then he turned his face the other way and asked in a soft voice, "Are you coming with us, Hermione? Or do you have a class?"

"I have Arithmancy class," she answered quietly, not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the floor as she walked. Her robes fluttered around her legs as she strode briskly. She didn't exactly seem to be in a hurry. She just seemed restless. Stressed, perhaps.

The dark-haired boy looked at her for a few moments, discouraged. Ron caught up with them again and also looked expectantly at his friend, as he moved to the other side of her. They both followed the girl's quick pace out of inertia.

"Hermione, are you angry that I didn't go to see Dumbledore?" Harry asked sheepishly. "You've been weird with me all week. Ever since I got out of the Hospital..."

Hermione swallowed, feeling her chest sink into misery. It hadn't been enough. She'd tried so hard, but it hadn't been enough. She had tried to spend the entire previous week behaving normally, smiling, laughing, being a stern yet kind Prefect to the first years, studying hard as she always did... so that her friends wouldn't notice anything. So that they wouldn't ask her about the reason for her mood, which was far from her usual state of mind. Because she couldn't give them an answer. She couldn't tell them that all week she had been holding back the moisture in her eyes every time she had a brief moment of rest. That, every time she was alone, in the bathroom, in bed at night, anywhere, she felt an unpleasant tightness grip her chest. As she wondered how they had come to this situation all of a sudden.

The argument with Malfoy had haunted her all week every time she let down her barriers and allowed herself to think. And, every time she recalled it, the rage came flooding back. An indignation so powerful that it made her jaws clench. His haughty words, his mockery of her apology, the little empathy he had shown for her... It made her want to weep with resentment. She couldn't believe the way he had reacted. She knew she had made a mistake, and she could understand why he had been angry with her. She was very angry with herself. Ashamed that she had been responsible for the reason for the argument, even though she hadn't done it on purpose. But how could he have reacted like that? She had apologised, and he hadn't accepted it.

He had blamed her for forgetting about him, when he hadn't even bothered to worry about whether something bad might have prevented her from keeping the appointment. He hadn't thought about her like he should have, either. Like he was supposed to. If he didn't love her that way, why was he with her? Why was he taking such a risk in a relationship with someone he didn't really care about?

Maybe... it wasn't all that simple. Maybe Malfoy was more complicated than all that. Maybe his feelings were more complicated than all that. Maybe he didn't know how to express himself, and she hadn't known how to interpret his feelings correctly.

But rehashing it all over and over again wasn't really helpful. It didn't solve the situation. They had gone a whole week without talking, without meeting, without writing to each other... And Hermione wasn't sure what to expect. After the argument, she'd walked out of the Transfiguration classroom slamming the door, shouting at him that she thought he was a shitty person. Had it been a way to end what was between them? It hadn't been her intention, but she could understand that Malfoy had perceived it as such. Possibly that was why he hadn't sought her out all week. Because he believed that she had put an end to what was between them. Or maybe it was because he wanted to end it himself, too, after what had happened.

It made sense that it would end this way. That their extravagant romance would end with a string of insults. That was their style. That was how their relationship had been for all those years.

But she didn't feel it was a good enough reason at all. It was a stupid reason. It had just been a misunderstanding. Her feelings for him, her real feelings, hadn't changed. She didn't hate him. She didn't hate him at all. She just felt hurt and angry. Angry, precisely, because he mattered to her.

And she was missing him terribly.

The classes they shared together were being a torture. The young man seemed to have a magnet in his body that made her eyes desperate to find him. She had made herself promise not to look at him, fearing to meet his eyes by pure chance. Not prepared to see him look away haughtily, or receive a scornful glance. There were classes in which he sat several tables ahead of her, and in which she could gaze at the back of his head without remorse. Without fear of being discovered. With no particular purpose except to stare at him. Losing her gaze in his blond hair was her way of feeling closer to him. But there were other classes where she sat in a front row, and she had to restrain the constant urge in her neck to turn and look for him. She forced herself to attend class normally, to raise her hand and answer the teachers' questions as she always did. Trying not to think. Not allowing such a thing to affect her grades at all. Her sense of responsibility could not allow such a thing.

But it was being harder than she would have thought.

She felt that she missed him. And it was a different feeling from when she was just attracted to him, when they weren't together yet. When they had only shared a few unexpected kisses, and regretted it afterwards. Now they had allowed themselves to behave as if they were together, and she missed having that kind of relationship with him. That complicity. Touching each other without remorse. Kissing without remorse. Having a long conversation without remorse.

She wanted to be with him again, like they had been lately. She wanted him to hold her like he had done in the Changing Rooms. She wanted him to respect her like he had done in the Library. She wanted a lot of things she wasn't sure she'd get.

'You could have worried about me and feared that I was in trouble instead of thinking only of yourself! Did you even think about that?'

'Of course not! Why would I care about something like that?'

She wanted to be with him. But not like this.

Hermione looked up and glanced at Harry, trying to pull a sad smile across her face.

"I'm not angry with you, Harry. I'm just worried about you, and I'm afraid it's going to end badly if you don't take that strange voice you hear in your mind seriously," she mumbled, distressed. Harry smiled, relieved, and put an arm around her shoulders affectionately.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," he assured her, squeezing her against him. "I really am. And I promise that if I ever get the slightest feeling that I'm in any danger, I'll go and see Dumbledore, okay?"

Hermione let out a long sigh as they started down the steps. They fell silent as they passed some students, and resumed the troubled conversation when they found themselves alone again.

"What if, when you're in danger, you don't have a chance to call for help?" Hermione questioned, hesitantly. She looked at her friend uneasily, who looked away uncomfortably. "Have you heard the voice again these days?"

"No," Harry muttered, "Not since the match."

Hermione bit her cheek on the inside of her mouth.

"I need to do more. I need to do more research," the girl muttered, almost to herself. "There's someone out there communicating with you, and he doesn't seem like he's about to tell you who he is. And it doesn't look like he's going to stop until you help him."

"Are we sure he's not in the castle? Are we assuming he's out there?" Ron questioned, hesitantly. Hermione pursed her lips.

"I'm not sure. But the more I think about it, the more I find it hard to believe that there is anyone inside the castle who would feel the need to communicate with Harry Potter in his mind. Why not talk to him directly, in person?" She took a deep breath. "Still, you're right, we can't take anything for granted. We can't rule out any hypothesis."

"It certainly doesn't sound like any student's voice," Harry admitted, almost resigned. "If I had to say anything, I'd say it was a grown man."

"Could I borrow the Marauder's Map?" asked the girl. "I don't think I'll find anything in the tide of people, but just in case... Have you used it? Have you seen anyone unusual on it?"

And then a panic-soaked arrow shot through her chest. Almost reflecting on her face. The Marauder's Map... How had she not thought of that? Harry had in his possession an object that revealed to him where every single person in that school was at all times... What if he had seen her in Malfoy's company in one of their clandestine meetings?

Oh, dear God... It would have been catastrophic.

"I'll give it to you later... I came to the same conclusion as you, and I checked it out a while ago, I forgot to tell you," the boy admitted, thoughtfully. Hermione, her heart racing, scrutinised his face. Her friend looked a little chagrined. "It was before we talked to Remus in the Common Room fireplace. Before the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match. After that, I never took it out of the trunk again..." He hesitated for a moment, as if it was hard to speak, but then added, "After what we talked about with Remus, it became... hard to use. It's never happened to me before. I don't know why, but it suddenly reminds me too much of... my father. I've been thinking about him a lot since Remus told me that I reminded him of him. The whole thing about wanting to leave Hogwarts to fight. I know it's silly, but... I don't think anyone's said that to me in a long time."

Hermione, despite her friend's sad words, felt she could breathe easy again. Harry had used the map before talking to Remus. At that time, she and Draco were not yet together. Thank Merlin...

"It's not silly," she assured him quickly, wrapping an arm around his friend's back, trying to comfort him. "It makes all the sense in the world for you to feel that way. Don't push yourself..."

Harry smiled reluctantly and tightened his arm around his friend's shoulders. He glanced at Ron, on the other side of Hermione, and saw that he was also giving him an awkward smile, pursing his freckled lips. Indicating to him that he was thinking the same thing. He stretched a long arm behind Hermione and punched him on the shoulder, showing him that he was on his side.

"Will our lives ever be peaceful?" Ron wailed loudly and theatrically, making his friends laugh. He slipped an arm around Hermione's shoulders as well and the two boys squeezed her, hugging each other. Promising each other, once again, that they were in this together.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something, please —" They heard a loud voice suddenly sing out, very close to them. Hermione looked at Harry, confused, to make sure it wasn't just her hearing it, and he returned the same look. Ron was already looking around, also puzzled, searching for the source of the mysterious singing.

"Who...?" Harry questioned, starting to look around, without releasing Hermione.

"Whether we be old and bald, or young with scabby knees —"

"It's Sir Cadogan," Ron reported then, with a chuckle, pointing to the paintings beside him. The others saw him then: the plump knight, riding his old pony, was trotting from picture to picture, following them as he sang the school song.

"How is everything, Sir Cadogan?" Harry wanted to know, raising his voice to make himself heard above the knight's voice. He fell silent and paused, so that he could look at them.

"Oh, merry my old eyes! Hello, comrades!" he saluted, lifting the metal visor of his helmet. "I'm about to get involved in a fantastic mission!"

"I'm sure you are," Ron scoffed under his breath, eliciting a giggle from Hermione.

"What's it all about?" Harry questioned, unable to hold back a grin either. They walked on, more slowly, keeping pace with the overweight pony of the valiant knight.

"I am on my way to visit my good friend George von Rheticus! I hear he's having trouble with the Fat Friar and his stock of wine..."

"Great deed, no doubt," Ron mocked again. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, so he wouldn't be so cheeky, but she let out a grin again.

