Draco leaves the dormitory early. The room is still dark, the curtains drawn, and three of the other four beds are still closed up tight. Zabini is the only one up earlier than Draco, something that isn't uncommon.
Even if Draco doesn't enjoy being up early, he does enjoy avoiding Crabbe and Goyle. The night before had been tense. He wasn't able to fully relax and trust that there wouldn't be another altercation, with all five of them sharing the same dorm. He doesn't fancy a repeat this morning, and he's only slightly less twitchy to hex Crabbe or Goyle today than he'd been twelve hours ago.
Zabini's already in the Great Hall, piling a plate high with smoked kippers and scrambled eggs. Draco occupies the seat across from him and Blaise talks around a mouth of eggs.
"Before anybody else gets down here, Malfoy, you have to tell me what it is about her. What's worth all this hassle?"
Draco tries not to feel offended. Blaise isn't trying to be disparaging. He wants to understand and Draco finds himself quite partial to justifying his efforts.
"She's just - different. Different than we thought. She's brave and open. She trusts me for some inexplicable reason. It feels - nice."
This is an extremely lame way to close. Blaise swallows and tries to hide an air of incredulity behind a full goblet of pumpkin juice. "She trusts you and it feels nice?"
Blinking twice, Draco considers shoving the pumpkin juice right into Blaise's lap. He resists this and attempts to wrangle his frustration into better words instead.
"She's... Potter's brains. She's every good idea that prat has. She's the queen of Gryffindor. She's so deep into the good and right thing to do all the time, and yet she looks at me like I might qualify. Even after the way I used to treat her. She's giving me a chance anyway. Yes, it feels... nice."
He stares at his plate, nudging around a kipper with the tines of his fork. That is a decent way to boil it down, at last. Nobody's ever looked at Draco like that before, and his mum doesn't count.
"Somehow she's decided that I can fit into her general worldview, that I'm not so bad, and she trusted me with the biggest secret of her life. Until I blew it up in the hallway the other week, that was." He pulls a face, not enjoying the facts. "I felt - hell, I feel like maybe I could deserve it. Sometimes. I want to - to be better. For her, I want to be better. And if you ever say a single word of this to anybody, I swear to Salazar, Zabini, I will curse you."
Blaise has been silent for several long minutes, and while Draco is torturously curious for a reaction, he's far more comfortable hearing it and not seeing it. The kipper takes another trip around his plate.
"Do you know anything about her, though?"
"What do you mean? I know she's brilliantly talented, she's brave and independent, she's extra hot because she doesn't know it, she likes firewhisky, there's a spot behind one knee that -"
"I mean, do you know deeper things? What do her parents do? What are their names?"
Draco doesn't know. "They're Muggles."
He can hear the eye roll without needing to look. "Obviously. Is that all you've got? What's her middle name, then?"
Draco doesn't know.
"Where did she grow up?"
"London?"
"Are you asking me or telling me? She's top in every lesson, but which one is her favourite?"
Draco doesn't know.
"What's her favourite colour?"
"Red?"
"When's her birthday?"
Draco doesn't know. "Early autumn, I think."
"Bloody hell, Malfoy. Maybe spend less time shagging the witch and a little more time talking to her."
Zabini has him dead to rights there. The visual of Hermione and Theo sitting at the library table, sitting close and laughing together chips another tiny nick off his heart.
"Well, for a while, I get to do neither," he snaps, his irritation climbing. Blaise takes the opportunity to scoop up more scrambled eggs and Draco wonders where he fits it all.
"I'm just saying, you and Nott are both going through a huge amount of time and energy on this. I get his perspective, even though I know he'd have never come up with it. I don't fully get yours."
"I don't really need you to," Draco says stiffly.
Pansy wanders in for breakfast and assumes the seat next to him. She kisses him on the cheek, something he allows with an indulgent smile. He wants the rumours that they're together, but he's also going to stage a huge row right before the end of term. When Pansy does run off with Theo, Draco doesn't want everybody turning to him and asking where his girlfriend's gone. This needs to placate the masses without making the case that he's madly in love with Pansy Parkinson, who is going to disappear in a few short weeks.
He desperately wants to know more about their plan but knows better than to keep asking. It's finally hitting home that Theo and Pansy won't be returning to Hogwarts next year.
