Hermione does her level best not to chew on her lip all through dinner. It's been thoroughly abused of late.
Voldemort and Horcruxes. They turn over and over, like two sides of a coin. Hermione wonders if she flipped it in the air, which would land face up.
Harry and Dumbledore did brainstorm some thoughts on what he might have used to make them. Voldemort was drawn to artefacts of significance, whether magical or historical. He showed Harry a memory of a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff, who'd obtained a cup owned by the original founder, and a necklace that was rumoured to belong to the Slytherin family.
The ring Dumbledore had found belonged to a Slytherin descendant, an offshoot of the core family called the Gaunts. He thinks Voldemort would have been drawn to a family antique, especially if it could have magical importance, too.
So; her mind rattles them off on repeat. Gone: Diary and ring. Possibilities: cup and locket. And the snake. And then, what?
No one knows. But that makes five, plus the bit in Voldemort himself, and Dumbledore thinks he'd be drawn to seven. The number may mean nothing at all, but it's supposed to have a mystical power in itself.
One is missing, at a minimum. Hermione still doesn't like the open-ended question of whether there are more. How could they ever know for sure?
Raucous laughter brings her back to the present, where Theo has engaged Cormac in Quidditch heckling. Hermione's entertained to see that a decent majority of the table appears to be siding with Theo about whatever is being debated. She wonders if Theo is just that likeable or if Cormac is just that disliked, even among his own house?
Cormac boasts that he's skipping the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend for extra practice and challenges the Gryffindors at the table to join him, all to make sure they beat Slytherin in the House Cup. Hermione recalls that Harry will not be playing in that game, so Cormac must be - as if he's not obnoxious enough.
She and Theo will be going to Hogsmeade, but so will Draco and Pansy. Hermione thinks that'll be a good initial place to be seen as all four of them together.
Harry will be in detention. Ron will be with Lavender, since he still hasn't ditched her. She's sitting in his lap right now, trying to feed him baby carrots one at a time from her fingers. How can Lavender not see how much Ron hates this? It's so obvious. Ron opens his teeth just far enough to accept each baby carrot, chews for an exhausting amount of time before finally swallowing, and reluctantly opens his mouth for the next one.
What will it take for him to finally break things off? Not a nineteenth baby carrot, it would seem. Oh, no, Lavender's swapped to celery. Ron's ingested all the carrots. Hm.
Whatever. Not her business. Other matters are more pressing, Hogsmeade plans among them. Hermione may as well begin incorporating herself into her new group, even though Theo is doing an admirable job of coming at it from the other direction.
And when's Harry's next meeting with Dumbledore? What will they do? Will Dumbledore tell him more about Horcruxes, even though he's plainly reluctant to share details? It's so contradictory, it makes Hermione want to scream. Tell the underage wizard all about a banned subject, then decline to share details that could prove extremely important.
But maybe he won't refuse to share them, she reasons. Maybe Dumbledore's figuring it all out, too. They need to find out how he destroyed the ring. Hermione has a sneaking feeling the ring is why Dumbledore's hand is dead and withered, resembling a black skeleton wrapped in a few tendons and some limp skin.
What worked in the Chamber of Secrets? How had Harry done it? Hermione hadn't been there. Fawkes had brought Harry the Sorting Hat, which had coughed up the sword of Gryffindor. That was probably it. It seems likely.
And where might they find that cup of Helga Hufflepuffs? Or that locket? Hermione wonders to which Slytherin relative it had originally belonged. Somehow she can't imagine Salazar Slytherin himself wearing it.
And on, and on, and on.
* * *
The Hogsmeade day arrives and it's positively lovely. Spring is sloughing off into summer weather and Hermione reluctantly leaves the necklace behind. It's too warm for robes and she can't hide it properly without them. But Draco has sent her another pair of shoes to her dormitory with a brief note. Just 'I miss you,' scrawled without a signature or even a 'DM.'
She's quite pleased to wear them. They're not heeled like the others, much better suited to casual wear and the extended walk into Hogsmeade village. They're an expensive pair of trainers with a brand she recognises on Pansy, and just like the heels he provides, he's charmed the sizing.
