Ginny and Hermione stood outside Filch's office.
"You were supposed to be calm," Ginny said, laughing. "And instead you've got detention with Malfoy."
Hermione sighed. "He is just so insufferable."
"Well," Ginny said lightly, "you did want a change. I don't think you'll ever be bored with Malfoy around."
"That is not the kind of change I meant."
"Speak of the blonde devil." Ginny nodded down the corridor.
Malfoy was making his way toward them, scowling.
"Weaselette," he said.
"Ferret." She returned pleasantly.
His scowl deepened at Ginny's cheerful grin. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? I'm sure Potter's missing his entourage."
Ginny raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. "I was just leaving." She looked at Hermione. "You'll be all right?"
Hermione managed a tight smile. "I'm just glad this isn't a regular occurrence," she muttered — loud enough that Malfoy caught it.
"Oh, I don't know, Granger." He settled into that infuriating smirk of his. "I think I could get used to it. Though next time, try not to get so worked up. It's only me."
Ginny shot Hermione a sympathetic look before turning to Malfoy. "And here I thought you only harassed Harry. Hermione must be special."
"I wouldn't go that far, Weaselette," Malfoy snarled.
Hermione couldn't help it — a short laugh escaped her despite everything. "You're unbelievable, Malfoy."
He glanced at her, his smirk flickering. "Just doing my part to keep you on your toes, Granger."
Ginny grinned. "I didn't realise that required so much practice. Do you spend a great deal of time on your toes? In heels, perhaps?"
Malfoy's smirk froze. His eyes narrowed at Ginny. "Very funny. I suppose you'd know all about fashion, given your extensive collection of hand-me-downs."
Ginny didn't blink. "Better hand-me-downs than dressing like my father. How's Azkaban chic treating the Malfoy name these days?"
Malfoy's expression darkened dangerously.
"Ginny — Dean's waiting. Remember?" Hermione said, steering her firmly away.
Ginny let herself be directed, shooting one last glare over her shoulder. "Talk tomorrow, Hermione," she called, and made her exit.
Hermione knocked on Filch's door.
"I don't suppose you plan to apologise for wasting my evening," Malfoy drawled.
Hermione snorted. "Me? You were the one acting like a child in Ancient Runes — tapping my chair like an attention-starved toddler."
Filch opened the door and muttered at them to get in.
"Tonight you'll be sorting through my records. Alphabetical order." He held out his hand. "I'll need your wands."
They surrendered them, both begrudgingly.
"That's it?" Hermione asked, puzzled by how straightforward the task seemed.
Filch gave her a crooked grin. "Simple, she thinks. Let's see how you feel in a few hours." He gestured to the towering stacks of parchment and scrolls cluttering every surface of the office. "Records going back decades — some longer. Everything's a mess and I expect it perfect when I return. Get to it." He slammed the door behind him, leaving Hermione and Malfoy alone in the cramped, dusty space.
Hermione pulled a chair up to the nearest stack and set to work.
"I was bored," Malfoy said after a couple of minutes of silence. "And you were so… intense. It's genuinely funny how seriously you take everything."
Hermione turned to look at him.
"In Ancient Runes," he added.
"Just do what you're supposed to, Malfoy." She turned back to the files — detention records, mostly, going back decades.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Then Hermione found something that made her scoff.
"What is it, Granger?" Malfoy asked, leaning lazily back in his chair. "Found something scandalous?"
Hermione held up a faded slip of parchment, lips twitching. "Actually, yes. It appears your mother was quite the troublemaker in her time."
Malfoy sat up. "What are you on about? My mother does not get detentions."
Hermione waved the parchment at him. "Oh really? 'Narcissa Black — reprimanded for hexing a fellow student during a disagreement over seating arrangements.'"
A reluctant smirk tugged at his mouth. "That doesn't sound like her."
"There's more," Hermione said, enjoying herself. "Another one — hexing a prefect in fourth year." She picked up a second slip. "And here's another — seventh year, a week's detention for being caught—" She stopped abruptly, blinked, and pressed her lips together.
