We'll Always Have Paris

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We'll Always Have Paris
Chapter 9

Morning smiles like the face of a newborn child, innocent unkowing.
Winter's end, promises of a long lost friend.
Speaks to me of comfort.
But I fear I have nothing to give.
I have so much to lose here in this lonely place.
Tangled up in your embrace.
There’s nothing I’d like better than to fall.
But I fear I have nothing to give.

-- Fear by Sarah Maclachlan

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If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up. It was more of a feeling than a thought, since Hermione's mind wasn't really capable of forming any coherent ideas at the time. But being tightly wrapped up in the embrace of Draco Malfoy, his lips softer than smooth velvet, could do that to a girl. She kept her eyes closed as Draco kissed her, fearful it would all dissolve away the minute her eyelids fluttered open. She wasn't ready for it to end ... not yet.

His lips moved softly over her cheeks and down her neck, pausing sometimes to nibble at her earlobes and sometimes moving back to her own mouth to capture her lips in a deeply intense kiss. His arms were wrapped firmly about her waist pulling her so close, she could scarcely catch her breath, but she didn't care. She pressed her fingers firmly into his back, clutching him tightly like she might fall if she let go. Neither of them spoke, at least not verbally. For over five years they had used their mouths as weapons, spitting jabs and cutting remarks to try and hurt each other. It seemed natural for them to want to explore all the hidden places and secrets of the armaments they had faced in battle so many times. The slightest word from either of them could shatter their dream world and neither one wanted that.

She had no idea how long they had been kissing; minutes seemed to flash by like shooting stars while standing still at the same time. The only indication she had to how long they'd been kissing was that her jaw was starting to ache from their feverish activity, and her lips were going numb from pressing so closely to his. Then she felt his hands resting gently on her hips, his thumbs moving in small circles while he held her close. His heart was pounding furiously against her chest and she could feel a desire burning inside her she'd never dreamed possible ... And it felt good.

Slowly one of Draco's hands began moving upwards, his fingers skimming the side of her body, lightly tickling her. She smiled, moving her lips to linger on his neck as his hands finally reached their destination, resting gently on her soft breast. Still she did not open her eyes, not wanting to wake from her dream. She did not push his hand away as he gently squeezed her breast, while his other hand reached up to grab her behind her neck and pull her mouth to his once more. Instead she leaned into his hands, wanting more, wondering how his hands could burn her skin through her thick dress robes. She felt tingling sensations shoot through every part of her body, from her head down to her toes.

She didn't want him to stop.

That realization jolted her to reality. Her eyes flew open like lightning, her head spun from the shock of being dragged from heaven. She gasped softly, causing Draco's eyes to flutter open as well. They were filled the the same shock and confusion she felt, wondering how things could escalate so quickly in such a short period of time.

His hand ceased its caressing immediately, but he did not remove his hand from behind her neck. He pulled back slightly, his grey eyes piercing hers with such raw emotion, her breath hitched in her chest. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky, but laced with concern. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" He hadn't intended to get so carried away.

"No," she breathed out. "I'm fine. It's just ..." her voice trailed off, but Draco seemed to understand without her saying anything more.

She didn't need to say it, because he felt it too. Neither of them had expected to feel such an emotional reaction. They hadn't planned this. It stretched far beyond the realm of possibilities and led to uncharted territory for them both. He breathed out and nodded slightly, "I know." "I know," he repeated. As he stepped away from her, he was struck by the odd sensation that it was so cold he could see his breath when he exhaled, but his body still felt like it was on fire. He watched as she reached behind her to grab hold of something to steady herself; her hand landed on the door knob, but she did not turn it open. She seemed frozen to the spot.

She took a deep breath, trying to get her breathing back to normal, "Perhaps we should go inside. It's getting cold out here." She turned the handle behind her, and the door clicked open softly.

"That's probably a good idea. We have a big day tomorrow." He paused, his eyes searching hers from beneath the shield of his wispy bangs. "We'll be back at Hogwarts. Back to my friends ... and yours." He stepped inside the room, the stifling heat a stark contrast to the bitter chill. Hermione slipped in behind him as he held the door open for her. He closed it as she turned to him, her mouth opening to say something, but her cloak got caught in the door, stopping her. He quickly moved to free her and said, "Sorry."

Her eyes looked searchingly into his. "Are you really?" she asked, her eyes wondering something entirely different.

He hesitated before replying, but before he could tell her "No," the door to the VIP room opened and Professor McGonagall strode in, interrupting the moment. He had been so wrapped up in Hermione, Draco had completely forgotten the events preceding their activities on the terrace. One look at McGonagall's stern face worked better than a Rememberall to remind him.

Surprisingly, instead of lecturing them or punishing Draco for attacking Phillippe, she was oddly calm. She inquired if Draco's hands needed mending from any cuts or bruises he might have received from his scuffle, but mentioned nothing of any repercussions or punishments for brawling with another student. Draco was unnerved by her behaviour; he was better acquainted with an easily excitable McGonagall, not the restrained witch who wordlessly and tenderly magicked away the bruise marks on his knuckles. After giving them some curious looks, she remarked, "We have a busy day tomorrow, so I suggest we all turn in for the night."

Both students knew from her tone it was more of an order than a mere suggestion, so with one final glance, Draco and Hermione bid each other good night, with the bittersweet knowledge that a tumultuous evening was not the only thing being put to rest.

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McGonagall wasn't kidding; they did have a busy morning. So busy in fact, Hermione barely had a chance to even look at Draco, much less torture herself with trying to decipher his feelings about the previous night’s kisses. She had last minute packing to do, then they ate breakfast in the dining hall where they said their many goodbyes to their Beauxbatons classmates. The highlight of the breakfast was when a deeply humbled, black-eyed Phillippe approached their table and apologized to Hermione in front of the entire school. With some final hugs from Isabel and promises to write often, they were off, headed northbound on the train which would carry them all the way back to Hogsmeade -- back to their lives.

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"Mr. Malfoy, I'd like a few words with you, please." Professor McGonagall glanced pointedly at Hermione, wordlessly telling the young Gryffindor to exit the train car.

Hermione gulped, looking nervously between the two. But she complied without an argument, leaving Draco alone with Professor McGonagall.

Draco had been dreading this scene. She had seemed exceptionally composed the previous night and the entire morning. He knew it was just a matter of time before she let her wrath loose on him. Isabel had informed him earlier at breakfast that all of the teachers had been made aware of Phillippe's "plan," and that McGonagall had seemed more upset about Phillippe's actions than his and Draco's fight. That left Draco feeling slightly more at ease with any repercussions ... but not much.

As the Deputy Headmistress situated herself in the seat across from him in their train compartment, Draco felt a bit queasy. Everyone knew McGonagall held hard and fast to the "no fighting" rules of their school. She only ever seemed to make allowances for those do-gooder Gryffindors, but even they received frequent punishments for rule-breaking. He sat up stiffly in his seat, ready to face the music; one or two detentions were worth sending Phillippe "The Prat" Hasley to the hospital wing. His only regret was that he hadn't done it sooner.

McGonagall removed her hat and placed it on the seat beside her, and then cleared her throat. "Mr. Malfoy," she repeated, "I believe we must discuss the matter of your fist fight with Mr. Hasley." She took a deep breath and peered over her spectacles at the proud, young wizard in front of her. He bore no trace of resentment or resistance or his usual smugness. Normally when Draco Malfoy was to be punished, he would kick up a fuss or try to weasel his way out of it, but his attitude today displayed none of those traits. Instead he just looked directly into her eyes, his hands clasped firmly on the arm rests beside him, waiting patiently for her to dole out his punishment. He's in for a surprise, she smiled to herself.

Minerva McGonagall was proud of her reputation for being fair and just when dealing with her students. She did not bend the rules often, but when she did make an exception, it was for a just cause. This was one such occasion. When Isabel Dupris had informed her of Draco's reasons for attacking Phillippe, the staid professor's first impulse was to race to the hospital wing herself and teach the loutish French Seeker a lesson he'd never forget. Fortunately, she kept her anger in check and was able to smooth any ruffled feathers with the Beauxbatons faculty, many of whom expressed their embarrassment and outrage over Mr. Hasley's treatment toward Miss Granger. After they had dispersed the crowd of onlookers, the teachers had trudged to the hospital wing to hear Mr. Hasley's explanation for his actions. She was most pleased to see a fat lip and two black eyes already swelling quite nicely. She was also pleased to hear that, like Hogwarts, it was against Beaubatons' school policy to magically mend any injuries incurred from fighting; old-fashioned Muggle methods were used instead.

While she believed Draco had given Phillippe exactly what he'd deserved, it would not be wise for a Deputy Headmistress to outwardly condone a personal attack, no matter how proud she felt. Draco Malfoy had defended a Muggle-born witch, when he had nothing to gain, and so much to lose. It was a testament to how much he had matured from the snivelly little brat she had met his first year to the intelligent, sometimes charming wizard she knew was lurking behind his steely grey eyes. She had known offering him the exchange program position was a gamble, but after seeing the alterations to his behaviour, she was most pleased with their choice. After all, the exchange program was intended to cultivate fruitful relationships between the two schools. She could not stem the fleeting hope that this experience could help with inter-house relationships within Hogwarts itself as well.

She resumed her speech while he eyed her curiously. "I would have thought after the unfortunate incident in Paris, you would have understood my abhorrence for brutality. Fighting never solves problems, Mr. Malfoy; it just creates more. What Mr. Hasley did," her mouth twisted unpleasantly at having to say his name, "regarding Hermione was beyond incorrigible, and when you learned of his plans, you should have contacted one of the teachers or Miss Granger herself immediately." She stood abruptly and began pacing about the room, Draco's eyes still watching her, wondering where this was heading. "However, I also understand you and Miss Granger have become ... close in the past several weeks and I see how your reaction to hearing a person, whom she trusted, making such disparaging remarks about her, could ignite a certain amount of ire which inhibited your ability to think logically."

