Meet the Kids

Chapter 11

Epilogue Part 1: And So It Starts

If Snape didn't love taunting Gryffindors as much as he did, Draco really would've hated Potions- who could love a class that they took with their worst enemies?

"Potter, I can see the smoke from your potion from here. It's supposed to be a pale gray, not sulfurous yellow," said Snape silkily, walking over to Potter and glaring maliciously at him. Draco nudged Blaise and chuckled, making no effort to mask his glee.

Potter shot Snape a look of utter loathing, which was no doubt returned, and then glared in Draco's general direction. Weasley, too, was scowling. And here Draco had thought it wasn't possible for his face to get any uglier.

He couldn't help but notice that there was a pale gray vapor rising from Granger's cauldron, and she stirred it almost primly, looking at it with furrowed brow, as if checking for mistakes. Draco's own potion was a bit darker gray- a polluted gray described it perfectly- and he scowled at it. At least Snape wouldn't award Gryffindor points for Granger's perfect potion.

"For homework this week, you are each to write an essay on the Loss of Memory Potions you just made, explaining their background, side effects, and all other related information. They are due next class, which is also when we'll be testing the potions."

Granger's hand shot into the air. "How long should they be, Professor?"

Snape considered the question and then gave a nasty sneer. "One foot maximum. Anything more will count against its grade."

Granger seemed to deflate upon hearing there was a maximum limit. Draco smirked; he wondered how tiny she would cramp her writing in order to fulfill the requirement. She was probably regretting having asked.

"Class dismissed." Snape swept to the front of the room and turned his back on the students as they began making their way out of the classroom. Draco led the Slytherins leisurely out of the dungeon, gliding past the Gryffindors as his friends purposely bumped into them. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were of course walking ahead- they were always among the first to leave Potions- and muttering about Snape in low undertones.

"Hermione, we've told you raising your hand in Snape's class is never good for anything!" said Weasley in aggravated tones.

"How was I to know he would do that?" replied Granger in an injured voice. "Besides, I would think you would be glad."

"Well, yes, we are," Potter admitted, not quite meeting Granger's eyes. "Unlike you, Ron and I don't particularly like writing ridiculously long essays . . ."

Granger gave an indignant sniff.

"Looking forward to testing out your potion, Granger?" said Draco, cutting in front of the Gryffindor and smiling at her unpleasantly. "Wonder if it will make you forget how to be such a show-off . . . it'd be a welcome break for the rest of us."

Pansy Parkinson, walking right behind, gave a tittering laugh. Draco winced; not that he didn't like Pansy, but if her ancestors had had the same laugh it sort of explained where the myth that witches cackled came from.

"Shove off, Malfoy," seethed Weasley, as Granger glared at him. Potter seemed itching to go for his wand, something he usually wasn't provoked enough to do after a single insult. Either Potter had already had a trying morning or Draco was getting better; he preferred to assume the latter.

Still smirking, Draco glided past them with Blaise and Pansy, heading towards the Great Hall for lunch. If there was one thing Gryffindors were useful for, they were prime targets for practicing one's nasty wit on . . .

* * *

Of course, two days in a row with Gryffindors was tiring. In Potions Snape was at least just as critical of them, if not more. In Care of Magical Creatures it was not nearly so easy to taunt them with that oaf teaching. Draco could not remember why he had signed up for this absurd class in the first place.

"Today we'll be lookin' at diricawls. Now, 'ere's one-" Hagrid gestured at the rough-hewn wooden table in front of him, on which sat a plump, fluffy bird gazing blearily at them. "Anyway want to explain what a diricawl is?"

Draco thought furiously for a few seconds. He knew he had heard of the creatures before, and there was some sort of muggle tale connected with it . . .

As usual, Granger's hand shot into the air.

"The diricawl is a flightless bird that can escape danger by vanishing at will and reappearing elsewhere. Muggles call the diricawl 'dodo' birds, and believe they are extinct due to their tendency to vanish."

Hagrid beamed at her. "Exactly. Ten points fer Gryffindor." Granger looked pleased. Draco scowled, and Blaise Zabini muttered "know-it-all" as Hagrid directed the students to start coming up in pairs to examine the diricawl.

"In all her years here, how many points do you think she's won for Gryffindor for having memorized all the textbooks?" Draco muttered as he and Blaise walked purposefully slowly up to the table.

Blaise shrugged, squinting at the diricawl, which looked at him sleepily and ruffled its feathers. "Dunno. Why do you care?"

"I don't. Why would I?"

* * *

Despite what others might have thought of him, Draco did not typically enjoy brooding in the Slytherin common room late at night. He preferred to stay up late, oh yes, but it was generally to talk with friends and play games that were best played late at night. Occasionally, however, he did brood, for whatever reason, and tonight was one of those nights.

"I win," said Blaise gleefully. "Three games in a row."

Draco looked at his friend's singed eyebrows scornfully and hoped his own didn't look the same. This was why he generally didn't play Exploding Snap. "Congratulations, fifty points to Slytherin."

"No need to get nasty," sniffed Blaise. "I'm just gloating."

Draco sighed and glanced around the room. Pansy and Millicent were on a couch giggling over some wizards' catalog. They shifted and he saw the cover: Quality Quidditch Supplies Catalog). So they were mooning over Quidditch models again. Several textbooks lay on the couch cushions next to them.

"Have you started that Care of Magical Creatures essay yet?" he asked absent-mindedly, remembering that afternoon's lesson.

Blaise made a noncommittal sound, as if he hadn't heard the question, as he re-dealt the cards.

"I haven't, either," Draco remarked sourly, and Blaise made an indistinct noise again. He really didn't see what the point was of making them write an essay on diricawls; they were boring, uninteresting creatures and they had probably covered everything there was to know during class.

"What else are we supposed to write?" he demanded, intent on creating a fuss over the ridiculous assignment and distracting himself from the pointless game of cards he was about to play. With any luck he would distract Blaise, too, and make him lose.

"It's not like they write books about them."

"You could ask Granger for help," Blaise said, peering intently at his hand.

Draco stopped in mid ramble and stared. "What?"

"She's probably got hers done already. I'm sure she's rustled up a book or two from Pince."

"And why would I go to the Mudblood for help?" Draco asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Blaise shrugged. "Dunno. But you've been harping on about her enough these past few weeks."

Draco snarled at him. He felt a bit like the cards, as if he might explode at any moment. Except he would take all of Blaise with him, not just a few measly eyebrow hairs.

