"Top o' the morning!"

"Would you shut up?" Seamus Finnegan's cheerful greeting was quickly murdered by Lavender's growl. She was sat at the Gryffindor table with a bowl of soggy, drowning cereal in front of her and a look in her eyes that could send Merlin himself running into the arms of his mother. "What could possibly have you in a good mood? We're still engaged, aren't we?"

Not letting her poison completely shift his mood, Seamus turned to his house-mates. "What's with her?"

"Like you don't know!" hissed Lavender, now stabbing her spoon into the bowl.

"For fuck sakes," Seamus muttered, leaning as far back as he could when Lavender then pulled out the spoon and jabbed it forward, pieces of cereal flying. "She's mad when I don't talk to her and mad when I do. Someone want to make a trade? I'll take anyone else at this point."

The nearest Gryffindors turned away from him immediately.

"Lavender was suspended from the next three Hogsmeade trips," informed Luna as she approached the table, handing out her weekly Quibbler editions. A few smiled politely at the magazine now in their hands, while others tried not to make eye contact with her. Hermione and Ginny were the only ones to request one, solidarity bright in their gazes.

"She's a bit sensitive about it," said Hermione, putting a hand on Lavender's shoulder as the latter buried her face into the palms of her hands. "Although, she is now aware that disorderly conduct leads to consequences. Right, Lavender?"

Across from them, Seamus scoffed. "Serves her right," he said, making Dean shake his head, sliding over a few centimeters from his proximity. "She could've given old Slughorn a heart attack. He had every right to report her for that outburst in his last lesson."

"Oh, you're dead," laughed Ginny, using the rolled-up Quibbler as a mock of a blade slicing into her neck.

Lavender dragged her hands down from her face, letting everyone see the dark shadow now in her eyes. "Slughorn didn't report me—you did! You can dish out insults, Finnegan, but you can't take it."

"You threw a mini-fridge at me, you nutter!" Seamus reminded her, pink seeping beneath his cheeks. "And it was fully stocked!"

Their loud arguing had now caused several other students from different Houses to crane their necks to try and get a good look at Seamus and Lavender. Some were smirking, eager to hear more, and others, much like Hermione who was so close to the thick of it, grimaced at the scene they were making.

"I can't believe I wanted you so badly," Lavender continued, not registering the commotion. Her eyes were glimmering with resentful tears, the scar on her face turning red with it, and then she threw her spoon at him. "You're an idiot, your sweater looks stupid, and I'm breaking up with you!"

To the amusement of many, Lavender pulled herself from the bench and then stuck out her middle finger for Seamus to register before stomping out of the Great Hall.

Terrified, Seamus let out a breath as his eyes connected at the middle, staring at the spoon that hung from the tip of his nose. Milk dripped from the sides of his nostrils, splashing onto his cheeks, and a soggy cheerio slid down from between his brows.

Dean leaned over to take the utensil off his best friend's face. "We have to admit, Lav's got pretty great throwing skills. You should consider giving her a go as a Chaser for the team, Potter."

"Definitely not bad at all," agreed Harry, emerald eyes on the spoon like the rest of his classmates.

"It can be therapeutic for her, too," said Hermione as she unscrolled the magazine in her hands. "And good for the team, I suppose."

"Great," Seamus hissed, cleaning the milk off his face with a napkin Luna offered him. "I could handle Lavender breaking up with me because she's a nobody, but now you're telling me I got ditched by Gryffindor's Chaser?"

Snickers broke out among the Gryffindors, but it soon started to disappear when the ever regal, ever unnerving figure of their Headmistress approached from the staff table. Instantly, Hermione dove into her copy of The Quibbler, Ginny fussed over Harry's hair, pretending she had been struggling with a knot at the back of his head, and Dean opened his sketchbook for Luna to glance over.

"Need I remind all of you that this is a school, not a circus?" said McGonagall to those who had been too late in pretending to be engaged with something else. Seamus panicked, taking out his wand, but the Headmistress Accio'd it from him before he could start one of his infamous fires. "And must I remind you, Mr. Finnegan, that I will not tolerate disrespectful attitudes to each other?"

"Professor, Lavender is—"

"Dealing with so much more than Ministry decrees," said McGonagall, brown eyes void of any patience. "Have you asked how she is dealing with life post-war? Because you were one of the lucky ones, Mr. Finnegan. A family intact and a few bruises that faded. Miss Brown carries what she lost on her skin. Can you blame her for wanting this a fairytale?"

Guilt flashes across Seamus' now pale features. Still, even with a downcast gaze, he mumbled, "Doesn't give her a right to be mean."

"You are right. It does not. And I have spoken to Miss Brown about her behavior. But let us not forget, Mr. Finnegan, who acted on their resentment over this law first."

Seamus nodded, bowing his head further.

"Up you go, Mr. Finnegan," sighed the Headmistress. "Chapter five of your textbook is on marital communication. Go practice it before Miss Brown terrorizes some First Years."

When his wand came back to him, Seamus instantly got up from his seat without sparing his classmates or McGonagall another look. Dean peaked over Luna's shoulder, hoping his friend would turn and see a supportive thumb's up from him, but Seamus was obscured by Draco Malfoy.

Dean put an arm around Luna's shoulder, tucking her into his side as if the abrupt proximity of the Slytherin would cause her to relive nightmares from her time as a prisoner in his house.

Yet, to both Dean and Draco's surprise, Luna looked away from the sketchbook to smile brightly at the newcomer.

"Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, making the same Gryffindors turn away from the activities they forced themselves to do when she had arrived. Hermione almost dropped The Quibbler into her pumpkin juice at the sight of her betrothed. "Need something?"

"Granger and—Hermione and I," Draco cleared his throat at the shift of names, trying not to sneer or glare at the way Potter and the Weaslette were now staring at him, "were going to head to our lesson together."

Hermione flushed pink at the way McGonagall turned to her, curiosity now reflected behind her glasses. "Right. Yes. I was just...Breakfast. I'm ready," she mumbled as she stood, quickly gathering her belongings without looking at her friends' faces.

Draco extended his hand out to her. Hermione almost smacked it back down, but found herself carefully dipping her fingers into his open palm. The action made McGonagall smile.

"Salazar, who even knew the old hag was capable of doing something else with her face?" Draco said once he thought they were a safe distance away from the Headmistress' super hearing.

Although she elbowed him for his tactless comment, Hermione still said with a laugh, "Maybe if she wasn't disappointed every time she looked at you, Malfoy, you'd see McGonagall smile a little more."

He snorted, squeezing her hand.

Hermione had forgotten her fingers were still laced through his until he did so. It brought back last night's events; something she thought they were just going to forget about when they woke up this morning and he had not been sleeping next to her. It should not have bothered her as much, but somehow, because he had been almost delicate and kind to her just hours before, it caused uneasiness to flutter around in her chest.

"Even though that is your sad attempt at a joke, Granger, I do believe the Headmistress has had her favorites through the years. The Mighty Golden Trio being the only ones."

"Oh, please. The Headmistress doesn't favor anyone. Not in moments when it mattered," she stressed when Draco was about to contradict her, making his words become a loud snort.

"See, Slytherin House disagrees. In fact, most of Hogwarts disagrees with that statement. Remember when—"

Hermione did not hear the rest of what Draco was saying. Not when his fingers let go of hers to trail around her wrist, gently making a path up her forearm, squeezing her elbow, and then coming to throw his arm around her shoulder. She had almost convinced herself that he took her hand to put on a show for McGonagall, maybe even to spite Harry and the others, but now they were out on the grounds. Now their classmates were witnessing this; Hermione could see Padma and Parvati Patil stopping mid-conversation with Neville to gawk at her, surprise and intrigue forming in their identical faces, and Tracy Davies and Susan Bones turn their lovestruck eyes from each other to stare at them like something odd.

"Granger?"

Hermione instantly looked away from a few Hufflepuffs staring at her to see that Draco had come to a stop. He pulled his arm away, but only to peel her schoolbag from her shoulder and set it on the grass. They were near the greenhouses, Hermione noticed, standing bellow one of the cherry blossom trees the Mahoutokoro School of Magic had gifted Hogwarts as they were rebuilding.

"What'd you have in there, Granger? All of the library and Madam Pince? We get it. You're a Know-It-All."

"Yes," she said as he sat on the grass, smirking up at her, "I'm smart. Get over it already, Malfoy."

Draco laughed, patting the space next to him. "Isn't pride a sin?"

"Then you're definitely going to hell, aren't you?" At another round of laughter Draco gave, Hermione brought herself to take the spot he pointed out. She fixed her skirt before bringing her knees up to her chest. "Have to pride myself in knowing things, don't I? Sometimes it felt like everything inside my head was the only way we were going to beat Voldemort. Harry's intelligent, mind you, but he can be such a thickhead sometimes."

Draco was no longer amused. Hermione saw his grin slowly melt off his face, a distant and almost indecipherable mask appearing in its place. For a moment, her magic simmered beneath her skin, preparing to block any curse or jinx he was thinking about throwing in her direction. Yet, it was his eyes that told her she was okay.

She saw the same thing that had caught her attention during the Sorting those weeks back.

Fear. Regret. Loneliness. Rage.

Vulnerability.

"You said his name," Draco murmured. "Doesn't it frighten you?"

Hermione wanted to recite him Dumbledore's words—fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself—but Draco was looking for her answer.

An honest answer.

"I'm more terrified of what Voldemort took from us than of him," she said. "Nothing in our lives is ever going to be the same. Even these trees—as beautiful as they are, we know they weren't here before. We know why we got them. We know there are people we are never going to get back. Knowing that scares me."

"I wish I would have known," Draco returned, just as quiet as before. His right hand went to his left arm, adding a layer of flesh and bone to cover his Dark Mark. "I wish I would have known what this life was going to cost me."

"Do you think you would choose differently?" asked Hermione carefully.

"I hope so."

Hermione did not hesitate to put her hand on top of his. It made him look up from where he covered his Dark Mark, silver eyes still bright and hazy with a vulnerability she never thought he could be capable of showing.

"Granger," he started, voice rougher than before. "You don't—"

Draco was able to tell her not to pity him, not to pretend that he could be capable of redemption, but she leaned into him, eyes closing.

He panicked at her proximity, yet as his brain screamed at his body to lean as far back as he could, Draco found himself closing his eyes, too.

One.

Merlin, he thought as he counted.

Two.

Should I stop her?

Three.

No, I need her to get used to me.

Four.

Suit yourself, you'll be the one enduring it.

Five.

No! I—

"So gross," Hermione screeched.

Draco's eyes flew open again to catch her stand from beneath the tree, brushing her hands against her skirt, a grimace on her face.

"Wait. What?"

"I killed it!"

"Killed what, Granger?

"The spider in your hair. It crunched," Hermione almost but let out a cry, shuddering as she looked at her hands now. "For God's sake, what kind of Gryffindor am I? I had to close my eyes to kill it!"