Professor Slughorn had, all of a sudden, become extremely important in Hermione's life.

Which sounds quite odd to admit, but, well, it was true.

Between Draco's plan of stealing back the poisoned mead and Dumbledore's assignment for Harry about Horcruxes, Hermione had little time to think about anything besides the quirky old professor.

Also, despite having just returned from winter holidays, Professor Slughorn had already scheduled an exam for the end of the week, but for the first time in her educational career, that was the least of her worries. Managing to help both boys find success in their essential tasks was already a lot to worry about. Thankfully, the research for both ventures overlapped substantially.

She managed to piece together a daily and weekly schedule Slughorn seemed to follow. She had his full class and office hours schedule thanks to the prefects, additional staff responsibility timetables from McGonagall, and mealtime preferences from Hagrid, including a note of Slughorn's twice-weekly venture to the Three Broomsticks he'd take after dinner every Friday and Saturday evening unless otherwise holding Slug Club events.

Over lunch the day after learning about Draco's goal and Harry's assignment, she also managed to carry on a whole argument with Harry and Ron about classwork while carefully observing the professor, analysing his dining companions, and taking note of the discussion topics she overheard. She left lunch with both a page full of notes on Slughorn's personal interests (piano, rare and obscure potions ingredients, and crystalized pineapple) and Harry's sincere promise that he wouldn't let procuring the memory from Slughorn prevent Harry from doing his best in each of his classes.

She felt rather smug about that all, actually. The boys hadn't even noticed her attention was half elsewhere.

Hermione hadn't told Draco about Harry's mission, and she hadn't told Harry about Draco's. The two problems needed to remain separate. She trusted herself to balance their importance, but she couldn't say the same for either boy.

It stressed her to keep something so interesting and important from Draco, especially after he'd been so open with her. But it wasn't her news to share. It was Harry's problem. Besides, if Draco knew about Harry's assignment, it would remind him of the countless lives at stake should he fail to retrieve the poisoned mead. She saw how rattled he became at the thought of Slughorn drinking his wine, or the challenges they still faced. Draco was carrying too much already, and she refused to add to his burden. Perhaps, once the mead was handled, she could reconsider. After all, Hermione had considered that Draco might even know something about Horcruxes. His family was both ancient, and dubious, and not to mention, they were close to Voldemort. His status as a Death Eater, it pained her to admit, could be useful here.

On the other side of the coin, it was much easier to decide that Harry could never, ever, know about Draco's mission. It wasn't even a question. Telling anyone about Slughorn and the poisoned mead would completely shatter Draco's trust. Harry would, no doubt, lose his mind about it and do something rash— something none of them could afford. No, the quicker she and Draco stole back the mead without anyone finding out, the better.

But with this disparity, she was forced to sit in discomfort she hadn't expected to feel. Somehow, throughout the last few months, Draco's trust in her had become more important, more valuable, than the trust of her longest and closest friends.

When had that happened?

She trusted Draco with her whole heart now, though it was sudden and new. He'd shared everything with her—the awful truths, his pain, his fears, his hope. He hadn't hidden his vulnerability, and she'd held him through it all, promising to share his burdens. Draco's honesty earned her trust in a way that Harry and Ron never had.

Draco was honest, even when it was hard, and that, more than anything, had earned and in a way Harry and Ron never had.

She trusted Harry and Ron out of habit, comfort, and expectation. They were her best friends, after all. But could she really lean on them when she was in tears? Did they make things better just by being around? Did they let her in when they were struggling?

Honestly? No.

Draco, for all his flaws and complexities, did. And that made all the difference.

The boy who so often consumed her thoughts cleared his throat across from her, and Hermione was forced to rejoin the present moment. She breathed deeply, recentering herself and finding peace settling in her chest with each intake of the comfortably distinct old library smell. Draco sat across from her, a teetering stack of books on Disillusionment charms splayed before him. She watched how he scrunched his nose as he read and reread a passage in From Dark to Dust: Methods for Magical Disposal. He'd taken on the role of researching how to dispose of the poisoned bottle once they got their hands on it, and he was taking this very seriously. His jaw was tight, and she heard the scratch of his quill as he hastened to note whatever he'd identified as important.

