Hermione was reading the book Draco had his mother purchase. The Rationale Behind the Ministry was frustratingly vague on several matters, largely things involving Quidditch. It was incredibly specific on others, including how the Wizarding War had begun against You-Know-Who over a decade ago- suffice to say, it involved manipulation of Ministry corruption.

Towards the end, en entire chapter explained the decision to enforce a marriage law in the younger population of pure-bloods. It was to prevent blood status based rivalry, mostly, though the concern for the reduction in the wizarding population, at least when compared to that of muggles, was genuine. England alone had over 48 million residents, less than 100,000 of whom were magical. Less than one per cent, Hermione calculated. Less than 0.25 per cent, even. England's population of magical people was third highest in the world, too, after the United States and China. No wonder they were worried about a reduction in population- the same amount of wizards were alive today as had been when the Ministry of Magic was first founded.

She was re-reading the chapter for the sixth time the morning that Harry Potter received his first ever package. This didn't bother her-she wasn't speaking to them after they dragged her into a forbidden corridor with a three-headed dog, but she refused to begrudge them their own happiness. Glancing up as they hurried out of the hall, she saw that it was long and thin, close to being longer than she was tall. She grimaced. Broom. Figures that Harry Potter would manage to get rewarded for breaking the rules.

Her annoyance faded when she saw a familiar blond leave his seat. "I'll see you in Charms," she told Neville, quickly collecting her things and walking as fast as she could towards the door. Maybe if she hurried, she could prevent a second Wizarding War.

"-Save up, twig by twig," Draco was sneering at Ron. Hermione almost groaned aloud at the frustrating repetitiveness of it all.

"Please tell me you're not fighting again," she snapped.

"What's it matter to you, know-it-all? Don't want your boyfriend getting beaten?"

"Oh, grow up, Ron. We're in the same House, in case you've forgotten. I don't have some ridiculous issue with you doing whatever you like to get yourself thrown out, but at least have the sense to do it where a teacher can't walk in at any moment and decide to punish all three of you! Honestly, you'd think you were raised in a barn!"

"What's that supposed to mean? You saying something about my family?" Ron stepped towards Hermione, trying to seem intimidating as he glared at her. She folded her arms to stand her ground, only to have Draco step in front of her and glare right back. At the same time, Harry grabbed Ron's arm to hold him back.

"Muggle expression. Means you've got bad manners," he said quickly. Hermione almost wanted to thank him, but was able to restrain herself when Professor Flitwick paused alongside them.

"I hope none of you are causing trouble again," he squeaked. Apparently, Poppy Pomfrey had let the entire body of staff know what had happened in the hospital wing. This was the dozenth time Hermione alone had heard it referenced, and she had no idea if Draco heard it just as much. If she had, she'd know that Slytherin students had started in on him regarding it, too. Apparently, the fact that the Malfoy name had let him choose, while everyone else had been assigned someone at random, was a big deal. He didn't see how-it wasn't like it was the first time he'd been provided with something no one else had.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Draco was quick to throw in, ignoring Hermione as she pinched him to try to make him stop talking.

"Yes, yes, that's right. Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Mister Potter. And what model is it?"

Draco was aghast, more so when Harry smiled at the Professor. "A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir. And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it."

Flitwick beamed at each of them before heading to the staircase to find his way to his own classroom. Hermione shoved Draco slightly, making him stumble to the side. "I suppose you think this is some sort of reward, then, for breaking the rules?"

"Why are you even speaking to us? You've been giving us the silent treatment all week."

"Yes, don't stop now. It's doing us so much good."

"I challenge you to say that when you doubtlessly manage to fail another basic spell, Ronald Weasley. You can't even get a feather to explode when you try, and that's as basic as it gets! If you must know, I was stopping in to see if any of you would be smart enough to try and make amends. I can see that is about as likely as snow in July!"

She stormed off up the stairs, heaving her bag with her. The three boys watched her go, before Draco glanced at the Gryffindors. Then he turned to go back into the Great Hall.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

"Find Neville, not that it's any business of yours."

"Why? So you can bother him, too?"

"Actually, Weasley," he looked directly at Harry as he spoke, "it's so I can ask him to make sure you don't do anything to Hermione. She didn't ask for this." He meant their animosity, but Harry and Ron shared a look when he left. Malfoy knew other people could make choices? Unbelievable.

✦

Before any of them really stopped to think about the passage of time, Halloween was upon them. They knew this because castle had been done up to look every bit as frightening as the darkest dungeons, decorated with live bats and jack-o-lanterns that seemed to stalk them and cobwebs so large that, for a real spider to make them, it would have to have been at least the size of a motorcycle.

Of course, with Halloween came Charms class, and with Charms class came levitation spells. Hermione had been very much looking forward to these, as it fit so well with her pre-marriage law idea of magic. Flying objects was one of the many reasons she had read through so many Charms books, despite her love for Transfiguration, which was, by far, the more challenging of the two classes.