"I'm not trying to offend you," Blaise is busy saying, and Draco tries to catch up. "It's not that I don't see the attraction. I'm a bloke. I just can't get past the swotty, self-righteous judgement she exuded from nearly every pore since we were all eleven. Maybe if I spent more time with her, I'd see another side."
"Hopefully we can all start doing that soon," Pansy grumbles, delicately spearing a swatch of butter for a thin slice of toast. "I prefer to study with Theo."
"It's not studying you're doing, Pans."
"You're one to talk, you wanker."
"Well, now, yes. Back to wanking."
Blaise shakes his head in disbelief. "The four of you just started this whole thing and you're all already sick of it."
Blaise has no idea, but it has to be done. Draco changes the subject. "What did Crabbe say to Theo last night that tipped him over the edge?"
Pansy's visibly trying to smother her interest in this but Draco sees right through her nonchalance. He smirks at her and she kicks him under the table.
"Well, coming from Crabbe, it was hard to make it make perfect sense," Blaise chews thoughtfully. "But it was something to the effect of Theo's dad either beating him too much as a child - maybe knocking some brain cells loose to make him attracted to a Mudblood at all - or not beating him enough. Theo offered to test the theory."
So that part was only peripherally about Hermione. Draco's selfishly relieved and wonders if Pansy feels the same.
Aside from his vocal desire to never see the Senior Nott again, Theo's always quite reserved about the abuse he suffered at his hands. Draco's never tried to pry. He's figured all along that if Theo wants to talk about it in detail, he will, but that it's not his place to press the matter. Maybe Blaise has gotten more out of him at some point, but either way, it was a low blow.
As children, Draco knew Theo had injuries he'd try to hide from the rest of them. His father forbade the house elves from healing his son, saying if the injury didn't resonate with Theo, what good was the punishment? While the others played Quidditch or roughhoused around, Theo would sit and read instead of showing how badly physical contact might hurt that day.
Lady Nott - Draco can't even recall her first name at the moment - disappeared when Theo was a toddler. He never speaks of her. Ever. No one knows if she outright abandoned Theo to the abuse or was killed by Theo's father in a drunken temper.
Theo's quiet and introverted nature reigned for years, even away at Hogwarts, and it's only been this year that Draco's begun to see him come out of his shell. The relationship with Pansy and the knowledge that he'll never be returning home is working wonders on his entire demeanour, especially the closer that comes to fruition. Theo has hope for a different life and can see the possibilities on the horizon.
Pansy brightens noticeably and Draco assumes Theo is about to sit. He knows he's wrong when Pansy drapes an arm around him and whispers into his ear, "I just said something funny."
Goyle, then, or Crabbe again. Draco prepares himself and forces out a cough of a laugh, short and sharp. He turns to her and tucks in close. "You're not that funny."
"Fake it, then."
"That's your job."
She gives him a good pinch in the side and he catches her hand in his. He thinks this little show is convincing enough to seem flirtatious, if only incidentally.
He's somewhat right. Goyle seems to buy it, his semi-glazed look sliding past them and landing on the mound of bacon in the centre of the table. Crabbe is another matter.
"She looks good today, doesn't she?" He's speaking to their section of the table at large, but Draco knows the words are pointed at him. He also knows better than to peer around Goyle's bulk to look for Hermione, but the urge to do it is strong.
He shrugs it off, letting his hand come to rest on Pansy's on top of the table. She twists her fingers around the edge of his palm. "I don't know, Crabbe, you tell me. Does she?"
Pansy simpers at him, her eyes never leaving his face. He leans in to kiss the tip of her nose. Crabbe is undeterred.
Draco wonders whether Crabbe is willing to trade Draco's inclusion in his mission for this slander - surely, Crabbe can't believe he can have both. Then he shoves himself mentally back in line, realising if he truly doesn't care what Crabbe says, it'll have no bearing on whether he lets Crabbe in on the secret. Hermione is a disgusting Mudblood and Crabbe can assist with the vanishing cabinet, and all should be well.
It's rare times like this that Draco wishes school would be done with sooner, rather than later.
"Maybe once Nott's done with her, I'll give her a go."
The blood in Draco's veins starts running a tad on the warm side. Pansy shifts her hand to wind her fingers through him and Blaise scoffs in a bored tone, "Change your mind already, Vince? Last night, she was the 'muddy waters' to be avoided like the plague."
"Maybe I'm curious. Maybe listening to Nott in bed last night when he thinks we're all asleep has me wondering."
