Back in Runes on Wednesday, Theo pulled a chair around and straddled it in front of Hermione's desk, folding his arms across the back and raising an eyebrow at her.
He had expected to find her there early, and unsurprisingly, they had the classroom entirely to themselves.
Hermione looked up at him through her eyelashes without lifting her head from the essay she was finishing. "Good morning."
"Morning. Quick question."
She set her quill down and looked at him properly. "Yes?"
"Do you really think I'm gay?"
Hermione sputtered. "Sorry?"
Theo chuckled, leaning further back in his chair with the air of someone greatly enjoying themselves. "Word has it that you, Hermione Granger, have been going around implying that I've caught Draco Malfoy's romantic attention. I thought I'd come straight to the source. Pun fully intended."
"I didn't —" Hermione's face went red. "That's not what I — I wasn't being serious!" She straightened up, turning to face him fully. "I cannot believe he told you."
"I'm flattered, genuinely," Theo said, grinning from ear to ear. "Draco's good-looking enough. But I'm afraid he's not my type. I don't go for blondes."
"It was a throwaway comment! I didn't think he'd actually repeat it to anyone!"
"Throwaway, was it?" Theo nodded solemnly. "He practically levitated off his chair when I sat next to him at dinner that evening."
Hermione opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. "That evening? I said it just after lunch."
Theo's eyebrows lifted. "You're proud."
"I am not."
"You are. You wanted to mess with him and it worked better than you planned. Hence the pride."
"No!" she argued.
Theo leaned forward, the grin sharpening into something more mischievous. "You enjoyed watching him squirm."
"You're putting words in my mouth!"
"You liked getting under his skin. Watching him go red in the face and run out of things to say."
Hermione stared at him. Her own face was warm. She hadn't meant to take it as far as it had apparently gone, but she couldn't entirely pretend she hadn't noticed the satisfaction of it, either. Malfoy had been getting under her skin for years — calling her a Mudblood, mocking her marks as though that too were some kind of insult. There was something strange and gratifying about knowing she could return the favour.
"Yeah," she admitted, barely above a whisper.
Theo's grin went wide and bright. "I knew it. Hermione Granger, you are playing a very dangerous game, and you have my full and enthusiastic support."
Hermione's face went pinker. She looked at her desk. "I'm not playing any game. It was one comment. I'm done with it."
Theo stood and replaced his chair as the classroom began to fill with other students. "Of course, of course. Just a harmless comment that made Draco Malfoy squirm and gave you the exact same spark you get when you're the first one to answer a question correctly."
---
When Runes ended, Hermione swung her bag onto her shoulder.
Theo waited, hands in pockets. "Ready?"
"I'm not walking with you," she said pleasantly. "Not after Monday."
"You didn't enjoy Draco calling you gorgeous?"
"No. Surprisingly not." She set off toward the door.
Theo fell in beside her. "You should tell him that."
"You enjoy your friend's suffering far too much."
"Oh, I do. Do you enjoy it too?"
"No. I don't enjoy Harry being embarrassed. Or Ron."
"What about Weasley specifically?"
"What about him?"
"Do you enjoy it when he's upset?"
"You're making me sound like a sadist." She stopped at the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, laughing properly now. "I genuinely do not enjoy my friends' discomfort."
Theo sighed theatrically. "Fair enough. I'll leave you to wait for your lot. I'd rather not have Weasley attempt to Stun me again." He shook his head and headed inside.
Hermione slid down the wall outside the classroom, bag pulled close, trying not to think too hard about what he'd said.
"Waiting for your boyfriends, Granger?"
She looked up. Malfoy was standing a few feet away.
"My what?"
"Potter and Weasley," he said, as though this were obvious. "Have they stopped off for a snog somewhere?"
Hermione stared at him. She genuinely couldn't tell, sometimes, whether he was trying to be offensive or just didn't register how he sounded. "Malfoy," she started — and then couldn't find where to go with it.
"Done already, Granger?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Running out of clever things to say?" He tilted his head. "You seemed full of them last time."
She stood. "Are you finished?"
Malfoy's expression faltered for just a moment. "I haven't started anything, Granger."
"Please," she said. "You've been trying to get a reaction out of me ever since Monday. It's transparent."
"I am not doing anything."