"Indeed," Sir Cadogan boasted smugly, oblivious to the boy's mocking tone. "Very well, comrades, our paths part!" he said, at the sight of the intersection of the corridors ahead of them. "I will see you on future occasions! Have a splendid day!"

The knight continued on his way through the paintings on the left, while Harry and his friends continued down the corridor on the right.

"Goodbye, big hero," Ron chuckled, causing his friends to burst into uncontrollable laughter.

After a few moments, they were walking down the corridor to the first floor, where the Transfiguration classroom was located. Their Gryffindor classmates were already there, as were the Slytherins. They were divided into two very distinct groups, on either side of the corridor, next to the walls. Trying to avoid any kind of closeness. The centre of the corridor was free, occupied by sixth years, who were walking out of the open classroom door, chatting animatedly.

A head crowned with blond hair caught Hermione's eye immediately, as if it was a depressing habit of her brain to spot him before anyone else; but she consciously forced herself not to look in that direction and continued walking with her friends towards their House mates.

"Hey, Ron!" Seamus greeted him as he approached. He was leaning against the corridor wall next to Dean, holding a magazine. "Look, you owe me two Galleons! The Kenmare Kestrelshan have beaten the Chudley Cannons!"

The red-headed boy snorted grumpily and walked over to his classmate to check that he was right. Harry followed him, smirking. Hermione made a move to go after them, but suddenly felt something hard between the floor and her striding foot, causing her to be thrown off balance by the unexpected sensation. Without reacting to avoid it, the girl fell flat on her face on the cold stone. She felt a sharp pain in her hands and knees, with which she instinctively tried to stop the blow. All the books and scrolls fell out of her hands, but she managed not to hit herself against them. It took her a few seconds to take in what had happened and she just blinked, stunned, staring at the floor less than an inch away. Then she heard unpleasant laughter above her, which brought her back to reality. She looked up to find Miles Bletchley, sixth year, laughing loudly beside her, seconded by other classmates.

"Trip Jinx, Granger! What did you think of that? Do you give it your know-it-all thumbs up?" scoffed Bletchley, still laughing.

"Hermione!" she heard two voices shouting. And she knew without seeing it that it was Harry and Ron, who, alarmed at what had happened, came rushing back to her.

"Cover up, Mudblood, your knickers are showing!" another of the Slytherins urged her, cracking up. At the unpleasant and unseemly insult, several of the students standing around let out indignant exclamations.

"How can you be such an arsehole, Bletchley?" a new, more-than-familiar female voice burst out. Hermione turned her face to find Ginny kneeling beside her in a protective gesture, still glaring at the Slytherin. Hermione saw that Luna was there too, standing behind Ginny, her clear eyes wide, and her long, shaggy blonde hair pulled back into a high bun, held in place with her wand. Apparently, there were only a few sixth-years in Transfiguration, and they had gathered all the Houses into one classroom. More Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students appeared in the corridor. Some continued to walk past the scene, looking back as they walked away; others stopped, annoyed or worried.

Two pairs of arms, belonging to Harry and Ron, instantly pulled Hermione up from the floor as quickly as possible. Her face was very flushed, but it was clear to everyone present that it was not embarrassment but suppressed anger. Her expression was stern and furious.

"I'm going to wash your mouth out, you stinking Ghoul!" Ron shouted, raising his wand and pointing it at the boy who had called her Mudblood.

"Stop it, Ron," Hermione hastened to say, even though she was struggling not to shake with rage. She tried to smooth down her skirt and tuck her robes back in, composedly. "I'm fine, it doesn't matter. It's not worth the —"

"Look what we have here!" exclaimed another Slytherin sixth-year. He had bent down and picked up one of the parchments sticking out from between the girl's books, which she hadn't picked up yet. He took a couple of steps back, out of Hermione's reach. "An essay from the Mudblood!" he crooned viciously, waving it in the air as if it were a white handkerchief of surrender. A Slytherin sixth-year girl behind him let out a giggle.

To Hermione's anger, Parkinson, who was looking over the Slytherin's shoulder at the parchment, exclaimed gleefully:

"That's the one we have to give McGonagall now!"

"Really?" the Slytherin marvelled, jovially, examining the parchment with mock pride.

"Give me that immediately," Hermione protested firmly, holding out a hand towards him. But he silenced her with a reluctant wave of his hand. "I said give it to me...!"

"Come on, guys, cut it out," a new voice mumbled, very faintly.

Hermione's eyes instinctively followed the source of the sound and discovered Nott standing by the wall behind the sixth-year Slytherins. He watched what was happening with a veil of unease in his light eyes. His serene face looked slightly tense. Seemingly needing to intervene even though his own body was telling him it was stupid.

But the girl's eyes barely registered Nott's as she discovered the figure immediately beside him.

Draco was leaning beside him on the stone wall, silently. His expression undaunted. Not participating in the taunts. Simply watching the scene with his keen eyes. Eyes that locked onto hers instantly as he felt the girl's gaze on him. It was the first time they had looked at each other in over a week. And they did nothing. They didn't change their expressions. They simply looked at each other, prolonging the moment, as if, by doing so in silence, no one else would notice anything.

The Slytherin boy holding her parchment had also looked up, searching for the source of that annoying comment, his brow furrowed. He caught Nott, and identified him as the culprit, but didn't think much of him either when he spotted Draco beside him. His gaze lit up.

"Aha, there you are! Do you do the honours, Malfoy?" he offered, amused, waving the parchment around carelessly. "If you want it, it's all yours..."

Hearing his name being called, Draco tensed, raising his face slightly. Looking away from the girl to fix his gaze on his classmate. The unknown Slytherin held out Hermione's essay to the blond, an excited smile on his face. Draco stared at the parchment, not quite taking it. Hermione couldn't quite make out his expression. He didn't look pleased. But he didn't look hesitant either.

Nott, pursing his lips, turned his face and scrutinised Draco's almost greedily.

"Do you do the honours?" the sixth-year repeated, still grinning. "I'm sure you've got a fun idea in mind, don't be shy..."

Malfoy raised his eyes to look directly at him. They were sparkling. He smiled slyly back at him.

"I'd love to, Higgs, but I don't want to get this Mudblood's filth on my hands. Then they'll smell bad for the whole lesson. They don't deserve that," he gave a wry thumbs-up to the rest of his classmates.

Higgs laughed, as did many others.

"You're fantastic. Whatever, man, you can wash them later," he laughed again. "Come on, have fun...!"

He held the parchment even closer to him. The blond blinked twice. He ran his tongue over his teeth and, unable to do anything else, took it. Now he seemed determined not to look at Hermione. As if she wasn't in front of him. As if it wasn't her essay.

The whole corridor began to get agitated. Everyone was turned towards them. They were all staring at Draco.

"Put that down, Malfoy," Harry mumbled. Ron, next to him, had a stiff body. And his blue gaze was fixed on Nott. His comment on Hermione's behalf had not gone unnoticed.

"Don't you dare, Malfoy!" Seamus then exclaimed, moving in beside Dean to defend Hermione as well. "Give it back, you bloody snake!"

"Malfoy, I swear —" Ginny began angrily as well, taking a threatening step forward and standing next to Hermione.

"What's he going to do?" Luna's sweet voice questioned in innocent disbelief, looking at Malfoy with confusion in her big bulging eyes. As if she couldn't even imagine what the boy was up to.

"Give me that, Malfoy."

Hermione had overtaken everyone. Her voice carried a steely assurance. Her face had lost much of the blush of what had happened. In fact, it had even gone pale. But she had an absolute composure about her. Her dark eyes were locked on Draco's. He turned his gaze towards her, drilling her with his eyes. His face did not alter in the slightest. He didn't move.

Hermione took another step forward. She was now barely three feet away from him. Her face remained unperturbed.

"I said," she held out her arm in his direction, palm outstretched, "give it to me."

Her voice echoed down the corridor. No one was saying a word now. Nott's light eyes darted from one to the other, not moving his head. Draco's grey eyes slid down her hand, down her arm, and back to her eyes. She didn't look away.

"Or what?" Draco's cold voice answered. Not a tremor. Not a flinch. Just a slight disdain. Hermione didn't blink.

"I said give me my essay," she repeated, clearly. Her voice still sounded inflexible.

"Make me," Draco whispered, barely moving his lips. But it was heard clearly in the dense silence of the corridor. Harry and Ron stood beside Hermione, watching their friend's poise, not quite sure if she needed them or not. But determined to jump to her rescue at the slightest opportunity.

"Draco..." muttered Nott, standing next to him. Draco didn't bother to even look at him. He noticed his tone. He noticed the urgency with which Nott called out to him. Trying to stop him.

Hermione swallowed. Without a sound. With a slow but determined movement, her wand was suddenly in her hand. Harry and Ron tensed and stood up straight. Their friend wasn't usually the one to pull out her wand. She was the one who always told them it wasn't worth it, to ignore that sort of thing.

"Give me my essay," Hermione repeated. Her voice suddenly sounded a little more affected. But it still conveyed all the strength she possessed. Which was a lot.

Draco allowed himself to blink. And clench his jaws.

His eyes drifted to his left, to the rest of his House. Zabini was there, gazing at him with relaxed pride in his haughty features. Pansy was standing beside him, and so were Tracey and Millicent, and Pucey and Montague, from the sixth year... All watching him calmly. With certainty. Knowing clearly what he was going to do. What he had always done. Not worrying about it.

They all expected the same from him. And he had to give it to them.

"Malfoy..." Hermione repeated, again. With more emphasis. Her wand trembled in her hand, next to her right hip. But it was the only thing that showed how upset she was. Her voice was still steady. Her face, determined.

Draco returned his gaze to hers. The girl was piercing him with her dark eyes. Suddenly he felt very strange, almost out of place. He was looking directly at her, in front of everyone. And he had to look at her with disdain. He couldn't look at her the way he had been looking at her lately. He couldn't lean his forehead against hers and allow himself to squint, running his eyes over her face intimately. He had to glare at her. He had to ignore the pain he saw in those eyes. A pain he was causing. A pain that, he knew, only he was seeing. Because she was being cautious enough to look as if she hated him. Or, perhaps, she really hated him.

