The next morning, Hermione sat in the common room listening to Harry recount what had happened on the train.
"He was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" Ron said when Harry finished.
"Well —" Hermione hesitated. "I'm not sure. It would be very like Malfoy to inflate his own importance. You should have heard him boasting last night." Her face went red as she relived it. "It was just — just — ugh!" The words failed her entirely.
Ron and Harry exchanged a glance and did their best not to laugh.
"Honestly, Hermione, you should've just hexed him," Ron said, grinning.
"He really got under your skin," Harry observed. "I can only think of one other time that happened — third year, when you punched him."
Hermione scowled. "He did not get under my skin."
"Really?" Ron snorted. "You look like you're about to Transfigure him into a ferret."
"It sounds like he's going to be as unbearable as ever this year," Harry agreed, smirking. "I mean — look how worked up you are just talking about him."
"I am not worked up," Hermione said, standing from the sofa. "We should get going." She crossed to the portrait hole.
"It's rude to point," Ron snapped at a first-year who had been murmuring about Harry behind his hand. The boy turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm.
Ron sniggered.
"I love being a sixth-year. And we get free periods this year — whole chunks of time to just sit up here and relax."
"We're going to need every one of those periods for studying," Hermione corrected as they set off down the corridor. "And you don't have to be so rude to first-years."
"Hold it." She threw out an arm to stop a passing fourth-year who was clutching a lime-green disc. "Fanged Frisbees are banned. Hand it over."
She took the Frisbee as the boy vanished, grumbling to his friends.
"See? It isn't hard to be polite about it," Hermione said, as Ron tugged the Frisbee cleanly from her grip. "Hey — wait —"
"I've always wanted one of these."
"Ron, you know it's against the rules. We have to hand it in to —" She was drowned out by a high-pitched giggle from behind them.
Lavender Brown, another sixth-year Gryffindor, was watching Ron with a broad smile as they passed. Hermione glanced at Ron. He looked, to her quiet irritation, rather pleased about it.
"What?" he said, noticing her expression. "I didn't do anything."
"You were clearly encouraging her," Hermione replied, sharper than she'd intended.
Ron shrugged, twirling the Frisbee. "Maybe I'm just being polite. Like you're always telling me to be."
Hermione snatched it back. "There is a difference between polite and flirtatious," she said crisply.
McGonagall had distributed their timetables at breakfast in the Great Hall, and after saying goodbye to Harry and Ron, Hermione walked quickly to Ancient Runes.
She tried to shake off the lingering irritation as she went, but it sat stubbornly in the back of her mind. She took a breath. Classes, at least, she could rely on.
She settled at a desk, arranged her N.E.W.T.-level textbook alongside her quill and parchment, and was already reading ahead when someone pulled out the chair beside her.
"This seat taken?"
"Go ahead," she said, without looking up.
"Thanks." A pause, and then — with the precise edge of someone who knew exactly what they were doing — "Didn't think you'd let a Slytherin sit next to you, Granger."
Hermione's head came up at once. Theodore Nott sat back in the chair with the air of someone who was very comfortable with himself, and with being noticed.
She hadn't interacted much with him over the years. She knew he was close with Malfoy, which was precisely what made his easy grin so confusing.
"I don't judge people by their house," she said simply. "Only by their behaviour."
"Good to know." The smirk softened into something that looked surprisingly 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 properly met," he said. "Shake my hand, Granger."
She considered this, then reached across. "I suppose we haven't." His handshake was brief and firm.
"Well," Nott said, "if we're going to be sitting next to each other all term, you may as well call me by my first name."
"Alright, Theodore."
A flicker of something — surprise, quickly masked — crossed his face before a smirk replaced it. "Theo, if it's all the same to you."
"Alright then, Theo," she said, testing the name like she wasn't entirely sure about it. She wasn't entirely sure about him. His father had been at the Ministry last year. She didn't know the full story of what had followed, but she knew he'd been sent to Azkaban alongside Lucius Malfoy. The sudden friendliness was suspicious.
Class began, and Hermione did her best to focus, all while quietly wondering what Theo's angle was.
When it ended, she began packing her bag.
"A fifteen-inch essay on the first day," Theo sighed, tipping his head back. "The nerve."