"I have not been harping on about Granger," he said hotly.

Blaise gave another shrug. "Then what do you call mentioning her every time you see her in class?"

"I get mad in class because she's always right, not just because she's there," Draco sputtered.

"I didn't say you've been getting mad." There was a new note in Blaise's voice, and he didn't sound so jocular anymore.

"What do you mean?" asked Draco warily.

"Well . . . you don't have to necessarily be mad to obsess over someone . . ."

Draco gritted his teeth. "In case you're having a temporary memory lapse, "mad" and "Gryffindor" sort of go together." Blaise grunted, but didn't verbally respond.

"What are you implying?"

Blaise looked up, his expression suddenly craftier. "Obsessions can be crushes that simply get out of hand."

It took Draco a moment to decipher what he meant. Someone had a crush on Granger? And that corresponded to his "obsession" how exactly?

And then he understood.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Zabini?" Draco snarled, even though he knew exactly what it meant, standing up and throwing his cards on the table. They exploded, as if they too were full of anger.

Instead of looking guilty or mumbling an excuse, Blaise leaned back in his chair, surveying Draco with a much too penetrating gaze.

"You know exactly what I mean, Draco," he said lazily. "If I tried to count how many times you've complained about Granger in the last few weeks I wouldn't be able to."

"The only thing that proves is that you can't do simple arithmetic," snapped Draco. "I'm not the only one who likes to complain about that blasted trio. It's sort of a Slytherin hobby, in case you were too dense to have noticed in six years."

"See, that's the thing," Blaise mused, as if they were leisurely discussing a meaningless subject such as weather, "I don't hear you complaining about Potter or Weasley half as much as you do about Granger."

"You think I don't harp about Potter? I can harp about Potter-" Draco began hotly.

"Not something to brag about, Draco," Blaise interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Draco bit back a curse, wishing he could find a grain of untruth in Blaise's biting words, something that he could find an obvious retort for. And yet- Blaise wasn't altogether off base. Except for his notion of Draco fancying Granger; that was plain idiocy. Draco was surprised he wasn't in the lavatory vomiting from the thought of it.

"Weren't you saying just the other day that you were thinking of writing her a letter?" Blaise continued, not seeming to notice that Draco was paying more attention now to his thoughts than to his companion.

"Write her a- Blaise, I wasn't serious!" Draco tried to look coldly incredulous at such stupidity on his friend's part.

Blaise smirked.

"I was only joking about writing her," Draco insisted. But that wasn't true, either. He had even gone as far as to make up a beginning in his head a few nights back before he'd fallen asleep. It had been so insulting, he'd almost chuckled aloud, but thankfully stopped himself in time. But he hadn't told Blaise about it, which could only mean that Zabini was a lot more intuitive than Draco had assumed.

"Zabini, please enlighten me as to why anyone would ever fancy the Mudblood?" Draco asked, as if the question were of no great importance. He sat back down, trying to regain the advantage.

"I don't know; perhaps you should tell me."

Draco nearly grabbed his wand at that jibe, but after a tense few seconds, Blaise staring at him daringly, he let it pass.

"It's not as if she's pretty," he began again, and wondered irritably why he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of that as well as Blaise. "And she's much too smart."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "You're jealous of how intelligent she is."

"Well . . . so are you!" Draco retorted, flushing and unable to think of anything else.

"I think it's a given that almost everyone in our year wishes they were as perfect in schoolwork as she is," Blaise replied calmly.

"She doesn't have to show off her intelligence all the time," Draco added, racking his brain for other complaints. "She has terrible taste in friends-"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, though, Draco," Blaise said, giving him an apologetic look that didn't quite mask his expression of fiendish glee. "I think her taste in boys outranks you; she did go out with Krum after all."

"Are you saying I'm not good enough for her?" Draco demanded, unable to believe it.

Blaise nodded. "Yeah, more or less."

"Of course I'm good enough for Granger," he said contemptuously.

His eyebrows raised in an expression of triumph, Blaise smirked.

Draco stopped himself from swearing aloud a split second too late and bit his tongue instead. He tasted a drop of blood and tried not to wretch, both from its taste and from what he'd said.

"Speaking of all things related to Granger," said Blaise breezily, glancing carelessly at his watch. "Don't you have prefect duty with her tonight?" He angled the watch face at Draco.

Draco swore again, not bothering to confine it to his head this time. It was already five past seven. Not that he minded being a bit late for Granger- it annoyed her to no end- but it was aggravating that Zabini had distracted him enough to make him forget.

"We'll finish this later," Draco told the other Slytherin darkly. Blaise's smirk merely widened and he waved mockingly as Draco rushed out of the common room.

Was it the Charms classroom? Draco wondered, trying to recall where he was supposed to meet Granger. He hurtled halfway down that corridor before remembering with a jolt that the Transfiguration classroom was his real destination.

He slowed to a sedate walk as he neared the corner and calmed his breathing, not wanting to give Granger the impression that he cared about making it on time- or as early as possible considering he was already late. As Draco knew she would be, Granger was waiting for him, and he knew, even though her back was to him, that she was annoyed and impatient; she was staring around the next corner, her bushy hair flying as she looked for him. It was his turn to smirk. Such fun.

"Granger?"

She whirled around, pulling out her wand as she did so.

Draco stifled a chuckle at her nerves. "Bit jumpy tonight, Granger?"

It took her a few seconds longer than usual to manage to say "Good evening, Draco." It was Dumbledore's stupid request, that in the spirit of house unity and prefect cooperation, they at least call each other by their first names. Draco scowled, his only satisfaction that he knew it pained Granger to call him 'Draco' instead of Malfoy . . . not to mention whatever other names she might have in mind.

He made a snide jibe at her wand being out, she flushed in angry embarrassment, and the evening began much as these cursed patrols usually did. Why couldn't he do every patrol with Ernie Macmillan? Not that he liked the idiot Hufflepuff, but he was better than Granger at least.

Draco snuck several covert glances at her as they walked. It was not his fault that she was ever so slightly rooted in his mind, not after his ill-fated conversation with Blaise. There was a fixed expression on her face, as if she were determined to look stern and keep composure at all costs. She had rather delicate features, he thought idly. Not hard and distinct, as if they had been sculpted, but soft and smooth. Her hair was clipped back tonight so it stayed out of her eyes and it bounced as she moved, as if it had a gait of its own. Granger had certainly gotten prettier over the years. She wasn't beautiful, but there was definitely something attractive about her. Not that he was attracted to her, Draco thought grimly. For all her surface appearance, she was still a Gryffindor and muggleborn at heart, not to mention irritating as hell.

