Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd been so nervous to enter Antonin's cell.

She hadn't been able to produce a corporeal patronus, having to settle for wisps of silver to see her as far as the auror station before she could rely on their stronger charm. It was a relatively infrequent problem but it did happen. Summoning the exuberant feelings needed to produce a true patronus was never easy these days, particularly beneath the shadow of the intimidating fortress, and hiding behind Occlumency shields only made the task more difficult as it deadened her emotions. Tonight, her many apprehensions about Antonin (Had Snape's charm worked? What was Antonin's state of mind? Would she be able to act normally?) would have been enough to block her from achieving her otter but they'd been combined with something unsettling that had occurred just before she'd left the school.

Harry had attacked Draco Malfoy.

She heard the rumour at dinner and her first reaction had been concern for her best friend because from her years of torment at the hands of the Slytherin, there was no way that Harry would have just attacked Malfoy out of nowhere - it was never as simple as that. Even though Harry deeply disliked the other boy and was currently highly suspicious of him, he would have been provoked or maybe attacked first. She hoped Harry wasn't injured.

But then more news started to filter into the Great Hall as a fresh wave of students arrived for their evening meal: Malfoy - pale and bloodied - had been escorted to the Hospital Wing by Snape, and other people had seen Harry - oddly wet, but completely healthy - running through the corridors. Moaning Myrtle - apparently the only witness - was claiming attempted murder and dark magic. Professor McGonagall stalked away from the teachers' table looking shocked and tense, a piece of parchment clasped tightly in her fist, and Hermione didn't know what to think anymore. Harry would never use dark magic.

She lingered at the Gryffindor table for a few more minutes, hoping Harry would walk through the doors and sheepishly sink into a seat beside her to explain how Myrtle had gotten the wrong end of the stick and the truth had been completely twisted. But he didn't arrive. Leaving her meal mostly uneaten, she hurried up to Gryffindor tower in the hopes that she'd be able to see Harry before she had to leave for Azkaban but she only found Ron.

"I don't know what happened," Ron said to her quietly, "but, from the look on his face, it was serious. And…" he hesitated before saying, "it has something to do with the book - the Prince's book."

Hermione gave a pained little gasp and, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, she suspected that the rumours held a lot more truth than she'd believed possible.

All year she'd been telling him not to blindly trust that book, that he didn't know who had been writing in its margins. Harry must have tried something he'd found inside without realising what it did. Dark magic.

"I told him not -" Hermione began but Ron cut across her.

"I know. He made a mistake."

"A mistake?" she hissed and was about to expand on how trivial he was making the incident sound but at Ron's significant look she paused. And then she remembered. Oh Merlin, how could she have ever allowed herself to forget? Harry had been stupid enough to try out one of the Prince's spells on Malfoy, probably without knowing what it did - but Hermione had attempted to curse Ron - her best friend - with a curse that she'd known would make him feel like his body was aflame, and she'd only missed because Harry had pushed her hand away. Her insides felt like they were eating themselves, bile climbing up her throat as Ron just watched her. He didn't know what curse she'd cast otherwise he probably wouldn't have been so willing to grant her forgiveness. "Yes, you're right," she murmured, only just able to keep from throwing up. "I've got to go." She hurried away to her dormitory to gather what she needed for her trip to Azkaban and then began the long descent through the castle.

She hated thinking about that night and how stupid she'd been, but it haunted her steps for most of the way even as she tried to turn her thoughts towards her visit with Antonin. The Entrance Hall was empty and she lingered in the shadows, waiting. Professor Snape was scheduled to escort her but in the wake of Malfoy's injury she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd asked McGonagall to take her instead. Ten minutes after their regular departure time, Snape emerged - not from his typical location in the dungeons - but in a direction that led (amongst other places) from the Hospital Wing.

At her first sight of him, Hermione slipped out of the door and walked until she was beyond easy recognition of the castle's windows before she slowed her pace and allowed him to catch up to her. It was a new precaution they were employing as the late spring evenings began to lengthen towards summer.

