Thank you to the reviews! You are right, Hermione storming in and lecturing people is never going to work. Hopefully her friends and mentors can guide her through.

The library had become her refuge over the past few weeks, its towering shelves and dim corners offering a quiet, familiar cocoon. Books, parchment, and ink bottles littered the table she'd claimed as her own, their presence a comforting chaos amid her growing anxiety. The faint musty scent of old pages and the rhythmic scratching of her quill were the only constants in a world that felt increasingly out of her control.

"Hermione," a familiar voice called out, breaking her concentration. She looked up to see Ginny standing at the end of the aisle, arms crossed and a smile on her face. "Still at it, huh?"

Hermione offered her a tired smile. "I just want everything to be perfect. The Ministry presentation is so important, and I don't want to miss a single detail."

Ginny came closer, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her. "I know it's important, but you've got time. You're not presenting until the end of Christmas break, remember? You're running yourself into the ground."

Hermione sighed, putting down her quill for a moment. "I know... but I'm worried. The Ministry might not take me seriously unless I'm prepared for every possible argument they throw at me."

Ginny gave her a sympathetic look. "You've been working on this for weeks, Hermione. You know your stuff. Take a break—you deserve it. We're all headed to dinner in a bit. Why don't you join us? You haven't really spent much time with us outside of class."

Hermione hesitated, glancing at her notes. "I've come to a few meals..."

"Yes, but not like you used to," Ginny said with a gentle smile. "Just one dinner, Hermione. You can come right back afterward."

After a pause, Hermione relented, knowing her friend had a point. "Alright, I'll come for dinner. Just this once."

Ginny grinned. "Good. Don't make me come back and drag you out."

Hermione chuckled as Ginny left, the library falling into silence once more. She returned to her notes, but a part of her knew she needed to take better care of herself. The constant grind was wearing her down.

Hours later, she heard footsteps approaching again. This time, Draco's familiar drawl broke the quiet.

"Still here, I see. Honestly, do they even let you out of the library anymore?"

Hermione looked up to see Draco leaning casually against the bookshelf, smirking at her. She couldn't help but smile. "I've got work to do. You know how important this presentation is."

Draco strolled over, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her. "Important, yes. But you're acting like you're going to war, not giving a speech. You've got weeks until the presentation."

"I just want to be prepared," she said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I don't want to leave anything to chance."

Draco leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You know, you could take a break and spend some time with me. It's been a while since we... had a proper distraction."

Hermione blushed slightly at his tone, feeling her pulse quicken. She had to admit, the idea was tempting. Still, she smiled, shaking her head. "I can't, Draco. Not now."

He leaned in closer, the faintest hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. His hand found its way to the back of her neck, his fingers tracing light, deliberate patterns there. "Are you sure? I'm very good at helping people relax." His voice dropped lower, barely more than a whisper, sending a familiar shiver down her spine.

Hermione bit her lip, her resolve wavering. "I'm sure."

Draco chuckled softly, brushing a light kiss against her cheek before standing up. "You can't resist me forever, Granger. I'll be back."

Hermione laughed as he walked away, but the warmth of his kiss lingered long after he had gone.

The next evening, as Hermione was deep in her notes again, Draco appeared once more. This time, he came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"You look tense," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "Too tense to be working."

Hermione smiled, though she didn't stop writing. "I have a lot to get through."

"You have time," Draco reminded her, his hands gently kneading her shoulders. "You can take a break... spend some time with your incredibly charming boyfriend."

Hermione's heart fluttered at the word "boyfriend." They hadn't been together long, but his presence was quickly becoming something she looked forward to. She leaned back into his touch, her eyes closing for a moment as she let herself enjoy the sensation.

"I'll take a break later," she said softly, though the relaxation he brought made it harder to resist.

"Or now," Draco whispered, trailing kisses from her temple to her ear. "I could make it worth your while."

Hermione laughed, swatting him playfully. "You're impossible."

