Wednesday evening, Gryffindor Tower
Hermione stood in the middle of her dormitory, nervously smoothing her silk green shorts and thin-strapped top. Her beaded purse hung from her shoulder.
The conversation with Malfoy in the library—the whispers, the double entendres, his hot breath on her palm—had given her an unexpected confidence. She was ready. Or at least she thought she was ready. Well... she was definitely ready to think about being ready.
Perhaps.
Was she really going to do it?
With Draco Malfoy?
Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In any new endeavor, it's important to set the right mood. Red petals. Silky skin beneath her nails. The glint in his eyes and his full lips, shaped as if to her order. Seduce me, lioness.
And then?
New images: Malfoy pulling away, his pale skin covered in sweat. His lips twisting into a contemptuous sneer. His gaze turning cold and indifferent—he'd gotten what he wanted.
Hermione shook her head, trying to clear her mind. This was ridiculous. But that familiar, mocking voice kept nagging at her ears: Mudblood with buck teeth... If you're wondering where that stench is coming from, Mum...
Hermione trembled—the scar on her arm burned. Filthy Mudblood... MUDBLOOD...
The golden clock on the fireplace chimed: ding... ding...
Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she recoiled, waving her wand twice. The emerald silk transformed into plaid flannel pyjamas, and the mules into fluffy socks. Hermione summoned a book to her hands and shoved her wand into her bun.
This was better, but still not enough. She was weak. Still might give in...
The clock's final chime: ding!
"Crooks!" she called. The cat jumped into her arms, and they vanished in a flash of white light.***
8 AM, Thursday, Gryffindor Tower
That morning, Hermione didn't notice Crookshanks was gone until she filled his water bowl. After a packed night of Malfoy, Divination, and nightmares, she had overslept, having turned off her alarm. She had to rush to get ready, which made her angry—there was no time to reread Farley Doom's Omens of Death: What to Do When Trouble Knocks. She stood with the ceramic bowl in her hands (filled with tap water—Hermione wasn't sure about the safety of water conjured by the Aguamenti charm) when she finally realized the cat wasn't rubbing against her ankles or howling as usual. Moreover, she hadn't seen him at all that morning. Where was he? Oh no. Hermione froze, ignoring the water that streamed down her leg from the grinning-face bowl and soaked her right sock. She knew where Crookshanks was. Her poor, sweet, innocent cat was trapped in the Slytherin dungeons, among deadly creatures and with a wizard hostile to him who...
The bowl clattered to the floor. Hermione grabbed her bag and wand and dashed from the dormitory. Crooks!
Left alone in the corridor near the Fat Lady, Hermione checked the Marauder's Map, which she had pilfered from Malfoy along with her wand and purse in that alcove. Malfoy was still in his bedroom, but the Map didn't show animals unless they were Animagi. So Hermione went to the Great Hall to wait. Neville smiled at her but said nothing, continuing to drip potion from a pipette onto a small purple cactus. Hermione opened her ominous book and furtively glanced at the large double doors of the Great Hall.
Minutes passed. The Hall slowly filled with sleepy students, but Malfoy wasn't among them. Hermione desperately wanted to look at the Map again, but there were too many people around. A few more minutes passed. Ginny arrived and buried herself in a leather-bound collection of Sherlock Holmes stories. Neville finally finished fussing with the cactus and began on his scrambled eggs and bacon. Hermione couldn't wait any longer—she pushed her plate aside and grabbed her beaded purse, ready to storm the dungeons...
And then Malfoy majestically entered the Great Hall doors with his usual disdainful expression.
A dead silence fell over the Hall for an obvious reason—Crookshanks was following closely behind Malfoy, the cat's bright ginger fur starkly contrasting with the Slytherin's all-black attire. The cat trotted behind Malfoy, tail held high, as if this was how he did it every morning. If Hermione tried to describe the expression on her cat's face, she would say he looked... smug.
Crookshanks escorted Malfoy to the Slytherin table, and Hermione caught a glimpse of ginger flash beneath the tablecloth. The other Slytherins looked shocked, and no one in the Hall even pretended to continue breakfast. Malfoy, meanwhile, calmly spread jam on a scone, as if he were constantly accompanied by fluffy cats.
"Is that... Crookshanks?" Neville whispered hoarsely. "With Malfoy?"
"Crooks is... um... tracking him," Hermione replied, trying her best to remain calm.
Ginny looked up from her book.
"Clever. Just like Toby."
