Pansy lay across her bed, thumbing through Witch Weekly. "I cannot believe you willingly subjected yourself to dinner with Slughorn."
Daphne sighed. "It's not subjecting myself. There'll be stimulating conversation and—"
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was speaking to Astoria. Where has your sister hidden you?" Pansy's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Come on — what's the real reason?"
"Don't be insufferable. If you must know, I'm curious. Slughorn's little gatherings are where you can glean all sorts of useful things, if you listen closely enough. Potter and Granger will be there, and who knows what they might let slip."
"Ah. So this is about Granger."
Daphne rolled her eyes. "You make it sound like I fancy her."
"No — you're just afraid Theo does."
"I simply want to understand what everyone finds so entertaining about the girl."
"Well, don't let me stop you." Pansy laughed.
Daphne snatched that month's issue of Witch Weekly from Pansy's hands. "When I come back, you'd better not still be reading this rubbish magazine." She glanced at the cover. "Honestly, Pans — 'How to Bewitch a Wizard in Ten Days'? It's ridiculous."
She opened the door. "Oh—" she said softly, nodding at Theo, who was making his way up the corridor toward them. "Were you looking for me?"
Theo shook his head. "Nah, Daph — just looking for Pansy." He barely spared her a glance as he slipped past her into the room.
"Blaise, do be a dear and wait for me!" Daphne called, hurrying down the stairs.
"You couldn't have said she looked nice?" Pansy asked Theo once the door had closed behind him.
His brow furrowed. "Daphne doesn't need me to tell her she's pretty to know she is."
Pansy bit the inside of her cheek and decided to hold her tongue. "What can I do for you, Theodore?"
"Draco."
Pansy swung her legs off the bed and sat upright, attention sharpened. "What about Draco?"
Theo crossed his arms, his casual posture offset by the gravity in his expression. "Not that I'm not enjoying Hermione's company," he began, smirking at Pansy's incredulous look, "but I'd like to know where exactly this plan of yours is going."
"Enjoying Granger's company?" Pansy repeated, as though the concept were physically painful. "Draco won't talk to me — and it's not for lack of trying."
"And Hermione?"
"Potter's little group will have noticed the change in him by now. They'll start digging soon enough. I'd rather have Granger on our side before they do."
Theo scoffed. "Then why don't you put your charm to work and start flirting with Potter?"
"Ew, Theodore!" Pansy gasped. "As if I'd allow Potter anywhere near me, let alone— I can't even say it!"
Theo smirked, clearly relishing her horror. "Fine. Don't get into bed with the enemy. But Granger won't be able to get anything out of Draco either way."
---
Daphne walked with Blaise toward Slughorn's quarters, her arm tucked through his. "So how are you? Anyone interesting you're talking to?"
Blaise sighed. "I don't know what Theo is up to, Daphne."
Her eyes widened. "I never said—"
"You didn't have to!" Blaise argued. "You're obviously smitten."
"Don't be ridiculous," Daphne huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
Blaise didn't respond, knocking instead on the door to Slughorn's quarters.
Slughorn opened it, beaming at the two Slytherins. "Ah, Mr Zabini! Miss Greengrass! I'm so glad you could join us!" He stepped aside to let them in.
Blaise nodded at the professor, allowing Daphne to enter first.
Slughorn's quarters were as opulent as ever — warm light from floating candles, polished silver platters, the scent of spiced pumpkin soup mingling with aged Firewhisky. A small group was already gathered around the central table: McLaggen, Bobbin, and — to Daphne's mild irritation — Hermione Granger, seated at the far end, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"Just in time!" Slughorn clapped his hands together. "Take a seat, take a seat. We were just discussing the importance of connections in shaping one's future."
Blaise guided Daphne to her seat and pulled her chair out for her.
"You can't say I was never a gentleman," he whispered, settling into the chair beside her.
Daphne's attention drifted elsewhere almost immediately — to Potter's conspicuous absence, and to the way McLaggen kept cracking jokes and then glancing toward Granger as though seeking her approval.
"Connections are the most valuable thing we'll leave Hogwarts with," McLaggen was saying. "Isn't that how most people make it? Nearly everyone who works at Hogwarts already had a connection with Dumbledore. I plan to go into the Ministry after graduation."
Daphne traced the rim of her goblet with one finger as she listened. McLaggen's need to impress was grating, and she found herself stealing glances at Granger, who wore a politely restrained expression — tight-lipped, and with eyes that betrayed her complete disinterest in the monologue.
