Ginny listened to Hermione recount the events of Thursday's Slytherin Quidditch practice, her expression caught somewhere between confused and amused.
"It's ridiculous, right?" Hermione asked with a scoff.
"I'll say." Ginny rubbed her temples. "You hate Quidditch."
"I do," she agreed. "But Daphne said—"
"That's the other thing. You hate these people, Hermione."
She sighed. "Hate's a strong word. I don't hate any of them. They've had their issues, but they're changing." She hoped Ginny would understand.
Ginny didn't waver.
"Can we deal with one thing at a time, please?"
Ginny crossed her legs and leaned back on the common room sofa. "All right. So you're going out with Vaisey this week?"
Hermione groaned. "I mean, I suppose. I told him I would. I don't even know why I said yes — I was about to turn him down when Malfoy—"
Ginny leaned forward. "When Malfoy what? What did he do?"
Hermione fidgeted, huffing. "He'd been a prat earlier, accusing me of ogling him when I wasn't. Then Vaisey asked, and I was going to say no, but Malfoy walked out of the changing rooms at precisely that moment, and I just — I said yes. And then made a complete fool of myself trying to look interested."
Ginny's eyes widened and she laughed.
"Ginny!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry — but let me just be clear. You said yes to a date with Vaisey to... spite Malfoy? To prove a point?"
Hermione groaned and hid her face in her hair. "Vaisey seems decent enough. And he is fairly good-looking. I don't think I'd have a terrible time. I just — I don't know!"
Ginny sighed. "Go on the date. I don't know him well, but he's a decent flyer. Maybe you'll have fun."
Hermione peered at her through the curtain of curls. "You think?"
"I do." Ginny's expression turned more serious. "I also think you need to stop letting Malfoy get under your skin."
---
It had been gnawing at Pansy for days.
The image of Draco — jaw tight, fists clenched, eyes fixed on Hermione as she laughed with Vaisey — played on a loop she couldn't silence.
She knew Draco better than anyone. She could read him in her sleep. So how had she missed something this enormous?
She liked Hermione. She genuinely did. The girl was a surprisingly good friend — she'd been helping Daphne navigate Theo, and she'd made a real plan on the train. Pansy had thought it through from every angle. It was risky, yes — reckless, even. But she hadn't been able to reach Draco in months, and if Potter's lot hadn't noticed the change yet, they soon would. Out of the three Gryffindors, it had to be Hermione. She was the only one who could possibly keep pace with Draco, the only one who might see through the facade, and the only one who wouldn't go running to get him in trouble.
Pansy had even accounted for the possibility of Hermione developing feelings. It was a far-fetched idea, but she'd prepared for it.
What she had never once prepared for was the reverse.
The idea that Draco might fall first — that hadn't even crossed her mind. She hadn't thought they'd become proper friends, much less anything else.
And that terrified her.
"Pans?" Daphne's voice broke through her thoughts. She was sitting on the sofa, book forgotten in her lap, watching Pansy pace. "You've been at it for ages. What's going on?"
Pansy didn't stop. "I've made a horrible, horrible mistake," she murmured.
Blaise frowned from across the room. "What did you do this time?"
Pansy groaned and flopped dramatically onto the sofa beside Daphne. "Maybe I should just transfer to Beauxbatons. Or become a dragon tamer. That's a perfectly respectable career, isn't it? Nobody expects you to meddle in a dragon's love life."
Daphne blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I could live in Romania," Pansy continued, staring at the ceiling. "Learn the language. Make friends with the dragons. They'd appreciate my sense of humour."
Blaise stared at her. "Dragons would appreciate your sense of humour."
"I could write a book. 'The Art of Not Meddling: A Dragon's Perspective.' It'd be a bestseller."
Daphne exchanged a glance with Blaise, her bewilderment perfectly mirrored. She closed her book with a soft thud. "Pansy," she said gently. "You're not making sense. What horrible mistake? And what on earth does it have to do with dragons?"
"It has everything to do with dragons," Pansy groaned, covering her face. "I've ruined everything. Maybe I should bake them a cake."
"A cake?" Blaise asked.
Daphne frowned. "Who are you baking a cake for?"
"A reconciliation cake. Or perhaps a 'Sorry for accidentally making you fall for each other' cake. Do you think chocolate or vanilla? Or should I do both — something symbolic about blending two things that were never meant to mix in the first place?"