"Theo told me you were practically climbing the walls that evening."
Malfoy's jaw tightened. "Theo doesn't know what he's talking about."
"Of course not." She moved toward the classroom door. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'd rather wait inside."
She was nearly there when his voice caught her.
"I wouldn't wait too long. Weasley seemed rather absorbed in his conversation with Brown when I passed by."
Hermione stopped.
The breath went out of her quietly, like something deflating. Her face went warm in a way she immediately resented. She turned around slowly.
Malfoy hadn't moved. He was watching her with his arms loosely crossed, and there was something in his expression that wasn't quite a smirk — more like its quieter, more certain cousin. He'd been waiting for that. He'd known exactly what he was doing.
"Something wrong, Granger?"
She steadied herself. "Jealous of Lavender Brown?" she said. "Give yourself some credit, Malfoy. You'd need to actually understand me to read me that well."
He looked, if anything, more satisfied. He stepped slightly closer.
"A ditz, is she?"
"Yes," Hermione said, in a very level voice. "She's got nothing to talk about except gossip, her appearance, and the nearest Quidditch player —"
Her eyes went wide. Her hand flew to her mouth. She heard, very clearly, the click of the trap she'd just walked straight into.
"Don't stop on my account," Malfoy said pleasantly. "You were making an excellent case. Tell me more about what a ditz Brown is."
Hermione pressed her lips together. She could feel the heat climbing into her face and wished very much she could vanish.
"I've said plenty."
"Does Weasley know how you feel about him?" He was very quiet now, his voice dropping to something almost thoughtful, which was somehow worse. "Does Potter?"
Hermione stared at him. Ginny had pointed it out over the summer, but Ginny knew her. Ginny was her friend and had been watching her closely for weeks. But if Malfoy could see it — if he'd picked it up from two exchanges in a corridor —
Was she genuinely that obvious?
"I don't even have to do anything," Malfoy murmured. He'd stepped closer; she hadn't noticed until now. His breath was warm on her face. "I can just sit back. And you'll do all the work for me."
He was shoved hard sideways. Harry's wand came up between them.
"Move along, Malfoy."
Malfoy caught his footing, straightened his robes with a sneer, and went. He pushed past Hermione on his way through the door as if she weren't there.
Harry turned to her at once. He put both hands on her arms and looked at her face carefully. "What was he saying to you? Hermione — whatever it was —"
"Class is starting. Let's sit down." She pulled away from him and walked to her seat.
Harry followed. He sat beside her and watched her pull out parchment and begin writing down what Snape had put on the board.
Ron arrived a moment later, expression lifting when he spotted them. "She's already working?"
"Malfoy was messing with her," Harry said.
Hermione put her quill down with a crack. "I am right here," she said.
Both boys leaned back slightly.
Ron cleared his throat. "Malfoy's a git."
"I am perfectly capable of handling Malfoy," Hermione said. "I've been doing it for five years. One more won't make a difference. And yes, Ron — I'm writing things down because I was here before the lesson started, unlike you. Do I even want to know what you were doing that made you late?"
Harry chose his words with care. "He wasn't actually late, Hermione. He just wasn't early."
A beat. Hermione looked at Harry, then at her parchment, and said nothing else.
Snape began the lesson.
---
From across the room, Pansy watched Draco settle into the seat beside her with the expression of a man who had just done something he was pleased with.
"What did you do?" she asked.
"Nothing much," Draco said, looking at the ceiling.
"You had a plan after what Granger said to you," Pansy said. "You mentioned it last night. Something about Weasley."
He shrugged. "I reminded her that her saintly friends aren't actual saints."
Theo was watching Draco's face. His voice was careful when he spoke. "Not that this isn't entertaining," he said, "but you're not actually being — cruel — are you?"
"What?" Draco turned to him.
"She was joking when she said the thing about us on Monday," Theo said. "You know that. But what you're doing now is different. You're not just sparring with her over something she said. You're going after something real."
Pansy's eyes moved to the door just as Hermione came in and slipped into her seat, her head down.
"It's not different from what I always do," Draco said.
"That's not true," Blaise said, joining the conversation from behind his textbook. "You go for Potter. You go for Weasley. You call her a Mudblood. But you've never actually — pressed on something real with her. Until now."
