The train ride was quiet, with no pointless war being fought between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Hermione's decision to hold what she knew over Harry and Ron had ensured a period of peace, especially as neither of the other Gryffindors were on the train. Draco had found their compartment, shooing some Hufflepuffs away. "We need the seats. Go away."

Hermione and Draco were sitting each other, poring over a chapter in Hermione's gilded copy of Magical Theory, gifted to her by him. They had started an argument about Anne Zabini's theory regarding which wand wood provided the most power to its' wielder.

"It depends upon the wielder, not the wood, not entirely. Zabini clearly states that their value depends upon how well the wood complements the wielder." Hermione poked the page, reading it out. "Right here! Though official opinion varies, expert wandmakers Garrick Ollivander and Mykew Gregorovitch agree that each separate wand wood has certain properties which are particularly apt for a wielder with a particular personality, or enduring a certain circumstance."

"Yeah, maybe," Draco allowed, "but it also says here that wands can be won from other people, and how could the thief be guaranteed to have the right personality or circumstance or whatever to match the wood? A wand will always perform most effectively for the wizard that owns it, however, it will function perfectly adequately for one who has successfully disarmed the previous wielder. The original properties will continue to apply, including an affinity for charms as afforded by the wood of a Rowan tree."

"You must have read that wrong, there's no way that she would say that. It contradicts what she said before far too much."

Blaise groaned, cutting them off. He was sitting with his legs sprawled across the seat beside him, just leaving room for Theo, who was writing something. "Can you two just stop it? It's the holidays, we're meant to be on a break."

"We have an essay due on this first week back, Blaise, don't you care at all about passing?"

"I don't think I'm going to fail if I leave it until the week before it's due."

"How do you people sleep at night?" Hermione genuinely seemed to not understand. "Honestly, it's like you're satisfied with just gliding through life without purpose."

"He has a purpose," Theo murmured, not pausing in his writing. "It's irritating you, Granger."

"Ha, ha, very funny. I'm serious!"

"So am I."

"He really is," Draco assured her, shifting. His foot nudged Neville, who was sitting on the floor between them. He couldn't take the vacant seat because Draco had stacked books on it. The Gryffindor glared at his foot, as though that would make it stop.

"How did that bet go?" Neville asked.

"Which one?"

"There's more than one?"

Hermione frowned. It hadn't occurred to her that Draco was tempting her to gamble, something her grandma Jean had always said was a sin that would get you sent somewhere awful. "Yes. There was the Sorting Ceremony, then the flying lesson, then the library. Hey, the flying lesson-"

"I won," Draco assured Neville.

"I won the flying lesson bet! Harry never threatened you."

"No, just you."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, too quickly for her to believe him for even an instant. "And I stopped getting the letters. I wrote to mother and they stopped, just like I asked. I kept up my end. Why do you think I've actually been asking what you're reading?"

"Because you don't want me to finish reading them before you do?"

"When'd you come up with that? No. I just wanted to- never mind. When do I get to ask my questions?"

"Your questions? That's up to you, I guess. Do you want them to know whatever my answers are?"

Blaise and Neville glanced at them, waiting for an answer. Blaise wanted to hear what was said, while Neville was afraid to. Theo wanted them all to be quiet and let him write in peace. After all, first draft of the essay was always the hardest.

"Why didn't you argue?"

"You're going to have to be more specific, Draco. Argue about what?"

"Me picking you. You do remember that, right?"

"No need to be sarcastic. I didn't think I was free to argue."

"Picked? You mean that rumour's actually true?" Draco and Hermione both looked across the compartment to find Theo staring at them. He'd actually raised his voice, something he never did, unless he was laughing at some bad joke- usually told by himself. "I thought you were just-"

"Incredibly accepting? You do realise that this is Draco, right?"

"He picked you? How?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm a Malfoy. I always get first pick."

"No one else did!"

"I can explain that. There was no logic in letting children choose the people they'd spend their lives with." Hermione was glared at for saying this, though it didn't stop her. "It would take far too long, as well, especially with the first run of minors who had to be paired. Random selection just makes more sense in the long run. Plus then nobody can accuse whoever signs the papers of favouritism."

"Did I not just say-"

"We know, we know, Draco. 'I'm a Malfoy'. 'The world is my oyster'. And so on."

"Did you just interrupt him?" Blaise looked like he wanted to laugh.

"Future wife," Hermione excused herself.

"Exactly! You lord that over us, him, everyone, but the rest of us don't even know who out partners are, not by sight. Mine's some Runcorn person- Cassidy Runcorn. Never met her in my life. Why should you get treated differently?"

"That's how politics work," Hermione shrugged. "They're flawed in the muggle world, of course they are here. I mean, why wouldn't they be? It's the same species."

