Daphne sat at her vanity, running a brush through her hair. "Do you think Theo's interested in Granger?" she mused, watching Pansy through the mirror.
Pansy turned her head as she laid her uniform out across her bed. "Our Theo? Theodore Nott?"
"Do we know another Theo?" Daphne retorted, tugging the brush through a stubborn knot.
Pansy frowned, stepping into her skirt. "And what makes you think that?"
Daphne shrugged, setting the brush down and reaching for a ribbon to tie back her hair. "I don't know. He's been hovering around her lately."
Sighing, Pansy sat down on the edge of her bed. "Honey, Theo does not fancy Granger. I think he's just… changing."
Daphne spun in her chair to face her. "How do you mean?"
"Well, with his father's imprisonment and all…"
"That doesn't mean he doesn't find Granger interesting," Daphne countered, leaning back. "She is clever. And, well…"
"Well, what?" Pansy challenged, enjoying the faint blush creeping across Daphne's face as she buttoned up her blouse.
"She's not unattractive," Daphne admitted quietly, crossing her arms.
Pansy laughed. "Daphne, it sounds like you have a thing for Granger."
"Shut up!" Daphne gasped, hurling her brush at the other girl.
Pansy ducked, laughing as it sailed over her head and clattered against the wall. She smirked at Daphne, who was now glaring at her with a mixture of exasperation and embarrassment.
"Honestly, Greengrass, I didn't think you'd be the type to go soft over a Muggle-born," Pansy teased, though her voice lacked its usual bite.
"I don't," Daphne said plainly, tying the ribbon in her hair. "I'm just worried Theo does."
"Theo's adjusting." Pansy walked over to her. "He does not fancy Granger."
"Adjusting to what?" She scoffed. "Just because some of our parents—"
"Are rotting in Azkaban?" Pansy finished, her voice tight but steady.
Daphne pressed her lips together. "I didn't mean that."
"Yes, you did," Pansy said, without venom. "Things are different now. Draco's different."
Daphne watched the way Pansy's eyes went distant. "You're worried about him."
"I'm always worried about him." Pansy laughed softly. "Come on, let's get to breakfast." She held her arm out.
Daphne smiled, threading her arm through Pansy's as they walked out of the dormitory.
"You know," Pansy whispered as they descended the stairs, "this new crush you have on Theo is going to be terribly fun."
Daphne shot her a glare, grasping for some semblance of dignity, but it was difficult with Pansy's teasing smile dancing at the edge of her vision.
"Stop it," Daphne muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.
Pansy raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. "What? I'm just saying — Theo's not the only one changing. You're suddenly very defensive of him."
Daphne huffed but said nothing. She didn't quite know what to make of it herself. Theo was her friend. He'd been her friend for years. But with her parents badgering her about finding a suitable match, and now this apparent obsession of his with Granger…
"There's your boyfriend," Pansy whispered with a mischievous grin as they approached the Slytherin table.
Daphne ignored the bait, straightened her shoulders, and slid into the seat across from Theo.
"Morning," she said, her tone carefully casual.
Theo grinned at her. "Morning. Have either of you seen Draco?"
Pansy frowned. "No. Why?"
Blaise sighed. "He wasn't in the dormitory when we woke up. Theo has theories."
Theo glanced at Pansy, a silent appeal in his eyes.
Pansy served herself breakfast, aware they were both watching her and waiting for a reaction. Finally, she spoke. "I have it handled."
"What exactly do you have handled?" Blaise asked.
"It doesn't concern you. Theo shouldn't have shared his theories." She looked at him pointedly.
Theo sighed. "You don't even know what's going on with him."
"I don't," she admitted. "But I've got it under control. Theo and I have it under control."
Daphne frowned, looking between them. "Is this what you two were whispering about on the train?"
Pansy poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice. "You mean when Draco was strutting about like a peacock trying to catch Granger's attention?"
Theo's fork froze halfway to his mouth as Draco slumped onto the bench beside him, eyes drooping with exhaustion.
Blaise pulled a face and poured Draco a cup of coffee, sliding it over. "Mate, you look like hell. How long have you been up?"
Draco ran a hand over his face with a groan. "Long enough that if anyone asks me something stupid, I'll hex them."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly have you been?" she asked, her tone sharp enough to cut through his exhaustion.