"I know," he said with a grin, straightening up and letting her go. "But I'll keep trying. I'll see you at dinner."

As he left, Hermione felt her heart lighten. Maybe she would join him at dinner. Maybe.

By the third evening, the library felt more like a second home than a place of study. The hours had slipped away, and once again, Hermione found herself hunched over her books, lost in her work. It wasn't until Draco appeared for the third time that she realised just how much time had passed.

He sat down beside her without a word, watching her for a moment before finally speaking. "You've been here every night, Hermione."

"I'm working," she said automatically, not looking up.

Draco reached over and stilled her hand, gently taking the quill from her. "You're overworking yourself. You've barely had time for anything else."

"I know," she said softly, her voice betraying her fatigue. "But I need to be ready."

"You will be," he said quietly, his tone softening. "But you need to take care of yourself, too."

Hermione met his eyes, her resolve beginning to crack. "I don't want to mess this up, Draco."

"You won't," he said, his voice firm but kind. "You're brilliant, Hermione. You know that. But you're running yourself into the ground."

He leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Come with me," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "The Room of Requirement. I've requested something for us—a better place to study."

Hermione hesitated, her heart racing at the closeness between them. "A better place to study?"

Draco smiled, his lips hovering near hers. "A place where you can relax. Where we can... take a break."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her body yearning for the comfort he offered. Finally, she relented, her voice soft. "Okay. Just for a little while."

Draco grinned, standing up and holding out his hand. "Deal. Let's go."

Hermione took his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers around hers as they left the library together. As they walked through the darkened corridors, she realised just how much she had missed spending time with him.

When they arrived at the Room of Requirement, the door opened to reveal a cosy, inviting space. A fire crackled in the hearth, and soft cushions covered the floor, providing a warm, intimate atmosphere. It was a far cry from the cold, impersonal feel of the library.

Hermione looked around, smiling. "You really outdid yourself."

Draco smirked, pulling her close. "I told you. A better place to study."

With that, he kissed her softly, and for the first time in weeks, Hermione allowed herself to relax.

The Room of Requirement had transformed into a perfect blend of comfort and practicality for Hermione and Draco. The warm crackle of the fire filled the room, casting a soft golden glow across the spacious area. Two desks sat neatly side by side, both covered with parchments, quills, and books, while an inviting sofa and two armchairs beckoned for moments of relaxation. The room had become their sanctuary, a quiet escape from the rest of Hogwarts.

Hermione had started using the room more often since Draco had convinced her to take a break from the library. It was less crowded, more peaceful, and somehow it always gave her exactly what she needed. Except for that one time when it conjured a bed, which had left her blushing furiously. She'd ignored it, of course, and thankfully the room hadn't made that mistake again.

Hermione was curled up on the sofa, her quill slowing as she completed the final words of her latest draft. She set it down with a soft sigh, rolling her stiff shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled there after hours of focused work. Her eyes drifted across the room, landing on Draco, who was lounging in one of the armchairs, completely engrossed in his book. His usual smirk had melted away, replaced by a rare expression of tranquillity. There was something soothing about watching him like this—so at ease, his legs stretched out, the firelight casting soft shadows on his face. The sight made her chest feel lighter, and for a moment, she forgot about the weight of the upcoming presentation.

Hermione watched him for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips. How had they ended up here? There was a time when she would have found it impossible to imagine Draco Malfoy sitting in the same room as her, let alone becoming someone she could trust, confide in... someone she cared about.

Quietly, she slid off the sofa and padded over to him, curling up beside him on the armchair. Draco glanced up from his book, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he shifted to accommodate her, draping an arm around her shoulders.

"Finished your masterpiece?" he asked, his voice soft with affection.

"Not quite a masterpiece," Hermione replied, resting her head against his chest. "But it's getting there."

Draco chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Of course it is. You won't settle for anything less."