'And a shitty person!'

Her eyes were glazed over, despite her firmness. He could see it. And he could not bear it.

"Don't cry..." he caught himself imploring in his brain, unable to stop his thoughts, as if she could hear him. "Please, insult me, be angry, curse me — but don't cry... please..."

And, with the feeling of a thick rope compressing his throat, wishing he was in a position to avert his eyes from hers lest he see her break, he did it. He had to.

Malfoy unfolded the essay and drew his wand with his other hand in a theatrical motion, placing the tip in the centre of the parchment. His thin lips quirked into a half-smile of wicked satisfaction. A believable smile? He wasn't sure, he doubted it very much, but he hoped so...

Everyone around was startled. Hermione didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. She didn't raise her wand.

"Malfoy, stop!" Dean shouted, advancing towards him, only to be blocked by Higgs. Ron raised his fists, but Bletchley pulled out his wand and pointed it at him. Harry pulled it out as well. Nott gasped, shocked.

A fiery-edged crimson circle appeared where the tip of the wand rested, and it grew larger on the parchment as the fire slowly consumed the paper.

The Gryffindors stifled a scream of rage. The Slytherins cheered their champion. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw muttered with indignation. The fiery-edged hole grew larger and larger as Draco kept looking Hermione in the eye. With open mockery. The girl didn't move. She didn't try to stop him with magic. She didn't change her expression. She just managed to keep it impassive, in no way furious or indignant. Her eyes remained crystal clear.

Draco managed with effort to tighten the corners of his lips and maintain his satisfied expression. Almost automatically. He put his wand away so as not to completely reduce the already sufficiently shattered parchment to ashes, pretending that enough was enough, and sensing the situation spiralling out of control around him. The Slytherins burst into applause and the Gryffindors started shouting, furious. Several more people then pulled out their wands.

A loud voice suddenly rose above all the others:

"What's going on here?!" cried an outraged Minerva McGonagall, pushing her way through the two classes to get to the heart of the matter. Looking at it all as if a very ingratiating explanation was needed in order not to punish everyone immediately.

Everyone began to speak in unison, and several pointed their index fingers in the direction of what had happened, but she silenced the uproar with a single stern look. She scanned the scene with her intelligent eyes until she spotted Malfoy, paler than usual, and Hermione, lips pressed together, staring at each other, oblivious to the pitched battle that was about to rage around them.

"What's that in your hands, Mr Malfoy?" asked the teacher sternly.

"The essay Hermione was supposed to give you now!" Harry shouted before anyone else could. "That bastard's torn it up!"

"There's no evidence of that!" exclaimed Parkinson, scornfully, grimacing.

"He's got it burnt on his hands, you freak!" Dean shouted angrily at her.

"Watch your mouth, Mr Thomas," the teacher replied, implacable. Her green eyes fixed on Malfoy, "Is that true?"

The blond swallowed saliva to hydrate his impossibly dry throat. He had almost forgotten how to speak, that he had the ability to speak. He never wanted to speak again. Not ever again. But he had to. Since he had come this far, he had to go all the way. What little sanity he had left was screaming in his mind. He had to please his classmates if he planned to get away with it.

He gave his best sly grimace.

"No, professor."

"And what's your version?" McGonagall asked coolly, narrowing her eyes.

"It was just a joke. Granger was boasting that her essay was pure fire," the blond sneered, feigning an affected smile. "I just wanted to prove to her that it wasn't yet. But now it is. You're welcome," he added, glaring at the girl with his best scathing expression.

Hermione didn't move a muscle, let alone say anything. She didn't take her eyes off him either. Ron, his eyes wide with disbelief, snorted like a bull and made an attempt to lunge at Malfoy. And he would have reached him had it not been for Harry and Seamus holding him by the throat. On the verge of choking, but still struggling, the words 'Malfoy' and 'Bitch' came out clearly. The Slytherins erupted in silent gestures of support and amusement for the blond behind the professor.

But McGonagall had had enough.

"Mr Malfoy, you are grounded. Tomorrow evening, six o'clock, in my office. And I can tell you that the Hogsmeade trips are over for you. Be thankful I'm not sending you to see the Headmaster. I will tolerate neither your impertinence nor your childish behaviour. Mr Weasley, behave yourself or you will be sent to keep him company. And you, Miss Granger, don't worry," she walked over to Malfoy and snatched the remains of the parchment from his hands. "I will repair your essay and mark it as normal. You won't have to repeat it. And now, seventh years come with me to class, and the rest of you go where you are supposed to go. Immediately and without excuses."

The teacher walked firmly into the classroom, with the girl's essay in her hand, leaving her students all talking at the same time in the corridor. The sixth-year Slytherins wandered off, happy and content, while the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students looked pained. Ginny had her wand in her hand and, judging by her expression, Harry was convinced that she was going to give Higgs one of her famous Bat-Bogey Hex once they were far enough away from McGonagall. One by one, the seventh-years entered the Transfiguration classroom in moods similar to those of their younger classmates.

Hermione bent down to quickly pick up the books and parchments still on the floor. Her thick hair kept her face out of sight.

"Hermione, let me —" Ron offered, crouching down beside her without completing his offer.

"It's all right, Ron, I've got this," Hermione could be heard saying from behind her thick hair. In a completely impersonal voice. And serene. Too serene to be natural.

Then she jumped to her feet, all her belongings in her hands, and strode towards the door. Parvati stepped aside, allowing her to enter first, gazing at her with compassion.

"Hermione..." Harry called out with gentle concern, but got no answer. The girl had already disappeared through the doorstep. After a fleeting glance at Ron, he hurried into the classroom after their friend.

Draco was finding it hard to muster the strength to walk towards the entrance of the classroom. Leaning against the wall was easier. In fact, the temptation to turn around and walk in the opposite direction was enormous. He wanted to get the hell out of there. But it would have been conspicuous. He wasn't supposed to be affected at all...

He had to pretend. He had to pretend...

As his younger companions passed him, a figure suddenly stood before him. The young blonde girl, whom they called Loony Lovegood, but whom he had nicknamed in his mind as the 'Whacky Wrackspurt Lady', gazed at him with sudden firmness in her normally serene expression. Her large, protruding eyes gazed at him with indignation, and her lips pursed in an angry pout. A pair of Dirigible Plum-shaped earrings bounced in her ears.

"Draco Malfoy," the young woman spat, her voice very soft, almost ethereal, but with a tone of firmness that, Draco was almost certain without hardly knowing her, she didn't use very often, "that was very cruel. Hermione didn't deserve that. She would never have done something like that to you. You know, be very careful tonight, because it's possible that a gang of Nargles will be paying you a visit. There's a good chance they'll be waiting for you under your bed. And you'll get what you deserve. Be warned."

And, without waiting for a response from the incredulous boy, the girl walked away with her chin held high, as if she had just dropped the worst of threats. The blond allowed himself, in his apathetic state of mind, to feel disoriented.

What on earth was a Nargle?

Nott, next to Draco, also seemed to be slightly taken aback by the girl's threat. Hesitant as to whether it should be taken into account or, as the young woman's appearance suggested, be taken in by the delusions of a lunatic.

He turned to Draco, in time to see him finally start to walk towards the classroom. He walked after him, catching up with him on the doorstep.

"Draco..." he muttered, in a halting tone.

"Shut up, Nott," the young Malfoy demanded, his voice rough. Without turning his head. "For once in your life... shut up."

---

Hermione was the last to leave Transfiguration class. By the time she did, almost five minutes later than the rest, there was no one in the corridors on the first floor. Harry and Ron had offered to wait for her, but she had reminded them that they had a free period that they planned to spend on Quidditch, and had unhesitatingly ordered them to leave. Subtly letting them know that she would appreciate being alone for a while.

Professor McGonagall had insisted on speaking to her after class to assure her in all seriousness that she would be marking her essay normally, and that the wreckage caused by Malfoy would not alter anything at all. The girl was not truly distressed by her essay, but the teacher must have noticed the forlorn expression she had worn throughout the class and assumed that was why. Hermione had spent the whole hour holding back tears in front of her friends, classmates and teacher. But now, alone in the middle of the corridor, she could finally let it all out. She took a deep breath and let her eyes fill with tears without remorse. They blurred, she saw the tears glistening on her lower eyelid, but they didn't fall. She had been holding back so long that she could not cry now. Some of the pain had subsided.

She took another deep breath. She blinked, wiping away the wet residue, and stood up, pulling herself together. She walked steadily down the hallway, willing herself to forget what had happened. Willing not to make a big deal out of it. Right now, she couldn't think about it. She didn't feel in a position to analyse anything, to decide anything. She didn't know what it meant, or maybe she didn't want to know. So she allowed herself to put off making a decision of any kind.

Malfoy had just treated her as he always had. That seemed to mean that their short-lived, turbulent relationship had definitely come to an end...

There was a break of about fifteen minutes between classes, so she had about ten if she wanted to make it to Arithmancy class on time. She preferred to concentrate her mind on the thought that, if she hurried, she could go down to the kitchens first and ask the elves to give her a snack. She wouldn't do that under normal conditions, and she knew it would cause her to be a few minutes late for class, but she was beginning to get a stomach ache from the hunger she felt. As she made her way down the stairs to the ground floor, she mentally checked that she hadn't forgotten to read the chapters of Arithmancy homework that Professor Vector had sent, and when she was sure that she hadn't, she sighed with relief. She hated forgetting to do her homework. It was a very, very unpleasant feeling. It made her feel unproductive, almost lazy. Unworthy to be studying at such an illustrious school. It had never happened before and she swore to herself that it would never happen again.

