Chapter 42: Draco

Words

"Words are the source of misunderstandings." ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Friday, September 7, 2007

Official Correspondence of the Potion Masters' Guild

To: Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy
Re: Patent Approval and Examination Opportunity

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that your submitted potion recipe, currently registered under the moniker The Imposter's Downfall, has been tentatively approved and provisionally patented, pending rigorous testing by our guild members. Initial evaluations suggest a highly promising and innovative formulation, and we commend your skill in its development.

The guild has initiated the standardized testing process to assess your potion's efficacy, safety, and reproducibility. These evaluations typically require a minimum of six months to complete. You will be notified promptly upon the conclusion of this phase.

Additionally, we recognize your potential candidacy for an independent Mastery of Potions certification. As per Guild regulations, you may pursue the Potion Master's Exam instead of a completed apprenticeship, provided your potion achieves final approval. To prepare for the examination, we strongly recommend a period of rigorous study. The exam encompasses not only theoretical knowledge but also advanced practical brewing skills.

For assistance in scheduling, please get in touch with Master Honoria Vindlewort, the Guild's designated liaison for nonaffiliated candidates.

Sincerely,
Eldon Cresswell
Secretary to the Potion Masters' Guild

Friday September 7, 2007

Dear Draco,

Thank you for all the gifts from the Quidditch Championship! I love them all, even though I don't really support France (but the English things are AMAZING). Grandmum says it's "excessive" (Did I spell that right?) but I don't think so. The posters are already up in my room, and I've been trying to practice the commentator's voice like they do at matches, but Grandmum says I need to stop shouting in the house.

Grandmum told me about your potion, and it sounds really cool. I don't know much about potions yet, but I want to learn! I'll be starting Hogwarts in less than two years, so I need to be ready. Would you like to come to dinner sometime? You can tell me more about potions, and I promise not to ask too many questions (but probably some).

Teddy

Later that day—
Friday, September 7, 2007
Nott Manor

Draco stood in the center of a dusty room in the East Wing of Theo's cursed Manor, hands on his hips, glaring at a moth-eaten tapestry depicting a battle between two confused-looking trolls. The room might have been a ballroom or a conservatory at one point. It was difficult to determine. The entire wing was neglected to the point of dereliction.

Muffy darted around him like a flamingo-pink snitch, dusting everything in her path as the fringed hem of her frock fanned out around her. Across the room, Bob sat on a high stool, polishing a stained glass window at the pace of a particularly unmotivated snail. Bob let out a long sigh every few minutes, as though existing were an unbearable burden.

"Does he even know how to dust?" Draco drawled, gesturing toward Bob with a flick of his wrist.

Theo, lounging on a decrepit armchair that was somehow still stable enough for his body weight, grinned lazily. "Of course he does. I've seen him do it once or twice. Brilliant technique. Takes his time."

"You could eat off the floors if you waited a century," Draco muttered.

"Not everyone can have a Muffy," Theo replied, watching Muffy zip past with a rag in each hand.

"How old is that?" Draco inquired about the armchair, the only piece of furniture he had seen in Nott Manor in recent years outside the kitchen and Theo's workroom.

"This thing?" Theo asked, testing the cushions. A sharp crack sounded out as he bounced, and he winced, standing gently. "Old enough for the Ministry to leave it behind after their raids. Consider it a moving-in present."

"No, thanks—Muffy," Draco said sharply as she darted past them again to scrub at a bronze sconce on the nearby wall furiously. "Pace yourself, would you? I don't need the entire East Wing sparkling by sundown."

Muffy paused mid-spin, her enormous green eyes welling up. "Your new home will be perfect! Without the Manor—" She broke off with a hiccup, sniffling into the rag she clutched.

"We've been over this," Draco said, his tone clipped but not unkind. "I'm not abandoning the Manor. I'm simply relocating for professional purposes. And besides"—he softened slightly—"I need you here. You've done more cleaning in five minutes than this place has seen in fifty years. Who else can manage this level of chaos?"

Muffy perked up at that, sniffed once, and immediately resumed her frenetic cleaning.