As they approached the steps to the dungeons, Draco saw a pearly, transparent figure floating towards them. And just the way the rest of his luck had been going that night, it was the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Nickless Head or something like that. Draco frowned. Wait- that couldn't be right . . .

"Oh, wonderful."

Granger glanced up at his murmur and greeted the ghost eagerly. How typical of Granger that she was friends with all the dead folk. They were probably just as boring as she was.

Draco sighed loudly, wondering if she'd get the point and say good-bye so they could move on. Unsurprisingly, she didn't.

Listening in bored silence to their conversation, Draco finally looked up just in time to see the ghost's head fall to the side. How truly disturbing.

"We should probably go check out the dungeons." Another perfect activity for that night's already loathed job: finding out what Peeves was up to.

"Exactly my idea." Draco snorted inaudibly at how pompous she sounded. Granger reddened slightly, as if she realized it, too, and he noticed the faint blush looked very pretty on her cheeks. This was getting to be too much, Draco thought, disgusted with his observations.

"We thought we saw a shadow!" Nick called as they hurried down the steps.

"Then it couldn't have been Peeves," Granger murmured. "He's a poltergeist." Draco nodded absent-mindedly.

They both stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. It took a moment for them to react to the burning torch that had fallen to the floor and was now incinerating a pile of papers. Granger yelped, hurrying towards it, Draco right behind her, giving a little shout.

It took Draco only a second to realize with incredulity that Granger was actually attempting to beat out the fire.

"Your wand!" he yelled at her, whipping out his own.

"Aguamenti!"

The flames went out with a loud hiss as the jet of water from Granger's wand extinguished them. Draco sighed in relief and sank down onto the stone next to her. He rifled through what remained of the papers, but between the fire and the water, they were all but destroyed.

"Nothing. It's all burned," he said with disappointment. He looked at Granger; they were nearer together than they'd ever been.

"What happened?" she finally said, shocked.

"How should I know?" he demanded, instinctively defensive and aggressive at the same time.

"It was rhetorical!"

"I-"

"Shhh!" Granger looked up at the sounds of faint shuffling in a nearby corridor.

"What was that?" Draco asked automatically, and then realized with an unusual jolt of guilt it was the exact same kind of question Granger had just posed to him.

Granger quietly got up and tip-toed down the passageway. Draco watched her for a few seconds and then looked at the papers again. Something written on the corner of one nearly charred parchment caught his eye.

"Granger!"

She looked annoyed, but hurried over and knelt down behind him when he mentioned the writing.

L. Finn.

Whatever else the paper had said was gone. Both students were silent for a minute.

"What do you think it means?" Granger asked quietly.

Draco turned, and jumped. She was even closer than before. "Who knows? We need to find a teacher. Professor Snape might be here somewhere."

Without further words, they got to their feet. Draco was already heading toward Snape's office when he realized Granger had stopped. She reached down into the pile of burned parchment and pulled a shining object out of it. Curious despite himself, Draco retreated back to her. It was a little gold hourglass.

"What is it?" He examined it in the nearest torch's light when Granger reluctantly handed it over.

"Be careful," Granger began. "It's a-"

But what it was Draco didn't find out, because as he stared at the little granules of sand, he also turned it over. He looked up to see Granger lunge at him, her eyes wide in panic. He yelled incoherently, stumbling back, and felt a tug on the hourglass as she gripped it.

Something was happening. It felt as is Draco were caught in something sticky, unable to move, as if time had slowed down . . . Fine, if Granger wanted it, he wasn't going to fight her for it. He let go . . .

Suddenly the molasses-like feeling disappeared. Draco was falling, and absurdly, he was still holding Granger's hand. He shouted at her, expletives flying from his mouth just as they were flying through air. He was sure they were going to crash, even though his feet still felt as if they were on the ground. Why were all the colors blending? Why was the only thing he could see Granger's face, still beautiful in its fright, amidst a sea of growing black, as the dizziness that engulfed him became too much and he passed out.

* * *

"We'll miss you," Lizzie said softly, as Dave, James, and Jamie nodded fervently. There was a short silence. Draco looked at them all, wondering how he could ever forget them- and knowing he would. He looked at Cissa, his other daughter, the one he hadn't gotten to know, and Ken and Lauren. And then Potter, Weasley, and lastly, Mia and Drake themselves.

Mia took a deep breath. "On three, then?"

Draco's heart felt constricted. In fact, his whole body did, as if it felt the impending memory-wipe and was desperate to run away before it could happen. He felt rather than saw Hermione nod. Draco squeezed her hand briefly before letting go, reminding himself in a futile effort at reassurance of the slip of paper Dumbledore had given him earlier. Please don't let me hurt her, he thought fervently. He stared straight ahead at the wands now pointed at them. Mia's was trembling slightly.

And please let us-

"Obliviate."

* * *

They were standing in a dungeon corridor.

The first thing Draco noticed was that he was standing much closer to Granger than he should've been. He quickly stepped away. Unfortunately, his little movement brought a wave of pain to his head.

Draco winced, resisting the urge to gag and sit down. Why did he feel so dizzy all of a sudden? And why did he have such a big headache? It felt as it someone had just pounded his brain with a hammer.

Slowly looking up, he was surprised to see Granger appeared in about the same condition. She was clutching her head, grimacing in pain. What was going on? Draco's eyes flickered around the dungeon as he tried to recall what had happened. He was on prefect patrol with Granger. They had come down to investigate the dungeons

because . . . His eyes lit un a pile of burned parchment on the ground. That was it! They had met the Gyffindor Ghost, Nick, who'd told them Peeves was creating a ruckus in the dungeons. He frowned. Yet there was no Peeves. And why did it feel as if he was still missing something?

"What- what just . . ." Granger's shaky voice broke the silence but quickly trailed off. They made eye contact. Draco immediately felt a rush of several different feelings. He was at once both annoyed and happy to see her, his lips trying to form a scowl and a smile. There was something captivating about her, something that hadn't been there a moment before, and it took him a minute to stop staring at her. All of a sudden he felt nervous and a bit light-headed. Strangest of all was the feeling of familiarity he felt in that instant.

Draco blinked, trying to regain control. His scowl quickly won and Granger, looking just as confused, glared back.

"We were . . . Peeves was . . ." Granger looked around the dungeon, confused. "Peeves isn't here."

