Thanks for joining me again! Hope you enjoyed the start. Just a quick note: this whole story will be told from Draco's POV! No switching around this time. Now let's dive straight back in…

Chapter Two

…

When Draco went down to breakfast the following morning, most of the Eighth Years had already arrived. He'd dragged his feet leaving his room, packing his satchel slowly and wishing he knew how the hell he should behave now that he'd been thrown back amongst the student body once more.

The group, now totalling fifteen students, had each been given individual chambers running adjacent to each other down the length of the now empty Third Floor corridor. They were just small facilities really; enough space for a bed, a dresser, a small study desk and a cramped bathroom with a toilet and shower. Hardly room to dance about or anything. But it was cosy enough, he supposed. And he could hardly gloat about his normal accommodations at Malfoy Manor anymore, not since the estate had been slowly degraded by the taint of dark magic and cruelty over the last two years. The clean crisp bed linen and inoffensive landscape paintings were quite a welcome change here in his new quarters.

Draco smoothed down his blond hair self-consciously as he entered the hall, making sure he looked smart and presentable, rather than the tired wreck that he actually was. As he stalked over to the Eighth Year table, he quickly became aware of two things.

The first was that his appetite was returning with a vengeance as the smell of bacon and sausage wafted through the room towards him. Served him right for neglecting his dinner he supposed.

The second was that, by some weird, unspoken agreement, their whole group had just returned to the exact same spots they'd occupied during the welcome feast the night before. Exactly the same. Which meant Granger was once more positioned on the second to last place on the bench right next to where he was going to sit. And it's not like he could re-locate, not without drawing serious attention to himself. The rest of the table was perfectly balanced into friendships and old house groups even though one or two were still not in attendance yet that morning. He couldn't just plonk himself anywhere.

Sighing, he knew there was nothing to be done and figured he'd look even stupider just standing there debating with himself over it.

Draco grit his teeth until his jaw hurt and silently lowered himself down next to her. Granger glanced over and gave him a small, civil smile before returning to her breakfast. She was wearing a simple grey jumper with black jeans and converse shoes, her hair tackled into a sort of messy ponytail that ran the length of her spine. No fuss, just practical and form fitting. It was terribly mundane, actually. She'd just finished buttering a piece of toast, on top of which she placed some avocado, tomato and finally a poached egg. It all looked very healthy.

Draco rolled his eyes and let out a small breath. He started to serve himself from the array of meats nearby, slipping a piece of toast with apricot jam onto the side of his plate as well; jam was a known weakness of his.

This morning, he felt slightly more in control of himself. He was able to observe the table properly and their interactions with each other. It didn't take him long to notice that Granger was quieter today, more introspective. Last night had been all about breaking the ice between the group, but now they could finally settle into a routine. Draco watched the way people would occasionally ask her questions, mostly about her studies and NEWT goals, and she would answer in short, courteous sentences. But there was little to no chit-chat or banter this time. She was friendly, but direct and to the point. And when she was finished eating, she politely excused herself and rose from the table without ceremony. She hitched her bag over one shoulder and left the hall with purpose, giving him one last nod.

Draco relaxed a bit once she'd gone. He sipped on his mug of tea and mulled the moment over in his head. She was clearly not unsettled by his presence here, nor his proximity. It was almost like she ostensibly didn't care about their complicated history. Everyone else obviously did. Nobody else could even look at him, and when they did their gazes were clearly critical, disgusted even.

Draining his cup, Draco moved off towards the introductory session of the day; their first Transfiguration tutorial with McGonagall. Not everyone was sitting the same core NEWT subjects, so they split off into different smaller packs. Nine of them were doing Transfiguration and the other six had left to attend Muggle Studies.

Granger was already sitting inside the room when he arrived. She was chatting casually with McGonagall, the two of them engaged in a warm discussion, exchanging stories about some tome or other they'd both read recently on how to accentuate taste in food modification spells.

He almost rolled his eyes. At least some things never changed. Although that wasn't entirely true either. She'd always been a teacher's pet, insufferably so. But this wasn't the idle chatter of a professor indulging their favourite pupil. The two seemed genuinely comfortable together and the discussion was akin to something you'd hear from friends, despite their rather large age difference.

The students arranged themselves around the small study room, sitting in a kind of semi-circle that consisted of two short rows. Draco sat directly behind Granger in the furthest corner of the group where he wouldn't draw attention. He could have reached out and snagged one of her curls if he'd twitched a finger on the way past. The seating arrangement was rather informal, he noticed.

"Good morning," McGonagall greeted them, "you won't need your textbooks today, just blank note parchment and quills. We'll begin properly tomorrow. I thought instead we'd commence with a short Q and A session. You must all have questions about how the compressed curriculum will work and what is expected for NEWT exams."