The only problem was that Professor Flitwick enjoyed pairing up the students himself. In Potions, she'd never experience this problem- she alternated between working with Blaise Zabini, a dark Slytherin boy who seemed to get on quite well with Draco, Draco himself, and Neville, who most of their classmates were afraid to work with following the boil disaster of their first lesson. In History of Magic and Transfiguration, they worked alone, and in Herbology, the groups were so large she never had to speak to half of the students she'd been assigned to work with. After two weeks of peace and quiet, she supposed it was only fair that it ended.

But, all the same, did the tiny Professor have to pair her with Ron? Couldn't he have chosen Harry Potter and his ridiculous scar? At least he wouldn't have been deliberately thick.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Hermione flinched away from his frantic wand waving, not willing to put herself in the line of fire. All the same, if he kept this up, he'd probably end up killing someone, or at least maiming them. "You're saying it wrong." She was fully aware that she sounded angry; that was because she was. She felt somebody look at her, and knew it was Neville without looking, since he kept doing that. He was watching her awfully closely lately- at least it wasn't distracting. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' sound nice and long."

"Fine," Ron snarled at her, throwing his wand down on the table, "you do it, then, if you're so bloody clever."

She rolled her eyes and pushed up her sleeves, gracefully raising her wand. Swish and flick. "Wingardium Leviosa!" She smiled as the feather rose over her head, a small thrill of pride shooting down her spine. Imagine if I'd gotten it wrong, what an idiot I would have seemed!

Leaving the class a long half an hour later, Ron had apparently decided it was time to stop pretending that she didn't exist. "No wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

She scowled at the back of his head, shoving between him and Harry. "Move it," she snapped, her voice cracking. No, no, no, don't cry, it doesn't matter, they're just a couple of boys-

"I think she heard you." At least Harry sounded concerned as she bolted for the corner.

"So?"

Behind them, Neville stared in disappointment. He'd never have guessed that Harry would let Ron carry on with the bullying- he'd seemed so nice, at least on the train. Like he was shy or something.

He didn't go to lunch. He went to find his one other friend.

✦

"Hermione? You in here? Because if you aren't, you aren't in any girls toilets and I look like an idiot for listening to Neville." Neville had found Draco on the staircase between the Charms and Transfiguration classrooms. Neville had gone back to his classes- after Draco had convinced him to do so, based on the fact that they had Potions after lunch and Snape already hated him enough. The Gryffindor hadn't wanted to leave Draco to search alone, since the castle was so huge and Hermione was his friend, too. But Snape was terrifying, and he didn't want detention already.

Draco didn't get an answer, but he did hear what sounded like someone crying. He almost turned right around and left, except he'd never seen a girl cry before and curiosity got the better of him.

"Hermione, open the door or I'll unlock it and come on in anyway. Just let me in." He listened to the muffled sounds of movement for a moment, before the toilet door opened. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying so much, her nose red from her having wiped it so much. As he looked on, she tried to use her already soaked sleeve to wipe away some more tears. Not a good look for her.

"S-sorry. I'm j-just being such an idiot, Draco."

"This is all over the Weasel? Neville said..."

"He said s-something mean, that's all. I don't know w-why it made me cry. They're i-idiots, aren't they?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Are you going to go to Potions?"

"N-no. I can't. I don't want th-them to see that they got to me."

Draco sighed, not wanting to stay there. What choice did he have, though? He didn't want anyone to see that Potter and the Weasel had reduced her to this, either. So he slipped into the cubicle alongside her and closed the door carefully. "Tell me about what book you're reading."

"Don't you a-already know?"

"I lost the bet, remember? I can't. A Malfoy's word is his worth."

She smiled.

✦

Draco's stomach grumbled hours later, interrupting. The two were still laughing over his uncoordinated scrambling to hide his feet when one of the Patil twins, the one Hermione identified as Parvati, had come in earlier. She'd asked if Hermione was okay. Hermione had sounded like she was being strangled when she had answered that she just wanted to be alone, and the twin had stayed where she was. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Parvati. Go on. I'll be fine."

"Alright... if you're sure," Parvati had said, and then left her alone. Draco had slipped off the toilet seat at that moment, barely stopping himself from yelling out in pain when his head his the wall. Now he was in pain, but the two were happy enough. There was no longer any sign on Hermione's face to suggest that Potter and Weasley had bothered her at all.

"Oh, you're starving. It must be time for dinner," Hermione reasoned, wiping her eyes. They were tears of laughter, though, so this was okay, at least as long as Draco knew he had been the cause of them. "You should head down."

"I'm not going down there if you're staying here," he said. It seemed gallant, really, or chivalrous or considerate. Really, he was just hoping that he would be able to brag about this later. I helped a girl to stop crying. Bet the Weasel's never done that before. Even if only Neville listened, he'd be pleased. Hell, he'd take bragging to Zabini over this, he seemed to like Hermione well enough.

"I can't ask you to do that, Draco," she smiled, "and anyway, I'm not hungry."

"No, you're starving. You didn't have lunch, either, Hermione, so you have to be at least as hungry as I am. So you should really just give in and let me have this one. You can sit with me."

"At the Slytherin table?"

"What, do you want to invite Neville as well? I'm not sure I like that idea."

She smirked back at him, holding out a hand to help him up. "But Neville's so nice, Draco, how could you not?"