Draco still felt guilty over how upset Muffy had been when he'd told her he was leaving Malfoy Manor. She'd been on the verge of tears until he'd emphasized that her talents were essential for this move. Draco had conscripted elves from Château Malfoy before he had departed France to the consternation of Narcissa, though Draco framed it as preparing the Manor for her eventual return to England. Still, she had not protested as much as Draco expected, and the elves Milly and Mopsy had rejoined Malfoy Manor with little complaint under Muffy's leadership.

After Muffy zipped off to the next sconce, Draco returned to the trunk he had unpacked, filled with shrunken-down lab tables. Draco already had a vision for arranging the immense room and was secretly pleased with having windows to admire as he brewed. Strictly speaking, he had notneededto work in Malfoy Manor's cellar all these years. Still, he had never felt comfortable changing his Mother's careful decorative scheme—plus, it allowed him to avoid everywhere the Dark Lord had held court.

"Relocating for professional purposes," Theo repeated as he walked over to examine the troll tapestry Draco had been observing earlier. "You mean hiding from your father's attempts to re-insert himself into good society through paranoiac spying and passive-aggressive jabs at your lordship."

"Shut up, Theo," Draco muttered, not looking up from his trunk. He took out a table and un-shrunk it, pondering the optimal position for his scrubbing sink. "You could help, you know."

"I would, but …" Theo trailed off, clutching his shoulder with a feigned wince of pain.

Draco glared. "You're completely healed."

"I can still feel a twinge if I angle my neck this way," Theo protested, demonstrating a contorted pose that not even an acrobat would regularly achieve.

At that moment, Willy entered the room, closely followed by his brother Timmy. They each levitated a trunk behind them, the faint clang of shifting cauldrons audible in their depths.

Willy, eager as ever, nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to set down his trunk. Timmy, sandy hair sticking up from exertion, was more cautious, carefully placing his burden on the floor before straightening up. Draco had poached Timmy from the Department of Magical Transportation job earlier in the week, offering an obscenely larger salary and the opportunity for flexible hours.

Timmy Englebert, it turned out, was an aspiring artist interested in enchanted sculptures. Draco did not care for such things, but Timmy had also received an O on his Potions NEWT, which was more than Draco could reasonably expect for a last-minute hire. He supposed the Englebert family had a knack for potion-making.

"Is this everything?" Draco asked, raising a brow.

"Nope, we've got two more boxes in the Floo," Willy chirped. "I'll grab them!" And then he ran off.

Looking faintly ill at the sight of his brother abandoning him, Timmy beheld Draco and Theo with the wide-eyed nerves of someone on the first week of a new job.

Draco took sympathy. "Timmy, would you arrange the pewter cauldrons by size along the wall there?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy!" Timmy proceeded to heave open the trunk and give a poor attempt at lifting Draco's largest cauldron out of its depths.

"Timmy," Draco said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Use magic. If that cauldron so much as chips, I'm sending you back to Transportation."

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" Timmy stammered, red-faced, as he carefully levitated the cauldron into place with his wand.

"You've got this, Tim-Tim," Theo called after him, waving his hand in mock encouragement. Timmy froze mid-step, his face flushing.

"Thanks, Mr. Nott!" Timmy replied, visibly brightening.

Draco glared and returned to his unpacking, pointedly ignoring Theo's conspiratorial grin.

Having settled on a layout, Draco lifted his wand and enchanted the eleven remaining shrunken tables to their proper places with a single flourish of his wand.

Theo gave a low whistle as Draco began enlarging each table to its proper size. "Very sexy."

Draco shot him a withering look. "Theo, if you have nothing useful to contribute, you can go dust your nonexistent furniture."

"Sensitive," Theo remarked, unfazed. "Still upset about Hermione?"

Draco froze for half a second—long enough for Theo's smirk to spread.

"I knew it."

"You know nothing," Draco retorted, but he couldn't quite keep the edge out of his voice.

Of course, Theo was right. Draco's interaction with Granger after he and Theo gave their statements at the Ministry was a constant source of confusion—her soft "thank you," the apology he had interrupted, the way her amber eyes had held his for just a moment too long.

