The Redemption of Draco Malfoy

Chapter Four: Truce

Hermione found herself glancing quite frequently at Draco Malfoy as they worked on their Arithmancy homework in the library. She was still suspicious of his motives for seeking her help, and she couldn't dismiss the voice in her head that told her that, at any moment, Malfoy would leap out of his seat and set her hair on fire with his wand. He didn't, of course, but she wouldn't have been surprised if he had.

It was erring on the side of surreal, sitting across from the vindictive Slytherin boy, his blonde head bowed over his parchment in concentration. They said little to each other, unless they were working on a particularly difficult problem. In that case, Malfoy - and it was always him, and never Hermione, who initiated it - would look up and ask Hermione how she was going on a certain question. Hermione would either show him her work, and allow him to correct his mistake, or - if she was having the same trouble - they would spend several minutes puzzling over the answer together. But even with Draco's civil, if not actively friendly, attitude, Hermione couldn't shake her feelings of distrust. They must have shown on her face.

"Granger," Draco said without looking up, "if you're going to stare at me for the rest of the afternoon, you might as well put your quill down." He looked up with a smile playing on his lips.

To Hermione's horror, she felt her face turn scarlet. "I wasn't staring at you," she replied.

"No?" Draco inquired. "Then what were you doing?"

"I- I was just- I was trying to see what question you were up to," Hermione finished lamely.

"Thirty-two," said Draco. "And you're up to..." he craned his neck to look at her parchment, "...twenty-four. Not the most productive pixie in the pack, are you?"

"I resent that comparison," said Hermione.

"Can't imagine why," Draco replied. "You've got that shrill voice and you do seem kind of fluttery today."

Hermione opened her mouth indignantly. "I do not have a shrill voice," she said shrilly.

Draco grinned broadly. "Whatever you say," he replied, and turned back to his work. He was still smiling, to Hermione's great irritation.

* * *

Ginny's acceptance onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team had isolated her even further from her friends. The girls she had once hung around with just weren't that interested in Quidditch, unless, of course, they were watching the boys of the school playing it. In that regard, Ginny wasn't entirely unlike them.

It didn't disappoint her though. She had never had all that much in common with those girls anyway. What did disappoint her was that now that she wasn't a typical fourth year girl, and she wasn't one of Harry or Ron or Hermione's friends, she didn't know what she was.

Most of her energy and attention was focused towards Quidditch. Tri-weekly training sessions kept her occupied in the evenings and there were usually extra ones on the weekends. They were going well, in Ginny's opinion, and the team had accepted her as one of their own, even if they didn't pay that much attention to her.

The castle felt much bigger when Ginny walked its halls alone; the people much louder where they were and the silence much heavier where they weren't. She spent much of her time exploring parts of Hogwarts she had previously never seen. They weren't very exciting parts - certainly nothing as thrilling as the places Harry, Ron and Hermione discovered - but it was nice to find a new hallway or a cosy cul-de-sac that Ginny could call her own.

She found a wall with a painting on it of a beautiful unicorn that was almost always sleeping. In one of the hallways on the third floor she came across a statue of a humpbacked witch that she had never noticed before. And in a corridor near the South Tower she found a funny little knight that she liked because he called her "Comely maiden" and "Fair lady". People tended to frequent that corridor though, so she didn't see him much.

The days dragged on and by the end of September Ginny felt she knew the castle better than anyone - though perhaps not Fred and George; or Harry, Ron and Hermione. Or Filch. It wasn't much fun though, wandering aimlessly through the halls alone. The twins had each other, Harry had Ron and Hermione, and even Filch had Mrs. Norris to prowl around with. But who did Ginny have? No one, she thought to herself, as she looked at the sleeping unicorn.

* * *

With nothing better to do, Draco found his feet carrying him towards the Owlery. It was a dull day and he didn't particularly want to spend it in the common room. He should be in the library, studying with Hermione and earning her trust; but she wasn't there. Probably spending time with those two boneheads, Draco guessed.

When he reached the Owlery, he spotted Tenebrion perched on the highest rafter, being given a wide berth by the other owls. He swooped down and landed gracefully on Draco's shoulder, his beak held at attention.

"I don't have any letters or food," Draco said, "so bugger off." The owl shrieked indignantly and returned to the rafters, where it started a short-lived scuffle with another owl.