Bloody Theo. Draco curses. He needs a refresher on proper silencing charms.
"So maybe I'd like a little taste myself. Her cunt must have something good to it, to have half the wizards in this school falling all over themselves to get next to her."
"Sounds like you'd better get in line, then," Pansy supplies unexpectedly, with a sugary smile. "That's the best you could manage anyway, Vince, standing in the back of a line for a Mudblood."
Draco, being a taciturn sort of wizard who defaults to sheer bluntness when pressed, is always impressed with the way witches can wield their tongues (verbally, in this instance, although he doesn't limit his appreciation of other, tangentially-related skill sets. Pansy is proficient in both.). The ability to smile graciously while eviscerating someone with a single sentence is a skill most witches seem born with. Or maybe it just requires a bit of honing; Pansy's an expert at it. He'll have to ask her.
It's a helpful distraction to keep him from engaging in whatever game Crabbe is trying to play. Last night, he'd wanted nothing more than the opportunity to defend Hermione while Theo got the honours, and now that he has a chance of his own, he still can't.
He knows exactly what Crabbe's trying to do. He's playing to Draco's jealousy on purpose. Rather than go solely for the insult, he's hoping to make Draco react in the more expected Malfoy way. So yes, the tactic is obvious. Draco just hadn't given the wizard credit for possessing any modicum of strategy, of adaptability.
He's underestimated Crabbe, it would seem. Not only is he showing more ambition than ever before, but he's behaving in a crafty manner Draco associates more with... well, anyone else. The three-toed frogs gaining access to the Herbology greenhouses have been more wily than Crabbe and Goyle for six entire years.
He needs to reevaluate his perception of them both.
He turns his back on the other wizard, effectively ending the conversation. It's a clear dismissal, even though he knows Crabbe is likely to ignore it. Glancing at Pansy, Draco drops casually, "I'll be busy tonight. You'll have to revise Transfiguration by yourself."
Sharper than Crabbe by any metric, Pansy coos, "I hope it works for you tonight. I know you're so close." She manages to make this sound sexual. In sheer appreciation, Draco leans in and gives her a quick peck on the side of her mouth.
"Don't muss my lipstick!" squeals Pansy, jumping back and swatting him playfully, and Draco is so, so glad she's so good at this.
"Can I muss it later, then?"
"Come find me tonight when you get done," Pansy purrs, and Crabbe finally departs. Draco fights the urge to shake off the act and scoot slightly further down the bench from Pansy. It all feels... wrong. He knows it's important but it chafes.
Crabbe's becoming a bigger problem than he anticipated. Draco's rough sketch of an idea to shove him into one of the vanishing cabinets as a test might prove to be more of a 'need' than a 'want.'
* * *
Hermione's not sure how much sleep she got the night before, but it wasn't a lot. She can't stop turning over the implications of Harry's meeting with Dumbledore.
Elimination of miscellaneous Horcruxes is necessary for Voldemort's downfall. The subject matter is disturbing enough, but equally so is Dumbledore telling Harry so much about it.
She doesn't like it. This is a topic he had banned from the school. Even his own professors were afraid to admit mentioning it.
Harry isn't even of age, yet. He and Neville are practically the youngest in their year, not turning seventeen until the end of the summer before their seventh year. And Dumbledore is telling him how to bring about the fall of the Dark Lord.
Of course she'd heard the prophecy, of course she knew even the Prophet took to calling Harry the 'Chosen One,' but it was something Harry was embarrassed by. That Dumbledore is putting so much weight on it now bothers Hermione.
Maybe it's true, that 'neither can live while the other survives.' But Dumbledore is acting like it's going to happen next week. Why the rush? Why the emphasis on it this year?
Harry's best guess is that it's going to take time to find all the Horcruxes, compounded since they (1) don't know how many they number, (2) don't know what they might be, and (3) don't know where they are.
There's a fourth problem, too. They have no idea how to destroy one. Harry did it by accident in his second year.
"Mind if I join you?" comes a smooth, deep voice, and Theo sits. He starts filling a plate while Hermione's too surprised to react.
Ginny does it for her, thick with sarcasm. "Sure, sure, have a seat. Don't eat all the toast, though. What are you doing, Nott?"
He winks. "I'd like to eat with my girlfriend." He sets the plate in front of Hermione, who barely noticed she was even at breakfast, and begins to top off another for himself.