It was maddening. On the one hand, Granger had accused him of sabotaging the Priscus case because he was a bad person. On the other hand, she'd admitted she'd been wrong. And on yet another hand, he was furious with her for making him feel guilty about something he'd had no obligation to share in the first place.

"She only insinuated you were criminally deviant because she's interested," Theo remarked.

Draco decided—for the fifth time in a week, because he was really having trouble following through—that he needed to nip this inconvenient infatuation in the bud. Granger was too good, too involved, too earnest, too everything for his attention. It had seemed even more stark after he handed her that tome on Sacred Twenty-Eight lineage, the basis for all the bigoted ideology of his youth.

"Shut up, Theo," was all Draco could muster from the jumble of emotions in his head.

"Never."

Bob appeared beside Draco without warning, startling him so much that he almost dropped his wand. The taciturn elf barely blinked.

"Lord Malfoy," Bob announced, "Mister Harry Potter awaits you in the Floo."

Draco frowned. "Awaits me?"

Theo tilted his head. "Awaits you? It's my house."

"Why would Potter be calling you?" Draco shot back.

"Why is Potter calling you?" Theo countered.

Draco lacked a comeback because he would never willingly entertain even the abstract idea of a Floo call from Potter. Unimpressed by their exchange, Bob merely began stalking away, presumably toward the Floo room.

Draco trailed after the elf, and Theo, much to Draco's irritation, followed at his elbow. Draco scowled. "I'm beginning to suspect I won't have any privacy here."

Theo gave him a bright smile. "You'd be correct."

The Floo room was bare to the point of absurdity, with only the large hearth at the center of the longest wall opposite some cloudy windows. Potter's face floated in the green flames, his expression annoyed.

"Malfoy, oh good, you are here," Potter said once Draco entered his sightline. Then, noticing Theo, Potter added, "Oh, you're here too."

Theo placed a hand on his hip, affronted. "Of course, I'm here. It's my house."

Potter blinked, his green eyes darting between the two Slytherins. "So this is a thing. Hermione wasn't lying."

Theo spread his arms theatrically. "Roommates, Potter! Just like you and Hermione."

Potter's eyes rolled so hard that Draco thought they might tumble out of his head and onto the floor before them.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco drawled, crossing his arms.

Potter's face turned serious. "I have a proposition. … Ersilia's coven," he offered as a preamble.

Draco stiffened as a cold feeling spread from his head to his toes. The vampire's name alone was enough to conjure the memory of her unsettling, predatory smile. "What about them?"

"This is classified, but I have special permission to tell you, so please keep that in mind. Ersilia's coven didn't help fight Rowle because they contractually agreed to fight werewolves and knew instantly that Rowle, Priscus, and the others were imposters. They fled France and are now somewhere in England, but we don't know where."

Draco visibly tensed. When he and Theo had left France after getting patched up in the hospital, Draco had rushed—and left at high noon—partially because he was eager to get as far away from the vampires as possible. His mother was still cross with him for leaving so abruptly—and so was Pansy. In fact, Pansy had stormed off to her apartment in Milan shortly before Draco and Theo had departed with a pointed threat of collecting on her accumulated favors.

But not even that grim declaration could distract Draco from his fear. The fact was that Ersilia's comments at the gala had deeply shaken him, though he had not mentioned the conversation in detail to anyone, not even Theo. Draco had not felt such a gnawing dread since the Dark Lord had fallen.

Since returning to England, though, things had been blissfully too busy for Draco to fully contemplate the terror Ersilia had elicited when she called him a "child of the night."

Potter continued after Draco did not respond. "We—well, Hermione is trying to track them down by analyzing records of unregistered portkey arrivals. But the department is swamped with Rowle and other cases. We need to bring in consultants, and Hermione, in particular, needs a partner to track the coven. Would you be willing to assist with the investigation? We can start on a week-by-week basis. No one at the DMLE has much vampire experience, and since you are familiar with Ersilia …"

"No."

Draco could sense Theo stiffen beside him.

Potter frowned. "You don't even—"

"No," Draco repeated. Absolutely fucking not. "I'm not interested in consulting on a case involving this coven. My advice is to hope Ersilia crawls into a dark hole and never appears again."