"Rather openly tracking," Neville observed, watching the Slytherin table with a frown. "And Malfoy doesn't seem to mind at all."
The Gryffindors continued to speculate, but Hermione was no longer listening. She was analyzing what she saw: Crooks tolerated her friends, but he never followed them around. What happened last night? She remembered Malfoy's shocked face when she appeared in his bed with the cat. He had threatened to throw Crooks into the dungeons! But he hadn't thrown him. Malfoy's words again diverged from his actions. The stern, cold man with his teasing touches, his attempts to protect her from Tennant, his respectful attitude towards Luna, the rare glimpses of vulnerability... And now this. Hermione suddenly felt ashamed of her plaid flannel pyjamas. He deserved emerald silk; moreover, he deserved...
As if sensing her thoughts, Malfoy looked across the hall at Hermione, and she couldn't help but smile. And he... almost smiled back. Merlin, what was even happening with them?
Hermione ate almost nothing—she was so excited. When Malfoy headed for the exit, Crookshanks still followed closely behind him. The entire hall stared at Hermione again, and all she could do was shrug, as if it had been planned all along.***
The rest of the morning proved no less strange. New rules introduced after Hogwarts' safety briefing included protective charms on all classroom doors. The problem was that many professors' defensive charm skills were far from what their positions required. Of course, Hermione understood—not everyone had spent a year escaping Death Eaters and Snatchers—but on the other hand, was it too much to expect that the people responsible for educating young wizards could conjure a decent defense? Alas, reality proved bleak.
Slughorn was one of the best—he simply blocked the classroom door to take a nap. Hermione earned no friendly points that morning by removing the charms so students could enter the classroom and advanced Potions began on time.
At least Slughorn's charms were simple. Other professors experimented with far more complex variations. Trelawney, for instance, cast protective charms that only allowed entry to those on a list or who had submitted their homework. And Madam Hooch enchanted the Quidditch pitch entrance so that one could only enter on a broom—which proved disastrous for the Slytherin first-years, known for their inability to fly. One boy fell directly into the Lake, and Hagrid had to fish him out.
Some professors overdid it entirely. Madam Pince installed cunning charms on the library door that turned debtors into toads. Soon the corridor was filled with backpacks and amphibians, and no one could pass, so McGonagall had to personally deal with the aftermath.
Not every student, even those who had experienced the war, possessed good skills in creating and breaking defensive charms. Harry hadn't covered this topic in DA meetings, so only a few seventh- and eighth-years mastered them perfectly. Hermione and Ginny were strong in them, as was Justin, who had once cast complex charms to protect his family and constantly tested them. Some older Ravenclaws could set powerful charms, but none of them could break those charms.
Slytherin had the most experts in breaking charms: Theo Nott and—unexpectedly—Daphne and Astoria Greengrass. (Which made one wonder about their home environment). And of course, Malfoy became renowned as a charm-breaker after the incident with Trelawney's staircase. So, McGonagall soon began tasking him with fixing protective charms throughout the school. Hermione couldn't help but smile, watching the formidable-looking Malfoy march down the DADA corridor with wand at the ready and Crookshanks following closely behind him. Neither Malfoy nor his ginger shadow appeared at lunch. Hermione arrived early for Divination, nervously adjusting her pleated blue skirt and V-neck jumper, praying that her partner would show up. Finally, she would learn the truth.
Malfoy soon arrived, but was not inclined to give explanations. Frowning, he simply plopped onto a pouffe, making the tiny table wobble, sending cups, mirrors, and twigs scattering.
"Sinistra botched the Astronomy Tower's defenses," he grumbled. "The door only opened when Venus was in opposition to Earth."
"But that's impossible, Mercury and Venus never..."
"I know," Malfoy growled through clenched teeth.
Hermione remained silent—she simply tidied the table and poured Malfoy some tea. He, of course, didn't thank her, but he drank three cups and moodily crunched on the offered biscuits. Trelawney still hadn't appeared—which was strange. The last time Hermione had seen the Divination professor was at the foot of the enchanted staircase, muttering something about a spiritual quest. Well, more time to study. Leaving her partner to sulk, Hermione delved into Vablatsky's chapter on crystal gazing. Their classmates drank tea and discussed the new security measures.
"She turned me into a toad!" a Hufflepuff seventh-year complained.
"A toad?" her friend asked skeptically.
"Well, I... I got better!"
Malfoy put down his cup and looked sternly at Hermione.
"You should put a leash on your ginger monster."
"Where is he now?"