She finished descending the last few stairs, and made her way to the ground floor. She met almost no one; most of the students were inside the classrooms. She sped up her pace a little, trying to get to class as early as possible, and, deep in thought, didn't at first take in how a hand firmly grasped her left arm. She felt a tug, and staggered as she was pulled sideways, giving her no time to react. She found herself stepping through a doorstep into the darkness, and the next moment, the sound of a door slamming. Now she did react. And she felt the alarm take hold of her. A pair of lamps magically lit up in the presence of her and her mysterious kidnapper. She locked her eyes on the person still holding her arm, and nearly had a heart attack when she saw who it was.

"Malfoy," she gasped, discomposed. She didn't bother to look around. Draco took up one hundred per cent of her field of vision. She regained her composure a second later, "What do you think you're doing, how dare you kidnap me like this?"

The boy's eyes were locked on hers. Steady. Racing. They barely moved to roam her face. They barely left hers. His face looked impatient. His bodily expression, rigid. Hermione could see the tension in his shoulders, and feel the strength with which his hand clamped around her arm at the elbow.

"I want to talk to you," he replied, curtly. His grey mirrors glinted in the gloom. Hermione exhaled her breath.

"That's great, but I don't have anything to talk to you about," she spat, out of inertia. Without thinking. Furious. For many reasons. "So leave me alone," she tugged at her arm to get him to let go, and tried to take a couple of steps towards the door, but he didn't loosen his grip. Hermione looked at him with renewed irritation. "Let me out immediately."

"Not until you listen to me," Malfoy declared, pulling her back in front of him. Hermione felt her neck grow hot.

"Listen to you? I don't want to hear anything at all," she gasped, "Let go of me immediately or — or — !"

"Or what?" he mumbled, coldly. Without getting upset. Without looking away from her eyes. Hermione reddened even more. It was the same dismissive question he'd asked her before he'd burned her essay without batting an eyelid. And she felt her patience overflowing.

"I told you to release me, Malfoy! Who do you think you are?" She struggled more emphatically, and, to no avail, and only feeling his fingers digging into her arm in an effort to keep her still, she decided to use her other arm to try and push him off. "Let go of me...!"

She hit his chest with her forearm, but it barely pushed him back. Draco managed to grab her other arm so he could control her, letting out a frustrated gasp.

"Granger..." he mumbled, trying to hold her still without using too much force. But then Hermione, ignoring him, and seeing that she couldn't keep his hands off her, tried to kick him. "Granger!"

"Let go of me...!" Hermione shouted, blind with rage, pulling hard on her arms. "HELP!" she howled as loudly as she could in a burst of inspiration, "SOMEBODY HELP ME! I'M LOCKED IN!"

Malfoy's eyes widened, about to let her go with a start at such a trick. He didn't think she was capable of such a thing. She wanted someone to come looking for her so that he would be forced to leave at full speed. Knowing that they couldn't be found there together. He considered it a very low blow.

"Have you gone mad?" he exclaimed, furiously incredulous.

"HELP, I CAN'T GO OUT!" she insisted firmly, feigning a high-pitched, worried voice, still glaring at him.

"Granger!"

"HELP ME! I CAN'T OPEN THE — !"

She couldn't finish the sentence. The boy, unable to silence her in any way as he held her arms with both hands, pulled her to him and pressed his mouth hard against hers, forcing her to mute. Hermione's eyes opened wide and her last protests became a muffled growl against his lips. Then, in a fit of rage, she began beating his chest with her fists, trying to push him away. Gibbering against his mouth. Draco parted his lips from hers at her reaction, and, stunned, allowed the girl to finally break free of his grip with a firm tug. He made no attempt to hold her again, and merely clenched his fists on either side of his hips. Panting almost as fast as she did.

Hermione made no attempt to run away, however. Nor did she scream again, pretending to need help. She stood still in front of him. Panting. Frantic.

"How — how dare you?" cried the girl, maddened and trembling. "How dare you kiss me after what you've done to me? Don't you dare think you can do anything you please with me, Malfoy, do you hear me? You'd better respect me!"

Silence fell, broken only by both of them gasping for breath, Hermione's being considerably louder. They just stared at each other; expressionless he, indignant she. Nothing could be heard outside. Hermione's screams had attracted no one.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"I didn't mean to burn your essay," he said, quietly but clearly. He didn't look away.

Hermione snorted, still revved up.

"Well, you've proved that rather badly," she replied, hostile. Her voice was still shaking with pure anger. "What an excuse... I'm not interested in hearing your apology right now, Malfoy."

"It wasn't an apology," the boy replied, between his teeth, harshly. Hermione stared at him almost faintly.

"Oh, please..." she gasped, incredulously, turning back to the door as if she intended to leave.

"All right, fine!" he exclaimed more forcefully, taking a step towards her, partially blocking her escape. "I didn't mean to do it, okay? Damn it, you know perfectly well that I had no choice, I couldn't refuse..."

"There's always a choice!" Hermione replied. Having been shrieking, it was harder for her to lower her voice now.

"No, there isn't! Not for me! Granger, you know perfectly well what my situation is, I can't defend you! I've got too much at stake!" Malfoy exclaimed. And his tone suddenly sounded so passionate that Hermione didn't feel able to interrupt him. "All our classmates were there, if I had hesitated they would have — thought anything, suspected anything... I had to keep up appearances, and you know that! For your sake as well as mine! You knew how things stood when you agreed to do this! You can't ask me to stand up to everyone, because this isn't what we agreed on..."

Hermione swallowed, unfazed. Heart thudding in her chest. Hands shaking. And a firm expression.

"Thank you, but I knew all that already," she said coldly. She turned on her heel, facing the door again. "There's nothing to clarify. If you'll excuse me..."

"Oh, my arse," he let out, irritated, taking another step forward to grab her elbow and force her to turn around again. "Fuck, I'm trying —"

Hermione let out an affected gasp, yanking herself free again. But she didn't try to move away. She stared at him with her pupils on fire.

"What? What are you trying to do?" she gasped now, with restrained emotion, making him mute. "What do you want from me? I know, Malfoy, I know everything! I understand everything! I know perfectly well what you're gambling on! I don't want you to be my Prince Charming, my hero, to defend me from the wicked! I've never asked you to, nor do I need you to!"

"Then what do you expect me to do?" he replied, his voice rising, "What do I do when they force me to treat you the way I'm supposed to? What credible excuse do I make? What the fuck do I tell them?"

"I don't know!" Hermione shouted, her voice cracking in the middle of the short sentence. Her voice was so loud that the silence that followed her shout was thick. She repeated in a slightly lower voice, "I don't know."

They kept a long silence. Staring at each other. Draco bit his cheek on the inside of his mouth. He looked away, blinking absently. As if he was searching, hopelessly, for a solution that didn't exist.

"I thought it would be easier," he muttered then, almost to himself. But loud enough for her to hear. "When we agreed that everything would stay the same in front of the others, I didn't imagine it would be so difficult. That I could struggle to keep up appearances."

Hermione looked into his eyes even though he wasn't looking at her. She felt her heart skip a beat. Malfoy had had a hard time with what he'd done. He hadn't enjoyed it. Not like he would have before.

So much had changed.

"I wasn't aware of it either," Hermione muttered. And her voice faltered at her own words. But then she let out an affected gasp, frowning again, "But this whole thing is absurd. Do you think I give a damn about what happened with the essay? I remind you that we haven't spoken to each other in nine days," she spat, her voice cracking with the emotion that had returned to her. "Does what just happened change anything?"

Malfoy stared at her for a few moments, mute. As if the fact that she was keeping track of how many days they had been apart had left him speechless. Hermione watched his chest rise and fall rapidly, breathing hard. She saw him clench and unclench his jaws, and swallow.

"No," he muttered, between his teeth. Coldly. "But I needed to make it clear to you why what happened before class happened."

"Why?" Hermione sputtered, her voice trembling.

"Because, if you're going to hate me, do it for a lawful reason and not something I've done against my will," he said, his voice rising. Hermione exhaled what little breath she had left.

"Like your attitude when I didn't come to meet you because of a sudden unforeseen event?" Now it was the girl's turn to mumble that cold sentence. Malfoy was slow to react. He stood very still, scrutinising her with his gaze. No particular grimace on his face. No particular emotion. Just an icy, rigid tension.

"For example," he whispered, his lips barely moving.

Hermione didn't blink. She wasn't even sure what expression to make. She saw him let out a heavy breath through his nose and take a couple of steps back until his lower back was resting on the edge of a table. She folded her arms, averting her gaze to the side.

"I suppose it's obvious that this is all too complicated," the boy began, his voice low and dry. Impersonal. As if he was reading it off a piece of paper. "We're risking everything for —"

Malfoy kept talking, but Hermione wasn't listening to a single word. Her eyes were fixed on the table that Malfoy was leaning on. A long table. Very long. Surrounded by chairs. That wasn't right... She couldn't quite understand why, but it wasn't what was supposed to be there. And where was 'there'?

Hermione looked around, feeling a buzzing in her ears.

It couldn't be possible.

"Malfoy..." she called, in a whisper, luckily loud enough for him to hear.

"... because I thought that —" he muted abruptly, scowling at her for having been interrupted. "Do you mind waiting until I'm done with — ?"

"Where are we?" she stammered, paying him no heed. And now he could hear the panic in her voice. But he didn't think much of it, still lost in his own speech.

"How should I know?" he mumbled, indifferent. His eyes took an absent-minded glance around, but his brain retained nothing of what he saw. "I stayed on this floor in case there was any luck and you showed up alone... And, as soon as I saw you, I pulled you into this classroom so I could —"

"This isn't a classroom," Hermione whimpered, her voice trembling. "It's the staffroom!"

Her words took a few seconds to reach the boy's brain. Which instantly became active. His grey eyes went unfocused. He gave a sudden gasp, and now his eyes swept over the place. He hurriedly pushed himself away from the table and sort of turned around without moving from the spot, observing everything. She was absolutely right.

"Don't fuck with me," he muttered, stunned, staring dumbfounded at the large long table surrounded by chairs next to them. "Oh, shit."

