Surfeit Of Curses

A Surfeit of Curses

Chapter 5 - What Do Pretty Girls Do?

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It was summertime, and Hermione expected that this summer, like the previous three summers since she had started at Hogwarts, would find her in the Muggle world, leading an ordinary life, concentrating on her summer reading, traveling with her parents, catching up on the movies, music and television shows that she had no access to at school, not that she really minded.

Her family and the few friends from primary school who she still saw around town, all knew she was at boarding school in the north, a school for "exceptional" students. It had been so easy to explain that the bookish Granger girl, who had the best grades in primary school, even though she was the youngest in her class, wouldn't be going to the local comprehensive, or even to one of the larger boarding schools that were popular with her parents' friends. Nobody needed to know that in Hermione's case, "exceptional" didn't mean brilliant, although she was that.

It meant "magical."

Hermione loved school for the academic challenges she encountered daily. Nothing was better than spending time puzzling through the theory behind a newly learned charm, understanding a recently explained root of rune translations, or working out an arithmancy proof. Well, nothing other than taking all her academic work and using it for a practical application, although those practical applications had too often involved counteracting some threat to Harry Potter's life.

She had been so frustrated at the end of term, and had spent too much time in the past three weeks sitting with Ron, worrying about Harry. Hermione knew that Harry's summers with his relatives were generally horrible, and how much worse would it be this summer, with Cedric's death, and his own near-fatal encounter with Voldemort likely still fresh in his mind? Frustration at not being able to do anything to directly help him was the reason she was sitting here in her parents' garden, writing him a letter; she planned to send him two identical, chatty notes daily, one via owl mail and one through the regular British post; she hoped that if his aunt and uncle intercepted one, the other would get through to him. Even though her babblings about schoolbooks and her visits to various magical attractions around southern England were pretty trite, at least Harry would know that someone was thinking of him. And if Ron came through with his promise to bring Harry from Surrey to the Burrow, the summer wouldn't be too dreadful for him.

Hermione knew that feeling as if she couldn't do anything to help Harry was one of the reasons she had acted so violently towards Draco Malfoy and his goons on the train back to London earlier that week. For such a bright person, he certainly said stupid things often enough, she thought. He was so odd sometimes.

And while she was sitting peacefully in the garden, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the midafternoon sun, in ordinary Muggle clothing with her peach sweater tied around her shoulders and her khaki slacks rolled up a little because of the warming weather, she glanced up from her letter and thought she was looking at an illusion.

Think of the devil, and he instantly appears.

Seeing Draco on her little Muggle street, in front of her parents' perfectly ordinary house was so incongruous that she shivered in amazement and shock. Her mouth opened and closed; she wasn't able to force any words out. But after a moment, she seemed to find her voice and yelled out to him, "First, what in the world are you doing here, and second why in the world are you

here?"

Did I just say the same thing twice? she thought, standing up, rapidly trying to force something sensible into her brain. All she could come up with was, "You know that you can't come in here unless I invite you!"

He laughed, that cold sound he made when he knew something she hadn't learned yet. "And you know as well as anyone that the invitation rule only applies to vampires." He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture which she knew meant that he was about to start a lecture about some Truth of the Wizarding World. "Therefore, it doesn't work in broad daylight. And even if it was nighttime, it wouldn't work on me anyway."

"Because you're not a vampire. I know that." Hermione interrupted, fighting to make her tone sarcastic and cold; it was the only way to deal with Draco when he was acting superior.

Draco unfolded and refolded his arms, his face in its customary sneer. "No, you ninny, because I'm not really here."

"If you're in that condition, you'd better get off the sidewalk then. I'd have a hard time explaining you to the next kid who rides his bicycle through you!"

"So I can come in through your little garden gate?" Why did he have to sound malicious about even small things?

"Only if you agree to tell me why you're here."

In the blink of an eye, Draco seemed to be only inches away from her chair.

Hermione held her parchment, pen and writing board in front of her, as if she was trying to create a barrier between them, even though she knew that, given Draco's current condition, solid matter was almost meaningless to him. He opened his mouth, as if to give the explanation she was demanding, but the question burning in her brain demanded to be answered.

"I thought you could only Project at night - how are you doing this?"

"It still takes too much energy to do this during the day at Hogwarts," he replied, sounding professorial again. "It's because all the other magic interferes with my energy flow and my concentration, but at the manor, there's a lot less magic in the air, and it's where I learned to do this, and practiced it, so it's easier for me when I'm there. I can go at any time, and for longer periods, without any lasting affects. And now that your curiosity has been satisfied, why don't you satisfy mine?"

Hermione smiled slightly. "It all depends, doesn't it? Is that all you're here for?"

***

She was being thick on purpose, Draco thought. This shouldn't be difficult. All he had to do was ask her where Rita was, tell her that if she didn't let the beetle go, he'd be back in an hour with Ministry law enforcement, wait for her to panic, release Rita and enable him to accept Lucius' praise and gratitude. It always made him so angry when she acted like this. "Oh, cut the crap, Hermione. Think. Who did you kidnap back at school?" He tilted his head to the side, looking at her as if he couldn't believe how obtuse she was. "What reason could Draco Malfoy of the Daily Prophet publishing family have to come to the Muggle house where our ace reporter is being held against her will? Where is she?"

Hermione's smile burst into a huge grin, showing her much-improved teeth. "Oh, Rita! I'd almost forgotten!"

"If you've left her in that jar, with no food and no water, I'm going to make your life a living hell." As soon as my father's done making mine into one.

Now, Hermione was laughing at him. He was getting so angry with her, it was hard to keep his Projection steady. Despite what he'd told Hermione, it was more difficult to Project during the day, even when he was coming from the manor; his grandmother had once said it had something to do with sunspots. Maybe in part, but he found that if he got too emotional which Projecting,

it became harder to hold. Anger, frustration, even surprise sometimes, if it came on too suddenly, could send him straight back into his body, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"No, that's not what I mean by forgotten. I mean I almost forgot that I had been keeping her." Hermione shook her head, her bunch of hair flicking from side to side behind her head. She was still laughing. "Rita's not here, Draco. I set her free in London, just after we went through the barrier yesterday. She said she was heading off to Branford's International Spa in Seezon Alley for some rest, relaxation and a few Mai Tais. I don't think she liked the décor in her little bottle much." Hermione smiled, and added, "I guess you were still on the train?" Her voice had turned hard. "You must've been sleeping off the results of our hex practice session. What on earth

possessed you?"

His mind was churning, and he barely heard her question. Rita, already back in London? For all he knew, she was back at the paper's offices already, which would mean that Lucius would already know that he'd failed in his mission. Stupid. And failing in a project that he himself had proposed would provoke a dangerous reaction in Lucius. So incompetent. You were too damned confident that she'd be here. Disorganized. Never even thought about the possibility of failure. Idiot. Pathetic. And you can't explain to Lucius why you thought that just asking Hermione to hand Rita over would work - she's a mudblood! Foolish. Sloppy. If Lucius knew... If Rita's overheard anything Hermione's said about ... Draco couldn't even finish the thought; it was too nerve-wracking.