"How's that going?" Ginny asks, eyes wide and innocent, and Hermione can't tell Theo that Ginny's in on the secret while there are so many people around.
"Swimmingly, I'd say. Eh, Hermione?"
She manages a nod and reaches for the jam, casting her gaze over the Slytherin table. It's difficult to see around Goyle and Crabbe, but there are glimpses of Draco's white-blond hair between them, and she can see Pansy's school satchel on the floor.
Theo leans into her, dropping his voice. "Those two are on a mission to make him crack. I hope it's not this soon."
Other Gryffindors are staring from further down the table, and Hermione turns her back to face him squarely. "Are they doing it because they're asked to?"
She'd like to elaborate but doesn't feel confident in public. Luckily, Theo doesn't need anything else and does his best to be equally generic.
"It could be either one, really. I don't know for sure. I wouldn't have given either of them credit for being so... so persistent on their own, challenging the leadership. But who knows?"
"The pecking order is at risk?" Hermione lifts her eyebrows, curious about this insight into Slytherin House politics.
"It shouldn't surprise you that he's at the top of it. Or he was until recently."
Hermione mouths 'me?' and Theo winks.
"Now there appears to be a vacancy - or the potential of one. And while I'd have never assumed it of them, one of the main population personality traits for the house is ambition. They're showing some. They must figure better late than never."
Ginny's also eating this up, scooting subtly closer and closer behind her until her hip touches Hermione's bum on the bench.
Pansy gives a sharp squeal and all their heads turn to look. She swats Draco on the shoulder like a flirt, tossing her hair back, and they exchange a few more close words before Crabbe moves off to join Goyle further down the table.
Hermione swallows hard, trying not to watch. She isn't supposed to care. She should be relieved when Pansy only presents her cheek to Draco for a kiss, but she's more relieved when she hears Theo make a low noise back in his throat, then clear it loudly to cover it up. They watch the pair rise and leave the Great Hall, Draco effortlessly tossing Pansy's satchel over his own shoulder.
"Shall we?" Theo offers moments later, seeming tired of keeping up the charade in front of the table. Hermione agrees, and Theo lifts her bag just as Draco had for Pansy. At the entrance to the Great Hall, Hermione goes to take it and make for the girls' loo, but Theo stops her.
He tugs her hand to spin her around, planting a quick peck on her mouth. "It was nice to eat with you, Hermione. Can I sit with you for dinner, too?"
Speechless, she nods. She supposes that shouldn't surprise her: either part of it. And a quick kiss is realistic for an early start to a relationship. It's not like he snogged her, and her mind recalls the morning she saw him and Pansy devouring each other behind the suit of armour that's just to her left.
In the loo, she tries to gather herself. This was her blasted idea. Why does it feel like everybody's better at it than she is?
* * *
Seamus is avoiding her, and she's caught between relief at not having to face the embarrassing exchange they had days ago, and regret at what he likely thinks of her now.
In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hermione's further unsettled by Snape's unyielding attention on her. She tells herself it's not about her; she usually shares this table with Harry and Ron, depending on whether he and Lavender are having a row.
So maybe it's about Harry. Snape's vitriol is usually about Harry. It's usually only directed at Hermione when she's answering questions he hasn't asked or otherwise piping up unbidden.
It doesn't feel like it, though. He sets them to practise in the second half of the class, swiftly moving all tables to the side and opening up space for the students to pair off. Hermione's accustomed to this bit, where Harry and Ron join up, and she's caught between Seamus (not anymore) or Lavender (to listen to her vent about Ron instead of practise), but Theo steps up.
"May I?" he asks, twirling his wand and she feels caught unawares twice in one morning.
Snape's eyes narrow further, and he's not the only one. The houses don't mix. Occasionally it happens, when couples pair off, but it's rare, and the Slytherins never do.
"Nott," Ron grits out, and Hermione arches one eyebrow with a quick head tilt. He knows.
Theo seems to get it and doesn't seem surprised that her closest friends would be aware, even if reluctant to approve. "Weasley," he returns, almost cheerfully, and Hermione marvels afresh at how well he's doing this.
The class quickly evolves into a noisy mess of practice and she whispers, "You must really hate your dad to be doing this much."
He laughs openly. "I do! I really do. I expect daily Howlers soon. I'm half-surprised I didn't get one this morning after we studied together last night. Old man must be slower on the uptake than he used to be."