"You're kidding," Draco said with as much sarcasm as he could muster under the circumstances.

Granger frowned at the papers on the floor and then slowly walked over to them and picked them up. "We were going to find Professor Snape . . ."

They were silent. Granger shuffled the parchment awkwardly in her hands while Draco stared at her, unsure of what to do. Something strange had happened, though he didn't know what it was for the life of him. There had been no elapsed time, just a sudden, inexplicable jolt that left him feeling as if he'd just awoken from a coma. Not that he'd ever actually woken from a coma before but he imagined this was how it must feel.

"Do you want to just pretend this never happened, and call it a night?" Granger's voice was oddly high-pitched as she looked at him, her face white.

Draco opened his mouth to comment on how unprofessional her suggestion was, but stopped himself. It was, in fact, exactly what he wanted to do.

"Yes," he said, hoping he wouldn't sound too eager. At this point he just wanted to get back to Slytherin and go to bed. He didn't care how early it was, his head was still aching like mad. As long as he could avoid Blaise, he would be fine.

"Good." Granger sounded relieved. She glanced at the parchment in her hand one more time and then stuffed it in her pocket, where it made a loud crackling sound as half of it disintegrated. Draco lagged behind her as she slowly trudged up the dungeon steps. This night was getting more unpleasant by the minute.

* * *

Hermione lay down in her bed fifteen minutes later. Parvati and Lavender were still in the common room, so she had the dormitory to herself, and was very thankful for the peaceful silence. What had happened down there in the dungeon? One second she had been looking at the parchment with Malfoy and then . . . well, she didn't know what had happened next. She supposed he had stepped away because they weren't next to each other anymore. And her head had started hurting dreadfully, too.

She frowned into the reddish darkness created by her drawn curtains. It was odd, but the only way she could describe what her head felt like was as if someone had taken a plunger to it and, well, pulled at it. And strangest of all was how she'd reacted to Malfoy. For a moment she had actually liked him. She had almost smiled at him for some reason. There had been a sudden attachment there that Hermione couldn't explain. It was simply absurd that for a brief instant she had been attracted to Draco Malfoy of all people. A second later she had, thankfully, gone back to normal and glared at him.

Perhaps she had just been tired, Hermione decided at last, and that was what had caused the strange emotions and blank moment. That was a good enough explanation for tonight, anyhow. She would think about it more tomorrow. Hermione wondered if she should talk to Malfoy about it. He had certainly been affected in some way, too; she had seen him wincing in pain just as she had. Hermione sighed. No, she couldn't talk to Malfoy. She didn't want anything to do with the Slytherin, and he certainly didn't want anything to do with her. He would probably scoff and deny what had happened if she approached him.

Hermione remembered one last thing before she drifted off to sleep, and it was most unsettling. In that short moment when she'd felt an impossible attraction to Malfoy, she had been almost sure that he had smiled back . . .

* * *

Draco tried to put what had happened during their patrol out of his mind. For the next few days he ignored both Granger and Blaise to the best of his abilities, though if was far easier to avoid the latter. Even if he didn't see her, Granger was still in his mind a lot, distracting him in their mutual classes and filtering into his thoughts. Every now and then he even caught her glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking. They made eye contact once, and both quickly looked away. He knew that she wanted to talk about the patrol; it was in her nature to want to understand what had happened. But Draco also knew that she wouldn't come talk to him simply because they were enemies, and that was a relief. He didn't want to discuss things with Granger, much less something he didn't understand either. He wondered if she had told Potter and Weasley. Draco hadn't mentioned it to anyone, not even Crabbe or Goyle. Not that he usually told them intimate things, but they at least could be trusted to keep a secret, seeing as how their only other real friend was each other.

It was Wednesday, nearly a week since the patrol, and Draco had not spoken once with Granger. Oddly, though this should've satisfied him, he couldn't help but feel a little- well- disappointed. Obviously, he could've managed to corner her if he'd wanted, which proved the inclination to be with her wasn't that strong, but it was still unsettling to realize that, in the tiniest, possible way, he yearned for her company. It was absolutely preposterous, and yet it was something Draco couldn't ignore. It was as if there were a persistent voice in his head that was constantly treating him to a monologue of all Granger's good points- her pretty smile, her intelligence, and her kindness to name a few.

He was sitting in an armchair in the Slytherin common room, Advanced Potion Making open on his lap, when Blaise entered and sat down in another seat a few feet away.

"Why are you staring at the fire?" he asked conversationally. "Is it your new friend?"

"I'm reading," Draco replied brusquely. He still held a grudge against Zabini.

"No, you're not," Blaise drawled. "You're brooding. And you look like a stupid prat staring into the flames like that. Are you thinking about Granger again?"

Draco glared at him, wishing he would instantly quail under it as almost anyone else would. "No."

"You're lying again." Blaise tutted. "Such bad manners, Draco." He leaned forward, arching his fingers on his knees so he reminded Draco of a psychiatrist. "Are you prepared to admit you fancy her, yet?"

"I do not fancy her."

"That's a no, then, I take it. Does that mean you're in denial or you've moved onto full-fledged love?"

It took all Draco's willpower not to first throw his textbook at Blaise and then curse him while he ducked.

"Have you written her a letter yet?"

Draco glanced up from where he had been digging his fingernails into his robes. "Don't be ridiculous." There was a blessed silence for a few moments, and Draco dared hope Blaise had dropped it, but then-

"It wouldn't hurt, you know. You could write her an anonymous letter- insult her, call her names, profess undying love, whatever the case may be. If you don't sign it, she'll never know who wrote it, and you can get rid of some of this angst scott-free. You can't deny that you've been awfully grouchy lately, Draco."

Draco stared grudgingly at him. His argument did have a bit of logic to it- excepting the undying love part. "You really think I should?"

Blaise shrugged, his handsome, dark features betraying nothing. "If it'll help you get over this obsession."

Draco didn't have the energy to make an angry retort and simply turned away, back to the fire. He would write one tonight, he decided. And then tomorrow he would reread it and if he still thought it was a good idea, he would send it.

* * *

Draco hesitantly picked up the parchment he had written his letter on last night and looked at it. He had woken up early that morning, unable to sleep in, despite the fact that it was Saturday and the perfect opportunity to catch up on a few hours. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, either, after laboring on his missive for almost an hour. Luckily, Blaise had stayed down in the common room for the duration (he had written it in the dormitory) and when Crabbe and Goyle had come in he had said it was homework and they didn't question him. Nott couldn't have cared less and had simply gone to bed.

