Hermione sat in the common room the following morning, listening as Harry recounted everything that had happened on the train.
"He was showing off for Parkinson, obviously," Ron said when Harry finished.
"I'm not sure about that," Hermione said, turning it over. "It would be like Malfoy to overstate his own importance. You should have heard him last night, going on about it." She pulled a face, the memory sharpening her irritation all over again. "It was just — just — ugh!" she burst out, losing the word she wanted and substituting a noise of pure frustration instead.
Ron and Harry exchanged a look and made a joint effort not to laugh.
"You should've just hexed him," Ron said, a teasing grin spreading across his face.
"He really got under your skin," Harry observed. "The only other time I can remember you looking quite this put-out was when you punched him in third year."
"He did not get under my skin," Hermione said flatly.
"Really?" Ron snorted. "Because you look like you're about thirty seconds from Transfiguring him into a ferret."
"I am not worked up," Hermione announced, standing from the sofa and smoothing her robes. "We should get going."
They climbed through the portrait hole into the corridor, where Ron snapped at a diminutive first-year who'd been whispering about Harry behind his hand. The boy turned scarlet and tumbled out of the hole in a panic.
Ron sniggered.
"I do love being a sixth-year. Free periods. We can just sit up here and do nothing."
Hermione gave him a look. "We are going to need every one of those free periods for studying. And you don't need to be so sharp with the first-years." She scanned the corridor as they walked, then flung out an arm, stopping a passing fourth-year who was carrying a lime-green disc. "Fanged Frisbees are banned. Hand it over."
She took the confiscated disc as the boy slunk off muttering, and Ron immediately lifted it from her hands.
"Hey —"
"I've always wanted one of these," Ron said, turning it admiringly.
"Ron, it's against the rules — we have to turn it in to —" She was cut off by a high-pitched giggle from behind them.
She turned. Lavender Brown, a sixth-year Gryffindor, was watching Ron with an expression that could most generously be described as devoted. Hermione turned back to Ron — and found he looked rather pleased with himself.
Something tightened unpleasantly in her chest. It wasn't that she cared whether Ron noticed Lavender, exactly. It wasn't. But the way he was grinning, smugly and obviously enjoying the attention, made her stomach do something uncomfortable.
"What?" Ron said, clocking her expression. "I didn't do anything."
"You were encouraging her, Ronald," Hermione said, her tone coming out sharper than she'd meant it to.
Ron shrugged, still twirling the Fanged Frisbee. "Maybe I was just being friendly. Like you're always saying."
Hermione snatched the Frisbee back from him. "There is a difference between being friendly and flirting," she hissed.
McGonagall had distributed their class schedules in the Great Hall, and Hermione bid Harry and Ron goodbye as she hurried off to Ancient Runes.
The corridors were heaving, and Hermione used the walk to let go of her irritation. Classes were starting. She could breathe.
She settled into her desk, pulled out her NEWT-level textbook, a quill, and parchment, and began flipping through the opening chapter to get the lay of the term.
"This seat taken?" a voice asked.
"Go ahead," she said, not bothering to look up as she read.
"Thanks," the boy replied, dropping into the chair beside her. She continued reading until a familiar quality in his voice made her look up.
"Didn't think you'd be happy to let a Slytherin sit next to you."
She found herself looking at Theodore Nott. She'd barely interacted with him in five years of sharing classes — he'd always been at Malfoy's shoulder, not much more than a background figure to her.
"I don't sort people by their House," she said, offering him a polite smile. "Only by how they behave."
"Good to know," he said, and the sneer she'd expected softened into something more genuine. "Nott. Theodore Nott." He held out his hand.
Hermione looked at it. "I know who you are, Nott. We've been in classes together since we were eleven."
"But we've never actually been introduced." He kept his hand out. "Shake my hand, Granger."
Hermione looked at it a moment longer, then gave in and shook it. "I suppose we haven't."
"If I'm going to sit next to you all term, you might as well use my given name."
"Alright — Theodore."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly covered. "Theo. Most people say Theo."
"Alright, Theo," she tried, and it felt strange on her tongue.
He had never been particularly showy about tormenting her, Harry, and Ron — not the way Malfoy was. But the sudden warmth of manner was puzzling, and she was wary. His father had been at the Ministry last year. Sent to Azkaban alongside Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. Whatever Theo's own leanings were, she didn't know.
