Deny

"Teach you to do it?" she echoed dumbly. "How can I teach you to do something when I don't even know how I've done it, or if I can control it?"

"It's controllable," he said decisively. "I've read about it before, and I know you must have come across it in your studies as well." The pink color of her cheeks confirmed his suspicions.

"Yes, in theory it can be controlled - but it's only ever been studied in depth once, and the wizard died before the studies could be completed!"

"How long have you been doing it? Think hard."

Hermione frowned as she tried to remember. "I think it started right after Ron... well, after he was gone. At least, I think that's right. I don't remember it happening before."

"Induced by an extreme emotional state," Draco murmured. "Do you have a quill and parchment?"

"No, but I have a pen and paper."

"Just give me something to write on." Hermione went into the small room she used as a study and retrieved a pen and a pad of paper from her desk drawer, then handed them to Draco, who was sitting at the kitchen table. He began scribbling furiously on the paper.

"You think that the magic was activated because of my grief over Ron's death?"

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. He finished scribbling something, and then met her eyes. "I think it was jump started as a result of your anger over his death."

"Oh," she said quietly, sinking into the chair across from him.

"What I can't understand is why your accidental magic isn't showing up on anyone's radar. The Dark Lord would have known, and Dumbledore would have been aware. He would have stopped you by now if he could see it, because if he could see it, he would have deduced that Voldemort could, too. How is it that you manage it undetected?"

"Isn't wandless magic a form of ancient magic? That would explain why it isn't being detected."

"Or else your power is just too weak right now to set off any detectors," he mused, writing something else down. She frowned at him.

"Since when are you so logical, and why are you being so nice to me?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Weasley," he said distractedly, still writing. "You know that I finished school only second to you."

"Fine, then explain the nice thing." He pursed his lips and was quiet for a long time. Finally, the pen paused just above the paper.

Without looking up, he said, "I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Can't."

"Why? You don't want to tell me, or you don't know?"

"I don't know, all right?" he let out a growl of frustration and glared at her. "You know, you used to respect people in the midst of scholarly work."

"You know, you didn't used to afford anyone that courtesy." She folded her arms over her chest, and waited for him to fire off another insult. Instead, he just looked back down at the paper.

"You're right."

"I am?" she looked surprised, then covered it quickly. "I mean, I know I am."

"Where are all of your books?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"In my study."

"No, the magic-related books."

"I got rid of them."

"Bollocks. Where are they?" Her cheeks turned pink.

"I told you."

"You're lying. Even if you didn't want to study them or look at them anymore, you would never get rid of them. It's not in your nature." She looked embarrassed and sighed.

"In the attic."

"And you didn't think that keeping all of your magical books and items in the attic would kick up some sort of magical disturbance at some point?" he asked, rising from his chair. "Power of that kind doesn't store well."

"I charmed all of the storage boxes," she admitted hesitantly. He nodded and went into the family room, his eyes searching the ceiling for the door to the attic.

"I suspected. Dumbledore led me to believe that you'd gotten rid of all of your magical things, but I knew he must have been misled. You could no sooner ignore magic than you could ignore anything in the Muggle world. It's too much a part of you."

Hermione froze where she stood and stared after him, her mouth open in surprise. That was the first time that she'd ever heard him refer to her Muggle heritage without using foul or demeaning language, and it was like a shock to her system. It was also the first time that he'd ever insinuated that it was okay for her to use magic, or that she was born with magical abilities, just like a pureblooded witch.

"Spot on," he murmured from the end of the hallway. She looked up in time to see him pull the string, and the ladder that led to the attic unfolded. He went up, but she didn't follow. She needed to sit down and think about what was happening.

He seemed to be impressed with the idea that she might be able to do wandless magic. Could it be a good thing for both of them to get involved in? A research project might be just the thing for the both of them to throw themselves into and become absorbed in; it would definitely give him respite from Ginny's death, and that had to be a good thing, right?