He should've come here last night, he should've demanded that Hermione hand Rita over to him on the train, he should've figured out her address without wasting the whole morning at the paper, he should've done so many other things.

And right now, he should end this Projection project and head back to London, and see if Rita was still at Simon Branford's luxurious resort, which was located in the London's Docklands district's wizarding area. He knew the location well; Narcissa had spent a lot of time there the previous summer, and he'd spent more than a few hours in their public waiting room.

If Rita was still there, he might be able to salvage this task.

***

"Hermione, I can't talk now. I promised my father that I'd find Rita, and..."

"Okay, I know. But wait!" She moved as if to grab his shoulder, but her hand fell right through him, and her parchment and lap desk fell to the floor. She straightened back up, but left her things on the ground, with an impatience that reflected his own compulsion to rush away. "I don't want anyone to see you disappearing. Come inside, you don't need to be any more conspicuous than you are." Even though Draco was wearing Muggle khakis, loafers and a dark green crewneck sweater (Cassie the Beta Reader writes: waits patiently while girl readers drool....okay then), he certainly didn't look like the teenage boys who lived on Lakeview Lane in their grungy flannel shirts; plus, Hermione didn't want the neighborhood busybodies gossiping about the cute blonde boy who was at the Granger house while her parents were at work.

She turned, and led him into the house, opened the door, even though he didn't need her to, and said, "It's safe now. Have a brief trip." She was smiling again, but held her hand to her head, as if she had a headache, as she turned to go back to the garden. Just before Draco ended his Projection, though, she spoke again, almost hesitantly. "Draco, I know I couldn't help you out this time, but I was hoping to get into the archives in the museum's Malfoy Wing again this summer, you know, the private artifact and miniatures section, but..."

"You can't get in there without me yet. Right." He sounded almost put out, obviously about the Rita situation. "It's a pretty easy favor for me to do, of course, but you didn't do me any favors with Rita, did you?"

"Why should I? You let her, no, you helped her publish those horrible things about me this spring, even though you knew they weren't true!"

"Hermione, I already said that I don't have time for this discussion now, and I don't think I want to have the same argument with you that we've had at least seventeen times already. I don't expect you to apologize for cursing me yesterday, and I don't plan to apologize to you for what the Prophet publishes." Draco paused, as if he expected her to say something, but she wasn't going to tell him what she thought he wanted to hear.

He couldn't really expect her forgiveness, he'd been in the wrong first yesterday, and it sounded like he realized it. Did he want Hermione to express how much she needed some of the benefits that surrounded his life, things like access to special archives at the Diagon Alley library and museums, where she could play among the books, papers and artifacts? She didn't want to give his ego that kind of satisfaction so easily.

When she didn't say anything, he went on. "I don't have any control over what they publish yet, and what you and I say or do to each other in public is something that I am still going to keep out of the conversations we have in private." His mouth quirked into half a smile.

"If you weren't in such a rush, I would want to talk about it again, because I still think you're not seeing things clearly, but since you have to deal with your father, it can wait." She gave him a bright smile, and added, "I can threaten you too, though. If you don't get me into the archives, and still expect our study group to exist next term, then your imagination is better than I thought."

Draco was obviously impatient by this point. "Hermione, just believe me for the moment - there are still a lot of things you don't understand." Hermione tried to interrupt, but Draco went on, saying, "Look, I'll send you an owl with a letter telling them you're authorized to get in. I'm going to France for most of the summer, so I wouldn't be able to get you in personally anyway, but I'll be in the Atrium some time in the next week; I need to get my summer schoolwork finished before we leave."

"What do you want in return this time?" Hermione asked, hoping that his request would be on the simple side. She didn't want to spend her precious schoolwork time on another project for Professor Snape again, especially when Snape never knew that she, and not Draco, had done a five parchment-roll summary of one of Newton's treatises.

"Just a list, every book you use for the Runes project. Send it to me in the Pyrenees each week. I'll send the information you need to reach me with the authorization letter, if you want."

Hermione agreed that sounded easy enough, "a more than fair trade", and glanced over at the clock. "Looks like you'd really better get going." Draco didn't even say goodbye this time as he waved his insubstantial hand at Hermione and disappeared without even the shimmery aftereffect of a Disapparation.

***

"Now that was a completely unexpected yet not completely unpleasant experience," Hermione said to herself as she walked back to the garden, picking up her supplies on the way. "And not something I can put in my letter to Harry, is it?" she asked Crookshanks, who had settled himself in her chair while she'd been in the house. He looked at her with his lamplike eyes and Hermione thought she saw the cat shake his head.

She picked the cat up and settled back into the chair, her parchment and pen in one hand, her writing desk leaning against the chair's legs.

Draco Malfoy.

It still amazed her that even though she could barely have a conversation with him about anything non-academic which didn't deteriorate into a full blown argument, he was the best person in the class to collaborate with on class projects and particularly interesting assignments. Despite her efforts to keep their relationship on a purely school-based level, and the agreement they had reached over the past two years, that private conversations were private, and unrelated to whatever he said or did in public, he had become one of the people she worried about a lot.

First year, she had rarely seen him in the library, even in the two months before Halloween when she spent all her free time there, before becoming friends with Ron and Harry. Later on, she realized that he hadn't studied very intensely that year and wasn't used to revising the way she did, because he'd never been in school and never taken classes with other children, since he'd spent all his time with tutors. Draco had once admitted to her that the only reason he did as well as he did first year was because he'd memorized many of the spells, charms and potions ingredients during the summer, and with his tutors in the year before they'd started at Hogwarts. Combined with the thorough grounding he'd had in the history of magic, he had expected to be at the top of the class, or at least only behind a few of the more obsessive Ravenclaws.

At the end of second year, when she'd learned about Lucius Malfoy's involvement in the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, she had suspected that the reason she'd been attacked had something to do with Mr Malfoy wanting Draco to have the highest marks in the class, in every class. That goal would be much simpler to achieve if Hermione wasn't around. And second year, Draco had been studying. Hermione had missed a lot of that year, between her time in the hospital wing with a furry face and the period she spent Petrified, but around October, she had realized that nearly every time she was in the library in the evening, Draco was too, sometimes so surrounded by books that he was barely noticeable to the other students.

However, she'd spent more of that year trying to avoid him. She went as far as asking other students, those from wizarding families, to ask him for a book that she needed, rather than go over and speak to him herself. Hermione couldn't understand how someone with book smarts could be so thick about things like prejudice. She was top of the class, even though she was Muggle born - obviously, "wizarding blood" couldn't be some mark of superiority when it came to things like hard work, organization and concentration. Why was he so pigheaded that he couldn't see that?

When third year had started, and Draco had his accident on the first day in Hagrid's class, Hermione had been deputized by Professor Falesprach to use a duplication charm on her Ancient Runes notes, and give a set to Draco until he admitted to having use of his arm again.

That's where it had started.