"I apologise for being late," he said.

"That's alright." She hesitated a few seconds then ventured, "Is Malfoy alright?"

She could feel Snape's eyes on her even though she kept her gaze resolutely forwards.

"He will be," he said tightly. "You wouldn't happen to know how Potter might have come across a dark curse, would you?"

Hermione's initial instinct was to try not to show any reaction to the confirmation that Harry had, indeed, used a dark spell but surely that would only be suspicious behaviour from her. "A dark curse?" she repeated, turning a pained expression towards him for a few seconds. "Harry would never knowingly use dark magic."

Snape made a dissatisfied noise. "He will be able to reflect on what he has done - knowingly or not - as he completes detentions for me every Saturday until the end of the school year."

Hermione parted her lips in a silent gasp - not at the size of the punishment itself because weekly detentions for the last couple of months of the year was probably justified if Harry had used a dangerous dark curse - but the decision to choose Saturdays had surely been specific. Snape had known exactly where to hurt Harry. This coming Saturday was the final quidditch match of the season and would determine who won the cup. Harry and Ron had both been anticipating the coming match with excitement and nerves (it was the reason Ron wasn't at dinner either as he'd hurried off to the toilets to throw up) but for Harry now to miss the game, the Gryffindor captain… He would be devastated. Maybe if she hadn't had her own horrifying incident back in November, she might have secretly thought that he deserved it, had finally got his comeuppance after using the Prince to buy false acclaim with Slughorn all year. But if her experience was anything to go by, the shock and remorse for his thoughtless actions would've been punishment enough.

Snape left her to her thoughts for a few minutes - her mind full of Harry's actions and emotions tonight but also that night, how fiercely he'd defended her after she'd told him she deserved to be punished - until Snape said, "Have you mentally readied yourself for what lies ahead?"

Hermione swallowed anxiously. "I've tried. I'm not quite sure what to expect."

"It won't be easy," Snape agreed, "but if you overthink the situation it might be your undoing."

Hermione tried not to let those words unsettle her and she'd disapparated a few minutes later with the distinct awareness that Snape was nearly as anxious about her upcoming visit as she was.

As she followed the auror to Antonin's cell, she took momentary refuge behind her Occlumency shields in an attempt to control her nerves, only dropping them a few seconds before she passed through the doorway. She braced herself for the task ahead but was reassured that she had come prepared.

Antonin was at his desk, making notes from a book, and he looked up at her with a hungry gleam in his eyes that would normally make the backs of her knees tingle and her chest stutter. She smiled - or she tried to - and his brow furrowed slightly as his eyes quickly looked her over. She turned away to remove her cloak but the scrape of his chair on the floor told her that he'd gotten to his feet.

"What's the matter, milaya?" he asked. "What has happened?"

Her heart was beating too quickly but she told herself that everything was fine, that she had planned for this. She faced him, holding out the sleep potion, unsurprised that he was already right beside her. "Nothing's happened," she said, pushing the vial into his hands. "But…" She paused to gather her courage because she knew he wasn't going to be happy. "I'm not staying for longer this week." His eyes dropped down to her throat, and then his fingers stroked just below the neckline of her robes to confirm the absence of the rune key.

His gaze snapped back up to hers, his displeasure clear on his face. "Why not?" he asked sharply. "Why have you chosen to deny us this time together? You've gotten just as much out of your extended visits as I have."

"I know," she said, trying to make her voice sound soothing. "I've enjoyed being able to spend more time with you, and I feel bad for letting you down when I know how much you value my presence, but ten hours is too long this time. The nature of the time flow magic means there isn't an in-between that won't raise suspicions - it's either one hour or ten."

Antonin shook his head. "How is tonight different from any other?" he asked, his tone still aggravated, his hand on her shoulder. "The rest of the world would still be waiting for you upon leaving."

