was a slow-moving cloud of crimson telekinesis, swirling, shifting, crackling with undeniable power as it scrapped at the stone ground and left long scratches. The torches in the columns above were burning with not normal yellow fires, but with blazing red flames licking the stone walls behind.

In the eye of the storm, that was held at bay but seemed ready to close in, stood Margaret and Umbridge.

Dolores Umbridge had never been so terrified of anything in her life. Her pink cardigan was streaked with dirt and her hair was haywire after the fight outside, but her eyes were wide and she was positively quaking in terror.

Raising her wand, she attempts to say, "Expelliar-"

Her own wand tore out of her grasp and pointed itself at her throat.

"Miss Xenakis," she chokes out, looking at the girl who seemed to be an unrecognisable monster... "M- Margaret... Calm down, dear-"

Margaret did not speak; but her powers closed in threateningly on Umbridge, crackling like thunder.

Outside of the ring of fire, a crowd of horrified students formed; among them were teachers and ghosts as well. The Professors huddled together, speaking in low tones and stealing glances at Margaret. They seemed to know something the students did not.

Harry looked as startled as he felt, Hermione had tears in her wide eyes and Ron looked alarmed, none of the three know what would the consequences would be. Next to them, Daphne stared with wide eyes, her hands covering her mouth.

And then someone broke out of the crowd and forced his way through the cloud of telekinetic energy, prompting startled screams and gasps from the onlookers.

Margaret's mind could no longer tell the difference between friend and foe, so her first reaction when she felt a hand on her shoulder was to throw the person away. As her powers began to oblige, the person said:

"Margaret, calm down..."

The voice was familiar, and unlike Umbridge, it was not of someone she wanted to hurt.

She could hear their thoughts; she could recognise them... Her brows drew closer slightly and her powers paused as though unsure.

"Listen to Mister Malfoy-" squeaks Umbridge.

Draco widened his eyes at the foolish Headmistress and she spoke no more.

"Margaret...?"

Daringly, he gently took a hold of her wrist with his free hand, her arm jerking at the sudden touch. Her powers began coiling up his hand but they did no more than tickle him.

"You don't want to do this," he says calmly. Even if his heart was in his throat. "You know you don't."

The voice seemed far away and muffled as though she was underwater.

The thoughts, on the other hand... In the thoughts was a familiar face: One that she longed to see every single day, one identical to hers in many ways – especially when surrounded by a destructible force similar to what she had created at the moment.

The boy in the thoughts and memories which were not her own smiled a friendly smile...

Margaret gasped, stumbling back into Draco.

And suddenly, the cloud of crackling energy collapsed, blowing a gust of wind in all directions and forcing the onlookers to shield their eyes; Umbridge's wand clattered to the ground and the woman took several hasty steps back.

For a moment, the resumed darkness quivered with buzzing silence. Then the fires in the torches regained their normal yellow, and Umbridge quickly bent to retrieve her wand, pointing it shakily at Margaret.

"How dare you-! HOW DARE YOU ATTACK THE HEADMISTRESS OF HOGWARTS?!" Umbridge shrieks, angry tears pooling in her eyes. "I – shall – have – you – sent – to – Az-!"

Feeling dreadful at what was to come; Draco looked up, surprised when Umbridge had suddenly begun choking over her words. He narrowed his eyes, seeing a familiar crimson swirling behind her irises. A split second later, it was gone.

Then, Umbridge relaxed unnaturally and her usual honeyed smile stretched across her face.

"No matter, dear," says she sympathetically, almost robotically, to Margaret, who was leaning heavily on Draco now, "Pressure of examinations... I understand, I understand."

With that, she turned to leave but paused as she caught sight of the students around them. Frowning, she says, "Off to bed, everyone! Don't you have exams tomorrow?"

The students looked from Umbridge to Margaret and Draco, whispering anxiously about everything that happened in the past twenty minutes. But Professors Sprout, Flitwick and Sinatra began ushering them back towards their common rooms. Professor Snape was likely up in the hospital wing with Professor McGonagall.