Potter's voice hardened. "Ersilia is dangerous. I know that, Malfoy. That's why Hermione isn't allowed to go into the field alone. If it's not you, it'll be someone else who doesn't know what we're dealing with. You think she's safer with that?"

Draco's jaw tightened. "I am not the steward of Granger's safety, Potter. If Granger must run off into danger—again—then you'll have to find someone else suitable to trail after her. It won't be me."

Potter's frustration bubbled over. "Do you know how hard it was for me to convince her to accept theideaof you as a partner? She's—" He stopped himself, visibly biting back words. "Listen, Malfoy … I trust you to keep her safe—safer than our other options, at least."

Draco's stomach twisted uncomfortably at that. He opened his mouth, ready to refuse again, but Potter cut him off.

"You know what? Fine," Potter snapped abruptly. "I don't want you if you'll not take it seriously, anyway."

Draco scowled. He rather thought he was the only one taking Ersilia seriously between them all.

Potter let out a weary sigh. "If you won't consult, I'll move on to the next thing. Would you license and supply The Imposter's Downfall to the DMLE? I already have a draft contract available. We can negotiate."

The change in subject relieved Draco. "Send a contract, and I'll look it over."

Potter nodded shortly. "Good. I'll leave you both to your dust pit, then."

Theo smirked. "A pleasure as always, Potter."

The flames winked out, and Potter's face disappeared.

Theo turned to Draco, frowning. "You refused to work with Hermione rather quickly for someone besotted with her."

Draco spun on his heel and stalked out of the Floo room, his strides quick and agitated. Theo followed, unrelenting.

"Draco," Theo said sharply. "You know how dangerous Ersilia is. You saw it during the war. You told me. If anyone understands the places she would go to hide, it's you."

Draco stopped short in the dimly lit corridor, turning to face him. "And that's exactly why I want nothing to do with her."

Theo stared at him, waiting.

"Theo," Draco began, breathing through an involuntary tremor. "She found me at the gala. She looked me in the eyes and said I had the look of a child of the night. Said I knew about 'the acute joy of suffering.'" His voice dropped, quieter but no less intense. "No shit, since she laughed at the Dark Lord's side while I was tortured several times. And then she said, 'Remember me, Draco Malfoy.'"

Theo didn't reply immediately. His expression softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. "And you're content to let her roam the country after that? You're okay with letting Hermione potentially face that alone?"

"Granger and I are nothing to each other." Draco's throat tightened at the pitying expression he found on Theo's face. He looked away toward the window at the end of the corridor, caked with grime. "She won't be alone. Potter will find someone else—or accompany her himself."

"I think you know Potter wouldn't be asking you if he could do this himself," Theo responded, stony-faced. And the truth of his words sunk into Draco's chest.

What would be worse? Seeing Ersilia again, on fucking purpose, with her knowing smile, thirst for deranged power, and black, fathomless eyes? Or spending days in Granger's proximity, constantly reminded of how out of reach she was in the way he wanted her? Or the other, increasingly less palatable option: Waiting for Granger to find Ersilia and potentially get hurt or killed in the process—and not knowing until it was too late to stop it?

Saturday, September 8, 2007

Dear Malfoy,

I'll get straight to the point—Harry and I believe your expertise with vampires, particularly your knowledge of Ersilia, would make you an ideal consultant for the DMLE's current investigation into her coven. We wouldn't ask for much of your time, and I'd happily handle most of the work.

Your role could be entirely remote—notes, letters, and guidance on key points. We'd never even need to meet in person. You'd provide the insight, and I'd handle everything else.

I'm confident that your contribution would help. Please give it some thought.

Best regards,
Hermione Granger

Saturday, September 8, 2007

Potter,

Granger seems to think it's acceptable if I were to consult "entirely remote," thus enabling her to investigate Ersilia's coven alone. While her swotty enthusiasm is predictable, this level of recklessness is deeply concerning.

If the Ministry relies on Granger for this operation, I suggest you ensure she isn't planning anything catastrophically idiotic.

My answer is still no.