One of their classmates, Eugene Reilly, had asked both Hermione and Draco to join a study group that was otherwise all Ravenclaws. Officially, they agreed to share notes and outlines from Ancient Runes only, but by Halloween, they were working together a few nights each week, revising for Potions, Astronomy and Arithmancy, and even Defense against the Dark Arts on occasion. No revising was ever needed for Magical Creatures, and Hermione was the only one in the group taking Divination and Muggle Studies.

Hermione loved the study group that fall. In her heart, she knew that Ron and Harry were her best friends, and she hadn't minded studying with them in the past two years, and worked with them often enough still, but the level of academic concentration in this little group met some need in her. She enjoyed arguing with her classmates about particularly difficult proofs, joining the hunt for a clue to a rune translation, grasping the theory behind a charm, racing the others to be first to complete a transfiguration project. And in this group, Draco had managed to act like a reasonably normal wizard, most of the time. He still tended to be argumentative, and never admitted to being wrong with an answer to a question, even when it was clear to the others that he was, but his skill with languages was a boon to the rest of them, so they tolerated his occasional bouts of petulance, the same way the tolerated Hermione's flares of sulkiness whenever they started talking about things that people from wizarding families knew automatically, which she only knew from books.

She'd learned a little more about Draco that fall, too. Once November evening, amid the rolls of his notes that she had duplicated for herself was a letter to his father, which she hadn't realized she was carrying until she was back in her dorm room that night. Once Hermione realized what it was, she'd wanted to destroy it immediately, but something made her read every word, and for reasons she'd never been able to understand, she still kept it tucked in her trunk.

Dear Father,

If it's Tuesday, it must be Ancient Runes, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology today. In Runes, we were still working on the Celtic translation. Thank you for the book - it arrived on Saturday, and I've enclosed a one-roll summary of the author's theories on mirror translations, as you requested. I've also enclosed another roll with the answers to this weekend's current events quiz and next week's Prophet crossword puzzles. I agree with everything you said in your editorial; there are too many wizards willing to accept and alter Muggle paraphernalia, and since wizardry is superior to Muggle things, there is no reason for such things. Professor Lupin does not want us to hand in those werewolf essays that Professor Snape assigned, but thank you for your mark-up of the version I sent to you. In Herbology, we spent the session working with Nightweed again.

I spent much of the afternoon at Quidditch practice. My quickest catch was three minutes and eighteen seconds, and my slowest was fifty six minutes. Captain asked me to tell you that he received your letter, and fulfilled your request to improve my speed on the Nimbus by charming my plate so I can't put any starches or sweets on it. He thinks that I should be half a stone lighter by the next match, and hopes that helps. He also agrees that development of my arms will help my catching ability, especially since I now have the bandages off. He had me do chin ups on the Quidditch goal hoops after practice, before I came back to the castle to study. I have to tell you, though, that my dorm-mates are going to miss the cakes from Mrs Quimbly - if I stick to your plan, will you let her send some to them next week? I promise, I won't have any.

Other things I did wrong since my last letter yesterday were (1) I yelled at Crabbe when he asked me for help on the charms assignment (don't worry about punishing me for this, he already punched me in the nose), (2) I didn't pay attention to what the Professor said to Weasley in class today because I let myself get too involved in monitoring my own assignment, and can't do a proper report for you on him, (3) Pansy won two of our three games of Exploding Snap - Father, I am so sorry that I lost. I know it's no excuse, and I shamed the family by not trouncing her. I will do better next time.

I have been practicing the Project. in the evenings, and will tell you everything I have learned when I see you next. I slept almost six hours last night, and am trying your experiment suggestion, and reducing it by three minutes every other day, until I reach your amazing daily minimum.

Our study group meetings are going well. The Ravenclaws and I are using each other for everyone's mutual benefit, but I am following your directions, will seek to gain more from this than they can, although since I'm better than they are at translations, I'm not sure that will be easy to do. As you say, sometimes one has to struggle for control. I enclose drafts of the three essays for next week, and await your suggestions about the changes I should make.

A notice went up saying that we will be allowed to visit Hogsmeade on Halloween. As you requested, I will plan to spend the afternoon with you, and will meet you at the inn as quickly as I can get there. I don't expect you to tell me to prepare for any particular test or punishment, but know you will be fair about it. You always are, it's me who messes things up, and I'm sorry that I do. I will work harder to improve my schoolwork and my Quidditch and my concentration.

I will write again tomorrow, of course.

Something about the letter had struck Hermione as very sad. She already knew Draco was under a lot of pressure to do well in school, ever since Harry had told her about the conversation between Draco and his father that he'd overheard the summer before second year, but this letter made it appear that even while he was at school, and his father was hundreds of miles away, Lucius Malfoy knew every facet of Draco's life, and was in control of his actions, his schoolwork, and even what he ate. Draco, who bristled if any of his studying cohorts made a suggestion about his timetable or his compositions, was either in thrall to his father, or terrified of him.

Of course, she couldn't say anything to Draco about it. She didn't really want to, either. She already had enough emotionally needy boys in her life that she actually enjoyed spending time with - why should she worry about someone who clearly didn't care two knuts about her?

It was simple enough to push her worries about Draco to the back of her mind. With her time turner, her schedule was so full that she couldn't even set aside time on her schedule to worry about herself!

By the time everyone came back from Christmas vacation, she felt like her friendship with Ron and Harry was falling apart, mostly because of her concern about Harry's new Firebolt, and as the days went by, Hermione could feel her temper fraying. The stress of her classes, her secret about the time turner, and the nervousness about Sirius Black that she didn't want to acknowledge kept her on edge most of the day. Even though she still studied in the common room most evenings, with help from her Time Turner, the number of hours she spent in the library increased, and she barely realized that she was spending over a dozen hours a week shoulder to shoulder with Draco Malfoy, pouring through magical books, reviewing and comparing class notes, and even correcting each others' essays.

Eventually, they started having genuine conversations. Despite her heavy courseload, Hermione struggled to make time to read for her own enjoyment, and Draco, who received books from his family's publishing company almost every day, was a great resource for both magical versions of Muggle books she'd read in the past, and novels and non fiction works by acclaimed witches and wizards. Hermione was amazed at the ease with which he memorized passages the books his father sent; the first time they spoke about anything of a personal nature, he told her about the book reports he did for his father each week. "He likes me to stay on top of current events, so I read one book on political or social commentary, and I read at least one of our best sellers. He says that's so I can develop an understanding of what ordinary witches and wizards like to read," Draco had said. "And when I see him, he quizzes me about the things I've read since the last time."

"What happens if you don't remember everything?" she had asked. He hadn't answered her question, just suggested that they get back to the transfiguration theory composition that was due the next week.

In January, Professor Falesprach divided the class into teams, where each would work on a different portion of a rune, to translate their section and find modern sources that coincided with the ancient passages, and assigned her to partner with Draco. Even with their intense studying schedules, they had to take little breaks every so often, but between the miserable weather outside and their mutual agreement that leaving the library to visit the Great Hall for energizing snacks was just too time consuming, those breaks were limited to stuff from Draco's care packages, usually Every Flavour Beans (with the bad-tasting ones presorted out by one of the Malfoy sous-chefs) or Zippy's Energy Bars, With All New Perkiness Charms, and in the middle of the month, a Singing Birthday Cake from his grandmother, with a chaser of the Chocolate Frogs Hermione got him for his birthday.