Hermione smiled, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the quiet crackle of the fire. She felt at peace, which had been a rarity for her lately. After a few moments of comfortable silence, she shifted slightly, looking up at him.

"I've been thinking," she began.

"That sounds dangerous," Draco teased, though his tone was light.

Hermione swatted him playfully, but her expression grew more serious. "About the holidays. I want to spend a few days at Malfoy Manor."

Draco's teasing smirk faded instantly, his body tensing under her. He looked down at her, his silver eyes searching her face as if to make sure he'd heard her correctly.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "You don't have to do that, Hermione. You don't owe me anything."

Hermione shifted slightly so she could look at him more directly. "I know I don't have to, but... I want to." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Not the whole holiday, just a few days. I'll still need time to prepare for the presentation, and I promised Harry and Ginny I'd spend the start of the break at Grimmauld Place. But... I think it's important that I spend some time with you and your mother."

Draco's gaze softened, though there was still a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "I don't want you to feel like you're forcing yourself into that house again."

Hermione took a deep breath, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest. "I know what happened there... and I know it's not the same now. It's just... if we're going to make this work, I need to face it. I need to see your life, Draco. And your mother... she's important to you."

Draco swallowed hard, his eyes darkening slightly as he processed her words. His fingers absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair as he considered what she was saying. "You don't have to do that for me."

"I'm not doing it just for you," Hermione said softly. "I'm doing it for us."

The room fell silent for a moment, the fire crackling gently in the background. Draco's expression was unreadable as he looked down at her, but slowly, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against her lips.

"Alright," he murmured against her lips. "But only if you're sure. We don't have to go anywhere near the parts of the house that... bring back bad memories. You'll be safe with me. I promise."

Hermione's heart warmed at his words, and she nodded, resting her head against his chest once more. "I know. Thank you."

They sat like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the decision settling around them. Hermione's mind drifted back to the Ministry presentation, the nerves gnawing at her stomach, but for now, in this quiet room with Draco, she allowed herself to feel content.

Draco's voice broke the silence again, though it was softer now. "I've been meaning to ask... how do you think Harry's going to take it? You spending time at Malfoy Manor, I mean."

Hermione let out a small sigh, a wry smile pulling at her lips. "Harry will probably worry, but he knows me well enough by now. I'll explain it to him. Besides, I'll be spending the start of the holidays at Grimmauld Place with him and Ginny. That should ease his mind a little."

Draco hummed thoughtfully, his fingers tracing absent patterns on her arm. "Well, as long as Potter doesn't show up at my doorstep demanding to rescue you, I suppose I'll survive."

Hermione laughed softly, the sound light and genuine. "I'll make sure he knows I'm not being held against my will."

Draco smirked, pressing another kiss to her temple. "Good. I'd hate to have to fight the Chosen One for your honour."

Hermione giggled, playfully elbowing him. "Very funny, Malfoy."

"I try," he replied with a grin, tightening his hold around her.

The Headmaster's office was just as dark and foreboding as ever, though the familiar flicker of candlelight and the scent of parchment and potions had become oddly comforting to Hermione. She stood in front of Snape's imposing desk, her latest draft clutched in her hand, her heart racing with nervous energy. She had asked for this practice session, knowing Snape wouldn't pull any punches. If she could withstand his biting critique, the Ministry presentation would be a breeze.

Snape, seated behind his desk, looked at her with his usual unreadable expression, his black robes blending into the shadows of the room. He raised a single eyebrow, his eyes glinting with something like amusement—or perhaps impatience.

"Well, Miss Granger," he said in his smooth, dark tone. "You've dragged yourself away from your endless research. I assume you're ready to impress me?"

Hermione swallowed, ignoring the nervous flutter in her stomach as she stood a little straighter. "I'm here to practise the speech, Professor. I'd appreciate your... feedback."

Snape's lips curled into something resembling a smirk, though his expression remained distant, cool. "Feedback, yes. I'm sure you'll appreciate that."

