Hermione turned up late at the Potions lab on Saturday morning: hungover, sleep-deprived and ready to hex somebody. Every time she'd closed her eyes the night before, she'd seen Malfoy and Astoria together, imagined him sidling up to her with hooded eyes and a long, pale hand on the witch's slender hip. She thought of Astoria laughing lightly with Narcissa Malfoy over tea, and remembered those tilted blue eyes shining at Malfoy by the fireplace at Slughorn's party. She could only see the back of his head then, but he hadn't exactly been trying to escape. Godric only knew what he had been saying to her, likely in that low murmuring tone, with that hypnotic stare. Hermione had tossed in bed, imagining them in some corner of the dungeons, heatedly kissing, fingers sliding through perfect hair. In the end, she fell into a restless sleep and dreamed of Malfoy whispering, "I'll kiss you if you tell me about your gardens, Astoria ..."
So she was bitterly disappointed to see six bushels of clover blossoms neatly stacked on a table in the Potions dungeon the next morning. That meant she couldn't yell at Malfoy for failing to a procure a vital ingredient, turn him into a toad and then stomp off to take a nap. Even worse, she found Malfoy virtuously stirring up a rainwater base in a small copper cauldron and looking surprisingly well-rested for a man who presumably spent the night in passionate pureblood shagging nirvana.
"Granger," he said amiably. "You look like hell."
She glared at him through bloodshot eyes and said nothing, just consulted the recipe and began on the flobberworms.
"Those should be chopped, not mashed," Malfoy said as he measured a teaspoonful of diced crocodile heart with delicate precision.
Hermione waved her wand, vanishing the butchered worms, and started again. Malfoy began to whistle as he minced his motherwort. Apparently, the man just needed to get laid all along, she thought. No need for games with the Mudblood anymore.
"Granger," Malfoy said.
Well, I'm personally thrilled about it. Let Astoria haul his ass out of whatever hot soup he lands in next ...
"Granger," Malfoy said.
Sure won't be me, don't know why I'm fretting about a damned ...
"Granger!"
"What?" she snapped, slamming down her knife. A glob of flobberworm guts spurted onto Malfoy's Quidditch jersey.
"Merlin, Granger," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. Hermione raised her wand to tergeo the guts away, but he held up a hand. "Don't. I'd rather you didn't point a wand at me in your current mood."
She lowered her arm, registering his green-and-silver jersey for the first time. "You're going to Quidditch practice," she said.
Malfoy nodded. "Madam Pomfrey cleared me to play."
"Splendid." Hermione began scraping her finished flobberworms into the cauldron. "I'm sure you'll present her with any number of interesting crushes and fractures and internal damage. If you survive the season."
"Granger." She felt Malfoy's hand on her arm. "I'll be fine," he said quietly. "I've taken precautions."
"Oh, really? And what precautions could you possibly take?" She glared up at him. "You'll be high above the pitch during games and practices. You could be hexed, your broom could be sabotaged, a Bludger could be enchanted, another player could be Imperioused, you could be Imperioused, the Snitch could be cursed—"
"Alright, enough, I get it." Malfoy stared at her wide-eyed. "Merlin." Then he smiled. "Maybe you should come keep an eye on me."
Hermione pulled her arm away. "I need to get the clover." She stomped out of the room and returned with an overflowing bushel basket, dropping it with a thud on the table. "I'm surprised you picked all this yourself," she said, then gave Malfoy a flinty stare. "Or maybe not."
Malfoy looked smug. "The Squeaky Mouse Club."
"The First Years from detention?"
He nodded. "They were a little excited about learning the Aguamenti spell in Charms. Kept squirting water from their wands in Potions."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That isn't even original."
"What can you expect from Hufflepuffs? Slughorn had me oversee their latest detention, so I set them sentences." Malfoy waved his wand at the lab's small chalkboard and the following words appeared: "I will not squirt water from my wand and put out other students' cauldron fires until the professor's back is turned."
"While the professor's back is turned," Hermione growled.
Malfoy shrugged and began preparing the blossoms. "That's what Sluggy said. So I took them all outside and had them pick clovers. Sluggy heartily approved; the last thing he wants is another blood potion stinking up his dungeons. There isn't enough Amorentia in the world."