It didn't even fill up half the parchment; it shouldn't have taken as long to write as it did, yet it hadn't been as easy as Draco had expected. He hadn't known what to write. After all, he disliked Granger, and had barely said anything more than insults to her in five years. What was he supposed to put in a letter?

Granger,

Has anyone ever told you that you are a truly aggravating know-it-all? Actually, I know for a fact that your fellow students have informed you of this, yet you persist in showing off your intelligence at every possible chance. Has it ever occurred to you that some of us do not want to hear what you have to say? Perhaps some other students would like to be their teachers' favourite. You annoy me in every possible way, even when you're not in the vicinity. In addition to all this, you have terrible taste in friends. If you were a bit less intelligent or restrained yourself more often, dumped Potter and Weasley, changed Houses, and combed out your frizzhead, we could actually be friends. Thankfully for me, we're not.

-Secret

PS: Just so you don't get any insufferable ideas, Granger, I am not an admirer, so don't get the wrong idea.

Draco surveyed his letter with satisfaction. It got the point across quite clearly that he detested her. He almost felt better now, having gotten that off his chest. Who knew it could be so satisfying to rant at Granger?

Should he really send it, though?

He paused in rolling it up. What exactly would he get out of it, really? Granger wouldn't know it was him writing the letter, nor would it do anything except annoy her in turn. Quite possibly it would make her show off even more in class. And really, what was the point of needlessly upsetting her? He didn't like her, true, but he didn't want to make her angry for no reason, either. Perhaps he was better off just having written it and not actually sending it. This way, he had gotten rid of some of his angst without actually having to contact Granger. Maybe now she would get out of his head.

He put the half-curled parchment back on his desk. Draco was just about to leave when he caught sight of a little mess of detritus on the corner of his desk. He frowned and scooped it up. A few gray quill feathers, a knut, and a small, folded scrap of paper. It took a moment before he remembered it was a handful of miscellaneous items that had been in his pocket the night of the patrol last Friday. He had dumped everything from his pockets onto his desk before changing. Curiously, Draco unfolded the paper.

Write her the letter.

Draco stared at it in disbelief. Where in the bloody hell had this come from? And why did the slanted writing look familiar, as if it belonged to someone whose handwriting he might've seen once in the past, perhaps on an official document or something of the like? Who could've put such a thing in his pocket without him noticing? He wracked his brain, trying to remember. No one had passed him a note of any sort that day, and Blaise was the only one who knew about Draco's letter idea anyway. This wasn't his handwriting, and Blaise was not the sort of person who would go to all the trouble of getting someone else to write a mysterious note just for a laugh. So who on earth could've written it?

Sinking into his chair, Draco stared from the scrap of paper to the letter on his desk. Generally he didn't believe in omens, bad or good. He wasn't superstitious, and he had never once based a decision on receiving a sign. Yet this was too strange to be ignored. It was odd even for Hogwarts.

Without knowing why, Draco began rolling up his letter again and this time proceeded to tie a green ribbon around it. What harm could it do? he wondered. Obviously, he was supposed to communicate with Granger. Still feeling odd, he examined the paper. Perhaps he had written it a few nights ago in a sudden, momentary fit of conviction, and then forgotten about it. It didn't resemble his handwriting at all, but it was the only thing Draco could think of. He made a fist suddenly, crumpling the paper. Standing, Draco dropped it on his desk and picked up the sealed letter. He would go down to the owlery and send his eagle owl off with it before he could change his mind.

* * *

Hermione was the only one in her dormitory when she heard the tapping on the closed window. Curiously, she stood up from where she had been lying on her bed reading, and went to the window. An impressive eagle owl was hovering outside. She quickly unlatched the window and opened it, wondering if either Lavender or Parvati were expecting a letter. To her amazement, the owl swooped into the room, dropped the scroll on her bed, and before she could so much as exclaim in surprise, it had haughtily flown out again.

Staring after it, Hermione saw it fly upwards and circle back around the tower until she lost sight of it. Closing the window, she retrieved the letter from her bed and stared at it. A green ribbon bound the tightly furled parchment. Still wondering if perhaps the letter really belonged to one of the other girls and the eagle owl had dropped it on her bed by mistake, she untied the ribbon and scanned the heading. It was addressed to her.

Hermione read the letter once and then, unable to believe it, she read it twice more. Who would send her such a nasty letter and not even sign it? She glanced out the window, as if hoping to see the eagle owl again, but by now it had probably returned to its owner. It had to be a student at Hogwarts who had sent her this, and most likely someone in her year, since it appeared to be a classmate.

Perhaps this was someone's idea of a cruel joke, she thought angrily, scowling at the parchment. Obviously, whoever had sent this didn't like her. Who could hold such a grudge? Certainly other students in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw disliked her sometimes for her intelligence- Hermione would have to be deaf to have not heard all the "know-it-alls" over the years- but only a Slytherin would've actually penned this insulting letter. At least, she thought so.

"Turning in early tonight, Hermione?"

She jumped, startled, as Lavender entered the room. Automatically she hid the letter behind her back.

"Yes, I'm rather tired," she lied. "And I'm re-reading Hogwarts: A History,

so . . ."

But Lavender was not paying any attention. "What's that you've got there?" She pointed at Hermione's side, indicating her arms.

"Just homework," Hermione said, quickly waving the written side for Lavender to see and then concealing it again. "I'm just checking one of my essays."

"Hmmm," Lavender sighed, losing interest. She rummaged around on her chest of drawers for a moment before finding what she was looking for and turning back to Hermione.

"Night, then." She turned back to the door and disappeared down the stairs.

Heart pounding, Hermione stared at the letter again. Her first inclination was to go downstairs to the common room and toss it into the fire. There was not point in showing Harry or Ron. They would only get angry on her behalf, and knowing Harry's inquisitive nature, he might even try to find out who had sent it. She didn't want half the school knowing that she had received an anonymous hate-message because of his well-intentioned sleuthing. Frowning, Hermione put it in the back cover of her book. Maybe she would show it to Ginny. Or hopefully, she would just forget about it. She could toss it into the fire tomorrow, anyway, since she had already told Lavender she was going to bed. Hermione had gotten hate mail before, when Rita Skeeter had publicized that she was Harry's girlfriend, with worse effects than this. A single, rude letter was nothing to worry about.

* * *

"You should've let me read it before you sent it off," Blaise said reprovingly.