"There's merit in that thinking," Slughorn replied warmly, glancing over. "Any thoughts, Miss Granger?"
"I'm not sure I agree, actually," Granger said. "Hard work and talent ought to matter more than who you happen to know."
McLaggen leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Let's be honest, though — hard work only carries you so far. It's who you know that opens doors."
"I'd rather earn my way than have it handed to me," Granger said simply. "At least then I know I actually deserve it."
Something flickered behind McLaggen's eyes. He pressed his lips together and raised his hands in mock defeat.
The rest of the evening passed in pleasant-enough dinner conversation. When Granger finally excused herself to the ladies' room, Daphne did the same.
---
She was at the mirror, tidying her eye makeup, when Granger stepped out of the stall and noticed her.
"Excuse me," Granger murmured politely, moving to the sink.
Daphne stepped out of her way, idly inspecting her nails as she spoke. "McLaggen seems rather taken with you tonight."
Granger stilled for the briefest moment before turning on the tap. "He seems taken with everyone, really. I think he simply enjoys the sound of his own voice."
Daphne let her gaze drift to Granger's reflection. "I'd say you've caught his attention specifically."
"Then I'm sure he'll find me very dull very quickly." Granger turned off the tap and reached for a hand towel.
"You're not interested? He's rather… rugged."
Granger turned to face her. "Is there a point to this, or are you just having a gossip?"
"I'm only saying McLaggen is obviously interested. Maybe you should go for it."
"That's not going to happen." Granger sighed. "So if you'll excuse me, Greengrass—"
"So I'm Greengrass, but Theo gets to be on a first-name basis?"
Granger gave a short, baffled laugh. "Merlin, you're all so strangely codependent. It's called being friendly."
"Look, Granger, I'd hate to break your heart, but Theo simply isn't interested in someone like you."
Granger stared at her for a long moment. Then she shook her head. "You're actually mental." She turned for the door. "Goodnight."
---
Ginny walked into Hermione's dormitory a couple of hours later, slightly surprised to find her already there. "You're back early."
"Don't get me started, Ginny," Hermione said flatly.
Ginny raised an eyebrow and made her way over. "What happened?"
Hermione sighed, sitting cross-legged on her bed with a book open in her lap that she clearly wasn't reading. "It's just not my sort of thing — these parties."
Ginny sat down across from her and rolled her eyes. "How long did it take you to come up with that excuse? Come off it, Hermione."
"It's exhausting!" Hermione snapped, shutting her book. "McLaggen wouldn't stop talking, Slughorn kept asking after Harry, and then Greengrass cornered me in the ladies' room!"
Ginny frowned. "Why?"
"Something about McLaggen fancying me." Hermione groaned, leaning back against her headboard.
Ginny went quiet, picking at the quilt.
Hermione sat up straighter. "It's mental, right? I'd sooner deal with a Blast-Ended Skrewt than McLaggen."
"I mean…" Ginny hesitated, clearly suppressing a grin.
"I'm not saying you should go out with him, but…"
Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands.
"He did keep looking over at you during Quidditch tryouts."
"That is not true."
"It absolutely is. You were just too busy watching Ron to notice." Ginny's tone was amused. "What's Greengrass's angle, anyway? Why does she care about McLaggen?"
"That is exactly what I can't work out!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing her pillow and hugging it to her chest. "She was all smug about it, telling me I should go for it — and then she started on about Theo as if that was somehow relevant."
"Theo?" Ginny blinked. "What's he got to do with it?"
"I haven't the faintest idea! Apparently I'm not allowed to call him by his first name because it's too familiar." Hermione shook her head. "The whole lot of them are completely off their rockers."
Ginny smirked. "So… Greengrass is jealous."
"What?"
Ginny sighed. "Hermione, you need to spend less time with my dim-witted brother and Harry. She likes Nott. It's obvious."
"Well, I don't particularly care."
---
The Slytherin common room was quiet, the shifting green light of the lake the only illumination in the vast room. Most students had gone to bed, leaving Draco nearly alone save for a couple of stragglers hunched over parchment.
The heavy door swung open, and Daphne's unmistakable laugh echoed through the room as she stumbled in, leaning against Blaise.
"What are you still doing up?" Blaise asked, heading over.