Draco was getting lost in her overly long sentences and their cloudy messages. Was she upset with him or was she praising him?

As if reading his mind, she stopped pacing and looked directly at him, "So let's cut to the chase. Since you were essentially defending a fellow classmate's honour, and the incident occurred at Beauxbatons Academy where we no longer are, I have decided there will be no punishment or record of this in your Hogwarts school file. If you choose to discuss this matter with anyone else, I cannot stop you, but that is a matter between you and Miss Granger."

Draco heaved a heavy sigh of relief; he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding it until then. But he recovered quickly. It wouldn't do well for him to seem too grateful to the head of Gryffindor House. He needed to act as if he'd expected that particular decision all along. He had to get back into his "Hogwarts Mode." With a slight drawl (it had been a while since he'd needed to use it) he remarked, "Very well, Professor. Slytherins do protect their own, and even if Hermione did have the misfortune of being sorted into Gryffindor, she is a fellow Hogwarts student. I felt I had no choice but to ensure Hogwarts' reputation wasn't dirtied by Hasley's false accusations."

She stiffened at his brusque manner, knowing he was lying in spite of everything. "Mr. Malfoy, if that is what you truly believe, then you are an even bigger fool than Mr. Hasley." She could tell by the startled glimmer in the young wizard's eyes that he hadn't expected such a comment for her. She gathered up her hat and moved to the compartment door, taking advantage of his speechlessness. "Why don't you inform Miss Granger we are finished in here. I believe I saw her heading toward the back of the train."

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When Hermione left their compartment, she found herself making her way to the last car. She had unlocked the door and stepped out onto the platform, watching the countryside glide by, the colors mixing together in vivid swirls. The air chilling the further north they went. The train was moving them further and further away from France, but part of her wanted to go back. She knew it was crazy; she knew it was a purely emotional desire. But no one had ever made her feelas emotional as Draco Malfoy. No one had ever gotten under her skin, whether they were fighting or whether they were kissing. But the kissing was much more enjoyable. Since the first day they'd met, he'd affected her. That was irrefutable. The closer they got to Hogwarts, the closer they got to going back to the way things used to be.

It all seemed so fast. Eight weeks wasn't really that long a time, but somehow everything seemed so different now. Even the train seemed to be moving faster than it had on their first ride. Back then, the train had seemed to trudge slowly around every curve and bend, taking its sweet time to get them to their destination, probably because she had wanted to spend as little time as possible with Draco Malfoy. Now that their time was up, and she no longer had to be near him, Hermione found herself wanting to stretch their remaining moments out as long as possible. Only now it seemed this magical train was not only charmed, but also powered by ten thousand hippogriffs, propelling them farther and faster than usual back to Hogwarts.

Hermione was still stunned by the events of their last night at Beauxbatons, replaying them over and over in her mind, imagining the whistling wind of the air rushing past her was playing an odd sort of song for her ears alone. The incident with Phillippe was unfortunate, but she had barely wasted a minute upsetting herself over it; he was not worth it. Boys like him never were, and she was glad to put him behind her. In spite of her promises to herself, her thoughts today were occupied with images of Draco and his soft lips and warm hands as they traced over her body, kissing her neck, and the way his fingers seemed to understand exactly what she wanted them to do without her having to say a word. Part of her knew it was for the best that they were headed back to Hogwarts; her feelings for Draco could only bring her trouble and sorrow. Other parts of her longed to see her friends again. Oh, how she missed the Gryffindor common room with its oversized squishy chairs and all her classmates, even Parvati and Lavender, and the way Crookshanks curled around her feet on cold nights. She even missed Ron's pestering about her rigorous studying and the way he could chatter for hours about the Chudley Cannons. Well, maybe she didn't miss that last part so much, but she missed her best friend in spite of his obsession with Quidditch. And of course, there was Harry. Sweet, loyal, trusting, handsome, and brave Harry. Eight weeks ago, she sat on this very same train, hoping the time away from him would help her get past the growing crush she had developed on her raven-haired best friend. And it had worked. She was cured. Now, to get over the cure.

These were the peculiar thoughts crowding her mind when she heard a sharp rap on the window to her outdoor perch. She turned abruptly and was surprised to find Draco peering back at her, his expression unreadable. She had assumed his conversation with Professor McGonagall would have lasted a little longer. She slid the door between them open, a blast of warm air from the train hitting her immediately. He stepped outside, replicating the stance she’d held moments before, and staring out at the countryside as it whizzed past. "Are you finished already?" she asked, unable to get a sense of how their talk went from his carefully veiled expression. "I half expected McGonagall to pop a blood vessel or two considering how she reacted after our run-in with Kevin in Paris. The punishment isn't too harsh is it? Phillippe deserved every bruise you gave him."

Draco smiled inwardly. It felt strange to know Hermione Granger hoped he had not received a stiff punishment for fighting. He was so used to hearing her plead the cases of her Gryffindor pals. What would his father say about it? That sobering thought reminded him of who they were. Beauxbatons was in the past and Hogwarts was in their future. He stepped away from the rail, turning to look at her expectant face. "Actually, she didn't give me a punishment. She said something to the effect that since we left the school where the fight happened, there was no need to punish me." He paused, then smirked, "But I think she was just glad somebody trounced that bloody 'I'm the greatest Quidditch player ever' fool."

Hermione nodded in agreement, smiling slightly. She was glad they could put it behind them. "So I guess that's it then," she remarked, looking sideways at him; the sight of his strong jaw and luscious mouth caused her heart rate to increase. She wondered if she would still find him this attractive when he was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "We should probably get inside. I have some notes I wanted to review before we get back to school."

He turned to face her, laughing softly. "What would you do if I told you all your books were locked away in the baggage car?"

"I'd say, 'Where's the baggage car?' I need to have my books." Her voice was insistent.

"Don't you ever take a break from studying? We'll be back at Hogwarts soon enough," he reasoned.

"All right. Do you have any suggestions for what we do in a small train compartment for several hours if we aren't reviewing our notes?" she countered.

He saw her point immediately and moved swiftly to open the door for them, "I think the baggage care is near the front."

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They waited anxiously in the Main Hall for Hermione to return. The rest of the Gryffindors hung back in their common room, to avoid a huge crowd congregating in one place. Nothing would give Professor Snape greater joy than to deduct ten points from every Gryffindor there for “loitering.” The carriage from Hogsmeade would be arriving any minute, and they were eager to greet her. Eight weeks was a long time … too long. Their summer breaks lasted more than eight weeks, and somehow Harry and Ron had managed to muddle through those without suffering from serious withdrawal. But this stretch of time seemed different. They were at Hogwarts without her, and it didn’t feel right. School wasn’t the same without Hermione Granger, and they'd missed her.

At first it had seemed like a mini holiday. No Hermione to breathe down their necks, pushing them to start revising for their OWLs or to start thinking of topics for their end of the year History of Magic essays. No Hermione to roll her eyes as they dreamed up spectacular ways to maim themselves for their Divination homework. But there was also no Hermione to whisper the proper Potions ingredients to them under Snape’s watchful glare before Ron’s cauldron exploded, leaving Neville’s toad Trevor an iridescent pink instead of a murky green. And that was just in the first week.

The mini holiday got boring very fast. She was their best friend, and though she might be a bit of a bookworm, she was also lively, bright, fun, and the most levelheaded one in their close-knit clique. Ron had had three detentions already in her absence, because Hermione wasn’t there to reel him in when Malcolm Baddock or the other Slytherins lured Ron into an argument. He probably would have had more detentions if the King of All Slimy Things – Draco Malfoy – had not gone on the exchange program as well. They felt bad Hermione had to be stuck with Malfoy for so long, but if anyone could handle him, it was her. They were certain of it. She probably couldn’t wait to get away from him. She had hardly mentioned him in her letters to them.

The silence in the hall was broken when the large wooden doors creaked open and a gust of chilled Autumn air brushed past its entrants. Professor McGonagall entered first, her hand planted firmly on her head to keep her hat secured. Then Harry saw Hermione pause just outside the door. Her hand was resting on the doorframe, and she was looking at someone standing behind her. She said something softly to the person, then bowed her head slightly as she took a breath. She seemed almost sad.

Ron couldn’t wait anymore, he rushed past Harry and called out, “Hermione, we thought that carriage would never get here. We’ve been waiting here for ages.”

At the sound of Ron’s overjoyed voice, Hermione’s head snapped up, and saw the most welcoming sight– her two best friends in the whole world with smiling faces and happy eyes. She had to choke back tears; she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed them until now. She’d barely stepped inside before they’d swept her into their arms for a group hug, essentially blocking the doorway. Surprisingly, neither of them bristled away like they usually did, but instead hugged her back just as fiercely. Eventually their combined squeeze was making it difficult for her to breathe. She choked out, “I missed you guys too, but … I’m going to pass out soon unless I can take a deep breath.” The smile was evident in her voice. They stepped back from her and she gave them each a proper hug. “So, anything exciting happen while I was away?”