Everybody scattered in droves, except Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville, as well as the Slytherins, Daphne, Pansy, Theodore, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco looked down at Margaret, feeling her shivering against him. He was not sure if she had gained control of her magic so he shook her shoulder firmly.

"Margaret?"

She said nothing for a moment then glanced up at him, her eyes back to their normal brown. Draco sighed in relief. His face was void of his usual sneer, so it took Margaret a moment to realise who it was; before she jumped away from him, wobbling on her feet.

Looking around, she saw her friends staring back at her with utter incredulity. Through her dizziness, Margaret felt a sharp sting directly to her heart at their expressions. Then she spotted the Slytherins and tried to steel herself.

"YOU MONSTER!" Pansy shrieks, drawing her wand. Theodore and Blaise simultaneously backed away from the idiotic girl, whilst Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles. "STAY AWAY-"

With what little strength she had, Margaret's eyes glowed crimson again and her jaw clenched in anger. Absolute terror flashed in Pansy's eyes before the memories of the past ten minutes had been wiped from the minds of her, Theo, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle.

As they walked away almost robotically, Draco backed up, ready to draw his wand from his sleeve. But Margaret did not spare him another glance and instead turned to her friends, which included Daphne.

"Not... a... word," she whispers hoarsely before stumbling out of the courtyard, leaving them reeling with bewilderment

.

And perhaps for once, he knew that.

What was in it for him to go look for that snarky Gryffindor? Merlin's hell, he wasn't even sure why he even cared. He'd rather jump off of the Astronomy tower than spend time with her.

Draco ignored that as he hastened down Percival Pratt's tunnel to the boathouse because for once, he knew exactly why he felt a wave of déjà vu crash over him – he had stopped Maximus from losing control of his magic just like he stopped Margaret; before scouting the Manor for him, just as how he was now looking for her.

And he was right in guessing where she could be, for as soon as he opened the door on the other end of the tunnel, Draco spotted her by the railing, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Xenakis!" he exclaims, mentally denying there was relief in his tone.

Margaret raised her head slowly. Seeing who it was, she struggled up to her feet clumsily and mustered up a scowl, crimson fading in and out of her glaring eyes.

"What – were – you – THINKING?!"

Draco was taken aback by her sudden outburst. "What-?"

"What were you thinking stepping up to me like that?!" she shouts in mingled anger and desperation. "I could've hurt you-!"

"But you didn't," he blurts out without thinking.

"I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU!"

Her words echoed in the space for a moment. Draco looked to the ground, gritting his jaw, knowing that saying anything would only make her anger worse.

"Never – I mean NEVER do that again! Never step up when you see my powers like that – I- I won't be able to... live with myself if I... if I-"

Black dots appeared in her vision and her voice became lower. She struggled to breathe and she leaned back on the railing to support herself.

Everything had been piling up on her for a while now – the remorse of not being able to save Mr Weasley, the sorrow of knowing what Harry was going through but unable to ever fully help him, the guilt of knowing she would not be able to help McGonagall, the anxiety about the uncertainty of tomorrow, the pressure of exams. On top of that, one of the biggest causes of her unneeded stress was Dolores Umbridge.

Using that magnitude of powers had its effects on her, but she had not felt it in over a year now... In all honesty, Margaret was extremely disappointed in herself. Everything she had learnt in the past ten months blown off the moment she let her powers go.

"What... do you want?" she attempts to snap but her voice cracks. "If you're here to insult me, I swear to-"

"How naive you are, Margaret, to think I'd come to insult you at one in the morning," Draco scoffs, not unkindly for once. "No; I wanted to give you this."

Margaret glanced up, seeing a small vial in his hand filled with milky white potion as he came up in front of her. "What is it...?"

"Draught of Peace," he answers, "Got it from Madam Pomfrey for you."

She looked between his face and the vial for a moment. "You... got it for me?"

"Honestly," he sighs, biting his tongue to keep his irritated retort to himself. "Yes, I got it for you. It should help."