Draco strode over to one of the windows and looked out across the grounds. The clouds were darkening, brimming with the promise of rain. They looked exceptionally close from the Owlery, as though he could reach up and touch them. But against the grey sky there were no distant black specks that could have been an owl carrying his father's instructions. Draco sighed sullenly.

The door behind him opened with a creak and he turned to see who it was. Just my luck, he thought to himself. Ginny paused at the door, clutching a note in her hand and staring suspiciously at Draco.

"What are you doing here?" she asked dubiously.

"Come to admire the view," said Draco, smirking at her. "Plus I like the décor." He looked desultorily around at the walls that were covered in owl droppings, then turned his gaze back to Ginny. "What are you doing here?"

"Posting a letter," she replied stiffly, crossing to one of the lower perches and picking up a small, furry ball.

"Is that an owl?" Draco asked with surprise.

"Of course it's an owl," Ginny replied crossly.

"Looks more like something McGonagall would cough up."

The tiny hairball chirped indignantly at Draco. "Leave him alone," said Ginny. She stroked the tiny owl with a finger and it hooted softly. She attached her letter to its leg, then carried it to the window and held her hand out. The owl leapt off and plummeted out of view. A few seconds later it rose back up, beating its puny wings and flying away. Ginny turned back to Draco.

"Anything else?" said Draco.

"You don't own this place, Malfoy!" Ginny snapped.

"No - I never was into property much." He smiled slyly at Ginny. "If you feel like staying, that's fine with me. But the Astronomy Tower is much more comfortable."

"You're disgusting," said Ginny. She turned around and stalked out the door.

Draco turned back to the window and the cloudy sky. As annoying as the Weasleys were, you could always count on them to provide a decent distraction.

* * *

September ended and October began; autumn kicking into full swing. The trees around the castle dropped their leaves and made the grounds resemble a large fireplace. The days were still warm though, and the rain was holding off for the moment at least. Harry chose a Saturday morning to pay a visit to Professor in his office. Hermione was at the library and Ron finishing his Potions homework in the common room - so Harry walked the halls by himself. They were relatively empty at this time of the morning, thankfully free of a prowling Filch or an overly suspicious Snape. Harry knocked twice on Lupin's door once he reached it.

"Come in," Lupin's voice called through. Harry opened the door and stepped inside.

"Ah, Harry," Lupin greeted him cheerfully, holding a teapot. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Harry replied, shutting the door behind him. "You?"

"Yes, very good." He looked it too. "Are you here on academic matters or just for a chat?"

"Just a chat," Harry replied.

"Take a seat," Lupin said, indicating a chair on the other side of his desk. Harry sat down. "Tea?"

"Thanks."

Lupin extracted another cup from his cupboard and set the teapot to boil.

"Sirius asked about you," he said conversationally. "You haven't seen him recently?"

"No, not for a few months," said Harry.

"Yes - he's been quite busy. Moving around a lot."

"Busy with what?" Harry asked with concern.

"Oh, just typical law evasion stuff," Lupin answered. He lifted the steaming teapot and emptied it into two cups. "You're not worried about him are you?" he asked, handing Harry a cup.

"Thanks," said Harry, pulling it towards him. "No, not really. Just...with Voldemort out and about...well, I guess I was."

"He's fine," Lupin assured Harry. "You needn't worry."

"Have you...er...heard any news?"

"About Voldemort? No, not a whisper." Lupin's voice took on a graver edge.

Harry gazed down into his teacup. "Isn't that strange?"

"Not really," said Lupin. "He's only just risen and probably still in a weakened state. He needs to gather his supporters again and...bide his time, as they say."

"He didn't seem very weak the last time I saw him."

Lupin looked down at Harry with fatherly concern. "You haven't been thinking about that have you?" he asked. "Sirius mentioned something last time...about you having dreams."

"Oh," said Harry, "yeah. I don't really have them anymore." It wasn't strictly true, but they were nowhere near as frequent as they had been a few months ago

"That's good," Lupin replied. "You mustn't dwell on it, Harry. Cedric's death was a tragedy but it wasn't your fault."

"I know," said Harry. "It's just hard."

Lupin gave him an encouraging smile. "You'll pull through. You always do."