"Yes, but it has nothing to do with the wider world, this is about me. It's impractical for me to stay so long tonight and I won't be comfortable."

She could tell that he was still annoyed by this unexpected setback but his gaze narrowed as he tried to figure out the meaning behind her words. "Not comfortable?" His eyes ran over her face again and his fingers pressed more firmly on her shoulders. "Are you hurt or injured? You said nothing had happened to you." Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the emergence of hostility in his posture. "Is it the Order bastard again? What has he done to you?"

She hadn't anticipated Antonin alluding (unknowingly) to Snape so early during her visit and she clamped down on the disquiet in her stomach whilst remaining alert for any unusual behaviour. "He hasn't done anything to me, I swear," she told him, hoping he would sense her honesty. "Nothing's happened to me that doesn't happen every month."

His expression remained somewhat confrontational for a couple of seconds and then his whole face seemed to stretch as comprehension dawned in his eyes. "Oh." He glanced downwards though there was obviously nothing there to see. "You mean…?"

Hermione could feel herself blushing over the flush of the curse. She didn't make it a habit to discuss her menstrual cycle given that her two closest friends were male, and she'd always adopted a habit of just getting on with it whenever her period rolled around.

"You've never mentioned it before," Antonin murmured, looking a little awkward.

"Why would I?" she posed, which effectively silenced him. "An hour-long visit is perfectly manageable but, as I said, ten hours is impractical." Their eyes simultaneously moved towards the screen that obscured his rudimentary bathroom - a simple shower, toilet and sink that Hermione had only ever used by necessity in her previous lengthy visits. "And no, I am not prepared to utilise your facilities to take care of any hygiene needs."

"It wouldn't bother me," he said a little sulkily.

"But it would bother me, and I think in this matter my preferences supplant yours, wouldn't you say?" she asked with a half smile at the petulant man-child before her.

He scowled, but it was more performative than genuine. "I suppose so." He sighed. "Is this going to happen every month?"

"That is how regular menstrual periods tend to work," she said, an eyebrow raised.

He rolled his eyes and made a tutting sound with his tongue. "No, I know that. I was referring to your leaving early."

"I don't know," she replied honestly. Her period - not exactly her favourite time of the month - had arrived as something of a blessing in disguise this time because it gave her the perfect excuse not to be around Antonin for long in her uneasy state. The prospect of spending ten hours with Antonin when she didn't have any idea of his state of mind after the memory charm hadn't been at all appealing. Nor would it have been sensible - the longer she was around him, the greater the risk that she would slip up in some fashion and alert him that something was wrong. Far safer to get in, assess the situation, then get out and take stock before her next visit.

That clinical thought didn't reflect her emotional view of the incident, the guilt she felt. Because of her foolishness and not through any fault of his own, a charm had been cast on Antonin's mind that could cause him severe brain damage. Currently, there didn't seem to be any adverse side effects, which was an immense relief, but she wasn't going to internally celebrate too soon - she had only been in his presence for five minutes and other symptoms might be less noticeable. Embarrassingly, thoughts of what her actions might have unwittingly caused had left her on the verge of tears a number of times in the last couple days. Just looking at him now, she could feel her throat constricting and her eyes stinging with a mixture of shame, relief and anxiety that she quickly repressed. Hormones were to blame, she had no doubt, but luckily they also provided an excuse (both to herself and out loud to Antonin should he question any out of character behaviour).

"My burning and period cycles don't line up perfectly," she told him. "Today is my worst day and the chances are that next month I will be here on a lighter day." The feminine products that were available in the magical world were much more bearable and practical than their muggle counterparts, but they still required changing throughout the day. "I could probably stay for seven or eight hours - it wouldn't seem like I've cut too many minutes off my usual visit if anyone was being observant."

