Daphne sat at her vanity, running her brush through her hair. "Do you think Theo's interested in Granger?" she pondered, watching Pansy through the mirror.
Pansy turned her head as she laid her uniform out on her bed. "Our Theo? Theodore Nott?"
"Do we know another Theo?" Daphne retorted, tugging the brush through a stubborn knot.
Pansy frowned as she stepped into her skirt. "And why would you think that?"
Daphne shrugged, setting her brush down and reaching for a ribbon. "He's been around her a bit lately."
Sighing, Pansy sat down on her bed. "Honey, Theo does not fancy Granger. I think he's just... changing."
Daphne spun around to face her. "How do you mean?"
"With his father's imprisonment and all..."
"That doesn't mean he doesn't find Granger interesting," Daphne countered, leaning back in her chair. "She is clever. And, well..."
"Well, what?" Pansy challenged, enjoying the faint blush that crept across Daphne's face as she buttoned her blouse.
"She's not unattractive," Daphne admitted quietly, crossing her arms.
Pansy laughed. "Daphne, it sounds like you have a thing for Granger."
"Shut up!" Daphne gasped, throwing her brush at her.
Pansy ducked, laughing as it sailed over her head and clattered against the wall. She smirked at Daphne, who was now glaring at her with a mixture of exasperation and embarrassment.
"Honestly, Greengrass, I didn't think you'd be one to have a soft spot for a Mudblood," Pansy teased, though her voice lacked its usual bite.
Daphne sighed. "I don't." She tied the ribbon in her hair. "I'm just worried Theo does."
Pansy walked over to her. "He does not fancy Granger."
"Adjusting to what, though?" Daphne scoffed. "Just because some of our parents—"
"Are rotting in Azkaban?" Pansy finished, her voice tight but steady.
Daphne pressed her lips together. "I didn't mean that."
"Yes, you did." There was no venom in Pansy's tone. "Things are different now. Draco's different."
Daphne watched the way Pansy's eyes went glassy, distant with thought. "You're worried."
"I'm always worried about him." Pansy laughed softly. "Come on, let's get to breakfast." She held out her arm.
Daphne smiled, looping her arm through Pansy's as they walked out of the dorm.
"You know," Pansy whispered as they descended the stairs, "this new crush you have on Theo is going to be fun."
Daphne shot her a glare, trying to muster some dignity, but it was difficult with Pansy's teasing smile dancing in her periphery.
"Stop it," she muttered, though there was no real heat to it.
Pansy raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. "What? I'm just saying — Theo's not the only one changing. You're suddenly very defensive about him."
Daphne huffed but didn't reply. She didn't know what to make of it. Theo was her friend; he'd been her friend for years. But with her parents pestering her about finding a suitable betrothed and now Theo's apparent fascination with Granger, things felt unsettled.
"There's your boyfriend," Pansy whispered mischievously as they approached the Slytherin table.
Daphne straightened her shoulders and slid into the seat across from Theo without rising to the bait.
"Morning," she said, her tone casual.
Theo grinned. "Morning. Have either of you seen Draco?"
Pansy frowned. "No, why?"
Blaise sighed. "He wasn't in the dorm when we woke up. Theo has theories."
Theo glanced at Pansy, silently asking her to step in.
Pansy served herself breakfast, unhurried, aware of their eyes on her. Finally, she spoke. "I have it handled."
"What exactly do you have handled?" Blaise asked.
"It doesn't concern you. Theo shouldn't have shared his theories." She looked pointedly at him.
Theo sighed. "You don't even know what's going on with him."
"I don't," she admitted. "But I've got it under control. Theo and I have it under control."
Daphne frowned. "Is this what you two were whispering about the other day?"
Pansy poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice. "You mean when Draco was peacocking around trying to grab Granger's attention?"
Theo's fork froze halfway to his mouth as Draco slumped onto the bench beside him, eyes drooping with exhaustion.