She feels almost like bouncing down the staircase to meet Theo. Over the past couple of days, Draco's taken to sending her little paper aeroplanes like memos, with short questions.
"Do you have any siblings back home?"
"When did you first show magic? What did you do?"
"What was your favourite book growing up, before you found Hogwarts: A History?"
The fact that he even knows her distinct preference for Hogwarts: A History makes her feel warm inside. It's not something they've ever talked about. None of this is, though, and she looks forward to the little aeroplanes when they land in front of her.
He must be careful, of course. If anybody's curious and watching, it must be plausible that they're notes from Theo. So Theo can't be with her. And if they're sitting in the same class together, Draco can't openly write something, fold it up, and have it land on Hermione's table three rows behind.
The sneaky timing makes her stomach flutter, and when she's alone she's always wondering if she might be about to receive one. It's the only thing that pulls her mind away from the obsession she's developing with the Horcrux mystery.
* * *
Before heading out to Hogsmeade with Pansy in tow, Draco can't resist another chat with his Head of House. Questions tangle up his mouth when facing Snape, though, frustrating him all over again.
"Do get on with it, Draco," Snape drones. "With everyone else gone, I was hoping for some quiet today."
Why is he struggling so much? Draco thought he'd settled on how to say this, at long last. Snape is trying to help him protect Hermione. He should be able to ask why.
"Is my relationship with Pansy not enough, sir?"
Snape's black eyes narrow, showing a quick glint Draco might only imagine. "Your dalliance with Miss Parkinson is clever, Draco. It will placate many who doubt you. My fear is that you'll be unable to mask deeper interrogation, and if you aren't entirely confident of that yourself, you would be a fool to risk it."
He's thought this bit over. "I don't want to see her harmed, sir. I'd like to stay with you this summer."
"I think that would be best."
"May I ask, sir... why do you care?"
Snape's chin lifts as he stares at Draco down the end of his nose. He measures his words. "I don't wish to see you harmed, Draco."
"And... and her?"
For a moment, Draco thinks he's gone too far, and is about to be tossed back out into the corridor. Snape makes no movements to do this but the air in the room grows chilly and, tucked into his opposing elbows, Draco sees Snape's knuckles turn white.
He decides to withstand the long silence for as long as Snape will tolerate it. He won't accept defeat and leave on his own.
"I see a small piece of myself in you, Draco," his godfather finally says. "I know what it is to - to love the wrong person, and -"
Draco begins to splutter, a reaction born purely of self-preservation, on instinct alone. "I don't love her, sir, it's nothing, I -"
"Stop."
Draco stops.
"It's unfair to have those you love targeted because of who you are. I believe those we love should be held - apart, if you will, from the front lines of battle. I don't believe they should be automatic target fodder for those hoping to wound us, instead."
This is quite a lot for Snape to say at one time. Draco tries to swallow it all.
"She'll be targeted anyway, because of who she is. Not just what she is, but by whose side she'll stand - be it yours or his."
Draco knows Snape isn't talking about Theo.
"But if there is one thing we can do to keep any blame for her harm falling upon you, we should take it - should we not?"
Draco still doesn't think this is all of it. Not even close. But he's loath to turn down the help. No, obviously he doesn't want Hermione targeted simply because he, the Malfoy heir, the first legacy Death Eater in history (but definitely not the last), wants to be with her. He couldn't bear it if something happened to her solely because of his association with her.
There's one other thing he thinks he can get away with asking.
"I didn't think you liked her very much, sir."
"I dislike the company she's historically kept, and she's a maddening and infuriating student to teach. But she's a brilliant girl who shouldn't be punished simply because you favour her. Do you disagree?"
"Not at all." Draco keeps his eyes respectfully downcast. With this posture, he decides he can risk one more. "And the company she keeps?"
Snape makes a noise that sounds as if he's retched in his own throat. "An entitled, untalented boy who, for whatever reason, has the headmaster tripping all over himself? The blatant favouritism shown, the unfair allowances and justifications of him and his entire house,
the -"
He breaks this off, hissing in breath through his nose. "Go take Miss Parkinson to Hogsmeade, Draco. Have a... good, public time there, won't you?"