He seemed to reluctantly accept that answer. "Only an hour tonight," he murmured. The hand at her shoulder moved upwards to trace up her neck before settling at her jaw. She pressed her lips together as the first wave of pleasure rippled through her body. "I hope you haven't brought any homework this week - we will have to make the most of the little time we have." He carelessly threw the sleep potion onto the armchair and tugged her closer with a possessive grip at her hip. Then his mouth was hot and demanding against hers.

Taken a little by surprise, it took a couple of seconds for Hermione to automatically respond to his kiss, but then she thankfully managed to come to her senses and she pulled back. Undeterred, Antonin started to kiss along her jaw. Hermione knew that her mouth was open to speak but the words didn't want to come out. She eventually stuttered out his name and he lifted his lips from her skin just long enough for the pleasure haze in her mind to clear a little. "Doesn't," she panted, "doesn't it bother you?"

He stared at her in confusion. "Doesn't what bother me?"

"The blood."

Her observations of her peers in the last few years had shown her that nearly everyone was deeply uncomfortable around the concept of periods. Many boys looked vaguely disgusted if it was even hinted at - or they made disparaging remarks. It wasn't quite so bad amongst her fellow girls, though there was a general air that it shouldn't be talked about in mixed company, as though it was something shameful. Though Hermione knew that it was a perfectly natural process, she suspected that some of that talk had seeped into her view of herself because she often felt vaguely grimy during her period despite the fact that she made sure to wash and clean herself more frequently on those times.

She had expected Antonin to be similarly put off. In fact, she'd been relying on it, hoping that his amorous attentions might be held at bay, therefore reducing the risk of a slip up. Last time, she had allowed the curse to progress too far. She had completely lost her grip on her surroundings, so much so that she hadn't even been aware of the words coming out of her mouth. She couldn't afford for that to happen again. But for all that she was consumed with guilt about what had happened, she also knew that she had to be realistic about what precautions would actually be effective in the future. Increased intimacy with Antonin felt inevitable unless another significant incident was thrown in their path. The pull she felt towards him was too strong after all the barriers she had overcome recently so there was no point in making a promise to herself about not getting swept away with lust that she knew she wouldn't be able to keep. She was sure that it wasn't the desire that had caused her to unknowingly betray Snape last week. It was the potency of the curse, delayed by a later visit and Antonin's further postponement. Avoiding a repeat of that would be much simpler. Her next few visits would all be at a similar time, and she would insist on receiving some relief from Antonin within the first few minutes. She was cautiously optimistic that it would be enough, and had expected to implement it in eight days' time. After all, she had the welcome deterrent of her period this time to keep their touches more chaste (because she was still a little unnerved by what had happened before). Or so she'd assumed…

"It's only blood, milaya," he said casually then bent down to her neck.

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment but she struggled to think clearly as he kissed and licked his way down her throat.

"Only blood?" she choked out. Had those words really come from Antonin Dolohov's mouth?

"This needs to come off," he murmured against her skin as he tugged at her robes. "I want to feel more of you."

Removing her robes gave her another few seconds away from the power of his touch. "How can you say it's only blood?" she questioned him as she pulled off the material.

"It is natural and healthy," he answered simply, wasting no time to return his hand to her waist and slipping his fingers beneath the seam of her shirt. "It doesn't bother me in the slightest."

She tossed her robe aside and then pushed against his shoulders before he had a chance to start kissing her again. "My blood doesn't bother you?" she asked in disbelief.

He looked her straight in the eyes. "No, Hermione, it doesn't."

His use of her name still felt like poking a raw nerve and she flinched ever so slightly, but the rest of his words were even more shocking. "Since when?" she scoffed.

"Since I realised just how remarkable you are and I decided that I was going to make you mine," he replied, eyes still staring into hers intently.

He often made possessive statements and Hermione still wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. She knew she shouldn't like being claimed by someone such as him, but it still stirred something hot within her that she couldn't quite ignore. To cover for her confused emotions she said, "There's nothing special about me - I'm just like any other muggleb- mph!"

He covered her mouth with his hand. "There's no one like you, milaya," he told her in a serious tone. "Only you."