"I was in a hurry," Draco snapped back. He had no intention of explaining to Zabini about the scrap of paper he'd found on his desk and thus why he'd rushed to mail it immediately. The two boys were leaning against one of the castle walls, lounging during their morning break.

"Obviously you didn't get the point across," Blaise said. "She answered, what, four of Hagrid's five questions today?"

"And Potter only got the last because the oaf likes him," Draco said scathingly. "Did you see the smug look on her face when she turned in her essay?"

"Yes, those blue eyes of hers were shining so brightly."

"Her eyes are brown, you idiot, not blue,' said Draco absent-mindedly. It took him a moment to register Blaise's unrestrained snickers.

"Really, Draco, you're giving me very little challenge," Blaise admonished.

"Zabini," Draco growled. "I'm warning you-"

"Oh look, here comes your pen pal now." Draco's head shot up. He scanned the groups of students milling around on the grounds until he saw Granger's familiar bushy hair. Not to his surprise, she stood with Potter and Weasley, deep in conversation with them about something. As he watched, momentarily forgetting about Blaise, she laughed at something Weasley had said, her eyes traveling merrily around the grounds. He knew she had seen him when her smile seemed to fade slightly, and she quickly looked away. Draco felt a small pang in his chest, though he had no idea why.

"C'mon," he muttered. "Let's go inside."

"No, I don't think so," Blaise mused. "It's just getting interesting." The trio had started walking in their direction, not towards them, but near enough that they would pass in front of the Slytherins. Granger's eyes were still darting to look at him. She knew he was staring at her, but this knowledge didn't make Draco stop. Granger turned back to Weasley, who was saying something; they were almost past-

"Hey, Potter!" Blaise yelled suddenly. Draco felt a jolt as the trio of Gryffindors paused. Potter turned, his face filled with dislike. Weasley was already balling his hands into fists, but Granger looked almost reluctant to face them.

"What?" Potter demanded coldly.

Blaise smirked. "Made you look." Draco laughed in spite of himself. The expressions on Potter's and Weasley's faces were humorously thunderous. Granger looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes.

"Where are Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy?" sneered Weasley. "Have they found a new ringleader to follow, or is Zabini your new lackey?"

Blaise's eyes were narrowed to slits. "I wouldn't speak if I were you, Weasel." He looked pointedly at Harry, and both boys reddened in anger.

"Oh, honestly," Granger scoffed, staring at Blaise in disdain. "Don't you know the meaning of friendship in Slytherin?" She glanced at Draco, obviously expecting him to jump in with his own insult, but for once was completely silent. She looked surprised when he didn't even glare. Draco almost shrugged at her. Ordinarily he loved making fun of Potter and Weasley, but this was Blaise's fight, not his own. Besides, for some unknown reason, he was suddenly rather reluctant to be cruel right in front of Granger.

"I suggest you shut that know-it-all mouth of yours, Granger, before someone does it for you," Blaise said heatedly.

"Blaise," Draco hissed. "Drop it and let's go." He didn't like the suspicious look Granger was sending him, as if he'd done something wrong.

His head resembling a tomato on fire, Weasley moved forward, his fists bared.

"What is going on here?" The five students turned in unison as the brisk voice of Professor McGonagall cut across their argument.

They were all silent for a moment, each of them daring the other House members to speak first.

"Nothing, Professor," said Granger at last, in a forcedly cheerful voice. "We're just talking."

McGonagall's lips were in a thin, tart line that showed she obviously knew this was a lie. Thankfully, she didn't press the matter, only glared at them all to show they were being graciously let off. "Get to class then. Break's almost over."

He gave Granger one last look before they turned to leave, and he must've looked somewhat apologetic, because her eyebrows rose in astonishment and she almost smiled at him, as if in agreement that their friends had just behaved in a ridiculous manner. Shocked and alarmed at his own behavior, Draco was rather relieved to be leaving, as he and Blaise headed into the castle for Charms and the Gryffindors went to the greenhouses for Herbology. It would've been rather tiresome to have to take Blaise to the hospital wing if he had gotten in a fistfight with Weasley, and more likely than not Potter would've attacked him, Draco, too. He hadn't been all that comfortable with Granger staring at him either. She was appraising him, he knew that, trying to figure out if he was up to something. For once, it didn't feel good to be so thoroughly mistrusted.

As he sat down in Charms, he tried to ignore the little part of him that wanted her company. He was eager for some conversation with someone other than Blaise, someone other than a fellow Slytherin. Draco had just managed to put Granger out of mind, keen on concentrating fully on the lesson, when he remembered that it was Friday. He would be patrolling with Granger again tonight. Something in his chest gave a little thump of excitement. That would give him the chance for some civilized conversation with her, an interaction that wasn't based solely on insults and dislike. If she talked to him, that is. He wasn't sure she would.

* * *

Draco was early for Granger at the Transfiguration department that evening for what he was nearly positive was the first time in his life. She certainly looked amazed when she rounded the corner at exactly seven to see him standing there, waiting.

"Hello, Draco," she said politely in a taken aback tone.

Draco made an indistinct noise of greeting. He had tried to say "hello, Hermione," but he couldn't quite manage it. Granger shot him an odd look.

"Shall we get on with it then?"

He nodded, and they set off down the hall, neither of them speaking. It didn't take long for him to notice that she was walking in a different course than normal, giving the dungeons a wide berth, obviously remembering what had occurred there last time.

"So . . . started the essay that McGonagall assigned on human transfiguration yet?" Draco asked casually.

She stopped in mid step, turning to look at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

Starting to look suspicious again, she resumed walking. "Erm, yes, I have. You?"

"No."

Draco stared at the tapestries on the walls they were passing glumly. It was going to be very boring if all they talked about was schoolwork.

"Zabini in a bad mood today?" Granger asked lightly. "He doesn't usually-" she paused, searching for the right word. "Speak to us."

Draco could hear her unsaid addendum, "like you do." She wanted to know why he hadn't joined in on the hazing.

"Oh, you know . . . everyone needs a little change once in a while." He wasn't sure if he was talking about Blaise or himself, and Granger's eyebrows rose. After another few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Draco found himself wondering what'd she thought of his letter, if she'd even read it upon receiving it from a strange owl. But that certainly wasn't a question he could ask her. The whole point of the letter was that it be anonymous. He racked his brain for other things to say- the silence was becoming unbearably oppressive- but couldn't thing of anything. What could he say to the girl he had happily tormented for six years? It wasn't like they could talk of anything as mundane as the weather. And besides, Granger didn't seem to want to talk to him. She hadn't said anything further after his last remark, and he got the impression she was trying to ignore him.