And with that, Draco is once again dismissed.
* * *
Pansy's quiet on the walk to Hogsmeade, making Draco grateful. They're holding hands, but it's nice to be able to let the charade be purely visual and not have anybody around to playact for. That will start back up soon enough.
As they trek leisurely along, Draco's lost in thought.
What did Snape mean when he said he knew what it was to 'love the wrong person?' Draco's never known his godfather to be with any witch - or wizard, for that matter. Snape lives a fully isolated existence, as far as Draco's ever been able to tell.
They'll be arriving nearly an hour after everybody else left the castle, and Draco knows they're meeting Theo and Hermione for lunch. They'd agreed on the Three Broomsticks rather than the Hog's Head. It'll draw a certain crowd, while still not carrying the audience the Great Hall would at dinnertime.
Hopefully after this and a Sunday spent in full view of the student body, eating together and revising in the library as a quartet, he and Hermione might be able to sneak off at night.
This feels like the longest week and a half of his life.
He's vexed anew at how preoccupied Hermione seems. For days, she's been like this: gaze far away, pushing food around her plate, quiet in lessons. He can't ask her what's wrong, can't fix it for her, and it's making him batty.
In quiet moments alone, he wonders if maybe she's grown tired of the whole charade. Maybe the novelty is wearing off. Maybe she's deciding it's not worth the hassle, and maybe she enjoys Theo's company a little too much.
She's been answering his little notes, though, so that's something. He loves sending them, although it's difficult to pin down the right time. Since he has to send them when she's likely alone, he can't verify whether she is. He usually holds his breath that they never arrive at a suspicious time, or that she can easily explain them away. He never signs them.
But his heart leaps when he sees the response.
"No brothers or sisters. I guess there's a chance they'd have been Muggles if I'd had them, but I don't. Wouldn't it be interesting if I did, and they were magical, too? Like the Creevey brothers, two magical children from non-magical parents. Fascinating."
"My first magic was when I was a toddler. I don't remember doing it, but my mum said I wanted sweets she wouldn't let me have, and suddenly the jar was in my hands. The first one I remember was around age six, and the same thing happened with a book I wanted off the top shelf in my dad's study."
"My favourite books were Agatha Christie novels. She was a Muggle author who specialised in mysteries. It was all fiction, of course. I suppose it might seem a little frivolous, but I loved trying to figure out the puzzle. They were meant for adults and they seemed terribly difficult and complex to me as a little girl. She wrote dozens and dozens of books and I devoured them all. I couldn't pick a single favourite."
She gives back so much more than he sent, every answer long and thorough. Forget Muggle mystery novels, Draco devours every response she sends him. He reads them over and over until they're memorised, but he keeps them anyway.
Hermione doesn't sign her notes either, but Draco knows it wouldn't be hard to narrow down their possible authors. He's strengthened the charms around his personal effects in the dorm out of necessity and not a little paranoia, but neither Crabbe nor Goyle have gone browsing - yet.
At the Three Broomsticks, he sees that Hermione-and-Theo are already there. They've claimed a booth along the left wall and Draco can't see under the table far enough to see whether she's wearing the new shoes today. No evidence they've eaten, but there are two empty butterbeer mugs on the table.
No one's paying much attention so far, and Draco sends Pansy over there while he approaches Rosmerta. He'll get drinks for all four of them, a small victory of being able to buy Hermione a drink. He doesn't want Theo paying for her.
He's too late on one count, and grits his teeth. He sees a small stack of books from the corner bookshop down the cobblestone lane and knows Theo would never have let her pay for them himself.
The booth is circular rather than having two distinct sides, and Pansy - arriving at the table before Draco did - slid in next to Theo. They should have planned that better, but it's too late now. He tries not to be envious that they can actually touch each other, hold hands under the table. Instead, he and Hermione are practically across from one another.
He can't even look at her the way he'd like. This is perfect for staring right at her, watching her eyes, every little expression. And he can't. He has to keep turning to the side, to Pansy, engaging with her instead.