Blaise pulled a face, pouring Draco a coffee and passing it over. "Mate, you look like hell. How long have you been up?"
Draco ran a hand over his face. "Long enough that if any of you asks me something stupid, I'll hex you."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly have you been?" Her tone could have cut glass.
"Nowhere you need to worry about," Draco replied, voice flat.
Pansy sighed. "Does it have anything to do with this summer?"
"Pansy." He exhaled sharply and turned his attention to his plate, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth as though to signal the end of the conversation.
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You know, Malfoy, for someone who doesn't want us to worry, you're doing a terrible job of looking unworried."
"Shut it, Theo," Draco muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes.
Daphne bit her lip, searching for a way to change the subject.
"So," she said, turning to Theo, "what's with this new friendship you've struck up with Granger? Did we suddenly learn she comes from better blood?"
Theo blinked. "What?"
"Last year you wouldn't have spared her a glance, and since we arrived Sunday, you've barely left her side."
"I've spoken to Granger three times, Daph."
"Three times more than you ever would have last year."
Theo glanced at Pansy, a silent plea in his eyes.
Draco frowned, catching it. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That look."
Pansy placed her hand on Draco's arm. "Drop it, Draco. It's nothing," she murmured.
"Bollocks, Parkinson. What are you two planning?" He pulled his arm away.
Pansy closed her eyes briefly. "We're just having a bit of fun with her. The idea came to me on the train when we were paired for prefect duty."
Not a lie — she had formed an idea during those rounds, though it was not quite the one she was describing.
Theo nodded along. "Yeah. Why else would I spend so much time around her?"
---
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat surrounded by the remnants of breakfast. The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning noise, but Harry's attention kept drifting to the Slytherin table — much to Hermione's growing irritation.
"Harry," she whispered sharply. "What is it?"
He turned to her with a slight frown. "D'you notice Malfoy seems tired?"
Ron snorted, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth. "Maybe he's finally realised being a git is exhausting. Should've happened years ago."
Harry's gaze drifted back to the Slytherin table, and Hermione huffed, turning to look herself.
Malfoy was staring down at his plate while Zabini talked at him about something.
"He does look... distracted," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "Maybe he just has a lot of coursework."
Harry shook his head. "No, Hermione. I really think he's mixed up in something."
"Who's mixed up in what?" Ginny asked, dropping into the seat beside Hermione.
"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Just — nothing."
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Harry. Because staring at the Slytherin table like you're planning an ambush just screams 'nothing.'" She grabbed a slice of toast and started buttering it, eyes flicking briefly to Malfoy. "What's he done now?"
Harry slumped slightly. "It's not what he's done — it's what he might be doing. He's been acting oddly since we got back. More oddly than usual."
Ron took a bite of his food. "You know, Harry's not totally wrong."
Hermione scoffed. "Not you too."
"They've all been weird. I mean, Nott keeps talking to you," Ron said.
Hermione set down her fork. "There are only so many students in Runes, Ron. He's being friendly. There's no ulterior motive."
"Maybe he fancies you," Ginny smirked, watching as Ron choked violently on his toast.
"That's absurd!" he gasped.
"Is it?" Ginny asked, clearly enjoying herself. "He is single, isn't he?"
Harry leaned forward. "Zabini keeps whispering to Malfoy, Pansy and Daphne have stopped clinging to him like usual, and Theo's suddenly the nicest Slytherin alive."
Ginny raised an eyebrow at Harry. "So what are you going to do? Follow him into the dungeons and demand he confess?"
Ron, having recovered from his coughing fit, grinned. "Actually, that's not the worst idea. We could use the Map."
Hermione pressed her hands to her temples. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, listen to yourselves. Spying on him? Stalking him? You sound like lunatics!"
"Not us," Harry said, looking at Hermione with wide eyes. "You could."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "You cannot honestly be serious," she hissed.