"Nowhere you need to worry about," Draco replied, his voice cold but lacking its usual edge.
Pansy sighed. "Does it have anything to do with this summer?"
"Pansy." He exhaled her name like a warning.
Draco turned his attention to his plate and shoved a piece of toast into his mouth, signalling the conversation was over.
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You know, Malfoy, for someone who doesn't want us to worry, you're doing a terrible job of looking unworried."
"Shut it, Theo," Draco muttered through a mouthful of toast, not meeting anyone's eyes.
Daphne watched the exchange, biting her lip as she searched for a way to redirect the conversation.
"So," she said, "what's with this new friendship of yours with Granger? Have we suddenly discovered she comes from better breeding?" She looked at Theo.
Theo blinked. "What?"
"Last year you wouldn't have looked twice at her, and since we arrived on Sunday, you've hardly stopped talking to her."
"I've spoken to Granger three times, Daph."
"Three times more than you ever would have last year."
Theo glanced at Pansy for a split second — a silent request for rescue.
Draco caught it. "What was that?" he asked, eyes moving between them.
Theo kept his expression neutral. "What was what?"
"That look."
Pansy placed her hand on Draco's arm. "Drop it. It's nothing," she murmured.
"Bollocks, Parkinson. What are you two planning?" Draco snapped his arm away.
Pansy closed her eyes briefly. "We're only having a bit of fun with her. I came up with the idea on the train when we were paired for prefect duty."
Not a lie. She had formed an idea when they were partnered on the train — though it was rather different from winding Granger up.
Theo nodded. "Yeah. Why else would I spend time with her?"
---
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat amid the remnants of breakfast. The Great Hall hummed with its usual morning noise, but Harry's attention kept drifting to the Slytherin table, much to Hermione's growing irritation.
"Harry," she whispered sharply, leaning toward him. "What is it?"
He blinked and turned to her with a slight frown. "D'you notice Malfoy seems tired?"
Hermione leaned back, blinking at him. "What?"
Ron snorted, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth. "Maybe he's finally realised being a git is exhausting. Should've happened years ago."
Harry's gaze slid back to the Slytherin table, and Hermione huffed, her patience fraying as she turned around herself.
Malfoy was staring down at his plate while Zabini spoke to him about something.
"He does look… distracted," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "Perhaps he simply has a great deal of schoolwork."
Harry shook his head. "No, Hermione, I genuinely think he's involved in something."
"Who's involved in what?" Ginny asked, dropping into a seat beside Hermione.
Harry looked over. "Er — n-nothing. Just… nothing."
Ginny raised an eyebrow, plainly unconvinced. "Sure, Harry. Because staring at the Slytherin table like you're planning an ambush just screams 'nothing'." She grabbed a slice of toast and started buttering it, her movements casual, but her sharp eyes flicked briefly to Draco Malfoy. "What's he done now?"
Harry sighed, slumping slightly. "It's not what he's done — it's what he might be doing. He's been acting strange since we got back. More strange than usual."
Ron took a bite. "You know, Harry's not entirely wrong."
Hermione scoffed. "Not you too."
"They've all been weird," Ron explained. "I mean, Nott keeps turning up around you."
Hermione set her fork down. "There are only so many people in Ancient Runes, Ron. He's being friendly. There's no ulterior motive."
"Maybe he fancies you," Ginny smirked, watching Ron choke violently on his toast.
"That's absurd!" Ron wheezed.
"Is it?" Ginny asked, clearly savouring the reaction. "He is single, isn't he?"
"Zabini's always whispering in his ear, Pansy and Daphne have stopped clinging to him, and Theo — well, he's apparently the most charming Slytherin alive now," Harry added.
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "So what are you going to do, Harry? Follow Malfoy into the dungeons and demand he confess his secrets?"
Ron recovered from his coughing fit, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Actually, that's not a terrible idea," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "We could use the Map."
Hermione groaned, pressing her fingers against her temples. "Oh, for Merlin's sake — will you two listen to yourselves? Spying on him? Stalking him? You sound like lunatics!"
"No," Harry said, turning to Hermione with wide eyes. "But you could."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "You cannot honestly be serious," she hissed.