Malfoy's smirk grew into a full grin. "Don't stop now, Granger. What was it?"
Hermione cleared her throat, looking very carefully at the filing cabinet. "Nothing. Just another minor infraction. Not important."
"Given that you've gone pink, I highly doubt that."
Malfoy rose from his chair and started toward her.
"She was simply caught out of her dormitory after hours. Trust me — you don't want to know." Hermione sighed.
"I very much think I do." He reached for the parchment.
"I'll remind you this concerns your mother, Malfoy."
He snatched it from her hand anyway.
He read aloud in a flat voice. "'Caught… snogging… in the Astronomy Tower.'"
Hermione snorted. "I did warn you."
He shook his head. "That's not my mother. She wouldn't."
"It's right there in ink." Hermione crossed her arms, plainly amused.
"The record is wrong."
"Shall I tell you what your father was caught doing, then?" She was already holding up another slip.
Malfoy lunged forward. Hermione darted sideways, just quick enough, clutching the parchment to her chest. His expression shifted — disbelief and poorly-contained alarm.
"Give that to me, Granger," he said, low and intent.
"What's the matter? Afraid of a bit of family history?" She backed up around the desk.
He came around after her. Hermione moved faster, laughing as she went.
"What's the matter, Draco? Afraid of your father's extracurricular activities?" she taunted, putting another desk between them.
"Salazar's teeth, Granger, I swear—" he muttered, still advancing.
Hermione kept reading as she moved. "'Lucius Malfoy — two weeks' detention, found abusing his prefect patrol duties. Whilst allegedly on rounds, he was discovered—'" She cut herself off with a sharp, scandalised gasp.
"Granger!" Malfoy snapped, darting around the desk.
She let out a shriek and ran, laughing uncontrollably.
He was faster than she'd expected. His long stride ate up the distance between them. Hermione dashed sideways, nearly catching her foot on a pile of rolled scrolls, but managed to stay upright as he closed in.
She made a sharp turn — Malfoy was right behind her — and then she felt his hands catch her wrists and her back met the stone wall with a soft thud. She clenched both fists reflexively, hiding the slip in one of them.
Malfoy's grip was firm. He was close — too close — his breath warm and his expression intent as he looked down at her, the usual sneer replaced by something rather more searching.
Hermione's breath caught. Not from fear. From the unexpected rush of his proximity — and the clean, maddening scent of him. Bergamot and something sharper, sandalwood maybe, with the faintest trace of mint. She had never thought to have an opinion on how Draco Malfoy smelled. The opinion forming now was deeply inconvenient.
"Give it to me, Granger," he said. His voice was softer than usual — still carrying that familiar Malfoy arrogance, but stripped of its edge.
"Not a chance," she said, voice steady despite her hammering pulse.
Neither of them moved. He seemed to be studying her face, eyes flicking between her expression and her tightly closed fists. Hermione was aware of the warmth radiating off him.
Then his hands moved from her wrists to her fingers, his thumbs pressing firmly against her knuckles, working them open one by one.
Both hands were empty.
Malfoy stared. "What the—"
"You didn't genuinely think I'd be daft enough to keep it there?" Hermione asked.
During one of her sharper turns around a pile of records, she had almost dropped the slip, and in a flash of practical inspiration had tucked it securely into her brassiere.
His eyes went to her chest. Something passed over his expression — recognition, and then something else that came and went too quickly to name.
"You…" he said.
Hermione, flushed equally with embarrassment and triumph, raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter, Malfoy? Getting flustered?"
He scoffed, though his voice had a peculiar tightness to it. "You are absolutely insufferable."
"You keep saying." She tilted her head. "Don't pretend you're not impressed." A beat. "Now — unless you're planning to search me…"
A stack of files toppled behind them. Malfoy released her wrists and stepped back, turning toward the noise.