He motioned for her to begin with a wave of his hand, leaning back in his chair as if settling in for some kind of entertainment.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione straightened her parchment and began. "I believe that introducing a class on wizarding etiquette and traditions is crucial for bridging the cultural divide between Muggle-born and pure-blood students—"

"Stop," Snape interrupted, his voice like a soft but cutting blade. "Miss Granger, I would rather gouge out my own eyes than listen to another student drone on like a Ministry pamphlet."

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I—what?"

Snape stood, his dark robes flowing as he began to circle her slowly, his presence both commanding and unnerving. "Do you think anyone at the Ministry will care about your carefully crafted words? They don't want to be educated—they want to be entertained, charmed, seduced into caring about your cause. Right now, you sound as if you're reading from a textbook."

Hermione bristled at his words but knew better than to interrupt. Snape's critique was sharp, but he wasn't wrong.

"So," he continued, his voice low and cutting as he circled her like a predator, "how do you plan to capture their attention? What will make them listen to you—rather than silently waiting for the Potter boy to swoop in and save the day, as usual?"

His words stung, but Hermione kept her composure, clenching the parchment in her hands. "I want them to understand the importance of integration—of mutual understanding."

"Ah, yes. Integration." Snape's voice was laced with sarcasm as he stopped in front of her, meeting her gaze with a sharp, dark stare. "Because nothing says 'integration' like lecturing a room full of pure-blood elitists about their outdated customs."

Hermione blinked, taken aback by the intensity of his words. "I'm not lecturing—"

"Yes, you are," Snape cut in smoothly. "You think you're enlightening them, but you're patronizing them."

His eyes bored into hers, and despite the steady rhythm of her heart, Hermione felt a warmth creep through her veins—an uncomfortable awareness of how close he stood, how his gaze seemed to see more than it should.

"You think logic alone will convince them?" Snape's voice dropped to a near whisper, though its bite remained. "The Ministry doesn't care about logic, Miss Granger. You need to hit them where it hurts, appeal to something primal—fear, pride, legacy." He moved slowly, his eyes narrowing as he circled her. "Try again. Convince me, if you can."

Hermione gritted her teeth, her fingers curling around the parchment as she forced herself to remain composed. She took a breath and started again, this time with a different approach. "Understanding wizarding traditions and etiquette isn't about dismissing pure-blood customs—it's about bridging the gap between magical and non-magical worlds. If we can learn from each other, we can find common ground."

Snape's lips twitched as he resumed his slow pacing, circling her like a hawk sizing up its prey. "Better. But still... lacking."

Hermione's eyes followed him, her frustration mounting. He wasn't making this easy—deliberately so. She couldn't help but feel that there was something else beneath his cutting words, something more than just professional critique. The way his gaze flickered toward her when he thought she wasn't looking, the deliberate pauses in his words—it all felt charged, as if there was something unsaid hanging between them.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," Snape said suddenly, his voice dropping into that low, velvet tone that always seemed to make her pulse quicken. "Why does this matter to you? Why are you so determined to make these old fools listen?"

Hermione froze for a moment, caught off-guard by the directness of the question. She hesitated, meeting his dark, intense gaze, feeling the weight of it pressing down on her.

"Because... I don't want anyone else to feel like they don't belong," she said quietly, her voice steadier than she expected. "I know what it's like to come into this world and feel completely out of place. If this class can help just one person—one Muggle-born—feel less lost, then it's worth it."

Snape's expression softened, just for a fleeting second, before his mask of indifference returned. He stepped closer, stopping only inches away from her, his dark eyes searching hers. For a brief moment, Hermione felt a spark of something deeper flicker between them, unspoken yet undeniable.

"So," he said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. "You intend to give them that sense of belonging by making them understand pure-blood customs, is that it?"

Hermione nodded, her heartbeat quickening, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the intensity of their discussion or the way Snape was looking at her. "Yes. If we can understand each other's backgrounds, then maybe... maybe the walls between us won't feel so high."