"It's brilliant," Ron said, nodding. "Nott's already hanging around you. Instead of him getting details on us—"
"That is not what he's doing."
"You'd be getting details on them!"
Hermione stared at both of them in flat disbelief. "Do you hear yourselves? You're asking me to spy on them because you think Malfoy looks tired? That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"He's a Death Eater, Hermione," Harry pressed.
"He is a sixteen-year-old Hogwarts student, Harry!" Hermione said sharply, her voice rising.
The chatter around them seemed to dim.
"Alright, alright — keep it down, people are starting to stare," Ginny murmured.
Hermione crossed her arms, seething. "You cannot seriously expect me to go along with this. What exactly am I supposed to do, Harry? Waltz up to Malfoy and ask him about his darkest secrets over tea?"
"I hear he likes chamomile," Harry answered.
Hermione glared at him. "This isn't funny."
Ginny snorted, doing her best to muffle her laughter, while Ron looked as though he wasn't entirely sure whether Harry had been joking. Harry, for his part, looked unrepentant, arms crossed as he leaned toward Hermione.
"I'm not saying you have to ask the bloke out—" he said earnestly.
"What?!" Ron stared at Harry.
"Just… keep an eye on them. If they're up to something, you'll spot it," Harry pressed, ignoring Ron.
Hermione scoffed. "Harry, in case you've forgotten, Draco Malfoy has spent the better part of five years reminding me exactly how far beneath him I am."
Ginny sighed. "And you three are meant to save our arses?" She shook her head. "Getting close to Malfoy isn't the way to go. Nott is right there, Hermione. He's approachable and always rambling. If you can get him to open up, you'll have what you need."
Hermione frowned, picking at a loose thread on her skirt. She didn't like this plan. It was wrong and unkind, and all for a conspiracy theory with no real foundation.
Without looking up, she asked quietly, "Did you know his father was at the Ministry the night Sirius — when everything happened?"
Silence fell over the table. Ginny, Ron, and Harry all turned to her.
Ron blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It wasn't only Lucius Malfoy there that night," Hermione said, her gaze still fixed on the loose thread. "If your theory about Draco rests on what happened to his father, wouldn't the same logic apply to Theo?"
"You think Nott's a Death Eater?" Ron asked.
"No." Hermione sighed. "I don't think Theo is a Death Eater, and I don't think Malfoy is either. But if one theory holds, so does the other — and I won't do it to either of them." She looked up at Harry. "We've done enough damage."
Harry didn't respond; his eyes had gone wide. Across the hall, Pansy was looking straight at him.
"Shit!" He hissed, ducking his head.
Hermione scoffed. "You shouldn't have been staring if you didn't want to be caught."
Harry groaned into the table. Pansy hadn't moved from her seat at the Slytherin table, but her expression was one of quiet, unhurried amusement — as though she had thoroughly enjoyed watching Harry Potter get caught red-handed. The moment passed, but the unease it left behind did not.
"Nice going, mate," Ron muttered.
"She saw you, didn't she?" Ginny smirked. "Careful, Harry. You might just end up with a stalker."
"Shut up, Ginny," Harry muttered, face flushing.
"Maybe she'll start following you around," Ron added, half teasing, half genuinely unsettled.
Hermione stood, gathering her things. "I have Ancient Runes," she muttered, and left.
---
When she reached the corridor outside the classroom, she was surprised to find Theo already there, leaning casually against the wall. He straightened when he saw her, offering a small nod.
"Granger," he said smoothly. "Running late?"
"Not really," she replied. "I'm just not early today."
Theo smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. "I sent you an owl yesterday. You didn't reply."
"I was busy."
"You're avoiding me. The thing is, I can't quite work out why."
Hermione sighed. "I didn't know."
Theo frowned. "Didn't know what?"
She began to pace in front of him. "About your father. Being at the Ministry that night. I don't know half the people who were there. I recognised Lucius and Bellatrix — I'd seen them before — but I didn't know the others."
Theo closed his eyes slowly, beginning to understand why she'd been so strange since their Potions lesson two days ago. "Hermione—"
"What I can't understand is why you're being civil with me. I helped put your father in Azkaban, for Merlin's sake. You should hate me."
"It's not that simple," Theo said quietly, something weighted moving behind his words. "You didn't put him in Azkaban. He put himself there."
