The Redemption of Draco Malfoy

Chapter Five: Goals

A Hogsmeade trip was set for Halloween and all the senior students were looking forward to spending some time outside the castle before returning to a feast in the evening. Hermione joined up with Ron and Harry in the common room and together they made their way down to the Entrance Hall where a queue was already forming. They waited somewhat impatiently as Filch ticked names off on his list and Hermione had the distinct impression he was taking as long as he could, just to elicit his own sadistic sense of satisfaction. When he finally finished the doors were all but pushed off their hinges as the throng of students spilled outside and headed for Hogsmeade.

The weather was grey and windy but relatively dry. Hermione walked between the two boys as they traced the path to the wizarding village, whose rooftops and streets looked oddly empty when they were devoid of snow.

“Where to first?” Ron asked.

“Well, I need a new quill,” said Hermione (Draco had bent her old one while he was fiddling with it), “and some Spellotape and more daisy roots and yes, Ron, we can go to Honeydukes first.” Hermione sighed.

“If you insist,” Ron replied cheerily, starting off towards the sweets shop. Harry and Hermione followed.

In Honeydukes, Ron spent close to half his money on sweets, including the new, best-selling Belching Beans which he felt compelled to demonstrate to Harry and Hermione…more than once. Hermione grimaced distastefully and was more than a little grateful to leave the store.

They stopped at Zonko’s next which was, as always, doing copious business. There were students throwing Disembodied Darts at each other – which disappeared right before they hit your face; others sticking ‘Kick Me’ signs to their friends’ backs and watching as the sign grew legs and proceeded to boot said friend in the behind; and there was a large crowd gathered around a tray bearing free samples of Zonkos’ new Terrific-Tasting Tonic, scratching their heads in confusion until they realised the display was previewing the new Bottomless Mugs rather than the drink. Hermione stood by the exit as Ron dragged Harry over to a display of cushions that made loud and unpleasant sounds when you sat on them.

“They have those in Muggle shops, Ron,” Harry told him.

It took Hermione a while to drag the two boys out of Zonko’s and down the road to Scrivenshaft’s where she purchased a new quill. She stopped at Dervish and Banges after that to stock up on other supplies and then suggested they stop at The Three Broomsticks for a round of butterbeers.

“Here, here,” said Ron, starting towards the crowded tavern. As they approached the entrance, the door opened and a group of Slytherins walked out, Malfoy among them. Hermione could see both Ron and Harry tense. She willed everyone to keep walking but it was not to be.

Draco was at the head of the group. Hermione expected his eyes to glaze over with malice and a smirk to settle on his face, but he merely looked blankly at her and ignored Harry and Ron. Pansy was the first to speak.

“Granger,” she said, smirking, “don’t you know that half-bloods are supposed to walk in the gutters?”

The other Slytherins – barring Draco for some reason – chuckled behind her. Hermione composed herself and glared coldly back at Pansy. “I’ll walk in them once they’ve been swept,” she said. “That is your father’s job isn’t it?”

Pansy bristled and turned an angry shade of red. Beside her, Hermione could have sworn she’d seen Draco stifle a laugh.

“You’d better watch what you say, Granger,” Pansy spat. “You’re days are numbered now.” She stopped short, as the Slytherins always did, of mentioning Voldemort specifically; but Hermione got the idea.

“Yeah, Mudblood,” Goyle chimed in with his goofy voice. A second later, he jumped. “Ow.” He rubbed his side with a podgy hand and spun around in confusion. “What was that?”

Hermione almost lost her footing when she saw a wand disappear up Draco’s sleeve. He looked back at her with only the hint of a smile. Goyle was still in a rage. “When I find out who did that…” he started to grunt.

“Let’s go, Goyle,” Draco said and started walking away. The other Slytherins fell into step behind him, shooting resentful glares over their shoulders. Hermione was too stunned to speak and simply watched Malfoy walking away.

“What a bitch,” Ron said.

“Ron!” Hermione said reproachfully. She looked again at the retreating Slytherins and then followed Ron and Harry into The Three Broomsticks.

* * *

They found an empty table in the corner and Hermione offered to get the drinks, leaving Ron and Harry alone. Ron looked across the room and then nudged Harry’s arm.

“Harry,” he said, “look. Cho’s over there.”

Harry looked up and saw the pretty Ravenclaw girl waving to her friends as they exited the tavern. She remained at the table, sipping a butterbeer and smiling optimistically. Harry looked back at Ron whose face was lit up expectantly.

“Well?” Ron said. “Go and talk to her.”

“Maybe later,” said Harry.

“What do you mean ‘maybe later’? She’s alone. This is your chance.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could see that Cho was alone, and he knew this was the perfect chance to speak to her, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Seeing Cho reminded Harry of Cedric and that fateful night in the cemetery at the end of last year. He supposed that was why he felt so reluctant to speak to her. He still found her attractive, of course, and he had always liked her, but right now he felt as though he’d be doing the wrong thing by speaking to her. She might feel the same way about him and see Cedric whenever she looked at him. It just didn’t feel right.

Harry looked past Cho at another corner of the room, where Ron’s younger sister was sitting by herself sipping a bottle of butterbeer through a straw and reading a magazine. “I think I’ll go and talk to Ginny,” he told Ron.