Without Ron and Harry, Hermione found herself complaining to Draco about the way they were blaming her for the Firebolt's confiscation, and how they didn't understand how important her schedule and her studies were, and under her breath, while she was working on an essay for Professor Lupin's class, she muttered about how satisfying it would be to set a pack of Boggarts on Ron and Harry, and let them spend some time with Spiders and Dementors. Draco was never particularly sympathetic, and certainly never had any good ideas for what she could do to get back in her friends' good books, but at the time, it had just felt good to have someone who would listen.

After the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match in February, though, Hermione no longer wanted to study with Draco, much less tell him any thing personal.

***

The first time she saw him in the library, the Sunday after the Quidditch match, she wanted to walk right up to him and yell, but under the eye of Madam Pince, all she could muster was a cold whisper, as she stood in front of him in their usual corner. "Why the hell did you try that stunt during the match? You could've gotten Harry killed! Or yourself, for that matter!" She paused, and began what she thought would be the last thing she would ever say to him:"We are through. In Runes on Tuesday, I am going to demand a new translation partner. I'm too sick of you to work with you anymore."

Draco was flabbergasted. "I thought you were angry with him. For weeks, you haven't said anything but," he said, switching from his normal drawl into an uncanny imitation of the whine Hermione had been using in talking about her friends, "'Harry is being a jerk, Ron is so unfair, I haven't done anything and they're being oh so mean to me.' You were going on about setting Dementors on him, weren't you?'

"Yes, but, I didn't mean..." Hermione started.

"It was your idea, or at least your inspiration," Draco went on. "We had our wands, if he'd fallen, I would've stopped him with a Wingardium Leviosa, the same way Dumbledore did in their match with Hufflepuff. I just wanted to teach him a lesson."

"A lesson?" Hermione didn't feel capable of stringing more than two words together. Her fault? Her idea? She'd never even thought that Draco would take her ramblings seriously, and when she saw him on the Quidditch pitch in Dementor garb, she had assumed the worst; it was the most obvious explanation.

"Yeah, teach him that he can't assume that people have bad reasons for all their actions. You went to McGonagall because you were worried about the broomstick, right?" Hermione nodded. "And you had a good reason to be worried that the broom came from Sirius Black - my father thinks that it would be pretty easy for a dark wizard like him to get a Firebolt without walking into QQS and paying for it."

"You told your father what I said?"

"I tell him almost everything." Draco said, blinking. "I didn't tell him who was concerned though. He doesn't exactly know that I, um, that we...work together."

Now Hermione blinked, puzzled. "Why not?" This conversation was getting too far off topic.

"He sort of hates you."

"Because I'm Muggle-born, right? I'm leaving."

"No, if it were anyone but you, I could explain it - class assignments and the benefits of group study and all -he'd understand that, and he'd be okay with me studying with a mudblood if there were benefits for me in it." Hermione flinched at his use of that hateful word. "No, it's you personally." Draco's voice got very quiet, and he rested his head on his hands. "It's because you always do better than me, no matter how much I study, no matter how many times we revise my compositions, or cut back on my sleep so I can read a chapter again, I'm always going to be second to you, except in Potions, and you and I both know that's because Snape would never put a Slytherin second place to a Gryffindor. It infuriates him. And I guess that's partly why I did that yesterday."

Hermione eased into the straight-backed chair next to Draco and put her hand on his shoulder. A tiny voice in the back of her head yelled, "He should apologize to Harry, he tried to hurt him, he's just making excuses, he's trying to blame you, he's wrong, don't feel bad for him..." but she ignored it and said, "Draco, I'm not going to mess up on answers on tests or put mistakes into my compositions to make your father happy. How is it not enough that you're smart, you're a good Quidditch player, everyone in Slytherin looks up to you..."

"Only because I've got money and power. Not because of my stellar personality and wit," he added, almost sarcastically. "But I don't care. I'll do what I have to, to live up to what my family expects, especially my father. He's so smart, everyone looks up to him, and he knows what's best for me. He tells me all the time, I owe it to him and to my family to meet the goals he's set out for me, and if one way to do that is to tell you that if you don't let me top you on a few assignments this term, I'll let Potter and everyone else know that you're the reason we did that Dementor imitation. I don't have a choice, I have to ask you to do it." His grey eyes were as cold as ice as he looked at her, and there was a hint of desperation in his voice.

He was actually threatening her, trying to blackmail her into making mistakes on schoolwork. "As if I would ever do that!" she exclaimed, horrified. " It's cheating, the same as stealing tests! Are you doing that now, too?"

"It is not either, it's trading. It's fair, and it benefits both of us. You get to keep your secret, and I get a shot at being tops in a class or two. You sure you won't do it?"

"Of course not! I said I was leaving, and now I am." Her voice was louder than was allowed in the library, but she didn't even see Madame Pince's glare, as she stood up and started to walk away.

As she moved through the shelves, she heard Draco talking to himself, and stopped, just out of sight, to listen. "Damn. I knew that's what she'd say, but Lucius said, 'No, ask her, for the honor of the family, you have to.'" Hermione almost sighed. She turned and walked back to his table, where he had already resumed work on a flow chart for a Ruminating Potion.

Why did all the boys she knew have such insane judgment? Ron and Harry were perfectly willing to ignore what grownups said about important things, like threats to Harry's life, and Draco was such a contrast, blindly following his father's orders and conclusions, as if he didn't have an original thought in his head. His intentions weren't completely bad, though, and she wouldn't be able to stand it if Ron or Harry blamed her for Draco's trick, so maybe it would be better if...

"How many points did you lose for that stunt on the Quidditch pitch?"

Draco looked up when he heard her voice. "Fifty, why?"

"And what's you detention going to be?"

"We're weeding the pitch, no magic allowed, from two o'clock until dinner today."

"Good enough. I forgive what you tried to do to Harry. He's not hurt, you're in trouble, and it's not like he and Ron are really speaking to me anyway."

Draco's eyes widened, and he murmured, "And the study group?"

"I won't quit now, but if you ever try to hurt someone like that again, even as a trick, even if you have a great rescue plan all worked out, I will."

"I knew you needed me," he replied, smirking.

"And don't do everything your father says, just because he says it - that's stupid and immature."

The smirk disappeared, and he looked deadly serious again. "You don't know anything about it is and we don't have time to talk about it now. We've wasted too much time this morning, and we have a lot of work to do. Did you get anything done for the Alpha Centauri diagram yet?" he asked, pulling a roll of parchment between them, as if the subject was closed.