It was instinctual to crane her neck at an angle to read what he'd written, and when he noticed, he didn't scowl like Harry or roll his eyes and scoff like Ron. Draco smirked, proud of whatever he'd found, turned his parchment so she could read it more easily, and returned to reading without fanfare.

She wondered if the juxtaposition of all of these boys would ever stop sending her brain spinning with questions.

Draco turned the page, and Hermione shook the distraction from her head. She loved the way they could work in silence. Separate, but together. Independent, but united. The word "intimate" kept crossing her brain when she thought about their library study sessions, but she didn't dare say anything so silly.

Just then, a valuable thought did cross her mind that she'd wanted to mention to Draco. She set her quill down and cleared her voice, gently pulling his attention without interrupting.

"I was thinking we should get another bottle to replace the one we're taking. That way, the bar cart won't look any different once we leave."

Draco nodded quickly in agreement, jotting down a note on the top of his parchment. "That's a great idea, Hermione. I'll send for one this evening."

Hermione stared at him. "You'llsend for one? Is it that easy, really?" At that, Draco shrugged, confused. "Draco, this is top-shelf alcohol, expensive, and we're not of age. Not to mention Filch is searching everything these days with those Probity Probes. How are you going to 'send for some'?"

Draco cracked an easy grin, though the expression quickly turned to one of embarrassment. "Hermione, there is absolutely no need to concern yourself with the cost of any of this. I'd give my whole inheritance to be free of this mess."

Her lips turned upward slightly, but her smile did not reach her eyes. "But what do you say about getting it past the gates? They're searching everything, Draco, trunks, mail, people, everything. Security is relentless. Won't it be confiscated before we can get our hands on it?"

Draco shrugged. "In theory, yes, but I've already worked my way around that once before, haven't I? When I ordered the first bottle of mead, I had it marked delivered to Snape. He knew about my plan and made sure the bottle got to me discreetly. I'll do the same with this one and use a professor's name."

"Okay," she relented. "But you can't use Professor Snape again, can you? If he receives it, he'll know immediately that you're up to something new and he might try to intercept it or interfere."

"All true, Granger, you're right, we won't use Snape."

"Do you know any other professors that will happily hand over top-shelf mead to a pair of teenagers without asking questions?"

Draco laughed heartily, which made it impossible for Hermione not to smile too. Three Ravenclaws from the table over glared at their noise. Hermione blushed and waved a hand in apology then returned an admonishing gaze to Draco.

"I'm serious, Draco. Who would help us get this into the castle?" she asked again, this time in a heated whisper more appropriate for the library.

Draco looked thoughtful before suggesting, "That batty divination professor, Treylawny, what about her? I think she has a drinking problem. I've seen her hiding empty sherry bottles in the Room of Hidden Things more than once. She probably gets shipments from The Three Broomsticks regularly. We can bury our bottle in one of her shipments and steal it when she's drunk. Easy!"

Draco's smirk showed that he was mostly serious about this idea, and she had to admit… It could possibly work. Trelawney might be the perfect professor to hoodwink, and Hermione wouldn't even feel bad about it.

With a heavy exhale, Hermione nodded her agreement, relinquishing her responsibility and trusting Draco to figure out this piece of their plan. With a satisfied smile, Draco picked up his quill again and returned to Dark to Dust.

Hermione decided early on not to stress about the school rules they were breaking. She's broken worse rules before and this was for a good cause. And, in a way, Dumbledore had approved of it, so who cares?

Her newfound equable attitude felt like a comforting warmth in her veins. She need not worry so much, not when Draco was beside her. They were two of the smartest students in this school, after all. They'd figure this out. Together.

She returned to her own book with an invigorated focus: Fading Figures: The Magic of Disillusionment. She'd set the personal goal of mastering the complex spell in three days or less. Time was of the essence, after all.

And besides, she still needed time to study for Slughorn's potions exam on Friday, too.

Time passed as it always did in the library, thoughtlessly, without any care for the progress, or lack thereof, Hermione was making on her research efforts. She'd switched from Disillusionment Charms to magical wards some time ago. Draco had done the same and was now reading The Art of Magical Boundaries: A Practical Guide to Ward Weaving. Even if they did manage to get into Professor Slughorn's office and rooms, the likelihood that he would leave his drink plainly unprotected was devastatingly low. After all, He worked in a school full of mischievous, magical teenagers and thought like a Slytherin, himself.