"It's brilliant," Ron nodded. "Nott's already hanging around you. Instead of him getting information on us—"
"That's not what he's doing."
"You'll be getting information on them!"
Hermione stared at them in utter disbelief. "You're asking me to spy on people because you think Malfoy looks tired? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"He's a Death Eater, Hermione," Harry pressed.
"He is a sixteen-year-old Hogwarts student, Harry!" Hermione's voice rose sharply.
The chatter around them faded.
"Alright, keep it down — people are staring," Ginny whispered.
Hermione crossed her arms. "You cannot seriously think I'd go along with this absurd plan. What exactly am I supposed to do, Harry? Waltz up to Malfoy and ask him about his deepest, darkest secrets over tea?"
"I hear he likes chamomile," Harry answered.
Hermione glared at him. "This isn't funny."
Ginny snorted into her hand. Ron looked uncertain whether Harry had been joking. Harry himself looked entirely unrepentant, leaning toward Hermione with arms crossed.
"I'm not saying you have to ask the bloke out—" he said earnestly.
"What?!" Ron looked at Harry.
"Just keep an eye on them. If they're up to something, you'll spot it." Harry ignored Ron's outburst.
Hermione scoffed. "In case you've forgotten, Draco Malfoy has spent five years reminding me exactly how beneath him I am."
Ginny sighed. "And you three are the ones meant to save our arses?" She shook her head. "Getting close to Malfoy isn't the way. Nott is right there — he's oblivious and talks constantly. If you can get him to open up to you, you'll have what you need."
Hermione looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on her skirt. She didn't like it. The idea was wrong and unkind — manipulating someone over a conspiracy theory with no real backing.
"Did you know his father was at the Ministry," she asked quietly, "the night Sirius — when everything happened?"
Silence fell over the table.
Ron blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Hermione kept her gaze on her skirt. "It wasn't just Lucius Malfoy there that night. If you've decided Draco must be a Death Eater because of what happened to his father, wouldn't the same logic apply to Theo?"
"You think Nott's a Death Eater?" Ron asked.
"No." Hermione looked up at Harry. "I don't think Theo is a Death Eater, and I don't think Malfoy is either. But if your theory on Malfoy rests on his father's imprisonment, then you'd have to apply it to Theo as well. And you're not. So perhaps it isn't really about logic at all." She held Harry's gaze. "I won't do it. We've done enough damage."
Harry didn't respond — his eyes had gone wide as Pansy locked eyes with him from across the Great Hall.
"Shit," he hissed, ducking his head.
Hermione scoffed. "You shouldn't have been staring if you didn't want to get caught."
Harry groaned. Pansy hadn't moved, but her expression was one of quiet amusement — the look of someone who had just won a point without lifting her wand. It was unsettling.
"Nice going, mate," Ron muttered.
"She saw you, didn't she?" Ginny smirked. "Careful, Harry. You might just get yourself a stalker."
"Shut up, Ginny," Harry muttered, face flushing.
Hermione stood, tucking her bag over her shoulder. "I have Runes." She left before anyone could say another word.
---
As she reached the corridor outside the Ancient Runes classroom, she was surprised to find Theo leaning against the wall. He straightened when he saw her and offered a polite nod.
"Granger. Running late?"
"Not really," she replied. "I'm just not early today."
Theo smiled faintly. "I sent you an owl yesterday. You didn't answer."
"I was busy."
"You're avoiding me. I just can't figure out why."
Hermione sighed. "I didn't know."
Theo frowned. "Didn't know what?"
She began to pace slowly. "About your father. Being at the Ministry that day. I barely recognised anyone there — I knew Lucius and Bellatrix, I'd seen them before, but I didn't know the others."
Theo closed his eyes, the pieces falling into place. That was why she'd been acting strangely since Potions two days ago. "Hermione—"
"What I don't understand is why you're being civil with me. I helped put your father in Azkaban, for Merlin's sake. You should hate me."