Harry nodded gratefully, forcing a smile.

"So how's your Quidditch going?" Lupin asked conversationally, sitting down at last. "I hear Ron and his sister made the team."

"Yeah," said Harry. "It's going good. I think we might win this year."

"Well, I'll be cheering for a Gryffindor victory, as always."

Harry smiled and sipped his tea.

* * *

"Malfoy!" Hermione snapped indignantly. "That's my Charms homework!"

Draco looked up with a blank expression, the paper aeroplane he'd been making grounded in mid-fold. "So?"

"So, I need it." Hermione snatched the parchment from his hands and performed a quick Uncreasing Charm on it. She swiftly filed it away between two of her books, where Draco couldn't reach it.

She was still astounded as to how agreeable Malfoy had been over the last few weeks; well, compared to the way he usually was. He had switched from firing curses and obscenities at her to hiding her quill and making origami out of her Potions' notes. It was extremely vexing, to be honest, but then it was also hex-free. Hermione couldn't exactly pinpoint the precise moment when Draco had become more mischievous and less spiteful. At first all they would do was work at the same table, occasionally pooling their thoughts over a difficult question. Then Draco had swung around the table to sit beside her while they worked, talking more often than before. And then, gradually, he had begun to engage in playful, if infuriating, antics.

It made Hermione begin to wonder what would happen if one of the other Slytherins caught him sitting at the same table as her, but the occasion never transpired. Certainly no fifth year Slytherins had been to the library during one of their unofficial study lessons, and those in the younger year were probably too afraid too approach Draco. He had quite a presence in his house.

When the occasional Slytherin did walk past, Draco would raise his voice and complain about having been forced to work on this Arithmancy assignment with a Gryffindor. The first time it happened, Hermione had been almost shocked to hear the old sinister tone in his voice, but when she'd looked at him with resentment, he had jerked his head towards the passing Slytherin boy and turned back to his work.

Now, Hermione found the sporadic outbursts of feigned bitterness rather amusing. Draco's gift with words would allow him to spew out elegant and lengthy curses at Professor Vector for pairing him with her. He would insult her Gryffindor nature and bring up his noble Malfoy ancestry often enough, but he never called her Mudblood, which was both surprising and pleasing. Hermione knew such thoughts were dangerous but she couldn't help but consider the possibility that, through the common ground of their Arithmancy work, they had forged a tentative friendship. Was it possible?

Draco looked disappointed at the confiscation of his aeroplane. "I was going to throw it at Finch-Fletchley's head," he complained. Hermione fixed him with a disapproving gaze. "Okay, what if I threw it at Potter instead?"

Hermione glanced up instantly, casting her eyes about the library in a panic. When she realised he wasn't there, she turned back to Draco with fury in her eyes.

"Jumpy little thing, aren't you?" he said with a grin. "It'd be such a shame to be caught fraternising with the enemy by your puny boyfriend."

"He is not my boyfriend!" Hermione said irritably. "How many people do I have to tell that to? And he isn't puny either. He's the same height as you are."

"I think not," Draco replied resentfully.

"I think so," Hermione mimicked him.

"Just goes to show how observant you are," said Draco.

"Just do your work, Malfoy," Hermione replied, turning back to her own.

* * *

Ginny had decided to take advantage of the clear weather and the early hour by taking a stroll around the lake. The grounds at Hogwarts didn't stay snow-free for long, and it was always nice to enjoy them before the leaves began falling. The surface of the lake to Ginny's left was placid and unbroken, the giant squid nowhere in sight. Further away on her right, the Forbidden Forest stood silent and still, the trees bunched tightly and forebodingly together with the occasional gap beckoning unwary students into their midst. The forest at Hogwarts always had a real presence for Ginny, as though it was a large creature rather than a collection of trees. Anything that provided shelter for so many evil beings had to be evil itself.

But the lake was pleasant to look at, so Ginny kept her eyes focused on that. She could see the Quidditch Pitch off in the distance, looking almost naked without a swarm of spectators and a gathering of floating figures above it. She would be one of those figures soon, Ginny realised. Whenever she wasn't flying she was aware of how nervous she was about the upcoming game. Admittedly, it was against Hufflepuff, who were renowned for their kindness and courtesy, so she wouldn't have to worry about being pounded with a Bludger by the enormous Slytherin Beaters. Not yet anyway.