Before they could answer, someone outside cleared his throat loudly and remarked in a disgruntled voice, “Is the Love Fest almost over? England isn’t exactly known for its warm balmy autumn season.” Living for two months at Hogwarts without hearing that lazy drawl of Malfoy’s had been pure heaven for Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors. “Potter … Weasley, you really didn’t have to come all the way down here to meet the carriage. Hogwarts has house elves to carry my bags to my dormitory.” Time away from Hogwarts hadn't seemed to humble Malfoy any. His voice was still as sharp, his manner just as arrogant; however, he didn't seem to swagger as much, and his eyes seemed less harsh, less glaring. He'd had so much practice over the years with spewing venom at other students, but his eyes gave the impression that they were just words -- his heart wasn't in it. He continued, “Unless this is practice for your future jobs as bell hops at the Diagon Alley Hotel after graduation. If that’s the case, then by all means …” He dropped his bag on Harry’s foot with a loud thump. “There’s a shiny silver sickle in it for you if you can manage to avoid scuffing my bags with those hideous Muggle boots of yours.”

Harry kicked the bag away angrily. “You know where you can stick your sickle and your bag, Malfoy?” Harry asked testily. Leave it to Malfoy to ruin a perfectly good moment between best friends.

Draco raised his hand to his mouth in mock horror, “Gee, Potter, I knew you’d missed me, but I had no idea how much. Don’t worry. We’ll make up for lost time as soon as I get settled in.” He turned to Ron. “How about you, Weasley? Did you miss me as much as Potter? I hope you didn’t cry too much into your pillow at night. Those curtains around the four posters aren’t that thick, you know.” As he brushed past them to head to the dungeons, he smirked his best at them. He hadn't said a word to Hermione. It wasn’t too hard to find the motivation to do it; seeing Hermione embracing those two idiots was enough to make his stomach turn. He’d almost forgotten how much he hated their sugary-sweet closeness, their camaraderie, their strong bond.

Hermione had hesitated before following Professor McGonagall into the Main Hall. Then she had paused and turned to look at Draco while he had held the door open for them. She had reached out and laid her hand gently over his where it rested on the edge of the open door. Without even thinking, Draco had moved his thumb around so he gripped her hand in his, and the corners of his mouth rose naturally into a smile. She had smiled back at him, but it was a goodbye smile, her eyes peering up at him with bittersweet fondness. He was trapped in that moment, and then she whispered so low, it was barely audible over the rustling trees, “Thank you.” But before he could ask what she was thankful for, Weasley’s grating voice broke their moment, stealing her attention away, leaving Draco out in the cold once more while they enveloped her in their warm embraces. It was like being thrown into the freezing cold lake – a frigid reminder of their starkly different lives at Hogwarts. Draco was annoyed, so he'd uttered some cutting remarks and brushed past them before the boys could think of a suitably witty reply or before he could see the disappointment in her face.

As Draco’s heels clicked noisily down to the dungeons, his black cloak billowing out behind him, Harry turned to Hermione, the expression on her face unreadable. “I’ll bet you're glad to finally be rid of Malfoy,” he commented. “These were probably the longest eight weeks of your life.”

Just like that, he was gone. Once Draco was out of her line of sight, she looked up into the faces of her two dear friends, each of them looking less boyish than she’d remembered. Ron was still tall, but not as gangly; he seemed more comfortable in his long-limbed body than before. And she’d forgotten how bright Harry’s eyes were, how they sparkled like jewels when the lights shone in them. If she ever wanted to know how Harry was feeling, all she ever had to do was look into those pools of green and they showed her all she needed to know. Today she could see he was happy, happier than she’d seen him in a long time. It touched her deeply to know how much she meant to them both. She suddenly remembered Harry’s question, and shook her head, “It wasn’t all bad. There were more surprises than I’d expected – some good, some bad. But I’m glad I went. I learned a lot.”

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Draco finally found his way to his four poster after greeting all the Slytherins in the dungeon common room and giving them a quick overview of what his experiences in the exchange program were like. After all, he and Hermione were the first two Hogwarts students in over a dozen years to set foot inside the French wizarding academy. He answered them as politely and succinctly as he could: Yes, the school was enormous; No, we didn’t sleep in dormitories with the other students; No, the food wasn’t any better than Hogwarts (that was Goyle’s, whose mind was always on food); Yes, the girls were pretty; No, they weren’t any prettier than the girls here. The questions seemed endless until Milicent Bulstrode asked, “Are you glad to finally be rid of that know-it-all Granger?”

Without thinking, he automatically replied, “No… I mean, yes. I mean, I’ve just spent several hours on a train and I’m tired. I think I’ll take a nap before heading down to dinner.” He turned and headed to his room, not noticing the curious looks they were giving him.

His former girlfriend, Pansy, was most curious about his behaviour. Draco had just returned from a high profile trip, where he’d met very important people and caught the attention of more than one high ranking Ministry official. It was not like him to not gloat about how great it was to be a Malfoy. Something had certainly changed. This was not the Draco Malfoy who’d swaggered out of the Slytherin dungeons eight weeks ago with a head so big about how he was Hogwarts' best and brightest, they'd all wondered if he’d needed to buy an extra train ticket for it.

Gloating was the furthest thing from his mind. All he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe he’d wake with a clearer focus. Alas, he was not meant to have any peace, for no sooner had he collapsed onto his bed than he was rudely roused by a persistent rapping on the window. Sighing in frustration he moved swiftly to the other side of the room to let in the noisy knocker. “Midas, I should have known. As usual, Father has impeccable timing.” He stepped back and allowed the large, regal owl entry into the Slytherin dormitory. He untied the small scroll from Midas’ leg and lay down on his bed once more to read his letter.

Draco,

I trust you had a safe journey from France and are pleased to be amongst your Slytherin housemates once again. I received several notes and owls from both British and Ministry officials congratulating me on what a fine son I have thanks to your performance for them several weeks ago. I even had lunch with old Maximillian Jensen this week, which is a very good step to getting back in the Ministry’s good graces. Bravo!

However, I must say I am disturbed by some of the things I’ve heard regarding your familiarity and ease with that Mudblood girl. Some even ventured to say your manner with her at the meeting was “friendly.” I’m assuming that was all part of your “show” for the Ministry and not something real … or something you had hoped to pursue back at Hogwarts. I know you are much smarter than that, son. Smart enough to know which decisions are the right ones, and which are just folly.

I am not sure if any of your housemates wrote you about this and I forgot to include it in my last letter, but Lissanne Sheldon transferred to Hogwarts in the first several weeks of the term. She continued at Durmstrang for one year after Karkaroff fled but, according to Mr. Sheldon, the replacement was worse than their former headmaster. Plus, Mr. Sheldon felt it would be better for his family to be close to home in light of Voldemort’s return. In any case, you would do well to reacquaint yourself with your childhood friend. She has the makings to become an excellent, very promising witch. And she is just the kind of girl who would fit in well with our ways.

Father

Draco tossed the letter on his desk without getting up from his bed. He had forgotten about Lissanne. Goyle had mentioned in one of his brief, monosyllabic letters that she had been sorted into Slytherin when she had arrived at Hogwarts. She was in fifth year, one year behind him, but they had been dear friends when he was growing up. That is until her father’s job moved them to Bulgaria several years ago. Draco hadn’t seen Lissanne since he’d started at Hogwarts. They’d corresponded but not with much regularity. Her addition to Slytherin would be beneficial; his house could use a mind like hers – intelligent, ambitious, sharp-witted.

Perhaps helping Lissanne adjust to Hogwarts life would help keep Draco’s mind from wandering up to the Gryffindor tower, which it desperately wanted to do. He could still see his father’s words when he closed his eyes: I know you are much smarter than that, son. Smart enough to know which decisions are the right ones, and which are just folly. Lucius had made it clear he would not tolerate any mingling between a Malfoy and a Mudblood. Merlin, he couldn’t even think the word “Mudblood” anymore without his stomach doing an odd sort of flip. She reminded him of many of the powerful Skytherin witches they'd learned about in History of Magic -- back when Slytherin House was at the height of its excellence, before Voldemort rose to power, before the word "Slytherin" became synonomous with "dirty, rotten scoundrel."

What was that old saying which was good for these types of situations? Out of sight, out of mind? Fortunately, the Slytherins and Gryffindors only had two classes together – Care of Magical Creatures and Potions. During those classes, there were many reminders of why the two houses didn’t mix well. Unfortunately, he and Hermione also had Arithmancy together, and the class was much smaller and had students from every house. It was harder to ignore her presence there. But at least that was just one class, which only met three times a week. He could handle that. The rest of the time she would be with her friends, and he with his. He wouldn’t have to see her, making not thinking about her easier. He just hoped the opposite didn’t happen – when she was out of sight, he’d be out of his mind.

Maybe that saying was more appropriate than he’d thought.

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The scene in Gryffindor tower couldn’t have been more different. Harry and Ron had enlisted the help of Dobby and some of the other house elves to turn their common room into a raucous welcome home party with plenty of food and lots of laughing. After catching up with Harry and Ron and the other sixth years, hearing about everything she’d missed in her eight week absence, she managed to find a vacant chair by the fire to sit in and relax. She’d forgotten how noisy their common room could get. It was so different from the VIP common room back at Beauxbatons – no garden outside, less quiet … no Draco.

A soft hand touched her shoulder. “Mind some company or do you want some alone time?” Her friend Ginny Weasley was staring down at her with her soft brown eyes, her red hair swept off her face in a loose ponytail.

Hermione looked up and smiled, “Sure, Gin. I’d love some company.” She moved over so Ginny could sit with her. “You’d think after five years, I’d remember how boisterous Gryffindors get, but …”

Ginny laughed, “Yes, we’re always looking for an excuse to raid the kitchens and celebrate. We’ve just really missed you, Hermione. It just wasn't the same without you here. Promise me you’ll never go away during the school term for this long again.”

Hermione smiled, “OK. I promise. Thanks Ginny. It feels good to be back.”