"Students aren't allowed in the staffroom! It's forbidden! How could you bring me here?!" she scolded him, furious.

"I told you I didn't even look where I've put us!" the boy defended himself, furious, "Why the hell was the door open?"

"You're unconscious! Because of you we'll get caught here, and we'll — !"

She didn't finish the sentence, and Malfoy understood why. Outside, voices could be heard, getting closer and closer.

"Don't worry, Filch, I'm sure Hagrid will sort it out..." a stern, feminine voice was saying. Draco and Hermione locked their frantic eyes on each other.

"McGonagall," he hissed, recognising the voice. Hermione looked as if she might faint. Her mouth opened wide.

"No... No, no, no, no... What is she doing here? She should be in class!" Hermione groaned, horrified. "And — and there must have been gargoyles guarding the door outside, why didn't they stop us from entering — ?"

But a sudden and urgent 'shush' from Draco silenced her. The boy's face looked tense, and his blond brow furrowed. He was listening intently to the outside, and Hermione wondered incredulously how he could be wasting his time listening instead of looking for a quick solution to their problem. As if they weren't seconds away from getting themselves into a very big mess.

"… and what happened to you two?" Hermione then heard Flitwick's high-pitched voice outside saying, "Who did that to you? Scourgify!"

"Oh, sir, thank you!" a shrill voice mumbled. Another murmur of relief was heard in a similar tone. "At last..."

"What happened to you?" repeated the same voice, Flitwick's voice.

"It was Peeves, Professor. He came with a peashooter full of ink and blew bubbles all over us. We hadn't seen anything for hours..."

"Or hear," said the other voice, equally sharp. "I still have ink in my ears... Could you...?"

"This is unacceptable," said another voice, noticeably deeper. Snape's.

"There you have it," muttered Malfoy, as if he had solved an interesting mystery. Outside, several voices could be heard talking at the same time. "They didn't see us come in..."

Hermione turned her face towards him and glared at him.

"What does it matter!" she squeaked, in a whisper an octave higher than normal. "What do we do now, they're about to come in!"

Sure enough, the door handle shook, giving them a shudder. But the door did not open. It looked as if McGonagall had leaned against it as she finished talking to someone. Hermione looked around in horror, desperately searching for any hiding place. The underside of the long table caught her eye and she darted towards it, so that she could scrutinise how much space was available. Draco, for his part, moved unhesitatingly towards another area of the room. Hermione, as she pushed back one of the chairs to look under the table, heard the creak of a door.

"The wardrobe," she heard Malfoy gasp. "Let's get in here..."

Hermione turned to look in his direction. She saw him holding open the door of a rickety old wardrobe. She caught a glimpse of a dozen thick furs and winter cloaks inside. The girl blanched.

"Have you lost your — ?"

"Would you rather we were caught standing here?" he mumbled irritably, one foot inside the wardrobe. "Well, that's up to you! I have no intention of being expelled!"

Hermione glanced at the door behind which the teachers were standing one last time, fighting against her sanity, and then practically threw herself into the black wooden wardrobe. Just as they both closed the double door behind them, they heard the front door handle creak as it clicked into place.

Both Draco and Hermione knelt down and pressed against the back of the wardrobe, trying to take up as little space as possible. They held their breath as footsteps and voices could be heard outside, along with the sound of shuffling chairs. It was very hot, surrounded as they were by warm winter clothes that smelled musty. The boy felt Hermione's shoulder shiver against his.

"First of all," said McGonagall's voice, as clearly as if she were standing right next to them, "good morning, everyone, and thank you for interrupting your lessons. I promise to be brief so that you can get back to them as soon as possible. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to call the Heads of Houses together immediately to inform them that we have just received a letter from the Ministry rejecting our request to place new protective spells in the South-West area, for the safety of the school."

There was a murmur of disapproval.

"Have they given a reason?" Snape's deep voice questioned.

"That they don't consider it necessary. Standard protection should be enough, they said."

"The situation right now is not the same as it has always been," protested Professor Sprout's firm voice. "We've never been under such risk before. You-Know-Who is out there. He's gaining power. And Hogwarts is an interesting trophy for him. Especially with Mr Potter in the castle."

"I agree with you, Pomona. There is no anticipation of any attack by You-Know-Who or his supporters, but every precaution is too little. It is therefore a matter of urgent priority that we ourselves take charge of the protection of that area, and I must urge you to do so with discretion. We are dealing with a direct order from the ministry. Here you are," there was a rustle of parchment, "the charms that Professor Dumbledore felt would be essential. But he has assured me that he is open to suggestions..."

There was a general murmur of approval, and suggestions for spells, questions, and proposals for how to divide up the work began to be heard. Draco's eyes were wide open, as was his mouth. The fear of being caught there was replaced by an intense euphoria. He was secretly attending a private faculty meeting. They were discussing matters concerning the security of the castle. This was his chance to find out something useful for his mission. He could not believe his good fortune.

Without missing a word of the conversation, he glanced to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of Granger's face. Remembering her presence there. It didn't take him long, for the young woman was crouched in the centre of the wardrobe and a strip of light was streaming through the tiny gap between the closed doors, illuminating her face. The girl could apparently see what was going on in the room through the narrow space between the doors, for her bright, dark, wide-open eyes were moving rapidly.

Draco continued to hear the voices of the teachers, but he could no longer understand what they were saying. His brain had switched off. Or, worse, it had decided that it had other priorities more important than taking in information that would most likely save his life. He was now only able to register Granger's profile, and he pushed aside any other action on the outside. He contemplated the straight line of her forehead, the curve of her small nose, and the shape of her parted lips. Draco was able to hear her rapid breathing escaping through her mouth. The girl was breathing very heavily. It was unbelievable that the teachers couldn't hear her. Her thick hair covered part of her face, and the strip of light illuminated a few strands, lightening her brown hair. The dim lighting gave her skin a creamy appearance. She looked paler than usual, or maybe she was. He felt a little dizzy.

Draco then saw something move inside the wardrobe, and it took him a ridiculous two seconds to realise that it was his own hand, willingly reaching towards Granger. She didn't notice anything yet, intent as she was on what was going on outside. His fingers stopped millimetres from her face, not touching her, unable to muster the courage to brush against that forbidden skin. Skin he had already brushed against before. But which he had not caressed for nine days.

A thunderous voice in his mind was loudly reminding him that he couldn't do it, that they had just had a new argument, that they still hadn't solved anything that had happened, that they might never solve anything, that he couldn't show such weakness... That something like that would be undignified and humiliating for someone of his position and status. That it was inconsistent for him to be looking at her like that. That he couldn't feel that way about her...

And how did he feel, exactly?

'I think she makes me... feel right.'

Before he could help it, the backs of his fingers were brushing her soft cheek. So subtly that he was sure it tickled her uncomfortably. The girl shuddered and instantly turned her face to look up at him, startled. She met his grey eyes, illuminated barely visible inside the wardrobe. His brown brow furrowed, both in bewilderment and resentment. As if she was trying to understand his gaze. And Draco wasn't sure how he was looking at her. He wasn't in control of his face. He wasn't in control of himself at all.

His body acting of its own volition again, Draco moved his face closer to hers, slowly. Until he felt his breath hit her skin. Hermione, despite still looking at him with resentment, didn't pull away. He could no longer hear her breathing now, she had closed her lips. But he could see her chest rise and fall rapidly. She didn't recoil at his nearness, nor did she push him away. That gave him courage enough to go on, placing a hand on the mouth of his conscience. He dragged his knees across the floor silently to turn further so that he was facing her and not the wardrobe door. He moved as close as he could to her lips, brushing them tantalisingly. Feeling the tip of her nose brush against his. She didn't flinch; but she did close her eyes, unable to help herself. At that unconscious gesture, Draco leaned in a little closer and pressed his lips to hers. A firm kiss, just bringing their mouths together.

Hermione inhaled shakily as he put an end to the provocative closeness. His lips began to move against hers, but it wasn't the kiss she had expected. It was soft. And slow. Very slow. Just careful brushes of lips. It wasn't an erotic kiss, he wasn't being passionate. He didn't seem to be looking for anything more than contact with her mouth. To have her close. And that thought went through Hermione's body as if a bolt of lightning had struck her head. Suddenly, lost in his proximity, Hermione thought, silencing her reason, that he cared about her. If he didn't, he wouldn't have bothered to go looking for her after the incident with her Transfiguration essay. He wouldn't have made the effort to insist on talking to her despite her unwillingness. He wouldn't be giving her such a kiss. Such a gentle kiss, not seeking to extinguish any flames of passion. They were cautious, but steady movements. They were laden with so much meaning that the girl could hardly hold back a sob. He cared about her.

Letting herself be carried away by those conclusions, Hermione moved her own lips against his, reciprocating, turning to face him as well. Dragging her knees along the floor of the wardrobe as he did. She felt Draco, kneeling in front of her, spread his legs apart, making room for her to be closer. Encouraged, it seemed, at seeing himself reciprocated, he reached up with both hands and cupped her face, covering it almost completely with them. Pulling it closer to his to deepen the kiss. The girl felt Malfoy's thumbs caress her cheeks, and felt a shiver run through her at the sensation. At the tenderness of such a gesture, which almost made her forget to keep moving her lips. Hermione's hands came to life as well, but they only dared to clasp his raised elbows. She wasn't sure what was happening, but she didn't want to stop. There was nothing that could interrupt them. They were hiding in that wardrobe, who knew for how long, and nothing could stop them. Not even themselves.

His hands left her face. She felt them run down her neck and rest on the side of her shoulders. Giving them a gentle squeeze. Comforting. As if he needed to squeeze her body to make sure she was real. That she was there. Then he moved down, stroking the fabric of her sleeves with his palms, until he slipped his hands between her arms and her body, reaching her waist. Feeling it with difficulty over the wide black robes of the school uniform, wrinkled by the position. She still shuddered in the middle of the kiss at the sensation. But she didn't think for a second about pulling away.