"Thinking," Draco murmured, pulling his gaze from the fire. He took in Daphne's flushed cheeks and heightened spirits. "I didn't realise Slughorn was serving Firewhisky tonight."
Blaise grunted in agreement.
"I'll walk her up. Don't stay too late." He steered Daphne toward the dormitory stairs.
Draco nodded.
A while after they'd gone, he got to his feet and slipped out of the common room.
It was well past curfew, and he was banking on not crossing any professors or prefects.
The dungeon corridors were cold and eerily silent, the air heavy with damp stone. Draco walked with deliberate purpose, his footsteps barely a sound against the flagstones. The torchlight made the shadows stretch and writhe as though mocking him.
The staircases shifted and turned as he made his way up to the seventh floor. He paused by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy — that oafish wizard who'd attempted to teach trolls ballet. It always irritated his mother. She could hold forth for hours on the indignity of it.
The castle was quiet but for its usual creaks and groans.
With a steadying breath, he focused. He needed the room. He needed to work on his task — his father had been foolish enough to get caught by Potter, and now the burden of restoring the Malfoy name fell to him. To make them worthy again in the eyes of the Dark Lord.
He began pacing before the tapestry, measured and deliberate. On the third pass, a door materialised in the stone wall, its heavy wooden frame seamless and solid. He pulled it open and stepped inside.
His mother had warned his father time and again to stay out of it this time around. That they had barely survived the last war with their freedom intact. His father hadn't listened. Draco, to his own misfortune, had followed his lead.
The Room of Requirement stretched out around him — vast, dimly lit, its towering stacks of discarded belongings casting long shadows. It was a graveyard of forgotten things: broken furniture, mildewed books, rusted trinkets, all cloaked in dust. Draco moved through the maze with practised ease. He knew exactly where he was going.
The Vanishing Cabinet stood apart from the rest of the room's debris, its black lacquered wood faintly gleaming in the lantern light. Imposing. Almost sentient.
He approached it slowly, fingers brushing the surface. Cool to the touch, with the faint vibration of dormant magic beneath his palm.
He exhaled slowly, breath misting in the cold air. This cabinet was more than a piece of furniture. It was his lifeline — proof that he could fulfil the impossible task laid upon him.
Draco raised his wand. He tapped the cabinet's surface and murmured an incantation. A faint ripple of magic pulsed through the air. The cabinet groaned in response, as though resenting being disturbed after years of neglect.
He tried again. "Reparo." The cabinet shuddered — not a creak of wood, but something deeper, almost like a growl. Draco froze, pulse quickening. The cabinet was ancient and uncooperative, protesting the intrusion.
"Stupid thing," he muttered, crouching to examine the base. His fingers moved over cracks and splinters in the wood, the jagged edges rough beneath his touch. The cabinet was riddled with fault lines — places where its enchantments had once flowed seamlessly, now fractured and worn thin by years of neglect.
He should have known a simple Reparo wouldn't do. He wasn't a wandwright or a craftsman, for Merlin's sake.
He pressed his wand to one of the cracks at the base. "Reparo," he whispered. A faint blue light filled the split — and vanished just as quickly.
He stood up and kicked the cabinet hard. "I need you to work, damn it!"
He stepped back and looked around, waiting for the room to offer him something useful. He wasn't entirely certain how the room worked — only that it was meant to respond to need.
A soft crash turned him around. A tall stack of books had toppled at his feet.
Draco crouched and began sorting through the scattered volumes, fingers brushing over old leather covers and faded titles. One in particular caught his eye — ancient, its spine cracked and fragile. He reached for it.
The moment his fingers made contact, something shifted in the air. Not a physical change — more a subtle thickening, a pressure settling around him. The room had given him this book for a reason.
He opened it and scanned the pages quickly, brow furrowing. The ink had run on many passages; several pages were torn entirely. The few legible words appeared to be in some archaic runic script he couldn't translate off-hand.
The book was in such a state of decay that he hesitated even to cast Reparo on it, for fear of destroying what remained.
"Merlin's bloody—!" He hurled the book into the dark.
It came straight back and struck him squarely in the face.
Draco recoiled more from shock than pain. The book bounced off his forehead and landed innocuously on the floor, as though it had never moved at all. He stood there, dumbfounded, in the ringing silence.
"Brilliant," he muttered. "Now the room's having a go at me."
He bent to pick it up, holding it up pointedly. "I cannot read Runes!" he called out to the empty room. "Have you got something in plain English? Or French? I'm a bit rusty, but I could manage."