“It was hardest on Harry and Ron, especially at the beginning of the term.” She laughed as she remembered, “They just sort of wandered around for the first few days, like they didn’t know where to go without you telling them which classes they had. It was actually sweet … in a pathetic sort of way.”

Both girls laughed as Hermione scanned the room for her two friends. They were talking excitedly with some of the other Gryffindor boys, making wild gestures with their arms. No doubt talking Quidditch again, Hermione thought fondly. Harry looked up and caught her eyes from across the room. His eyes danced as he smiled before turning his attentions back to the other boys. Hermione sighed softly. If he’d smiled at her like that several months ago, he heart would have somersaulted in her chest, but things had changed since then. Now it just felt good to see her friend in person again, not just in pictures or in letters. She felt warm as he smiled at her, but only because she finally felt at home. His smile could always make her feel at home.

Ginny started with trepidation, “Harry especially was concerned in the beginning. He never said anything to me but I could tell.” Hermione looked at Ginny questioningly. “I think he was scared of you being stranded with Malfoy in France for two months. He didn’t know if Malfoy would be up to his old tricks or behave. We were all relieved when you wrote us that you had made friends with Phillippe. That sort of set our minds at ease that you’d met some decent people and wouldn’t have to spend time with Malfoy.”

Hermione scoffed and threw her head back. “Ah, yes, Phillippe. My knight in shining armour.” She didn’t bother hiding the contempt in her voice.

Confused, Ginny asked, “What happened? From your letters, Phillippe sounded wonderful. I thought you liked him.”

Hermione turned her whole body so she could face Ginny to tell her story. “Let me tell about Prince Charming.” And Hermione told Ginny about Phillippe’s “plan” and how he had befriended her for less than honorable reasons. However, she did conveniently “forget” to tell Ginny about the role Draco had played in the situation.

At the end of the tale Hermione told her, Ginny was confused, “I don’t understand. How did you find out after all those weeks that Phillippe was nothing but a good-for-nothing jerk?"

Shifting nervously in her seat, Hermione replied vaguely, “Phillippe was bragging to his mates about it during the Bon Voyage ball, and a friend overheard him.” She added softly, “A good friend.”

From the guarded look on her friend’s face, Ginny sensed Hermione’s “friend” had blond hair and an annoying habit of insulting her and all of her friends, but it didn’t make sense to her. Although in a strange way, it did.

Hermione’s first few letters from Beauxbatons contained several snide comments about Malfoy and how he was acting. Eventually she started writing about Phillippe more and barely mentioned Malfoy. When Ginny had read Hermione’s letter after her Paris trip, she could smell something was up. Hermione hadn’t mentioned Malfoy’s name even once, not even when she told of their presentation. All she’d said was the presentation went well, the Ministry people were pleased, and Professor McGonagall was proud. The way Hermione’d told it, the presentation was the dullest experience of her life, but Ginny’s father had been there and he’d painted a very different picture for Ginny. Her father had told her that Hermione had left with Malfoy right after their presentation, but Hermione hadn’t mentioned that at all in her letter or where they had gone. Wanting information, Ginny had asked Monique, one of the Beauxbatons exchange students who was at Hogwarts. They were in the same Muggle Studies class and when Ginny had inquired about how things had gone in Paris, she gave Ginny an earful. The French girl had told Ginny something she had first brushed off as pure gossip, but now she wondered.

The Beauxbatons students had travelled to Paris as well to give a similar presentation to the Ministry officials. It was not just the Hogwarts students who needed to do it. Apparently, the Beauxbatons exchange students had had the hotel room next door to the Hogwarts group, and they were woken in the middle of the night because of slamming doors and excited talking. Not able to curb their curiosity, Monique had crawled out of bed and cracked her door open. Outside her door, Professor McGonagall was engaged in a hushed conversation with a Beauxbatons teacher and a man wearing a French Ministry badge on his robe. The French Minister was telling the two teachers he had found her two students, as they fled some irate Muggles. As Monique told it, the best part was that he had caught them kissing in a Paris alley! Ginny had assumed Monique was obviously mistaken. Hermione would never do anything like that with Draco Malfoy … but now she wondered. Ginny prayed she was wrong, but she had to ask, “Hermione, did anything happen between you and Malfoy while you were away?”

“What?” Hermione seemed stunned by the inquiry, but her eyes shifted nervously around the room, and her cheeks flushed slightly. “Of course nothing happened between me and Dra—I mean, Malfoy. Don’t be silly. He’s still the same arrogant Slytherin he’s always been.”

But Ginny wasn’t so sure Hermione was being completely honest, with Ginny or with herself.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Would you like some pancakes with your syrup?”

“Hmmm?” Hermione turned to her friend Ron, who was watching her with a curious look.

Ron smirked and pointed at her distracted friend’s breakfast plate. “If you don’t stop pouring that syrup it’s going to overflow in a few seconds.”

Hermione sat upright and looked down at her plate. Sure enough, her pancakes were floating in a sea of thick syrup before her as a waterfall of it flowed freely from the holder in her hand. She set it on the table immediately, but not before some of it dribbled over the edges onto the tablecloth. “Bugger,” she hissed, and she pulled her wand from her bag to clean up her mess. “Thanks, Ron. I can’t believe I did that.”

“I can,” Ron stated. “You seem a million miles away this morning.” He turned back to his own breakfast of eggs and sausage in front of him.

“I suppose I am a bit excited. In a way, it’s like the first day of school for me. I just hope I’m not very far behind in my classes. I doubt the Beauxbatons teachers had the same lesson plans as our Hogwarts professors,” she explained although she knew it was more than that. She surreptitiously glanced over at the Slytherin table, her eyes landing on Draco, his new silver Prefect badge shined brightly. She did a double take. In the past, Draco had always situated himself between his goons Crabbe and Goyle. So Hermione was taken aback to see Draco talking closely with a girl, whom Hermione had never seen before. She was an attractive girl with reddish black hair and dark, almond-shaped brown eyes, her face absent of the scowl commonly seen on the faces of Slytherin house members.

Hermione couldn’t pull her face away. Who was that girl? And why was Draco smiling like that at her? The only thing which could make her feel more awkward about staring at Draco Malfoy across a crowded dining hall would be for him to catch her staring at him. So of course he looked over at her, seizing her eyes before she could turn away. She felt powerless to look away from him. She had not seen him since Saturday evening when they’d parted ways in the Main Hall. She’d eaten so much of the scavenged food at her welcome party, she hadn’t bothered going to supper on Saturday, and she had gone to tea at Hagrid’s with Harry and Ron on Sunday. His treacle fudge filled her stomach for most of the day, and she had needed to meet with most of her teachers that afternoon to get her current assignments. She hadn’t bothered to head to supper until it was almost over, and by then there were only a few stragglers left. Part of her knew she was probably avoiding Draco, but she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. She just needed to push it far back and move on. But when he looked over at her, for a few brief moments, she could feel that same urge she’d felt when she’d leaned forward and kissed him on that dark, Paris street. But the emotion behind his silver eyes, which sliced like a ray of sunlight through stormy clouds, was quickly replaced with an unreadable, closed expression when the new girl touched his arm as she laughed, luring his attention away from Hermione.

“Who’s the new Slytherin?” Hermione asked to no one in particular. “She looks too old to be a first year.”

Ron looked up, “Who? Oh, you mean that girl with the bad luck to be seated next to Malfoy?” He gave an appraising glance at the pair. “Although she doesn’t seem to mind that much from the looks of it. Must be crazy as a loon,” he commented wryly. “Anyone who’d willingly sit so close to such a …”

Hermione cut him off. “We are all aware of your feelings toward him. But who’s the girls and what’s her name?” She tried to keep her voice even, as if she were only half-interested, but Hermione had a feeling she'd failed miserably.

Harry, sitting to her right, spoke up, “Her name is Liz Something-or-Other. She went to Durmstrang but transferred here in the second or third week of the term. She seems pretty normal – not like the rest of that lot. But she’s a fifth-year. Ginny probably knows more about her.” He called across the table to the redhead, who was conversing with one of her roommates, “Hey, Ginny, is that Slytherin girl from Durmstrang in your class?”

Hermione wanted to crawl under the table. She’d wanted to make a discreet inquiry, but now Harry was attracting all sorts of attention to them.

Ginny spun in her seat to find the girl in question, and she spotted her chatting happily with a distracted-looking Malfoy. She turned back to answer Harry and a very curious Hermione. “Her name’s Lissanne Sheldon.”

“What’s she like?” Hermione asked a little too quickly.

Shrugging her shoulders, Ginny replied, “She’s all right, I guess, which surprised me considering her family has a dark history, if you get my meaning. When I told my father she had transferred here, he warned me to stay away from her. He said her family was bad news, but she seems pretty nice. We have Charms together, and she’s struck up some conversations with me as well as with some of the other non-Slytherins in our year.”

Harry asked Hermione, “Why do you want to know about her anyway?”

Searching quickly for a plausible answer, she replied, “Well, I am a Prefect this year. I think it’s important I know who all the new students are, especially the ones in other houses. Starting at a new school is not an easy adjustment for everyone, and it’s not necessarily a bad idea to try and encourage more pleasant relations between our school houses.”

As he listened to Hermione, Ron scrunched up his face and scoffed, “This isn’t going to be your next ‘cause,’ is it? Please promise me you won’t make us all hold hands and start talking about our ‘feelings’ during dinner. That would be bloody awful.”

Harry’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and Ginny covered her mouth with her hand and giggled as Hermione fixed Ron with a determined stare. “Ronald Weasley, for all your posturing, you’re a more arrogant snob than Pansy Parkinson,” she joked.