This was a mistake. He can't be this close to her and not touch her. With so many other students scattered about, he can't even talk directly to her.
This is torture. It's also warm in here, and he's beginning to perspire. Out of sheer habit, he'd worn long sleeves when he should have just glamoured his forearm.
Everybody else is dressed for summer. No one has on robes, but both girls are in their uniform skirts with short-sleeved blouses. Even Theo is in a short-sleeved shirt with a collar. Draco's the only nutter around in a button-down Oxford shirt.
Hermione's blouse fits her rather well, and Draco feels warmer still. He's disappointed not to see the necklace, but knows she couldn't exactly wear it in full view.
He decides right there: he'll buy her something else, something that could have been from Theo, and he'll just have to swallow the sour taste in his mouth when people assume it is. At least he'll know it isn't. This is sort of like their earliest days, when she'd leave his mark on her neck. No one knew then, either. And he didn't like the secrecy then, but he'd managed. He can manage this, too, keeping his little victories private.
The conversation here is stilted. Hermione's making a valiant effort to chat to Pansy, but Pansy only wants Theo. Theo, trapped between the two witches, just looks uncomfortable.
They order lunch and Draco is immeasurably relieved when it arrives. Full mouths can't talk.
* * *
Draco won't look at her. Hermione tries not to take this personally. After all, he shouldn't be. But it seems like every time her eyes flick over to him, he's looking somewhere else. Theo. Pansy. Out the window.
This wasn't a good idea. Not just lunch, but maybe the whole sodding thing. Hermione hadn't thought through how difficult this was going to be, for all four of them. It's plain as day that Pansy doesn't want to talk to anybody but Theo. Theo's trying to keep Pansy satisfied while not appearing to fixate on her. Draco stares at his food.
It's not that Hermione wishes she were with Ron and Lavender, watching Lavender feed Ron his food piece by piece, and Harry isn't even in Hogsmeade today. But this must be the longest lunch in the history of lunches.
This is the closest she's been to him in a week and a half. Even though he's determined to ignore her - and how that stings every time - Hermione can't help sneaking glances. Draco's hair is falling in his eyes, likely because he looks a little sweaty. Silly wizard is wearing long pants and a long shirt, and it's no wonder he's hot. He's looking thin again and for all the attention he's giving it, he's barely picking at his food.
Draco gets up to use the loo and Hermione immediately feels like a third wheel. She casts a desperate last-ditch effort Pansy's way.
"I really like your shoes. Where did you get them?"
Hermione couldn't care less about shoes, of course, aside from the ones gifted to her by Draco himself - but this does get Pansy's attention off Theo at last.
"Twilfit and Tattings, ready-to-wear. My father has a line of credit there and my mother always sends me the latest seasonal catalogue. These are from the summer collection." With some difficulty, she manages to stick a foot out where Hermione can see it.
For some reason, though, she sounds a little sad. Theo gives her an encouraging sort of smile and Hermione's left to wonder about it as Draco slides back in across from her. She didn't hear him coming and her first signal is a quick look of alarm that flashes across Theo. She nearly whips around to see what's behind them, but it's only Draco. He looks refreshed, both sleeves rolled up and she wonders what Theo was reacting to.
Before long, Hermione wants to shout at all of them to hurry up so they can walk back to the castle. Studying tonight won't be so horrid; at least there, they each have things to be focussing on rather than this absolute non-starter of a conversation.
At the same time though, she doesn't want to. She tells herself she'll be this close to him again in the library later. But right now, she can almost smell his aftershave and it's intoxicating.
* * *
Hermione won't look at him. She seems preoccupied, like she has all week, and it makes him cross all over again that he can't ask her why. They're all somewhat quiet, but she's sitting with a generic smile on her face - in case anyone's looking, Draco presumes. But she's not contributing much at all and her eyes are glazed over.
He's dying to know what she's thinking about.
Aside from being distracted, though, she looks good. Her hair is full and shiny, curls akimbo, and there's a rosy flush to her cheeks. He wants to run his thumb over one cheek, tangle his fingers in her hair. It's been too long since he's been able to.