Blaise raised an eyebrow.
"Pans, are you feeling all right?" Daphne asked.
Pansy waved a hand. "And I'll need the right icing. Nothing too sweet, nothing too bitter. I could add a drop of Veritaserum on top, so they both confess their feelings over a nice slice."
Blaise laughed. "You're talking about magical baking now. You don't even cook."
Pansy looked at him, the stress plain on her face. "What if next thing we know, Draco is knitting Weasley jumpers and reciting poetry at the dinner table? Can you imagine? Draco Malfoy quoting Shakespeare — or worse, something Muggle. What if Granger has him on some peculiar herbal remedy and he starts wearing sandals? No more pressed robes, no slicked hair, just a walking cliché—"
"Okay, you need to lie down," Blaise decided, gently pushing her horizontal onto the sofa, her head in Daphne's lap. "Use your words. What is actually going on?"
Pansy stared at the ceiling. "I thought I could get her to help him," she whispered. "Pull him back from whatever ledge he's been standing on. But I didn't think she would... I didn't think he would..."
Her voice faltered.
Daphne stroked her hair. "Who, Pansy?"
"He's looking at her like he's interested," Pansy murmured. "Not like he's simply irritated, not like he's trying to get under her skin — like he's properly infatuated. And I don't know when it started."
Blaise closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples. "Let me be sure I understand. You're in a panic because Draco might actually fancy Hermione — the same Hermione you've been pushing him toward?"
Pansy sank deeper into the sofa. "I was trying to help him. Not break him. What if this only makes things worse? What if she rejects him? Or worse — what if she doesn't?"
"You're being ridiculous."
"Blaise," Daphne warned.
Blaise scoffed. "She is! Look — I'm fully behind this new friendship with Granger. Great character development on your part, truly. But Draco does not fancy her."
Pansy closed her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to believe that. But they hadn't seen the way he'd been watching Hermione while she laughed with Vaisey.
---
"What the hell is wrong with her?" Draco asked, appearing at the foot of the boys' stairs and taking in Pansy's dramatic sprawl.
"She's convinced you're going to turn into a knitting vegan," Daphne said serenely, still stroking Pansy's hair.
"I hate all of you," Draco muttered.
Pansy sat up. "It hit me the other day like a rogue Bludger," she said. "When Hermione was talking with Vaisey. You looked at her like — like you were actually interested. Properly interested."
His expression darkened. "In Granger. Right. You've all completely lost the plot." He shook his head. "I have homework. Just keep this between us before some first-year overhears and starts tormenting me." His gaze landed briefly on Zoe Accrington, who was watching from behind a potted plant near the window, and he left the common room without another word.
---
Hermione wandered the dimly lit library with no particular destination in mind, trailing her fingers along the spines of books she'd already read, searching for something new — something to drown out the noise of Ron and Lavender and the strange, unsettled feeling she couldn't quite name.
She rounded a corner and stopped.
Malfoy was alone at a table, three books spread open in front of him, his eyes barely staying open.
Hermione paused.
He looked nothing like himself. His usual crisp composure was entirely absent — robes creased, complexion washed out under the dim lights. His fingers fidgeted against the page even as his eyes threatened to close, as though his body had forgotten how to rest.
She hesitated. A quiet voice at the back of her mind told her this was her chance — if she moved carefully enough, she could see what he was reading. Harry would want to know.
But she took one look at him — the trembling hand, the sunken shadows beneath his eyes — and turned on her heel.
It wasn't right. He was exhausted and vulnerable, and sneaking up on him would be wrong regardless of whose side she was on.
She walked back through the stacks and stopped at Madam Pince's desk.
"Good evening," she said with a smile.
Madam Pince peered over her reading glasses. "Evening, Miss Granger. We have no new acquisitions. I'm not keeping the library open late tonight. And yes, we will have extended hours during examinations."
Hermione stared at her, warmth creeping into her face. Six years of the same three questions, apparently.
"No — sorry — I just thought you should know. Draco Malfoy doesn't look at all well."
Madam Pince raised an eyebrow. "I'll send an owl to Madam Pomfrey."
"Thank you," Hermione whispered.
---
Over the next few days, Hermione kept finding reasons to return to the library.
And each evening, she found him there.
Each time she did, the exhaustion was more visible — his eyes darker, his hands less steady, even when he was sitting still. He never acknowledged her presence, and she never went out of her way to disturb him.