"Maybe the gossip just isn't as riveting as you expect."
"Oh, no. It is." Theo looks down at his hands in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty, in spite of his words. "Or it will be. Trust me; this is going to be well worth it for me."
"Even risking Pansy's wrath?" Hermione's careful to phrase this ambiguously. Maybe Pansy's a jealous sort of ex-girlfriend. She's still curious as to why Pansy would agree to this, even if Theo's going to go down on her while draping her in emeralds later.
"There are more politics at play than those within the castle," he says quietly, an intense look in his eyes. "My reasons for this extend beyond giving my father an aneurysm. I can't tell you more than that, but I'm also doing this for her."
Her curiosity is instantly aflame but he shakes his head the tiniest bit. Hermione steps back and decides to start playing the game herself. She raises her voice so others can hear.
"You're going to have to hex me, you know. Unless you think you can't land one on me."
Theo throws his head back in faux exasperation. "You maddening witch, I know I can land one. I just don't want to."
"You think your offence is better than my defence? Prove it," she challenges. Draco's shoulders give a little twitch from his position near the wall.
"That depends. If I prove it, will you still snog me later, or are you going to be too salty that I actually hexed you?"
"I guess you'll have to find out." She gets into position and raises her wand, doing her level best to ignore Draco's covert attention. Privately, she thinks Theo's pushing his luck. But if Crabbe didn't get a rise out of him this morning (and she wishes she knew what was said) he can probably manage Theo.
* * *
"Draco, see me after class," Snape drops on his way past, and Draco misses Pansy's hex - as if he's not distracted enough. It hits his elbow right in the nerve and he hisses a swear.
Between Pansy, Theo-and-Hermione (who now get lumped together when they are together), and the Chosen One, now Snape's tugging at his attention. He thinks Pansy might be trying to provoke him to keep his focus on her, which isn't a terrible plan.
Unexpectedly, the hardest thing about class today is fighting the urge to hex Harry bloody Potter. This has taken something of a backseat for Draco for almost a week, but being in an active Defence class, throwing and blocking hexes, makes the possibility ripe for the taking. He could do it so easily. But really, the point would be duelling for real, not catching Potter unawares. That would be satisfying, yes, but not as much as if Potter knew he'd been the one to do it.
The scar cutting across his chest - most of his torso, in fact - is grotesque. It's fading to the silvery sheen that designates it as a magical wound, the kind he'll never be able to eliminate.
Draco is of two minds about it, now that it's branded on him forever. He'd still rather it not exist at all, but he can't deny that it looks intense. It looks like he really survived something - which, he guesses, he did. He wouldn't have if it weren't for his godfather, and that brings him full circle to Snape's request to see him after class.
Pansy struggles with a shield charm when it's his turn to fire, and he changes tactics to instruct her properly, instead. He holds her arm out straight, his fingers clasping around hers on her wand and letting his chin brush near her ear. He sees Goyle watching. Together, he helps her cast a proper shield and drops a quick kiss on her cheek before moving back across from her.
It's a miracle he's able to cast anything at all well. There's Pansy. There's Goyle, and soon it'll be Crabbe when they switch places. Potter's right over there, and Draco finds himself rooting for Weasley (an absurd thing, that) to land a jinx on Potter in Draco's stead. He's not even picky about what sort.
And Theo, chatting and joking with Hermione, doing everything Draco hates. It's false but it also isn't. She's laughing for real. She's answering real questions and asking her own in return.
Theo's doing everything Draco wishes he was doing (except hexing Potter), and he's barely keeping it together. He thinks if Theo calls her that stupid nickname, he might combust right in the middle of class.
* * *
"What are you doing, Draco?"
His godfather's arms are crossed forebodingly across his chest and the question is too open-ended for Draco to volunteer an answer. He squints at Snape with suspicion.
A stalemate ensues.
Draco breaks it without breaking it. "What do you mean, sir?"
Snape seems to debate this before gravelling out, "With Miss Parkinson."
Ah, a good opportunity to continue spreading the news. This is welcome. "We're back together. Seeing her with Theo Nott made me realise I wanted her back for myself."
Without warning, he feels Snape perusing his thoughts. He's not often caught by surprise with this, but it's been ages since Snape has done it or even practised with him. Draco knows he can't shove Snape out once he's in and does his best to scramble, yanking thoughts of Pansy to the front of his mind.