It seemed she was right. The following hour was filled with information, assessment outlines and rubrics. McGonagall was going to run their compressed classes personally herself, even though she had been replaced as the normal Transfiguration professor for the other students now that she was Headmistress. Draco was rather glad of this. At least she was familiar and didn't seem to hate him too much. As the lesson progressed, they all scribbled notes and asked her follow-up questions about the NEWTs and it ran relatively smoothly, all things considered. There would be some issues to deal with as they were all at different stages in their learning but wouldn't take too long to return to some degree of normalcy and routine.

Once the session was over and there was a rush of quills and notebooks being shoved unceremoniously into bags, Draco watched furtively as Granger exited the classroom with single-minded purpose once more. He shook his head, sighing and following sullenly after her. The two of them were taking identical course loads for their exams, with the exception of her rumoured extra Healing apprenticeship, so he wasn't likely to escape her presence anytime soon.

Their lessons continued along this pattern for the rest of the day and the week. The Professors, who were all essentially giving up their free time, would sit and talk with them, sometimes lecture style and other times more like tutorials or practice sessions. They would move around the room helping whoever was in the class, assisting them with their spells or correcting their theoretical work as they powered through content. It was an abrupt shift in pace after the last couple of months of wallowing in listless grief after the end of the war. But Draco soon got back into the swing of things, more or less. It was strange, but also familiar.

Their mealtimes were equally settling into a kind of routine. It was true that nobody ever spoke to him even after a few days, not even in classes. But Draco wasn't going to complain. He supposed being ignored was better than open hostility, although that sometimes simmered there beneath the surface as well.

Granger was the only one who really interacted with him. It was nothing much. Just asking him to pass the salt and pepper at dinner please, or offering him a bread roll with his stew if the plate came her way. Once she'd caught up to him in the hallway after Arithmancy class and he'd almost had a bloody heart attack. He'd stopped dead in his tracks when he heard her calling his name from somewhere behind him.

"Malfoy!" he'd spun around slowly, pulse racing as he watched her jogging towards him, her mop of curls bouncing wildly down around her shoulders. She hadn't tied it up that day, he noticed vaguely. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt and looked at her with a kind of wary suspicion.

"What?" he responded tightly, his arms folded defensively across his chest. She finally reached him and slowed down, panting for a second to catch her breath. Her cheeks were tinged a light shade of pink from the exertion.

"You left your textbook in the classroom. Here-"

And then she was thrusting the tome towards him. He looked at it in bemused confusion for a moment before gingerly lifting his hand to take it. Once he had a grip on it, he stepped right back, averting his eyes as he shoved it into his bag. He thought about saying thank you, but his mouth was too dry, and he was worried his voice would crack. After an uncomfortable pause Granger seemed to also realise that he wasn't going to say anything. She gave him the barest hint of a smile, tinged with awkwardness and shrugged one shoulder effortlessly.

"Well… see you in Charms."

And then she was gone once more in a bounce of curls and he realised he could breathe again, the air filling his lungs with cool relief.

"Thank you," he murmured almost inaudibly to himself, testing the words to see if it sounded as stupid out loud as it had in his head. And it did. Probably a good thing he hadn't said it then.

He continued watching her silently over the course of that first week. The way she was acting would have seemed normal to anyone at a mere glance, or to those who didn't know her very well. But despite their fierce enmity in earlier years and their serious lack of positive interaction in later years, Draco felt deep in his gut that somehow, he could just read her better than he probably should be able to, better than she would be comfortable with too.

It only took a couple of days to pinpoint what was bothering him. It was so obvious once he figured it out; he was almost surprised nobody else had commented yet.

Granger didn't actually need to be here. Not really. He had no idea what she had filled her months with when the eponymous Golden Trio had been on the run, but her capacity for brilliance certainly hadn't been harmed and she wasn't lacking academically in any way. She didn't even really have to try. The compressed content was all about getting them prepared for their NEWT exams. And yet Granger, as far as he could tell anyway, could sit the whole bloody lot of them tomorrow and get an Outstanding in every single subject with her eyes closed.

So why was she here? Why had she returned? Was it really just to prove herself? To show the world what muggleborns could achieve? If that were the case, she may as well sit her exams early, collect her O grades immediately and walk away with her head held high.

She also clearly wasn't here for some asinine reason like missing Hogwarts. He wasn't that daft. She took no evident pleasure in the minutiae of everyday school life, whether it be recreation time, clubs, meals or even her precious library. She just seemed more introspective and almost as subdued as he was.

She was far too advanced for the class work. Granger undoubtedly hadn't wasted time while hiding from the Death Eaters the last year if her capabilities were anything to go by. She was the only person who didn't need to speak the incantations at all anymore, not even for more complex charms and spell work. She barely looked at the instructions when brewing potions. Her Ancient Runes were flawless.

The teachers didn't seem to push her either. They treated her as an equal almost, allowing her to study whatever she liked even if it were only tangentially connected to the NEWT curriculum.

Draco simply didn't understand why she'd come back. It was driving him crazy. Why waste her time here when she could be out there taking the world by storm?