Malfoy refilled his cup and dropped three sugar cubes into it. Then he began moving his index finger over the cup, and the liquid obediently swirled. Hermione watched, mesmerized, feeling her cheeks warm.
"Probably waiting for me at the staircase," he said grimly. And for the first time today, he met her gaze. "Call off your monster."
"Crookshanks is not a monster. He's a very intelligent magical creature."
"I know," Malfoy said, sipping his tea. Hermione nearly gasped.
"What happened?" she asked. Malfoy hesitated. Hermione leaned closer. "Tell me."
Malfoy gave her a meaningful look.
"And what do I get in return?"
"I'll tell one magical creature to stop following you—or at least do it less conspicuously," Hermione added, since she couldn't vouch for the half-Kneazle's behavior.
Draco crossed his arms, still irritated.
"That... that beast stole my wand last night."
"He what?!" Hermione squeaked.
"I put my wand on the bed, and that... cat swiped it." He probably thought you were going to hex him, Hermione thought.
"Filthy beast," Malfoy proclaimed. "He's lucky I got him out of the dungeons."
"And that's it?" Hermione asked. "He just left?"
"No," he admitted. "We might have encountered a snake."
Hermione gasped.
"What snake?"
"A python." He took a sip of tea. "Possibly two pythons."
"TWO PY..."
"Quiet," he warned, placing his cup on the table. "They're watching us."
Hermione glanced around the room—he was right: the chatter had died down, and two dozen pairs of eyes were staring at them. She tried to speak more quietly.
"Two pythons?" she demanded. "And you without your wand? What happened? Are you alright? What about Crookshanks?"
"Of course we're alright," Malfoy scoffed. "Nothing to it. The cat threw me my wand, and I dealt with the snakes quickly."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She highly doubted it was that simple. Two pythons wouldn't just let go of prey like Crookshanks. Hermione tried to stand, but Malfoy grabbed her wrist under the table.
"Your cat's fine," he said.
"Was he strangled? Bitten?"
"One python latched onto his paw and... dragged him..." Malfoy released her wrist. "I handled it. Removed the snake's jaw."
"How?" Hermione asked.
Malfoy smirked smugly.
"Literally. Removed its jaw along with all its other bones."
"Ew," Hermione shuddered in disgust.
"Did the same to the second snake. Wonder what Barnaby will do now—doubt he'll ask Pomfrey for Skele-Gro."
Hermione stared at the Slytherin, speechless.
Malfoy had saved her cat. Did she even know him?
"CLASS!" Trelawney's disheveled head unexpectedly emerged from the trapdoor in the floor, and the professor laboriously climbed from the ladder into the room. "None of you received my message?"
Everyone looked confused.
"What message, Professor?" Parvati asked.
Their Divination teacher looked disappointed.
"I was sure at least Mr. Malfoy would perceive my dilemma. I communed through the spirit world, but alas, all your thoughts proved too carnal!"
Malfoy smirked, and Hermione rolled her eyes. His thoughts were always about carnal pleasures.
"What happened, Professor?" Romilda asked.
"I was trapped," Trelawney whispered dramatically, waving her long-sleeved arms. "Trapped outside, unable to enter! A dark spirit blocked my path..."
That familiar malicious expression from their early years appeared on Malfoy's face. Hermione suddenly remembered he had been the last to enter the classroom.
"You cast the protective charms to keep her out, didn't you, Malfoy?" she hissed.
"If you can call that protection. A first-year could have done it."
"Why would you..."
He shrugged.
"Wanted some peace and quiet."
Hermione couldn't respond—Trelawney, who had been moaning about "darkness clouding her Inner Eye," began talking about something truly important.
"However, the test will proceed as plannnnnnnnned..." she chanted, drawn out. "We shall not allow the evil that roams the material world to prevaillllllll..."
Malfoy smirked again, and Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. Surely evil spirits had more important things to do than disrupt Divination tests.
Trelawney waved her wand, and the fireplace flared, filling the room with clouds of incense. Everyone coughed.
"Begone, dark specters!" the Seer wailed, spreading her arms. "Bow before the Beacon of Knowledge!"
Most students stared at the professor with open mouths, but Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow mockingly.
"I have Seen the way," Trelawney continued. "Today's assessment will not be about mundane facts, but about matters of the heart and soul."
Hermione's amusement instantly vanished. What did that mean—mundane facts?
"Gaze, gaze upon the objects before you," Trelawney intoned. "Perceive, perceive what lies within your hearts. It matters not what you know, but what you feel."