Snape studied her in silence for a long moment, his gaze still piercing but less cutting than before. He seemed to consider her words, though there was a guardedness in his expression that hadn't been there before.

"An admirable sentiment," he murmured, his eyes flickering down to the parchment in her hands before locking onto hers once more. "But sentiment alone won't sway them. You'll need more than words. You'll need to make them believe that their traditions aren't being threatened."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "How?"

Snape stepped back, giving her some space but never breaking eye contact. "Appeal to their sense of legacy. Make them believe that this class is not just for Muggle-borns to learn, but for pure-bloods to preserve their history. If you can convince them that you're helping safeguard their traditions, they may be more inclined to listen."

Hermione blinked, processing his words. She hadn't thought about it that way before. "So, I'm not just teaching Muggle-borns about the wizarding world... I'm also giving pure-bloods a platform to share their customs."

"Precisely," Snape said, his tone approving but still laced with his usual dry sarcasm. "If you present it that way, they won't see it as a threat to their way of life, but rather as an opportunity to ensure that their traditions endure."

Hermione felt a flicker of excitement at the idea, her mind already racing with how to reframe her speech. "That... actually makes a lot of sense."

"Of course it does," Snape replied smoothly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a hint of a smirk. "Now, try again. But this time, speak as if you're persuading a room full of people who already think they're better than you."

Hermione exhaled, resetting her stance and holding the parchment more loosely this time. When she began again, her voice was stronger, more confident, and as she spoke, she could feel the shift in her approach. It wasn't just about Muggle-borns learning wizarding customs anymore—it was about creating a bridge between two worlds, a way for pure-bloods to preserve their legacy while welcoming new perspectives.

When she finished, there was a brief silence, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. Snape had stopped pacing, standing a few feet away from her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well," he said after a long pause, his voice softer than before. "That was... an improvement."

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Professor."

Snape's eyes flickered with something unreadable, his gaze lingering on her just a moment too long before he turned away, walking back toward his desk.

"Is there anything else?" Hermione asked, feeling the tension in the room but unsure how to break it.

Snape paused, his back to her, his voice carefully measured when he spoke. "Are you staying in the castle for the holidays?"

Hermione blinked at the unexpected question. "No... I have plans. I'm spending a few days with Harry and Ginny at Grimmauld Place, and then... I'll be going to Malfoy Manor."

At the mention of Malfoy Manor, Snape's posture stiffened, though he kept his back turned to her. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, almost... disappointed. "I see."

Hermione tilted her head slightly, sensing the shift in his demeanour. "Why do you ask?"

Snape turned slowly, his expression carefully neutral, though there was something guarded in his eyes. "No reason," he said simply, though the usual bite to his tone was absent. "I merely assumed you'd remain here... focused on your presentation."

Hermione studied him, her curiosity piqued by the slight edge in his voice. "I'll still be preparing. I just need a little time away... with friends."

There was a beat of silence, and then Snape's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. Well, enjoy your holiday, Miss Granger. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy's hospitality will be... sufficient."

Hermione's cheeks flushed at the insinuation, though she refused to rise to the bait. "Thank you, Professor. I'll be ready when I return to London."

Snape gave her a curt nod, his expression unreadable once more. "See that you are."

As Hermione turned to leave, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more left unsaid. She paused at the door, glancing back at him, but Snape had already returned to his desk, his attention fixed on a stack of papers.

The rhythmic clatter of the Hogwarts Express rolling over the tracks filled the air, accompanied by the occasional burst of laughter or chatter from the other compartments. Inside one of the cozy compartments, Hermione sat nestled next to Draco, her hand resting comfortably in his. The warmth of his touch was reassuring, even as her mind drifted to thoughts of her upcoming Ministry presentation.