Hermione stopped pacing and looked at him, utterly thrown. "What?"
His expression softened at the edges, though his eyes kept their edge. He stepped slightly closer, posture relaxed but with a tension running just beneath the surface. "You were at the Ministry. My father was at the Ministry. You are not an Auror, Hermione. You don't carry the authority Potter seems to believe you do. The Aurors put him in Azkaban. Logically speaking."
She tilted her head. "You don't blame us?"
Theo glanced down the corridor, exhaling sharply. "You're going to get me hexed," he hissed. "No. I don't blame you. My father made his choice."
Hermione studied his face carefully for any trace of a smirk, any flicker that this was all some elaborate wind-up.
"Is that why you've been civil with me?"
Theo rolled his eyes. "And people say Slytherins are the judgmental ones." He paused. "Tell Potter to stop glowering at our table. It's getting rather obvious."
Hermione's stomach turned unpleasantly. She met Theo's amused gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly.
"He's been glaring over at us so intently I half expected him to curse Malfoy with his breakfast fork," Theo said, mock-scandalized.
"Harry does not glare. He… observes."
"Then tell him to observe my backside."
"I will."
---
A few days later, Quidditch tryouts were finally upon them, and over Saturday morning breakfast the group had been discussing Hagrid's recent absence.
"I hate not talking to Hagrid," Hermione said, frowning into her porridge.
"We'll go down after tryouts," Harry assured her. "Though it might take all morning, given the number of people who've applied. I don't know why the team's suddenly this popular."
Hermione scoffed. "Come off it, Harry. It's not Quidditch that's popular — it's you. You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable."
Ron gagged. Harry felt the colour rise in his face.
"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron said. "Don't say things like that."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's true. Harry's faced You-Know-Who twice and survived both times. They're calling him the Chosen One. Half the girls in Gryffindor would throw themselves off the Astronomy Tower if Harry so much as smiled at them."
"Hermione, stop," Harry groaned, rubbing his face.
"You can still see the marks where Umbridge made you write with your own blood—"
"You can still see where those branches caught me in the Department of Mysteries," Ron said, shaking back his sleeves to show a thoroughly uninterested Hermione.
She hadn't even glanced at him. "It doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer, either."
"I'm tall," Ron said.
Hermione looked at him. "What?"
"I'm just saying. Harry's not the only tall one."
She scoffed as the owls arrived with the morning post. "Ron, no one is questioning your height, but Harry—"
"Please, stop," Harry groaned.
Hermione held her hands up. "Fine." She took the Prophet and began reading about the arrest of Death Eater Stan Shunpike.
When they left the table to head down to the pitch, they passed Lavender and Parvati. The two girls looked slightly flustered until they noticed Ron, Parvati nudging Lavender pointedly.
Hermione pressed her lips together as Ron's walk slowly transformed into something closer to a strut. She and Harry shared a look.
"His ego has swelled to roughly the size of the Black Lake," Hermione muttered.
Harry barely suppressed a laugh. "Well," he whispered, "if he has the balls to match it—"
Hermione gasped, smacking his arm. "Harry!"
"Quidditch balls, Hermione. What did you think I meant?"
She could feel her face growing hot.
Ron turned around, clearly noticing Hermione's flushed expression and Harry's poorly concealed laughter. "What's so funny?" he asked, strut faltering.
"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Harry's just being immature."
"Immature?" Harry protested.
"Yes." Hermione hissed. "I'm going to find a seat."
She headed around the stands, making her way up to the benches.
"You'll catch a chill, you know."
Hermione looked up. Daphne Greengrass was looking down at her from a few rows above.
"Excuse me?"
"Without a jumper. It's getting rather cold." Daphne explained, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
Hermione raised an eyebrow and glanced down at her outfit, then back at Daphne. "I'm fine, thanks," she said, though the words came out less assured than she intended. She hadn't noticed the drop in temperature, but Daphne was right — it was getting colder by the minute.
Daphne gave a knowing smile, as though she could sense Hermione's discomfort. "Here," she said simply, removing her scarf and draping it around Hermione's shoulders. "You almost look pretty."
Hermione stood there a moment, caught somewhere between surprise at the gesture and bemusement at the half-baked compliment.