Ginny's thoughts were invaded by a soft patter of footsteps behind her. She turned around to see who was following her. Eep, she thought, spinning back around so fast her neck hurt. No, no, no, not here. Why did he have to come here when I'm all alone! Ginny slowed her pace to a near stop so that she wouldn't look rude, but in actual fact she wanted nothing more than to run away as fast as she could, even if it meant running into the Forbidden Forest.

"Hey, Ginny - wait up," Harry called out, jogging to catch up to her. He fell into step beside her.

"Hi," Ginny said as casually as she could, willing her voice not to hitch. Luckily, it didn't. "What are you doing here?"

"Lupin saw you out here through his window. He said I should keep you company."

Ginny's spirits fell. So Harry hadn't decided to seek her out, he'd merely obeyed the advice of a teacher. And what was Lupin doing giving Harry that kind of advice? Didn't he see plenty of students walking alone around the lake during the day? What was the sly old dog up to? Wolf, Ginny corrected herself.

"You don't have to," she told Harry. "I'm okay on my own."

"I don't mind," Harry replied. "Unless you do?"

Ginny looked over at him. "No."

"Okay."

God, why is this so awkward? I feel like such an idiot. She continued to berate herself mentally until Harry spoke again.

"So how are you finding the Quidditch training?" he asked.

"Um...okay," Ginny replied.

"Not too strenuous?"

"No."

"It's better this year," said Harry, "with Angelina. Oliver was a great captain but at least now I have time to do things like eat, sleep and go to the bathroom."

Ginny's laughter manifested itself as a rather inelegant snort. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound immediately. Harry didn't seem to notice. He looked at the ground several yards away and Ginny was able to chance a glimpse at him. She looked at the profile of his face; the messy hair, the round glasses, the chin and cheeks that were more defined than they had been last year. Harry grew older just like the rest of the boys at Hogwarts, but there was an optimistic quality to his face that kept him looking young and innocent. It was in his eyes that you could see how much he'd aged.

"Are you looking forward to our first game?" Harry asked her, obviously attempting to strike up conversation.

"I guess," Ginny replied. She made an effort to steer the conversation away from herself. "Ron seems pretty excited about it."

"And you're not?" Harry inquired, refusing to set Ginny's self-conscious fears at ease.

"More nervous than excited," Ginny replied with a weak smile.

"Don't be," said Harry. "You'll do fine."

"But what if I don't score any goals? What if I drop the Quaffle? Oh, God, what if I lose my broomstick and then I..."

"Ginny," Harry interrupted kindly. "You won't drop the Quaffle and you won't lose your broomstick and it doesn't really matter if you don't score. You're just out there to have fun."

Ginny nodded, catching her breath and willing her heartbeat to slow down. There was no use working herself into a panic this early before the match; she had a whole month left to do that.

"You'll be fine, Ginny," Harry repeated, making Ginny realise he'd been looking at her while she calmed herself down. She worried, as she always did, that her hair wasn't straight, that her breath was smelly, that she had forgotten to perform Uncreasing Charms on her clothes this morning. You're being childish, Ginny, she told herself. Stop it!

"Are you all right?" Harry asked her.

"Fine," Ginny choked out. Feeling the time had come to flee, she added: "I...uh...just remembered I have some Charms homework to finish. I should get to the library."

"Okay," said Harry. "Do you want me to walk you?"

Yes. God, yes. "No, I'll be fine. I'll see you later." Lowering her head to hide her face, Ginny turned around and hurried as quickly as she could back to the castle, not daring to look back in case she saw a confused Harry staring back at her.

* * *

"You're wrong, Granger," Draco drawled.

"No, I'm not," Hermione protested. "Mercury will be in the sixth quadrant during the summer solstice."

"You don't know what you're talking about. It'll be in the fourth quadrant, plain and simple. Any half-wit fool could see that."

"Are you calling me a half-wit fool?" Hermione demanded.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco replied absently as he leaned back on his chair throwing, his new paper aeroplane up in the air and catching it again.

"Give me that," Hermione snapped crossly, grabbing the aeroplane from his hands and screwing it up.

"Hey!" Draco exclaimed indignantly, his front chair legs hitting the floor with a thud. "You killed my plane."