Finally, Theo breaks the interminable silence and suggests they go back to the castle. Surely this was visible enough for now.
Snape's words ring in his head. "Have a good, public time." They haven't been. But maybe it seems realistic that they'd all feel a little awkward hanging out together for the first time. How many people have seen them here? Probably thirty or forty. Draco agrees with Theo: this was good enough.
Before Theo can react, Draco handles the cheque for the whole table. Theo spent enough money on his girl for one day.
On the walk back, all of them seem to relax a touch. Draco even has the wild idea of offering Pansy a ride on his back, and immediately rejects it. Theo would do the same for Hermione and Draco can only tolerate so much touching.
* * *
Hermione's first in the library that evening and relishes the normalcy of it. There's the best table for a small group, there's the good lighting, way over there behind those stacks (to be avoided) is the hidden table Draco charmed all those weeks ago.
She sets out her books, sorting neatly through parchment until she finds what she's after. Textbook, paper, quill and ink. Everything here is so ordinary, predictable, under control. Even the scratching of her handwriting is soothing. She welcomes the lull.
A paper aeroplane lands on the table and her heart leaps. What does Draco want to know about her now? What will he ask tonight?
It occurs to Hermione as her fingers unfold it that she should probably ask him some questions in return. She feels a pang of guilt about it. She's probably come off a bit self-absorbed. She hasn't asked him a single thing about himself.
She's so excited to receive the note that her fingers tremble a little, making the unfolding more difficult. She slows down so she won't risk tearing it. She saves every one he sends her.
'Mudblood'
Blinking twice, all the air rushes from her lungs. She feels like she's been stabbed. Obviously it's not from Draco; as if he'd ever call her that (not now, anyway, her mind whispers viciously), but the handwriting is totally different. She struggles to inhale, telling herself the cruelty is compounded by her assumption that it was going to be from Draco. Her disappointment is layered on top of the hurt of the slur.
Lifting her chin, she folds it back over and shoves it beneath her textbook. The others should be here any minute. And if the sender of the note is in the library, she won't show that it got to her.
It's not as if she never hears it anymore. She does. It's always whispered in corridors, overheard in conversations too loud as she walks by on purpose. It was worse in her earliest years here, and then had tapered off a bit. Now it's ramping back up.
She's glad for the timing as Theo pulls out a chair. He leans in to give her a quick kiss. They seem in unspoken agreement that this is a good idea, but best performed when Draco and Pansy aren't around. Hermione ignores the inverse, that they're probably doing the same thing. Plausible deniability is key to making this last.
For the first time, Hermione finds herself counting down the weeks until school is out. How long do they have to do this? Four more weeks? The thought is exhausting.
None of that is Theo's fault. Theo is delightful company. If he'd asked Hermione out in their fifth year, would she have accepted?
Maybe?
They work in amiable silence for close to ten minutes before Theo breaks it. "Bit awkward today, wasn't it?"
"...Yeah."
They're both whispering, heads ducked over parchment. Hermione doesn't feel like elaborating. What she feels like doing is pumping Theo for information about Draco. Not even specifically about him (she's not naive enough to think his parents aren't hard-line blood purists but she can't deny she's curious for detail), but do any of the others feel the way Theo does about her heritage? About the Muggle-born presence in general?
After the note, she's dying to know just how many other Slytherins may not be as bad as she's always figured. It would be a nice salve. But Draco and Pansy should be walking up any second.
"Is it hard for you? Doing this?" is what comes out.
"Very, but don't take it personally. Pansy's never thrilled about it, of course. And I always wonder if Malfoy is going to curse me in my sleep, even though he seems fine with it during the day. But at least -"
"Is he fine with it?" Hermione interrupts, unable to stop herself.
Theo's head tilts in her direction, aghast. "No. He is not. Does it really seem like he is?"
"He's so calm. It's so different from..." 'from how he was towards Seamus' is what she wants to say, but holds it back.
"He knows that was a mistake. He fucked things up with that, and not just with you. There's a lot at stake and he knows it."
"It just seems like this is easier for everyone else. I'm not trying to whinge about it. I came up with the idea. But it's harder than I expected. And I won't take that personally if you don't."