There was a terrible sort of sadness too, he'd noticed. It clung to her this year like fog drifting across the surface of the lake in the early morning. She was polite and friendly enough, kinder to him than anyone else had been, but she was still distant, detached almost. A far-off expression sometimes clouded her features. Draco was sure that she possessed more horrifying memories haunting her than most students, after what she'd been forced to endure during the war.

A grim memory rose up into his thoughts. Her face twisted up in agony as Bellatrix tortured her to within an inch of her life. The glinting of a sharp, cursed dagger as it pierced her skin. The stark crimson blood trickling down into the cracks between the floorboards. Sometimes late at night the mad cackling of his demented aunt clashed violently with the sound of her screams, and he woke up in a cold sweat.

How did one go from being brutalized by another human being to sitting in Charms class and not be affected? He admired her grit if nothing else.

Draco was unaccountably troubled by it all. He knew logically that he should just focus on his own NEWT studies and that his place here was more tenuous than most. But he couldn't seem to help himself. They'd barely spoken two words together to each other before this year that weren't venomous and designed to injure. But she'd still become a permanent fixture in his life over the years. And Draco was bothered by her attitude towards him, her calm acceptance of his presence and her steady, chocolate brown eyes. How could a simple request to 'pass the potatoes please' make him feel so bloody pathetic? How could her arm brushing against his make him so restless?

The real problem was, there was not a damn thing he could do about it. No way to stem the control she had over him and his thoughts. And no way to just ask her what in Merlin's name she was doing here.

Maybe she'd eventually realise her mistake, test out and leave and be done with the whole foolish endeavour.

He wasn't sure if the thought thrilled or terrified him.

...

...

The second week began in a similar manner to the first. Draco tried to focus on his classes as much as possible. His small chamber on the Third Floor, despite its cramped size, was becoming a sanctuary of sorts. He would sit at his desk or on his bed for hours at a time in peace, safe from the menacing glares and muttering of the younger students. Occasionally he would take a stroll around the lake to get some fresh air or would slip into the library to stock up on reading material.

He avoided the dungeons like the plague.

As much as the other three houses hated him for having the Dark Mark branded on his arm, the Slytherins were the worst. Some of them hated him for dragging their house's reputation further into the mud, as many of them resented being associated with Death Eaters and treated as potentially evil themselves.

Although, somewhat disturbingly, a small select few in Slytherin had more personal vendettas. His mother had tricked the Dark Lord in the final battle and the two of them had abandoned him, leaving his side as soon as they were able, risking their lives to do so. The last remaining children of Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters who hid among their house's ranks thought he was a traitor and would almost spit at him when he walked past.

The irony wasn't lost on him. He was hated equally for both following the Dark Lord and betraying the Dark Lord.

At least the other Eighth Years just sort of pretended he didn't exist.

It was Monday afternoon that the group descended down into the dungeons for another potions lesson. The Eighth Year Potions class was made up of six of the Ravenclaw students, two Hufflepuffs, Granger and himself. It was no surprise to find that Longbottom had chosen not to pursue the subject, with his rather bleak track record.

So far Slughorn had merely revised basic OWL level potions, they'd brewed a few familiar draughts from previous years, gone through the theoretical aspects of the NEWT course and what technical skills they would need to use in their exams. But as soon as they entered the chamber, the group were greeted by the sight of five cauldrons sitting ready on their burners, with tables arranged strategically beside them. It was a much more formal set up, as opposed to the normal desks lined up at individual brewing stations. Slughorn welcomed them with a dramatic sweep of his arms.

"Come in, come in," he sang cheerfully, "we will be exploring the more intricate aspects of antidotes today! Your first extended brewing project for NEWT level. Leave your bags at the back of the room and get out your things."

Draco's happiness at hearing they would get to do something practical today suffered a blow when he turned back around to face the classroom, books in hand and his eyes swept over the desks. He frowned as his stomach dropped. There were only five larger desks. And there were ten students.

He hung back in one isolated corner of the room as the others jostled around the cauldrons expectantly.

"Alright then!" Slughorn clapped his hands together, "this project is all about being thorough and detail-orientated! You'll be seeing whether you can identify an obscure and dangerous magical poison, analyse all its properties, and finally design an antidote from scratch based on your knowledge of all the ingredients and possible reactions."

The task certainly sounded interesting, but it was the next part Draco was dreading. Slughorn continued jovially,

"You'll be working in pairs for this task, starting from your initial investigation phase right through to the bottling of your antidote. So split yourselves up, quick smart, and choose a desk."

And with that the old professor waved a hand imperiously and turned to rummage around on his desk for the poison vials they'd be using. Draco swallowed, knowing that it was futile to argue, and proceeded to sit down sullenly at the desk nearest to him in the back corner. It's not like anyone would want to partner with him, so it was pointless engaging with his peers. He'd let them draw straws over who got stuck with the Death Eater.

Surely, she won't…

He glanced furtively at the group and saw the same trepidation on many of their faces. Although Granger was friendly with some of them, they had their own much closer ties to each other. Timidly one of the Hufflepuffs whispered to his friend behind his hand, before raising his voice and saying,

"Uhh… sir? Can we work as a three?"