Around them, the conversation was light-hearted, flowing easily between their friends. Neville was sitting across from them, animatedly recounting his latest success in Herbology, while Luna sat beside him, her dreamy expression occasionally interjecting with whimsical comments about magical creatures that only she seemed to believe in. Ginny sat next to Hermione, her legs tucked up on the seat, while Ron was beside her, half-listening to the conversation and half-glancing at Draco, though his expression lacked its usual wariness.

"—and Professor Sprout says the Mimbulus mimbletonia has never bloomed so beautifully!" Neville said, his face glowing with pride.

"That's lovely," Luna added, her eyes wide. "I've always wondered if the scent it gives off attracts Wrackspurts. Maybe they help the plants bloom."

Neville blinked, clearly trying to process that. "Um, maybe? I'll have to ask Professor Sprout about that..."

Ron leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "If it does attract Wrackspurts, I reckon we could get Luna to keep one in her dorm room. You know, just in case."

Luna didn't miss a beat. "I'd love that. Wrackspurts are wonderful companions—quite misunderstood, really."

Draco chuckled quietly beside Hermione, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over her knuckles. "You Gryffindors have the strangest ideas of what makes a good pet."

Ron shot Draco a sideways glance but with none of the edge that used to mark their interactions. "Could be worse. We could be suggesting house-elves to go along with your collection of family heirlooms."

Hermione braced herself for Draco's reaction, but instead, he simply raised an eyebrow, his smirk lingering. "House-elves are too busy ironing my socks, Weasley. Someone's got to keep my wardrobe impeccable."

The compartment broke into laughter, even Ron letting out a reluctant chuckle, shaking his head as though surprised he found it funny. Ginny nudged her brother playfully. "See? He's not all bad. Just occasionally insufferable."

Hermione smiled faintly at the banter, though her thoughts remained only half-anchored in the conversation. She glanced down at the parchment sticking out of her bag—her latest draft for the Ministry presentation. She had spent weeks perfecting it, rehearsing every word in her head, but even now, her mind kept drifting back to it. Could she say something better? Had she considered every angle?

"Hey," Draco's voice broke through her thoughts. His grey eyes softened as he looked down at her, his hand gently squeezing hers. "You alright?"

Hermione blinked, snapping out of her reverie. "Oh—yes. Sorry, I was just... thinking."

"Your speech?" Draco asked knowingly.

She nodded, a small sigh escaping her. "I can't help it. It's hard to switch off."

Draco gave her a reassuring smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her temple. "You'll be brilliant. You always are."

Hermione's heart warmed at his words, though the nervous flutter in her stomach didn't entirely disappear. Still, being here, surrounded by her friends—and by Draco—helped ease some of the weight she carried.

"Besides," Draco added, his tone lightening, "if you can survive this train ride with Weasley making terrible jokes, you can handle anything."

Ron rolled his eyes from across the compartment, though there was no malice in it. "Oh, please. You're just jealous that I'm funnier than you."

Draco smirked. "If that's what you have to tell yourself, Weasley."

Ginny snorted. "You two are ridiculous."

As the banter continued, Hermione let herself relax, leaning into Draco's side as the train rattled on toward the station. She listened to the laughter and chatter of her friends, allowing herself a brief reprieve from the looming Ministry presentation. For now, she was just Hermione, surrounded by the people she cared about, and that was enough.

The train's whistle pierced the air as they neared the station, and soon enough, the familiar sights of King's Cross came into view. The excitement in the compartment heightened as everyone started gathering their things, preparing to leave the train.

As soon as the train stopped, Ginny nearly leaped out of her seat, her eyes scanning the crowd with a mix of nervous energy and excitement. The second she spotted Harry, her face lit up, and without hesitation, she bolted across the platform, weaving through students and luggage carts to reach him. She flung her arms around his neck, hugging him so tightly that Harry staggered back a step, laughing as he caught her. "Missed me, did you?" he teased, his voice muffled by Ginny's hair as she squeezed him even tighter.*

Nearby, Mrs. Weasley was fussing over Ron, inspecting him as if he'd grown an inch since she last saw him. "Ronald, dear, you look thin! Haven't you been eating properly? I swear those house-elves—"

Draco, watching the scene unfold, leaned toward Hermione with a smirk. "Is this what it's like every time you come back from school? Family hugs and relentless fussing?"