***

And it was. Since that afternoon, if Hermione mentioned family, parents, or Lucius Malfoy in particular, Draco quickly turned the subject back to schoolwork, or teachers, or marks on papers. He never asked her to throw a test again, but he still made a show of quoting his father as an authority on almost every topic, which she found very unpleasant and distracting, not to mention frequently inaccurate. She only tried to tell Draco that once, showing him a rather large book about a Moorish spell that involved a chessboard, but he insisted that she was taking what the book said out of context, threw his books, parchment and quills into his bag and stormed off for the night; when he appeared at the next study group session, nobody mentioned his little scene.

Through the Spring, when she took time away from her schoolwork to research Hippogryff cases and texts for Hagrid to use in Buckbeak's defense, he made an obvious show of ignoring her. The Tuesday before Hagrid was going to London for the hearing, he spoke to Reilly loudly enough for her to hear, "He is dangerous, I don't care what she says. I wasn't doing anything too out of line, and he just attacked me. There's no reason why beasts like that should be around students, especially on the first day of school." The Ravenclaw boy nodded, as Draco went on, "It showed poor judgment, that's the only reason they even thought about sacking Hagrid. And for that Hippogriff, the hearing and execution aren't any different than what we do when one of our Pegasus Polo ponies goes mad. You put them down for the safety of everyone else around them - wizard, witch, animal, and even Muggle. It's stupid to become too attached to animals - you never know what they're going to do, or what's going to happen to them."

She didn't say anything to this, even though it was clear he was trying to infuriate her and distract her from her project, and stiffened her resolve to find something to save Buckbeak, and to show Draco that punishment didn't have to be so extreme.

However, she was certainly distracted when Draco then turned to her and asked, "Hermione, do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday morning?" Hermione looked up from Linsenmayer on Criminal Law & Magical Creatures, vol. 2 (H through O), utterly startled. "I'm meeting Crabbe and Goyle at one, but I've nothing planned for the morning, and I assume you're not going with Potter and Weasley, given the way they ignored you in Potions last week."

"Um."

"You don't have to say yes, I'm sure you've got loads of other things to do."

Hermione noticed Eugene, Miranda and Viola stop their own work to watch them, their heads swiveling as if they were watching a tennis match. "Um," she said again.

"Look, forget I asked, it's just..."

"Er, no..."

"Okay, I expected that."

"No, I don't mean, 'No, I won't go.' I mean, no, don't forget it. I certainly will go with you - if you promise we don't have to talk about Hagrid's hearing at all."

"Not a problem. We'll bring books - nothing school related - sit in The Three Broomsticks, and listen to the Box all morning." The Box, as Draco described it, was a magical device that looked like an old fashioned Muggle radio, it was large and made of wood, and if you asked it to play any song ever written or performed by a witch or wizard or other magical creature, it would. Hermione hadn't remembered it from her earlier visit to the pub, but that was probably because she'd been so consumed with eavesdropping on Minister Fudge, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall and Flitwick, discussing Sirius Black.

The plan settled, Hermione put the Linsenmeyer book away and the five of them turned to one of that week's Arithmancy projects. Even though she was focusing on her schoolwork, she kept taking little peeks at Draco, who had moved to the other side of the table to share a heavy text with Miranda. She didn't think he noticed her watching him and thinking of his invitation. Why had he asked her? Why did he do it in front of everyone else? And what would people say if they saw Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger walking together to Hogsmeade, or sitting together for hours in the pub? Through that night's study group, and over the rest of the week, she remained puzzled about his invitation. A visit to Hagrid's took her mind off her own plans for the upcoming weekend, as they spent hours going over the notes she'd prepared for him to use in the hearing. Hermione felt a little guilty spending the morning of Buckbeak's hearing in the company of the boy who was the cause of all the trouble, and tried to tell herself that it wasn't Draco's fault that the hearing was going forward; it was Lucius Malfoy's.

On Friday in Potions, Draco slipped her a note that said, simply, Meet me at 9:30 at the stone bench to the left of the front door, unless it's raining -then, I'll see you in the Entrance Hall.

Saturday morning, as she walked into breakfast with everyone else, she caught his eye over Harry's head, and gave him a quick smile, which he returned with a wink. As she jokingly glared back at him, Harry caught her eye, and she saw his dark head turn to Ron. She could barely hear his whisper from where she was standing, but she thought she heard the words "trick" and "witch's hump." Obviously, regardless of what she'd told them the day before, Harry was still planning to sneak into Hogsmeade. Well, if those two needed her, she'd be around, but she wasn't about to let them know it. As she sat with Neville at the other end of the Gryffindor table, she kept looking past Harry at Draco, who was passing scone-and-strawberry sandwiches along the Slytherin table, and saw Harry keep looking away.

When she saw Draco get up from the table, she left the dining hall as well, passing Ron and Harry in the entrance hall, where Harry was walking to the marble staircase and saying goodbye to Ron. Through the door, down the front steps, as she walked over to one of the benches, she saw Draco's blond head and navy cape, a blur of contrasting light and dark. He stood up as she approached, and didn't let her stop walking, but fell into step beside her on the path to Hogsmeade. She could see Ron a few hundred feet ahead, but he never looked back to see her.

They walked through the gates and ran past the Dementors, the same way Hermione had when she'd gone to Hogsmeade with Ron the previous term. Draco ran with his eyes screwed shut, and by the time they were far enough away that they slowed back to a walk, he was paler than normal. "What do you feel when they're near you?" asked Hermione, remembering what Fred and George had said about Draco's reaction to the Dementors on the train.

"My parents," he replied, in the same hoarse tone Harry used when talking about the Dementors. Now that was odd - Harry had a good reason to sound like that, but what could Draco be seeing that was so horrible?

Hermione switched the conversation to more pleasant topics. As the walked, they chatted about the fine and breezy weather, their plans for the Easter holidays (Hermione was going to stay at school to study, Draco was heading home for a few days, but would be back midweek for Quidditch practice), and Hermione's adamant decision to root against Slytherin and for Gryffindor, even though Harry was obviously angry at her.

"It's my house, and I don't feel comfortable hoping that you catch the snitch before Harry. House loyalty is important, isn't it?"

"Sure, but let my ego get a little break for once. If you have to, then hope that I catch the Snitch while Gryffindor is 60 points up. I won't be totally happy with the result, but my father will be, or at least he won't be angry with me in particular."

"I can't *do* that!" Hermione laughed as they approached the pub, and Draco opened the door. The wind blew them inside, and it looked so different from the last time Hermione had seen it. Where once there were Christmas trees, a menorah that really stayed lit for all eight days of Hanukah, and eight tiny stuffed reindeer flying around the ceiling, now was almost empty, with comfortable -looking couches and arm chairs, ottomans piled high with board games, and the occasional coffee table with flames bursting out of a hole in the center. "What are those for?" Hermione asked.

"Roasting marshmallows. They bring a bowl full over and you can use your wand to levitate them over the flames until they're perfectly brown, or, if you like them the way I do, all black and charred on the outside, and sticky and gooey inside." Draco's hands mimed the wand motions to use to make the treat, as he added, "You don't even have to touch them when they're cooked - just direct 'em into your mouth." At this, he moved his hand forward to touch Hermione's lower lip. The unexpected motion startled her, and as she opened her lips to say something (she wasn't sure what) he pulled his hand away as if he'd been stung. He turned quickly, and flopped onto one of the sofas, pulling a thick book out of his satchel, gesturing her to the perpendicular couch.