Slughorn turned and blinked at them in surprise, his pink cheeks flushed like a Christmas ham.

"Three?… er…well I'm not sure…"

Granger, meanwhile, had been digging around in her bag for a quill and only just seemed to become aware of the problem. She spun around, looking curiously between the other students and him. It took only a split second for her to deduce what was going on and she waved off the suggestion casually.

"Oh! No, it's fine. You two can work together. I'll go with Malfoy."

It was just like the welcome feast all over again. Draco watched in stunned disbelief as the witch strolled over without hesitation and sat next to him at his desk, placing her things down in a neat, orderly fashion on top.

"Well, that's settled then!" Slughorn announced, clapping his hands together and gesturing for the others to sit as well. They did so quietly, shooting worried glances in the direction of the back table.

Slughorn rallied himself and spent the next ten minutes or so going into more detail about what they were expected to do before distributing the vials of unique poisons to each pair. Draco still hadn't quite regulated his heart rate, and so he let Granger take hold of the small glass vial, worried that if he did it, she'd notice his hands trembling.

With a final word from Slughorn, the lesson began in earnest, and everyone got to work. Immediately the other pairs shot to their feet and headed for the storeroom in a flurry of murmurs. They would be fetching dishes and substances that they could use to do tests on their poisons to determine their composition. In doing so they would slowly degrade the contents of the vial, so their experiments needed to be sparing with quantities and very carefully managed.

Granger, however, remained where she was at the table. So did Draco.

They finally met each other's gaze then, and she shrugged lightly and gave him a slightly sheepish smile. She placed the poison down on the desk between them before dipping her quill into her inkpot. The other students shot them confused glances in between their rapid bustling movements, no doubt wondering why the two of them hadn't launched into action as well.

Draco repressed a snort. If there was one thing that Snape had taught him when he'd been alive, it was to always think first and act later when it came to potions. Potions weren't whimsical or random. They were logical. Every problem could be solved with simple rational thinking.

"I was hoping we could employ the Socratic method," Granger suggested, placing her nib on the parchment and raising a questioning brow. Draco nodded a bit numbly, agreeing with her. It seemed they were on the same wavelength.

"Fine. You ask the first question then," he prodded. She looked a little surprised at his response, prompting Draco to surmise that she was probably used to explaining herself more with Weasel and Potty when using terms like 'Socratic'. He almost smirked but just managed to stop himself.

"Fine. Question one," she made a scratch on her parchment, clearly intending to record everything they discussed, "Does the substance have a viscous consistency?"

Draco sighed, sitting back in a reclined stance in his chair.

"Yes. That would indicate a binding agent of some kind. What would turn a poison red?"

"The addition of a plant root or fungus. Does it retain warmth?"

He reached forward and touched the vial, noting it was hot.

"Yes. What makes a potion's heat sustain itself after bottling?"

"Longer brewing times. Or an incendiary agent."

"But incendiary ingredients react badly with-"

"Fungus. Yes. But not when you add aconite."

"Aconite usually creates an oily texture, which this doesn't have."

"That's true. So what else could stabilize the fungus?"

The two of them went back and forth like this until they'd exhausted all visible and sensory clues they could gain from the small vial itself. Granger made a couple more notes down the bottom of her parchment.

"Right, well that certainly narrows it down," she told him, cocking her head to one side and staring thoughtfully down at what she'd written, "now we just need to make a list of poisons that meet these criteria. Then we can test to find the discrepancies."

"Sounds like a plan," he drawled sarcastically. Before they could elaborate, however, they were interrupted when Slughorn spoke up and told the class that the lesson was over, and they could pack up. The two of them blinked in surprise, looking around. The hour had gone so quickly. The other pairs were looking frazzled, some of them trying desperately to preserve the remnants of their poison vials because they'd already wasted so much on preliminary tests. Draco felt a savage satisfaction that they hadn't been so foolish, eliminating many options simply through judicious reasoning.

Still, he was a bit stunned by how well they'd worked together. Once the first awkward moments of being paired together had passed, they'd both just sort of thrown themselves into the project. Granger's brown eyes widened and glanced at him surreptitiously. Clearly, she was also realizing with some surprise how seamlessly they'd matched each other. Potions was actually the one subject where she wasn't miles ahead of him, after all. Oh sure, she'd trounce him in any exam, of that he had no doubt. But it was by far his best subject, thanks in no small part to having a Potions master as a godfather for many years, one who gave him clear preferential treatment. Still, he was good at this. He understood it.

He met her gaze with a wry sort of sneer of his own, as if to say he was as shocked as she was. Her lip twitched up on one side.

Their unspoken conversation was cut short, however, when the jostling of students leaving the room drew their attention. Granger packed up her equipment with ruthless efficiency. She tapped the parchment of notes to duplicate it, silently handing him a copy to keep. Draco nodded in thanks and slipped it into his own book. They didn't speak another word as they left, making their way back up to the Third-Floor corridor to dump their things and have a break before dinner. The Eighth Years walked together more or less, split into separate conversations. They were joined by Longbottom in the entrance hall, who looked flushed and was positively covered in soil, but was beaming from ear to ear.