"Why would you want to help?" she asks, persistent as ever.

"Because believe it or not, Xenakis, you aren't the first person I've met who spontaneously combusts with their magic," Draco snaps before his eyes widen and he takes a step away from her. "Er, I mean... um, I- I just wanted to... be nice?"

Grimacing, he dared a glance up to find her giving him a blank stare. But if he was being honest, there was a hint of amusement in her chocolate brown eyes.

She tried to take the vial from him but it nearly slipped from her trembling hand. Thankfully, Draco reacted quickly.

"Nice catch..." she whispers tiredly as he uncorked it and handed it to her carefully, her skin unusually colder than his.

"Well, I'm only the best Seeker at Hogwarts, you know," he shrugs not at all modestly, smirking when she chokes over the potion slightly.

The Draught of Peace surely lived up to its name. As soon as the liquidly potion tickled down her throat with a taste of bitter vanilla, a soothing feeling spread through her. Her pounding heart began to calm down and the walls seemed to stop closing in on her.

"...Thank you," she breathes, relieved.

Draco shrugged, glancing at her sideways. "There's always something you can do in return..."

Margaret blinked. Of course... When did Draco Malfoy not have ulterior motives?

"What?" she manages to snap.

Dropping his bag on the side, he walked up and leaned back next to her, their backs facing the lake behind.

"I erased their memories," she speaks before he could even ask anything.

He sighed in irritation. "Must you always read my mind?"

"Sometimes I can't help it," she mutters tiredly. "Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless you keep talking; don't take so much time to think everything you say," she tells him, lips quirking up in a crooked smile. "And no, Draco, I'm not going to explode on you..."

"You sure about that?" he mutters to himself, then shakes his head. "You erased whose memories?"

"You wanted to know what I did to Umbridge and your friends," says she. "I erased their memories of what they saw me doing."

"Without a wand?" he asks.

Margaret looked to him, slightly hesitant. Did she really want him to know? This was the perfect time to erase his memories. She could compel him to think that he wanted to return Toujours Pour: La Terre and its copies to her. But...

She glanced down at the vial in her hand and then back up at Draco.

Four months they had been each other's acquaintances if nothing more. Even though he had ulterior motives for interacting with her, Margaret knew she was far worse for doing nothing to warn him of the storm heading his way. She was treating him like a pawn in her chess game, and he, no matter who he was, deserved better than that.

The least she owed him was the truth she had the choice to speak...

"I don't need a wand for that," she admits softly, looking down so that he would not see her glassy eyes. "It's called telepathy; it originates from my mind..."

Draco's eyebrows shot up, he would not admit it but he was impressed. "And they'd be all right, I suppose?"

"Yes," she answers, "they'd be all right."

He nodded, surprisingly trusting of her words. But Margaret frowned as a thought occurred to her.

"When you saw me, how'd you know what to do...?" she asks lowly.

This time, Draco seemed hesitant. However, after months of talking to her, he knew that he could not lie when she was constantly reading his mind. Irritated at the lack of options, he glared at the timber floor.

"I have a friend back home," he says in a constrained tone as though he would rather not talk about it. "He... well, he has amnesia, which means he has no memories of-"

"I know what amnesia is," she intervenes, sighing. "What's that got to do with me?"

"I was getting there," he snaps lightly. "Since he doesn't have most of his memories, he's lost any and all education he may have had for magic, and so he loses control of it sometimes, just like you did. I can usually stop him," he says, sounding proud, "He needs someone to hold him to reality, I suppose, rather than whatever his mind is manifesting... The first few times, his magic resisted me, but after that, he's been able to recognise me."

"So... you can just walk up to him without being blasted off?" she asks, frowning.

"Well, you didn't blast me off," Draco jokes, then realises that he was with her, the snarky Gryffindor that he despised. He clears his throat and ignores the mildly amused expression on her face. "I mean, no, Xenakis – how dumb are you, he's not dangerous- what are you sniggering for?!"

Margaret looked to him, chuckling. "You can joke, y'know? It's not gonna make you any less of a Slytherin."