Besides, it might do her some good to get back in sync with the magical world. She'd been gone a long time, and this might be her window of opportunity. She couldn't lie to herself; she'd been itching more and more lately to do magic again. She missed it. Draco was right - magic was a part of her, and she'd always known subconsciously that she would embrace it again someday. She just hadn't thought that that day would come so soon.

And maybe this "project" would get Draco to talk to her some more about Ginny, and what had been going on in the world since she'd removed herself from it. She wanted to be his friend - she just wanted a friend, period, and he was the closest warm body. He had been civil to her today, and they'd been getting along, although with their very different personalities, she wasn't sure how long the peace would last.

Better take advantage of it while she could.

She moved into the study and sat down at the computer desk. She logged on to a magical database she'd found before Ron had died, and began to search using the key words "wandless magic."

"Weasley? Where are you?" his voice drifted in from the hallway.

"Study," she called back. Moments later, he entered the room, carrying a large cardboard box.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously, eyeing the magical symbols on the monitor.

"Searching for information on wandless magic. There's more than I would have thought, but I think a lot of it is facetious."

"Well, with the sort of drivel that people post on the Internet, you can hardly expect to have every hit be completely on kilter." She turned in her chair and stared at him in amazement. He frowned. "What?"

"You know about the Internet?"

"Again with the insulting my intelligence," he sighed, his frown deepening. "It's something of a habit for you to think that you're always the smartest person in the room, isn't it? You'll have to outgrow that while I'm here, you know. Yes, Weasley, I am familiar with the Internet. Hell, I even know how to navigate it, to a degree."

"I didn't mean to insult your intelligence," she apologized. "I just didn't think you'd be familiar with a computer, much less the Internet, especially since your father didn't like Muggles or Muggle devices."

"He didn't like them. That didn't mean that we didn't familiarize ourselves with them. He thought it was a good strategy to know what our enemy had, and how to use the tools they created, even if it was only to use their tools against them."

"Shrewd," she commented dryly, turning back to the screen. He shrugged. "So how do we know that Voldemort doesn't use the Internet, and therefore have access to all of the same information that we do?"

"We don't know that," he said, moving to stand behind her. He bent over a bit and looked over her shoulder at the screen.

"That's really annoying," she said.

"You'll live."

"You're annoying," she breathed, her fingers flying over the keys smoothly.

"Again, you'll live."

"Prat."

"Wench."

"What are you, five years old?" she demanded, her anger spiking.

"Hey, you're the one who started in with the name calling, remember?"

"Well, you didn't have to continue it!"

"You mean, pass up an opportunity to egg you on and bother you? Never happen."

"I forgot that I'd rather spend an eternity negotiating with a Runespoor than ever spend more than five minutes alone with you," she mumbled, printing out a particularly helpful article.

"You're just afraid that you're going to give in to your attraction to me." She turned and gaped at him, her eyes round and as wide as saucers. "What? It was a joke, Weasley!"

"I do not, in any way, shape, or form, find you in the least bit attractive."

"The feeling is more than mutual, I assure you."

"Good." She turned back to face the monitor.

"So explain to me the charms that you used on these boxes."

"What does it matter?" she asked, swiveling in her chair again. "We can't cast the counterspells to them because the magic would be detected."

He frowned. "Unless you used your wandless magic to do it."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I can't control it?" she asked exasperatedly.

"You're just going to have to learn, then."

"How? Since you seem to have all of the answers, how?"

"Lots of hard work. Which basically consists of me aggravating you to the point of heightened emotion, at which point something will either disappear or you'll manage to open these boxes."

"So your brilliant plan is just to pester me to death?"

"In a nutshell, yes."

"It's already starting to work. You're incredibly annoying."

"Excellent. Just focus that angry energy at reversing the charms you put on these boxes."

"It'd be a lot more fun to magic you into oblivion," she snapped.

"I'm sure it would, but then who would you have to keep you company and burn breakfasts for?" She fought to keep the smile away from her face, but it was an uphill battle. He saw her smile and grinned to himself as he turned away from her. It wouldn't do to become friends with her; they had too many differences, and besides that, when he was able to leave here, he planned to do just that - and never look back.