Draco Malfoy

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Dear Malfoy,

I cannot believe you wrote to Harry behind my back! Your letter has, predictably, caused Harry to lecture me at length on the DMLE's fieldwork policies.

Let me be clear: I was not suggesting recklessness but offering you a way to contributewithout joining me in person. If you're so intent on refusing, fine—but at least have the decency to communicate directly with me, not tattling to Harry like a child.

You are the most qualified person for this case, and none of the other potential partners are remotely suited. Please reconsider.

Sincerely,
Hermione Granger

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Granger,

No.

I have no intention of involving myself with Ersilia's coven. You may think yourself prepared for this, but Ersilia is not a creature to underestimate. Her appetite for destruction surpasses all other vampires I've encountered.

Though we have never discussed it, I'm sure you possess the inclination to naively trust that all beings, no matter how vile, have some inherent goodness.

In this case, that would be foolish. Be careful, Granger.

D. Malfoy

Monday, September 10, 2007

Malfoy,

Your condescension is as tiresome as it is predictable. Do you think I would unquestioningly trust Ersilia or anyone associated with her coven? I know better than anyone how dangerous vampires are.

If you truly meant what you said at the Ministry about offering assistance if we needed it, please reconsider.

H. Granger

Monday, September 10, 2007

Granger,

No.

D. Malfoy

Later that day—

Draco observed Willy and Timmy out of the corner of his eye as they tested the enchanted burners inside Nott Manor's maybe-former-ballroom-turned-laboratory. Draco scratched notes into his ledger, attempting to ignore Theo's latest pitch for a fountain design.

"This one," Theo said, waving his wand at a shimmering projection of a cauldron spewing streams of a chunky, silvery liquid, "symbolizes the endless generosity of the Charitable Potions Trust. Very tasteful."

Draco glanced at it briefly, trying not to show his disdain. "It looks like the cauldron's vomiting molten silver mixed with pond scum."

"It's supposed to. The silver represents purging impurities," Theo countered. "Potions are all about symbolism."

"Potions are about precision, discipline, and intuition," Draco muttered, returning to his notes.

Before Theo could reply, a sharp pop heralded Bob's arrival, and the elf announced himself by sighing wearily.

"Lord Malfoy, sir," Bob began, his voice drawling lazily, "there is—" but the double doors banged open with a thunderous crash before Bob could finish.

Hermione Granger stormed inside.

Draco froze, his quill hovering mid-air between his gaping mouth and the lab table. Theo posed similarly with his wand beside him, though it quickly morphed into delight.

"Hermione!" Theo exclaimed, vanishing his fountain design with a quick flick. "What an unexpected pleasure—"

Theo cut himself off at Granger's look of pure fury.

"You," Granger growled, spotting Draco across the room. She cut a direct path toward him from her position in the entryway.

Draco allowed himself the indulgence of cowering internally before he steeled himself for what was sure to be an award-worthy display of reckless Gryffindor temper. He had expected Granger to send another letter, perhaps even a Howler. Not this.

He ignored the rush of excited heat inside him at the sight of her. There was no space to think about the implications of that feeling right now.

As she stalked toward him, her dark robe flared behind her like a cape. Beneath it, she wore a sleek black athletic ensemble, fitted and practical, with hints of burnished leather along the sleeves and boots. Her hair, still cropped at her shoulders, framed her face in a halo of unruly curls that seemed to defy gravity. Draco noted with interest that she was no longer in the burnt orange ensemble of a junior auror on patrol. However, her Ministry badge was visible on her collar, implying that she had arrived directly from work.

"Malfoy," Granger snapped, her sharp tone cutting through the air. She was a mere two table rows away from Draco. "We need to talk."

Draco glanced at Theo, whose raised eyebrows and barely contained smirk indicated he was enjoying this far too much.

"Granger," Draco said, drawing out her name with what he hoped was just the right amount of affected boredom, "I can't think of a single thing we need to discuss."

"I can think of a few things you should talk about," Theo muttered to Draco under his breath. Draco cut him a glare fierce enough to make Theo comprehend his meaning: Shut the fuck up.

Granger finally crossed the room, her boots striking the stone floor with a satisfying click as she stopped. She stood a few arm lengths short of his table, close enough for him to admire the flashing anger in her eyes.