Still, class began, and she paid attention.
When the professor dismissed them with a substantial essay to show for it, Theo leaned back in his chair and groaned. "Fifteen inches and it's only day one."
"It is a NEWT course," Hermione said, beginning to pack her bag.
"Maybe we could work on it together."
She paused. "I'm not doing your homework, Nott."
"No! That's — no." He was on his feet at once, looking flustered. "I only meant it might be easier with company. I'm dreadful at staying on task."
"Is that so," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair. "Besides, I think we could be friends."
"I imagine Malfoy would have something to say about that."
"Draco's not my keeper. He won't care." Theo paused. "If anything, it'll be Potter who has the problem."
"Harry's not like that."
"Whatever you say, Granger."
"If I have to call you Theo," she said, "you should use my first name too."
His mouth curved. "Alright, Hermione." He said her name with a pointed emphasis that was clearly meant to be ridiculous.
She couldn't help laughing.
He reached over and lifted her bag from the desk in one easy motion, swinging it over his own shoulder. "Merlin, that weighs a ton."
Hermione stared at him.
Theo raised an eyebrow. "What? We're going the same direction. It's called being civilised. Don't Potter and Weasley ever carry your bag for you?"
"Actually, no," she admitted, watching him adjust the strap. "They've never offered."
"Then they're idiots," he said simply, and started walking. She fell into step beside him.
They fell naturally into conversation about their class and the essay as they climbed toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts corridor. When they arrived, a handful of students were already milling outside, waiting.
Hermione reached for her bag and Theo held it just out of reach, grinning. "I can't believe Snape finally got the Defence position," he said. "Draco's absolutely thrilled, of course."
"Thrilled isn't the word I'd use for anyone having Snape as a professor," Hermione said, "but I can't imagine a more biased setup."
Theo grinned. "You know, he's not as awful as you think. Draco."
Hermione considered this. "Actually, Pansy surprised me on the patrol. She wasn't — well. She was civil."
Theo blinked. "Pansy? Huh." He seemed genuinely surprised. "That's not nothing."
"I know. Very odd. I'm not complaining."
"After what happened with my father —" Theo began, then stopped.
"Who is this gorgeous bird you're speaking with?" Malfoy's voice cut in from behind her.
Hermione went very still. She hadn't heard him approach. She could see from Theo's expression that he knew exactly who was standing behind her, and from the way Theo's lips were twitching, he was not about to be helpful.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Theo said pleasantly.
"Introduce me, or are you afraid I'll steal her away?" Draco said, and Hermione could practically hear the smirk.
Theo glanced at Hermione. Her eyes were sending him a clear, silent message — please don't. Which, naturally, only made him more certain.
He draped an arm around her shoulders and turned her around with a grin. "Draco, I believe you already know Hermione Granger." He paused, clearly savouring it. "Or as you just called her — 'the gorgeous bird.'"
There was a sharp intake of breath from Pansy, who pressed a hand to her mouth.
Draco's face went a spectacular shade of red. He stared at Hermione as if he'd looked away from a particularly unpleasant Transfiguration assignment and come back to find it had bitten him.
"Theo, please," Hermione murmured, deeply uncomfortable.
Draco opened and closed his mouth. "I didn't —" He stopped himself.
"Hermione?" Ron's voice came from behind her, sharp and too quick. Harry was beside him, studying Theo with narrowed eyes.
"Ron! Harry!" Hermione stepped smartly out of Theo's arm and turned to face them. "I'll take my bag now, Theo, thanks."
Theo held it out to her, looking entirely too pleased with the situation. "We'll plan that study session. Yeah?"
"Maybe," Hermione said, already walking. "I'll be very busy, I'm sure. Lots of work in every class." She pulled Harry and Ron into the classroom.
"What was all that?" Ron muttered, still frowning over his shoulder.
"He's in Runes with me. He was being friendly."
"He seemed like a bit more than friendly," Harry said.
"He was winding up Malfoy. That's all."
Theo was still outside the room, laughing loud enough that Hermione could hear it through the door.
"Will you compose yourself?" Draco said, the words doing nothing to mask how thoroughly he'd been rattled.