So, they researched Wards. They researched protective enchantments, elementary curse-breaking, and protective runes that were seventh-year NEWT standards. They poured over books, notes, tomes, and more books. Hermione usually felt right at home doing such things and had never before been embarrassed to find herself surrounded by strewn parchment and towers of library books that overflowed the table, the chairs, and spilled onto the floor. But this time, she felt no matter how much she read and thought and planned, it would never be enough. So much could still go wrong. When the grand clock had chimed 9:00 signaling curfew for 5th years and sending everyone else out of the library, Hermione started to feel the troublesome pangs of overwhelm.

Sighing audibly, Hermione set down her quill and gave her temples a good, hard rub. She looked to Draco, who, of course, was looking at her questioningly again, not having to vocalize his concern for her.

"I feel as though this is becoming, absurdly complicated," she explained dejectedly. "Planning like this is… will we ever be done? Every time I did something like this, broke school rules and all, with Harry and Ron, we never had a plan. We just… did it."

Draco raised an eyebrow and scoffed pompously. "That's because those nimwits have an unparalleled talent for charging in without a thought and somehow managing to stumble their way to success."

Hermione glared at him at first, out of habit, but softened quickly as she realized that this statement was, after all, quite an accurate observation. "That's not entirely true," she tried defensively, halfheartedly. "We just… the three of us… we just work really well under pressure."

Draco's smirk broadened and, setting down his own quill, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Call it what you want, Hermione, but I'm not keen on throwing myself headfirst into disaster without at least pretending to have a strategy."

She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the cluttered table. Thoughtfully, she picked up a book, then two, and reorganized them. "Still, maybe…" she said after a moment. "Maybe we're overthinking this. Maybe… What if we just try to get into Slughorn's office while he's in class? No elaborate schemes, just… see if we can do it."

At Hermione's imploring gaze, his weakness, Draco leaned forward again, too. His hands fell to rest just inches from hers. He paused, considering her. "That's… remarkably reckless coming from you, Granger. Those Gryffindor idiots are rubbing off on you in the worst possible ways." Despite his deadpan delivery, Draco's eyebrows rose flirtatiously as he spoke, and Hermione rolled her eyes in response.

"Oh, please," she retorted. "They're not the only ones who were practically born to break rules." At this, she noticed the slight grin that tugged at Draco's resolve and grinned, herself, internally. "Just… What if we're able to do it without having to deal with the professor at all? Won't you feel properly foolish if we don't at least check to see what we're up against? Maybe he doesn't have any wards at all. Maybe he forgot to lock his door."

Draco shook his head dismissively. "Hermione–

She put her hands up as if to resign, "Okay, okay, sure. He probably did not forget to lock his door. Still, whatever protections he has surely indicate what type of protective wards he might use for his bar cart, right? Even if we can't get in tonight, at least we'll come away with a better understanding of his preferred magical security systems.

"Maybe," he smirked, then nodded in relenting agreement. "But if this goes sideways, I reserve the right to tell you 'I told you so.'"

"Fair enough," Hermione agreed. She pulled out the timetable she'd made to track Professor Slughorn's responsibilities. "We're in luck. He's on patrol duty tonight. He's on for another three hours."

"Luck?" Draco laughed. "If he's patrolling, between him, Filch, and the prefects, we're sure to get caught!"

"Better Professor Slughorn than Snape," she shrugged. "Or worse yet, McGonagall."

Draco shuddered at the thought.

"Come on," said Hermione, standing and quickly reshelving their scattered mass of books. "Let's hurry while we know he's out of his room."

"We don't have that much time, though, do we? Curfew is in one hour. I don't know how we'll explain this if we're caught out of bed."

A nervous energy filled the space around them, a stark contrast to the calm that had been there just moments before. Draco's face was stoic once again, and Hermione knew this to be evidence that he was feeling the same way she was. A mix of exhilaration, nerves, determination, and heavy hope.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Draco said as they walked as quickly as they could without drawing attention to themselves. "Reckless plans… this is how I got myself into this mess in the first place."

"Last time, you didn't have me though, did you?" Hermione took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Draco squeezed back but dropped her hand a moment later. The nerves were consuming him. "I just mean," she tried to lighten the mood, "Maybe it's not just a Harry and Ron quality, the stumbling-into-success thing. Maybe recklessness isn't the only thing I've come to learn from them."