"She definitely doesn't want to know what I feel," Hermione muttered.
"We have thirty minutes left in class," Trelawney continued. "Let each of you gaze upon the objects on the table and record what your heart whispers to you."
Malfoy gave a wry smirk, and Hermione suddenly realized—whatever his heart whispered, she would probably agree with him for the first time. Obediently swirling her tea leaves, she stared into the scrying mirror while Malfoy studied the lines on his palm and shuffled twigs. Then he began scribbling on his parchment.
"What are you writing?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.
"Making it up as I go. And no, I'm not letting you copy."
"I wasn't going to!" Hermione retorted. She immediately buried herself in her own parchment.
"I should hope not," Malfoy said. "Considering I'm still quite displeased with you."
Hermione looked up.
"Because of Crookshanks?"
"I thought we reached an understanding yesterday." Malfoy's voice was cold as he filled the parchment with nonsense in neat, sprawling handwriting. "And yet you appeared last night in those dreadful plaid pyjamas, ready to defend your honor, with a book and a cat in tow."
She squirmed nervously on her pouffe.
"I... lost track of time," she lied.
"Hermione Granger does not lose track of time." Malfoy put down his quill and leaned closer. "You changed your mind about our... something."
Hermione twirled one of the xylomancy twigs between her fingers.
"I... I chickened out."
Malfoy pulled away, his gaze icy.
"You don't believe I can change."
"I had doubts," she admitted.
His jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
Hermione forced herself to continue:
"I thought, what if everything you said... was just a ploy. That you're just trying to..."
"CLASS!" Trelawney perched on her rostrum, hands on her hips. "Calm your minds! I see so much tension, confusion, and doubt! It impedes my Inner Eye!"
Silence fell over the classroom. Hermione stole a glance at Malfoy—he looked so tense he could impede the Inner Eye of the entire castle.
"Broadcast happy thoughts!" Trelawney chanted. "Positive auras of light, the sweetest nectar of the spiritual realm!"
Malfoy returned to his parchment, his lips pursed mournfully.
"Malfoy," Hermione said. He ignored her. "Draco."
He looked up—his face an impenetrable Slytherin mask.
"I'm sorry. I should have trusted you."
Silence.
"I know you wouldn't mock me while being sweaty," she blurted out. Malfoy frowned, and Hermione wanted to pull the pink tablecloth over her head. Merlin, she was awful at all this.
But she continued anyway:
"I know you're not fallen, or cursed, or... um... vicious."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Vicious?"
"Well, maybe just a tiny bit..." She gathered her courage and smiled timidly. "...I hope."
Malfoy blinked, frozen with his quill in hand.
"Sex really means something to me, Draco," she whispered. "You mean..." Her nerves failed her again, and her voice trembled.
Silence. Hermione stared at the twigs, feeling her cheeks burn. And then she felt a light touch on her bare knee under the tablecloth.
"I understand," Malfoy said.
"It's... a little scary," she breathed.
His fingers gently squeezed her knee.
"Yes, Hermione," he agreed softly. "It is indeed a little scary."
For a few seconds, they silently acknowledged the new reality where Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger could mean something together. Perhaps their words had created some strange, oxygen-deprived alternate world—because Hermione suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
"THE CLOUDS HAVE PARTED!" Trelawney announced. "Hand in your papers!"
A bronze gong sounded, and the parchments curled into scrolls on their own, flying into a basket by the professor's armchair.
Hermione gasped—she hadn't finished! But then she waved it off—her answers were nonsense anyway. Shoving her beaded purse into her skirt pocket, she stood up, but Malfoy blocked her path. His silvery eyes studied her.
"No cats tonight. And no plaid pyjamas."
She nodded, looking around the room. No one was watching—everyone was too eager to leave the classroom quickly.
"You hurt my feelings, you know," Malfoy continued dramatically. "I'll require serious comforting."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"So you're offering your redemption in exchange for sex?"
"I'm not offering anything," he smirked.
"Cunning." Hermione scoffed. "Well, I'm not promising anything either."
Turning on her heels, Hermione plunged into the crowd, wanting to escape that piercing gaze.***
That evening, Hermione once again stood in the middle of her dormitory, wondering what to wear to bed. Romilda, as usual, was absent—her roommate would definitely fail her NEWTs.
Hermione pointed her wand at her trunk.
"Accio orthopedic socks," she said. A cloth pouch floated out of the trunk and plopped onto the carpet. With trembling hands, Hermione untied the knot and pulled out several oddly shaped pairs of socks. Then a completely different set of clothes came to light.