"Don't play dumb," she hissed.

Draco set down his quill and steepled his fingers, forcing himself to meet her gaze steadily despite his quickened pulse. "If this is about my last letter—"

"'No?'" she interrupted, her voice rising. "'No?' I think I merit more than one syllable."

"Granger," he began, his tone placating, "I was simply saving us both the time."

"By being insufferably rude?"

Theo cleared his throat, leaning on the edge of Draco's table with an amused grin. "What letter?"

Hermione shot him a withering look but said nothing, turning her ire back on Draco.

"You're going to consult on the Ersilia case," she demanded. "You promised to help if we needed it, and now—"

"I promised no such thing," Draco said, sitting straighter, his attempt at calm fraying. "I said you can let me know if you need further assistance, and you did. I've considered it, and my answer is no."

"You're unbelievable!" she cried, throwing her hands up.

Draco couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in her voice. The observation unsettled him, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

"I'm busy," he said, gesturing broadly to the room. "As you can see, I have a charity to run, not to mention a new potion for which three ministries are requesting contractual supplies—including yours. I'm still brewing Wolfsbane for the entire lycanthropic population of England. And I'm also studying for the Potion Master Exam. Not to mention, I have two employees that require my attention."

Willy and Timmy, who had been poorly pretending to work at the burners, stared openly at the exchange. Then Willy, as though he couldn't stop himself, piped up, "Madam Granger! Madam Granger! Hi, it's me, Willy! You rescued me from the fake werewolves in May! Do you remember?"

Granger's expression softened momentarily, and she turned toward him with a brief smile.

"Hello, Willy. Yes, of course, I remember. I'm glad to see you're still in one piece. Tell Phoebe and Imogene I asked after them, would you?"

"Yes, Madam Granger! Thank you, Madam Granger!" Willy's enthusiasm was nearly enough to knock his safety goggles off. "This is my brother, Timmy!"

"I'm a huge fan, Madam Granger! I prepared some portkeys for you last year in the Department of Transportation. It was a real honor!"

"Er—thanks. Nice to meet you, Timmy," Granger offered indulgently, and Draco could have strained his neck with the force of the eye roll that he suppressed.

Granger returned her gaze to Draco, the fleeting warmth gone. "That's correct—you have employees and what I presume to be near unlimited amounts of gold and resources."

Draco leaned forward, his facade of calm slipping. "I'm not risking my time—or my safety—chasing down Ersilia with you."

Granger's jaw tightened. "I'm the problem?"

Draco hesitated. Yes, she was the problem, but not for the reason she thought. Granger believed Draco wouldn't work on the case because he didn't want to be near her.

Little did she know that each letter Draco had received from Granger that week sent a thrill of excitement through him. Each dot of an 'i'—taking the form of a minuscule circle, always slightly off-center, to the right of the line—was a source of fascination. When he sent her his final "no" that morning, he mourned that she might not write to him again.

But … there she was.

The thought of Granger being required to spend time with Draco was as enticing to him as it was infuriating. Why did it have to be vampires? Why did it have to be Ersilia?

Perhaps it would be better to let Granger think he disdained her, but he couldn't muster the will to say that outright. Instead, he replied, "I can't be your partner, Granger."

"Can't or won't?" Granger crossed her arms. Her face looked pinched, and Draco understood how Granger looked while guarding herself to be hurt. He hated himself for it.

"Fine," she said without waiting for him to reply, her voice steely. "If you won't listen to reason, then let's settle this another way."

"There's nothing to settle!" Draco stood, the stool screeching against the stone floor as he pushed it out. "Potter offered me a job, and I declined. End of story."

Granger stepped forward so that her hip pressed against the edge of the lab table. Only the metal tabletop separated her from Draco. He wanted to reach across, grab her by the collar, and pull her into his arms.

And then she said, low and breathy, "Not only are you rude, but you're a liar."

The warm rush of blood was audible in Draco's eardrums. "Excuse me?"

"Yes. A liar. What was it you said to me?" She looked toward the rafters, searching for a memory of some sort.