Hermione flushed at the mention of Amorentia, then flushed again when she realized she was staring at Malfoy as he stripped the clover's stems from the blossoms. Who knew she had such a hand fetish? She didn't recall ever staring at Ron's hands, but there she was, watching Malfoy handle clover blossoms. And Theo liked to twirl his quill in his fingers while studying .... Malfoy was eyeing her with interest now, which made Hermione's face heat a third time, and she began snatching up fistfuls of clover and dropping them into the solution.
They worked in silence, with hundreds of little white flowers disappearing into the small cauldron. A fresh, sweet smell filled the room. Hermione stirred the now-distilled, sticky potion with a flat stick.
"All right, that's the last of the clover," she said, pouring the cauldron's contents into a bottle. "Go ahead and court death at Quidditch practice—I'll finish this potion myself."
"You certainly will not, at least not today," Malfoy said sternly. "The murlap mixture still needs to simmer. Go get some sleep, you look completely done in. Gryffindors really don't know how to party."
"Maybe I didn't have the exciting evening you did, but I know how to have fun." Hermione's voice dripped with acid. "I had a great evening. The only thing wrong with it was that I had to talk to you."
"Granger, you sound certifiable. You can't say you didn't—"
"Fine. I'll leave," she snapped, shoving the stoppered bottle into her bag, "since Quidditch is more important than this blood spell, anyway." She used her wand to clear the table, grabbed her bag and left the lab. Being completely unreasonable was oddly satisfying; maybe that was why Ron liked it so much.
"Granger!" Malfoy yelled. Hermione stomped out of the Potions dungeon, slamming the door.
***
Hermione was feeling much better when she arrived at the Tomes and Scrolls bookshop in Hogsmeade that afternoon. A two-hour nap and a Pepper-up potion had done wonders for her mood. She'd taken some care with her appearance, putting on a blue V-necked jumper, black jeans and boots. She even applied lipstick and cast a glamour spell to reduce the circles under her eyes. Fastening her new sapphire pendant around her neck, she tied her hair back with a silver ribbon. She refused to wear Malfoy's diamonds. I didn't ask the git to spend a fortune on hair accessories.
Theo was already there, greeting her with a smile. He was unfailingly patient in the shop, even when Hermione saw noted Runes expert Danbert Donalson promoting his latest volume of "Unraveling the Elder Fubarks" and insisted on waiting in line for a signed copy. Then Theo whisked her to an outdoor café for lunch, correctly predicting that it would not rain on them, and gave her a wrapped gift that was all the wrong shape for a book.
Hermione looked at the gift on their tiny table, thinking it was rather hypocritical of her to rail against getting books for her birthday when she couldn't wait to sneak off to the loo and read a bit of her new Fubarks tome. She just hoped it wasn't jewelry.
She pulled off the paper to reveal a long wooden box. "Looks old," she said, running her hand over the grain.
"Open it," Theo urged.
She unlatched the lid and lifted it, revealing a small scroll. Hermione glanced at Theo, then took it out, unrolling the delicate parchment carefully.
"'12 October, 1986. Dearest Drusilla,'" she read in growing amazement. "I deem the task to be impossible, and rue the day I ever agreed to write ... 'Hogwarts: A History!'" Hermione squealed the last three words, prompting other patrons to stare. "Theo, this is the letter from historian Bathilda Bagshot to her niece, when she despaired of the task and vowed to throw the manuscript into the fire! And she almost did! But Drusilla traveled to see her and convinced her to toil on, or ..." she looked at Theo, horrified, "... there wouldn't be a 'Hogwarts: A History'!"
"And a bleak world that would be, indeed," Theo said with a smile.
"However did you find it?" she asked, hugging him excitedly.
"It's nothing," Theo said, his voice muffled by her hair.
"Where was it?"
"A little shop in Knockturn Alley."
"Knockturn Alley?" she repeated disapprovingly.
"A lot of treasures in that place."
"I suppose so," Hermione said thoughtfully. Maybe she should check Knockturn Alley out sometime. She'd been there before. She tucked the letter back into its box, sternly quashing her wartime memories of Bathilda's animated corpse in Godric's Hollow. Theo had no way of knowing about that. She dropped the box into her expandable beaded bag, hearing an echoing clatter.
"Merlin," she said, peeking inside. "I never took those candlesticks out."
"I've heard about that bag," Theo said with interest.