The black, lacy, pink-ribboned lingerie was one of those racy items left behind by the Weasley twins in the tent. The set looked untouched, unworn, but Hermione, pursing her lips, still cast a powerful cleaning spell. Then, without giving herself time to think, she put on the lingerie without looking in the mirror.
Trying to style her hair would only make things worse, so Hermione simply brushed it and tied it with a black ribbon. Then she put on her fluffy red bathrobe, shoved her wand into her pocket, and sat on the dormitory sofa with her Durmstrang: A Guide textbook. There was a fascinating chapter about officers (prefects) who were supposed to...
With a flash of white light, Hermione landed with a thump on Malfoy's bed. She scrambled to her knees, looking around. The bed hangings were wide open, revealing the entire room. Walnut furniture, patterned rugs, and a green velvet armchair glowed in the light of a single lamp. In the fireplace, lined with black glass blocks, a fire crackled cheerfully.
But two things transformed this room from a typical Victorian bedroom with luxurious furniture into something special. Tiny lights, scattered throughout the space, like distant twinkling stars.
And the man standing by the fireplace. Malfoy was the embodiment of aristocracy in a black and green paisley silk bathrobe and embroidered slippers. The lights played in his eyes, and his hair gleamed gold.
"Mulled wine?" he offered softly.
Hermione swallowed, clutching the collar of her robe.
"Yes, please."
Malfoy poured wine from a small cauldron into two mugs. She watched him sink onto the sofa, the slit of his robe revealing his long, bare legs.
"Well, come here," he offered her a steaming mug.
Hermione blinked.
"Leave the bed?"
Malfoy nodded.
"But the traps..." she began.
"They're gone."
Hermione crawled to the edge of the mattress and cautiously poked her head out. The tiny lights winked back at her.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely certain." He looked directly into her eyes. "Trust me."
"But how..."
"Hermione." Malfoy's voice was firm. "I'm offering you a deal. Sit on the sofa and drink your wine, and I'll tell you about this room."
Hermione squinted for a moment, then jumped off the bed. The floor didn't explode the second she landed, so she cautiously walked towards the sofa, leaving footprints on the velvety rug. Malfoy smirked, handing her a mug.
"Shut up," she said, flopping onto the sofa. She took a sip of the hot wine. "These little lights are just adorable."
"Ah, so you see them," he said. "Those lights are for your protection."
Hermione looked up at him.
"I don't understand."
He shifted on the sofa, turning towards her and extending his arm along the backrest. His expression became serious.
"Tennant brought several items to school with him. Cursed. Dangerous."
"So, each light..."
Malfoy nodded.
"Yes. Each light indicates a cursed item. Not to be touched."
Hermione surveyed the room with new interest, noticing the silver boxes and crystal trinkets marked by the lights. Her gaze slid to the dresser—and there it was—a tiny light flickering on the hand mirror she had liked so much the night of the Ravenclaw party. She shuddered.
"How did you do that?" Hermione asked. "How did you disarm the traps? How did you mark the items? What do they do? How did you determine..."
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"To speed things up, allow someone else to answer those questions. Tally!" Hermione nearly dropped her mug as a house-elf appeared in the bedroom with a loud crack. It was a very small elf, young and clearly female. She was dressed in a starched white pillowcase embroidered with the Hogwarts crest.
"Mr. Malfoy, sir.... Nooooo!" the elf shrieked and hid under the table.
"Tally!" Malfoy hissed. "Tally, what are you doing?"
"It's Miss Granger!" Tally wailed. "Miss Granger! Noooooo!" Loud sobs filled the room.
Malfoy put down his mug, stood up, and walked across the room to look under the table.
"Explain yourself, Tally!"
"Little knitted traps!" Tally sobbed. "Miss Granger leaves little knitted traps! Tally doesn't want to be free! NOT S.P.E.W.! NOT S.P.E.W.!"
"Traps? We disarmed all the traps, remember? And what the devil is S.P.E.W.?" Malfoy's gaze shifted to Hermione. "I know Tennant often drinks himself into a stupor, but the elves always clean up after him."
"No socks! No hats!" Tally shrieked.
Malfoy frowned.
"Tally, if you don't stop..."
Hermione awkwardly cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable.
"Um, Malfoy?" She felt her face flush. "It's not her fault. It's... mine."
Malfoy stood to his full height, giving her a regal look of disapproval.
"Are you saying it's your fault an elf is weeping under my table?"
Hermione nodded.