Theo's expression shifted through several emotions before settling into something careful and measured. "It's not that simple," he said quietly. "You didn't put him in Azkaban. He put himself there."
Hermione stopped pacing. "What?"
"You were at the Ministry. My father was at the Ministry. But you're not an Auror — you don't have quite as much authority as Potter seems to believe. Logically, the Aurors arrested him. You just happened to be there." He spread his hands. "You didn't put him in Azkaban."
Hermione tilted her head. "You don't blame us?"
Theo glanced up and down the corridor, lowering his voice. "You're going to get me hexed, Hermione. No, I don't blame you. My father made his own choices."
Hermione watched his face closely, waiting for a smirk, a flicker of cruelty — any sign that this was some elaborate prank.
"Is that why you've been so civil with me?"
Theo rolled his eyes. "And people say Slytherins are the judgmental ones." He pushed off from the wall. "Oh, and tell Potter to stop glaring at our table. It's getting rather obvious."
Hermione's stomach lurched. She turned slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"He's been boring holes into us with his eyes since Sunday. I half expected him to Stun me with his breakfast fork."
"Harry doesn't stare. He observes."
"Then tell him to observe my arse."
"I will."
---
A few days later, with Quidditch tryouts approaching, the three of them sat at breakfast discussing Hagrid's recent absence from lessons.
"I hate not being able to talk to Hagrid," Hermione frowned.
"We'll go down after tryouts," Harry assured her. "Though trials might take all morning — I've no idea why so many people have applied."
Hermione scoffed. "Come off it, Harry. It isn't Quidditch that's popular — it's you. You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable."
Ron gagged, and Harry felt his face go red.
"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron said. "Don't say things like that."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's true. Harry's faced Voldemort twice and survived — they're calling him the Chosen One. Half the girls in Gryffindor would throw themselves off the Astronomy Tower if he so much as smiled at them."
Harry groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Hermione, stop."
"You can still see where that vile woman made you write with your own blood—" Hermione pressed on.
"You can still see where those branches got hold of me at the Ministry," Ron said, shoving back his sleeves.
Hermione hadn't glanced in his direction. "It doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over summer either, Harry."
"I'm tall," Ron muttered.
Hermione looked at him. "What?"
"I'm just saying Harry's not the only tall one."
She gave him a long-suffering look as the morning post arrived in a flurry of wings. "No one is denying that you're tall, Ron, but Harry—"
"Please stop," Harry said firmly.
Hermione raised her hands in surrender. "Fine." She unfolded the Daily Prophet, scanning the headlines until she spotted the report on the arrest of Death Eater Stan Shunpike.
When they left the Great Hall to head toward the pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Parvati nudged Lavender as Ron walked by. Hermione pressed her lips together and watched Ron's walk gradually become a strut.
She exchanged a silent glance with Harry.
"His ego has grown to the size of the Black Lake," she murmured, and Harry had to bite down a laugh.
"Well," he whispered, "if he has the Quidditch balls to match it—"
Hermione smacked his arm. "Harry!"
"Quidditch balls, Hermione. What did you think I meant?"
She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.
Ron turned back, catching Hermione's expression and Harry's barely suppressed laughter. "What's so funny?" he asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Harry's just being immature."
"Immature?" Harry scoffed.
"Yes." She turned away. "I'm going to find a seat."
She made her way up into the stands, picking a spot with a decent view — and nearly walked into Daphne Greengrass looking down at her from the row above.
"You'll catch a cold, you know."
Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Without a jumper. It's getting properly chilly." Daphne tossed her hair back.
Hermione glanced down at her outfit. It was just her school clothes, nothing special — but Daphne was right, the temperature had dropped sharply.
Without further ceremony, Daphne unwrapped her scarf and draped it around Hermione's shoulders. "There. You almost look pretty."
Hermione stood for a moment, caught somewhere between touched and bemused.
"Good luck," Daphne said lightly, and headed off.