"Hello there," the boy greeted cheerfully, falling into step and asking how Potions went. Draco lingered around the back of the group, only half listening to them chatting.

After a while he noticed Terry Boot, one of the Ravenclaws, tug on Granger's arm to get her attention. The boy murmured quietly, but clearly not quietly enough,

"Sorry about before. Was everything okay? You know… with him?"

Granger rolled her eyes and smiled slightly, almost privately to herself.

"Yes of course, Terry. Everything was fine."

Boot didn't look convinced and frowned at her, his eyes flicking back towards the blond Slytherin sceptically.

"We can try to talk to Slughorn properly, if you like. Get him to reconsider…"

Granger sighed and shook her head.

"Don't be silly. Malfoy is a perfectly adequate Potions partner."

Draco smothered a smirk at her blunt, lukewarm praise, thinking how terribly Granger it was. Before the other boy could comment, however, Longbottom chimed in, his cheeks stained with potting mix but still stretched into a grin.

"Don't forget, mate, she had to partner me in Potions for years. I can promise you that even Malfoy is probably a dream in comparison!"

Granger snorted indulgently, giving his shoulder a little push.

"You weren't so bad, Neville. At least, not in that last year once Professor Snape was no longer teaching. You were positively inspired then! You got an 'Acceptable' for your final grade."

Their banter continued as they approached the Third Floor, reminiscing about the more disastrous potions they'd brewed together and how she'd coped. And when Draco peeled off from the group and entered his small private chambers, he actually had the barest shadow of a smile on his face. It felt weird and unnatural, but it was still there teasing at his lips.

Maybe it was because, for the first time in over a year, he didn't feel like a total failure. Granger had declared him a 'perfectly adequate Potions partner' after all, and the words felt almost like a benediction.

Maybe he was actually good at something.

Maybe…

…

…

A couple of Potions lessons later, the two of them were way ahead of the rest of the class. They had managed to successfully break down the poison and identify all its properties. They'd divided the ingredients in half and were writing out a detailed table of all the possible counter-agents that might prove effective. The next step would be conducting an analysis into which elements could possibly fight off the various toxins in the poison.

And throughout the process so far, Draco had certainly learned one important lesson.

Damn, if it wasn't a pleasure to work with Granger on something rather than working against her.

Her mind was honestly quite scary. The way she could remember vast amounts of information was impressive, yes, but it was how she used her knowledge to make intuitive leaps and take informed risks that really blew him away. Of course, he was pulling his own weight too, doing a lot of the leg work. They worked efficiently together, almost professionally. Granger never wasted time with idle chit chat; she was all business once they were inside that dungeon classroom. It gave him plenty of time to watch her. He was growing rather fond of that crinkle on her nose when she was thinking deeply about something. It was almost always followed by some brilliant insight or idea.

You're pathetic, he told himself, frowning darkly down into the contents of his satchel .

It was sad really, he reflected as they packed up for the day. They certainly weren't friendly. They were only vaguely polite to each other and that was it. And yet these lessons working alongside Granger were the most genuine human contact he'd had with someone his own age in over a year. After fleeing Hogwarts in Sixth Year, he'd been confined to the manor mostly, cut off from everyone he knew as he slowly went mad. And unsurprisingly nobody had really tried to talk to him since he returned to the school. She was the only person who treated him… normally. Like a person, not a Death Eater. Which was incredibly weird, since they had more fucked up history between them than anyone.

Draco glanced down at his timetable as the group left the Potions room. They had Ancient Runes next. It was the smallest class of the lot; only four of them took it. So, Professor Babbling usually just reserved a corner of the library for them and conducted tutorial style lessons there.

As they left the dungeons, Draco became aware that he and Granger were walking at roughly the same pace and going in the same direction. He was slightly in front of her, only by a fraction, but he felt a bit stupid going up several flights of stairs together like this. So, making a snap decision that sat heavy like a fluttering sensation in his gut, Draco slowed his stride a bit, allowing Granger to fall into step beside him. He didn't look at her and she didn't say anything, but the two walked side by side in comfortable silence the remainder of the way, despite countless stares from the general student population.

Professor Babbling seemed to be taking a leaf out of Slughorn's book, as they soon discovered that lesson. When the old lady divided the cosy group of four up into two pairs to complete an assignment, the two Ravenclaws naturally gravitated towards each other.

And that just left…

Bloody brilliant, he thought dryly, just barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Granger looked bemused but not angry. She met his gaze and they just stared at each other for a moment before sharing a sort of self-conscious half smile. Eventually Draco snorted and dragged his hand through his hair as he heard her chuckle dryly too. It seemed they were stuck together again.

"Maybe it's just one big conspiracy and they're all laughing their assess off about it in the staffroom," Draco muttered to her under his breath as he moved to sit next to her in the study alcove, slamming his bag down. Granger laughed again quietly and shook her head.