On the third evening, her feet seemed to move of their own accord.
She stopped in front of his table.
Malfoy didn't stir. She bit the inside of her cheek. He was somewhere in that grey space between asleep and waking, and it was unsettling to see.
She nudged the table sharply with her hip.
He jolted awake, blinking at her in shock.
"Oh — I'm so sorry, did I wake you?" she asked, the picture of innocence. "All the other tables are taken. Would you mind if I joined you?"
Malfoy blinked again, still sluggish, his usual sharp gaze dulled. He looked around the library as if briefly uncertain where he was, then back at her.
For a moment it seemed like he might send her away. Instead, he rubbed his eyes.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice rough.
She slid into the seat across from him and opened her book — though the words refused to stick.
Malfoy sighed and leaned back. "What?"
"I didn't say anything."
"I can practically hear your brain working, Granger."
She scoffed. "Apparently you've developed Legilimency. How fascinating."
"It's fantastic, except when I'm sitting next to you."
"You're across from me, actually."
A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Fine — across from you," he conceded, the mock-annoyance in his voice doing very little to conceal the fact that he was almost amused. "Still doesn't make it any less irritating."
"Maybe it would be less irritating if you got some actual sleep. You look dreadful."
Malfoy clicked his tongue. "Are you saying you're concerned about me, Granger?"
She huffed. "I'm saying you look like you're about to keel over. Now leave me to my book."
He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table, and regarded her. "Can't handle a little sleep deprivation?"
Hermione didn't bite. She turned the page.
---
"You're kidding me," Harry hissed.
"I am telling you — she has a date with Slytherin's Chaser," Ginny said.
They were tucked into one of the castle's hidden passages. Ginny didn't want Ron overhearing anything, and Harry needed a moment away from him, so it had seemed like the obvious solution.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I can't believe this. Hermione and Vaisey?" He kept his voice low, but his disbelief was evident. "What is she thinking?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's not bad-looking," she pointed out. "And he's a good flyer. Harry, you can't have a meltdown over this. I'm just keeping you in the loop like you asked."
Harry groaned. "This has to be because of Ron. She's hurting, and Vaisey is just convenient."
"Probably." Ginny laughed, moving toward him.
Harry looked at her. "Have you spoken to your mum?"
"About Hermione or Ron?"
He stared at her.
"I told her Ron's being a prat. I didn't mention Lavender."
Harry nodded, leaning back against the wall. "Is Hermione coming to the Burrow for Christmas?"
Ginny shrugged. "I think so. She usually does, doesn't she?" She paused. "Don't tell Hermione I told you about Vaisey. She'll tell you herself if it becomes anything serious. I've got a date with Dean. See you tomorrow."
---
By the time Harry reached the common room, his thoughts were spinning. He found Ron by the fire, engaged in a lazy game of Wizard's Chess against himself, looking completely unbothered. Harry felt a sharp flicker of irritation. Ron had no idea the mess he'd left in his wake, and now Hermione was — what? Moving on? Rebounding with a Slytherin Chaser?
"Hey, mate," Ron greeted, glancing up. "Where've you been?"
"Nowhere," Harry mumbled, dropping into the chair beside him.
"Nowhere?" Ron scoffed. "You were with Hermione, weren't you?"
"No. I have no idea where she is, actually."
"Probably the library."
Harry nodded vaguely, keeping his expression neutral. "Yeah. Probably."
Ron moved a knight, seemingly satisfied.
Harry sat there long after Ron had gone to bed, staring at the portrait hole.
Ginny appeared at the top of the girls' staircase in her pyjamas, sighing down at him. "Harry, this is getting strange. You've been down there for hours."
"I need to talk to Hermione."
"Then go to the library."
"No."
Ginny descended the stairs and crossed her arms. "You're acting like a worried parent. She's studying, not down the pub."
Harry said nothing.
She sighed and sat beside him. "The library closed fifteen minutes ago. She'll be back any moment."
Harry opened his mouth to send her to bed, but stopped when the portrait swung open.
Hermione stepped through, bag over her shoulder, tired but calm.
"See?" Ginny whispered, nudging him.
Hermione spotted them and hesitated. "What are you two still doing up?"
Ginny raised her eyebrows apologetically.
Hermione sighed. "All right. Get it over with, Harry."
"Where were you?" he asked.
"Library."
"Alone?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Who would I be with?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know — one of your new Slytherin friends. Parkinson, Greengrass... Vaisey?"