"Good luck," Daphne said, already hurrying away.
Hermione climbed the rest of the stands and found a seat.
---
It took Harry two hours to settle on his Chasers: Katie Bell, Demelza Robins, and Ginny.
The stands had filled with rejected hopefuls and other students who'd come to watch the remaining trials.
Hermione watched as Cormac McLaggen mounted his broom and swept up into the sky. She watched anxiously as he blocked each penalty in turn, and then — against her better judgment — she pursed her lips and cast a silent Confundus. She watched him lurch to the left and miss the final shot.
She blinked, stomach dropping at what she had just done. It hadn't been intentional, not really — more a reflex born of pure, instinctive loathing for McLaggen's insufferable arrogance. But now that it was done, guilt set in. She glanced sharply at Harry, who was watching the tryouts with furrowed brows. He hadn't noticed.
Hermione winced as Lavender Brown shrieked "Good luck!" at Ron.
She watched Ron soar up on his broom, heart thudding as he steadied himself and settled into position. Lavender's cheer rang in her ears.
Even with Lavender's carrying on, Ron was blocking each penalty with clean focus — until Lavender leapt to her feet just as Ginny fired a hard, spinning shot in his direction.
Eyes widening, Hermione reacted again without quite meaning to, a silent Shield Charm slipping out and helping Ron get a hand to the last shot.
Harry was already speaking with McLaggen — most likely cutting him from the team — and Hermione ran down the stands. "You were brilliant, Ron!" she said with a grin.
"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron was saying happily. "Tricky shot from Demelza — had a bit of spin on it, did you see?"
"Yes, yes, you were magnificent," Hermione said.
"Better than McLaggen anyway," Ron said, thoroughly pleased with himself. "Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded…"
Hermione swallowed, her face going slightly pink, and laughed it off as they started toward Hagrid's hut.
---
"Is it just me, or does McLaggen look even more of an idiot than usual?" Blaise asked, nodding at the Gryffindor in question as he blundered his way toward the castle entrance.
Draco snorted. "That's a significant bar to clear."
Daphne hummed. "Well, he does have one talent — making Weasley look competent. Those blocks at Potter's tryouts were something."
Before anyone could add to the commentary, Slughorn appeared, his broad smile as warm and sticky as treacle. "Ah, Mr Zabini!" he began, clasping his hands together. "I trust I'm not interrupting?"
Blaise looked up. "Sir?"
"I'm hosting a small supper in my quarters this evening and was hoping you might join us. I've spoken with McLaggen and Bobbin — both will be attending," Slughorn explained.
Blaise arched an eyebrow. "Quite the distinguished gathering, Professor."
Slughorn, either oblivious to the dryness of the tone or choosing to ignore it entirely, beamed. "Indeed, indeed! And you'd be a marvellous addition, my boy. Such talent and lineage! Your insights would enrich the evening immensely."
Draco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with mild amusement. "If I may, Professor — should Blaise find himself otherwise engaged, I'd be happy to take his place," he said, as though offering Slughorn a personal favour.
"Oh, no need, Mr Malfoy," Slughorn replied briskly, waving the offer aside. "If Mr Zabini can't make it tonight, the invitation will simply carry to our next gathering."
The amusement left Draco's face. His jaw tightened. "My father—"
"I have no prior engagements," Blaise cut across him smoothly. "I'll be there at seven, Professor."
"Marvellous, my dear boy!" Slughorn beamed. "I'm off to request Mr Potter and Miss Granger's attendance as well. No later than seven, now." With that, he swept cheerfully into the Great Hall.
The moment he was out of earshot, Blaise turned to Draco with a smirk. "Was that you fishing for an invitation? Didn't think you cared about his little dinners."
Draco scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets. "It isn't about caring, Zabini. It's about principle. The man has no idea who he's snubbing." He paused. "Besides, from what my mother's told me about his gatherings back when she was at Hogwarts, they were… well. Important."
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should find my way in, then."
Draco scoffed. "Please. If I can't get an invitation, there's no chance for you."
Daphne smiled sweetly and leaned against his shoulder. "Is that so? Is that why he's inviting Granger right now?"
Draco rolled his eyes — just in time to watch Slughorn making his way toward the Gryffindor table. "And here I thought the whole point of the thing was exclusivity."