"Maybe," she agreed, "Though I can't imagine Professor Babbling being involved in anything so ridiculous."

The two simultaneously looked up towards their Runes professor, unable to suppress matching grins. You couldn't picture a more formal or serious teacher if you'd tried. Although she was an absolute genius and her passion for the subject of Runes bordered on obsession, she was almost completely devoid of any sense of humour. Her face was usually set in a stony look of concentration and her lips stayed pursed and flat. She was nice enough, he supposed, but not prone to fits of compassion or sentiment. He didn't mind, he liked how blunt she was sometimes.

Granger shifted over slightly so that they could share the same reference book that the Professor had given them, and they began quietly reading the assigned chapter. Draco had to focus then to make sure he kept up with her, since he could almost feel her foot tapping impatiently under the table when she reached the end of each page.

They were able to fall into the same kind of rhythm they'd found in Potions, just getting on with the job without fuss or frivolity. It was their thing now. But usually in Potions they could sit opposite each other at their table or stand either side of a cauldron. Now they were huddled almost intimately beside each other in the same small alcove. Draco bit into his tongue and tried to focus on the reading material rather than the curl that had courageously escaped Granger's ponytail and was currently wrapping itself indolently around the curve of her neck.

Eventually the chapter's content drew his attention again and his frustration mounted as he struggled to work out what it was telling him. He noticed Granger start scribbling her answers to the translations into her book with her slanted, meticulous handwriting. She obviously understood it. He glanced up and saw that Professor Babbling was sitting with the Ravenclaw pair and trying to explain it in her own brisk manner, though their expressions were just as confused as his was.

Draco frowned down at the runic symbol in the text and tried to read the description again. It was basically gibberish.

"It's a Germanic symbol denoting the latin word praesidium," Hermione told him in a soft voice, not quite looking up at him as she jotted something else down in her margin. "It means protection or, in other words, to ward or shield. But it was designed specifically to be inscribed onto ancient stone fortifications to strengthen them, not for human shielding like protego."

Draco blinked and stared at the curly-haired witch who was still bent over her parchment writing furiously.

"How the bloody hell do you know that?" he asked with exasperation, certain the text hadn't been clear enough to deduce all that information. The author's explanation was total gibberish. Granger licked her lips and looked up at him then. She flushed a bit in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…er…"

Draco watched her stammer and he blanched as he realised that she probably thought he was judging her. He was absolutely certain her friends had frequently teased or ridiculed her in the past about her being a know-it-all. But he was honestly just curious.

"I just meant," he explained quickly, "the description doesn't say anything about stone or other sedimentary materials. And I thought strengthening spells for buildings used thicker lines and blocks around the edges."

He pointed at some other runes he'd scribbled onto his parchment, forcing his tone to remain polite and interested. It worked, and he felt Granger relax again next to him, her shoulder dropping slightly from when she'd tensed it.

"Yes, you're right. But in the other Germanic Runes we've studied, I've started to notice a difference in the way these circles are drawn. They almost have concentric layers, but the outer one doesn't have smooth curved edges. See here-"

She traced her finger along the Rune in the textbook and he saw what she meant. Then she flipped the page to another symbol that was similar that he recognised, and it suddenly just clicked in his head.

"Holy shit. It's like the Rune for hardening quicksand!" he told her, his own enthusiasm building as he saw it all coalesce in his mind like a puzzle coming together, "remember that weird puzzle we did in fifth year?"

"Yes exactly!" she agreed in a tone of excitement, almost bouncing in her seat, "Gosh I didn't even think of that! Professor Babbling made us figure out how to rescue all those people hypothetically stuck in some jungle using natural Runes."

"So a praesidium rune strengthens what is already there, drawing on earth magic by bringing it up through the ground beneath?"

"I think so," she whispered, staring at him in pleased surprise as they both contemplated the answer.

At that moment Professor Babbling came over to assist them and they explained what they'd theorized, taking turns to describe their thought process. The stern teacher cracked the briefest of smiles, though the expression looked stiff and unnatural on her thin, wrinkled lips.

"Well, if you weren't Eighth Years, I'd be inclined to give you five points apiece. But as it is…"

Draco almost chuckled, thinking that two years ago he probably would have been thrilled to get house points, but now the satisfaction of just working out the problem and pleasing their strictest teacher was a reward in itself. Not to mention seeing the chuffed look on Granger's face.

"Perhaps a five-minute early mark?" Babbling suggested instead, and the two nodded eagerly. Even her two brightest students appreciated a break sometimes, and he'd heard a rumour that there would be steak and kidney pie for lunch. They packed up in silence and began the winding journey through the castle towards the great hall. It was almost empty, save for a few pockets of students who'd come in early from a free period. And there was indeed steak and kidney pie, the smell assaulting Draco's senses the moment he walked through the tall double doors. He couldn't deny that there were some things he'd missed terribly about Hogwarts. The food at the manor was fancy and pleasant enough, but was missing that warming, moreish quality that the Hogwarts elves could pull off.