Hermione adjusted her bag, straightening slightly. "If you must know, I was with Malfoy."
Silence.
Harry looked as if he'd been hit with a Stunner. Ginny, for all her readiness to back Hermione up, looked momentarily caught off guard.
"Malfoy?" Harry echoed.
"Malfoy?" Ginny repeated.
"Yes. I was studying. He was studying. We were both there. I sat at his table, and we barely exchanged two words."
Ginny's curiosity was clearly overtaking her shock. "Not even a word? Really?"
"Harry, you asked me to keep an eye on him. In a way, I was." Hermione exhaled. "I need to sleep."
---
The following day in Potions, they were working on a poison antidote.
The dungeon air was thick with the scent of ingredients and the low bubbling of cauldrons as Professor Slughorn made his rounds.
Hermione carefully measured out the powdered Bezoar, double-checking the steps. Beside her, Harry had barely glanced at the textbook — he was working entirely from the scribbled notes in the margins of the Half-Blood Prince's copy.
"You're doing brilliantly, Ron," Lavender cooed from her perch at the end of their table.
Hermione suppressed a sigh. She still couldn't quite believe Slughorn had allowed Lavender to sit in.
"Thanks, Lav," Ron said, ears going red.
Harry wasn't quite as magnanimous. "How's yours coming along?" he asked Hermione.
"Fine," she said — but she wasn't watching her cauldron. She picked up a large pinch of powdered unicorn horn and tossed it in without thinking.
"Salazar, Granger!" Malfoy snapped, his hand shooting out to stop her. His fingers closed around the container before it could empty itself into the brew. "Are you trying to blow us all up?"
Hermione blinked, eyes going from Malfoy to his hand. She checked the textbook. A pinch. Not a fistful.
"Oh my god," she breathed. "I wasn't paying attention."
"Clearly," he said, setting the container aside. "Do you have a death wish, or is this just casual incompetence?"
She opened her mouth to retort — and stopped. He wasn't wrong. That quantity of powdered unicorn horn, at this temperature, would have caused a catastrophic reaction.
Harry frowned. "Maybe focus on your own potion, Malfoy."
Malfoy's eyes flicked to Harry, a smirk forming. "I am, Potter. Mine needs forty minutes to brew. I was stepping away when the brightest witch of our age nearly killed the lot of us."
"Hilarious," Hermione muttered. "See to it that your hands don't shake too much while you're stirring, and I'll make sure to actually read the instructions on mine."
His smirk vanished. His hands tightened — as though he'd only just noticed the tremor himself.
Hermione's expression softened immediately. She hadn't meant it like that. She'd noticed the shaking days ago in the library but had kept it to herself. She opened her mouth, then thought better of it.
"Just don't kill us, Granger," Malfoy said quietly, and walked out of the classroom.
Harry leaned toward her. "What was that about his hands?"
"Nothing," Hermione murmured. What else could she say? That she'd been watching Malfoy's hands for four days running and noticed they wouldn't stop trembling, even in his sleep?
"It's obviously something," Harry pressed. "You don't say things that don't mean something."
"I honestly don't know why I said it, Harry." She shook her head. "It doesn't mean anything."
---
That evening, Hermione stood in Daphne and Pansy's dormitory, running her hands through her hair as she looked at herself in the mirror. "Do I look all right? Maybe I should change. Actually, I should just not go."
"Hermione, for the love of Merlin, you look wonderful," Pansy laughed. "Vaisey won't know what hit him."
Was it bad that Hermione was privately hoping he'd be hit by a Bludger during practice so the date would be cancelled?
"Besides," Daphne said, coming out of the bathroom in her own date-night outfit, "Theo and I will be there if you need an escape route."
She walked over to Hermione. "To the pitch?"
"To the pitch," Hermione sighed.
---
After practice, the girls waited near the pitch for Theo and Vaisey. Pansy had come to see them off — mostly to make sure Draco wasn't doing anything stupid.
It was taking longer than expected, and Pansy's foot was tapping.
"What's taking them so long?" she muttered. "Practice finished ages ago."
Daphne pulled her cloak tighter against the chill. "Theo mentioned something about a strategy meeting after."
Hermione shifted. "Or they've just lost track of time. You forget I've been friends with Harry and Ron for six years."
Pansy wasn't so sure.
---
In the changing rooms, Draco was making conversation with Theo.