Hermione sat down where he suggested, so the backs of their heads were a few inches apart as they faced away from each other. When Mr Beiber, the waiter, came by, they each ordered Butterbeer, and Draco asked him to bring one of the Flaming Coffee Tables over, with a large bowl of marshmallows, despite Hermione's protests that it was too early in the morning to eat something so sweet, and that her parents would burst into flames if they saw her eating something as sticky as marshmallows. "They're dentists, you see."

"You mean Muggle-teeth doctors? What do they think of your Doctor Teeth and the Electric Mayhem toothpaste from the Pharmagicology Shop?" Draco didn't wait for a response to the question, but instead, stood up popped over to the plain-looking brown box next to the bar, leaned over to it and said, "Down To Earth, Curiosity Killed the Cat."

Shooting stars in midnight pastures

And hanging out on clouds beneath the moon...

That eight year old tune filled the bar with its soft, swaying sounds as Draco strolled back to the couch, snapping his fingers to the beat. "How do you know that song?" Hermione asked. "Why would you, of all people, know a Muggle tune?"

He smiled smugly. "They're not a Muggle band. Hermione, didn't you know? Most one- and two-hit wonders are really wizards and witches who go on these rebellious kicks, put out an album or two, enjoy a year or so of the Muggle celebrity lifestyle - all those airplanes, tefelones and tell-me,"

"You mean 'telly'?"

"Whatever. Then they get it out of their systems, show up in Diagon Alley one day, tell the same thing as everyone else to the Prophet - all this stuff about how weird Muggles are - change a lot of Muggle money at Gringots and try to have a normal life. You know the clerk at Flourish & Blotts?" Hermione nodded. "He stayed with Muggles a lot longer than most wizards do - had a bunch of hits in the 50's and 60's, then faked his own death in the 70's, and started at the book store."

"You mean the guy with the dark hair who makes everyone call him 'King'? There's a guy works down at the chip shop near my parents', swears he's Elvis, too, but he's a liar and I'm not sure about you."

"This is completely true. I swear on my, um..."

"Your Nimbus."

"I swear on my Nimbus. I think the only one who's stayed out as a Muggle musician is some guy named Reggie Dwight. Hufflepuff, class of 1970. Did some song about crocodiles, I think."

They chatted about classes and assignments for almost an hour before he cracked the spine on his book with a snap that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. She had been taught that cracking a book spine was the equivalent of breaking a friend's bone, and watching Draco do it so casually rattled her. He tried to look into her bookbag, and asked "Tell me, what did you bring to read?" She pulled a copy of The Greatest Generation - a newly published history book written by one of the anchormen on WWN. It was an anthology of letters, diaries and transcripts of interviews by those who had fought in the war against the Dark Wizard Grindlewald.

"A lot of that's made up," Draco said when he saw the title, sounding very matter of fact.

"What are you talking about? Of course it's not! Dumbledore wrote the forward, he wouldn't do that for just any book!" she replied hotly.

"My father told me that most wizards didn't see why they should be involved in something that had nothing to do with the wizarding world. Grindlewald may've been using Dark Magic to help that Muggle in Europe, but they weren't bothering wizards, and if Muggles want to kill each other, they'll do it with or without help from wizards and witches."

"Draco, you don't know much Muggle history, do you?"

"Of course I do!" He sounded offended. "I know all about how the Muggles misused Newton the Arithmancagician's best works, and how Muggles didn't even recognize the brilliance of Bach's use of the Golden Mean in his compositions while he was alive, but waited until after he was dead to both the Muggle and Wizarding world before they realized that he was a genius, and I know that my many-times-great-aunt Anne Boylen stupidly allowed her own husband to chop off her head because she couldn't give birth to a boy, even though it's impossible for any woman with Malfoy blood to have a boy unless her husband is a wizard, and he knew it before he married her, and their daughter was so terrified of her own magical powers that she forced all the magic out of herself, and cast almost all the magical people out of the court, and the only reason my family even survived was because of the Prophet and a few years of self imposed exile. Of course I know about Muggle history - I know enough to realize that it's not usually something wizards and witches should be very concerned about." By the end of this ranting speech, Draco was on his feet, towering over Hermione, with the edge of his cloak dangerously near the Flaming Coffee Table.

She jumped up and pulled his hem away, then pushed him back onto his sofa, and said softly, "Ever since I learned that I was a witch, I've been reading tons of magical history books, trying to understand two things. First, the general history of this world that I am a part of, whether certain wizards," she gave him a pointed look, "like it or not, and second, why some wizards," again with the look, "are so committed to the separation of the magical and Muggle worlds. I understand that at various times, some witches and wizards moved between the two communities very easily, while others, like Oscar Wilde, had a harder time of it. And I'm know that wizards like your dad don't like people coming from Muggle families into the wizarding world, but how are they going to stop it? People are going to keep being born with magical powers in Muggle households, aren't they?"

Draco shook his head no. "My father says they don't have to be, or if they are, they should be taken from the person who gave birth to them immediately and raised in a wizarding family, so they can learn our ways. You've said yourself there's a lot of things about magic you don't know, and would know if you'd been brought up with it. Wouldn't that've been better for you?"

"No! I wouldn't trade my parents for anything, I love them. Would you?"

After a moment, when Draco didn't answer, Hermione realized how stupid she sounded. "Mmm. Wrong question, isn't it?"

"I'm supposed to say I wouldn't, aren't I?" Draco asked, and Hermione nodded. "How about an abrupt change of the subject instead? We can talk more about history. In general, no specifics."

"Just answer one question first." Draco nodded in assent. "Do you believe everything your father tells you?"

"I thought we were done with the parents part of the conversation." Hermione gave him a dark look, so he responded to her question. "I think I do. He's very well read, very intelligent, he knows everyone and has written about so many things, so I think he knows what he's talking about."

"Then how can you be friends with me?"

"Who says I'm friends with you? Maybe I'm just using you to get better marks in class."

Oh, that comment stung! His face was like a mask; it was impossible for her to tell if he was being serious or sarcastic. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Maybe I have my reasons," Draco said, his voice stiff and harsh.

"Are you teasing me?" She was starting to feel hysterical. Why was be playing games with her like that.

Draco's eyes opened wide, and he affected a look of injured innocence. "Why are you accusing me of something like that? We're just having a nice little conversation, aren't we?"

He was just so frustrating, he made her want to stomp her foot and yell, but that would cause a scene. She stood up, grabbing the bowl of marshmallows and upended it right over his head. He held up his hands as a cascade of little white puffs tumbled over him, and Hermione shook the last of the sweets out of the bowl, saying, "Draco Malfoy, I can't believe I agreed to come here with you. I should've known you'd behave like a jerk and a prat and all I wanted was a relaxing morning with books and conversation, and you!" She paused for a moment, "You've ruined everything, you ninny!" She whirled on her heel and stomped out of the pub, leaving him with the bill. "Oh well, he can afford it. Jerk!" she thought as she tramped back up the path to the castle.