The pile of fallen books stirred — almost like the surface of a restless pond — before launching a second volume at him. This time, he caught it.
He turned it over and read the title.
Advanced Rune Translation.
Wonderful. The room was recommending he pick up another subject.
---
Over the following weekend, Hermione found herself caught between mild annoyance and genuine exhaustion as she dutifully attended Harry and Ron's Quidditch practices. She told herself it was for moral support — but every cheer Lavender Brown let loose grated on her nerves, particularly when Ron turned to grin at the girl as if to say: See? They're watching.
What made it worse was McLaggen. He had inexplicably decided Hermione was his new confidante, positioning himself beside her in the stands and talking at length about everything from Quidditch tactics to his family's connections at the Ministry. Her polite responses only seemed to encourage him further, and she frequently found herself wishing she'd brought Silencing Charms.
Harry, meanwhile, was convinced Malfoy was up to something — having spotted him on the Marauder's Map prowling the castle after midnight the night of Slughorn's party. Beyond that, Harry had become increasingly absorbed in the heavily annotated copy of Advanced Potion-Making he'd found, following its spidery marginal instructions with an almost unsettling devotion.
Hermione had taken to spending more time with Ginny, unable to keep pace with Harry's obsession over the Prince's textbook and Ron's inflating Quidditch ego.
By Sunday evening she was curled by the common-room fireplace, half-listening to Ginny wax lyrical about Dean and what a wonderful boyfriend he was.
Hermione smiled faintly, though her thoughts were elsewhere. She genuinely admired how unapologetically confident Ginny was about her relationship. It was a refreshing contrast to the confusing tangle of feelings that surfaced whenever she thought about Ron — or McLaggen — or whatever it was Greengrass seemed to think was developing between her and Theo.
Ginny sighed and looked over at Hermione. "Alright. No more about Dean."
Hermione shifted toward her on the sofa. "No, no — I'm sorry. I really am interested."
"You're not, though." Ginny laughed. "I'll tell Luna about him later. What's on your mind?"
Hermione hesitated. "Everything just feels off this year. Harry is obsessing over that blasted book and Malfoy's midnight wanderings. Ron thinks he's suddenly some sort of Quidditch star and won't stop crowing about it — Lavender's right there stoking the fire and he can't even see it." She hadn't realised how worked up she was getting. "McLaggen won't leave me alone. Greengrass is acting strangely. Theo is inexplicably friendly all of a sudden. I just… I can't quite catch my breath."
Ginny couldn't help but laugh.
Hermione frowned. "What?"
"You helped Harry form Dumbledore's Army last year when Umbridge was on the rampage. You got Umbridge carried off by centaurs, then went to the Department of Mysteries to fight Death Eaters. The year before that, you trapped Skeeter in a jar. And before that, you helped free an innocent convict." Ginny raised her eyebrows. "And your biggest problem this year is that Harry and Ron are being prats, and everyone's suddenly taken an interest in you?"
Hermione opened her mouth and found, for once, nothing came out.
"When you put it like that… it does sound rather ridiculous," she admitted.
"Because it is," Ginny said with a grin. "Let Harry obsess and ignore Ron. Lavender will bore of him soon enough. Tell McLaggen off. As for Greengrass and Nott — she's just marking her territory."
She sighed. "No one's trying to kill you, Hermione. Enjoy it. Be normal."
---
Monday morning, Hermione rose with a small, resolute breath and decided to take Ginny's advice for a test run. The sunlight through the dormitory window was pale but present, and for once she allowed herself to simply lie there a moment before the bustle of the day began.
When she finally made her way to the Great Hall, she paused a few feet from her usual seat between Harry and Ron — both already deep in conversation — and walked straight past them, settling in beside Ginny and Luna instead.
"Good morning," she said pleasantly, helping herself to breakfast.
Ginny grinned at her, clearly noticing the shift. "Good morning, Hermione. You look… relaxed."
Luna smiled serenely from beside Ginny. "It's lovely to have you join us. I was just telling Ginny about the Wrackspurts clustering around Harry. His head's quite full of them lately."
Hermione blinked at the Ravenclaw. She had never quite worked out what she made of Luna — only that there had to be a reason Ginny treasured her company despite how different they were.
She laughed softly, feeling a small and unexpected warmth at the moment's ease. "I thought I'd try something different today," she said.