Hermione beamed at him. It truly was a thoughtful gift. Perfectly calibrated to her. It almost made her suspicious, how good Theo was about everything. Nonsense, she was being ridiculous. The routine fuckups by the other men in her life had simply lowered her standards to the point where decent behavior appeared remarkable. She'd have to verify the authenticity of the letter, of course, but it was the thought that counted.
"How did you know about me and 'Hogwarts: A History'?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I never reveal a source."
Ginny perhaps. Or Neville. So Slytherin. "I have to leave in an hour," she said, glancing up at the large clock tower across the street. "I'm sorry we don't have more time."
"That's fine," Theo said. The server arrived and set down their sandwiches and two glasses of butterbeer.
"To new beginnings," Hermione said, raising her glass.
Theo's smile crinkled the edges of his green eyes. "To new beginnings." They clinked glasses. "My theme for this year."
"You seem to have made a good start," she said.
"I'm here with you, right?" He set down his glass. "And my father is now not-so-dearly departed. I can set my own future now, put the past behind me." His hand found hers under the table.
Hermione nodded. He certainly would have an easier time than Malfoy, Theo was a nonentity during the war and his easy charm would go a long way. She wondered why Astoria wasn't chasing him instead.
"I'm surprised you aren't betrothed to someone," she said, pulling the tomatoes out of her sandwich with a fork. "I thought many pureblood families made ... arrangements."
He shrugged. "My father didn't care much about that, or about me, for that matter. Considered me a poor excuse for an heir."
"And your mother?" she asked.
"She died before I came to Hogwarts," he said. "I never could find out how."
His answer hung in the air between them. "Not sure this is the best subject for today," Theo said with a tight smile.
"You're right," she said, squeezing his hand.
Theo's smile softened. "A funny thing happened in Care of Magical Creatures yesterday—Hagrid brought out this absolutely terrifying Chimera, and nobody would approach it except Luna Lovegood. She kept giving it daisies and the Chimera liked them ..."
Hermione dissolved into giggles. They finished their lunch, Theo ordered a few more butterbeers, and by the end of the hour they were helplessly laughing, trying to top each other's stories.
"I can't believe it," Theo said. "You called Trelawney a fraud to her face? And stomped out?"
"Divination is a load of rubbish," she said haughtily. Then she grinned. "And you, Theodore, so quiet during First Year in Transfiguration, turning people's needles back into toothpicks without anybody knowing. Ron failed that lesson!"
"I did it to yours, too, but you didn't even notice, just switched it back without thinking."
"That was you? I thought I'd done it myself, accidentally."
Theo huffed a laugh. "Like the great Hermione Granger could make a mistake."
She sighed. "You have no idea." Hermione looked at the clock again and stood up. "I'm sorry, I have to go."
Theo stood as well. "Don't be sorry. It was a great afternoon."
She looked up at him, brow furrowed. "Are we friends now? Or still acquaintances?"
Theo chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. It was a lingering kiss—she could feel the roughness of a mid-day stubble and a warm, sweet breath on her ear.
"Friendly acquaintances," he said.
***
Hermione was late getting to the Three Broomsticks, her stomach rebelling slightly from Blaise's drinks the night before, a big sandwich for lunch and a couple of butterbeers already that day. She needed to slow down, or she'd ever make it through the evening.
"Hermione!" Harry shouted her name, causing half the pub to stare, but she didn't care, just ran between the tables and into his arms.
"Oh Harry!" she whimpered, almost tearful. She grabbed a handful of his grey Ministry of Magic sweatshirt.
"Hey," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "What's wrong?"
"It's been a long week," she said, her face still buried in his chest.
"Hey, Mi," Ron said, clearly expecting a hug as well.
She pulled away from Harry and gave Ron a quick squeeze. "I'm just so glad the three of us are together," she said as they settled around their corner table.
"Are you really okay?" Harry asked, sliding a butterbeer toward her. "You look upset."
"It's Malfoy," Ron spat. "He won't leave her alone."
"Has he been bothering you?" Harry asked sternly. "I did not like the way he was looking at ..."
"Looking at what?" Ron asked.
"The way he looked at his trial," Harry lied smoothly. "I don't trust him."
"Yes, tell her!" Ron said. "Every time I turn around, he's watching Hermione ... and whispering to her."
"Is he now," Harry said, green eyes cold behind his glasses.