"Get over it," said Hermione, faintly amused at his touching attachment to the object.

"Scrunching up a fellow student's paper aeroplane," Draco drawled, "now that's a Slytherin thing to do."

"Ooh, that's harsh," Hermione quipped.

"Yet eerily true."

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. Why was it that morning study sessions with Draco had become so pleasant? Well, that was easy really: he was funny. Funny in an entirely different way than Ron was. His sharpened tongue, that so often sought out the quickest words to hurt her, could just as easily be used to make her laugh. His humour was subtle, and clever at times; he could make jokes that Ron wouldn't understand, nor any of the students that sat around them in the library. It was almost like they had their own private language.

Of course, Hermione would never - ever - admit that to Draco. He would have a field day if she did and waste no time in constructing some pointed insults to throw at her as deftly as he had constructed the now-defunct aeroplane. But she did wonder whether he felt the same way, or whether he was cracking jokes to make an unbearable study session with her more tolerable. Whatever - she didn't care what Malfoy thought.

"Weasley," Draco said, almost as a groan.

Hermione's throat closed up and her stomach twisted into knots. She snapped her head towards the other side of their table, expecting to see Ron's lividly disapproving face. Instead she saw Ginny - not terrible, but still bad.

"Ginny!" Hermione greeted her with a voice that was a bit too enthusiastic. "What are you doing here?"

Ginny's eyes, locked on Draco beneath a furrowed brow, swivelled over to look at Hermione.

"I had some work to do," she said slowly, glancing back at Draco. "What's he doing here?"

"And there's that famous Gryffindor civility I've heard so much about," said Draco, gazing back languidly.

Ginny glared at him furiously, as did Hermione. After a lingering you're-not-helping look, she turned back to Ginny. "We're...um...working on an Arithmancy assignment together. Professor Vector paired us with each other."

"Oh," said Ginny in a monotone, still glaring at Draco. "Bummer."

Hermione smiled awkwardly, willing Ginny to leave before one of them burst into flames beneath the other's fierce glare. Finally, Ginny relented, taking a step back and giving Hermione a pitying look. "I'll see you later," she said, and disappeared into the stacks.

Hermione watched her go, then rounded on Draco. "Why do you have to act like such a jerk all the time?" she demanded.

"All the time?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean," said Hermione. Did he? Did she? What did she mean? He wasn't exactly Mr. Courtesy around her either.

"As I recall, I didn't say anything inappropriate," said Draco.

"No, but I'm pretty sure you were trying to hex her with your eyes."

Draco shrugged. "I can't help it. Weasleys just have that effect on me."

"That's just an excuse," said Hermione. "Maybe if you tried..."

"To like them?" Draco snapped, startling Hermione. "I bloody well will not." He scooped up his books and stood up quickly. "I'm going."

Feeling oddly guilty, Hermione called out, "Malfoy..." but he was already walking away.

* * *

After Ginny had left, Harry walked two full laps around the lake, turning over his thoughts about Voldemort and the Dark Lord's complete lack of activity. How could no one have heard anything from him? Surely Voldemort would want to make a big statement that would strike fear into the hearts of the wizarding world. Spread fear and chaos and restore dread in the hearts of his servants; wouldn't that be his goal? Lupin seemed to think that Voldemort was assembling his army again, plotting his moves with careful precision after being thwarted by Harry on so many occasions. He had a point, of course, but he hadn't seen Voldemort as Harry had. The Dark Lord was powerful - extremely powerful. The only reason Harry was standing here, thinking these thoughts, was because he had somehow managed to buy the brother of Voldemort's wand. Next time though, he wouldn't be so lucky.

The lack of information unnerved Harry more than if he'd heard of bloody killings bearing the Dark Mark. At least then they would know what Voldemort was doing, and where he was, or where he'd been. But no, Harry supposed that it was better to be in the dark than have people dead. Still, he was unsettled.

He wished briefly that Ginny hadn't run off in such a hurry, as she probably would have provided a likely distraction from these unpleasant thoughts. But if she had homework to do then he couldn't keep her.

Once he'd completed two revolutions of the lake, Harry started back across the lawn to the front doors of the castle. Inside, Peeves had worked himself inside one of the suits of armour and was clanking threateningly at a group of first years scurrying past. Harry avoided him like the plague; getting mixed up with Peeves was a bad idea on any day.