"Let's hope," Draco said darkly. "Let's hope we don't get caught."

It was quite easy for Draco and Hermione to pass through the castle without much notice. Sixth and Seventh years were allowed an extended curfew, so they were permitted to be up and about the castle until ten o'clock, which meant that they were not breaking any rules as they made their way down to the dungeons, but also that the halls were mostly empty save but a few late-night stragglers.

The walk proved well-needed. It provided Draco the time and space to calm his nerves, and Hermione the opportunity to mentally run through a list of possible spells they might try when they reached their destination. They met the patrolling prefects, Padma Patil and Ernie MacMillan. They both gave polite waves to Hermione and curious looks to Draco as they passed. Hermione heard them whispering in a gossipy way as their footsteps faded out of earshot, but she'd have to ignore that for now.

The clock tower chimed once, signalling it was half past the hour when they reached the last staircase that led down to the dungeons. This meant that, if all went miraculously well, Hermione and Draco would have precisely thirty minutes to break into the professor's office, locate the poisoned bottle, break down any enchantments, steal it, transfigure a suitable replacement bottle seeing as they haven't obtained a real decoy yet, and then Hermione would have to run her way back up to Gryffindor tower.

While they had broken this curfew dozens of times without thought, this felt different. It was different. It was one thing to be caught out after hours getting back from a long-winded study session or even caught out of bed snogging behind a tapestry. This was bigger. Stealing from a professor, breaking into private rooms, defying Voldemort. No, they could not make an attempt like this and get caught out of bed on the same night.

Turning into the correct hallway, Draco right beside her, she decided to be quick. "Alright, you stand and keep watch down that hallway while I give it a go, will you?" Hermione whispered.

"Why do you get to go first?" he questioned.

"Well this is my reckless plan, isn't it?"

"Yes, but this is my problem, isn't it?" The words came out harsh. Harsher than she thought he meant it to, so she ignored it altogether.

"As always, we'll do this together," she said kindly. Brushing her wand in a path across the span of the doorway, a shimmer of magic hummed through her.

"Alohomora," she whispered. The lock clicked immediately open, briefly, but the sound was instantly followed by a ripple in the shimmering magic and an even quicker locking sound. Hermione frowned.

Smirking again, Draco leaned his shoulder against the door frame, arms crossed. "Brilliant start, Granger. You're definitely giving Old Sluggy a run for his money now."

She swatted at his shoulder and huffed. "Oh, shut it, you. I figured we had to start somewhere. What do you think?"

Draco brushed his own wand along the edges of the door, making the magic shimmer again. "This isn't your average locking charm. Look at the layering—standard Alohomora won't do a thing against this."

Hermione nodded. "You're right. The wards are sophisticated, but they seem… older. Almost like a modified variant of ancient protective spells. Maybe if I…" She flicked her wand and murmured an incantation under her breath. The glow of the door flared brightly, seemed to hesitate, but ultimately held firm.

Draco leaned in closer. "Nice try, but you'll need to counter the anchoring rune first. See the faint line along the hinge? That's the focal point. Here, let me try this." He stepped forward, and raising his wand gracefully, cast a precise, almost elegant spell that shone in soft, eucalyptus green. In the quiet of the empty corridor, they heard a faint crackle of energy hum along the door, but it remained shut all the same.

Hermione's hand found his shoulder approvingly. "That's something, isn't it?"

Draco brought his free hand to his chest as if brushing away invisible lint from his sweater. "I felt it that time, actually, pulled at my magic. The ward is clever. It's feeding off the ambient magic in the corridor, which, I think, keeps it self-sustaining."

"Interesting," Hermione hummed.

Draco seemed to have given up the attempt again, evidenced by the way he relaxed against the door frame, arms crossed. "Maybe it's charmed to open only if you compliment Slughorn's moustache. Or with a bribery of crystalized pineapple."

Hermione gave him a sideways glance and repressed her urge to smile. "Not helpful, Draco," she said.

Draco shrugged. "I'm just saying, I'd all-out grovel at the door if it meant we didn't get caught here standing like idiots."

While joking, Hermione could tell there was seriousness beneath the humour. Draco was growing evermore worried about being caught. "I'd pay to see you grovel, really, I would love that, but I'm starting to think these wards are a bit more complicated than I'd hoped. I have a few more ideas to try before we abandon hope for the night."