Hermione laughed. "It is a N.E.W.T. class."
"Maybe we should work on it together sometime."
She paused, books in hand. "I'm not going to do your homework for you, Nott."
Theo's eyes went wide and he shot to his feet. "No — no, that's not what I — I meant we could actually work together —" He ran a hand through his hair, flustered in a way that she found genuinely difficult not to find funny. "I get distracted when I'm working alone. It'd just be — more productive."
"Is that so?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah." He looked at her directly. "I think we could be friends."
Hermione frowned. "I don't imagine Malfoy would appreciate that."
"Draco isn't my keeper. He won't care. If anything, it's Potter who's going to have more to say about it."
Hermione scowled. "Harry's not like that."
"Whatever you say, Granger."
"If I have to call you Theo, then you can use my first name."
"Fair enough." He drew the word out slightly. "Hermione." He held the syllables like he was making a point.
She couldn't quite suppress the laugh. Then, without asking, Theo picked up her bag and slung it over his shoulder.
She stared at him.
He raised his eyebrows. "What? We're going the same way. It's called being friendly. Do Potter and Weasley not carry your bag for you?"
"No," she admitted. "They don't."
"Then they're idiots." He adjusted the strap and started walking.
She fell into step beside him, still slightly wary, but more willing to talk than she'd expected to be. By the time they reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they'd fallen into an easy conversation about the Runes assignment and what the N.E.W.T. curriculum might look like.
Outside the classroom, a cluster of students waited for the lesson to begin. Theo held Hermione's bag just out of her reach when she reached for it, one shoulder against the wall, wearing the particular smile of someone who knew he was being amusing.
"I can't believe Snape actually got the Defence position," he said. "Draco's thrilled, obviously."
"I'd hesitate to say anyone is thrilled about being taught Defence by Snape," Hermione said. "Though I suppose now Draco gets to watch his favourite teacher be unambiguously biased in every class he takes."
Theo grinned. "He's not as awful as you'd think. Draco, I mean."
"Pansy wasn't as awful as I'd expected either," Hermione said. "When we were patrolling the train, she was surprisingly — civil."
"Pansy?" Theo looked genuinely startled. "Huh. That's… actually surprising."
"I thought so too. I'm not complaining."
"Well, after what happened with my father —" Theo started, but didn't finish, because Malfoy's voice cut him off as he strolled up to the two of them.
"Do tell me, Theo —" Malfoy said, with the particular note of a person who has not yet registered something important — "who is this gorgeous girl you're talking to?"
Hermione went very still.
Malfoy was directly behind her. He definitely didn't know it was her.
Theo's lips pressed together against a laugh. He glanced at Hermione's expression — the wide eyes, the silent but very emphatic 'don't you dare' — and reached a decision instantly.
He slung an arm around her shoulders and turned her to face Malfoy with a grin. "I believe you've met Hermione Granger before, Draco." His voice was the definition of casual. "Or — as you just called her — the gorgeous girl."
Pansy, standing a step behind Malfoy, made a sound that might have been a gasp, clapping a hand over her mouth.
Draco's face went through several rapid stages. His expression dropped. Then a dull, unmistakable flush crept up from his collar. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. He took a step back.
"I — that was —" He stopped. There was no clean way out of this.
"Theo, please," Hermione said under her breath, very aware of the heat in her own face.
"Ron!" The relief in Hermione's voice was genuine as she spotted him and Harry coming down the corridor. "Harry!"
But Ron's eyes had already fixed on Theo's arm around her shoulders, and Harry was watching Theo with a carefully neutral expression that wasn't fooling anyone.
"Thank you for the entertainment, Theo," Hermione said, briskly, ducking out from under his arm and taking her bag back. "I think I'll take this now."
Theo let it go with an ease that suggested he'd got everything he'd been after. "We'll sort that study session later, yeah?"
"Maybe. Probably very busy." She was already pulling Harry and Ron toward the classroom. "Lots of homework. Very much. Let's go."
"What was that?" Ron muttered as they crossed the threshold. "Nott, acting like your new best mate."
"We have Runes together. He's being friendly," Hermione said.
"He seemed awfully more than friendly," Harry said evenly.
"He was winding up Malfoy. Honestly, Harry — he's just being nice."