Halfway there, an owl landed on a fence post and hooted softly at her.

She took the note, which was addressed to her, and even before opening it, could tell from the wet, splotchy marks on the front who it was from, and why.

By the time she returned to Hogwarts, and passed the Dementors, which didn't affect her much at all, as her mind was already full of thoughts of Hagrid's extreme suffering over Buckbeak, she was so upset, she wandered aimlessly through the common room and library, hoping to find Harry, although she was convinced that he had gone to Hogsmeade in defiance of the school rules. By late afternoon, she just sat in front of their entrance portrait, waiting for Ron and Harry to return, and trying to ignore the leering security trolls. Even though they were much smaller than the one that had attacked her in the girls' bathroom during first year, they were still an unpleasant reminder of that frightening evening.

Once Ron and Harry returned, and she shared Hagrid's letter with them, and Ron patted her on the head, it was as if all the fighting and misery between the three of them since Christmas had been wiped away. "This is where I ought to be, these are who I should spend my time with, not sarcastic, teasing Puppets of Evil," she thought, pushing from her mind the image of Draco, covered with marshmallows and gaping at her with his mouth open. She spent the evening talking with Ron and Harry, telling them about the arguments she'd prepared for Hagrid, discussing whether he'd be able to even teach the next day, or would he be too upset?

Hermione didn't tell them about her morning with Draco. She'd never even told them that they studied together, and Ron and Harry were in the library so infrequently in the evenings that they'd never noticed the study group. She assumed that they knew that Draco was in her Ancient Runes class, but she'd never bothered to mention that either. It would just take too long an explanation, and it wasn't as if studying with him affected her friendship with Harry or Ron at all, did it?

Sunday, Hermione spent only a few minutes with her study group, and was unable to even look at Draco, half embarrassed by her antics in The Three Broomsticks the previous day, and half angry at him because of Hagrid's miserable state. Hermione made her apologies to the group, and didn't even speak directly to Draco. As she walked away, she overheard him say to the group, "Silly girl just doesn't understand how much I want..." but then she was too far away to hear how he finished that sentence.

She found Harry and Ron in the common room. Right now, it was important to spend time with them, and patch up their friendship, more important than studying, at least for the day. They told her about throwing mud all over Malfoy in Hogsmeade, Malfoy's report to Snape, and Professor Lupin's response. For some reason that she couldn't fathom, this made her even angrier at Malfoy. Who was he to mistreat a Hippogryff, to hurt Hagrid, and to try to get her friends into trouble? Why had he teased her so? She had Harry and Ron back, she didn't need him, and she planned to tell him so, the very next day.

But instead, she was so infuriated by what he said about Hagrid that she slapped him instead.

He didn't even speak. She saw the shock on his face and his wide eyes, as he turned on his heel and almost stomped into the dungeons, gingerly touching his hand to his cheek. Her head was spinning with thoughts about Draco - good, bad and furious - as she followed Harry and Ron towards the Charms staircase; she wasn't able to put a complete thought together. I can't sit through a class right now. Maybe an hour or so of revising will get me back into sorts. She flipped her time turner twice, felt the rushing motion she was now so accustomed to, and ran back to the Gryffindor common room and her pile of texts. "Concentrate, focus, accomplish something!" she told herself, looking through her pile of assignments. The stress of the morning was weighing so heavily on her that she felt achy with tension, and laid her head on the pile of books. "I can read like this, just for a moment," was her last thought before she passed into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.

Almost two hours later, when Ron and Harry woke her up by shaking her, and she realized that she'd missed Charms but couldn't go back over that time again to get to class, because the Time Turner only worked once for any particular interval of time. It was clear that the day wasn't going to get any better. She couldn't get Draco's hurt expression out of her fog filled head, and all her frustrations about her classes, and about Draco, were growing with every passing minute. Divination, which she never enjoyed, was the straw that broke the Manticore's back, and she stormed out of that horrible, smelly, pink room, and into the library, where she threw herself into an armchair with a copy of Muggle Leaders and their Ties to the Wizarding World. She read page 667 again and again, until the light outside the window faded away; it seemed like the words were changing in front of her eyes, it was so hard to concentrate.

"I have made a mess of things," she muttered.

"Understatement of the day," a soft voice drawled.

Hermione nearly fell out of her chair. Draco was sitting on the low table by her chair, but she hadn't seen or heard him approach. "Are you speaking to me?"

"I wasn't planning to, but I'm not really in any condition to have this conversation in writing, so I guess I'm going to have to." His eyes were so cold, she felt like he was looking right through her. Then, she realized that she was looking right through him!

She jumped up in a way that would have - that should have - bumped into him, but she didn't. This couldn't really be Draco - what kind of trick was he trying to pull? They didn't learn Holography Spells until Seventh Year, and she was too far from a fireplace for him to be a Cerebral Projection. She jumped away from him, gasping loudly.

"Calm down, girl!" She was almost hyperventilating. "Hermione, give it a rest. I can't slap you to make you calm down, much as I want to," he added as she struggled to calm her heart and deepen her breaths. "We have to talk, and I sort of got stuck staying in my dorm tonight. Okay? I didn't want to startle you, and I hoped I be able to explain this," he gestured to his transparent form, "or that at least one of your books would've explained this unusual little form of magic I can..."

She interrupted, her thrill at figuring out this mystery overriding the anger she still had towards him. "You can Project? How terrific! And why didn't you tell me? Does anyone know?"

"Do you want my responses in order, or will paragraph form do? Sit down, and I'll give you the short explanation. I didn't come here tonight to chat about my superpowers." Hermione moved back to her chair and sat down as Draco explained his childhood discovery of his Projection ability, the training he had done with the tutors his father had brought to the Manor, and the fact that it was very draining, especially at Hogwarts, which is why he didn't do it often. "I don't think anyone else knows, other than Professor Snape, because he caught me in the Seventh Year Common Room once, because I usually make myself very small when I Project. It saves a lot of strange questions."

"Dumbledore doesn't know?"

"I've certainly never told him, and if Snape knows his place, he's not going to inform on Lucius Malfoy's son to the headmaster."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because I knew that if we didn't talk today, we probably wouldn't ever talk again, and I don't want that to happen, and the only way I could talk to you tonight was to get here this way. Just listen to me, because if we don't resolve this now, we're never going to."

"What do we have to resolve? You're annoying, sarcastic, and mean, and you bring out the worst in me, and you're a terrible tease, and I don't mean that in a good way, and I don't want to talk to you about anything other than classes and homework and exam timetables. If you're here for me to apologize for hitting you today, I will, but..."

"And you think that we can keep on working together that way? It's not going to work, but for the sake of both of our marks, we need it to. When we study together, we push each other to do better and understand more, and that's what's going to keep my marks above the Ravenclaws, and I need to do that."

"Because your father says so?"