That stunned everyone at the table, eagerly awaiting Ron’s reaction to her comments. In a melodramatic fashion, Ron clapped his hand over his heart gasping out, “Ouch, Granger. That was a low blow. How could you compare me to that … that … vapid, prissy, brat?”

“I just spent two months in an exchange program designed to cultivate better relationships and communication between two schools. I just think maybe we should also try applying those principles a little closer to home.” Her eyes flickered subconsciously toward the Slytherin table. “You might find out things aren’t always as cut and dry as you assume.”

Harry watched Hermione with interest. He’d sensed in her letters to him from France that she was holding something back, that she had something more on her mind than just the weather and her classes. But he’d assumed it was about Phillippe. After the scene with Ron in their fourth year over Krum, Hermione had remained tight-lipped if she’d had any romantic feelings for anyone during their fifth year. Harry did not think it out of the ordinary that she would be hesitant to tell them about her relationship with another wizard; however, Friday night Hermione had told him and Ron about what a prat Phillippe had turned out to be. Ron had immediately thought that Malfoy had had something to do with it, either by planting the idea in Phillippe’s head or egging him on. But she was adamant he was innocent of Ron’s accusations. She’d defended him to her friend, but they weren’t entirely convinced. Ron had wanted Harry's Firebolt to fly to Beauxbatons right away and introduce the French boy to his fist but, in a nonchalant voice, Hermione had explained that Phillippe had paid for his arrogance and ungentlemanly conduct and had left it at that. When they had tried to press her for more details, all she’d say was, “It’s no big deal. Phillippe knows he can’t treat women like that. It’s over now. I just want to forget I ever met Phillippe Hasley. He was such a waste of time.” Harry knew better than to try and talk to her when she got that stubborn gleam in her eye. But intuition, and five years of loyal friendship, told him it wasn’t over. Not for Hermione, and though she hadn’t mentioned Malfoy once in her tiny lecture over the breakfast table, Harry had a sneaking suspicion Hermione no longer considered Draco to be a waste of time.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Damn her! Draco had thought he was doing a commendable job of pushing Hermione Granger from his thoughts. He hadn’t seen her until the Monday morning after their return, and up until breakfast that day, he felt he’d done a decent job of occupying his mind elsewhere. He’d caught up with the news in the Slytherin dungeons, skillfully avoided Pansy’s unwanted attentions, and reacquainted himself with his childhood friend Lissanne. He’d forgotten how wicked she could be when she set her mind to something. Even as a child, it was obvious she possessed cunning and wit beyond her years. She possessed a perfect blend of book smarts and street smarts. She would be a fine addition to Slytherin house. As a result, his return to Hogwarts was interesting indeed. For a day and a half, he’d even fooled himself into believing he could forget he’d felt anything real for Hermione … that things truly had been different because they were far away from home.

But when she had looked at him across the hall during Monday’s breakfast, he couldn’t breathe, he was so consumed by the desire to feel her shiver when he kissed her neck just below her ear. He’d discovered it was a very sensitive spot, and each time he’d kissed her there, she would breathe out in soft gasps, sending the most wonderful sensations through his own body. It had taken some overly loud laughter by Lissanne and the firm pressure on his arm to pull him away from the soft cinnamon warmth of Hermione’s eyes that day. Every time he saw Hermione after that, the feelings just intensified instead of growing weaker.

Being in class with her was pure hell. She was always with her dear old chums, Potty Head and Weasel Boy. He still couldn’t fathom how she could bear spending time with them, but apparently she did. Every time he saw her with them, either in classes or in the halls, they were laughing or carrying on just as they’d done before. The Gryffindor Three were reunited once again. Oh joy. That thought did little to help Draco’s increasingly bad temper.

After their first kiss in Paris, they’d both tried to deny anything had happened, which had turned out to be a horrid idea. The unspoken feelings had led to confusion and repressed desire, which had only led to its inevitable explosion. The events after the Bon Voyage party had proved beyond a reasonable doubt that denying their growing attraction was ill-advised. He’d thought that by giving in to his need for her, that by kissing her so thoroughly her pounding heart beat in time with his own, he would, in a sense, get her out of his system. It just didn’t make sense to him that his head was still filled with thoughts of her. He hadn’t been raised to be interested in girls like her. So why did his thoughts always drift to her just as he was about to fall asleep? Why did the smallest things around the castle remind him of something she’d said? Why did his mind always drift in Herbology class to the night they had studied so close together on the couch? He’d thought things could go back to normal once they’d returned to Hogwarts. He’d never considered himself naïve, but now he was starting to wonder.

Seeing her seemingly content to be back in the bosom of her do-gooder pals mystified him further. She was not harsh with him, nor did she spit venomous words at him anymore, so that had changed at least. Draco found his heart wasn’t interested in that particular pastime either. Their first few days back, he’d had some brief flashes of anxiety at the thought that Hermione might have told Potter and Weasley about Draco beating Phillippe to a bloody pulp. That was all Draco needed … for Potter to get all gallant and noble, feeling the need to thank Draco for defending Hermione’s honour. Wouldn’t that do wonders for his Slytherin image? But the days passed without incident. Potter had cast him a few expectant glances, like he was waiting for Draco to instigate trouble. But Draco refrained. He was a Prefect now, and it would look bad to the teachers if he went around fighting with other students, regardless of the well-documented and colorful history he had with Gryffindors. More importantly, he knew any eruptions between him and any of her house mates would prompt Hermione to get involved, which is exactly what he was trying to avoid – getting involved with Hermione.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

They’d made it through the first week of classes with no overt indications of how different they were at Beauxbatons or how strange it felt to be on a last name basis again. Hermione threw herself into her classwork to keep her mind occupied, while Draco had Quidditch practice to relieve some of his tension. When they did have class together, there was always someone else in their respective houses to keep their attention from focusing solely on each other. They were never alone together. That is, until their first Prefects' meeting.

It was on the Saturday afternoon after their return, in a small meeting room off the corridor in the Main Hall. At the end of the meeting, the Ravenclaw Head Girl asked them to stay behind to go over some procedures they needed to be briefed on. By the time she was finished, all the other Prefects had left and the Head Girl bustled out of the room quickly before Hermione or Draco could gather their things together. They were alone. And neither of them seemed to be in much of a hurry to leave.

The ensuing silence was growing awkward, so Hermione spoke up. “So … have you caught up with all your classes yet? I’m still a bit behind in Ancient Runes, but I just have a couple more chapters to read and I’ll be all right.” She was nervous and talking about her schoolwork was always a safe topic of conversation for her.

Draco was pleased she’d spoken first. He’d half expected her to race out the door as quickly as possible, but when he noticed her moving slower than usual, he hung back as well, wanting to speak with her. He’d missed their talks since they’d been back; Slytherins were not necessarily the best conversationalists. He nodded, looking at her from under the wisps of his silvery blond hair as he slung his school bag onto his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m pretty much caught up too. Just a few odds and ends,” he admitted to her, his lips curling into a slight smile. “Potions was rougher than I’d anticipated though. I think Professor Snape gave us that pop quiz as a sort of welcome home present.”

Hermione laughed, “Someone should tell him flowers make better gifts.” She smiled even more broadly as Draco laughed with her over his head of house. She’d missed the sound of his laugh, probably because he didn’t do it often. When he did laugh, it was worth noting. She’d been dreading being alone with him again back at Hogwarts, but now that she was, her anxiety seemed silly. She’d thought she would feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, but she felt perfectly at ease with him.

He said, “I’ll be sure to pass along that etiquette tip to Snape. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” He was just stalling. They both knew it.

When she’d gathered all her things together, she moved slowly to the door, and he opened it for her, allowing her to pass through first. He closed the door behind them, but neither of them set off for their dorms. Hermione turned to look at him. She set her things down and leaned one of her shoulders against the wall. Draco copied her stance, leaning against the same wall within arm's reach of her. They both sighed. “I’ll bet it feels good to sleep in your bed,” Hermione commented. Draco arched his eyebrow at her remark, and smiled again. Realizing how it sounded, she blushed and corrected herself, “I mean to sleep in your own bed again. Those beds at Beauxbatons were much smaller than ours here.” She couldn’t stand how his mere presence could fluster her, and her cheeks were showing no signs of returning to their normal color quickly.

He ran his fingers lightly through his hair and assured her, “I knew what you meant. And yes, it is nice to be in my own bed again. The Beauxbatons house elves insisted on putting floral sachets under my pillows every night no matter how many times I told them not to. My bedclothes always smelled like lilacs in the morning. I couldn’t wait to get into the shower.”

Wanting to steer the conversation away from anything having to do with imagining what Draco looked like in his pajamas or in the shower, Hermione changed subjects. “You know what I noticed? I think Flitwick has actually gotten tinier in eight weeks.” Draco burst out laughing. “I’m serious,” she insisted. “Now he has to stand on five books to see over the desk instead of four.” She laughed with him.

He nodded in accordance, “I think you’re right. At first I thought I needed to get my eyes checked, but I think he has indeed shrunk.” When their fits of laughter subsided, in a more serious tone, he noted, “I’ll bet you’re glad to be back to your friends though. It was obvious you missed them – and they missed you. All those letters back and forth between you. You really gave those owls a work out.”

She grinned. “Hedwig and Pigwidgeon deserve really long vacations after all the miles they logged in two months.” She met his gaze across the hallway. “And, yes, it is nice to be back. For you too, I’ll bet.” She broached the topic she was most curious about. “I heard that new Slytherin is from Durmstrang. You seem to get along well with her.” She hated herself for bringing it up, but she had to know. Her curiosity was getting the better of her.