"He called her gorgeous!" Theo wheezed. "He called her gorgeous, and then he couldn't take it back when he realised — the look on his face —"
"You're impossible," Draco muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.
Pansy watched them with great interest. "You should have seen her face," Theo managed, beginning to recover. "She went bright red."
"Probably because no one's ever said anything nice about her," Draco said, his voice sharp and defensive. "I wasn't even complimenting her. I was talking. If you'd had your arm around Pansy, I'd have said the same thing."
Pansy turned to him slowly. "You're saying I'm not gorgeous?"
"Don't start, Pansy." Draco turned toward the classroom. "Can we go inside now? This conversation is over."
"One last thing," Theo said, almost fully composed now. "You've got to admit — she wasn't exactly easy on the eyes, was she? Just hypothetically."
"Granger," Draco said, with the measured patience of someone trying not to hex his best friend, "is no better than the dirt under my shoe."
The class session itself was an unpleasant tour through how little faith Snape had in their collective ability to defend themselves.
"You will now divide into pairs," he finally announced, having apparently exhausted his lecture on their incompetence. "One partner will attempt to cast a jinx without speaking. The other will attempt to repel it, also without speaking. Carry on."
Hermione turned to Ron, smiling. "Partners? It'll be like DA practice."
Ron wasn't paying her any attention. He had already spotted Theo across the room. "Nott!"
Harry lifted his head from his desk. "What are you doing?"
"You and me," Ron said, getting to his feet. "We're having a duel."
"You are not duelling," Snape's voice came, dry and unimpressed. "By all means, Mr Weasley. Let Mr Nott jinx you."
Harry looked at Hermione with a small resigned shrug. "Partners?"
"Yes," she said.
But as they worked, Hermione kept finding her attention drifting to Ron and Theo. Theo hit Ron with jinx after jinx, barely appearing to try, while Ron's face went steadily redder. It was effortless. It was almost impressive.
Harry, noticing her distraction, sent a silent Tickling Jinx at her.
She blocked it just in time, gasping. "Ron's really struggling."
"So are you," Harry said pointedly. "And you're supposed to be focused on me, not him."
"I'm focused," she said.
Harry lowered his wand slightly. "You've both been so strange lately. It's like you're trying to upset him."
Hermione dropped her wand arm. "Sorry?" She stared at him. "What exactly have I done to upset Ron, Harry? Specifically."
"You know," Harry said, nodding toward Theo and Ron.
"It's not as though I asked Theo to put his arm around me. He was winding up Malfoy. Ron would've loved seeing Malfoy's face — he was horrified!"
"Alright, alright." Harry raised both hands. "Just don't get too comfortable with Nott. Something about this feels off to me."
Hermione sent a silent Jelly-Legs Jinx at him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Pathetic, Weasley," Snape said, as Theo hit Ron squarely in the chest for the fifth time. "Here — let me demonstrate —"
His wand swung toward Harry with such speed that Harry's response was pure reflex.
"Protego!"
The Shield Charm knocked Snape hard into the desk behind him. The room went very still.
"Do you recall," Snape said, very quietly, "that we are practising non-verbal spells, Mr Potter?"
Harry's jaw tightened. "Yes."
"Yes, sir."
"There's no need to call me 'sir', Professor."
Hermione's sharp intake of breath was drowned out by Ron's laugh of pure delight.
"Detention. Saturday night. My office." Snape's gaze didn't waver. "I do not tolerate impertinence, Mr Potter. Not even from the Chosen One."
"That was brilliant," Ron said, once they were out in the corridor after class.
"You really shouldn't have done it," Hermione said, though she was looking at Ron when she said it. "And you should not have duelled with Theo. He was eating you alive."
"He tried to jinx me!" Harry said.
"Harry, he was following instructions. And —" she turned slightly toward Ron — "you challenged him."
"Well," said Hermione, redirecting, "I thought he actually sounded a bit like you."
Harry blinked. "Like me?"
"When you were telling us last year what it feels like to face Voldemort — that it wasn't about memorising spells, that it came down to your wits and your nerve — wasn't that exactly what Snape was saying?"
Harry stared at her. "You need to stop memorising every conversation you've ever had, Hermione. It's getting eerie."
"It's not eerie!"
Malfoy knocked into Ron as they reached the corridor. "Enjoy getting hexed, Weasley?"