As he started up the marble staircase towards the Gryffindor common room, Harry noticed Draco Malfoy storming down, wearing an expression of extreme distaste.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" he hissed.

"Nothing," Harry snapped back.

"Good. Bugger off then." Draco swept past Harry, alighting from the staircase and stalking over to the entrance to the dungeons. Bewildered, Harry continued up. What's his problem?

In the common room he found Ron, still bent over a roll of parchment and his Potions textbook, as he had been when Harry had left this morning. Harry took a seat beside him.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, throwing down his quill. "How am I supposed to write another page on the effects of Navitaserum?"

"Well, what have you got so far?"

Ron held up his parchment. "It gives you a boost of energy that allows you to concentrate better."

"Right," said Harry. "Maybe you should ask Hermione."

"Yeah. Where is she?"

"Dunno."

"I'll check the library," said Ron, bundling his books into his bag and heading for the portrait hole. With a heavy sigh, Harry dropped sluggishly into Ron's vacated seat.

* * *

Once again, Draco took his frustrations out on his door. Soon there would be a satisfyingly large dent in the wood. He threw his Arithmancy books down on the bed and paced his room. Constant motion seemed to be the only way to relieve the pent-up stress he accumulated these days by spending time with Granger.

Bloody Granger, he thought. It was bad enough that he had to put on the friendship act with her; but now she wanted him to be nice to the damn Weasleys? When would this nightmare end? Draco threw another punch at the door, pain slicing through his hand that was a little less comforting this time.

"Bugger!" he yelled, clutching his hand to his chest and grating his teeth together. He would be a walking bruise if he kept this up for much longer. But then what would he be if he didn't keep it up? A walking corpse, most likely.

His anger was spread thickly over Granger, his father and Voldemort (and the unfortunate door). He felt trapped - boxed in by these restrictions they'd imposed on him. They weren't the ones who had to spend most of their waking days with a Mudblood. At least, thought Draco, struggling to find a positive in the matter, I always have my Arithmancy homework done early.

With Halloween just around the corner, perhaps it was time he send his father an update and ask the man to hurry up with his bloody instructions. Draco snatched a sheet of parchment from the pile of books on his bed and spread it on his desk. He retrieved his quill, inked it, and started to write.

* * *

Hermione wandered aimlessly through the corridors once she'd left the library, shortly after Draco had stormed out. She didn't particularly feel like working anymore, and neither did she feel like going back to the common room. Her thoughts were oddly caught up on her last argument with Malfoy. Really, she shouldn't be surprised by the Slytherin boy's outburst - it was completely in character for him. But then, she wasn't sure she knew his character that well anymore.

She had never known Draco Malfoy, but it was easy enough to know what he was like. He didn't help people and he didn't act nicely and he never, ever, put aside his abhorrence of someone to work with them. Well, at least that's what Hermione would have said a few weeks ago. She also would have said that cracking casual jokes and hiding her books from her for fun was very out of character for him. But then maybe she was wrong about that too.

Malfoy was such a strange boy. First he hates her guts, then he asks for her help, then he snaps at her for suggesting he show a little leeway with the Weasleys. They all seemed liked pretty random, unconnected events. Maybe he wasn't nursing a cunning plan for world domination after all; maybe he was going mad. Whatever it was, it was bothering Hermione more than she would have liked.

Why should she feel guilty about what she'd said? She'd been playing the good guy - which wasn't surprising considering who she had to work with. Why should it perturb her that Draco reacted so vehemently to her advice? It shouldn't. But it did.

* * *

Harry found himself staring out of the window in his dormitory, watching a large eagle owl fly off into the afternoon sky with a letter clutched firmly in its talons. He considered sending another letter to Sirius, but he hadn't heard back from his godfather since the last time he'd sent one. At least now he knew from Lupin that he was all right. Still, it'd be nice to hear something.

Across the grounds the Quidditch stadium waited expectantly for the first game of the year. Harry was ready for the match, and quite eager to get out on the pitch again. Ron, too, was confidently anticipating the game against Hufflepuff. Harry knew how keen Ron was to prove himself to the rest of the school, and detach himself from the just-another-Weasley stigma that would probably remain tenaciously in the minds of the Slytherins even if they won.