"He's always around you."

"He's in the same House as me." She was laughing at him, but Draco didn't really mind, not at that moment. He watched as she opened the door and moved to the sink to splash water on her face, grinning all the while. He probably looked like a bit of an idiot, but if it was time for dinner, then he had just spent a good six hours getting to know Hermione- just like she'd wanted him to. Maybe it's not so bad to be the one who's trying, he mused.

His smile faltered as he pressed his hand against his nose. "Oh, Merlin, what's that smell?"

"What're you- oh, that's disgusting, Draco!"

"What? I didn't-" he whipped around, staring at the door. He'd heard something, he was certain of it. "Holy mother of-"

It was twelve feet tall, grey as rock and lumpy as a beaten pillow. It smelt like a garbage dump. And he had no idea where it had come from, except that it had wandered through the door.

"Duck!"

He only moved at all because Hermione slammed into him, falling back against the tiled wall. She cringed into herself, rolling out of the way of the flailing club. "Draco- Draco-"

Then the door was clicked shut. Hermione said something her mother had once said when he'd hammered his thumb while trying to hang a painting. Then she pulled Draco again, lugging him like a toy as she shrieked aloud, her voice higher than she'd thought it could go. "Don't hurt him!"

The door opened just as quickly as it had closed, and Hermione watched as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, of all people, charged inside. Of all the times for a teacher to not be listening! she cried to herself.

"Confuse it!" came Harry's order, throwing something at the troll. It stopped moving. Hermione pulled Draco close, shifting so she was between him and the monstrous thing, terrified. She'd read about these things, these trolls, in a history of Gringotts, the wizards bank. They had once beaten a man and his child to death over a misunderstanding. The book said that the bones had been crushed into powder, blood and skin and organs oozing together in a foul, ugly mess.

Hermione didn't want to die like that. Not when the thing had caught her off guard!

Harry was tugging at her arm, trying to make her move, but she shook her head. "Come on, run, run!

She wanted to tell him to stop yelling, that he was only making the troll angrier, but she couldn't quite manage to speak. Hand shaking, she pointed towards the troll. It had turned around, raising its' club to strike at Ron, who had nowhere to run.

Oh, no.

Harry's hand was suddenly gone, and she fell back closer to Draco, shaking him wildly. She needed him on his feet, because he was too heavy to move, and she certainly wasn't about to leave him there at the mercy of a troll, of all things. He was her friend, and though she'd never really had any friends besides books, she figured the same general logic applied. Stay with your friends, no matter what. She stopped very suddenly- Draco was staring at something over her shoulder, gaping at it. And it wasn't just the troll, she discovered quickly.

Harry had, apparently, decided that physical assault was the best way to go. He was currently hanging from around the neck of the troll like a small boy-shaped scarf, one that went unnoticed by the wearer. But it had stopped moving towards Ron anyway, twisting and turning as it tried to see what on earth had happened. But why did it stop?

That was when she noticed Ron, visible from around the troll. He wore a mixed expression of terror, awe and disgust. His mouth was working, saying something over and over again. It took a minute for her to realise that Draco was saying it, too.

"His wand. Bloody hell, his wand."

As it turned out, Harry had shoved his wand right up the trolls ugly great nose. The troll was flailing its' club, Hermione was too focused on Draco to help. Draco himself was only just regaining his senses, scrambling to his feet. Ron was the only one with a wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Magic tore the club out of the things' stumpy fingers, floating towards the ceiling. It was weirdly soothing, actually, the slow movement of the club as it rotated gradually through the air.

And then it fell.

It did not bounce off the trolls head like some comic, but neither did it cause any visible damage. There was a crack louder than the one Hermione remembered from the day she'd learned the truth of magic. Then the troll plummeted forwards. Ron only barely managed to dive out off the way, before it came down exactly where he had been standing.

All four of them stared at it for a long minute of complete and total silence. None of them could quite believe what had happened.

"Tell me it's dead," Draco croaked. He cleared his throat and glared half-heartedly at Harry when he shook his head, moving to reclaim his wand.

"Probably just knocked out."

"Harry's right," Hermione said in a small voice, though she hated it. "I've read about trolls. They're nearly invulnerable to physical damage. Especially from... from..."

"A bunch of first-years?" Ron offered this. He sounded like he was speaking through a mouthful of blood, his voice was so muffled.

"Yes."

Just then, all four of them heard the sound of running footsteps, and three teachers skidded to a stop in the doorway, staring at the wreckage, the victim, and the survivors. Professor McGonagall looked like she had run all the way up from the dungeons, while Professor Snape's gait was uneven and unbalanced. Professor Quirrell looked as though he were on the verge of a heart attack. Hermione could only imagine what they were thinking- nothing she came up with was polite.

"What on earth were you thinking? You're lucky you weren't killed! Why aren't you in your dormitory- dormitories?"

McGonagall was furious, and Snape didn't seem much happier. He gave Harry a cursory examination, then looked past him. If the professor was surprised to see his favourite Slytherin still holding hands with the Gryffindor know-it-all, he hid it well.

"Please, Professor McGonagall- it was my fault."

"Miss Granger!"