"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron snapped. "And while you're at it, tell Nott to keep his hands to himself."
"You think Theo would bother?" Malfoy scoffed. He looked at Hermione with his usual contempt. "He's got considerably better taste."
Ron had his wand out in an instant. Pansy stepped neatly forward and caught Malfoy's arm — her hand going to his sleeve as she did — and he snapped his arm away from her so fast and so sharply that Hermione saw the panic flash through his eyes before he could compose himself. He looked at Pansy as if she'd done something unforgivable.
Pansy kept her expression neutral. "Keep your Gryffindors in check, Granger," she said, and pushed Malfoy away from them down the corridor.
Hermione watched them go, Malfoy hissing something at Pansy in a low, furious voice. They were too far away for her to make it out.
Their free period passed in the common room, and then it was time for their double Potions lesson.
"It'll be interesting to see how Slughorn's approach compares to what we're used to," Hermione said as they wound down toward the dungeons.
"Strange seeing all the different houses mixed in one class," Harry said, nodding at the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Slytherins gathered outside the door.
"Harry," said Ernie Macmillan, pushing forward importantly and extending his hand. "Didn't get the chance this morning in Defence. Good lesson, I thought — Shield Charms are old territory for us old DA lags, of course." He nodded. "And Ron — Hermione?"
Before either could respond, the door swung open and they filed inside.
The dungeon was warmer than Hermione remembered it under Snape. Several potions were already brewing on Slughorn's demonstration benches, and their vapours mingled in the air into something rich and complex and almost overwhelmingly pleasant. Hermione breathed in and felt the tension leave her shoulders without meaning to let it go.
The Slytherins settled at the table by the window. Ravenclaws clustered around the middle. Harry had already spotted the last remaining table — a large gold cauldron stationed on top of it — and was heading toward it. Hermione followed, and as she approached, the scent grew stronger and more layered, and she found herself breathing it in without quite meaning to.
She glanced at Ron across the table. He had that dopey, distracted look. Harry was not much better. She wondered, a little uncomfortably, whether she looked the same.
"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his considerable chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat strained, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at — just out of interest, you know. These are the sorts of things you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. Can anyone tell me what this one is?"
Hermione's hand was in the air before anyone else had finished reading the question. Slughorn pointed at her.
"Veritaserum," she said. "A colourless, odourless potion that compels the drinker to tell the truth. The Ministry uses it, though typically only at the drinker's request or under specific legal circumstances."
"They also use it in drinking games," Pansy murmured to her housemates. "Maybe Granger should try one and let someone else answer for once."
"Very good!" said Slughorn. "Now — this one here —"
Hermione's hand was already up. "Polyjuice Potion, sir," she said before he finished pointing.
"Excellent! And this one?" He looked almost bemused now.
"Amortentia," Hermione said.
"Indeed! And I assume you recognise it by its characteristic properties?"
"Yes — the mother-of-pearl sheen, and the smell. It's different for everyone, according to what attracts them." She inhaled unconsciously, and then smiled. "I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and —"
She stopped herself. Her face went pink.
"And?" Ron asked, leaning forward with a knowing grin.
"Nothing," she said, quickly. "Just — things I like."
"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn.
"Hermione Granger, sir," she said, aware of the snickering from other tables, and ignoring it.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy lean toward Theo and murmur something. Both of them smirked.
"Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger — founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?" Slughorn asked, delighted.
"No, sir. I'm Muggle-born."
"I see," Slughorn said, eyeing her and then Harry with great interest. "She's the best in your year?"
"Yes, sir," Harry said.
"Your friend speaks very highly of you, Miss Granger. Twenty points to Gryffindor."
Hermione brightened, grinning first at her professor, and then — she couldn't help it — at the look of undisguised irritation that crossed Malfoy's face. She looked at Harry. "You told him?"
"He asked," Harry said, shrugging.
"Well, you are the best in the year," Ron said. "I'd have said so too."
"Amortentia doesn't manufacture love, of course," Slughorn was saying, and the room settled again. "Love cannot be made or imitated. What this creates is powerful infatuation — obsession. It is, perhaps, the most dangerous potion in this room. Yes," he added, catching the sceptical looks from Malfoy and Theo, "I mean that entirely. When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love."