"I told you, I promised nothing—"

"Not at the Ministry," Granger cut in. "At the gala. What was it exactly? 'I'll keep trying to make it up to you.' Well, this is your chance, Malfoy. Unless you habitually spew nonsense."

Draco's heart hammered in his chest. She was talking about their dance—about what he had told her after she thanked him for saving her life. Hedid notsave her life. He helped, maybe. She would have been fine with or without his antivenin; it just might have taken a bit longer. He was almost sure of it.

Make it up to her? Yes, he had said something along those lines. In the heat of the moment, he had recalled all the awful things he had put her through in their childhood, and he could not bear the memory of them. He wanted to make up for his actions—and under the fairy lights and the red shadow of the Earth on the moon and the blaze of her eyes and the feel of her skin under his fingertips—he had said so.

Draco could not break his gaze from Granger's defiant stare.

And then something Earth-shaking happened. Standing in Nott Manor, facing off against Granger with nothing but a lab table between them, Draco understood two terrifying things.

One: he understood that his infatuation with Granger was much more dangerous than he had initially thought. It was not something that he could dismiss through sheer will and avoidance. No, he did not have the will to suppress it.

And two, the most terrifying of all: Draco understood that Granger might feel something, too. How could she call him a liar with such venom in her voice if she didn't?

Draco looked at Granger, and she looked right back at him. It was almost too much to bear. He faltered, unable to find the right words, any words. "Granger—"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, I, Hermione Jean Granger, challenge you to a wizard's duel," Granger blurted, her eyes widening in shock before she had even finished her sentence.

"What?" Draco blanched.

"A—a duel. If I win, you agree to consult on this case. If you win—I'll never bother you again. About anything." She seemed hesitant, the corners of her eyes strained with tension.

The ballroom was silent as the grave. Draco looked around, searching for any ounce of common sense in the people around him because it seemed Granger had lost all of hers. Willy and Timmy had long given up testing the burners and were openly gaping at Granger. Theo's smirk, too, was long gone; he beheld Draco and Granger with rapt attention.

There was no help to be found. Granger had just proffered a formal challenge.

Draco had to try something. "Those aren't exactly balanced terms—"

"That's what you want, isn't it? To be left alone." Granger, who had been defiant moments earlier, looked unsure.

No. That was not what Draco wanted. He wanted Ersilia dead, his past forgotten. He wanted to be a different person than whom he was—or perhaps he wanted Granger to understand him and look beyond their past experiences. He wanted other things from Granger, too. Things that he could not speak aloud in civilized company.

"He accepts," Theo announced, banging his fist on the lab table for emphasis. The sound jarred both Draco and Granger, who jumped slightly, broke their interminable eye contact, and looked at Theo with confusion.

Draco's stomach sank. "I do not—"

"Draco accepts your challenge, Hermione. Wednesday night at the Dueling Arena. Eight o'clock," Theo said. "Medical assistance provided, just in case. I'll be there, but maybe I should owl Padma. I wish I had hired that receptionist-slash-bodyguard already …" Theo trailed off, and Draco could see the gears of Theo's mind whirling behind his eyes.

"Absolutely not—"

"Good," Granger nodded at Theo. "It's set. Be there, Malfoy."

And without even looking at Draco again, without so much as waiting for him to nod, Granger turned on her heels and stormed out the way she had come, the clicking of her boots growing fainter once she disappeared down the distant hall.

Draco saw red. He turned to Theo, who was still too consumed inside his idiotic brain to acknowledge Draco's existence. Draco hit the lab table hard with his hand, causing his previously abandoned quill to hop in the air.

Theo was startled and looked at Draco. He winced at the sight of Draco's face.Good.

"What the fuck have you done?" Draco demanded.

"This will be good for you," Theo argued with what would have been remarkable confidence had he not started backing away.

"The fuck it will," Draco seethed.

"I'll be your second," Theo offered weakly.

"The fuck you will."

"I wonder if George and I can pull together a betting pool."

"I'm not fighting Granger!"

"Then forfeit and work with her. I know you want to. It's a win-win!"

"Theo."

"You'll thank me later."

Up Next: Draco Malfoy v. Hermione Granger.