She should push back at his words, but it might only antagonise him because she thought she understood what he was saying. He'd intended that to sound flattering, perhaps almost romantic. But she couldn't believe that he had suddenly ditched his lifelong view of pureblood supremacy. No, he was merely willing to overlook it because of what she gave him - the power and the lust. She was an exception. He hadn't called her a mudblood in many months, ever since their touches had become more heated. She suspected that it was a conscious decision made partly to avoid upsetting her but also so that he could forget her blood status as he began desiring her. Maybe he was so far in his self-delusion that any references to her blood were inconsequential in his eyes. While it was always preferable that someone didn't view you as disgusting, Antonin's opportunistic refusal to see the facts as they were unsettled her. But hadn't she already accepted as much? When his looks and his hands started hinting at less innocent intentions, hadn't she known full-well that he was just as bigoted as ever? This was surely only confirmation that he was much deeper into his self-deception than she'd realised. Besides, she was the one willing to let this man touch her despite everything that he'd done. She was as wilfully in denial as he was. It wasn't a happy thought.

Antonin replaced his hand with his lips. "You think - too much," he told her in between kisses, moving his mouth sensually against her own, trying to draw a reciprocal response from her. Her resistance was starting to crumble when he said, "You can let go."

'Letting go' was what caused the trouble last week and this time his recommendation had the opposite effect, causing her to pull back. She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, I know you said it doesn't bother you but I feel bloated and a bit grubby and just generally uncomfortable," she said quickly, waving a hand between her hips. "I- I don't want to do anything heavy."

He frowned. "It causes you pain?"

Her flush was back. "A little," she admitted. "I drink a potion which takes the edge off but, well, like I said, it's a bit uncomfortable."

He was still frowning. "So what constitutes as heavy in your book? Am I to be consigned to touching only your arms?"

Though that probably would've been the safest option, Hermione was reluctant to enforce such a restriction. They spent a few minutes negotiating until they found what was most comfortable. Antonin was sitting with his back resting against the headboard of his bed, his robe off to leave him bare chested, his legs apart so that Hermione could sit in between and lean back against him. Her shirt was unbuttoned but still on, the book from his family's collection that they'd been studying was resting on her legs as she read it aloud (or at least attempted to). Antonin's hands were free to travel over her back, arms and sides, his mouth kissing her neck when he swept her hair to one side. It was intimate in a different way and she was surprised how calming she found it. His touch - incredibly diverting for the first fifteen minutes - had eased some of the discomfort in her lower back and, after considering it carefully, Hermione guided one hand round and under the waistband of her skirt a couple of inches, coaching him to stroke his fingers from side to side as close to the afflicted area as she would allow him. She was aware that his chest had stiffened against her back and she smiled, knowing that she had taken him by surprise.

"Is this helping?" he asked, his voice hot against her neck.

She hummed in agreement then lifted the back of her shirt upwards so she could feel his bare skin against hers. "Feels nice," she murmured, momentarily closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation of being surrounded by him. It made her feel surprisingly safe. When he kissed the side of her cheek, she turned her head so that her lips could meet his for a couple of seconds. She had been so worried about this visit but, to her great relief, Antonin didn't appear to be suffering any side effects of the charm. They had been lucky.

He touched a fingertip to her cheek. "Why are you crying, milaya?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open, seeing the teardrop resting on his finger. "Oh, um, just hormones, I guess."

There was a beat of silence and then, "What's 'hormones'?"

Half an hour later, she began her journey back to the school with Snape. "Well?" he asked, once a couple of minutes had passed in silence.

"The visit proceeded smoothly," she told him calmly behind her Occlumency shields. "He showed no behaviour irregularities, no evidence of confusion or cognitive impairment. It appears the charm worked as intended."

"Good."