Hermione pushed away from the wall and straightened her robes.
"We should finish up. That was probably Mrs Norris, which means Filch won't be long." She spoke to the back of his head.
Malfoy turned after a moment and walked back to his desk without a word.
The remaining hour passed in a thick and peculiar silence.
---
Filch returned eventually, handed back their wands at the door and dismissed them without ceremony.
In the corridor, the tension followed them out like a third presence. Malfoy had reverted to his usual composure as if the last two hours had simply not occurred.
He looked at her. "See you around, Granger."
"Don't count on it, Malfoy," she replied, and headed for Gryffindor Tower.
Draco turned in the opposite direction, toward the dungeons. Coming around the corner to the staircase, he found Pansy sitting on one of the steps.
She looked up and smiled as she stood. "Fun detention?"
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked instead.
"Prefect patrol tonight." She fell into step beside him. "I came to break you out, but you seemed otherwise preoccupied."
Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"
Pansy's smirk was distinctly self-satisfied. "Oh, don't play ignorant. I saw you and Granger. The two of you were looking awfully… cosy. It was fascinating, really."
"You've nothing better to do than spy on me?" he muttered.
"I call it keeping an eye on my favourite Slytherin." She shrugged. "What were you looking for, anyway?"
"We were sorting through old detention slips. That's all you saw." He neglected to mention that he had been chasing her around the room at the time.
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Sorting through something, certainly."
Draco scoffed. "You've completely lost it, Parkinson."
She laughed, entirely unbothered. "I should get back to my rounds. I expect that Ravenclaw's already looking for me."
"Who are you patrolling with?"
"Larkspur," she said, with no small amount of distaste. "Bloody creep keeps walking two steps behind me on every staircase."
"Hex him and tell him it's a lesson in spatial awareness," Draco suggested dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Pansy snorted. "Tempting. But I don't need Snape lecturing me on the proper conduct of a prefect."
"Hex him anyway."
"I don't need Snape lecturing me on abusing my prefect duties."
Something shifted in Draco's expression — a flicker of unease.
Pansy caught it. "You've gone green. What happened?"
"My bloody father," Draco muttered, rubbing his face. He was still thinking about what Granger had read off that detention slip.
"What does Lucius have to do with prefect duties?"
"You really don't want to know."
---
Over the following weeks, Draco threw himself into the problem of the Vanishing Cabinet. Ancient Runes, dull as it was, was proving genuinely useful — the old book was yielding more each class, though the process was agonisingly slow.
September was nearly over and he had managed only a handful of pages. The anxiety had become a constant companion, its teeth sharpening each day. Every line of text deciphered felt like a small victory made meaningless by the enormity of what remained.
"You look dreadful," Daphne said one evening, dropping into the armchair across from him in the common room.
Draco didn't respond.
She leaned forward to peer at his work. "Homework?"
He paused, quill hovering. "No. It's an impassioned letter to the Giant Squid."
Daphne smirked. "Your handwriting's atrocious, so one hopes the squid isn't fussy about such things." She craned her neck. "Runes? What is all this?"
Draco snapped the book shut before she could read anything properly. "Nothing that concerns you."
"Right," Daphne said, leaning back. "So why are you skulking around like a Inferius?"
He considered her for a moment. He couldn't tell her the truth — not about the cabinet, not about the book, certainly not about the Dark Mark that had begun to ache in a way it hadn't before. But the weight of it all had been quietly crushing him, and for one unguarded moment, he almost wanted to say something.
Almost.
"Don't you have someone else to bother?"
"Pansy's in the bath. Blaise is at one of Slughorn's parties. Theo is — I'm actually not sure where Theo is. And I've never been particularly fond of Crabbe and Goyle."
"Make new friends, then." Draco snapped. "I'm busy, Daphne. Merlin's sake — it's no wonder your sister's embarrassed by you."
The crack of the slap echoed in the quiet common room.