Hermione then moved her own hands, now that she sensed she had more space, and dropped them on his chest. She felt the thick fabric of his robe, the silk of his tie, and the cotton of his shirt despite the darkness. And also the warmth of his skin under her palms. She could feel his breath making it rise and fall, giving it movement, life.

Draco's hands stretched a little further and moved from her waist to her sides, outlining her back. Hermione felt something hotter than blood coursing through her veins, searing her skin where he touched her. She allowed her own hands to roam his body, wanting to make him feel the same. She stopped resting them on his chest and allowed herself to feel him cautiously. More confidently. She moved up with them, until she felt the bare skin at the end of his throat beneath her fingers. She continued on her way, stroking his neck. She felt it damp. Draco was sweating. She couldn't blame him, she felt terribly suffocated herself. Both because of the situation, and because of the thick winter robes and furry coats that surrounded them. She ended up cupping his pointed face with both hands, stroking his pale skin with them, as he had done with hers just moments before.

In the gloom of the wardrobe, and the total darkness of her closed eyes, her sense of touch was heightened. Hermione felt under her fingertips the area of his jaw slightly rougher than the rest of his skin, and at that moment it dawned on her that he probably used to shave. It was a minor discovery, but she realised that she had never stopped to think about it. That the boy performed such everyday tasks. So human. That he was ceasing to be a teenager, approaching adulthood.

Victim of an unusual outburst, she brought her hands up a little higher, until she reached his blond, sleek hair. She buried her fingers in it. Tousling the back of his hair. She tugged a little at the locks, and felt the need to dig her nails into it, using what little sanity she had left not to squeeze too hard, when Draco increased the speed of the kiss, leaning into her. Hermione was grateful for the strength in his arms with which he held her upright, for she was almost certain she would have fallen backwards under his momentum. Hermione felt his heavy breathing against her mouth as he paused just long enough to catch his breath. Then he rammed his jaw into her again. Now with such fervour that a moan escaped her lips, though thankfully he stifled the sound. Hermione felt a bead of sweat slide down her back, tingling against her spine. And another tingle between her legs that was making her almost squirm in place.

She let go of his hair and reached up so she could wrap her arms around his neck. Pulling him closer to herself. Feeling Draco's teeth close around her lower lip, she panted against him, clenching her thighs together. Shuddering. He licked her lip and bit her again mercilessly. She opened her mouth, to meet his hot, wet tongue. She felt as if something big suddenly fluttered, hard, inside her chest. It was the first time they had kissed like this, that their kisses had gone beyond passionate encounters of lips and teeth, and the girl couldn't help but have the unexpected thought that she was going to spoil it by her inexperience. That the kiss was going to become awkward, or unpleasant, because of her. But she had no time to pause or hesitate, for it was not long before she felt the boy reduce the violence of the kiss. To caress her tongue with his slowly, subtly, intermittently, guiding and probing her. Making her face, her neck, her chest burn. She had almost forgotten to breathe. It was the most erotic feeling of her life.

Draco, for his part, was trying to avoid thinking the exact same thing. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, and his shirt sticking to his skin. The place was a bloody sauna. Or maybe he was generating the heat himself. He didn't know, and he couldn't think either. If Loony Lovegood's bloody Wrackspurts were real, he'd got one in his brain. His thoughts had become a buzzing. All of him was buzzing. He could feel, almost hear, his blood rushing through his body, pooling hopelessly in the troubled south side of his body. His hands felt increasingly clumsy caressing the girl, and he could barely keep from gasping for breath. To be clutching the young woman in his hands, as he traced the outline of her back over her robes, feeling her writhe under his arms, hold onto him, her nails on his nape, exhale warm breath against his mouth, her silky tongue caressing his... it was more than he could control. He was trembling with need. And he hadn't even felt her skin. He didn't even have her fully against him. He was just holding her with his hands, and his lips. And he could feel her knees between his open ones. That was it, and it already felt like too much. He needed to slow down. This girl definitely seemed ready to take away any and every degree of control he had over himself.

Despite everything, despite the willingness of his own body, and the enthusiasm with which she was reciprocating his caresses and kisses, Draco made no move to go any further. For many and various reasons, which ran through his mind, breaking through the stupor of sexual arousal. Not least among them was the presence of half the faculty barely ten feet away.

Hermione stopped wrapping her arms around his neck, fearing she was suffocating him even more in the furnace that the cramped wardrobe had become, and let her hands slide back down his torso. Feeling comfortable in his arms. Full of confidence. He left her swollen lips for the first time and plunged his face decisively into the hollow of her neck. Moving on to kiss the receptive skin there with unbridled abandon. Again, had she not been held firmly by him, the girl was sure she would have collapsed backwards. It wasn't the first time he'd kissed that area, but Hermione felt like she would never get used to the sensation. Especially not in the dark, deprived of the rest of her senses. The warmth of his breath on her skin, hearing his quickened breathing so close to her ear, his need, the wetness of his lips cooling the area, his tongue bristling her skin...

Hermione felt a little embarrassed then, realising that he was probably tasting the salt in her throat, covered in perspiration; but he didn't seem to mind, and he certainly didn't stop. The girl had to hold on to the fabric of his robes as she felt the delirious kisses the young man began to distribute under her ear. She could hardly understand how that area could be so sensitive. How it could send shivers throughout her body. She then threw her head back, shamelessly, giving him more space. Her embarrassment tempered by the darkness, by the fact that he couldn't see her movement. Though she knew he could feel it. And he had probably heard her sigh. She felt him exhale hot air into her ear, then kiss the area, and finish by catching the lobe between his teeth. The girl folded in on herself, trying to cope with the sensation. She was grateful that her throat felt so tight that she couldn't make a sound. But she did curl her hands into his robe, mastering the surge of pleasure that swept through her from head to toe.

The temperature inside the wardrobe was beginning to stifle, but, from the outside, no one could guess what was going on inside. Both youths had just enough sanity left to keep quiet. At least as long as they humanly could. They completely lost track of time in there, as they kissed each other more and more slowly once the initial outburst had subsided, but expressing in a mute way their mutual desire not to stop completely. They were lost in a bubble they didn't want to get out of. Worried, resigned little voices in their minds told them that they would later regret what was happening, but neither of them paid the slightest attention. They focused on the faint sounds of their mouths meeting, and the rustle of their clothes being caressed, in order to not hear anything. Neither outside the wardrobe, nor inside their consciousness.

After an indeterminate amount of time, perhaps ten minutes or ten hours, they were still clinging to each other, lost in a sea of deep, distracted kisses. Draco, forcing himself to acclimatise to the sensations she was provoking in him, found himself able to regulate his physical arousal as the minutes passed. Feeling calmer about it, and thankful that the distance between them hadn't allowed her to notice anything, he allowed himself to continue to let go. Caressing her body over her clothes, finding pieces of skin, and kissing her lips, oblivious to any other reality than the person before him. Hermione, also lost in the familiarity of his closeness, was unaware of anything but the boy's presence before her. She could not hear her thoughts. She could only hear the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Nothing else.

Nothing else.

She opened her eyes abruptly, with a start, not remembering when she had last opened them. But it didn't get any better. She could still see as black as when her eyelids were closed. The darkness in the wardrobe was complete. No light was coming through the crack between the doors. She couldn't see the boy's face in front of her, not even thanks to the proximity. Malfoy, oblivious, was still kissing her lips lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. Hermione, forgetting to reciprocate his kiss, strained her ears, puzzled. Nothing.

She managed to pull away from him for a moment, trying to speak, but he took the gesture as an invitation to run his lips down her chin and then to her jaw.

"Malfoy," she said hoarsely. Her throat was completely dry. He ignored her, or perhaps didn't hear her, and continued to move his mouth down her neck. She pressed her hands against his back to get his attention. "Malfoy..."

"Hmm?" he mumbled, without breaking away from her throat.

"There's no sound."

"What?" he growled uninterestedly, and then bit her skin prudently.

Hermione held back an unexpected sigh before she could answer.

"The teachers. I can't hear them anymore."

Draco's brain finally registered what she said. He opened his eyes and turned his face away from her neck, trying to look at her. With the same success as her; that is to say, none. Hermione felt the boy raise a hand to brush her jaw with his fingertips, possibly placing her in the dark. She felt Draco turn his face again, and sensed that he was watching the closed wardrobe door closely. Hermione mimicked him. Their hands were still holding each other's bodies loosely.

"It's true," she heard him whisper.

"Are they gone?" Hermione murmured, hesitantly.

"Let's check."

Draco pulled his hands away from her body, and before she could protest his imprudence, she felt him push open the wardrobe doors. A sudden light blinded them, startling them.

The lamps in the staffroom had been magically lit by the movement.

There was no one there.

"Blimey, that was close..." Draco muttered. He stood up, moving carefully away from the girl, and stepped out of the wardrobe, stretching out his sleepy arms. Hermione came out of the wardrobe after him, walking awkwardly. Her knees felt sore and stiff from leaning on them for so long. She had to blink almost frantically, her eyes watering in the sudden light.

"You can say that again," the girl snorted in annoyance, closing the wardrobe doors behind her. She put a hand to her forehead, wiping away the sweat that trickled down her skin. Her fringe was tousled and damp, and, she was sure, all messed up. "If we get expelled because of you... Thank goodness we didn't get caught here."

"Neither in the wardrobe," Malfoy replied mockingly, also running a hand over the back of his neck to wipe it dry. He glanced over his shoulder at her with a faint mischievous grin. Hermione felt the heat in her face rise again, mortified.

"If they caught us in there, I'd die of embarrassment," she said, offended.

"Nah, there was no way we were going to get caught in there," he replied, indifferent. He grabbed the front of his shirt with thumb and forefinger and tugged at it intermittently, trying to get it off his sweaty torso and some air to cool him down.