At last the hour was over. The circuit of the castle- or at least their designated part of it- complete, they ended up back in front of the Transfiguration department. Granger looked at him uncertainly as she turned back to leave for Gryffindor. "Well, good-night, Malfoy."

"Night, Granger." Resigned and thoroughly depressed, Draco watched her until she had disappeared around the corner and then headed for the dungeons for Slytherin. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? He couldn't fancy her like Blaise was constantly suggesting. That idea was too downright strange to even consider. If he

did . . . it would completely change everything he had ever believed in. Perhaps it was because he had no really good female friends, he thought desperately, except Pansy who didn't even count because they had grown up together. They had tried to date a few years ago as their parents had expected them to, but it hadn't worked out. They just couldn't bring themselves to like each other that way. Was he simply desperate for a girlfriend? The thought that he could be so emotionally needy was almost as undesirable as the thought of fancying Granger, but at least it would explain why he couldn't get her out of his head.

So much for the letter dispelling my obsession, Draco thought despondently, as he gave the wall the password and stepped into Slytherin. He knew Blaise was looking at him, but he didn't glance back and instead went straight to the boys' dormitory. Obviously, one letter hadn't been enough.

* * *

Hermione hadn't told anyone about the letter, not even Ginny, whom she usually took into confidence. It wasn't that she was trying to keep it secret, she had simply forgotten about it. She remembered on Sunday, when the same eagle owl suddenly swooped into the girls' dormitory, causing Hermione to shriek in alarm from where she knelt on the floor searching through her bag for a book.

It took only a split second for her to realize it was the same owl as before, and without thinking, without considering what she was doing, she sprang up and over to the window and slammed it shut. The owl swerved, its talons brushing past her hair, and it made a loud screeching noise of what she could only assume was irritation. It soared around the room before stopping to hover above her, screeching furiously. Glaring at it, Hermione retreated to her bed and picked up what the owl had dropped on it. A rolled up parchment rested there, same as the first. She didn't pause in opening it.

Granger,

Since you're so smart, I'd like to pose a question to you: how does one make another person less annoying so that she- that is, you- does not linger on one's mind like a persistent, bothersome cough does when one has a cold. Enlighten me, please. Only don't. I had hoped that my first letter would make you realize how truly aggravating you are, but obviously it did not, which is why I am writing you again. Out of curiosity, why do you feel the need to answer every question? Is it some sort of insecurity? And incidentally, why are Potter and Weasley your only friends? Quite frankly, it is a bit odd that you do not have a female clique like so many other girls do. Perhaps you fancy one of them. Or both. Ugh, that is a truly horrible thought. Hopefully now I won't want to talk to you and tell you these things aloud every time I see you. It is truly helpful getting all my angst out on paper. In case you were wondering.

-Secret

The owl was flapping dangerously close to her head and then, with its loudest screech yet, it began beating against the window.

"Stop it," said Hermione angrily. "Just calm down. You can leave in a minute, but I want you to carry my reply back to your owner when you do." The owl, seeming to understand that it was being kept there for a job, not on an inexplicable whim, quieted down at once, though it seemed to give her a disdainful glare as it perched on her chest of drawers. Lips pursed, Hermione pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and dipped her quill in a bottle of ink. Mind racing, she began to write.

When she was done, Hermione scanned her letter with satisfaction before rolling it up and attaching it to the owl's leg with the same green ribbon the sender had used.

"Make sure your owner gets this," she instructed sternly, turning to open the window again. The eagle owl glared at her haughtily, ruffled his feathers, and then spread his wings and flew out. She watched him until he had disappeared, wondering if that would be the end of it.

Draco greeted his owl eagerly when he went to the owlery that night to visit him. Since Slytherin House was in the dungeons, it was impossible for owls to access it from the outside.

"Good boy, Ares," he said, patting his owl affectionately. Ares nipped him suddenly, and Draco quickly moved his hand.

"What . . ." Then he saw it. His owl was holding out his leg, clearly impatient for Draco to read his letter. His first thought was that Ares had not delivered it properly, that it was the same missive he had sent to Granger in the first place. He didn't realize that it wasn't the original until he unrolled it to see a handwriting very different from his own.

Dear Secret,

You must be the rudest person who's ever written me. Imagine, sending two letters to a person simply to insult and rail at her for something that is entirely not her fault! I'll thank you to stop doing so immediately. I don't want any more hate mail, although I must say if that is what it is, it is a pitiful specimen. I've received much worse before. You are simply whining. And I don't know how you can blame me for your obsession. It's not my fault if you think about me a lot, although it is rather disturbing. I don't want a nasty creep like you obsessing over me. It means you probably fancy me and have a weird way of showing it- reverse psychology perhaps. In any case, the fact that I am inadvertently preying on your mind seems to indicate that I do not, in fact, aggravate you. Anyway, whatever your letters truly mean, I want them to stop.

-Hermione Granger

P.S. And did it ever occur to you that perhaps I like answering questions, and I have no intention of stopping just because of the idiotic insults of an anonymous correspondent too scared to sign his own name or speak to me face to face?

For a few minutes, Draco could only gape at it, astonished. Granger had replied? That she might do so had never even occurred to him. He stared at Ares, who had begun preening himself. How had she managed to make his owl deliver it? After giving Ares a final owl treat, he left the Owlery, still examining the letter.

Obviously Granger had taken his letters much more seriously that he'd thought she would.

How dare she accuse me of fancying her? he fumed inwardly. She sounds like Blaise! Lost in thought as he re-entered Slytherin and sat down in an armchair, he didn't notice Blaise sneaking up on him until it was too late.

"Now what is that?"

Draco tried to hide the parchment, but Blaise was too quick and snatched it eagerly from his hands.

"Give it back," snarled Draco, holding out his hand for it. Blaise's eyes lit as he read, and he snickered.

"Well, she doesn't think much of your letters, now does she?" He chortled. "She may be an irritating Gryffindor, but she's got a tongue!"

Draco tugged the letter from Blaise's hands as the other Slytherin sank into an armchair across from his, still laughing.

"I don't see what's so funny," he said coldly.

"This is quite interesting," Blaise mused. "I didn't expect her to write back."

"Clearly," said Draco shortly. "But then, since when has Granger ever done what's normal and expected?"