* * *

Ginny was engrossed in an article entitled ‘How to tell when your crush is mutual’ when she heard a familiar voice above her.

“Hey,” the voice said. Ginny looked up with the straw still in her mouth. Her eyes widened in horror and she started to cough. Oh, no, no, no, please not now, she thought.

“Hello,” she choked out once the coughing had subsided.

“Mind if I sit down?” Harry asked.

“No,” Ginny squeaked. Harry took the seat opposite her and looked at her magazine.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Um…Witch Weekly,” Ginny replied, closing the magazine.

“Ten ways to tell if your boyfriend is cheating on you with a banshee,” Harry read off the cover. “Sounds interesting.” He looked up and smiled.

“Yeah,” Ginny replied. “I mean, no…it isn’t. It’s…silly.” She looked away, her face burning and no doubt a very bright red colour. She felt like burying her head under her magazine and waiting until Harry walked away. But that would be rude.

“So you, ah, ditched the scatterbrains again?” he asked.

“Oh…yeah,” Ginny replied. The truth was she hadn’t had to ditch them; she just didn’t come with them in the first place. She’d spent most of the afternoon in The Three Broomsticks, sipping on the same butterbeer and reading the copy of Witch Weekly she’d bought at the post office. And then Harry had to walk in and sit down at her table and make her feel like a complete fool. He really didn’t have very good timing.

“Are you looking forward to the feast tonight?” Harry asked her.

“I guess,” Ginny replied. She alternated looking at the floor, then Harry, then at the wall and then the floor again. Harry, however, wouldn’t look away. It was annoying that he was able to make eye contact so easily when it was like trying to stare at the sun for Ginny. She couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds before she started to worry about whether there was something between her teeth. She reached out for her butterbeer, so that her hands would have something to do and succeeded in knocking it onto the table, the liquid spilling out in a puddle. Oh, my God!

Harry stood the bottle up again and lifted the magazine before it got wet. With her cheeks on fire, Ginny performed a quick Drought Charm and began to feel more miserable than ever. “Sorry,” she said.

“No problem,” Harry replied, still smiling. Ginny wondered whether he was just naturally cheerful whenever he was with her, or he actually enjoyed watching her discomfort.

“I need to go back to the castle,” Ginny said, gathering her cloak and magazine. “I promised mum I’d owl her before Halloween.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “okay. Well, bye.”

“Bye,” Ginny replied hastily and hurried out of the Three Broomsticks. Not until she was outside, with the cool wind hitting her face, did she calm down and let her shoulders hunch in defeat. I’m such an idiot, she thought to herself, and walked miserably back to the castle.

* * *

When Hermione arrived back at Hogwarts, she dropped her purchases off in her room and told Ron and Harry she would be at the library for a while.

“It’s the weekend, Hermione,” Ron said to her.

“I won’t be long,” Hermione replied and left the common room. She made her way to the library and walked inside. Malfoy was sitting at their usual table, his head bent over several sheets of parchment. Hermione approached him hesitantly and sat down.

Draco looked up and muttered, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Hermione replied, looking at him curiously.

“What is it?” Draco asked, scanning her face.

“You hexed Goyle,” Hermione replied.

“What?”

“Goyle. You hexed him when he called me Mudblood.”

“So?” Draco replied.

“So why would you do that?”

Draco shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Never really liked him,” he said simply. “He always has that goofy expression on his face and that passé haircut. Seems to be more than just friends with Crabbe as well.”

“So you didn’t hex him because of what he called me?” Hermione inquired.

“I may have,” Draco replied cryptically, leaning further back on his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Whenever he sat like that, looking back at Hermione with his shrewd grey eyes and his lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk and wasn’t quite a smile, she became distinctly self-conscious, as though Draco could see not only her physical flaws but her emotional and mental ones too. His gaze wasn’t entirely unlike Dumbledore’s at those times.

“You may have?” Hermione queried. “Is that the clearest answer I’m going to get?”

“At this point – yes.”

Hermione continued to stare at him for a moment longer, a grin beginning to spread across his face. She sat down and took her things out of her bag, glancing suspiciously at Draco as she did. She wasn’t satisfied with the answer he’d given her, but she knew better than to press the matter. Draco didn’t like to be analysed and he would explode faster than a pack of Exploding Snap cards if she pried too deep. It was better to leave him be for the time being.

“New quill?” said Draco, reaching across the table for it. Hermione slammed her hand down on his wrist before he could grab it.

“Leave it alone,” she said. “I don’t want you bending this one too.”

She quickly became aware of her hand touching Draco’s skin, his sleeve having ridden up his arm as he reached out for her quill, and retracted it hastily. Draco slid his arm back across the table in a more graceful fashion, looking unperturbed at the fact that he had just been touched by a Mudblood. He just keeps getting stranger, thought Hermione.

* * *

The following Saturday meant a Quidditch match and the castle was abuzz with anticipation. After missing out on the Quidditch season last year, because of the Triwizard Tournament, many students were eager to cheer on their team again. Eager, though, wasn’t the word Ginny would have used to describe how she was feeling.