She amused herself by imagining telling Snape that she and Antonin had had a lengthy conversation about hormones. The magical world's awareness of science was appalling but she was still surprised that he hadn't heard of something that explained so much about human behaviour. If she could find a decent book on the subject in the Muggle Studies section of the library, she would consider smuggling it to Azkaban for him.

Another few minutes passed before she asked, "Has there been an update from the headmaster?"

"As was predicted, the Minister is being… obstinate. The first owl was turned away without the letter being delivered. A second letter has yet to receive a reply," Snape said. "The headmaster informed me that he will visit the Ministry himself if he has not heard from Scrimgeour by the end of the week."

"Oh." Like Snape said, it wasn't surprising, but it was rather disheartening to hear her wellbeing bartered over in a political game.

"Have faith," Snape told her. "Once negotiations start, there is the potential for very quick progress."

Hermione nodded, hoping he was right. It was nearly two years since Voldemort had returned, one year since it had been officially confirmed. Every day, the Daily Prophet announced more tragedies, more lives ruined. An idea had been nagging at the back of her head for a few weeks, fuelled by the school friends who had received the worst news and her own precarious position in the war. She'd kept dismissing the idea but it had persisted, and now that she had seen that Antonin was alright…

The castle was looming up above them. She was running out of time if she wanted to talk about it. Could she trust Snape with this? The breach between them from a couple of months ago was slowly being repaired but this was an enormous risk. It would be one thing if it was her life she was endangering, but this was entrusting him with something far more important. She could potentially do it without him but when it was so easy for something to go wrong, she'd rather gain some real life expertise rather than simply relying on a book like she usually did. This was too important.

"Professor," she began and then faltered.

He turned his head towards her, saw that she had stopped walking, and similarly stopped. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

Could she trust him? Could she trust him? Could she trust him?

"Will you swear you won't tell anyone what I'm about to say?" she asked, her heart racing.

"I'm afraid that is a promise I cannot keep. For your own safety, it may be necessary for me to involve other adults in positions of trust." His voice was solemn but not unkind, and he was watching her tensely.

She grimaced. "But this has nothing to do with my safety. Please, Professor - you, you said you've kept my secrets before… from the headmaster."

He looked almost pained by her words. "I won't tell the headmaster what you say to me here." He held out his arm. "Do you wish to bind me to that oath?"

Hermione shook her head, hoping that her tentative trust wasn't misplaced. After a deep breath, she said, "My parents. I want to protect them. They're vulnerable and could be used to hurt me because of my friendship with Harry." Snape opened his mouth but now that she had started she wanted to explain it all. "I want to make them forget about me - with a memory charm - and send them to the other side of the world to keep them out of danger. Will you help me?"

He stared at her for a moment. "That is a very extreme proposal."

"I know, believe me, I know - but it's surely the most likely way to keep them safe. Leaving for a far-off country would probably be enough because I don't think any Death Eaters would be willing to work so hard to find them, but I know they wouldn't go willingly because they'd be worried about me."

Snape was observing her closely, his face its typical mask. "How long have you been considering this?"

"A couple of months," she admitted. "It's not a spur of the moment decision. But seeing how well you completed Dolohov's charm, I thought maybe you could help me so that I don't cause any damage to my parents' minds. I know how risky it is."

"And are you prepared to face the consequences if the spell goes wrong?" he asked.

"I think I would rather live with that guilt than the shame of knowing I could have done something to protect them if they got hurt or killed," she replied in a voice that trembled slightly. "Because they are in danger, aren't they?"

Snape inclined his head. "I believe so."

Hermione's throat was tight with fear. "Has he ever mentioned them?"

"Not in my hearing," he replied. "But it seems highly likely that they would be targeted whilst you remain loyal to Potter."

She nodded, slightly relieved that Voldemort didn't appear to have immediate plans to attack her parents, but she was still chilled by the prospect.