"Clarisonus," Hermione called, casting a shower of pink to rain down Draco's form. "Hearing amplifying charm," she explained in a whisper. "Listen for footsteps." She checked her watch, and finding that she'd need to leave for Gryffindor tower in seven minutes, she took a deep breath and refocused. Hermione tried a few more incantations and wand motions, each as ineffective as the last.

Leaning closer, Draco grabbed at the door handle and gave it a tug. Nothing happened. "Any chance we can… I don't know… blast it open?" he asked.

"Sure, if you want to alert everyone on patrol that we're up to no good down here." She smirked. "Maybe not blasting, but I could try a severing charm. It will be quieter than blasting, at least. If you want me to, I'll try it. There's a good chance it doesn't work. And an even better chance the magic bounces back at us.

Draco shrugged noncommittally. Hermione took this as approval enough.

"This may have been what I was reading about just before we left the library… Here, will you stand over here?" she pointed a few paces away and Draco obliged happily. Taking a deep breath, Hermione waved her wand again, this time with a complicated, swooping motion while muttering a new incantation. A spark shot from her wand, powerfully struck the door with a low crack, which echoed down the corridor. The bolt of magic bounced off the protected door, and as if the noise wasn't terrible enough, tried to blast Draco out of his shoes but had missed just barely and instead scorched the wall behind him.

"Merlin, Granger, watch it!" Draco ran a hand through his hair and down his face. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Don't be so dramatic, Draco. I'm trying to help you, aren't I? I warned you something like this might happen." Still, she reached to touch his face in both an apologetic and comforting gesture. "But we know this now. It's enchanted to repel unauthorized magic. There's no way around it without him. The wards require Slughorn's magical signature."

With Hermione's comforting touch, Draco's nerves melted away. "We'll have to continue with our well-thought-out, over-complicated, plan then, won't we?"

Hermione started to step away to grab her bags to leave, but Draco reached for her elbow and pulled her into a close hug. His breath was warm on her ear when he whispered, "I told you so, Granger."

Her laughter echoed down the corridor, she couldn't help it. She pushed away from him playfully. "Yes, you were right, Malfoy," she conceded. "But I was right, too!"

"Oh, you were?"

"Yes!" cheered Hermione. Checking her watch, Hermione started gathering her things and talking quickly. "We learned something, Draco. If the doors are so heavily guarded, there are probably simpler protections inside. You wouldn't go to such lengths multiple times, would you? Once inside, he'll feel secure, safe. Accessing the bar cart will probably be fairly simple, don't you think?" She had her bags now, and seeing on her watch that she only had four minutes to climb eight floors, she quickly and absentmindedly kissed him on the cheek and started to run.

Draco's hand found his cheek where she'd kissed him, and he felt warm all around. Buzzing, even. He couldn't keep himself from watching as she ran, unable to say anything.

"Goodnight, Draco!" loudly, she called behind her as she took the steps toward the entrance hall two at a time.

The sound pierced his ears and he let out a low grunt of pain. That charm on his ears was still on. This witch is going to either be the death of me or my salvation, he thought.

After cancelling the charm he called out, "Goodnight, Hermione!" Though, he wasn't sure she would still have heard him, which was probably for the best, because he sounded like a lovesick puppy, voice still struck from having been kissed unexpectedly.

Had she meant to do that? Or was she just caught up in the moment, actions echoing their former routine?

He thought about that for the rest of the night.

As the days ticked on, the complicated plan became more clear and pieces were falling into place. It was still highly tangled and complicated, but to Hermione, it was becoming more well-developed with every hour of effort. It still wasn't foolproof. No plan ever was. They'd still have to adjust depending on how Professor Slughorn behaves and you never can truly account for, really, all of the possible complications.

Still, they had a plan. Draco had gotten hold of the replacement bottle that morning during his free period, having gained access to Professor Trelawney's rooms by offering to help wash her precious tea cups. How she didn't find this odd, Hermione didn't know. After all, Draco didn't take Divination and certainly didn't have a reason to have stumbled into her tower.