She sat, pale and dizzy, inside the Gryffindor locker room, her ears barely registering Angelina’s pre-game pep talk. Her stomach was churning sickeningly, as though she’d just swallowed a whole bag of Fred and George’s Belly-Bat Biscuits. The rest of the team seemed to think the stands weren’t even half full yet, despite the fact that Ginny could already here a constant hum from outside.

It was all worth it though, she thought, when Harry put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and smiled encouragingly at her. “You okay?” he asked.

Ginny was going to lie, as she always did when Harry asked her if she was okay, but then she felt like confiding in someone. That and Harry would probably nod and walk away if she said she was fine. Fearing she might throw up if she opened her mouth, she settled for a shake of her head.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” said Harry. “You’ll do fine. It’s not as bad as you think out there, I promise.” Hearing Harry promise it almost convinced Ginny that it was true. But then the nagging feeling of live spiders in her stomach made it impossible.

“I feel sick,” Ginny choked out meekly, feeling ashamed.

Harry’s smiling face turned to a look of worry. “Er...really sick, or figure-of-speech sick?”

“Both,” said Ginny, leaping up and darting outside where she threw up on the lawn. Oh, God, she thought, I can’t believe I just threw up. Harry’s going to think I’m a little girl. Yuck.

Unfortunately, Ginny had left her wand in her dorm, so she couldn’t clean up the mess she’d made. She slunk miserably back into the locker room and sat down again.

“Threw up?” Harry asked. Ginny nodded. His hand rubbed her shoulder reassuringly again. “Don’t worry. Happens to everyone.”

“Even you?” Ginny asked, looking up at him.

“Almost,” he replied, with a smile. Ginny couldn’t help but smile back.

* * *

“Are you going to the match today?” Hermione asked Draco in the library.

“Hmm?” Draco mumbled, his attention still focused on his assignment. He finished the line he’d been writing and looked up.

“The game,” said Hermione. “Are you going?”

“Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff? You’d see more action in Weasley’s bedroom.”

Hermione fought hard to stifle her laugh but it escaped past her lips. “Malfoy!” she chided him.

He looked up with a sly grin. “Prove me wrong.”

“You know,” Hermione put in, refusing to rise to the bait, “you just complimented Ron...in a weird, twisted way.”

“So hex me,” Draco replied. “You can choose to take it any way you wish.”

Hermione, still smiling, looked back down at her work.

“Are you going?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” said Hermione, puzzling over one of the questions. “It’s Ron and Ginny’s first game.”

Draco snorted. “All the more reason not to go. I don’t know how Potter managed to get them a place on the team.”

“He didn’t get them a place on the team,” Hermione replied sharply. “They tried out and made it fair and square.”

“Just seems kind of a coincidence, don’t you think?” said Draco. “Potter’s best friend and his little girlfriend both make the team when there are only two empty spots.”

“I thought I was his girlfriend?” said Hermione with her eyebrows raised. (She could never raise just one the way Draco could.)

“Yes, well, our Potter gets around doesn’t he. I guess they’re the spoils of being a hero.”

Hermione giggled. “Somehow I don’t think Harry’s the two-timing type.”

“Two-timing type,” said Draco. “There’s a good slogan. You should sew that on the back of his cloak.”

Hermione laughed again. Draco smiled back amiably, the bitter sparkle in his eye still nowhere to be found.

* * *

Okay, Ginny told herself, you can do this. You just have to calm down, take a deep breath and you’ll be fine. Harry does this every week, so why can’t you? See, he’s smiling at you. Oops, better smile back. There we go.

Ginny gulped in several mouthfuls of air until the pains in her stomach had lessened somewhat. Her teammates were standing around her, all waiting for Lee Jordan to announce their entrance. They hadn’t been wrong about the crowd; the drone outside was like a thousand locusts swarming around. Ginny tried not to focus on that though, so instead she tidied up the twigs on her broom. But as it was still relatively new, the process was fairly superfluous.

“And now, the reigning champions,” Lee’s voice cut through the locker room door, “Gryffindor!”

The roar that issued from the crowd was nothing short of colossal. Ginny’s ears were deafened by the noise. She hurried out onto the pitch with the other players, swallowing hard as she looked up at the stands. There were so many of them. And they were so high. A thousand faces were staring down at her, arms waving, feet jumping, mouths booing or cheering. Ginny noticed that most of the boos and hisses were limited to one side of the stadium. She looked down at the ground to calm her nerves.

You’ll be all right, it’s no big deal, and they’re not watching you specifically. Just take some more deep breaths and count to ten and oh look, Harry’s smiling at you again.

“You’ll do great, Ginny,” he said, making her stomach churn for an entirely different reason.

Ginny nodded in reply. Harry was here – good old solid, reliable Harry. He would catch the Snitch quickly and Ginny wouldn’t even have a chance to stuff up. No – she wouldn’t think about that.

Madam Hooch was beckoning the teams forward. Angelina shook hands with the Hufflepuff captain and then mounted her broom. Ginny held her broom out with a trembling hand and swung one leg over it. She had a sudden, terrible mental picture of the teams taking off, while she struggled to make her broom fly, a thousand mirth-filled spectators pointing and laughing at her until she ran crying from the pitch. No, she thought, not going to happen. I’ll be fine.

“Good luck, Ginny,” Harry shouted above the din and mounted his own broom. Ginny felt far more respect now for what Harry did each week. He made it look so easy.