Granger sat next to him in her usual spot, despite the fact that nobody else had arrived at their little table yet. He supposed it would have been weird if she'd suddenly changed seats just because they were alone.

As he dug into the pie dish near him, scooping a hearty serving onto his plate, Draco frowned and observed her closely. Sitting next to her for virtually every meal the last couple of weeks meant that he'd observed certain patterns to her eating routine. At first, he hadn't taken much notice, but as the days passed, he started to think her choices were more than a little curious. Today she was dishing some pasta onto her plate, bathed in a rich red sauce with eggplant and chilli. She had completely ignored the steak and kidney pie. It wasn't the first time she'd overlooked a dish of its kind. And at breakfast she'd never even touched the piles of bacon and sausages.

He almost opened his mouth to speak, to ask her about it, but snapped it shut. Just because they'd collaborated efficiently together in a couple of classes didn't mean they were on friendly terms. They had literally not had a single conversation since returning to school that wasn't either a platitude or directly related to their work.

Draco swallowed the question and tried to focus on his own meal. But he couldn't stop himself from darting his gaze over to her plate occasionally, observing her habits.

"Er…Malfoy? What is it? Do I have sauce all over my face or something?" Granger asked him, self-consciously licking her lips. He twitched in surprise, realising that she was looking back at him, clearly unsettled.

"What?" he asked a bit belligerently.

"I can feel you staring at me," she explained, and it took all his energy to stop the blush rising to his cheeks. He tried to look nonchalant instead.

"Oh…I er…I just noticed…" he started, before cursing himself. He gathered his best cool, unaffected expression before trying again, shrugging and replying, "you never eat meat. What's up with that?"

Granger blinked at him in surprise. She cocked her head to one side and grimaced a bit awkwardly.

"Well…I'm a vegetarian."

Draco frowned.

"You're a vegetarian," he repeated flatly, his voice dripping with scorn, though it only served to make her smile widen.

"Yes. I promise it's a lot more common in the muggle world, though I know that the term vegetarian may as well be a swear word in most wizarding circles."

Draco nodded, an incredulous look on his face.

"For good reason. Why the bloody hell would you only eat plants?"

She snorted and shook her head, giving him an almost indulgent look.

"I don't only eat plants. I have a very well-balanced diet, actually."

He couldn't help smirking when he heard that prim edge in her tone of voice that he hadn't heard in a very long time. He tried to turn it into a sneer and probably failed.

"But what's the point? Why deprive yourself of this delicious steak and kidney pie?"

He took a mouthful of his lunch and cocked one eyebrow challengingly. Granger gave him a level look.

"Do you really want to know?"

Draco returned her look, his expression sceptical as he responded dryly.

"Do I want to know why you're insane? Uh yes please."

She narrowed her eyes at him in a glare and Draco felt his stomach jerk uncomfortably.

"Okay. Well firstly," she held up her fingers, ticking them off as she spoke, "I'm personally not crazy about meat, the taste does nothing for me, and I certainly don't miss eating it. Secondly it actually encourages me to be healthier and add more nutrients and vitamin-rich foods to my diet. I still have a high protein intake and I've found plenty of zinc supplements. Thirdly, even the wizarding world with all its advantages still hasn't bothered to make their farming practices humane, and I won't support any industry, muggle or magical, that thrives on animal cruelty."

Draco looked at her, a bit stunned. It was true that being a vegetarian was really very uncommon in wizarding society. It was almost unheard of. He wanted to ask her more, aware that this was the most personal conversation the two of them had ever had. For some strange reason he didn't want it to end and found himself a bit riled up by her words. He actually really wanted to argue with her, to see her get flustered and launch into full on Hermione Granger debate mode. The thought was so very tempting.

But before he was able to formulate a response to goad her into another rant just so he could watch her crinkle her nose in outraged concentration, they were interrupted by the arrival of the other Eighth Years. A few of them collapsed down at their table with groans of exhaustion, having suffered through an intensive lesson out in the greenhouse potting shrivelfigs. One of them started complaining loudly, drawing Granger's attention away, and he sighed.

Draco had so badly wanted to keep whatever it was going between them. It felt different and he realised he wanted more from her. He wanted her to let down her guard. She'd been so solemn and reserved this year in front of everyone that seeing her getting agitated about something had excited him. And it was clearly a topic she was passionate about. He wished he had even a fraction of her conviction. Because when she really got her feathers ruffled, Granger revealed that there was more passion contained in her little pinky finger than he had possessed in his entire life.

And even as more Eighth Years joined their table and the mundane talk of school and homework intensified, Draco still found himself catching his breath.

His Steak and Kidney didn't quite taste as good either, which was a crying shame.

…

…

It was a few nights later that Draco cursed and leaned forward to bang his forehead on the desk in his small chamber. Going through his notes, he'd realised he was missing a page from that day's Potions lesson describing the processes they used. He was supposed to be writing a project journal about their experiments but had a great big hole missing in his research about the quantities they'd used when testing ingredients.