"You understand that you may never see them again even if you survive the war?" he asked. "To make your parents forget such a significant part of their life - a child that they have loved and raised for over seventeen years - will require a considerable amount of magic to reside within their minds. Reversing the spell could do irreparable damage even if you cast it perfectly the first time. Many wouldn't take the risk, preferring to leave their parents in peace even if a part of their life was missing."

She had considered that eventuality. Her parents had sacrificed so much to send her to Hogwarts, allowing the magical world to raise her instead because their time together these last few years had been so short. But they hadn't complained because they'd seen how happy she was, how she was finally somewhere that she felt like she belonged. If her parents could be so selfless, Hermione could be so too. If sending them away meant that she could never see them as her parents again without risking irreversible mental trauma, she was willing to do it. "I understand," she said, forcing her voice to be steady.

He surveyed her in silence. "I will consider your request," he said eventually.

"Thank you, sir. The next time you escort me to Azkaban, I thought we could journey to my parents' home first. It shouldn't take long to perform the spell, then I can go to the prison and you can return here to wait for me. No one should suspect that anything has happened."

"You have thought about this," Snape murmured and she nodded.

"I wondered if we could meet sometime before then to discuss the intricacies of performing the spell," she added, "I know that it's too dangerous a charm to practise before casting, but I believe the chances of me performing it successfully would be higher the more I know about it."

"Most likely," he confirmed. "But you forget that I have only said that I will consider helping you."

"I haven't forgotten, sir," she replied. "But… you won't tell Professor Dumbledore - or anyone else?"

There was no hesitation in his response. "No. I won't. Not if you don't want me to."

Was she a fool? Was Snape going to report straight back to Dumbledore the moment they parted ways in the castle? If she was, it was too late to do anything about it now. She just wanted her parents to be free of this war from all sides. Though she didn't think Dumbledore or the Order would actually harm her parents, that didn't mean they couldn't be used as some sort of emotional manipulation over her. She would just feel more comfortable being the only one who knew where she had sent her parents - she didn't even plan on giving Snape that knowledge. "Thank you, sir."

Hermione smiled as she tucked the book on scientific advances of the nineteenth century under her arm. It was a hefty tome and should open Antonin's eyes a little if he deigned to trawl through its pages. There were still a couple of days before her next visit and she was intrigued about how he would react when confronted with something so muggle-based. She could tell that he had been curious about hormones even if it had been against his will.

She walked through the shelves, seeking a place to resume her revision for the upcoming exams. They were only a few weeks away now and it was clear that she wasn't the only one keen to get some studying done because spare seats were rare. She spotted one in a secluded part of the library. She would have to share the desk as someone was already occupying the other chair, but she didn't mind. Once she was a little closer, she halted, recognising the head of hair before her. Theodore Nott.

Antonin had warned her to keep away from him and maybe, if there had been other seats available, she might have listened to him. But this was perfect.

Heart beating a little faster than normal, Hermione walked over to the chair, pulled it out, and sat down.

"What the fuck are you doing?" a voice hissed at her as she began unloading her revision materials.

She glanced up at Nott's angry face. She'd seen him many times since that discussion with Antonin, but never close enough to get a good look. He was pale and thin (but not sickly looking like Draco this year) with an aristocratic face that she would only ever admit to herself that she normally found quite handsome - but not so much when it was pinched in fury like it was now.

"All the other seats in this part of the library are taken and I've got too much to do to waste time traipsing all over the place to look for somewhere else to sit," she told him matter of factly as she took out some parchment, ink and a quill. "If you've got a problem with me sitting here, then you move."

She started to work, attempting to give the impression that she was ignoring him but she stole covert glances under her eyelashes and her wand was close to her hand in case she needed it. Nott remained completely rigid in his seat for at least a minute and then resumed making notes, his knuckles standing out as he gripped his quill tightly.

When a few minutes had passed and the tension in Nott appeared to have eased, she glanced over at him and said, "I know you used that Runes book I recommended."

Nott didn't lift his gaze from the book he was studying. "Fuck off."

Despite the vulgar language, Hermione almost smiled.