Madam Hooch’s whistle blew and the crowd roared. Ginny rose straight up in the air, side-by-side with Harry until he accelerated and overtook her to his Seeker’s perch at the top of the pitch. Once again, Ginny felt her head clear with the altitude and soon the feeling of apprehension was replaced with one of exhilaration. She glanced briefly down at the stands, towards the mass of red and gold, and spotted a large “Go Gryffindor” banner, with each of their names printed around the words. Her heart swelling with pride, Ginny sped off to find the Quaffle.

* * *

Hermione sat beside Neville in the stands, anxiously following the progress of her friends. Whereas before she had nearly pulled out all her hair over worry for Harry, now she was worrying about Ron and Ginny also. She directed most of her concentration on the lower game, watching Ginny when she had the Quaffle and Ron when it was time to defend the goalposts. She kept a shrewd eye on Harry though, in case he broke into a dive.

“Ginny’s pretty good,” said Neville.

“Yeah, she is,” replied Hermione. “I had no idea.”

It was the truth, too. Ginny was like fiery-headed dragon up there, darting every which way to intercept the Quaffle, then speeding down the pitch with the other Chasers struggling to catch up. Ten minutes into the game and it was already Gryffindor forty, Hufflepuff ten; three of the goals having been scored by Ginny. As Hermione watched on, the young Weasley flew backwards, swerving left and right to defend against an attacking Chaser. Hermione hadn’t seen many Chasers defend that close; they usually got ploughed into once the attacking Chaser had had enough. But Ginny didn’t even bat an eyelash – not that Hermione could see her eyelashes from down here.

Ron was also playing well; he’d stopped one Hufflepuff goal by now. At the moment he was circling the goalposts, awaiting the oncoming assault that Ginny was attempting to prevent. Hermione turned back to the action, where the Hufflepuff Chaser had dived beneath Ginny. Ginny, not missing a beat, swerved around and dove down until she was in the same position again, deterring the oncoming Chaser. Clearly frustrated, the Hufflepuff player veered left, then right, then tried to go over Ginny’s head, but Ginny cut off every approach.

“She’s amazing,” said Hermione.

“She is,” Neville agreed.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, along with rest of the crowd, as the Hufflepuff Chaser, frustrated by Ginny’s defence, launched the Quaffle at the right goalpost from further out than he would have liked. Ron stopped it effortlessly and passed it off to Ginny, who tucked it under her arm and raced across the pitch. She passed it to Angelina, who dropped it to Katie, who waited until Ginny had circled back around and then threw it up to her and...

“Gryffindor scores!” Lee bellowed.

Hermione clapped vigorously. “Go Ginny,” she yelled, her voice drowned out in the Gryffindor cheering.

* * *

As the Quidditch match outside was in progress, Draco was working through his Arithmancy assignment in the library. He did so slowly, so that Hermione wouldn’t have to catch up. He wished she hadn’t left to watch the stupid match; how was he supposed to gain her trust if she was off gawking at her loony boyfriend? Stupid Potter – always ruined other people’s plans.

Draco blew air through his teeth and put his head down on the table. How long would he have to wait until the silly Mudblood came back? He bit his tongue involuntarily. He had disciplined himself well – too well – not to call her derogatory names. He’d even lost his severe aversion to her bushy hair. What he’d said was true: all she needed was a few drops of Sleekeasy’s and she wouldn’t look half bad. For a Mudblood at least. Again, Draco bit his tongue.

* * *

There! thought Ginny, spying the Quaffle and lunging for it. She snatched it out of the air before Hannah Abbott could grab it and zipped down the pitch towards the goals. He’s going left, she thought, no...right. She feinted to her right then spun around and shot towards the right goalpost. He’s got no hope, Ginny thought and deftly put the Quaffle through for her seventh goal.

“Gryffindor furthers their lead to sixty points,” Lee announced. “Hufflepuff is trailing on fifty.”

Ginny circled back to the centre of the pitch to take up a defensive position. That’s when she saw a figure above her shoot towards the ground. It was the Hufflepuff Seeker. But where was...

A moment later a blur – nothing more – flew past Ginny, falling fast. Harry, she thought. She stopped to watch the two Seekers racing towards the Snitch, Harry trailing but closing fast. Yes, go Harry! Ginny thought. Come on, you can do it! Her heart was thumping. Go, Harry!

The Firebolt’s superior speed narrowed the gap rapidly until Harry drew even with the Hufflepuff Seeker. He was a blur of crimson and gold; diving towards the ground with so much speed it made Ginny feel queasy just watching it. Come on, Harry. She bit her lip and dug her nails into her palm as Harry approached the ground at breakneck speed.

He’s not going to make it, Ginny thought, biting her nails. He’s going to miss and hit the ground and he’ll be paralysed and...

The stadium around her roared as Harry yanked the front of his Firebolt upward and came to a stop only a metre off the ground, his feet grazing the grass. He held his hand up triumphantly and then dropped to his feet. The other players glided down around Ginny like snowflakes and she followed suit. She landed behind the rest of the team as they ran towards Harry with fierce congratulations. Fred and George and Ron thumped him on the back and Angelina and Katie gave him hugs. Hmph, thought Ginny.