He then turned to the black cauldron on his desk, and Hermione's breath caught.
"This is Felix Felicis, Miss Granger," he said, smiling at her audible gasp.
"Liquid luck," she said. "It makes you lucky — everything you attempt succeeds, at least until the effect wears off."
"Precisely. Another ten points to Gryffindor." Slughorn produced a tiny glass bottle with a cork stopper. "Enough for twelve hours of luck. From dawn till dusk, your endeavours will tend to succeed. This is your prize for today's lesson — awarded to whoever makes the best attempt at the Draught of Living Death. Turn to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. You have just over an hour. Off you go."
Hermione was at the ingredients cupboard in moments, gathering powdered root of asphodel, wormwood, valerian root, and sloth brain with practiced efficiency. She scanned the shelves for sopophorous beans and found the shelf empty.
She looked again, more urgently. She needed those beans.
An arm reached over her and plucked a jar from the top shelf, just out of her natural reach.
She looked up. Draco Malfoy was holding the sopophorous beans above her head with an expression of pleasant satisfaction.
"Looking for these, Granger?"
"Yes," she said crisply. "Hand them over."
"I could," he said, examining the label as though it were of great personal interest. "But first — why was Theo's arm around you earlier?"
"Ask him. He's your friend."
"See, I could. But I think you'd give me a straighter answer. Especially now that I have something you need."
"Fine." She leaned in slightly, keeping her voice level. "He was being friendly. He carried my books. That's it."
Malfoy's smirk didn't waver. "How very gallant. Didn't realise you needed carrying."
"Why does it matter to you?" Hermione asked. "If it bothers you that much —"
"You're not important enough to bother me, Granger," he said easily. "For you to bother me, I'd have to think about you."
Hermione paused, looking at him for a moment.
"Oh," she said, something dawning in her expression. "I think I understand now."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Understand what?"
"You've got a thing for Theo," she said, watching his face with interest.
All colour left it. Then a great deal of it returned.
"I —" His voice came out strangulated. "What?!"
"Oh, don't worry," Hermione said pleasantly. "Your secret's safe with me." She reached over, plucked the jar from his suddenly slackened grip, and walked back to her station.
"Don't ruin your potion too badly, Malfoy," she added over her shoulder. "You'll need the luck."
She slid back into her seat, quietly satisfied. It was good to know she could get under his skin just as easily as he did hers. Not that he got under her skin. That was beside the point.
"What did you say to him?" Ron asked, watching Malfoy's frozen expression from across the table.
"I simply pointed out that he seems rather invested in Theo," she said, beginning her potion and letting the water come to a simmer before adding her infused wormwood.
Ron blinked. "In — in Theo? As in, you think Malfoy —?"
"I don't think anything," Hermione said, adding a clockwise stir. "I just wanted the sopophorous beans. It worked."
"Blimey," Ron whispered, still staring at Malfoy. "He could've hexed you for that."
"He was too appalled to do anything."
Within ten minutes the room was thick with bluish steam, and Hermione's potion had already achieved the smooth, blackcurrant-coloured look the book described as the ideal halfway point. She checked her progress carefully, pulled her silver knife from her bag when Harry asked to borrow it, and handed it over without looking up.
She looked around the room. Her eyes snagged on the Slytherin table. Malfoy had swapped seats with Daphne Greengrass, placing her squarely between him and Theo. He looked thoroughly ill at ease, and his potion was roughly the same dark purple as hers — which was, at least, reassuring.
She looked over at Harry's cauldron and stopped.
"How are you doing that?" she demanded. His potion was pale pink — closer to the correct colour than anything else she could see.
"Try adding a clockwise stir," he said.
"The book says counter-clockwise!" she said, appalled. "Harry, you have to follow the instructions."
Harry shrugged and continued.
"And time's up!" Slughorn called. "Stop stirring, please!"
He moved between the tables at a leisurely pace, peering into cauldrons, giving the occasional stir or sniff. He passed over Ron's liquorice-coloured effort with a long-suffering look, gave Hermione's potion a nod of approval, and then he reached Harry's cauldron. His face transformed.
"The clear winner!" he announced, beaming. "Excellent work, Harry! Good Lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent — she had a remarkable gift for Potions, your mother. Here you are, then — Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it wisely!"
Hermione stared.