Out in the corridor, Theo had abandoned any pretence of composure and was properly laughing, one hand braced against the wall.
"Will you behave?" Draco said, though the colour hadn't fully left his face.
Pansy tilted her chin toward the ceiling. "You're both children."
"He called her gorgeous!" Theo wheezed. "He called her gorgeous and then couldn't even walk it back when he saw who he was talking about."
"This conversation is finished," Draco said, running a hand through his hair.
Theo wiped his eyes. "I'll take that as my prize."
"It isn't one."
"You should've seen her face," Theo said. "She went completely pink."
"Probably because nobody's ever actually complimented her," Draco said, his voice a shade too loud. "I wasn't even — I was just talking! You could've had your arm around Pansy and I'd have said the same thing."
Pansy folded her arms. "You're saying I'm not gorgeous?"
"Don't start, Pansy." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is done. Can we go inside?"
Theo was still smiling. "Just one last thing," he said. "You have to admit — she did look rather pretty, didn't she? You don't have to fall on a sword for your own pride, Draco."
Draco looked at him with an expression of absolute contempt. "Granger is no better than the dirt under my shoe."
---
"You will now divide," Snape said — having opened the lesson with a lengthy assessment of their collective failure to receive adequate Defence instruction in previous years — "into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."
Hermione turned to Ron with a warm smile. "Want to practice? It'll be a bit like last year —"
"Nott!" Ron yelled across the room.
Harry lifted his head from the desk to look at Ron. "What are you doing?"
Theo looked over, one eyebrow raised. "What's your problem, Weasley?"
"You and me. We're duelling."
"By all means, Mr Weasley," Snape's voice cut in, dry as chalk. "Do let Mr Nott jinx you."
Harry looked at Hermione. "Partners?"
"Yeah," Hermione murmured.
But as they practised their non-verbal jinxes, Hermione kept glancing over at Ron and Theo. Theo was effortless — clean, quiet flicks of his wand that sent Ron stumbling back again and again, face growing redder with each exchange.
She really was trying to focus. She was.
Harry sent a Tickling Jinx at her. She blocked it automatically.
"Ron's really struggling," she said.
"You're both very strange lately," Harry muttered. "It's like you wanted him upset."
Hermione lowered her wand. "What exactly have I done to upset Ron?"
Harry nodded toward Ron and Theo. "You know."
"I didn't ask Theo to put his arm around me — he was baiting Malfoy. Ron would have loved to see that. Malfoy's face was horrified."
Harry raised both hands. "Alright. I hear you. Just — don't get too comfortable with Nott. It feels off."
She sent a wordless jinx at him. "What is that meant to mean, exactly?"
"Pathetic, Weasley," Snape cut in, moving through the room.
He turned his wand on Harry in one fluid movement. Harry's counter-curse came out purely on instinct. "Protego!" — and the force of it knocked Snape back hard into the edge of a desk.
Snape straightened slowly. "Do you recall my mentioning that we are practising non-verbal spells, Potter?"
"Yes," Harry said.
"Yes, sir."
"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor."
Hermione drew a sharp breath. Beside her, Ron's face split into a grin.
Snape's expression didn't change. "Detention, Saturday night, my office. I do not take insolence from anyone, Potter. Not even from the Chosen One."
---
"That was brilliant, Harry," Ron was still chortling as they headed out to break.
"You really shouldn't have said it," Hermione told Harry. She rounded on Ron. "And you shouldn't have challenged Theo — he was taking you apart."
"He tried to jinx me first!" Harry fumed. "I've had enough of being someone's practice dummy. What's Dumbledore thinking, letting Snape teach Defence? Did you hear him going on about Dark Magic — he loves it. All that unfixed, indestructible stuff —"
"Actually," Hermione said, biting her lip, "I thought he sounded rather like you."
Harry stared at her. "Like me?"
"Yes — when you used to tell us what it was really like to face Voldemort. You always said it wasn't about memorising spells. It came down to you, your nerve, and your instincts. Wasn't that exactly what Snape was saying? That real defence isn't in a textbook?"
Harry looked at her. "You need to stop memorising everything you hear, Hermione. It's unsettling."
"It is not unsettling!"