She sprinted over to the group and frantically considered whether she dared hug Harry or not. She waited until Katie took her arms away from him and then approached him nervously. He beamed down at her.

“Nice catch, Harry,” Ginny said, her feet failing her at the last moment.

“Thanks, Ginny,” Harry replied. “You didn’t do too badly yourself,” he added as though it was an understatement, glancing up at the scoreboard. “Seven goals in your first game. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

Ginny felt herself blush furiously and averted her eyes before Harry would notice. Luckily, the rest of the team spread themselves around her to congratulate her own the game.

“Seventy points,” said Fred. “Seventy! You’re a machine, Ginny.”

“Well done, Ginny,” Katie added, patting her on the back.

George treated her to a high-pitched “You go girl!” and Ron mussed up her hair in a brotherly fashion.

“Ron!” Ginny complained. Did he have to mess up her hair in front of Harry? She had spent an hour on it.

Angelina hoisted her broom beneath her arm and led the way back to the Gryffindor locker room, the crowd cheering their departure. Ginny waited so that she could fall in step beside Harry, but Ron got there first and she was forced to trail behind the team at a distance.

* * *

Draco glared furiously at the door to the library as he heard a whole throng of students walking through the corridor outside, all chanting that Weasley girl’s name. A few eager students filtered through the door to get back to their work or their reading. Draco kept a watchful eye on the door.

Two younger female students settled down on the table beside him and broke into excited chatter about the match. They giggled and squealed and did all the things that Draco couldn’t stand girls doing.

“Would you put some bloody socks in it!” Draco snapped at them when he’d had enough.

The two girls looked at him scandalously and hurried out of the library. Draco rubbed his temple to calm himself down and turned back to his assignment. Where the bloody hell was she?

Celebrating, he reasoned, with Potty and the four Weasels. Draco felt a surge of anger. Those stupid do-gooders were preventing him from completing his task. And if he couldn’t deliver Granger to Voldemort then it would be his head on the line. Draco vaguely wondered what it was that Voldemort planned to do to her. Would he use her as bait for Potter and then release her? Would he torture her for information? Would he kill her? But then why should he kill her just to get to Potter? It wasn’t her fault he had put a crimp in Voldemort’s plans for world domination. She was just...a Mudblood.

“Ow!” Draco exclaimed, after Hermione had brushed past him to her side of the table.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Bit my tongue.”

“Karma,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Very funny,” said Draco. Hermione took her seat and spread her books out on the table. Draco gazed at her expectantly.

“So how was the match?” he asked offhandedly.

“Oh, it was great. I mean, I never watch them all that much, but this one was really good.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No – I’m not. You should have seen Ginny. She’s brilliant. She scored seventy points.”

“Not hard to manage against Hufflepuff,” Draco quipped.

“Well, considering it was her first match and she scored fifty more points than any of the other Chasers, I think she did quite well.”

“Shows how much you know about Quidditch,” said Draco.

“You’ll see,” Hermione assured him. “When we play you, Ginny’s going to kick your arse.”

“Kick my arse?” Draco asked with confusion, wondering how that was possible during a game where the players were seated on broomsticks.

“Muggle expression,” Hermione replied simply.

“Right,” said Draco, turning back to his work.

“So how far did you get?” Hermione asked him.

“Not very. I’m stuck on the binary charts.”

“Well,” said Hermione, reaching over the table to pull Draco’s assignment towards her, “let’s take a look.” Hermione’s eyes briefly scanned the parchment before she let out an indignant howl. “Malfoy!”

“What?”

Hermione spun the parchment around and pointed at a doodle he’d made in the margin. “What?”

“You are so immature.” She was smiling despite her anger. She spun the parchment back around. “Who is this meant to be anyway?”

“Not sure,” Draco replied. “Maybe that seventh year girl in Ravenclaw.”

“Even hers aren’t that big,” said Hermione. She looked up with an amused smile as Draco shrugged. “You’re impossible, Draco.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and stared back at Hermione in shock. “Draco?” he said.

“What?” Hermione asked absently, looking up from the parchment again.

“You said ‘Draco’.”

“No, I didn’t,” Hermione replied dismissively. “Malfoy. I said Malfoy.”

Draco shook his head. “Draco.”

Hermione looked thoughtfully at him. “Are you sure?” He nodded. Hermione looked back guiltily. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Draco replied, quickly noting her look of surprise. “I mean...I don’t mind,” he added.

“You don’t?”

“Well...not really, no.”

“So I can call you Draco if I like?”

“If you like.”

“And you’ll call me Hermione?”

“If you like.”

“It would be easier.”

“It would.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

They both turned back to their work. Draco stared down at the incoherent lines of numbers for a moment, then chanced a glance back up. Hermione was looking back at him. Quickly, they both dropped their eyes again.

* * *

Ginny was buzzing with excitement. The day had been one of the best she could ever remember having. Not only had she participated in her first Quidditch match and won and scored seventy points, but now she was being touted a hero in the Gryffindor common room. And though the repeated congratulatory claps on the back soon became overwhelming, she appreciated them nonetheless. It was a while before she was able to free herself from the jolly crowd and find a few moments to herself. She sat down on the bottom step of the staircase that led to the girls’ dormitories and sighed with exhaustion.