Ginny though, seemed awfully nervous about the upcoming game. Harry didn't know why; she was an exceptional flyer, easily as good as the other Chasers out there. Perhaps too many years of comparing herself to her brothers had led her to think she was only an average player. Well, she'd get a shock on Saturday, wouldn't she.

After tiring of the view from the Gryffindor dormitory, Harry descended the spiral staircase to the common room and found Hermione stepping through the portrait hole.

"Hi, Harry," she said, crossing over to some of the shabbier armchairs and taking a seat. Harry joined her.

"Where've you been all morning?"

"Oh, studying in the library."

"Ron's gone looking for you."

"Has he?" Hermione asked, then shrugged. "Well, he'll find me soon enough."

Harry nodded and gazed listlessly at the fireplace on the other side of the room.

* * *

Hermione contemplated telling Harry about Malfoy and the fleeting détente she had established with him. She told herself it would be better if she had someone to talk to about it, and now, with Ron absent, it would be the perfect time to tell Harry. Her other friend, she was sure, would burst a blood vessel if she told him she'd been working with Malfoy for the past week. Harry though - he would understand.

Some part of her, however, held her back from revealing the information. After things had blown up in her face, Hermione wasn't sure where that left their tentative arrangement. She was curious to see if it would continue though, and that part of her wanted to keep the information to herself rather than share it with someone else. Telling someone about it would have the same effect that introducing someone to that transitory world would - and did - have. It would destroy it. No - for now Hermione would keep it to herself.

* * *

It wasn't until the following week that Hermione saw Draco again. They had an Arithmancy class scheduled for the morning, so the meeting was inevitable. Hermione hadn't realised, until she was sitting in the chair waiting expectantly, how nervous and eager she was to see him again. Would he ignore her? Would he poke fun at her just like he used to? Would he get someone to distract Professor Vector while he turned her into a toad? Whatever he was going to do, Hermione was still curious.

Draco entered the classroom after Professor Vector. Hermione tensed with anticipation as he neared her desk. There were two other vacant seats, she noted, so he didn't have to sit next to her. He did though, as casually as he always did. Hermione waited for him to look at her, maybe even to glare at her, but he didn't. So he's going to ignore me then. Well, fine.

Draco sat lazily in his chair and fixed his gaze on the front of the room.

"Assignments," announced Professor Vector, waving a sheaf of parchment in the air. "There is no need to cringe at the size of them Mr. Boot. You will have until the end of the year to complete them." She began moving along the aisles, handing the assignments out. "I shouldn't need to tell you by now that they constitute fifteen percent of your final mark, so do not take them lightly. There will be no class time allocated to them. We still have lots of work to get through so it's up to you to do them in your own time. Now, today's work is chapter six, all questions."

The sound of books opening and quills being picked up filled the room. Hermione propped her own textbook open on the desk and unscrewed her inkbottle. Draco had owled home long ago for his textbook, so there wouldn't be any unpleasantness in trying to share hers.

"I left my book in my room," said Draco, looking expectantly at Hermione.

Or...maybe there will, she thought. She was pleased, however, that he had at least spoken to her. Hermione pushed her book into the centre of the table and unrolled a sheet of parchment. She copied down the first question, watching Draco do likewise with a surreptitious glance.

Four questions on and still he hadn't said anything to her. Hermione began to wonder if he really had forgotten his book, and that was the only reason that he had spoken to her. Say something! Hermione thought at him. It was only when she was up to her seventh question that he did.

"How do you do this?" he asked, looking across at her and pointing a finger at his book.

Hermione, taken aback at first, leaned over and looked at the question. "Well," she said, and proceeded to explain how it was done, wondering all the while whether he really needed help with it. It was just like all the other questions in the chapter so far.

"Right," said Draco, once she'd finished, and he nodded. He turned back to her work without so much as a thanks or a smile. Hermione did the same.

A minute passed before Draco spoke again. "I'm sorry," he said, without looking up. He continued to write on his parchment as Hermione looked over at him.

"What?" she asked, needing the clarification.

Draco looked up. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Hermione stared at him. "Sorry?"

"Yes," said Draco. "For...my outburst on Saturday."