It wasn't right. He hadn't followed the instructions. He hadn't done any of it the way the book said. How had he —
Harry tucked the tiny bottle into his inner pocket.
"How did you do it?" Ron whispered as they left the dungeon.
Harry's mouth curved. "Got lucky, I suppose."
That evening, the Slytherin common room firelight threw long shadows across the stone floor as Draco settled into his usual chair. Blaise was draped over the settee. Pansy sat across from him, watching the fire.
"I still can't believe Potter got the potion," Draco muttered.
"You're not still on about that," Pansy said.
"He's been atrocious at Potions for six years. He must have cheated."
"Or," Blaise said, in the voice he used when he had already had this conversation three times and found it tedious all three times, "Snape just despised him."
"Snape never let his feelings affect his marking." Draco scowled. "That's not Snape's style."
"You sure about that?" Blaise asked.
Draco ignored him.
Theo and Daphne came in a few minutes later carrying a collection of small boxes, which they distributed without ceremony. Theo dropped into the seat beside Draco, stretching out. "Don't expect dessert. The elves were difficult."
Draco stood up immediately, moved to a different chair, and reached for his box without comment.
The others looked at each other.
"Right," Theo said, raising an eyebrow. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Draco said, not looking at him.
Blaise snorted.
"You were completely normal until two seconds ago," Daphne said, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "I've just spent an hour with him, Draco. He doesn't carry contagious diseases."
Pansy studied him. "No more snide remarks?"
"Shut up, Pansy."
Theo looked at Draco, then at the distance Draco had put between them, and quietly stood up, moving his chair three feet closer. Draco moved immediately to the floor. Theo followed. Draco was on his feet again, moving to the opposite end of the room.
"What is wrong with you?" Theo asked, starting to laugh.
"I just want to eat here!" Draco said.
"Your mother would have apoplexy if she could see you," Pansy said, already opening her box. "Oh — French toast. Daphne, you're a genius."
Theo glanced at Blaise, who gave a small, dry nod. They stood together and sat on either side of Draco, who shot to his feet.
Pansy dissolved. "You're bouncing off the walls!"
"I am not!"
"You were fine until Theo and Daphne came back. Well — you were being insufferable about Potter and the potion, but you were normal. What happened?"
"Nothing happened," Draco said, and sat back down on the floor as far from Theo as the common room permitted.
"Is this about Granger?" Blaise asked, leaning forward with an expression of mild, detached interest. "Granger's little comment from this afternoon, specifically?"
"This has nothing to do with the Mudblood," Draco said, about five times more emphatically than the statement warranted.
Daphne sat up properly, crossing her legs beneath her. She generally preferred to watch rather than intervene — but this was becoming interesting enough to justify participation.
"You're very calm about all this," she observed.
Draco didn't respond.
"Mate," Theo said, "I was winding you up earlier. I'm not losing my mind over Granger. I knew it'd get to you — I just didn't think you'd still be at it eight hours later."
"She has this ridiculous idea about you," Draco said, the word coming out like an accusation. "I don't need her getting any more."
"What idea?" Pansy pressed.
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "She said something. During Potions."
"What did she say, Draco?" Daphne asked.
"If you don't tell us," Blaise said, "I'm going to guess, and you're not going to like my guesses."
Draco crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Crossed them again. "She thinks," he said, through barely-parted teeth, "that I have a thing for Theo."
There was a silence.
Pansy broke first. She went completely sideways into the arm of the settee, laughing.
Theo tilted his head. "She's smart, I'll give her that."
Draco's head snapped up. "What?"
"Think about it," Theo said, waving a hand. "Half of Hogwarts thinks Pansy and I secretly run your social life. The other half thinks Daphne and you are some sort of tragic love story. But me? No one thinks that. So she picked the one thing that had no logic behind it, and it still got to you all day."
Pansy was still laughing, lying flat on the settee now.
"It's not funny," Draco said.
"It's very funny," Blaise said.
"Granger won that round," Theo said, "because you let her. If you'd just looked bored, she'd have had nothing."
Draco was quiet for a moment, the cogs turning. "Turn it back on her," he said finally. "Potter or Weasley. Her choice."
"Why not both?" Pansy suggested, recovering enough to sit up.
Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco. "You're not above it."
"Obviously not," Draco said.