"The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
Tally let out a piercing wail, and Malfoy narrowed his eyes.
"S.P.E.W.," he repeated.
"S.P.E.W. The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. In fourth year, I started a campaign to free the elves, leaving knitted hats everywhere."
"And scarves... AND SOCKS!" Tally poked her head out from under the table. She was hiccuping, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Come out at once, Tally," Malfoy ordered.
"You can't order her!" Hermione protested, and the elf dissolved into sobs again. Malfoy gave Hermione a murderous glare, then turned back to the elf.
"Tally, this is my room, and I will order you if I want to. Come out, and I promise Miss Granger won't put socks on you."
Tally hid behind Malfoy, burying her tear-streaked face in his luxurious bathrobe.
"This is why I don't do good deeds," the wizard muttered.
Then he returned to his imperious tone.
"Granger, tell Tally you won't try to free her."
"But she should be free!" Hermione protested. "I have..."
Malfoy's eyes flashed, and she snorted.
"Fine. Tally, I won't try to free you."
"No clothes?" the elf asked in a tiny voice. "No hats, no socks, no scarves for Tally?"
"No clothes. I promise."
"Deal?" Malfoy carefully detached the elf's long fingers from his silk robe. "Excellent. Now tell Miss Granger about the traps. And the lights."
"Tally helped Mr. Malfoy remove the traps," the elf said proudly. Her ears drooped sadly. "Tally didn't know she was doing it for Miss Granger."
Hermione smiled at the elf, who only cringed in fear in response.
"That was very kind of you, Tally." Using an elf to find Tennant's Death Eater traps was quite sensible. House-elves were very sensitive to magical traces.
"Would you mind telling me about the lights, Tally?" Hermione asked. "If you don't mind?"
Tally looked at Malfoy, who waved a weary hand.
"Mr. Rowley brought bad things here," Tally said. "Very bad."
"Really?" Hermione was intrigued. "Like these glass beads?"
"They strangle." Charming.
"And this long silver box?"
"The box bites."
"And the letter opener?"
"The knife cuts, blood flows onto the tray, which..."
"Are you two done yet?" Malfoy roared. "I must say, I didn't expect this evening to go exactly like this."
"Alright," Hermione conceded. "But I'd like to do an inventory later."
"Fine. Tally, you may go."
"Aren't you going to thank her, Malfoy?"
"Noooooo!" The elf threw herself at his feet. "Don't thank Tally! Tally is a good elf! Only free elves get thanks! Nooooooo!"
Malfoy glared at Hermione.
"Well done."
He turned to Tally.
"I order you to leave the bedroom immediately."
Tally beamed.
"Mr. Malfoy is so kind to Tally!" She vanished with a crack.
Malfoy sat on the sofa with Hermione and picked up his mug, glaring sternly at the witch.
"You are not to touch any of these lit items, Granger, nor poke them with anything, nor levitate them, nor even breathe on them."
"Of course not," Hermione said.
"Very good." Malfoy took a sip. "We will not discuss this again."
Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again, trying not to giggle. Malfoy looked so annoyed and defeated, despite all his efforts. It was quite endearing. Despotic, authoritarian, dark-magically endearing.
She just nodded and took a sip of wine. The hot, spiced drink spread warmth through her body. Silence fell, broken only by the crackling fire in the fireplace and the steady swing of the antique clock's pendulum. Hermione leaned back against the cushions, gazing at the flickering lights that marked dangerous items. If only she could study them without activating them. Maybe...
They finished their wine and Malfoy set the mugs on the table. Turning to her, he froze—the silence stretched. Hermione suddenly became acutely aware of how ridiculous she looked in her fluffy robe, with her bare feet tucked under her. Malfoy, meanwhile, was the embodiment of aristocratic grace—his robe open, revealing his muscular chest and pale, long legs.
Unconsciously, Hermione leaned forward, drawn by his sardonic smile. Less than two feet separated them—all it would take was to shift her left knee, lean her right hand on the back of the sofa, lean in... No. She had a plan for this evening, if, of course, she was brave enough.
Hermione stood, ignoring Malfoy's displeased grimace, and retrieved the Durmstrang guide from the bed. Her heart pounded as she settled back onto the black leather cushions and placed the book between them.
Malfoy raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"I want to," her voice sounded much calmer than Hermione felt, "begin negotiations."
Pulling out her wand, Hermione transfigured the book into a polished wooden serving tray with legs.
"I suppose," she said primly, "it's time to lay some things on the table."