"New approaches are always an adventure," Luna said thoughtfully. "Wrackspurts, of course, are most active around people who are in need of a bit of clarity." She gave Hermione a dreamy smile, as if this made perfect sense.
Ginny rolled her eyes with affection. "Luna's way of saying Harry's been a bit distracted. Not that it's anything new."
Hermione chuckled and reached for some toast.
The three of them talked over breakfast — just easy, ordinary conversation, pleasantly free of theories about what Malfoy might be getting up to at two in the morning.
After finishing, Hermione stood to gather her things. She glanced at Ginny, who was watching her with something like pride. "Thanks for the company," Hermione said, her voice softer than usual.
Ginny grinned. "Anytime. And if McLaggen can't take a hint, let me know. I've been dying for another excuse to use a Bat-Bogey Hex."
Hermione laughed and made her way out of the Great Hall, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.
When she arrived at Ancient Runes, she found Theo already at their shared desk, expression unreadable as he flipped through a textbook. She hesitated only a moment before walking over and sitting down.
"Morning, Theo." She smiled, pulling out her materials.
Theo looked over. "Morning." He studied her for a moment. "You look different."
She raised an eyebrow. "Different?"
"You haven't got that crinkle between your eyebrows today." He tapped the space between his own as a demonstration.
Hermione blinked, then laughed softly. "I suppose I've been a bit tense lately. I'm trying something new — less worrying, more normality."
Theo didn't answer. His brow was furrowing as he stared at something just over her shoulder.
She frowned. "What did I say?"
The sound of a chair dragging against the stone floor and a book dropping onto the desk behind her had Hermione turning around.
Her expression went flat.
"You will keep your hair under control, won't you, Granger?" Malfoy drawled, settling into the chair. "I'd like to be able to see the board."
Hermione kept her voice deliberately even. "Funny. You're not in this class, Malfoy."
Malfoy smirked. "I wasn't aware you tracked my timetable so closely, Granger."
"I track my own. It's been days since term began and you've not been here once."
"If you must know, I've decided to broaden my studies," Malfoy said, picking an imaginary speck from his sleeve. "I had a word with Snape, and he arranged a transfer. The class was full, but after a… delicate conversation with one of the Hufflepuffs, a seat opened up."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. She didn't need to imagine how that conversation had gone.
"How convenient," she said coolly, and turned back to her desk.
Theo frowned. "Draco, you've always said Ancient Runes was a waste of time."
"I've revised my opinion. It could come in useful."
Hermione made an effort not to roll her eyes.
"Granger, I don't see why you look so displeased. I'm here to learn — isn't that what you're always going on about? Education and all that?"
"Draco," Theo said warningly, as Professor Babbling walked in.
---
The lesson began with Professor Babbling delving into the complexities of archaic Norse rune clusters. Hermione lost herself in note-taking, her irritation with Malfoy fading — until a quiet, deliberate tapping started against her chair.
She stilled, quill tightening in her hand.
Tap tap.
She pressed her lips together and kept writing.
Tap tap.
She glanced at Theo, who was entirely absorbed in his own work.
Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap—
"Malfoy!" She spun in her seat.
He leaned back in his chair, smirk already in place. "Yes, Granger?"
"Do you mind?" she hissed. "I'm trying to learn."
"I don't mind at all. It's quite entertaining watching you unravel over nothing."
Hermione's temper snapped. "Next time I punch you, don't bother running to tell your father. Oh — you can't. That's right. He's in Azkaban."
"Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy." Professor Babbling's voice cut across the room like a blade. "This is a classroom, not a duelling arena. I expect better from two prefects. Miss Granger — detention tonight."
Hermione turned to her professor, aghast. "That's not fair! He provoked me—"
Professor Babbling raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Be that as it may, Miss Granger, I expect you to maintain your composure. Mr Malfoy — since you seem so enthusiastic about causing disruptions, you'll join her." She met their combined protests with finality. "You'll both report to Mr Filch at eight. Keep arguing and I'll deduct house points as well."
When the lesson finally ended, Granger grabbed her bag and stormed out.
Theo turned slowly to face Draco, one eyebrow raised. "Why are you actually here?"
Draco grinned. "Thought it'd be a laugh."
"You do remember she actually punched you once, don't you? Or has that particular humiliation faded conveniently from memory?"
The grin slipped. "Sod off."
"Enjoy detention." Theo shook his head and left.