Malfoy knocked into Ron as they filed out of the classroom. "Enjoy getting hexed, do you, Weasley?"
"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron snapped. "And tell that git Nott to keep his hands off Hermione."
Malfoy scoffed. "You may associate with Muggle-borns, but Theo has more sense than you and Potter combined. As if he'd give her a second look." His gaze slid to Hermione with a sneer.
Ron's wand was out in an instant. And in that same instant, Pansy grabbed Malfoy's arm — catching his sleeve as she did so, hauling it back sharply.
He wrenched his arm free. Something moved behind his eyes — fast, and not at all like his usual contemptuous ease.
"Keep your lot on a leash, Granger," Pansy said, ignoring the look Malfoy was giving her as she steered him away from the Gryffindors.
Hermione watched the pair of them go, Malfoy hissing something at Pansy under his breath. They were too far away for her to make it out without a Charm — and too close for her to cast one undetected.
---
After lunch and a free period, the trio made their way down to the dungeons for their double Potions lesson.
"It'll be interesting to see what Slughorn's lessons are like," Hermione said.
"It's odd having all the houses together," Harry remarked, nodding at the group gathered outside the classroom door — Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins milling alongside the Gryffindors.
"Harry!" Ernie Macmillan strode forward with his hand out. "Good lesson this morning, I thought — Shield Charms are old hat for us DA veterans, of course. Hermione, Ron — both well?"
Before either of them could answer, the dungeon door swung open and they filed in.
The classroom was warmer than Hermione remembered from Snape's lessons — lit more brightly, with several cauldrons already bubbling away, their steam carrying a dizzying variety of scents into the air.
The Slytherins settled at the window table. The Ravenclaws took the middle. Harry was already making for the one remaining table, and Hermione hurried after him.
As she neared the large gold cauldron, something hit her low in the chest — a warmth, almost like a hand pressed gently against her — and she found herself stopping to breathe it in.
She glanced at Ron. He was wearing the expression of a person whose brain had temporarily suspended all operations. Harry looked no better. She hoped she didn't look as ridiculous as either of them.
"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front and inflating his considerable chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat strained noticeably, "I've set out a few potions for you to look at — purely out of interest, you understand. These represent what you ought to be capable of after completing your N.E.W.T.s. Who can tell me what this one is?"
He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table.
Hermione's hand was in the air before anyone else had looked up.
Slughorn pointed at her.
"Veritaserum," she answered. "A colourless, odourless potion that compels the drinker to tell the truth. The Ministry uses it — typically only with the consent of the subject, or by Ministry order."
"They also use it in drinking games," Pansy murmured to her housemates. "Maybe Granger should try some and let someone else get a word in."
"Excellent, excellent!" Slughorn moved to the next cauldron. "This one here is fairly well-known — featured in a few Ministry pamphlets lately, too. Who can —?"
Hermione's hand shot up again, faster this time, as though making a point. "Polyjuice Potion," she said before he'd finished gesturing.
"Excellent! And this one?" He paused, and Hermione's hand was already raised. He smiled, slightly bemused. "Yes, my dear?"
"Amortentia."
"Indeed it is. I suppose it's almost foolish to ask if you know what it does," Slughorn said, looking thoroughly pleased.
"It's the most powerful love potion in existence," Hermione said. "It produces a powerful obsession rather than genuine love — something you rightly can't manufacture or imitate. It presents with a mother-of-pearl sheen and smells differently to every person, according to what draws them."
"Precisely right! You identified it by the sheen, I assume?"
"And the smell." She smiled. "I can smell freshly cut grass and new parchment and —" She stopped.
Her eyes had widened. The warmth had rushed up to her face and she looked sharply down at the table, clamping her mouth shut.
Ron raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"Nothing," she said, clearing her throat. "Just — things I like."
"May I ask your name, my dear?" Slughorn asked warmly.
"Hermione Granger, sir," she said, trying not to hear the quiet laughter from around the room.
She was fairly certain she could feel eyes on her from the Slytherin table, and she held out until she caught Pansy's voice, just audible: "Seems even Granger has a weakness for Amortentia. I wonder who she's smelling."
"Granger? Can you be any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger — founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"
"No, sir. I'm Muggle-born."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy lean toward Theo and say something low. They both smirked.