Draco's head jerked to the side, cheek stinging. Neither of them moved for a moment. Daphne's hand remained raised, her expression cool with contempt.
"I hope whatever you're dealing with doesn't kill you slowly, Malfoy." She stood. "It'd be far too good for you."
The click of her heels rang across the stone floor as she walked away.
---
The first Hogsmeade trip of the year fell in early October.
They were seated in the Hog's Head with their Butterbeers after a run-in with Mundungus Fletcher.
"I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on," Harry had decided. "He's the only one who Mundungus actually fears."
"Good idea," Hermione said quietly. She wouldn't say so aloud, but it was probably the most sensible thing Harry had come up with in a while.
She glanced at Ron, noticing his eyes drifting toward the bar. "What are you staring at?"
"Nothing," Ron said, looking away too quickly.
Hermione scoffed. "Right. I expect 'nothing' is behind the bar pouring another round of Firewhisky." She didn't need to say Madam Rosmerta's name.
She drummed her fingers on the table. "Don't you think she's a bit old for you? She must be close to your mother's age."
Ron flushed scarlet. "I wasn't staring at Rosmerta," he muttered, but his voice betrayed him.
"I never said her name."
Harry drained his Butterbeer. "Shall we call it a day and head back?" he asked, silently imploring Merlin to put an end to whatever game Ron and Hermione were playing.
---
Draco stood in the women's lavatory at the Three Broomsticks, pressed into the shadows beside the wall, waiting.
His pulse was unsteady. He could have asked Pansy to carry the parcel — but she'd want to know what was in it, and he couldn't risk her touching it. And Daphne… well. Daphne wasn't an option any longer.
A creak from the corridor outside had him tensing. He heard footsteps. He held his breath, wand in hand.
The door swung open.
Katie Bell, a seventh-year Gryffindor, walked in and moved to the sink.
Like an idiot, he hesitated.
Katie, unaware she was not alone, reached for a towel — and then caught the shadow behind her in the mirror's reflection.
Before she could react, Draco moved forward and covered her mouth with his hand, meeting her wide eyes in the grimy mirror.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said quietly.
She was trembling. He could feel her pulse hammering against his palm, frantic and terrified.
"I need you to do something for me. Take something to Dumbledore. You don't need to know what it is. Just deliver it." He spoke as calmly as he could manage.
She gave a short, jerky nod, and he lowered his hand slowly, holding the package out toward her.
Then she bolted.
Draco's eyes screwed shut. The incantation left his mouth before he could stop himself.
"Imperio."
The dark enchantment took hold of her. The sound of her exhale hung in the air as her expression went glassy and still.
"Take the package to Dumbledore," Draco commanded, his voice flat and cold in a way that did not feel like his own. "Walk directly to his office. Give it to him. Don't question it."
Katie took the parcel. She walked out.
Draco stood at the closed door for a few seconds. Then his stomach turned entirely over, and he stumbled into a stall, barely making it before he was sick.
He hadn't bothered to close the cubicle door. He was still hunched over when the bathroom door opened.
"What are you doing in the women's lavatory, Draco?" Pansy asked, her voice flat with resigned exasperation.
Draco wiped his mouth and didn't look up. "Don't worry about it."
"Katie Bell just walked out of here looking rather… possessed," she said, in the tone of someone cataloguing mildly unusual weather.
"Did she." Draco pushed himself upright and shouldered past her to the sink, running the cold tap.
Pansy was very still behind him. "Daphne hasn't left our dormitory since your little row the other evening," she said, her voice lower now. "Whatever you're doing — stop it."
Draco stared at his reflection. "If Daphne's upset, that's her concern. Not mine."
Pansy seized him by the hair and wrenched his head around to face her. "Draco. I love you. But I am running very short on patience."
He winced. "Let go."
She released him and took a step back. "Go to Snape."
"What?"
"Go to Snape and have him sort out whatever it is that's wrong with you — because Potter and his lot followed Katie Bell out of here and I guarantee you he is already pointing a finger. You need an alibi, and you need it now. Go!" she hissed.