"Oh for Merlin's sake," Hermione said. "You're blowing this all out of proportion. He's a troublemaker, and both of you let him get under your skin. I'm just a little stressed out about NEWTs—"
Ron bounced excitedly in his seat. "Did Hermione tell you about PORN?" he asked Harry.
Harry blinked. "What? No, I kind of found it on my own—"
"Pupil Organization to Review NEWTs," Hermione snapped.
Harry's laughter had the entire population of the Three Broomsticks staring again. Ron's face was red with mirth, and even Hermione couldn't help giggling. All tension faded away and Ron and Hermione launched into every ridiculous thing that had happened the previous week. Ron gave a spirited description of the Quidditch game where Malfoy was injured, including the choking Beaters; Harry was intrigued and gave Hermione a quick glance, but said nothing. Both men snickered at Hermione's description of the Slug Club party.
"Sounds awful," Harry said. "Now I'm really glad I didn't return to Hogwarts."
"It's a nightmare, honestly, that you had to do that on your birthday," Ron said. "Where did you go afterward? I was looking for you."
"Oh, a bunch of us were hanging out," Hermione said.
"With Slytherins?" Ron asked. "Was Malfoy there?"
"No, Ronald, he wasn't there," she said, irritated. "He was probably with Astoria Greengrass."
"I don't remember her," Harry said, frowning.
"Year behind us. A real looker, but a prize bitch," Ron said.
"So she's perfect for Malfoy," Hermione said in what she thought was a light, friendly tone, but both Harry and Ron stared. "What?"
"Nothing," Harry said. "Tell me more about your birthday."
"My parents gave me this pendant and a sweet card. They've really forgiven me, Harry." She felt like sniffling again. Harry patted her hand.
"And ..." Ron prompted.
"And a lovely golden pin from Ron," Hermione said in a sing-song voice.
"That sounds nice," Harry said, sipping his butterbeer.
"It's shaped like a book," Ron said proudly.
Harry sighed. "I'm going to just bang my head on the table now."
"It's all right, Harry, really," Hermione said.
"What?" Ron asked. Harry and Hermione started laughing. "What?" he asked, louder, but it was no good—his friends were out of control now.
"D'ya think he'll ever work it out?" Harry gasped.
"What? Hermione likes books, right?" Ron asked.
Harry's head fell on the table. "I can't take it," he groaned.
"Harry? What did I say?" Ron asked. "Hermione!"
She stroked Harry's head beside her butterbeer. "Thank you, too, for the paperweight, Harry," she said. "I just love it."
Harry raised his head and grinned at Ron, who was still frowning.
"Pull yourself together, Harry and tell us about the Aurors Office," Hermione commanded. "It's important stuff for Ron to know."
"And maybe you too, if you want to join us," Harry said. He described the training, and it did sound demanding, but exciting. Ron seemed surprisingly distant, only half-listening, but Hermione was intrigued by the aurors' creative approaches.
"An anti-Apparation capture charm? Fascinating," Hermione said. "You should talk to Bluebell—our new DADA teacher."
Ron burst into laughter. "What, the little fairy?" he asked.
"A fairy?" Harry asked.
"I've decided that her approach has some merit after all, although it wants discipline and proper NEWT preparation," Hermione said. "She talks a lot about unpredictable spellwork and creative strategies."
"And love," Ron said. "She talks a lot about love." Harry looked appalled.
"Well, the aurors can skip that part, Ron," Hermione snapped.
"Can you see it, a bunch of aurors reading lists of what they love about each other?" asked Ron, laughing again. Hermione couldn't help but join in, and then Harry, although he looked a little nervous about fighting Dark Wizards with love, and the three friends were off again, laughing until they were finally kicked out of the Three Broomsticks and ended up at the Hog's Head. Harry picked up three grimy glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey from the bar.
"Hermione," Harry said quickly while Ron was in the loo, "we have to talk about those blood messages. Kingsley's got some theories—"
Hermione sniffed. "I'm sure he has."
"And I want to hear about that experimental potion you're brewing. Will it really identify the blood used?"
"I hope so," she said. "An unexpected issue came up, but I've got it now. Give me ten days—no, two weeks, and we can show you something."
"Who's we?"
Hermione groaned inwardly at her own stupidity. She hadn't planned to tell him. "I have an assistant."
"Who, Neville?" Harry eyed her closely, and his freaky auror sense kicked in. "Oh no, no, no ..."