"You're pushing buttons that didn't exist between you two until recently," Pansy said quietly. She watched Hermione across the room, who was apparently scolding Weasley for something. "Draco. Think about why."
Draco didn't answer.
---
After class, Hermione walked out with Ron and Harry, her gaze on the floor.
She'd felt someone's eyes on her throughout the lesson. Every time she'd looked around, nobody was watching.
"Common room? Homework?" Harry suggested.
She nodded once, said nothing, and followed them upstairs.
She settled on the floor by the fire, parchment spread around her.
Ron sprawled in an armchair, textbook open at no particular page. Harry was scribbling notes, checking on Hermione every few minutes with the subtlety of someone who thinks they're being subtle.
The silence lasted almost ten minutes before Lavender Brown appeared over the back of the sofa.
"Harry! Is it true you're Quidditch captain this year?"
Harry blinked. "Er — yeah. I am. Are you interested?"
Lavender laughed. "Godric, no. I just thought I'd cheer you on. It's a shame we haven't got a proper cheer squad. I'd love to organise something for you all."
She perched on the arm of the sofa and twirled a strand of hair around her finger.
"I bet you'd be brilliant at it too, Ron. Honestly, it must be gutting not to have been made captain. Though I suppose you can't be both prefect and captain."
Harry glanced sideways at Hermione with an expression that was just barely not rolling his eyes.
Ron grinned broadly. "You think I could've been captain?"
"Oh, absolutely. If Harry wasn't Harry, you'd be the obvious choice."
Harry made a small, wounded noise.
Hermione stole a look. Ron looked like he'd been Charmed. Lavender shifted further along the sofa, all but edging Harry off it. Harry dropped onto the floor and elbowed Hermione pointedly.
Hermione took a breath.
"Lavender," she said, keeping her tone light, "don't you have a Defence Against the Dark Arts essay to finish?"
Lavender glanced at her, a brief flicker of irritation passing over her face before the smile snapped back into place. "I've already finished it, actually. Some of us don't need all evening."
Ron snorted. "Maybe ask Lavender for tips, Hermione. She'd probably knock it out in half the time."
Hermione turned to look at him. "I put care into my work, Ron. If I didn't, I'd be done just as quickly."
"Speaking of which," Lavender said lightly, "is it true Harry's actually beating you in Potions this year?"
The common room went a fraction quieter.
"Harry is working very hard," Hermione said, in a tone that could have etched glass.
Lavender smiled. "Is that what your excuse is, then?"
"Excuse for what?"
"For not being perfect anymore." She gestured vaguely. "You've always been ahead of everyone, Hermione. But lately — you seem a bit… off. Maybe because you spend all your time studying instead of, I don't know, actually having fun. Ron and I have fun."
"Ron and I," Hermione said.
Lavender blinked. "What?"
"The correct phrase is 'Ron and I.' You used 'Ron and me.'"
Lavender gave a small, delighted laugh. "See what I mean? You just have to be right. Who genuinely cares whether it's I or me?"
"When you're the subject of a sentence, you use 'I' —"
"Is she always like this, Ron?" Lavender asked, turning to him with a conspirator's smile.
"She just likes to be right," Ron said, with a shrug.
"She normally is," Harry added quickly.
"Well." Lavender patted Ron's arm and smiled. "If you ever want to actually relax with someone instead of being corrected every five minutes, you know where I am." She hopped off the sofa arm and strolled away.
Hermione shut her textbook with a decisive snap. "I'll be in the library," she said, gathering her things and standing. "Don't follow me."
---
"Ron's dense, Hermione," Ginny said the next day at lunch, resting her chin on her hand. "Forget about him."
"She basically called me an idiot."
"She called you a nitpick. There's a difference."
Hermione stabbed a roasted potato. "She was being utterly condescending while getting basic grammar wrong. The irony."
"Lavender Brown is not bright," Ginny said. "This is known. We have always known this."
"She was talking down to me, and Ron just sat there watching her do it. At least Harry tried."
"Ron doesn't notice these things," Ginny said. "Save your energy."
Harry dropped into the seat across from them. "You could have told us you were coming down for lunch," he said pointedly.
"Hermione's about ready to aim a thesaurus at Lavender Brown," Ginny told him.