---
The tryouts ran for two hours before Harry settled on his Chasers: Katie Bell, Demelza Robins, and Ginny.
As the stands filled with students who hadn't made the cut and curious onlookers, Hermione found herself watching Cormac McLaggen mount his broom to try out for Keeper.
He was good. Annoyingly good. She watched him block each penalty with infuriating confidence — and then, acting entirely on reflex before she'd properly thought it through, she pressed her lips together and cast a silent Confundus Charm.
McLaggen swayed to the left, missing the final shot.
Hermione blinked. Her eyes went wide. She hadn't quite intended to do that — it had been almost instinctive, a reaction to his insufferable smirk. But it was done, and Harry, busy watching the tryouts, had noticed nothing.
She flinched when Lavender called out a bright "Good luck!" as Ron took to the air.
She watched him fly — actually quite well, to her relief. He was steady and focused, blocking penalty after penalty even with Lavender cheering loudly in the stands. Then Ginny launched a sharp, spinning throw on the final attempt, and Lavender leapt to her feet with a shriek just as it sailed toward him.
Hermione reacted before she could stop herself, casting a quiet Deflection Charm. Ron made the block.
Harry was already speaking to a disgruntled McLaggen, and Hermione hurried down to the pitch.
"You were brilliant, Ron!" she said.
"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron said happily. "Tricky shot from Demelza — did you see the spin on it?"
"Yes, yes, you were magnificent," Hermione said.
"I was better than McLaggen, anyway." Ron looked very pleased with himself. "Did you see him go off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded..."
Hermione swallowed. Her cheeks went slightly pink, but she laughed it off, and they headed toward Hagrid's hut.
---
"Is it just me, or does McLaggen look even more of an idiot than usual?" Blaise asked, watching the Gryffindor stumble around trying to find his way back into the castle.
Draco snorted. "That's a tall order."
Daphne hummed. "Well, he does have one talent — making Weasley look competent by comparison. Weasley actually nailed those blocks."
Before anyone could respond, Professor Slughorn appeared at Blaise's shoulder, beaming. "Ah, Mr Zabini! I trust I'm not interrupting?"
Blaise looked up. "Sir?"
"A small supper tonight in my rooms — I was hoping you'd be willing to join us. I've spoken with McLaggen and Bobbin this morning, and they'll be attending."
Blaise arched an eyebrow. "Quite the distinguished guest list, Professor."
Slughorn, either oblivious to the dryness in Blaise's tone or choosing to ignore it, beamed wider. "Indeed, indeed! You'd be a marvellous addition, my boy. Such talent and lineage — your insights would enrich the evening no end."
Draco leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "If I may, Professor — should Blaise find himself otherwise engaged, I'd be more than happy to step in." He said it as if offering Slughorn a great favour.
"Oh, no need, Mr Malfoy," Slughorn replied briskly, waving off the offer without a second glance. "If Mr Zabini can't attend, the invitation will simply carry to our next gathering."
Draco's amusement faltered. "My father—"
"I have no prior engagements," Blaise said, cutting him off cleanly. "I'll see you at supper tonight, Professor."
"Marvellous, my dear boy!" Slughorn clapped his hands together. "I'm off to extend an invitation to Mr Potter and Miss Granger as well. No later than seven — do be punctual!" He swept away into the Great Hall.
The moment he was gone, Blaise turned to Draco with a smirk. "What was that? Were you angling for an invitation? Didn't think Slughorn's little suppers were your sort of thing."
Draco scowled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's not about caring. It's about principle. The man doesn't know who he's snubbing." He paused. "Besides, from what my mother's told me about his gatherings when she was here, they were rather... important to attend."
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I ought to find my way in, then."
Draco scoffed. "Please. If I can't get an invitation, there's no chance for you."
Daphne smiled sweetly and leaned against him. "Is that right? Is that why he's inviting Granger right now?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "And here I thought the man had standards."