He smiled his best smile; he'd wondered if she’d mention his friend at all … and was pleased she had. It meant she wasn’t having as easy a time forgetting as she had let on. “Lissanne and I are old friends. We practically grew up together, in fact. She’s like my little sister in a lot of ways.” He noticed Hermione looked relieved at hearing this tidbit of information. “I think you’d like her if you got to know her. She’s quite a girl, and she’s smart … like you.”

Hermione blushed at his compliment, unable to look directly at him for fear he would know with one poignant look that she'd been thinking of little else but him since their return. She pushed herself away from the wall, preparing to leave. She was flirting with him for Merlin’s sake .. and he was flirting back. This didn’t exactly fit in with their promise to end things at Beauxbatons. “I should be heading up to my common room now,” she announced.

He reached across the short distance separating them, grabbing her hand gently in his. She looked expectantly at him. “Wait, Hermione. I wish …”

But Draco never got to tell her what he wished, because the front door swung open and the Gryffindor Quidditch team tromped in, fresh from practice. Draco dropped her hand quickly, and they stepped away from each other, guilty looks all over their faces. They’d been an enjoying a conversation together. That was a cardinal sin between Slytherins and Gryffindors.

Harry and Ron spotted Hermione immediately, took one look at the horrified expression on her face, saw the boy standing across from her with a similar look, and assumed the worst. Ron strode forward quickly. “Leave her alone, Malfoy. Wasn’t it bad enough she had to be trapped in another country with you for two months? She’s earned a well-deserved vacation from the likes of you.” He and Harry swiftly moved in between Hermione and the other boy. “Especially after what happened with Hasley.”

Draco paled instantly while Hermione’s face reddened with anger. Draco couldn’t believe it – she’d told her two friends about them. His head was swimming with bewilderment. He looked past the two boys and straight into her blazing eyes. “You told them?” He asked, his voice laced with betrayal.

Before she could alleviate Draco’s concerns, Ron pushed Malfoy roughly against the wall and spat, “She didn’t have to tell us anything, Malfoy. That’s just the kind of stunt you’d pull. You probably put Hasley up to it, didn’t you? Anything to make Hermione look bad, and you look better.”

“You found me out, Weasley,” he retorted bitterly. “Because orchestrating a plot to humiliate a fellow Hogwarts student would reflect so positively on me. Especially when we were acting as ambassadors of cooperation.” He pushed Ron’s hands angrily off his robes and straightened them out, being sure to flash his Prefect badge in Ron’s face. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you really are dumber than you look.” He sneered indignantly, clenching his fists by his side.

Ron was about to launch himself at Draco again, but Harry grabbed hold of his arm to keep him back. “Ron, don’t let him bait you. You know he would just love to take points off Gryffindor for something he started.”

“Me? I was just standing in the hallway when you two barged in, accusing me of something I never did.”

Harry looked at him disbelievingly. “Come on, Malfoy, you expect us to believe that you were completely innocent in a plot that has Slytherin written all over it?”

Hermione finally bristled forward, obviously perturbed, “No one asked you to believe anything Draco said. But I thought you would have at least trusted me to tell you what happened. I told you he didn’t have anything to do with Phillippe, and I wasn’t lying. For Merlin’s sake, Draco couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with Phillippe let alone conspire with him.” She looked between the three boys, her eyes lingering on each of them, finally settling on Draco. “Truth be told, Draco was a perfect gentleman that night. He helped me a lot.” Draco’s eyes softened as she spoke. She turned to look at her friends, “You should be thanking him, not threatening him.”

Harry got the distinct impression there was a lot more going on here than anyone was willing to admit. And he had a feeling whatever it was would make Ron go ballistic. He thought it would be best if they all dispersed and went back to their respective houses, and get some distance between them. But Ron had other ideas.

In his most accusatory tone, he questioned, “Well if you weren’t harassing Hermione when we came through the door, what were you two doing out here? Hermione looked scared.”

“It’s called talking, Weasley. You might try it sometime, that is when you aren’t too busy yelling at people,” Draco drawled. Hermione hated that tone in his voice whenever he did that. It grated on her nerves, and was so incongruous with the compassionate boy she knew was lurking behind the haughty façade.

Now she was really annoyed. “It’s none of your damned business what we were doing here! I don’t answer to you and I certainly do not have to explain what I do or who I do it with.” Her voice rose steadily as she admonished him, but then softened as he looked properly chastised. “You are my friend, Ron, and I know you’re just looking out for me. But I can take care of myself. I don’t need you two to rush in and save me every second of every day.”

Draco snorted, remembering back to the bloody nose of the muscle-bound American who’d underestimated Hermione, “Isn’t that the truth?”

Harry and Ron looked quizzically at his comment. Hermione had never told them about her incident with Kevin - the groping American - or what had happened after. It was too private, and not even she understood how she felt about it. How could she explain it to them? Not wanting to field questions about Paris, Hermione spoke up, “Well, now that this is all settled, I need to head to the library to catch up on some reading. Harry and Ron, will you walk with me?”

As she bent down to pick up her bag and position it on her shoulder, Draco did the same with his. Harry sidled up to Draco quietly and whispered so low, they were the only two could hear. “I don’t what you’re playing at with Hermione, but if you’ve done or are planning on doing anything to hurt her, you’ll be begging me to kill you by the time I’m through with you.” Draco stared straight into Harry’s blazing, unflinching emerald gaze, and knew Harry was deadly serious.

Draco said nothing, just stared back into Harry’s eyes. When Hermione turned around, she was greeted with the sight of them trying to kill each other with their glaring. She touched Harry on the arm -- “Are you ready, Harry?” Then she took him by the arm and led him to the steps, casting a slight smile at Draco before heading up.

He didn’t smile back; he just watched her leave with her two knights in shining armour, wondering for the thousandth time how he’d ever gotten himself into this mess. As he headed toward the dungeons, he wished he’d never gone on the exchange program. If he’d just stayed at Hogwarts, he would never have known Hermione Granger was more than a dirty Mudblood with her nose always stuck in a book. He would never have known how she chewed on her bottom lip when she was trying to work out a particularly difficulty Arithmancy problem, how she hummed when she wrote letters to her friends, how she tried to see something positive in everything and everyone. If he’d stayed here, he would have known none of that. And he would never have known what he was missing.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The next few weeks crawled by in relative peace and quiet. There were the usual rounds of name calling and snide comments bandied about between classes and during meal times, courtesy of their housemates, but Draco and Hermione usually managed to keep themselves out of the skirmishes. But the more time passed, the harder it seemed for them to keep their distance. They fell into the habit of seeking each other out in a crowd, and would always find the other staring right back. They’d barely spoken since that day in the hallway, but their actions said enough. Try as they might, they couldn’t forget what had happened. It just wasn’t the same anymore.

And Professor Snape didn’t make it any easier on them.

Apparently Snape had a more sadistic side to him than Draco had realized. He’d assumed Snape continually assigned Hermione as Draco’s Potions partner as a way to make Longbottom and the other inept Gryffindors squirm more. This way she was separated from her classmates, where she couldn’t whisper any answers or prevent them from doing something ill-advised. Or perhaps Snape was trying to make up for missing out on two whole months of watching Hermione squirm under his watchful. No one knew Draco wasn’t as high on Hermione’s “Most Hated” list; Snape probably figured pairing her up with Malfoy week after week would be the most uncomfortable arrangement, which it was. But not just for Hermione.

Working side by side with Hermione for an entire afternoon was utter torment for Draco. One of her most attractive features was her brilliant mind, so watching her learn, seeing her face light up as she grasped a difficult concept, only drew Draco closer to her. There was also the inadvertent touching. As they passed different ingredients back and forth, stepped around each other at their table, and huddled closely over their books to brew their potions, there were all sorts of gentle touches and soft breaths to distract Draco and make it hard for him to concentrate. Snape’s table arrangements may have been a nuisance to the Gryffindors, but it was a hundred times worse for Draco. None of them were working next to a girl they couldn’t have.

Things took an unexpected turn at the beginning of December. At the end of Arithmancy class, Professor Vector called out to Draco, “Mr. Malfoy, could you spare a few minutes? I’d like to talk with you.”

Hermione raised her hand. “Professor, I have a few questions about the exam in two weeks. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Yes, Miss Granger, but I need to speak with Mr. Malfoy first,” she explained. “But you may wait in the classroom until we’re through.”

Draco told the other Slytherins to go ahead to lunch without him, and that he’d catch up with them in a little while. He passed Hermione still sitting in her chair and approached his teacher’s desk. “Yes, Professor. What did you want to discuss?”

She motioned for him to move into her small office off to the side of the large classroom, and she closed the door to give them some privacy. She offered him a chair to sit in, then seated herself in her large chair behind her desk. She looked at him over the rim of her glasses and sighed deeply before starting, “Mr. Malfoy, I’m concerned about the quality of your work this term.”

Professor Vector wasn’t a harsh woman, but she was brisk and to the point. It turned some people off, but Draco had never minded. She acted the same with everyone, never displaying any favoritism. This had annoyed him when he was younger and felt Slytherins should receive preferential treatment in anything, but when he realized she treated everyone the same regardless of their house, he decided that was fair. That meant she treated Gryffindors the same as Slytherins and, although that irked him some, it was better than most of the other teachers’ attitudes.

Whatever Draco had expected her to say, it wasn’t that, so all he could mutter in reply was a startled, “Oh.” He shifted nervously in his seat. Arithmancy was never his strongest subject, but he’d always managed to get by with decent marks. The only time he’d ever felt comfortable with it was when Hermione studied with him at Beauxbatons. She could explain things in a much clearer way than his teachers could. She was able to make all the formulas make sense to him.