Hermione almost fell off her chair. She straightened up and hit Malfoy in the arm, noting her own lack of hesitation at touching the evil git. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"Ow," Draco exclaimed indignantly, looking scandalised. "What was that for?"

"You've never apologised to anyone in your life, have you?" asked Hermione.

"Well...no," admitted Draco.

"So why are you apologising to me then?"

Draco eyed her apprehensively, as though she might hit him again if he answered her wrongly. "Because...I felt...bad." It sounded as though he'd never had to use the sentence before in his life.

"You felt bad?" Hermione whispered, lowering her voice so that she wouldn't yell. "I want you to tell me what's going on right this minute."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...why are you sitting next to me and working with me and why are you apologising to me?"

"Like I said, I felt bad."

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You wouldn't know how to feel bad if you tried."

"Look," Draco said steadily, "maybe you should stop before you say something you regret."

Hermione goggled at him. "And now you're being diplomatic!?"

Draco took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself, as well as Hermione, down.

"Can we just get on with the work?" he asked, and turned back to his book without waiting for a reply.

Hermione stared at him for several moments afterward, utterly astonished by the words that had come out of the mouth of the boy that sat next to her. He is mad! That was the only explanation. But then...why wasn't he acting this way with anyone else. He had thrown insults at Ginny easily enough. Why was he behaving so civilly around her?

Oh, God, she thought, the idea striking her for the first time. He couldn't have feelings for her; that was preposterous. But what if he had different feelings for her? What if he was - she swallowed - attracted to her? Please, she thought to herself, he's one of the best looking guys in the school. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he want a bushy-haired, teacher's pet Gryffindor...and did I just say he was one of the best looking guys in school? Hermione stared down at her parchment in horror, suddenly acutely aware of Draco's presence beside her - how close his arm was to hers, how his finger trailed slowly down the page of his book to mark his place. She glanced sideways as if expecting him to be staring back at her with a hungry look.

Yuck, she thought. Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck. I have to take a shower.

* * *

Later that afternoon Hermione took that shower, and then walked to the library to plan out her Arithmancy assignment. She had some time before dinner so it would be ideal to clear her head and focus her mind on her work. Or at least she had thought so.

Draco was there (Of course!) sitting at the table they usually sat at with his silvery-blonde head bent over his parchment. Hermione couldn't help but notice (Why can't I help it?) how perfectly styled his hair was, pushed back on his head in thick locks that curled up slightly at the nape of his neck. She knew from experience that he would wear it like that until it grew too long, and then he would switch to wearing it with a part in the middle as it hang down the sides of his chiselled face. His chiselled face!?

Hermione took a seat on the opposite side of the table, feeling it would be too rude to sit elsewhere but that he might pick up on her discomfort if she sat too close. He raised his head, but not his body, as Hermione sat down, giving him the look of a carnivorous predator with its shoulders arched high.

"Hey," he said, then turned back to his work.

Okay, Hermione thought slowly, just keep your mind on your work and you won't have to talk to him much. She unfurled her Arithmancy assignment and lowered her head to examine it. She found it incredibly hard to take in any of the words, owing to Draco's now very disturbing presence. She watched his head move slightly to each side as he scanned the parchment. When he'd finished, he looked up, startling Hermione into looking back down at her own assignment until she realised he was speaking to her, and looked up again.

"Looks hard," he said. "Which part are you going to start on?"

"Um...I don't know," Hermione replied. "Which one are you starting on?"

Draco glanced down at his assignment. "Probably section B. I figure it's the hardest so it's better to get it out of the way first."

"Good idea," said Hermione, looking down to read what section B was about.

"You all right?" Draco asked.

Hermione looked up again. "Yeah. Fine."

"You seem kind of distracted."

Hermione pushed out her lips and raised her eyebrows in a facial shrug. "Nope. Not distracted."

"You aren't still upset with me are you?" asked Draco.

"Upset? No, of course not." Hermione paused. "I'm just...curious...about why you're not ready to give me boils or something."

Draco actually looked nervously away and then back at her. Malfoy...nervous? It vanished quickly as a grin spread across his face. "Would you like me to give you boils?"

"Of course not," Hermione replied, smiling herself. Draco smiled back and turned back to his parchment.

"So you want to start on section B?"

"Sure," Hermione replied, wondering if he had purposefully dodged her comment.

* * *