"Older purebloods would argue with that."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Theo didn't answer, and Draco genuinely looked confused. Neville refused to look at either of them. Blaise frowned. "Seriously? This is a problem to you people?" The looks they gave him said that yes, it was. Neville looked ready to tackle Blaise to force him to be quiet, and that was saying something, since the Gryffindor was hardly prone to violence. Blaise leaned towards Hermione and addressed her directly.

"There are wizards who are pureblood- witches too. Entirely magical families- like the Malfoys, actually, Malfoys and the Notts. They're famous for it, the blood prejudice. Purebloods hate muggles and muggle-borns, they usually think that the muggle-borns stole magic or some garbage like that. They think they muggle-borns should be kept out of the magical world."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said, half-laughing. "Draco doesn't think that. Do you?"

Theo and Blaise were staring at Draco, looking as though they expected him to suddenly admit to a major hate crime. "What? No! No one in my family- oh."

"What's that supposed to mean? Draco?"

He didn't end up getting a chance to answer as the door slid open. Neville scrambled away from the door as it opened, its shrieking grating against their ears. Blaise swore, Theo looked back down at his book, and the lunchlady smiled in at them. "Anything from the trolley?"

Magical candy was scattered across the compartment twenty minutes later, paid for by the combined funds of Draco, Blaise and Theo. Hermione was debating between a Pumpkin Pasty and Toothflossing Stringmint when the door opened again, making her wince: the questions had stopped, leaving Draco with two more that she had to answer honestly.

"What are you eating?"

Draco grimaced. "Go away, Parkinson. You haven't spoken to me since we started at Hogwarts, don't start now."

The dark haired girl sneered at him, then looked at Theo. "I just read the newest letter. Christmas at the Malfoys again. Of course."

Hermione groaned this time, taking both of them. She knew Pansy Parkinson from the Sorting Ceremony, and from that annoying voice, constantly chattering with Sophie Roper, a girl with a shrill voice and rather interesting opinions about the Goblin Rebellions they'd studied in History of Magic. Pansy shot her a glare.

"I don't care what you think, Granger. There won't be a way to get out of it."

"Hey, I'm looking forward to it, Pansy," Theo shrugged. "Now if you could just save whatever reunion you're aiming for until then, I'd be forever grateful."

Pansy turned around and stalked off.

"There's a party now? And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't think it mattered."

"You invited me to your house for Christmas and didn't think it was important enough to mention that there was a party?"

Draco was remembering the scattered parties he knew Hermione had attended, listed in reports since they had first met. Her sudden nervousness made sense, given that. "Come with me, Hermione." He didn't wait for an answer, grabbing her wrist and leaving the book on the seat he had abandoned. The two of them stepped over Neville, who watched them leave before scrambling up to claim their seat for himself.

When they reached the end of the train, he turned her wrist so that her palm was facing upwards and ran a fingertip across her palm.

"You see what this is?"

"My hand. Draco, this party-"

"Give me time. What do you use your hand for?"

"I- everything. Writing, studying, holding books so that I can read." Where are you going with this?

"They're your tools. You use them to learn, so all your knowledge is due to that. True?"

"Sure, yes. My hands are how I learn. Why not."

"Your hands don't control themselves, though, do they? Your mind does that."

"Brain, Draco. My brain allows me to control my hands. Everyone's control over their own body is because their brain works properly."

"Yes. So your hands are your expression of your brainpower. Yeah?"

"I suppose..."

"Alright, so remember all that. Remember it all. Now this is my second question: has there ever, in your whole life, been anything you couldn't learn?"

"Well. Why football is so interesting to so many people. How to even think sports are interesting. But important things, like maths and history and magic? No. Nothing."

"Then, Hermione, I don't think you'll have any trouble learning how to behave at this party. You're a genius, you can learn to do anything. All you have to do is be yourself."

"The only muggle-born there?"

"Hey, only my father believes in that rubbish, and that's just a guess. My mother's going to like you a lot. I promise."

"You better."

The two fell silent for a time, leaning on the railing at the rear of the train. They were watching the world pass by, hills and trees and sky all painting a perfectly lovely picture. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Does it really matter to you whether or not my father likes you?"

"Not really. I have friends, don't I? More than I'd ever hoped to have. I'm sure they'll be plenty good enough."

He wanted to warn her that Lucius might treat her awfully. It took all his self-control to stop himself from grabbing her and shaking her, to try and convince her to change her mind and go back to her parents instead of to this stupid party. The moment passed them by quickly, though, Hermione musing aloud.

"I'm going to have to go home for at least a few hours, you know. Where else am I going to get something to wear to your silly party?"

Draco smiled. "I think mother would be happy to arrange that."