Draco got his hands on supplies from Weasley Wizard Wheezes that they'd decided would be good to have in an emergency, should this plan start going dramatically wrong. Hermione insisted on Draco keeping these supplies in his possession because, despite the worldly importance of their mission, she still felt obligated as a Prefect to abide by this particular school rule, considering she'd already publicly confiscated dozens of Weasley Wizard Wheezes merchandise from other students.

Hermione had also stumbled upon Undetectable Extension Charms in an advanced charms textbook and thought, if she was able to manage it, it would be a good way of concealing the bottles while they smuggle them around. They were quite large, after all. Should they get caught on either end of their effort, they might manage to come away without their true mission being uncovered. Since practically mastering the Disillusionment charm the day before (she'd stayed up until two AM to practice), she'd moved on to the Undetectable Extension Charms now.

They still needed to practice the Disillusionment charm, of course, and both were carrying themselves with an air of excitement for this as they made their way to the Room of Requirement to give it a try. Tonight they were going to practice all of the necessary charms, run through the schedule of the plan two more times, and focus on some technicalities of Draco's movement throughout Slughorn's space.

Oh, and Draco had come up with some signals they could try for once he'd made the switch and was ready to go or if they needed to abandon the mission and leave, They'd practice these signals tonight, too.

The sensation of raw egg cracking over his head and leeching like slime down his entire body was the most peculiar feeling. He squirmed as the magic worked its way down his body, his toes curling as the last bit of him fell prey to Hermione's spell.

She was brilliant, she was. Of course, she was.

Draco lifted his hands in front of his eyes, then reached down to pat the space where his knees should be.

She was absolutely bloody brilliant.

Hermione's Disillusionment Charm was so successful, that Draco could hardly tell where his body stopped and the air around him began. He waved his arms in front of him quickly and had to blink. If he moved quickly, he could just make out a blurred outline of his body. But if he waved his hands slowly, his form was imperceptible.

And it had only taken her 48 hours to master the impossibly difficult spell.

Amazing. Perfect. She was perfect.

This just might work.

He'd have to remember to move slowly when in Slughorn's office.

Draco took a few tentative steps, feeling awkward without being able to see his own feet. Spatial awareness was quite difficult, he discovered, when one was near-invisible.

"Well?" Hermione questioned, a curious and concerned expression twisting her features. "How does it feel?"

"This is a very odd sensation," he told her, taking another few steps around the space. He turned to face her, though she wouldn't know it. "Can you see me?"

"Not at all," she responded. "Move around and let's see." Draco did as he was told, moving around the coffee table and over to the door of their study. He leaned against it casually.

Hermione turned in a circle looking for clues of him and smiled when she couldn't find him. Her back was to him when she guessed, "Are you on the couch?"

His chuckle startled her and, turning with a jump to face him, her smile brightened. "I love magic," she preened.

'I love you,' he almost said back, but he didn't.

The way the upward curve of her lips filled her whole face with light made his heart catch on fire. He couldn't help but smile back, even if she couldn't see it.

His smile was selfish. A proud smile. A real smile.

Draco hadn't experienced many of those in the last few months, though each and every real smile he had managed recently had certainly been because of her.

She was carefully walking towards him now, her arms outstretched searching the air for him. It was adorable and hilarious, and what could only be described as a giggle, yes, a giggle, though he'd deny it, escaped his lips.

"Oh, are you near the door?" She asked.

Salazar, this was fun, he thought, allowing his inner child to indulge in the playfulness.

Smiling, Draco didn't provide an answer. Instead, he skirted around her, just barely dodging her careful arms as she came towards the spot where he'd just been.

Draco reached his desk and carefully, quietly, climbed onto it to sit. He watched as her outstretched hands met the door, her shoulders falling and her head tilting in confusion, a bit of her curls coming loose from where it had been tied back in the process.

"Oh, you're messing with me, are you?" she figured.

Draco smirked, then bit his lip to stop himself from making any sound that would give away his new position.

"This room is small, Draco," she said, turning from the door and scanning the room for his shape. "I will find you."

Her tongue reached out to wet her lips before her teeth captured her bottom one, her classic thinking expression.

She was having fun, too.

Hermione took slow, careful steps around the room pausing every few steps when she would close her eyes to do… something, Draco couldn't figure out. Probably trying to sense his magic or something of the sort. It didn't matter. He both wanted her to find him and wanted to stretch this moment as long as he could.

Hermione looked so peaceful, and so happy, playing their game, searching the room for him, and he let himself study her without feeling embarrassed.