Harry groaned. "Because of the grammar thing and —"
Hermione fixed him with a look.
He redirected. "Ron doesn't seem to mind Lavender's… general enthusiasm," he said carefully. "She was very complimentary about his Quidditch prospects."
Hermione made a small sound of frustration. "She is so obviously throwing herself at him it's embarrassing. I honestly don't know how anyone in the room stands it."
"I don't entirely understand why it bothers you so much," Harry said honestly. "I mean — you weren't this worked up when I was making an idiot of myself over Cho."
"Gee, I wonder why," Ginny said, with a tone that suggested she was talking to the world's most oblivious person.
"Don't," Hermione warned her.
"I'm just —"
"I know what you're saying," Hermione cut in, going slightly pink. "And you're wrong."
Ginny raised an eyebrow and looked along the table. "Dean!" she called.
"Ginny —"
Ginny ignored her completely. "Just a quick question. Do you think Hermione's got a thing for Ron?"
Dean looked at Hermione. Then at Harry, who was very carefully looking at the ceiling. Then back at Ginny, grinning broadly. "Well, if you ask me —"
"Nobody is asking," Hermione said crisply.
"I am," Ginny said. "Yes or no."
Harry jumped in. "Don't. Not unless you want a face full of Stinging Jinx."
Ginny groaned. "Harry! She's been snapping at everyone for a week and it always comes back to the same thing. If it's not about Ron, what is it?"
"It's the principle," Hermione said. "Lavender is setting a very poor example, she's insufferable, and she has the self-awareness of a garden gnome. I caught her looking at her own reflection in her syrup at breakfast."
A brief silence.
"You're telling us," Harry said slowly, "that you are this invested because of feminism."
"Yes."
"You've completely lost it," Harry said.
"I have not!" Hermione gathered her things and stood. "I'm going to Potions early. You're both being ridiculous."
"We've still got an hour," Harry said.
"I don't care. Apparently I need the time."
---
Draco stretched lazily over the worktable, keeping an eye on his cauldron while Daphne talked — or complained, rather, since Daphne in storytelling mode was rarely anything else.
"Can you believe her?" She huffed. "She went through the entire family dinner explaining why Thornwell would be a good match for me."
Blaise looked up from the fire. "If your mother could see how you're sitting on this table —"
Pansy hit Blaise's arm. "Don't. Tell me more about Thornwell. Is this the Gobstones one?"
Draco measured out a precise amount of powdered asphodel and tipped it into his cauldron with a steady hand. "Thornwell," he drawled. "Isn't he the one who considers Gobstones tournament play a legitimate social accomplishment?"
Daphne dropped her head into her hands. "He talked about Gobstones strategy for forty-five minutes, Draco. At dinner. To my parents."
"Riveting," Blaise said.
"My father loved it. Said he's a 'suitable match for a troubled young girl.'" Daphne sat up. "I am not troubled."
None of them said anything.
"I am not troubled!"
Blaise sighed. "Well. Compared to Astoria —"
Daphne picked up Draco's textbook and threw it at him.
"Just because she's perfect doesn't make me troubled."
"Your parents also adore Pansy," Theo pointed out. "So perhaps —"
Pansy smiled serenely. "I am perfect."
Draco snorted under his breath.
"That's your future wife you're talking about," Pansy told him briskly.
"If you were my wife," Draco said, without looking up from his cauldron, "I'd book the cell next to my father's."
The table erupted. Even Daphne forgot she was offended. Pansy pressed a hand to her chest with theatrical horror.
"You wound me," she said.
"Which is exactly why it'll never happen."
"Then who?" Pansy challenged. It was an old game between them — their families had long expected it, but their mothers had privately decided they were better kept as friends.
Theo pointed across the room. "Granger?"
Draco's spoon hit the floor.
He turned. Granger had just walked in, early and apparently oblivious to anyone else in the room, making straight for her station with her nose already in her Potions textbook.
Draco looked at the back of her head for a moment. Then picked up his spoon.
"Already going for extra credit, Granger?" Pansy called.
Granger startled, looked round, took in the room full of Slytherins, and seemed quietly resigned to it. "I didn't realise anyone else was here. I just wanted a head start." She turned back to her station.
"I believe that's called cheating," Pansy said.