"How'd a Gryffindor like you know anything about being Slytherin?" he retorts pompously.

"You know," she begins challengingly, "the Sorting Hat took way too long trying to convince me I should be in Slytherin."

There were a lot of things that had surprised Draco that night, shocked him even, but apparently, he had not yet had his fill.

"You're bluffing," he states at once.

"Wish I was," Margaret smirks at his reaction, beginning to feel more like herself.

Draco scoffed, unsure about whether or not to believe her. He did remember her peculiar sorting, she had been the first hatstall in fifty years. "Let me guess, you refused because you wanted to stay with Potty and his troop?" he says sarcastically.

"And I'm not a big fan of your dingy dungeons."

"The dungeons," he spits, "aren't dingy!"

"Of course," she mocks slightly. "But towers are more fun."

"You say that now," Draco says, nose stuck up, "you haven't seen the Giant Squid from our windows yet."

"And you haven't got any fresh air or sunlight," counters Margaret, playfully defiant though sounding tired. "You can't even open your windows without flooding the whole castle!"

"Well, one needs a comfortable place to live in," he argues, "not a bloody Quidditch stand with crammed dormitories!"

"Well, I don't have to worry about that," she tells him, "I've got my own room."

"And you- Wait, what?"

She shrugged, whispering conspiringly, "There are benefits of being me."

Draco raised a brow. "Did you get those benefits at Ilvermorny too?"

Margaret resisted the urge to smirk at his cleverness. She met his challenging stare with her own; suddenly realising that they were standing rather close, their arms pressed together on the railing.

"You never did go there, did you?" he states lowly, raising a brow. "No you didn't. You just appeared out of nowhere..."

"Think what you wanna think," she says in the same low, teasing tone. "None of it would ever be true..."

"I'll find out the truth one day," he tells her, his eyes scanning her face for the littlest twitch of lies.

Margaret had always been good at hiding her emotions, but her eyes were curious to gaze at when they weren't glowing. They had the tiniest hints of hazel in them, he realised... Then there was that damned crooked smile that seemed so oddly familiar to him, but then he noticed her lips were shaped perfectly as a cupid's bow and all thoughts abandoned him. All he could think of was what it would be like to take a leap of fate...

The thought was exhilarating, so much that his stomach did a sort of backflip that he had never felt before.

Draco tried to snap out of it, he tried to understand why it was getting warmer, why his heart was suddenly racing or why his mouth felt dry; nothing made sense, but his eyes were unwilling to look away, afraid he would break the suddenly fragile moment.

Margaret wasn't sure who leaned in first...

One second she was staring, as though spellbound, at the silver specks in his eyes which she had never noticed before, that reminded her of stars on a hazy night, and the next, he was glancing at her lips and the distance between them was closing...

There was something else there tonight, something that wasn't there before – he was not constantly scowling or sneering. She could really see him, the mask-less Draco who somehow had the courage to step up to stop her from doing something rash, who had followed her down there with a Draught of Peace in hand, who joked with her and had playful banter without deducting house points... She wondered if he knew how much it meant to her.

She could feel his breath tickling her cheek and her own breathing hitched, her thoughts loud enough for her to not hear his...

Their lips were mere inches away... All she had to do was close her eyes. Nothing was stopping her...

In the centimetres of space was a spark they could both feel – something dangerous yet something worth igniting...

Margaret frowned. Everything was stopping her.

This time tomorrow, she might be Draco's least favourite person in the world. If she went on with whatever this was, she would only make him hate her more... The thought felt like a mild blow to her chest – she did not expect it to hurt that much.

"...The lines are blurring," she whispers softly, sadly.

Draco froze.

He glanced up to meet her eyes again, just in time to see a tear falling. She gave him a small smile, an emotion flashing across her features which he deduced was guilt before she backed up slightly.

At this, he jerked away, his face feeling incredibly warm. Merlin's beard, what was he doing?!

"We should head back," she states decisively, picking their bags up from the floor.