"So what are you up to now?" he asked, affecting disinterest.
Theo glanced at him as he dressed. "Going out with Daphne. You know that."
Draco nodded, fiddling with his laces. "Right." A beat. "I just noticed Granger was in the stands with Daphne during practice."
"Yeah, they're friends now. Has been like that for two or three weeks." Theo tossed his gloves in his bag.
"It's just strange," Draco muttered. "The whole thing — her and Daphne and Pansy. And now this business with Vaisey."
Theo raised an eyebrow and paused in putting his things away. "What about Vaisey?" He knew about the double date. He just wasn't sure what Draco was getting at.
Draco shifted. "It's just... strange."
Theo slid his jacket on and turned to face him, fighting the urge to laugh. "You sound jealous, mate."
Draco stiffened. "I'm not jealous," he said — too quickly.
"Course you're not," Theo said. "Well, I should go meet Daphne. She's waiting with Hermione, who's currently waiting on Vaisey. Double date." He started for the door, then watched Draco cross to Urquhart.
"Vaisey!" Urquhart called suddenly.
Theo stopped.
"I need you to sort some equipment. Shouldn't take more than an hour."
"Mate!" Vaisey groaned. "Come on!"
Theo laughed, shaking his head. "Draco. You cannot be serious."
"What?" Draco asked, moving toward the door.
"You're unbelievable." Theo rounded on him, voice low. "You put Urquhart up to that. You're sabotaging her date on purpose."
Draco frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Give it a rest," Theo hissed. "You're hurting her more than you're helping her."
Draco's expression flickered, then hardened again. "I don't know what you're talking about."
---
"Can you control him?" Theo snapped as he and Draco made their way toward the waiting group.
Pansy rounded on him. "I beg your pardon?" Her tone was razor-sharp.
Draco stopped. "Theo. Leave it."
Daphne and Hermione looked at each other, confused. In all their years at Hogwarts, neither had ever seen the two boys come to blows.
"I'm not one of your lackeys, Draco," Theo said. "If you want a yes-man, go back to Crabbe and Goyle." He looked at Pansy, eyes wide. "Tell him to go back and fix the mess he made."
Pansy smacked the back of his head. "Don't shout at me when I don't know what's happening."
Theo rubbed the spot, glaring. "You want to know? Really?"
"I said shut it, Nott!" Draco snapped.
Pansy's eyes narrowed dangerously, her gaze settling on Draco.
"Yes, Theo," she said, her voice cold and deliberate. "Why don't you enlighten us?"
Draco stepped forward. "Don't," he warned quietly.
Theo had reached his limit. "Draco here — " he gestured sharply — "told Urquhart to keep Vaisey back. All because he's too—"
"Don't," Draco said again, voice like ice.
"—too scared to admit—"
Draco's fist connected with Theo's face.
Pansy's mouth fell open.
Theo pressed a hand to his nose, blood welling between his fingers. "You bloody prat." He hit back.
Both boys landed a few blows before two voices rang out simultaneously.
"Enough!" Hermione and Pansy yelled.
"Don't make me assign detentions," Hermione hissed, prefect instincts overriding everything else.
Pansy scoffed. "Detention will be the least of your problems. Fifty points from Slytherin — each. And I'll keep deducting if you don't pull yourselves together. I couldn't care less about the House Cup."
Daphne crossed to Theo, conjuring a handkerchief and dabbing at his nose.
"What is the matter with you?" Pansy hissed at Draco.
Hermione stood between the two pairs of Slytherins, her head still spinning. Vaisey wasn't coming — Malfoy had made sure of that. She wanted to be furious. And yet some traitorous part of her was relieved to have a reason to call it off.
"Hey — ready?" Vaisey appeared at her side, cheerful and none the wiser.
Hermione's face fell. Really?
Draco's head snapped toward him.
Vaisey looked around at the group, frowning. "What happened here?"
Hermione pulled herself together. "Nothing. We just thought you couldn't make it — Theo mentioned something about Urquhart keeping you back."
It made Draco feel ill, watching her perform.
"Yeah, he wanted me to sort equipment," Vaisey said, rolling his eyes. "I got Crabbe to cover it. Didn't want to miss this — I've been looking forward to it all week."
Hermione smiled warmly. "That's brilliant."
Theo looked pointedly at Draco. "Butterbeer, then?"
Daphne managed not to sigh. "Yeah. Let's go."