Professor Vector leaned forward and folded her hands together on her desk. “When the Beauxbatons Arithmancy professor owled me regarding the material she had covered and her opinion on your grasp of the subject, I must confess I was surprised. She had nothing but the highest praise for your work and gave you excellent marks. She even sent me some of your graded assignments and quizzes so I could be apprised of your progress. So you must understand my puzzlement over the work you have been turning in for my class.”

Draco straightened up in his chair and reasoned, “My grades aren’t that bad. I’m passing, aren’t I?”

She nodded but pointed out, “Yes, but it’s not enough to just get by, not for a student with your potential. You are one of our brightest students. If you weren’t, you would not have been chosen for the exchange program; I don’t think I’m betraying any confidences by telling you that your name is on a very short list to be Head Boy next year. The competition is very stiff to gain such a distinction, and though grades are only a part of the selection process, they are an important part. It does not look well to have high marks in all classes with a poor grade in one. The selection committee likes consistency and to see people who continually strive to improve themselves. Putting forth a concerted effort to remedy your lackluster grade shows you have character and determination.”

He looked at her across her desk, excited and anxious at the same time. On one hand, she’d told him he had a good shot at becoming Head Boy; on the other hand, she’d also told him he could be pissing it away if he didn’t pull his grade up. He explained, “I don’t know what else to do. I already study more for this class than any of my others. I think I understand what’s going on, but when I get the quizzes, I can’t always figure out the problems.”

Professor Vector proceeded cautiously, “In her letter, your teacher also commented on how you and Miss Granger seemed to work well together. She seemed to think you made excellent study partners.” She paused as Draco’s mind raced with too many thoughts to keep straight. “I’m surprised you did not continue on with your arrangement when you returned here, since it was obviously beneficial.”

“Well … er …” Draco stammered.

“Is it because you’re a Slytherin and she’s a Gryffindor?”

“Partly,” he answered truthfully. He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

Professor Vector nodded that she understood. “Draco, this is important. Remember what we discussed. Work around the complications. Hermione can help you.”

He sat quietly for a few moments, pondering her advice. “Thank you for talking with me about this, Professor Vector. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to head down to lunch now.”

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy,” she said as she rose from her chair to walk him to the door. “Please think it over.” She opened the door; Hermione was waiting patiently outside for her turn to speak with the teacher. She addressed her student, “Miss Granger, would you mind waiting a few more minutes? I need to send off a quick letter before I forget.”

Hermione smiled. “Of course, Professor. I’ll wait here until you’re through.”

She looked back and forth between her two students before closing her door quietly. She had no letter to write; she just hoped to give Draco the opportunity to heed her advice.

Draco emerged from her office looking quite distracted, so Hermione asked, “Are you all right? Did Professor Vector say something to upset you?” A look of terror crossed her face, “Is it about the exam in two weeks? She didn’t cancel it, did she? I’ve been studying for weeks for it.”

He laughed. Only Hermione Granger would be upset about a test being cancelled. “Don’t worry. The test is still on.” Hermione looked relieved at hearing that. He teased, “Don’t look so disappointed.”

She was pleased to see his mouth curve upwards in a slight grin, but she could still tell he was troubled by something. “If it’s not about the test, then what is it?”

He hadn’t intended to tell her, but as she looked at him from under her long dark lashes, eyes filled with concern for him, the words popped out before he could catch them, “I was just informed my pitiful Arithmancy grade may prevent me from being selected as Head Boy.”

She was visibly shocked. “You’re kidding. Professor Vector told you that?”

He set his things down on a nearby desk and plopped himself in a seat. “Essentially, yeah. Apparently there’s some pretty stiff competition for it next year, but I should have guessed. With the great and powerful Harry Potter and his trusty sidekick in my year, I’m surprised they didn’t just pin the Head Boy badge to him when he tried on the Sorting Hat.”

Hermione seated herself next to him, and reasoned, “Don’t be so melodramatic. You have just as much of a chance as anyone, and if you didn’t, she never would have brought it up.”

Leave it to Hermione to make sense, when he was getting himself all geared up for a good, long sulk. “When you say reasonable, pragmatic things like that, it makes it harder for me to stick to my brooding, misunderstood persona I’ve worked so hard to project.”

“At least you still have ‘smug, arrogant bastard’ to fall back on,” she quipped.

“Yes, I still have that,” he laughed but his eyes glazed over with concern once more. “You can always pick out the silver lining.”

“Seriously, what did she say?” Hermione was curious and felt good that Draco was confiding in her. She knew that wasn’t easy for him.

He repeated his conversation with their teacher and how he needed to pull up his grade or he could kiss the Head Boy badge goodbye; however, he conveniently left out the part where Professor Vector suggested he ask Hermione for help. He didn’t think he could do that. As it turned out, he didn’t have to.

“I could help you,” she paused, realizing she might have overstepped her bounds. “That is, if you want me to,” she added hastily. She’d almost forgotten she had essentially blackmailed him into their study pact at Beauxbatons. If he really did want to put that all behind him, the last thing he’d want to do is spend several nights a week with her.

He was surprised by her swift offer of assistance, but he knew he shouldn’t be. He’d learned never to underestimate her, even before they were on friendly terms. Hermione Granger might not be as exciting as other witches, but she was hardly predictable. He raised both his eyebrows and asked, “Are you sure you want to do that? You might be consorting with the enemy.”

She responded matter of factly, “I’m not offering anything I wouldn’t do for someone else who needed help. If any of my other friends needed my help, I’d do the same thing.” His eyes widened as she called him a “friend,” and she was shocked at her own words as well. But neither of them mentioned it. She took a deep breath, “And I don’t consider you an enemy … not anymore.”

“This won’t be as easy to manage as it was at Beauxbatons, logistically, I mean. It’s not like your Gryffindor friends would welcome me with open arms if I suddenly showed up in your common room looking for you,” he pointed out. Thinking of the letter from his father, Draco also had more pertinent reasons for wanting them to be discreet.

“And vice versa,” she mentioned. “I suppose we could always study in the library.”

He rolled his eyes in mock jest, “Of course, because no one would ever think to look for you there.”

She smirked at him, “Very funny. It just so happens Madam Pince gave me a key to one of the lesser-used storage rooms in the library so I could study without being disturbed by the other students.”

“Ah … you have connections.”

She replied smartly, “Yes. It pays to get in good with the librarian. There’s a lot more perks than you might think.”

That made him smile. Amazed Madam Pince could take a shine to anyone, let alone give out a key to her inner sanctum. “If you’re sure, than how about if we start tonight.”

For a fleeting moment, Hermione realized what she was agreeing to – closing herself into a secluded room with Draco Malfoy, the boy she’d been avoiding being alone with for over a month. But she was alone with him now, wasn’t she? And they were managing it well, weren’t they? She knew it couldn’t have been easy for him to admit he needed her help, and she couldn’t refuse him that. She could handle it; they were meeting to study, not do anything else. It would be a snap. She hoped.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Going to the library again, Hermione?” Harry asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you study so hard for a test before. Why don’t you take a break tonight? If you don’t know it by now, you never will.” He missed his friend. For the past two weeks they’d barely seen Hermione. If she wasn’t studying for this big Arithmancy exam, she was doing homework for her other classes or patrolling the halls as part of her Prefect duties. She barely spent any time with her friends anymore. When she did pull her nose out of a book to hang out in the common room, Harry noticed she’d get a far-off look in her eyes when she thought no one was watching her. In fact, he’d seen that look often in her eyes since she’d come back. He’d started experimenting with a little theory of his whenever she got that way. He’d start a conversation with someone in the room about Malfoy, loud enough so Hermione could hear. Oddly enough, her ears would perk up at the mention of the blond boy’s name, much to Harry’s chagrin.

As Hermione made her way to the portrait hole, she stopped and checked her appearance, smoothing her hair one last time before heading out. Seamus Finnegan called out to her jest, “Where you off to, Hermione? Have a big date?”

She turned to the others, and smirked, “Ha ha, Seamus.” But Harry noticed her cheeks pinked up at Seamus’ comments … and she hadn’t denied them.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was getting close to curfew and Hermione still hadn’t returned. It wasn’t like her to stay up so late before an exam. She had always wanted to get a full night’s sleep before exams so she would be completely focused. And Harry knew her night to patrol was Tuesday nights, not Wednesdays. Knowing her, she’d probably lost all track of time, and hadn’t even realized it was nighttime, let alone time for bed. He wanted to grab a bite to eat before bed and figured he’d stop by and pick her up from the library on the way back. He set his Transfiguration homework down and rose from his seat. “Ron, I’m getting something from the kitchens. Do you want anything?”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the chessboard in front of him, where he was showing a frustrated Dean Thomas no mercy, Ron muttered, “Sure. Pick me up some of those chocolate brownies with walnuts we had at dinner tonight.” With a distracted wave, he added, “Say ‘Hi’ to Dobby for me.”

“Will do,” Harry replied, as he stepped through the portrait hole to make his way downstairs.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Draco and Hermione had made a lot of progress in two weeks. They didn’t meet every night, but just about, and when they did, they studied hard. Professor Vector had taught some different material than their Beauxbatons teacher, so there was a lot to cover, but he finally started catching on the first few days. Their test was tomorrow, and Hermione had every confidence he would ace it.

That wasn’t to say the last two weeks had been easy. They weren’t, by any stretch of the imagination. For her sanity’s sake, Hermione spent much of the time on the opposite side of the table where they worked. It was a small room, but large enough for a decent-sized sofa and a rectangular table with a couple of chairs, which Madam Pince had placed on there for Hermione. It wasn’t much, but it was a nice space. The only people she’d ever brought here with her were Harry and Ron, and she’d sworn them to secrecy. She’d never been able to keep anything from them – at least until recently.