Unfortunately, most of the current ones also do an internal two-step dance around Hermione and/or Theo.
Snape pauses here and there, sifting and studying. He's so smooth about it that Draco isn't even certain which memories and thoughts he's seeing. He knows it's entirely possible that Snape can move through his mind like a vapour.
He feels the absence, though, when Snape retreats. The stalemate recommences, both studying the other in silence. Snape's jaw rolls back and forth and Draco tries not to feel anxious.
"And yet you watch the Granger girl," he says at last, and Draco knows he's sunk. If Snape went in because he was curious about Draco's 'look,' as Pansy so infuriatingly called it in that sodding broom closet, he's no doubt found mountains of incrimination.
"I sense very little hostility in you, Draco," Snape continues and Draco tries to stifle a scoff. He's constantly hostile. It's one of the few predictable states of mind he exists in.
"It's different than it was before, when your hatred of Potter was tied up with your pride. You were Lucius's son in that way. You're still angry, even hostile at times, but it's on behalf of another. I daresay you've never had that happen before, have you?"
Blinking, Draco thinks he might be right. All of his fury lately has been, in some way, in defence of Hermione. Sometimes himself, too, like with Finnegan in the corridor, but it's all revolved around her at the core of it. Even Potter in the loo - how angry Draco was when Potter had implied he thought Hermione was stupid for deigning to be with Draco.
He still hasn't answered his godfather and isn't sure how. He fights the urge to grow sullen.
"And what is Mr Nott doing with her, may I ask?"
Bugger. Draco won't give Theo away, his lack of allegiance, his plans to run, to avoid becoming the next Death Eater forced to follow in the footsteps of his father.
He falls back on a Slytherin standard. "He owes me a favour. A large one."
Abruptly, Snape changes topics, keeping him feeling off-balance and scrambled. "Draco, I would like to offer for you to stay with me this summer. Your Occlumency is rusty, at best. I don't believe the Manor is a safe place for you."
He bores his eyes into Draco's, with meaning. Or her.
"Your aunt is quite at home there, undoubtedly feeling as if she has a right to call it partially her own. I don't see that changing anytime soon, and she's not the only danger present."
"My mother would never permit it."
"I think she will," Snape replies, in his low, soft voice. "I'm going to say I'm apprenticing you as a potions master, a skillset that will benefit the cause. The Dark Lord trusts me above all others. If he agrees, no one can dispute it."
"Is he also at home in my Manor, sir?"
"He is."
Draco swallows. "I... worry for her safety sometimes."
"As well you should. He's a danger to her."
Draco's lost track now of whether they're speaking of his mother or Hermione. He tests the waters. "Is there a way we could keep her safe, sir?"
"There could be." A ghost of a smile crosses his godfather's mouth before vanishing. Draco is given nothing more to go on, and finds himself dismissed.
* * *
What the hell was that? It occupies the remainder of Draco's afternoon and he gets no further to sorting it than he was when he found himself outside Snape's closed door.
He's almost sure now that the majority of the conversation had centred around Hermione. But an inability to talk openly is leaving him more confused than he began.
One thing is undeniable, though. His thoughts are swamped with her. If he can't get his Occlumency back in line, the Manor really will be dangerous for him to return to. He'd be a fool to think his Aunt Bella wouldn't check his mind after the rumours of Hermione spread, even if he appeared to have moved on with Pansy.
Snape's offering to help him, again. Evidence continues to mount. First, saving his life in the loo, although any professor ought to have done that. Snape had the skill set, but any professor ought to have tried. Draco can't really count it, not by itself. Then second, charming his hospital robes to hide his Mark. Although, that was just prudent. As the only adult in the castle that knows it's there, Snape had a duty to keep it secret.
But this is extra. This is along the lines of offering to assist with the vanishing cabinets - and not to help complete the mission, but to help placate those who may be impatient with the timeline. Housing him to help keep Hermione a secret is the definition of 'above and beyond.'
She swirls through his thoughts like a wraith, everywhere at once. Is she wearing the necklace under her robes? What knickers does she have on? He knows what shoes she's wearing, and he knows the big toe is painted green, and he knows he can't see the rest of them.
It's driving him mad. He allows himself a brief glance over to the Gryffindor table, where Theo is sitting beside her. Draco grits his teeth but Hermione seems lost in thought, not unlike he is. He wonders what's on her mind. Is it him?
She's the only thing on his.
But she never looks up.