'There's nobody else good enough," she hissed. "Slughorn won't help, the coward."
"Draco Malfoy cannot be trusted!" Harry hissed back, his lightning scar a dark, jagged line on his flushed forehead. He looked a little like he had in Sixth Year, manically trying to convince Hermione that Malfoy was a Death Eater. He had, of course, been absolutely right, she remembered uncomfortably.
"Just because Malfoy didn't write that message ..." Harry began, then looked up and stopped. Hermione followed his gaze to see Ron heading their way, stopping to goggle at a hag in the corner with tiny bats circling her head. Harry turned back to her. "All right, Mi, two weeks. I want to see this fabulous potion." Ron was nearly to the table. "I'll owl you," he whispered. Hermione nodded and sipped her drink.
Ron dropped into his seat and picked up his glass of firewhiskey. "So, Harry," he said. "When're you seeing Ginny?"
Their friend looked wary. "Did she say something?"
"No, but you should stop by. It seems birds really go for the Slytherins these days." Ron cut his eyes at Hermione.
"Ron," Hermione said.
"Just seems strange, that's all, how cozy you and Ginny are with that lot," Ron went on. "Ginny fooling around with Zabini and you spending all this time with Nott and Malfoy ..."
"Ginny's fooling around with Zabini?" Harry asked.
Hermione nodded reluctantly. "They have been spending time together."
Harry looked down at the drink in his hand. "I told her we should see other people, but I didn't think that meant ..." his lip curled in a very un-Harry-like way, "... Blaise Zabini." His voice held a world of contempt.
"What aren't you telling us?" Hermione asked.
Harry rubbed his hand through his black hair, sticking it up even more. "I've ... I've met someone, too."
Ron's face turned red. "You're cheating on my sister?" he asked loudly.
"Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Harry said they could see other people, and Ginny told me the same thing. It's not cheating."
"You're right, it's not," Ron growled. "Cheating is when you think you're in a relationship with someone, then she suddenly starts stringing you along and chasing other men."
"I told you straight out I just wanted to be friends, and I am not chasing other men!" Hermione cried.
"The fucked-up part," Ron continued, "is that you're probably stringing them along, too. Poor bastards. I almost feel sorry for Malfoy."
"Ron, that's uncalled for," Harry said. "Hermione says there's nothing going on between her and Malfoy and I believe her."
Hermione shifted slightly in her seat, thinking of lips against skin in the infirmary.
"Well, what about Nott, then?" Ron was asking her.
"Theodore Nott? Ignatius Nott's son?" Harry stared at her wide-eyed, then shook his head. "Hermione doesn't have to tell us anything."
"No, it's all right." She took a deep breath. "Right now, Theo and I are friends, but yes, we might start dating." She glared at Ron. "At least Theo doesn't lose his mind every time I do or say something he doesn't like. He's not a big fan of Malfoy's either, but he's somewhat mature about it."
"Mi, I get upset because I care," Ron said. "Those cold-blooded snakes don't care about anybody."
"We've been over this, Ronald," Hermione said. "Your idea of caring is acting like a Godric-damned control freak—"
"Well, you keep doing stupid shit like—"
"Don't you dare call me stupid! When's the last time you did anything right?" she yelled, slamming her hand on the table. Dust billowed from the wooden surface in a choking cloud and covered their already dirty glasses of firewhiskey.
"Ron," Harry said, "Hermione can make her own decisions."
"So you're on her side now," Ron said.
"I'm on both your sides and—"
"No, you're not," Ron said. "You don't think I see the looks between you, the conversations stopping whenever I approach?" His blue eyes were unusually shrewd as he looked between them. "It happened again, just now, when I came back to the table."
Hermione was appalled. "Ron, there is nothing going on between Harry and me."
"Absolutely nothing," Harry said firmly. "I don't see her that way at all."
"All that time in the tent ..."
Harry shook his head. "Nothing happened. We've never kissed."
"Ewwww," Hermione said.
Ron quirked a small smile at that. "Well, then what's going on? Why don't you tell me more?"
"Maybe we would if we could trust you not to go spare," Harry said.
"I can do better, really," Ron said, leaning forward. "I promise. What were you talking about when I came back?"
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. Hermione sighed. "We were talking about my experimental potions with Malfoy, and I just didn't feel like hearing twenty more verses of the same old song."