She hated lying to them every time she left the common room, but she couldn’t think of an easy reason to swallow for why she was helping the boy who’d caused them so much trouble and was a general nuisance. Plus not telling anyone about their little arrangement made it easier to imagine they were back at Beauxbatons, free from prying eyes and from expectations of “proper” behaviour. She knew she was lying to her friends, as well as herself, but denying her feelings was growing increasingly difficult.

On more than one occasion during their tutoring sessions, she’d felt it would behoove them to maintain as much distance as possible. The last thing she needed was to find her face dangerously close to his while leaning over sheets of parchment or poring over their textbooks. So close she might smell the scent of his spicy cologne, so close that a tilt of her head by a few inches and she might feel his silky hair against her cheek. It was only with the greatest restraint that Hermione focused her attentions on Arithmancy, but she knew she must. Draco needed her help, and she needed to maintain her own grades as well.

Draco looked up from his work at Hermione lounging in the sofa, her back against one arm and her legs curled beneath her. She was checking through her notes one last time. She looked so endearing sitting there, in a Gryffindor Quidditch sweatshirt much too big for her and a pair of those Muggle blue jeans she enjoyed so much. Her eyes were focused intently on the pages before her, humming a tune softly while her foot bobbed up and down in time with the music. She looked so comfortable curled up amongst her books… with him. “I want to thank you for these past two weeks, Hermione,” Draco acknowledged as he felt a twinge of regret. The Christmas holidays were just a few weeks away. There would be no need for any more tutoring for several weeks, if at all. With dismay, he realized Hermione was such a good teacher, he might be able to manage on his own from now on. “I know it isn’t easy to hide secrets, especially from your friends. But I feel really good about that exam tomorrow.”

She looked up from her book. “Glad I could help. You’re going to get really high marks tomorrow. I just know it.”

“I know you gave up a lot of your own study time to help me.”

She swung her feet to the ground and closed her book on her lap. “Actually this helped me too. Teaching you helped me learn it better. I think we’re as prepared as we’ll ever be.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. They’d lost track of the time, but Hermione knew it must be late. “Do you know what time it is?”

He went over to his bag leaning against the side of the sofa, and tossed his discarded school robe to the side of it. He crouched down to fish his watch from the bottom. “It’s almost time for curfew. We should probably call it a night.”

“You’re probably right,” she agreed. She turned and blew out the candle on the table next to the sofa. As she stood to rise, her Arithmancy book fell from her lap to the floor. She leaned over to pick it up at the same time Draco did from his spot on the floor. With a dull thump, their heads collided.

He rubbed his forehead, “Ow. That’s going to leave a mark.” But he laughed gently, his knees falling to the ground so that he was kneeling just to the side of her feet.

She was laughing too, rubbing her temple where their skulls had knocked together, her eyes squeezed shut, wincing slightly. When she opened them, she saw a few spots and started opening her eyes and closing them to try and wipe them away. “That hurt. I always knew you had a thick skull, but I didn’t realize how thick,” she teased.

He saw her blinking rapidly and grew concerned. “Are you all right? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?”

She waved her hand, “No, I’m fine. Your head hit me right in the temple. The stars will go away in a few minutes.”

He shifted himself so he was directly in front of her, and kneeled up straight so he could get a better look. He brushed her hair behind her shoulders and tilted her chin to the side so he could inspect her head for any bruises. He felt her jump as he touched her face and her breathing was noticeably shallower. He rubbed the side of her head gently with his thumb and could feel a small lump forming. He leaned in for a closer look. Since Hermione had blown the nearest candle out, the only other lights were across the room, and he couldn’t see as well. “I should take you to Madame Pomfrey. It’s starting to swell, and it looks like it’s already turning purple.” His eyes shifted to hers, and froze instantly. She was staring at him wide eyed, holding her breath. They were so close.

Hermione was rooted to her spot, unable to breath or even blink. He’d touched her so tenderly, wanting to be sure she wasn’t physically hurt; he hadn’t realized being this close to him was making her heart scream. They’d managed to maintain a safe distance for two weeks to avoid something like this. Though neither had said it, they both knew this situation was risky. Too much had changed for things to go back to “normal.” As he peered into her face, she could see the raging battle in her heart reflected his eyes. She looked away, but could still feel his penetrating gaze on her. It was too intense; she had to look back at him.

His hand shook imperceptibly as he moved it gently down her face. He gently traced the curves of her upper lip with his finger, then caressed her bottom lip with his thumb. His eyes locked on hers the entire time, neither of them blinking. His touch was so light; softer than a phoenix feather, gentler than a warm breeze.

Hermione couldn’t resist. She wanted to touch him too. She reached a hand out, placed it on his waist, and pulled him closer to her. She moved her other hand up his chest until she reached the top, cupping his face in her hand. “What are we doing?” she breathed out, her voice barely a whisper.

“I have no idea,” he replied, his voice so low, it made her tremble. And he really didn’t know – but he didn’t care either. All he knew was his body was going to jump out of its skin if he didn’t kiss her right then and there.

So he did.

Throwing caution to the wind, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her sore temple. Slowly he moved his way down, planting supple kisses as he made his way to her mouth.

She chewed on her bottom lip, closing her eyes to savor the sensations he evoked in her. As his lips descended, she moved her head to meet them. He paused, and she grazed Draco’s lips with hers, trailing them back and forth. She opened her eyes to see him still watching her, his eyes filled with wonder.

Hermione pulled his body closer to hers, wrapping her arms tightly around him, their mouths meeting in a fervent kiss. He leaned forward into her, pushing her body deeper into the sofa. With a firm but kind nudge, he placed his hand on either side of her knees on the sofa and raised himself onto it with her, never breaking their kiss. She turned her body, loosening her grip around him briefly, and lay down, pulling him on top of her. He slid his knee between her legs, and she did not object. Instead she wrapped her leg behind his knee, locking them together. She broke their kiss and moved her lips to his neck and ear. He panted softly, feeling dizzy with happiness. All their shifting had caused her shirt to slide up, revealing a large patch of smooth, milky skin just above the top of her jeans. One of his hands rested firmly on her waist, tickling her sensitive skin with his warm strokes.

She needed to feel his skin, so she tugged the bottom of his shirt until it came free from his pants. Then she slid her hands slowly up his back, her trembling fingers making him shake at their touch. Between her gentle nips on his ear and feel of her busy hands on his back, Hermione was driving Draco crazy. He pulled her mouth back to his and kissed her thoroughly. As he moved his hand from her waist further up under her shirt, she gasped but did not stop him. When he reached her breasts he stopped, trailing his finger lightly across the top of it, causing her body to shiver at his touch. She smiled between their kisses.

He smiled back. He loved being able to make her feel this way. And he loved what she did to him. He’d been with girls before, but none of them could ever send him this close to the edge with the merest touch. He pulled away to take a few deep breaths then trailed kisses down her neck, as she set to running her hand gently up and down his sides.

When he looked at her, his hair hopelessly mussed, his eyes dazed with desire, Hermione thought she had died and gone to heaven. She could see herself in his eyes, and it made her blush that his desire mirrored her own.

RAP! RAP! RAP! Someone was banging harshly on her door.

“Hermione, are you in there?” Harry called.

Draco flew off the couch and Hermione sat up stunned and speechless. Her clothes were in quite a state of disarray, and Draco’s weren’t much better. Their lips were red and swollen from their feverish kissing. She looked about the room frantically. She knew she had locked the door, but had she remembered to place a silencing spell on the room? Her mind was racing too fast to think clearly. She was in shock.

Harry knocked again, “Hermione, open up. It’s Harry.”

Draco mouthed frantically to her, “Answer him.”

She sputtered practically incoherently, “Um … yes, Harry. I’m in here. Just a second.” She could hear him try to turn the knob, and jumped to her feet.

Draco ran to the other side of the room, so the open door would shield him from Harry’s prying eyes. He swore softly under his breath as he ran his fingers through his mussed hair.

Once Hermione saw Draco was as obscured as he could be, she smoothed out her own hair, and went to the door. She grabbed her wand from the table, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and took a deep breath. She pointed her wand at the handle, whispering “Alohomora.” The door clicked and she opened it to greet Harry, who was wearing a forcibly contained, mostly unreadable expression on his face. Her raven-haired friend moved forward to enter her library room, but she did not budge, blocking his access.

His eyes darted about suspiciously, and he was annoyed. “What are you doing in there? I went down to the kitchens to get a snack before going to bed and thought I’d stop to get you on the way back. I knew you were studying,” his tone was sarcastic, “and it’s almost past curfew.”

She smiled weakly. “Thanks. Just let me get my things together, and we can go.” She started to close the door, but Harry put his hand out to stop it. She could see Draco jump out of the corner of her eye.

He scoffed, “Are you going to make we wait outside?”

“No!” she cried. She couldn’t look him the eye as her minds raced for a plausible excuse, grasping at anything. Forcing herself to relax. She explained, “I mean, no. I have all sorts of books and parchments on the floor for a project I’m working on. I don’t want them to get mixed up.”

He could tell she was lying, because she was awful at it. Plus he’d heard muffled sounds coming from inside the room before he’d knocked, her clothes were a mess, and she was breathing heavy. The last time he’d checked, Arithmancy didn't require any physical exertion. There was no way he had interrupted any "studying." But he played along. He'd find out what was going on ... and soon. “All right, just hurry up. We only have a few minutes before Filch and Mrs. Norris pass by here.”

She closed the door hastily in his face, and he could hear her franticly getting her books together. When she opened the door again to slide out, he saw something which turned his stomach – a bookbag with the Slytherin house crest embroidered on it leaning against the sofa … and a Hogwarts school robe next to it, with a shiny silver “P” badge pinned on it.

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To Be Continued ...