Before Hermione could respond, Harry overheard and, surprisingly, laughed. "Pretty much. You should see what it's like at the Burrow—it's an entire production. I think Ron gets the grand prize for 'Most Fussed Over' every time we walk through the door."

Draco chuckled lightly. "Well, at least I can rely on my house-elf to leave my wardrobe intact." The exchange felt natural, a small but significant shift in their relationship. Though still cautious, Harry was making an effort, and Draco, for once, didn't seem inclined to push any boundaries.

Draco chuckled, and the brief exchange seemed to lighten the air between the two of them. Hermione noticed the small tension in Draco's posture ease, and she was relieved to see Harry making the effort to be polite.

Mrs. Weasley, however, still had her sharp gaze on Draco. "Mr. Malfoy," she said in a clipped, formal tone, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I trust you've been keeping Hermione out of trouble?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, his voice smooth but measured. "Of course, Mrs. Weasley. Hermione is quite capable of keeping herself out of trouble."

Mrs. Weasley's expression didn't soften, but she turned her attention to Hermione, her voice warming. "Hermione, dear, it's so lovely to see you. Are you coming to the Burrow for Christmas? You know we'd love to have you."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Ginny, who had just finished greeting Harry and was now watching her mum warily. "Actually, I'm staying at Grimmauld Place for a few days with Harry and Ginny," Hermione explained carefully. "After that, I'm... going to spend some time at Malfoy Manor."

Mrs. Weasley's smile faltered at the mention of Malfoy Manor, and though she kept her voice polite, Hermione could sense the shift in her tone. "Malfoy Manor?" she repeated, trying—unsuccessfully—to mask her disapproval.

Hermione nodded, feeling Draco's reassuring squeeze on her hand. "It's only for a few days. Draco and his mother have been kind enough to invite me. I'll still have time to prepare for the presentation."

Mrs. Weasley's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering between Hermione and Draco. "I'm sure... it will be an experience," she said delicately, but the strain in her voice was unmistakable. Mrs. Weasley's disapproval was evident, but she didn't press the issue. Instead, she glanced at Ginny, her expression softening slightly. "And you're staying at Grimmauld Place with Harry, dear?"

Ginny smiled but gave her mother a knowing look. "Yes, Mum. Don't worry, we'll be fine. It's only a few days."

Mrs. Weasley sighed, clearly torn, but eventually nodded. "Well, just... be careful. Both of you."

Harry stepped forward then, hugging Hermione warmly. "I'm glad you're staying with us for a bit, Hermione. We'll make sure you get some rest before all the madness of your speech."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said, returning the hug. "I'm looking forward to it."

Draco's lips twitched into a small smile, but Hermione noticed the tension in his jaw. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "I'll see you in a few days. Your escort will pick you up."

"Escort?" Hermione repeated, frowning in confusion. "What do you mean, an escort?"

Draco's smile faded slightly, and for a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes—annoyance? Concern? "You'll see," he said, his voice tight, as though he didn't like the arrangement any more than she did. He gave her hand one last squeeze, but there was an edge to it, a silent warning he wasn't ready to voice. And with a soft crack, he was gone, leaving Hermione standing there with more questions than answers.

Hermione stared at the spot where he had stood, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension swirling inside her. Draco had seemed... hesitant. And what did he mean by "escort"?

Harry's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "You alright, Hermione?"

She turned to him, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Yes, just... curious about what Draco meant."

Ginny hooked her arm through Hermione's, starting to lead her toward the waiting cars. "You'll figure that out soon enough. For now, let's just focus on surviving Mum's cooking marathon. She's sent it all across to Harry's."