“Tiring you out are they?” someone asked her as they sat down beside her. Ginny glanced sideways, ready to tell the person she didn’t have the energy to talk right now. But the words caught in her throat.

“Yeah,” she told Harry with a bashful smile.

“You’d better get used to it,” said Harry. “Somehow I think they’ll be throwing you a party like this every week.” He smiled down at her. His smile was so warm, so reassuring. Ginny always felt safe when Harry smiled at her, as though things would be all right in the end, no matter how bad they seemed at the time.

“It’s not just for me,” said Ginny.

“No, but I think a big part of it is.” Ginny smiled tiredly at the floor. “You do look tired,” Harry observed.

“I am,” Ginny replied, stifling a yawn.

Harry stood up. “Well, get some rest if you want. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” said Ginny, and watched him leave. She waited a moment then stood and climbed the stairs to her dormitory. Inside she fell instantly down on her bed and curled up with a yawn. Today had been a good day, she thought. Her stomach hadn’t exploded on the pitch, she hadn’t made a fool of herself and her team had won their first match of the year, putting them in first place. If only she could talk to Harry without blushing like a...well, like a schoolgirl.

* * *

Hermione stuck her arms up in the air and stretched them tightly. “It’s getting late,” she said.

“I guess it is,” Draco replied, checking his watch. “You want to finish?”

“Yeah,” said Hermione, lowering her arms and gathering her books. “Can you believe we completed a whole section in less than a week?”

“We still have three more to go.”

Hermione stared dully at Draco. “Try to think about the positive for once, Draco.”

“Yes, Hermione,” Draco replied in a mock tone that made Hermione smile. She put her bugs into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Draco looked up with a questioning gaze. “Do you really want people to see us walking through the halls together?”

“Oh, right. I guess not.”

“I’ll wait a few minutes,” Draco said.

“Okay, then. Bye.” Hermione strolled through the library and out into the hallway. She turned left and headed for the Gryffindor common room.

She couldn’t believe how well she was getting along with Malfoy now. Draco, she corrected herself. It still bugged her that he was only being nice to her and no one else that she could see. But then would she really want him to act like this with anyone else? It was nice, she had to admit – having someone to work with in the library that actually took an interest in the work, rather than asking her to copy what she’d written. She’d never have thought it, but Draco’s cruel disposition and sarcastic smirk belied his intelligence, academic and otherwise.

A small voice inside Hermione’s head told her not to trust him, not to succumb to his charms and let down her defences. It told her this mainly because she couldn’t comprehend the reasons why Draco Malfoy would be interested, for any reason, in her. Could it really be that he enjoyed her company? The idea of it made her head spin – and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

* * *

That night, as the rest of the castle slept, Draco Malfoy was plagued by restless dreams. He tossed and turned beneath his sheets until sleep abandoned him and he could stand it no longer. He threw the bedclothes off and padded into the bathroom. He didn’t bother to light the lamps on the wall, merely approached the mirror and gazed back at his own reflection in silence.

What was it that was bothering him? He was so agitated and irritable. He splashed water on his face and ran a hand through his hair. It was his father, of course – he knew that. His father who still hadn’t replied to Draco’s last missive. What was he waiting for? Draco wanted desperately to know where this farce was going to end so that he could forget all about Hermione Granger and things would go back to normal.

Hermione. He laughed hollowly. They were on a first name basis now. Wasn’t that strange?

Draco sighed and returned to his bed. He gazed briefly at the window in the hopes that he’d see his eagle owl pecking at the glass with a note clutched in its claws. But no owl, and no note from his father, and no end in sight to this detestable charade. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

“Draco,” Hermione whispered, nudging the boy beside her. “Wake up.”

“Hmm?” Draco opened his bleary eyes and looked at Hermione. “What?”

“You’re sleeping,” Hermione whispered back.

Draco looked up and around him, taking in the details of the Arithmancy classroom. “Oh, right,” he said, straightening up and stretching his face muscles.

“Why are you so tired?”

“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” he replied.

“Oh.” Hermione turned back to her work. She didn’t much want to picture Draco sleeping, in bed, without a shirt maybe? Would he sleep with a shirt? Ack.

“What question are you up to?” Draco asked.

“Twelve.”

“You waited?”

“Yeah.”

Draco looked at her with mild surprise on his face, then turned back to his work. Hermione decided not to bother puzzling over his expression and continued with the questions.

* * *

Harry was in a good mood on Tuesday morning. Winning the first Quidditch match of the year had done wonders for his troubled mind. Thoughts of Voldemort were almost lost beneath thoughts of catching the Snitch and being congratulated by the team. Almost, but not quite.

Whenever he saw Dumbledore or spoke to Lupin or looked at his scar in the mirror, he would be reminded of the peril that was lurking out there, waiting to destroy him and all those he cared about. Now, it was only a matter of when and where.

As the morning Charms class finished, Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way down two floors and into the Great Hall for lunch.

“I’m starved,” Ron announced. He walked across the Entrance Hall with a purpose, rubbing his stomach as he went.

“You’re not coming, Hermione?” Harry asked as Hermione turned to her left towards the marble staircase.

“No, I...er...have to work on my Arithmancy assignment in the library.”

“With Malfoy?” Ron asked, the other boy’s name like venom in his mouth.

“H-how did you know about that?”