I could just go get them…

The thought made his insides twist a bit. It was perfectly normal for the Eighth Years to visit each other's rooms in the evening, and they didn't have a curfew or anything. But Draco usually kept to himself and didn't go visit anyone in his free time . It's not like he would be welcomed by his peers anyway. But surely Granger wouldn't mind if he just knocked on her door and requested the missing page. It was purely related to class work after all. He wasn't going for a late-night chat or anything.

Deciding that he'd feel even more foolish if he didn't go because it would imply that he was too scared of her or something, Draco groaned and strode over to his chamber door. He yanked it open in irritation and moved briskly down the corridor as quietly as his feet could manage.

Draco was fairly confident which one her room was. He'd watched her enter it enough times and there was a distinctive painting of a snowy forest hanging on the door. He gave three crisp knocks and stood back impatiently. Nobody answered. He knocked again, this time folding his arms uncomfortably over his chest, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his plain white t-shirt and pyjama pants. Too bad, he grumbled to himself. It was late after all, and the other Eighth Years paraded around in sleepwear all the bloody time. An insidious, curious part of him wondered if Granger would open the door wearing her pyjamas. She was probably the only person he knew who wore her clothes so fastidiously every time she exited her room, not a thread out of place.

When there was still no answer to his second knock, Draco frowned. He tapped his foot and glared at the door as if it had offended him.

"She's not back yet," a voice told him, and he turned his head to see Longbottom strolling down the corridor towards his own room, a tired grimace on his face. He'd been juggling an apprenticeship as well and was looking a bit haggard, though still cheerful as always.

"I was just trying to-" he began to explain in a tight voice, traditional sneer already glued on his features in the presence of another Gryffindor.

"Don't sweat, it's none of my business," Longbottom interrupted, holding up his hands in a gesture of good will, "but she's not in. I think she's still in the Hospital Wing with Madame Pomfrey. The lights were all on when I walked past."

Draco nodded curtly to show his thanks before spinning and marching back towards his own room without another word. The only sign that he was even embarrassed was the pink tinge on the back of his neck. Before he could escape entirely though, Longbottom called out to him once more.

"Just send a note through the floo if it's urgent."

Draco frowned and reluctantly spun back around towards him.

"What do you mean?" he asked tersely, jaw clenched. Longbottom's eyes widened a little in understanding.

"Oh right. You probably don't really… chat with anyone," the boy mumbled, though not maliciously. Then he scratched the back of his head and shrugged, "it's easy. Just write a note on some parchment and put Hermione's name on the front. Then if you feed it into your fireplace, it will send itself straight into hers. Pretty neat, huh?"

Draco didn't deign to answer the other boy. He merely considered the words and thought how it would suffice as a means of informing Granger that he was waiting for the notes. He nodded once more in acknowledgement and then slipped back into his chamber, closing the door with a snap.

As he did what Longbottom suggested, scrawling a note to Granger on some scrap parchment, Draco pondered over the news that Granger was still out of bed and working in the hospital wing so late. Surely, she'd crammed enough study into one day. How could one witch have so much stamina? It was admirable but also completely irritating.

Granger, I appear to be missing the page of notes about the powdered roots we tested today and the quantities. If you would please copy and send it over once you return, at your convenience, that would be much appreciated.

Sincerely, DM

He read it over three more times, checking that it didn't sound too forceful or too friendly. Both options were undesirable. When Draco was finally happy, he dropped the parchment folded over in half into the flames in his miniscule fireplace. He watched it spark and fizz green for a moment before vanishing, presumably reappearing in Granger's room.

Thinking no more of it, Draco prepared for bed and tried to settle down to read a book. It must have been at least an hour or so later that he was startled by the fireplace activating again. A large, folded piece of parchment drifted out of the flames and landed on the rug in the tiny square of space the room offered. He eased up out of bed and went to retrieve it, immediately recognising the page of notes missing from his Potions work. Draco smiled and popped it on his desk, noticing as he did a smaller slip of paper that had fallen out as well.

Malfoy ,

I have enclosed the missing notes from today. Sorry for the mix-up.

Warm regards, Hermione

Draco read it briefly, placing it to one side to head back to bed, feeling drowsier than he'd realized. Given that she would have seen his note immediately upon entering her room, it was quite likely that Granger had only just returned from the Hospital Wing. He wondered why she'd been there so late, thinking it was an odd hour to be studying healing on top of everything else. Maybe there'd been a patient.

He'd almost begun slipping under the covers again when something struck him like a blunt force to the chest and he darted back to his desk. He grabbed the slip of parchment again and re-read the last words printed there in her neat, slanted handwriting. He traced his finger over them curiously, confused by the strange thumping in his chest and wondered why his mouth had suddenly gone dry as he read them a third and fourth time.

Warm regards, Hermione.

…

…

Author's Note: Yep. He's already lost. Poor Draco. Hope you enjoyed the progression so far – please review and let me know what you think!