"It's a good enough reason for me. I don't want to deal with the consequences if I don't. Given the very meaningful benefits to me if I keep studying with you, and your nice benefit of getting lots of books from me, you should want us to keep working together too. But it's more than that. I like talking to you - especially about books. The Ravenclaws take everything too seriously, and I don't think any of them would recognize pleasure reading if it pushed them onto a sofa, jumped into their laps and wriggled a lot." Hermione burst out laughing at this image, losing her struggle to look stern and serious.

Draco went on, "But we're not going to agree about everything. Actually, we're not going to agree about a lot. We come from completely different universes..."

"Completely different lifestyles, different backgrounds, different everything," Hermione added, nodding. "Can we ignore that completely?"

"I'm not asking you to ignore it. I'm asking you to recognize it, and work around it. We agree to disagree, we agree that when we're in private, we won't hold anything either of us has said in public against each other, and we'll keep working together. We can't get new Rune partners anyway," he said. "I already asked."

"Because you wanted to get rid of me?"

"Because I don't, and I wanted to have an answer for you in case you threatened to try."

Hermione thought for a moment. What was he asking? To be friends? To be rivals? To work next to each other, focusing on the tasks at hand, to their mutual benefit? He wasn't lying - there were real benefits in their teamwork. She'd survived the year, so far, putting his comments about her Muggle background far from her mind, forgiving his nasty Dementor trick on Harry, ignoring her instinct to run away from his grey eyes and fair hair, and why? "You can't actually think that if you're all nice and helpful and sweet, he'll wake up one morning and say, 'Everything I have thought about Mudbloods is wrong and silly. I am a changed man, and I will henceforth be nice and good and sweet to everyone and fly little old ladies across rivers on my broomstick!'" she reasoned.

"I don't like a lot of things about you, Draco," she said to him. "But we do have this rune project to finish, and exams are coming up in only nine weeks, and I don't want to change my study patterns now."

"Fine, if you want to justify it that way, I can live with that." He seemed to flicker for a moment, or was it just her tired eyes blinking? "I've got to go - this is the longest I can hold on for, but I'll see you tomo..."

And he disappeared with a shudder.

***

So after her Tuesday morning visit to Professor McGonagall where she dropped Divination, and rejected the professor's suggestion that she drop either Muggle Studies or Care of Magical Creatures too, Hermione handed the bulk of the research for Buckbeak's appeal to Ron, and joined Draco and their cohorts in Ravenclaw in signing the Carrel Reservation Sheet in the library so they could keep working in their usual corner. Arriving early to a review session one day in May, she spotted Draco walking slowly around their section, holding his wand and murmuring, almost to himself.

He didn't see her before she asked him, "What in Hogwarts are you doing?". As he spun to face her, his wand was held in a dueling position; Draco was utterly startled, but managed to find his voice quickly.

"I'm just setting up a Disdistraction Charm, so nobody bothers us while we've got all this work to do."

"What a great idea," she replied. "Thanks for thinking of it."

"I've been doing it all year," he added. "It's a little trick I picked up last year, because Pansy kept coming over and bothering me while I was trying to get work done. The charm lasts about three hours, and while it's up, nobody realizes we're here."

Hermione realized something just then. "You haven't told any of your housemates that we study together, have you?"

"Of course, I haven't, but you can't really criticize me for that, can you? You haven't told anyone either!" Draco had been concentrating on the last side of the charm, and Hermione's interruption made several of the chairs hop on two legs for a moment, so he lunged to quiet them before Madame Pince noticed the noise.

"I told my mum!" Hermione whispered loudly.

"Oh, and that counts for something." Draco gestured for Hermione to be quiet for a moment, while he finished the charm, then continued, "You know I mean that you haven't told any of your friends, or your roommates, or anyone in Gryffindor. And I think the Ravenclaws are just afraid enough of me that they haven't told anyone either, but I'm sure they talk about us behind our backs. Personally, I think it's sensible that we don't talk about this. If people wasted our time giving us grief about it, we'd never get anything done, would we?" he said, grinning.

Hermione couldn't stop her smile, as she nodded, moved to her usual seat and pulled out her DaDA notes to ask Draco a question about whether wizards had ever found a good use for Hinkypunks.

But on most days, her smiles were few. She was taking more subjects than anyone else, and was usually the last to leave the common room at night, and among the first in the library, meeting Draco there at 6:30 most mornings, and for a few hours in the evenings after he'd finished Quidditch; she would leave Draco at the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons, then use her Time Turner so she could spend the "same" few hours studying in the common room as well. Everyone in their study group had shadows under their eyes, and both Hermione and Viola were constantly on the verge of crying from the stress.

In the interest of not destroying their study sessions so close to the end of term, she never even spoke with Draco about his attempt to sabotage Harry's grab for the Snitch during the last Quidditch match, but did spend the Monday after Gryffindor won the Cup proudly wearing a badge the Weasley Twins and Lee Jordan had given all the Gryffindors the day after the match, which alternately flashed a lion and a gleaming Cup. Draco pointedly refused to look at her that day, and if he had to ask something of her, he spoke through one of the Ravenclaws. But by Tuesday morning, he had obviously given it up as a waste of time and a distraction, the two things he said he hated most at this time of year, and she lent him the Numerology and Gramatica, and the five of them spent three hours that night in the Astronomy Tower, with special permission of Professor Sinistra, head of Ravenclaw House.

They worked to predict where certain constellations would be the night they took their Astronomy exams, and when they were about to go back into the castle, bleary-eyed and exhausted from the effort, Hermione lingered for a moment when she spotted two streaks of light across the sky.

Draco watched her from the stairwell, as she closed her eyes, crossed her fingers, and moved her lips silently.

"That's useless, Hermione. Those aren't Shooting Stars tonight, don't wish on them - they're only satellites. It's wrong to wish on space hardware."

"I wish, I wish, I wish..." Hermione said, as if Draco hadn't even spoken. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked straight at him. "Why do you care if I waste a wish or two?"

"When you're magical, you've only got a limited number of wishes you can make for yourself, and a slightly larger number that you can make for other people. If you're very strong and powerful, you have more, but it's still finite. That's why Baby Wishing Ceremonies are so important." This was something she'd never read about in any of her textbooks or history books. He went on, "When a baby is born in a wizarding family, the parents invite all their closest friends and family to come and make a wish for the baby, and each of those wishes are supposed to come true. It's a very special gift to give, and it's an honor to be asked to bestow a wish. But if you've used up all of yours, you can't get them back, and it's such an embarrassment to be invited to such a party and not be able to Gift the baby. Some people do Wishing Ceremonies at weddings, too." His eyes looked distant as he stared at the stars. "It's pretty neat."

Hermione had walked over to the doorway to the stairs, and pushed against him slightly, to get him to go down the steps, which were too narrow for her to pass. "I'll keep that in mind the next time I stargaze."

Draco started down the dark stairs, and she followed him, her hands still on his shoulders, as the steps were lit only by intermittent candle- and wand-light, and she hoped that holding onto Draco would keep her from falling.