"She's the best in her year," said Harry simply, when Slughorn looked at him for confirmation.
"Very good, Miss Granger. Twenty points to Gryffindor."
Hermione brightened — and caught, in the same moment, the flash of genuine annoyance that crossed Malfoy's face. She looked at Harry.
"He asked," Harry said, shrugging.
"You are the best in the year," Ron added. "I'd have said so myself if he'd come to me first."
"Amortentia doesn't manufacture love, of course," Slughorn continued, turning now to address the class. "Love itself is impossible to imitate. What this potion produces is infatuation — obsession — of a particularly powerful kind. And yes —" he nodded gravely at Malfoy and Theo, both of whom were watching with their characteristic scepticism — "I mean that. When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will never again underestimate what obsessive attachment is capable of."
"And now," he said, becoming brisk again, "we shall begin."
"Sir — you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron on Slughorn's desk.
Slughorn paused with the satisfaction of a man who has been waiting for exactly this question. "That, ladies and gentlemen, is Felix Felicis." He turned to Hermione, who had inhaled sharply enough to be audible. "I rather suspect you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"
"It's liquid luck," Hermione said, her voice bright. "It makes the drinker fortunate in everything they attempt — for the duration of the potion's effect."
The room seemed to sit up as one.
"Quite right — another ten points to Gryffindor. Yes, it's a curious little potion, Felix Felicis. Fiendishly difficult to brew, and catastrophic if you get it wrong. If brewed correctly — as this has been — all your endeavours will tend toward success until the effect wears off."
"Why don't people just drink it constantly, sir?" Terry Boot asked eagerly.
Hermione rolled her eyes, because really.
"Because in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing. Highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly and very rarely —"
"Have you ever taken it, sir?" Michael Corner asked.
"Twice in my life. Once at twenty-four, once at fifty-seven. A tablespoonful each time, taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."
He gazed briefly into some private middle distance, and Hermione found herself wondering what he'd used it for.
"Imagine getting a whole normal year with that stuff," Ron said.
Hermione looked at him, then at Harry, and felt her expression soften. "Normal's dull," she said. "We wouldn't even be friends if things had been normal first year. Remember the troll?"
Harry smiled quietly. "We saved your life that day."
"Harry, you were also the reason I was crying in the bathroom to begin with. I'd say it evens out."
"You're still just as sensitive," Ron muttered.
Hermione looked at him, puzzled.
"And that," said Slughorn, apparently returning to earth, "is the prize I shall be offering in this lesson."
The room fell silent.
"One small bottle of Felix Felicis." He produced a tiny glass vial with a cork in it and held it up. "Enough for twelve hours of luck. From dawn to dusk, every endeavour you attempt will tend to succeed — until the effect wears off."
"Now — a word of caution. Felix Felicis is a prohibited substance in any organised competition, sporting event, examination, or election. The winner is to use it on an ordinary day only. And then watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary."
"So," said Slughorn, turning businesslike, "how do you earn it? Turn to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. You have just over an hour to make the best attempt you can at the Draught of Living Death. I don't expect perfection — it is more complex than anything you've attempted before. But the best result wins Felix. Off you go."
The class erupted into motion. Hermione read the instructions twice, set up her station methodically, and went to the supplies cupboard for her ingredients.
She located the powdered asphodel, wormwood, valerian root, and sloth brain without difficulty. She reached for the sopophorous beans and found the shelf bare.
She looked along the row. Somewhere —
An arm reached over her and plucked a jar from the top shelf, well above her reach.
She looked up. Malfoy held the sopophorous beans a few inches above her eye line, his expression a picture of easy superiority.
"Looking for these, Granger?"
She crossed her arms. "Yes. Hand them over, please."
He made a show of reading the label, slow and deliberate. "I could. But first, tell me why Nott had his arm around you earlier."
Hermione stared at him. "Ask him yourself. He's your friend."
"I could. But you'll give me a straighter answer, especially now that I have something you want."
She kept her expression steady. "Fine. He helped me carry my books. That's all."
Malfoy's smirk didn't waver, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "How terribly chivalrous. Didn't realise you were so helpless."