“Ginny told me,” said Ron. “I can’t believe Professor Vector made you work with him.”

“Well, it’s not that bad,” Hermione replied, and Harry had the faint impression that she was anxious to leave them. “I mean, he gets the work done at least.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, doesn’t have much else to do, does he? What with having no friends and all.”

“He does have friends,” Hermione replied weakly.

“No, he has cronies,” said Ron. “I don’t think Crabbe and Goyle provide much in the way of intelligent conversation.”

Hermione smiled faintly. “Well, I should go. I’ll see you later.” With that she turned and hurried up the stairs and out of sight.

“Loves her Arithmancy, our Hermione does,” Ron commented, hurrying himself into the Great Hall.

Ron walked down the length of the Gryffindor table to their usual area, where two vacant seats were waiting between Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley. Ginny looked up at their arrival.

“Hey, Gin,” said Ron, taking the seat beside her. Ginny looked irritably down at her plate. Harry slid in beside Ron, who was already attacking every dish in sight. “Are you feeling better today?” Ron asked through a mouthful of turkey.

Ginny grimaced distastefully. “Feeling better?” she inquired.

“Harry said you were tired,” Ron mumbled around his food.

Ginny looked over at Harry with a small smile. “Oh, yeah. Just a bit.” She looked back down at her empty plate, staring at it with listless eyes. Harry helped himself to a serving of vegetables and a slice of pumpkin pie. Two seats down, Ginny folded her napkin on the table and stood to leave.

“I’ll see you guys later,” she said and scurried out of the hall.

Harry watched her leave, Ron chewing noisily beside him.

* * *

“You look like something’s bothering you.”

“Hmm?” Hermione looked up. “Bothering me? Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Are you sure?” Draco asked with amused scepticism.

“Positive,” said Hermione. “So what did you get for the first question?”

Draco looked down at his assignment. “First question? I thought we were up to the third question?”

Hermione gazed down at her own. “Oh, are we?”

Draco put his quill down. “Okay, Granger, what’s wrong?” The use of her last name had now become a light-hearted quirk of Draco’s rather than a scathing label of her unimportance.

Hermione looked up at him, gauging the authenticity of his concern. Would he really care? She decided that perhaps it was time to find out.

Leaning forward across the table, Hermione asked him, “Does it...bother you...that we have to hide out in the library all the time?”

“Not really,” Draco replied with a shrug.

“Oh,” said Hermione, sitting back on her chair.

“But it bothers you,” said Draco.

“Well, no, not really.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. I just...I hate lying to my friends.”

As always, the mention of Harry and Ron had a distancing effect on Draco, causing him to visibly retreat inside himself. His eyes were once more impassive and unreadable.

“Guess that’s the price to pay for socialising with your mortal enemy.”

“You’re not my mortal enemy,” said Hermione, earning Draco’s gaze again. “At least, not anymore, you’re not.”

“I thought we were just here for Arithmancy work,” said Draco. Hermione’s head quickly cleared of delusions of any sort of friendship with Draco Malfoy.

“You’re right,” she said, turning to her work, “we are.”

Across the table, Draco sighed heavily. “Look, Hermione...”

“No, it’s fine,” she quickly interrupted. “Let’s just get on with our work.”

* * *

Draco experienced a strange feeling on Tuesday afternoon; one that he had never experienced before. Every time he thought of her and how he’d so obviously upset her, his stomach ached with the prospect of failure and punishment at the hands of the Dark Lord. Surely if he didn’t patch things up with her soon, his task would fall apart and he’d be nothing more than fertiliser for Voldemort’s rose garden. If he kept a rose garden, that is.

So Draco walked into the Great Hall that evening with a mission in his mind. He took his usual centre-stage seat at the Slytherin table and assumed an air of irritability that would deter any of his peers from speaking to him. They knew better than that.

He tried, the entire meal, to lock eyes with Hermione, but she wouldn’t look up. He was pleased to see that she wasn’t socialising jovially with her Gryffindor compatriots though. She was merely staring dejectedly at her plate, swirling something around on it with her fork. Ordinarily he’d be delighted to see her looking so miserable, knowing himself to be the cause of it. But again, there was Voldemort to worry about.

The meal finished without Hermione so much as glancing in his direction. Draco’s air of irritability began to wax genuine. He had to get her attention and fix things before her emotional wound had time to fester.

Draco timed his exit from the hall so that he would reach the door around the same time Hermione would, and, inevitably, Potter and Weasley too. He thought quickly, devising a reason why he could possibly want to speak to her alone.

“Granger,” he drawled when he was in earshot. Both she and her two shining knights turned around to look at him, she with polite curiosity and they with menacing hatred.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron demanded.

Draco slipped easily into his erstwhile role of sarcasm and spite. “I wasn’t speaking to you, Weasley,” he snapped, baring his teeth at the redheaded moron. He turned his cold gaze back on Hermione. “Professor Vector wants to see us,” he said slowly.

Hermione stared at him blankly for a few seconds, and then reacted. “Okay,” she said.

“We’ll come too,” said Ron, never taking his eyes off Draco.

“It’s okay, Ron,” Hermione placated him, putting a hand on his arm. Draco swelled with rage at the contact. This isn’t helping things. “I’ll be fine.” Hermione turned and, without waiting for Draco, started off towards the marble stairs.