"Those are relative terms, though," continued Blaise thoughtfully. "We should have realized that she would try to contact you to tell you off for disturbing her because that is the normal, expected thing for her."

Draco sighed. "Yes, that does sound like her." He looked up to see Blaise staring at him with a most unusual expression. He seemed to be trying to figure something out and for once didn't appear about to tease him.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?"

"You have to write her again." Both boys were quiet for a minute.

"I don't think I will," Draco said at last. He wasn't so sure about this letter thing anymore, not now that Granger had taken the initiative to respond. He didn't want this turning into a pen pal type thing, especially since he was trying to convince himself not to like her. If they corresponded, doubtlessly the opposite would happen.

"You have to," Blaise protested. "She wrote you back! We have to see what happens next! If she'll write again if you do!"

"Why do you care?" Draco demanded, starting to get annoyed. "I don't like Granger! I don't want to keep on writing her!"

"She thinks you like her," Blaise said with an evil grin. "And isn't Granger always right?"

"Not about this," Draco retorted angrily, standing up. "I don't fancy her."

"Then tell her that," Blaise said with a shrug.

"Maybe I will."

"Then you are going to write her."

Draco glared at him. "I'll think about it." And without another word, he swept away to the dormitories, Granger's letter in his hand.

* * *

"Ergh, what's that owl doing?" Lavender shrieked. Hermione and Parvati both looked up startled, from where they had been reading and painting their toenails, respectively. Lavender was pointing at the window, through which they could see a large eagle owl beating against the glass, a scroll clutched in its talons. Though she was barely surprised to see the familiar scroll with its great ribbon, Hermione's heart gave a jolt and she sprang up, hurrying to open the window. The owl flew in, dropped the scroll on her head, and flew to her dresser, where it perched with a click of its beak. Hermione stared at the letter and then, after giving a glance at Lavender and Parvati, who were both open-mouthed, tore it open.

Granger,

How can someone supposedly so brilliant possibly think that I like you? I thought I made it clear in my previous letters that I didn't. Are my insults not enough? Or are you so desperate for any male attention that you'll read a crush out of anything? You poor, misguided thing. I could never fancy anyone who is so bossy and prim and obnoxious. You are a miniature McGonagall. You might take that to be a compliment, but I assure you, it's not meant as one. I do applaud you're writing back, though. I was shocked to see your letter. It is certainly making this a bit more interesting.

-Secret

Hermione grinned despite herself. Except for the insinuation that she craved male attention- how could he think that considering her two best friends were males- the letter was almost funny. She wondered again who could be writing her. Clearly Lavender and Parvati wanted to know as well.

"What is it?" Parvati asked immediately.

"Who's it from?" added Lavender.

"Just a friend," Hermione fibbed. She turned toward the owl, who seemed rather expectant. If she guessed correctly, it was waiting for her to give it a letter in return. Hermione was very reluctant to write one, though, in front of Lavender and Parvati, who both looked keen for more information.

She wasn't sure she wanted to reply to this person and have this correspondence continue, although Hermione was also aware that this person would probably not give up just because she didn't write back. She was pretty sure he wouldn't be so easily deterred. Hermione also prided herself on having a tad bit of common sense, and it didn't seem very sensible to be writing back to an anonymous person who either hated her or was obsessed with her, neither of which prospect was particularly inviting. Plus, it was sort of hard to let go of the parental warning, never talk to strangers.

Although this person could hardly be a stranger if he were in her year; just because she didn't know his identity didn't mean she didn't know him. She glanced up to see Lavender and Parvati still staring at her. The eagle owl gave a loud, impatient screech. Ginning, Hermione rummaged in her bag for parchment, an ink bottle, and quill and sat down. It took her less than ten minutes to pen a satisfactory letter, and only that long because she had to shift constantly to stop her fellow room mates from trying to read over her shoulder. At last she was finished, had retied her letter with the green ribbon, and fastened it to the owl, who gave her a sharp smack on the head with a wing for taking so long as he soared out the window.

"Who are you writing to?" asked Lavender crossly, her hands on her hips as she watched the owl disappear from sight.

"No one," said Hermione with a mischievous smile, and, putting the person's letter in her pocket so Lavender and Parvati couldn't sneak a look at it, she hurried downstairs before they could ask her anything more.

* * *

"My hair is not garish," said Draco grumpily, his arms crossed, as Blaise roared with laughter, rocking back and forth on his bed holding Granger's letter.

Blaise was practically crying with mirth. "She called you- and I quote- the most arrogant, conceited, rat-faced, rudest boy she's ever known! I wonder if she knows it's you."

"How would she have guessed?" Draco snapped.

"Well, she called you a rat."

Draco gritted his teeth and snatched the letter back, fuming. "It was a ferret, for your information, Blaise! A ferret! Not a rat!"

Theodore Nott looked up, interested, from where he lay on his bed. "Still miffed about that, Draco? Honestly, you should come to peace with your ferret side. It's been three years."

Bliase howled with renewed laughter as Draco cursed eloquently in every language he knew swear words in. "Nott, go back to your book."

Morag MacDougal sat up, propping himself on his elbows. "Isn't 'arrogant' and 'conceited' a little redundant?"

"Draco's enough of it to warrant being called both," said Blaise wisely. Draco felt himself redden as his three "friends" laughed at his expense. Where were Crabbe and Goyle for support when you needed them?

"Who's side are you on?" he demanded. "Hers or mine?"

"Yours," Blaise assured him. "You know, considering she doesn't know it's you, her comment about your hair is pretty on base."

Draco threw a shoe at him, hitting him on the shoulder.

"So she threatened to go to McGonagall?" Theodore asked. "Because you're harassing her?"

"It's only been one letter," Draco lied, sharing a look with Blaise. "And it was just a joke to see how much I could annoy her. I won't write anymore." Seemingly satisfied, Theodore and Morag returned to their books. Draco and Blaise exchanged smirks.

Of course, that was another lie as well.

After changing into his pajamas and lying down, Draco couldn't help but smile up at his dark green canopy. This was getting to be more fun than he'd anticipated. Writing was almost better than talking because he didn't have to feel self-conscious about past incidents. He could say anything he wanted in a letter, and she didn't know it was he. For a minute he felt guilty as he imagined her shock if she knew it him, Draco Malfoy, she was writing to. This felt right, though, he told himself firmly. He knew he was supposed to be writing to her, and not just because of that scrap of parchment either. Something about it just felt right.

Like it was supposed to happen.