Draco's chest tightened. Potter would be relentless. If he'd seen Katie, he wouldn't stop until he had a name.
"I don't need Snape," he said, trying to move around her.
"Yes," Pansy said quietly, blocking his path, "you do. He needs to ensure you look like someone who has not spent the morning feeding his soul to the Dark Arts."
---
"I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor," Harry said to McGonagall.
On one side of him Ron shuffled with mild embarrassment; on the other, Hermione shifted her feet as if attempting to put a small but noticeable distance between herself and Harry's theory.
"That is a very serious accusation, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, after a brief, shocked silence. "Do you have any proof?"
Hermione barely restrained a quiet sigh. No. Harry had no proof. Only his unshakeable certainty, which he'd apparently decided counted as evidence.
Harry went on to describe what they'd witnessed at Borgin and Burkes, including the detail that Hermione had gone inside and posed as Pansy Parkinson to try to gather more information.
McGonagall glanced at Hermione, then back at Harry.
"Malfoy had something at Borgin and Burkes repaired?"
"No, Professor — he wanted Borgin to advise him how to mend something. He didn't have it with him. But the point is he bought something at the same time, and I believe it was that necklace—"
"You saw Malfoy leave the shop with a similar parcel?"
"No, Professor — he instructed Borgin to keep it in the shop for him—"
"Harry," Hermione interrupted, keeping her voice reasonable, "Borgin actually asked whether Malfoy wanted to take it with him. Malfoy said no." She tried to hold his gaze. "You're letting what you already think cloud what you actually saw."
"Because he didn't want to be seen carrying it!" Harry said.
"What he actually said was, 'How would I look carrying that down the street?'" Hermione replied.
"Well, he would look a bit of a prat, carrying a necklace," Ron put in.
"It's small, Ron." Hermione shook her head. "He could have slipped it inside his robes easily enough. When I asked about it, Borgin quoted me a price — he didn't mention it was already sold."
"You were being obvious about it — he'd clocked you within five seconds. Of course he wasn't going to tell you anything. Besides, Malfoy could have owled for it later—"
"That is quite enough," Professor McGonagall said sharply, cutting off Hermione's next response before it could form. She looked furious. "Potter, I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, but we cannot point the finger at Mr Malfoy simply because he visited a shop where this necklace may have been purchased — the same is likely true of a great many people, including Miss Granger now."
"That's what I said," Ron muttered.
"Furthermore," McGonagall continued, with an air of absolute finality, "Mr Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today."
Harry stared at her. "How do you know, Professor?"
"Because he was serving detention with me. He has failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in as many weeks." She held her office door open. "Thank you for telling me your concerns, Potter — but I must go up to the Hospital Wing to look in on Miss Bell. Good day."
They filed out in silence.
---
Snape pushed a small vial across the desk toward Draco.
Draco's fingers were not entirely steady as he picked it up. He swallowed the potion in one go. It burned going down — sharp and clarifying, cutting through the fog that had settled over him since the bathroom.
Snape watched without expression.
"McGonagall believes you were in detention with her. As far as anyone is concerned, you never left the castle today," Snape said, his voice low and measured.
He paced briefly. "The Imperius Curse." A pause. "Your mother—"
"Why does everyone keep bringing up my mother?" Draco said tiredly. "You. Pansy. Granger."
Snape stopped pacing. His eyes fixed on Draco with a cold, sharp precision that made the room feel several degrees colder. "What does Granger have to do with anything?"
Draco groaned and pressed his face into his hands. "Nothing. It's nothing. We had detention together — we were sorting through old records and my mother's name came up in some old file. That's all."
Snape regarded him for a long moment. "Keep your distance from Granger, Draco. She has an unfortunate talent for asking exactly the wrong questions."
Draco said nothing, eyes fixed on the floor.
"Trust me," he said finally, quietly. "I'm not the one you need to worry about."