"Why does it matter to you?" Hermione asked coolly. "If it bothers you that much —"
"Granger, you're barely a passing thought," Malfoy said. "For you to bother me would require me to think about you."
Hermione's expression went thoughtful. "Oh," she said quietly. "I see."
Malfoy looked at her. "What?"
"You have feelings for Theo," she said pleasantly. The expression that swept over his face was genuinely spectacular. "Oh, don't worry," she added, before he could find words. "Your secret is entirely safe with me."
Malfoy's mouth had fallen open. "I — what?! That's — Theo is just —"
"Just what?" Hermione asked, sweetly. "Take your time."
He stared at her.
Hermione reached forward and took the jar from his hand — he had, in his shock, entirely stopped holding onto it. "I'm sure none of the gorgeous girls will believe a word I say, Malfoy," she said over her shoulder as she walked back to her station.
"Try not to embarrass yourself too badly in the practicals," Malfoy called after her, recovering just enough to be annoying. "Not all of us have the Advanced Potion-Making text memorised."
Hermione settled back at her station feeling a particular, very specific, very satisfying sort of calm.
"What did you say to him?" Ron asked, watching her begin her potion.
"Just suggested he might have a soft spot for Theo." She brought her water to a gentle simmer and added the infused wormwood. "He dropped the beans."
Ron blinked. "A soft spot? For Nott? You mean —?"
"I don't mean anything particular," Hermione said, with studied indifference. "I just wanted to watch him lose his composure for once. He shouldn't have held my ingredients above my head. Not my fault he's taller."
Ron was still staring over at Draco, who was now at his own station, muttering furiously to Theo with a distinctly strained expression. "But you think Malfoy and Nott —?"
"I don't think anything," Hermione said. "But it was satisfying."
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "He could've hexed you for that."
"He was too startled to react."
Within ten minutes the dungeon was thick with bluish steam. Hermione's potion had already deepened toward the shade of dark blackcurrant that the instructions listed as the correct halfway point.
Harry leaned over. "Can I borrow your silver knife?"
"Yes." She pushed it across without taking her eyes off the cauldron. The colour had shifted toward a muted purple rather than the lilac she'd been aiming for. She frowned and checked her instructions again.
She kept telling herself to focus, but her mind kept skipping back to the image of Malfoy's face when she'd said it — that perfect, unguarded horror. She couldn't quite stop replaying it.
She glanced toward the Slytherin table. Malfoy had quietly switched seats with Daphne Greengrass, who was now sitting between him and Theo with an expression suggesting she very much wanted to know why. Malfoy's cauldron looked about as purple as hers. Small consolation, perhaps, but she'd take it.
"How are you doing that?" she demanded, staring at Harry's cauldron, which had gone an improbably pale pink.
"Add a clockwise stir after —"
"No — the instructions say counter-clockwise! You have to follow them, Harry."
Harry shrugged and carried on as he was.
Across the table, Ron was cursing softly at something that had come out the colour and consistency of liquorice.
"Time's up," Slughorn called. "Cauldrons down, please."
He moved between the tables, pausing to assess each attempt — a stir here, a careful sniff there. He passed over Ron's with a rueful smile and Ernie's with polite silence. Hermione's earned a nod of approval. And then he reached Harry's, and the delight on his face was immediate and unmistakeable.
"The winner, beyond doubt! Exceptional work, Harry — quite exceptional. Your mother had the same gift, you know. Lily was a truly remarkable Potions student. Here you are — one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised. Use it wisely!"
Hermione stared.
He hadn't followed the instructions. She had done everything correctly — every step, every timing, every precise measure — and Harry, who had apparently gone off the text entirely, had won.
Harry slipped the small golden vial into his inner robe pocket.
"How did you manage that?" Ron whispered as they filed out.
Harry smiled. "Lucky, I suppose."
---
That night, Draco sat in the Slytherin common room with Blaise and Pansy, staring at the fire.
"I cannot believe Potter got the Felix," he muttered.
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "You're not still upset about that, are you? It was meant to motivate us, not personally wound you."
"He's never been anything but rubbish at Potions," Draco said. "He must have cheated."
"Or, hear me out," said Blaise, with the particular boredom of someone who has had this conversation three times already, "Snape just loathed him."
"Shut up, Blaise."