"Oh, I would say yes!" she exclaimed, furious. "Any kind of noise or — or — or — sound, and we'd have been discovered."

Hermione felt her stomach tingle at her own words. Sounds. Her own sighs. Her moans, stifled in his mouth... Malfoy had duped her. And she had fallen for it. Now that she was away from him, and reason was returning to her body, she felt humiliated. She cursed herself as she took in what she had thought inside the wardrobe. The conclusion she'd been hiding behind to let herself go. That he cared about her.

How could she have thought such a thing after what he had done to her?

Malfoy snorted through his nose grumpily at her words and leaned his lower back against the edge of the table again, as he had done just before the teachers had entered. Indicating that he intended to resume their earlier conversation. He looked at the girl earnestly, his hands resting on the edge, on either side of his body. Hermione held his gaze, disgruntled, still standing before him. She hadn't moved too far from the wardrobe.

"What now?" Malfoy hissed, his face imperturbable. In a quieter voice than he usually used. As if he wasn't sure he wanted her to hear him. Hermione didn't move, nor did she look away.

"What are you thinking of?" she whispered, trying to sound as cold as he was.

"That you still resent me," he accused then, his voice still low but steady. "And all because of that bloody essay... and that bloody Potter..."

Hermione let out a disbelieving gasp. She frowned and looked at him as if she couldn't believe her ears.

"And I have no reason to be?" she exclaimed then, her voice beginning to crack with the emotion that was coming back into her. "Have you forgotten how you reacted when I didn't come to meet you, because of what happened with Harry? Your behaviour was intolerable. You behaved unbearably, and you know it."

Malfoy's jaw twitched. He tensed his face and looked away, saying nothing. Hermione let out a sigh and pursed her lips, dropping her gaze to the floor. Her fury was beginning to fade. If only Malfoy knew how hard it had been for her to know that Harry had gotten sick during the match... If, even, he cared. But he didn't. He'd told her himself that he didn't care about her in that way. Why was she kidding herself? She felt an intense itch in her nose that told her that crying was fighting to make its presence felt... Why did she keep expecting things from him that she knew would never come? She knew what Draco Malfoy was like. She had put up with him for seven long years. She knew him well enough. It was her own fault for expecting something from him that he would never give her. And he had made that very clear to her.

"I didn't behave unbearably..." Malfoy suddenly mumbled, very quietly. Hermione returned her gaze to him in disbelief.

"Then I guess we have a different perception of what 'unbearable' means," she replied, hostile, turning her face away sharply.

"I just... I can't stand feeling like I'm being ignored," Draco added, curtly, as if she hadn't intervened. Hermione's face lost enough strength to remain tense and frowning. She looked up at him again. Now he was the one with his eyes on the floor. And his hands were in his pockets. "I guess I'm not used to it, and I don't handle it well. The only thing that crossed my mind was that you felt reluctant to meet me. That you had preferred to do something else. And I felt so stupid for being there, waiting for you, that — anyway," he finished the sentence awkwardly, abruptly. He was abnormally immobile. "I don't normally... feel like seeing anyone. And I suppose I felt humiliated when I came to the conclusion that it wasn't mutual. I didn't think for a moment about the possibility that something had happened to you. All I thought was that you didn't feel like seeing me. I guess that's... my way of thinking."

He lowered his voice until he was silent, not knowing how to go on. Conscious of having put his thoughts together in a lousy way. Realising somewhat belatedly that he should have kept his mouth shut. That he hadn't wanted her to know about any of it. He tried to activate his short-term memory to analyse everything he had just said. To no avail. His brain was too full of adrenaline. He didn't remember half of it. But he did feel the weight of shame in his chest. Of the fear of being judged. Of even looking into her eyes. He didn't want to see her expression. He didn't want her to say anything about what he had just said. If she turned and walked out the door now, he would almost thank her.

Boy, he could feel even more of an imbecile. And he would have thought not. Deluded.

But Hermione didn't need him to say any more. She could barely conceive of everything he'd said. Everything he had confessed. She just stared at him for long seconds, scrutinising his tense face. Though he was determined not to look at her, and, surely, not to take his hands out of his pockets ever again.

Hermione had to take a breath before she could speak. She had held it in as she listened to the boy's words. As if the boy had taken her breath away so that he could speak. She also moistened her lips before she could utter a word.

"It's mutual," the girl admitted, her voice faint. She could see the shame shining under the young man's slightly closed eyelids, still staring at the floor. "If it wasn't, I would never have... started anything with you, given our circumstances. I wouldn't gamble so much on something I don't care about. Of course I wanted to see you. I didn't do it on purpose, I didn't deliberately miss our encounter. The thing about Harry... it threw me off. It was sudden, it was serious... I was worried sick about him, and I couldn't think of anything else. That's all it was. I'm so sorry I made you feel that way."

Draco blinked, but didn't dare look up. He sighed quietly in annoyance, frustrated for catching himself thinking that it was her who was being rational. He hated feeling that he wasn't the one who had undoubtedly behaved justifiably. He hated being confronted with a reality he didn't like, in which he wasn't always right. He hated feeling that it had all been ridiculous. That they had made a mountain out of a molehill. Or, rather, that he had made a world out of nonsense.

Granger had just said that she cared about what was between them. He could hear it in his mind over and over again, echoing to every beat of his racing heart. Simply put, their clandestine encounter had slipped her mind when an unforeseen event struck her life. It was common sense. Shit.

Draco moistened his lips and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it slightly, trying to lower his frustration. He had no intention of apologising, though he felt the situation called for it. Even though he knew it was the right thing to do. But he wasn't going to do it. And so he didn't know what else to say.

Hermione, for her part, without really waiting for him to say anything, followed the hand with which he absentmindedly tousled his hair. She noticed then that it was already rather more tousled than usual, as if a strong gust of air had deprived it of its usual sleek state, sending strands of hair where they didn't belong. Had it been... her? In the wardrobe?

Merciful Merlin...

"What happened to Potter?" Draco then questioned, and, to Hermione's surprise, there was no disdain in his voice. Just an obvious gruffness. As if he was forcing himself to prove that he could behave in a mature, adult manner, and was not at all comfortable about it. The hand with which he had ruffled his hair had returned to his pocket.

"Sunstroke," Hermione lied, in a whisper. She had no intention, under any circumstances, of telling him about the voice that was tormenting her friend. "He got dizzy and threw up. His blood pressure dropped and he fainted. They had to drag him to the Hospital."

Draco didn't blink and just kept staring at the floor in front of him. He looked a little surprised, though he tried to hide it quite effectively. He probably didn't imagine it would have been anything like this.

"He missed class that Monday," Draco remembered, almost as if he was agreeing with her. Or as if he simply felt the need to keep talking.

"Yes, I think I told you, he spent a few days in the Hospital," Hermione reminded him gently. "But he's recovered now."

He nodded his head a couple of times, with curious difficulty. As if his neck was stiff. He took a hand out of his robes pocket again and scratched his jaw in frustration. Thoughtful. As if there was still something missing.

"Has McGonagall been able to fix your essay?" he asked suddenly, more rudely. Still unable to look her in the eye.

"Yes, it's solved," she assured him, her voice serene. He just nodded again. "She's grounded you, hasn't she? Six o'clock tomorrow."

Draco snorted, just a short exhale through his sharp nose.

"I didn't even remember," he admitted, indifferent. "I don't think I've ever cared less about a punishment before."

Hermione almost let out a sheepish smile. She took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax completely. A weight finally lifted off her shoulders. Then she added:

"I guess the only thing left to think about is what we do if something like Harry's happens again. Some way of letting each other know if we can't make a meeting, so there's no misunderstanding... Can you think of any way?"

Draco looked her straight in the eye for the first time in a long time. He seemed to be speechless for a long moment. Taking in her words. And her soft expression.

"Do you want to... continue with this?" he questioned in turn, in the most neutral tone of voice he could muster. She looked up at him, touched by the doubt that danced in his grey eyes. Her lips curved into a faint smile now.

"Yes, I do," she assured him, simply. "If you want to, of course. If you don't, there's not much point."

Draco couldn't seem to contain himself and closed his eyes for a millisecond too long as he inhaled. But he was quick to blink them away, composedly, as he tried his best to keep his face as impassive as possible. The young woman was touched by his evident relief, seemingly impossible to hide at all despite his efforts.

"Yes, it's fine with me, we can continue with all this," he corroborated, somewhat sullenly, again without looking at her. He seemed to be so animated about it that, ironically, his way of expressing it was to look almost annoyed, much to her amusement. "And, about what happened with Potter," he then answered her question, looking at her right knee, "we won't need to warn each other if something like that happens again. I don't think there will be any misunderstandings again. Unforeseen things... happen. That's settled," he added, more sharply.

Hermione frowned, allowing herself a few seconds to take it in. Vaguely incredulous. Deeply grateful. Surprised at what she was hearing — was he admitting, in his own way, that his behaviour had been irrational?

"All right," she whispered, loud enough for him to hear. But she didn't add more as she realised that Draco seemed to have more to say. And it seemed that his own thoughts on the matter made him uncomfortable. His jaw was moving from side to side, lost in his musings. Finally, he snorted through his nose, as if he had made up his mind, and forced himself to speak with more poise, looking almost angry with himself.

"About what happened with the essay... It's not something I can remedy if I am put in that position. If they demand that I do it. But I can try not to let that situation arise," he proposed suddenly, in a dry tone. "I'll go to the classes we both share just as the bell rings. In time to go straight into the classroom when the teacher is already there. That way it won't happen again like today. We wouldn't be too close together in public for too long, at the risk of being forced to do something against you."

Hermione blinked, considering the idea. It wasn't a bad one. Of course, it wasn't foolproof, and they wouldn't be able to avoid each other forever, being both students in the same year and sharing the vast majority of classes, but it was a pretty good solution. And he was the one who had proposed it.