"Malfoy! You're still—" Ron began. Hermione and Harry glared at him across the table.
"Okay, okay," Ron said. He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. "So, ah, how's that going?" he asked in a painfully polite tone.
Harry started laughing. Hermione scowled as she cleared the dust off the table and glasses with a quick scourgify. "Surprisingly well," she said. "We're working on a blood potion that might help us find out who wrote the message on the wall."
"And Malfoy really wants to do that?" Ron raised his hands. "I'm just asking."
"It's a fair question," Harry said, pouring out more firewhiskey.
"Ron, Malfoy was questioned by aurors under Veritaserum. He didn't write that message and he doesn't know who did," Hermione said.
"That's right. I was there, Merlin help me," Harry said.
"So what McGonagall said was true?" Ron asked.
"Have you ever known her to lie?" Hermione snapped. "Anyway, after Malfoy proved himself under Veritaserum questioning, there was no reason not to accept his help. I need him, Ron."
"I've seen that potions lab," Ron said, knocking back another firewhiskey. "It's quite small."
"How small?" Harry asked.
"Harry," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't you start."
"I don't think Malfoy wants to help Muggle-borns at all," Ron went on. "I think he's got a sick fixation with Hermione and he sees this as his way in."
"I completely agree," Harry said, his eyes like cold jade. Hermione could almost feel the magic crackling around him. "Don't look at me that way, Hermione. I was with you two in McGonagall's office and he was everything that Ron describes."
"What did he do in McGonagall's office?" Ron asked Harry.
"Hello, I'm right here," Hermione said. "Should I just leave now so you can discuss me in peace? Doesn't anybody want to know what I think?"
"I already know what you think, you've made it quite clear," Ron said. "You think Malfoy's changed or reformed or something, that he was Voldemort's innocent victim and deserves a second chance."
"He's no innocent, Ron, but yes, he does deserve a second chance," Hermione said. It was definitely time to change the subject. "So," she asked Harry. "Who's the woman you're two-timing Ginny with?"
"Oh, Merlin, stop," Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
"Yes, what's that all about?" asked Ron, always easily distracted. "Who is she?"
Harry flushed. "Another auror trainee. Graduated from Beauxbaton. Her name is Chloe DeGray."
"Is she part Veela?" Ron asked with a grin.
"No," Harry said shortly. "But she is incredibly talented, and she doesn't care that I'm famous. She's pureblood, and her family practically disowned her when she announced she wanted to come to Britain and be an auror—"
Suddenly their chairs began to levitate from the floor. Harry barely managed to keep his eyeglasses on his nose and Hermione grabbed her beaded bag as the chairs carried them away from the table.
"What's happening?" Ron cried out.
"Bar's closing," Harry said, grinning. "This place means business."
"Makes sense, given the clientele," Hermione added. Half the remaining patrons were passed out in their seats.
The levitating chairs carried them outside, unceremoniously dumping them outside the door and floating back inside. Hermione and Ron fell to the wooden sidewalk, while Harry managed to stay on his feet. Hermione scrambled up quickly but most of the other expelled patrons just lay on the ground.
"I think it's time to call it a night," Harry grinned, helping Ron stand. Ron groaned—all the whiskey had obviously rushed to his head. "Can you get him back to Hogwarts, Hermione?"
"Of course," she said, giving Harry a hug.
"Be careful, Hermione," Harry whispered. "Watch yourself with Malfoy. I know you're not telling me everything." He slapped Ron on the shoulder, nearly knocking his tipsy friend into the dirt, and Disapparated with a pop.
"Bye Harry!" Ron shouted into thin air. "Hey, Mi, let's just Apparate to the castle ..."
"Ron, you can't Apparate into Hogwarts, how many times ..." she turned to see him grinning at her. "Very funny," she huffed.
"I was waiting for you to quote 'Hogwarts: A History,'" he said. "Wish we could Apparate."
Hermione sniffed. "You'd probably splinch yourself."
"I'm excellent at Apparition!"
"Oh, yes, so amazing you left an eyebrow behind during the Test ..."
"Half an eyebrow!" Ron said indignantly. Now Hermione was grinning. "Hey!" he cried. "Very funny!"
"It is," she said, drawing her arm through his. "And the walk to the castle will be good for you."
"I don't want what's good for me," Ron grumbled, leaning against her.
Hermione sighed. "Nobody does," she said.