Even with Draco’s longer strides he found it difficult to catch up to her and did so only once she’d alighted from the stairs on the second floor and turned left.

“Granger,” he hissed, still irritated. She ignored him and kept walking. “Granger!” Draco replied more vehemently and grabbed her wrist. She spun around.

“What!?”

“Will you just wait a minute? I need to talk to you.”

Hermione’s eyes raked his face, sending strange jolts of insecurity through his body, something else he’d never felt before. Her eyes eventually narrowed. “Professor Vector doesn’t want to see us, does she?”

Sometimes, Draco thought, her intelligence really bugs me. He pushed her into a shadowed alcove, out of sight from the hallway and any prying eyes.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

“So why didn’t you talk to me downstairs?” She looked enquiringly up at him.

“Why the bloody hell do you think?”

“Oh, so you’re still ashamed to be seen with me are you?”

“You didn’t exactly declare your affection for me when Weasley walked into the library.”

“Declare my affection for you!” Hermione hit him in the chest. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“Would you keep your voice down!” Draco hissed in a whisper.

“No, I will not keep my voice down,” Hermione snapped back. “You lie to me downstairs, you drag me into a dark corner, and then you go on about,” she threw her hands up, “my bloody affection for you. You’re insane.”

“Insane!?”

“If you want my help with your Arithmancy work – fine! But don’t start dragging me away from my friends and expect me to feel affection for you.”

“It was a figure of speech!” Draco bellowed.

“Oh, of course it was,” Hermione replied sharply. “I guess the mere thought of anyone feeling affection for you is ridiculous”

Draco gaped at her with his brow furrowed. “You’re twisting my words,” he exclaimed. “I don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.”

“I’m saying,” said Hermione, “that you’re a tactless, ill-mannered, insensitive jerk. And I’ll tell you where you can put your affection.”

Draco gawked at her. “You’re insane,” he replied firmly. “You seriously are.”

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Hermione spat, pushing past him. Draco grabbed at her wrist again and held her in place. “Let me go,” Hermione demanded.

“Not until you let me talk,” Draco replied. There was too much at stake here. He couldn’t just let her walk away like this. Voldemort would have his head.

Hermione finally gave up her wriggling and stood with her back against the wall, glaring up at him. “I’ll scream,” she said. Draco slid his wand from his pocket and pointed it at her throat.

“I’ll use a Silencing Spell if you do.”

Hermione poured fresh scorn into her glare. “You’re a bastard,” she said. “I hope you know that.”

“Better than anyone,” Draco replied. “Now shut up and listen.” Hermione fell silent and glowered petulantly up at Draco, his hand still enclosed around her wrist. He took several deep breaths before he felt himself ready to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Hermione glared back, furiously. Then it faded somewhat, and was replaced by a stubborn, childish look.

“For what?” she demanded.

“For...making you angry,” Draco ventured.

“I wasn’t angry,” said Hermione. Draco snorted derisively. “I wasn’t angry,” Hermione clarified vehemently. “I was disappointed.”

“In me?”

“Yes, in you,” she replied as though it should be obvious.

“Because I didn’t want to be seen with you outside the library.”

Hermione’s gaze wavered. “Well...yes. I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, Granger, then how am I supposed to fix it?”

Hermione looked back up with a critical eye. “Why would you want to fix it?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because I feel bad,” said Draco.

“Because you feel bad?” Hermione laughed hollowly and looked at the side wall. “You’re impossible.”

“Why am I impossible?” Draco asked, bewildered.

Hermione fixed her gaze on him once more. “You spend four years terrorising my life, threatening my friends...and now you feel bad for hurting my feelings. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Draco looked into her rapidly moving eyes, a dark earthy brown gaze that looked confused and apprehensive. Was she afraid of him? Should she be?

“Look,” Draco said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Working together on an Arithmancy project is one thing, but walking around school together is something else entirely. And it’s not like I’d mind that – don’t get me wrong – it’s just that other people might – would – take it the wrong way. And there are some dangerous people in this school.”

“Are you one of them?” Hermione asked, her big brown eyes looking up into his. God, I hate that look.

“Dangerous?” said Draco and he smiled. “Only if you want me to be.”

Hermione slapped him in the chest. “Pillock.” Her furious gaze settled somewhat. “Are you saying you’d want to spend time with me outside the library? If there wasn’t the risk of a gruesome death?”

“I’m saying it wouldn’t be awful.”

A reluctant smile took hold of Hermione’s lips. “Draco Malfoy, you continue to amaze me.”

Draco smiled back at her. “It’s my devastating charm, really. No woman can resist it.” Again, Hermione hit him in the chest. “You know, that is really starting to hurt.”

* * *

Later that evening, after parting with Hermione in the Entrance Hall, Draco returned to his room and fished around for a scrap of parchment and a quill. He found them quickly and began writing.

Father,

I have done as you asked. Send the rest of your instructions.

Draco.

He hesitated – unsure of why – as he tied the rolled up note to Tenebrion’s wings and carried him to the window. He was sealing Hermione’s fate with this letter; dooming her to whatever malignant intentions the Dark Lord had for her. Better her than him, though, Draco reasoned, as he thrust the great owl from his arm and watched it soar away into the night.

* * *