He shows half a grin at this, with a dimple. "I think every minute is an effort for him, but it probably helps that he knows I'm making it up to Pansy every chance I get." Theo pauses, something occurring to him. "Well, maybe it's worse, since he can't do that with you. But at least he can hear how much I love Pansy."
Hermione makes a face, hardly having to exaggerate a grimace, and Theo starts to chuckle.
"That's probably the face he makes all night."
This cannot possibly be true because if Draco could hear them, so could Crabbe and Goyle. Not to mention there are other witches around in Pansy's dorm, too, if they tried to go that route. Even so, it's sufficient to dissolve any residual stiffness. Hermione dips her head into her elbow on the table to cackle.
Mid-laugh, Theo says, "Gods, I couldn't believe he rolled his sleeves up today. I thought he'd lost the plot."
It strikes her as odd and she recalls Theo's face when Draco was returning from the loo. But before she can ponder it further, another aeroplane lands and her breath catches in her throat. The laugh dies on her lips.
Theo might think it's something for him, but she knows better. Hermione snatches it before he can reach across the table. Draco wouldn't send her something while she's sitting with Theo. He knows they're all meeting here this evening. She should have realised it with the first note.
'Mudblood'
Same slur, same scrawl. Doing her best not to show emotion, she folds it up like the other and sticks it under her book. She has an intrinsic feeling she's being watched - that they're being watched. Theo, puzzled, is waiting for her to either explain or react, maybe pull out some parchment to respond. It might be dumb, but on a whim she leans in for a quick peck.
Theo cottons on quickly enough. He only hesitates a few seconds before acquiescing. Hermione lets herself linger for an extra beat, smiling against his lips, before leaning back and picking up her quill.
"What was that?" he asks, across a deliberately toothy smile. His eyes dart around, anxious. For his sake, she hopes Draco isn't walking up.
"Nothing," she simpers, trying to overdo it on purpose. "Just wanted one."
The bizarreness of the whole thing puts a succinct end to their lighthearted exchange from moments ago. Theo masks his confusion, dipping his chin back to his textbook. Hermione tries to follow suit and not fixate on the audience she suspects they have.
It could be anyone. It does no good to speculate. She knows this. With a wave of sadness, she thinks it could even be someone from outside Slytherin House. In times when the divisions between the factions have never been clearer, she's actively bridging them. The person who's writing these doesn't even have to believe in her presumed inferiority - it might just seem the easiest way to wound her.
All she can do is show it doesn't. She sets her jaw and focuses on her essay.
It's hard, though, and it's wriggling its way under her skin more than she'd like. In a rational way, Hermione knows this is probably because she's now being seen with Theo, which is fake anyway. But the sentiments aren't, and knowing that so many people think she's unworthy of being here - much less appearing with another Sacred Twenty-Eight heir like Theodore Nott, the future Lord of Nott Manor - make her feel a little ill.
This is no different than when she was eleven or twelve. If anything, she's more prepared to take the criticism now. But now she knows there's so much more to it than blood. It's politics, and social status, and the threat to the status quo. Why does she have to be the reigning symbol of all of it?
She never asked for this. She doesn't want any of it. But it's no more than Harry asked to be the Chosen One. They're each the chosen representative of their exclusive little niches, and the world doesn't care if things are unfair.
School seems less and less important. The end of this year feels almost like a wash, but next year are her NEWTs. She battles back a growing foreboding that she won't be here, that maybe none of them will be.
Dumbledore teaching Harry about Horcruxes only lends weight to her instincts. Why tell an underage wizard about so much forbidden Dark magic if it won't be imminently needed?
Hermione already knows there are no books in the library on Horcruxes, but she wonders if there are any in the Restricted Section on topics like soul-splitting. On Horcruxes without the name. Maybe she could come at it from the side, a different angle.
Maybe she could look up the historical aspect, the revered relics of the founders and their lineage. Maybe she could narrow down the possibilities of the unknown Horcruxes. What artefacts appear in the annals of history?
Her mind spins back up to full speed, tuning out Theo and her essay and all the rest.