Granger closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm not in the mood, alright? You're all already working too. Can we just be civil for an hour?"
Draco chuckled to himself, and Pansy clocked it immediately.
"Gryffindors and their dramatics," Daphne said, lying back on the table.
"I'm not engaging," Granger said under her breath.
The room settled into silence — the productive kind, punctuated only by bubbling cauldrons and the occasional rustle of parchment. Draco focused on his work, aware, without quite meaning to be, of the quiet sounds from Granger's station.
He could feel Pansy watching him.
Pansy shifted and leaned toward Theo, whispering something.
"What are you two plotting?" Blaise asked.
Pansy mimed zipping her lips.
Draco assessed the situation. Pansy and a scheme were a well-established hazard. He decided the cleanest way to short-circuit whatever she was planning was to act first.
"Planning to ignore us the entire hour, Granger?" he called.
Pansy's eyes lit up with a quiet satisfaction she was clearly trying not to show.
Daphne tilted her head back to look at Granger upside down, grinning.
Nothing from Granger. Just the careful sound of a knife making contact with a chopping board.
"No sarcastic comeback?" Draco tried again. He watched her very carefully this time, though he was doing a decent job of looking as if he weren't.
Still nothing.
"She won't even look up to tell me off for lying on the table," Daphne noted.
"Would you listen if she did?" Draco asked.
"No," Daphne said. "But it's nice to be told."
"And people wonder why your parents think you're difficult," Blaise muttered.
There. Just barely — a flick of her eyes toward them, there and gone again in under a second. He straightened slightly.
"Alright, Draco," Theo said. "You tried. She's not biting. Leave her alone."
"She bit," Draco said, quietly, to himself. He let the silence settle again before resuming. "How's your mother, Blaise? Still seeing that Romanian fellow?"
Granger looked up from her cauldron. Not at them — but she'd looked up.
Blaise frowned. "She's well, as far as I know."
"Think she'll go for another marriage? What would that be — number seven? Eight?" Draco kept his voice light.
Blaise shot him a look. Daphne turned her head to study Draco with visible curiosity.
Theo got up from his stool, crossed the room, and sat down on the bench beside Granger.
The entire Slytherin table went quiet.
"Ignore him," Theo said, settling in. "Where are Potter and Weasley?"
Granger glanced up, met his eyes, and looked back at her cauldron.
Draco's jaw had set. He watched Theo lean in and say something quieter this time — something Draco couldn't make out. Whatever it was, Granger smiled at it.
"Careful, Nott," Draco said, with studied laziness. "She helped put your father in Azkaban. Might want to watch your back."
The words were out before he'd properly thought them through.
Theo's easy expression closed off. He turned slowly. Granger's knife had gone still.
"I didn't put anyone in Azkaban," she said quietly. She wasn't looking at Draco. She was looking at Theo, her face carrying something that looked very much like guilt. "Their own choices did that."
Theo recovered before she could say anything else. "Leave it, Draco," he said evenly. "Unless you fancy discussing what your own family was up to that night."
Pansy leaned toward Blaise. "Do you think Granger's worked out she's suddenly the most interesting person in the room?"
Blaise chuckled softly. "Jealous Theo can get her to talk, Draco?"
"As if," Draco said.
Daphne shrieked. She lunged for Draco's cauldron just as it foamed over the rim, her wand out in an instant to dampen the flame beneath it. "Honestly, Draco!" She glared at him. "Are you trying to disfigure us?"
"I had it under control," he said.
"You did not have it under control. You were too busy winding up Granger to watch your own cauldron."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Granger press her lips together against a smile.
"Enjoying yourself, Granger?" he said, keeping his tone easy.
She looked up and met his gaze. "Maybe if you spent less effort trying to provoke everyone, Malfoy, you'd have brewed it correctly the first time."
Draco opened his mouth — and the dungeon door swung open.
"Oh, dear me," said Slughorn cheerfully, surveying the room. "You've all started already. Well — initiative, initiative! Miss Granger, excellent to see you taking the subject seriously."
Granger gave the professor a warm smile that Draco somehow found deeply irritating.
Students began filing in. Daphne hopped off the counter.
"Theo," she said, moving to her own station, "do come and stand near me. In case Draco decides to ruin another potion."