She could not believe that he was going to try all this for her. That he was trying so hard to find solutions, even if it disturbed his own habits. That he was fighting against his own pride in order to express himself. She couldn't ask more of him. She couldn't ask him to be someone he was not. She didn't want him to be someone he was not. It was Draco Malfoy who attracted her. It was him who she liked. Just the way he was.

She knew his situation, he was right. And it wasn't easy. She didn't have to show that she hated him constantly in public, but his environment demanded it of him. It demanded that he behave as he had always behaved. As he should be, according to the supposed purity of his blood. If he refused, seeing each other on the sly would serve no purpose. Any lapse, any change in their roles, and their forbidden relationship would be public knowledge. And yet, despite everything, he was trying to find some solution. So that she wouldn't have to suffer the consequences of the world he belonged to.

"It could work," Hermione whispered, affectionately. "But I don't want to stand in the way of you living a normal life —"

"A little late for that, Granger," the boy interrupted her, raising his grey eyes to look at her. With resigned mockery. Finally meeting his gaze, Hermione gave him a discreet, conciliatory smile, catching his irony.

"I appreciate the effort, but don't worry," she still assured him gently. "I'm fine. I knew what I was getting into when we started all this. I knew this might happen, that we'd be forced to pretend in public, more explicitly, that we still hate each other. In the end, that's what matters, that it's all pretend. A necessary performance. If it happens again... we'll just get through it as best we can."

She spoke in the plural on purpose, showing him that she was aware that it wasn't an easy situation for him either. Draco, as he locked eyes in her smile, then noticed that his own shoulders had been tense the whole time, and realised that he could relax them if he put his mind to it. He felt his whole body soften, as if it had been tense for too long. Maybe minutes, possibly days. Nine days.

He finally broke away from the edge of the table and took a couple of steps towards the girl, until he was standing in front of her. She didn't move from her position, just stared at him as he approached.

Something else shone in the boy's eyes. Something that would soon leave his lips.

"About..." he murmured, as he stopped immediately in front of the girl. Having to lower his face to look her in the eye. "About my name —"

Hermione felt her own muscles tighten. She didn't think he'd mention it. And she wasn't sure what he was going to say. Or that she wanted to hear it.

"I know," Hermione heard herself say, looking into his eyes before he even spoke. "It's all right."

"No," he replied, a little more firmly. "You don't know. You can't know. But it's... too much. I — I can't. I still can't."

'I still can't...'

Draco was speechless at his own words. Still? Did that mean that one day he could? No, of course not, he couldn't allow something like that... They couldn't cross that line. Never.

Hermione scanned his face, oblivious to his inner frenzy. Only noticing that his gaze seemed a little blank. But his face was impassive. Hermione was able to understand his point of view. She didn't agree with it, but she understood it. How hard it all was for him. She wished it were easier, but it wasn't. And she couldn't push him about it. He was right. She couldn't know. She hadn't been brought up the way he was. But she could put herself in his shoes.

"All right," she whispered, softly. "I understand. I really, really do."

Draco swallowed, still looking at her. Her eyes showed that she did. How could she not understand? She understood everything. Only she could understand him like that. Only with her could he talk like that. She always seemed to know how to look at him to drive away the guilt. To drive away the torments in his head.

A sudden desire to embrace her seized him, and he barely managed to stiffen his body to prevent himself from doing so. But he could not restrain himself from dropping his face, until he met her lips with his own. Gingerly bringing them together. He felt her craning her neck to make the kiss firmer, causing his desire to pull her closer to him to increase, barely overpowering him. Kissing her again without remorse was one of the best sensations he had ever experienced. It was just how he remembered it felt to drink a shot of Firewhisky. It was bitter, it burned in the throat, it burned in the chest... but it felt amazing.

After a few brief moments of simply feeling their mouths together, they separated. Just a little, just enough to see each other's eyes. Hermione, unable to control herself, gave him an embarrassed smile, two dimples forming on her cheeks. And she let out a nervous giggle. Draco, guessing what she was thinking, smirked arrogantly. Feeling it strange on his lips. Unaccustomed lately to what it felt like to actually smile, wanting to.

"My God, that was insane…" Hermione articulated, ashamed, raising her hands to cover her face with them. Her lips were still curled into an embarrassed smile, though. Draco laughed through his nose, in the form of a snort. He clasped his hands behind his own neck, looking at the wardrobe with a smug expression.

"It was terrific," he admitted, satisfied. She snorted, incredulously, moving both hands to the sides of her face so he could see her expression. And the blush on her cheeks.

"They were right there — if we had been caught... Oh, dear, what a shame, what were we thinking?" Hermione despaired, and though she struggled to look guilty, she couldn't contain a knowing smile. Almost excited.

"I don't know about you, I was thinking about a cold shower," he teased, tilting his face mischievously. Hermione snorted harder and frowned, looking scandalised.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped, smacking him in his side. But the naughty grin still on the boy's face made her giggle against her will. She tucked her hair behind her ear, unable to wipe the smile from her lips, and added, trying to sound sensible, "Come on, now, we have to leave as soon as — wait," her expression suddenly faltered, interrupting herself, "How long have we been here? What time is it?"

She'd almost forgotten that they were still in the staffroom. She didn't even know how long it had been. They had lost track of time completely, immersed in their own bubble. With an icy fear of what she was about to face, the girl looked up and stared at the grandfather clock in the corner. Her jaw unhinged.

"It's half past eleven!" she howled in alarm. "I've missed Arithmancy class!"

Malfoy followed her gaze to the clock, too, with bored disinterest, and arched an eyebrow.

"I had a free period, I didn't miss anything," he commented, satisfied. Hermione gave him a murderous expression.

"Damn you, you made me miss a class!" Hermione exclaimed, slapping his shoulder firmly with the back of her hand. "I missed the whole lecture, and I don't have any notes! And we're learning important content these days!" she smacked him again with a firm, spiteful slap, this time on the chest.

"C'mon, have you never missed a class before?" Draco scoffed, taking a couple of half-hearted steps backwards to escape her blows as he looked at her as if she had disappointed him.

"Not deliberately! Who do you take me for?" Hermione was offended, stopping her blows but still glaring angrily at him.

"For someone soporifically responsible..." he replied, with open sarcasm. Then he shook his head impatiently. "In the name of Merlin, Granger, you are the most dedicated and tenacious woman in this school. You'll make up that class before you can say 'Arithmancy'. Ask any classmate for the notes, and that's it."

Hermione pursed her lips in disgust. She didn't seem to be comforted by his words. She was too stressed to appreciate that he had just paid her a compliment.

"It's just that I'm only getting by with my own notes," she protested, in a whisper. "Thank goodness I do have time to go to Charms... If I'd missed the Ascendio Charm practice..."

Malfoy let out a contemptuous laugh.

"You're impossible, Granger," he mumbled, with a half-smirk of derision. Though there was something in his voice that made the girl think he hadn't said it with genuine annoyance, but with a hint of affection. If that was even possible. Still, she gave him, out of inertia, a look of antipathy.

In the brief moment of silence that followed those words, the girl's stomach emitted an audible, outlandish growl. Draco widened his sly grin instantly, and also narrowed his light eyes, scathing. Showing her, though it was obvious, that he had heard it. She grinned sheepishly, composing an apologetic grimace, and pressed her hands to her abdomen.

"I'm hungry," she excused herself, though it didn't need to be made clear, as she rubbed her stomach. "I haven't had breakfast."

"Why is that?" he questioned, looking at her intently. His smile faded slightly. Allowing the strangeness to wash over him, sensing that something not too good must have prevented her from the all-too-common act of eating breakfast. Hermione sighed to herself, hesitating for a moment.

"I've been busy studying... It doesn't matter," she finished, shaking her head.

Draco just stared at her, not saying anything. Sensing that that wasn't all, but not feeling able to ask any more questions. And feeling, though he couldn't say why, that somehow it was his fault. Perhaps, having been feeling guilty for the whole conversation, it was now more difficult for him to change the feeling.

His half-smile slipped completely off his face as he remembered certain words spoken by Nott...

'… it is possibly one of the most complicated situations you could have gotten into. In fact, it could end in the worst possible way. And I know you're aware of that. And so is Granger. Is it worth all the effort?'

Draco stared into her eyes, confused at his own thoughts. At his own feelings. At how it felt, simply, to look at her. At how he felt at her proximity, at her mouth pressed to his, at the way her cautious hands rested on his body... and at everything else, too. The commanding tone of her voice and the way she lifted her chin when she launched into an explanation of an absurd rule, but one she believed in wholeheartedly; when she caught his acid humour and returned any dig at him with wit instead of anger; her forceful complaints, her justified scolding, her embarrassed smiles, her coyly mischievous smiles...

"Yes," was all that came to Draco's mind, thus answering Nott's question. "It's worth it. More than I'm capable of admitting."

Hermione held his gaze, expectantly, not knowing what was going through the boy's mind. Not daring to interrupt his musings, and not understanding why he was suddenly looking at her with his mind clearly far away. Not understanding his silence.

The boy suddenly reduced the distance between them and gave her a careless, brief kiss on the forehead, through strands of her sweaty, dishevelled fringe. A kiss so unexpected, so gentle, so different from the ones they had given each other in the wardrobe, that it managed to unsettle the girl. And it warmed her cheeks almost instantly. As he broke away from her, Malfoy's eyes looked as unfathomable as ever.

"Do yourself a favour and go down to the kitchens to get something to eat before you go to class, will you?"

After the advice, delivered in a censorious tone, Draco spun around and strode firmly out of the room, saying nothing more to her. Hermione stood motionless in the middle of the room, listening to him make an excuse to the shocked gargoyles at the door. Not being able to move at first. Wanting to retain his last gesture in her skin. Bewildered by his sudden tenderness. She hadn't expected it at all. At that moment, she thought about how good his lips felt on any part of her body, deciding that her forehead was her new favourite place.

After a few seconds, she decided to follow his recommendation and bolted for the kitchens.