"I'm not one of your lackeys," Blaise said mildly. "Try the tone on someone who responds to it."
Theo and Daphne came in from the corridor, carrying supper boxes. Daphne dropped down beside Pansy and handed her one; Theo settled on the sofa next to Draco and passed boxes to him and Blaise.
"The house-elves weren't pleased about it," Theo said, stretching out. "No dessert. Don't complain to me."
Draco stood up and moved to the armchair across the room with a studied casualness that didn't fool anyone.
The four remaining Slytherins looked at each other. Then at Draco. Then at each other again.
"What in Merlin's name —" Theo started.
"I don't know what you're referring to," Draco said, opening his box.
Blaise laughed once, short and startled.
Daphne leaned forward. "Come off it. I spent the whole dinner sitting next to Theo. He doesn't smell, Draco."
Pansy pressed her lips together, watching Draco with the patient gaze of someone waiting for a particularly interesting act to unfold. "No more cutting remarks? No complaints about me talking too much?"
"I said leave it, Pansy."
The four of them exchanged another look. Theo got to his feet unhurriedly, picked up his box, and sat down next to Draco, simply to test a theory.
Draco stood up and sat on the floor.
Theo blinked. Then Blaise got up and sat on the floor on Draco's other side.
Draco got up again.
"What is wrong with you?!" Theo said, now actually laughing.
"I want to eat here!" Draco said, pointing at a spot across the room.
"Your mother would perish," Pansy said.
"This is ridiculous," Draco announced, picking up his box. "I'm eating in my room."
"Like hell you are," Pansy said. "You were here a moment ago being perfectly irritating, and now you're bouncing around the room like a Bludger. What happened between then and Theo and Daphne walking in?"
"Nothing," Draco snapped.
"It's about Nott having his arm around Granger, isn't it?" Blaise said pleasantly. "Draco, he's not going to give you dragon pox by sitting next to you."
Draco's voice went up two distinct registers. "This has nothing to do with the Mudblood."
The table went quiet.
Daphne, who normally preferred to observe rather than participate, felt her interest sharpen. "Right," she said. "That's why you're the picture of calm."
"Theo put his arm around her for thirty seconds," Draco said stiffly. "I simply don't need him sitting that close to me directly afterwards."
Theo pointed at himself. "Me? Mate — I was having a laugh. I knew it'd get a rise out of you. I didn't think it'd still be bothering you at nine o'clock."
"It's not bothering me."
"What's the thing she said to you, then?" Pansy asked. "In Potions. You were off about Theo all evening, and it started after Potions."
Draco set his box down. "She said something ridiculous. I don't want her having any more ammunition, is all."
"What did she say?" Daphne pressed. "Draco, I will actually hex it out of you."
A pause. Then, through gritted teeth: "She implied I had feelings for Theo. It's completely baseless and entirely absurd."
The silence that followed was approximately three seconds long.
Then Pansy collapsed back onto the sofa laughing.
Theo raised his eyebrows toward Blaise, who nodded slowly, as though confirming something he had already suspected.
"She's clever," Theo said mildly.
Draco rounded on him. "I'm glad you find it funny."
"Draco, think about it for one second," Theo said. "Nobody in their right mind would genuinely think you fancy me. Pansy? Plausible. People have been assuming that for years. Daphne? Sure. Me?" He gestured at himself. "I go for dark hair, to start with. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to get under your skin, and she found the one thing absurd enough to stick."
Pansy had recovered sufficiently to prop herself up on one elbow. "Honestly, Draco. If you were going to develop a soft spot for anyone, Theo has a certain charm —"
"I said enough, Pansy."
Blaise tilted his head. "You handed her that victory, mate. You were flustered enough that she knew it worked. She won that exchange."
"I was not flustered." Draco said it very flatly. "She is simply — incredibly irritating."
"Is she irritating," Daphne asked, with great precision, "or are you furious because she's clever enough to say something so ridiculous that it actually landed?"
"Turn it back on her," Theo said. "Weasley or Potter. Either one. Pick your moment."
Pansy smiled. "Or don't choose. Why not both?"
Blaise looked at Draco. "Don't pretend you're above it."
Draco scoffed. "I'm not." And this time, finally, he sat down.