After all, she couldn't see him staring, could she?

Her smile filled her whole face, her cheeks a soft dusty pink. Half of her hair had fallen out of its elastic, but she wasn't bothered by the way rogue tendrils framed her face and brushed against her skin. She bit her lip again, turning her head in his direction, but she still couldn't see him.

Her teeth's hold on her lower lip relented, leaving a dark red spot that begged to be soothed by his lips.

Draco physically shook the thought away before thinking to keep still. Hermione's eyebrows knitted together for a moment before returning to their usual place and she turned away to search for him by the bookshelf.

Hermione didn't look stressed. Her shoulders didn't hold tension, and her expressions were easy and free.

Perhaps, she'd needed this playful break as much as he had. They'd held themselves up in either the library or office every day since term resumed crafting a plan to steal back the mead. It had taken them three days to agree on the safest, most foolproof, course of action, but it hadn't been easy.

Every day that they took to plan was another day where Slughorn might indulge in a drink from his bar cart. Every day that passed marked opportunities where Professor Slughorn might give the bottle to its intended person.

Every day, the odds of their success seemed to shrink, and the chances of someone getting hurt, or worse– killed, increased. The mounting stress was beginning to take its toll on Draco's body. His tremors, which had briefly subsided, were returning with increasing frequency. Hermione noticed the tremors, of course, and understood why they were returning, which made the success of their mission all the more urgent.

The only evidence of Hermione's stress had been the way she'd pressed curfew more and more each night that passed and the way her hair grew bushier as each day went by.

But last night, they'd finalised their plan, and while they still needed to master a few spells and act on it, it felt possible now. Like they really might be able to prevent anybody from getting hurt.

Like they might get away with it.

Like he might really be able to defy Lord Voldemort and survive.

Hermione was near him now. He didn't dare move from his spot atop the desk. She paused by the corner of the desk and, in her odd way, closed her eyes. Her eyes snapped open sharply and she smiled as she reached a hand out to find his body.

Her hand met his shirt easily and, grasping it, she stepped between his dangling legs.

"I knew I'd find you," she smirked.

He laughed, waving his wand with a silent Finite to lift the Disillusionment spell.

"I hoped you would," he replied, significantly flirtier than he had intended, but… well, he couldn't help himself. She was standing between his legs, after all.

"The spell is going to work." She declared. Noticing her hand still gripping his shirt, she quickly released it and smoothed out the wrinkled fabric.

Draco didn't mind the shirt. Not now. Not when she was so close to him. Not when she was smiling at him like sunshine.

"Of course it is, Hermione. You're brilliant."

A blush crept up her cheeks as she looked down and, apparently noticing their closeness for the first time, stepped back to a more appropriate distance. Hiding his disappointment at her retreat, Draco hopped down from his spot on the desk and took a seat on the couch.

"How'd you find me?" he asked.

The colour of her cheeks deepened.

Draco smirked and pressed on. "What gave me away, Hermione? You have to tell me. Otherwise, Slughorn might–"

"Your smell," she interrupted. "You have a very… distinct smell," she confessed through a giggle.

Draco feigned hurt feelings with a look of shock. "Are you telling me I stink, Granger?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her, causing her to laugh more with embarrassment.

"No, you don't stink, Malfoy." She emphasised his surname for effect.

Draco took note. Hermione does not want to be called by her surname.

Not anymore.

He put his feet up on the coffee table feeling smug. She didn't meet his eyes as she took a seat next to him.

"I like the way you smell," she confessed softly. "Like pine trees, and fresh night air, and… I don't know. You have a smell that is so distinctly you."

He almost confessed that he thought the same of her, but he didn't. He'd flirted enough for one night. Didn't want to push his luck and risk scaring her away.

He opted for levity instead. "Let's hope Old Sluggy doesn't have my scent pinned like you do."

Hermione's easy, melodious laugh filled the room as she sat beside him. She nudged his shoulder playfully before resting her head on it.

He noticed the way she breathed him in and let the feelings that came with that warm his soul.

"Let's hope not," agreed Hermione.

"We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?" Draco said.

He felt her deflate beside him, her head heavier on his shoulder.

Their playful, happy, stressless moment was gone.

He dared to brush her wild hair from her face and leaned his head on hers.