Ginny and Hermione stood outside Filch's office.
"You were supposed to be calm." Ginny was laughing. "And instead you've got detention with Malfoy."
Hermione sighed. "He is just so insufferable."
"Well," Ginny said lightly, "you did say you wanted a change. I don't think you'll ever be bored with Malfoy around."
"I didn't mean that kind of change."
"Speak of the blonde devil." Ginny nodded down the corridor at Malfoy making his way toward them.
He scowled. "Weaslette."
"Ferret," she returned pleasantly.
His scowl deepened at her cheeky grin. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? I'm sure Potter's missing his entourage."
Ginny raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. "I was just leaving." She looked at Hermione. "You'll be alright?"
Hermione gave her a tight smile. "I'm just glad this isn't a regular occurrence."
Malfoy, who had clearly heard her, smiled thinly. "I don't know, Granger. I could get used to it. Though next time, try not to let yourself get so wound up. It's only me."
Ginny smiled at him. "And here I thought you only harassed Harry. Hermione must be special."
"I wouldn't go that far, Weaslette."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh despite herself. "You're unbelievable, Malfoy."
"Just keeping you on your toes."
Ginny grinned. "Do you have much practice at that? I didn't realise you spent so much time in heels."
Malfoy's smirk froze. His eyes narrowed. "Very funny. I suppose you'd know all about fashion, coming from such an extensive collection of hand-me-downs."
Ginny didn't blink. "Better hand-me-downs than being dressed by my father. How's Azkaban chic treating your family these days?"
Malfoy's expression darkened.
"Ginny," Hermione said, steering her away, "Dean's waiting, remember?"
Ginny shot Malfoy a last look and made her exit. "Talk tomorrow, Hermione."
Hermione knocked on Filch's door.
"I don't suppose you're planning to apologise for wasting my evening," Malfoy drawled behind her.
"Me? Apologise?" Hermione said. "You were the one behaving like an attention-starved toddler, tapping my chair for the better part of the lesson."
Filch opened the door and muttered at them to get inside.
"Tonight, you'll be sorting through my records. Alphabetical order." He held out a hand. "Wands."
They handed them over, reluctantly.
"That's it?" Hermione asked, slightly thrown by how straightforward the task sounded.
Filch gave her a crooked grin. "Simple, she thinks. Let's see how you feel in a few hours." He gestured at the towering stacks of parchment, scrolls, and folders crowding every surface. "Records going back decades. Some going back centuries. I expect them in perfect order by the time I check in." He shut the door behind him.
Hermione settled at the nearest desk and began sorting.
After a few minutes of silence, Malfoy spoke. "I was bored. And you're just so... intense. It's genuinely funny how seriously you take everything."
She turned to look at him.
"In Ancient Runes," he clarified.
"Just do what you're here to do, Malfoy." She turned back to her pile.
They sorted in silence for a while, working through towering stacks of old detention slips and incident reports. Hermione found herself genuinely absorbed in the task — the records were a strange sort of history.
Then she came across one that made her pause.
"Found something scandalous?" Malfoy asked, watching her expression shift from across the room.
She held up a faded slip. "Apparently your mother was quite the troublemaker in her day."
Malfoy straightened immediately. "My mother? Narcissa Malfoy doesn't get detentions."
Hermione waved the parchment. "Narcissa Black, hexed a fellow student during a disagreement over seating arrangements."
Something tugged at the corner of Malfoy's mouth, though he tried to look indifferent. "That doesn't sound like her."
"There's more," Hermione said, enjoying herself. "Another one — fourth year, hexing a prefect. And here..." She picked up the next slip and began to read aloud. "Seventh year, detention for a week, caught—" She stopped. Her mouth closed. She blinked at the parchment.
Malfoy's expression shifted toward genuine interest. "Don't stop there, Granger. What was it?"
Hermione cleared her throat, colour creeping into her cheeks. "Nothing significant. Just another infraction. It's not important."
"It looked very important."
"Trust me." She set the parchment down. "You don't want to know."
Malfoy stood and moved closer. "I really think I do."
"I'll remind you we're talking about your mother, Malfoy."
He reached past her and took the slip from the pile.
He read aloud. "'Caught... snogging... in the Astronomy Tower.'"
Hermione snorted. "Told you."
Malfoy shook his head slowly. "That's not her. She wouldn't."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. "It's right there in Filch's own hand."
"It's wrong."
"So I take it you won't want to hear about your father, then?" She held up another slip.
Malfoy's eyes snapped to it. He lunged forward, but Hermione was already moving — pulling it back, pushing out of her chair, putting distance between them. He was quicker than she'd expected, long legs eating up the space between them.
Hermione walked backwards, laughing, holding the slip just out of reach. "What's the matter, Draco? Afraid of what you might find out?"
"Salazar, Granger, I swear—"
She put a desk between them. "'Lucius Malfoy, detention for two weeks, caught abusing his prefect duties. While meant to be patrolling—'" She stopped, theatrically scandalised. "Oh my—"
"Granger!" He darted around the desk.
Hermione shrieked and bolted, laughing properly now. Malfoy was faster than she'd given him credit for — she barely made it around a stack of scrolls before he was almost on her, weaving between piles of records with surprising agility.
"You're insufferable!" he growled, though there was something else in his voice she couldn't quite name — something that might, from another person, have been laughter.
She made a sharp turn, nearly going over on a mound of files, and just managed to catch herself. She shoved the detention slip down the front of her blouse, tucking it safely away.
A second later, Malfoy caught up to her — one hand closing around each of her wrists, backing her against the wall. His chest was close, his breath warm, his expression somewhere between furious and amused.
"Give it to me," he said.
Hermione kept both fists closed.
He was looking down at her with an expression she'd never seen from him before — calculating, yes, but not cold. She became very suddenly aware of how close he was. There was a clean, heady scent about him, something she hadn't noticed before: bergamot, sandalwood, the faint trace of mint. It was thoroughly, irritatingly pleasant.
"Not a chance," she said.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. His thumbs pressed against her closed fingers, slowly working them open — and found nothing. Both hands empty.
Malfoy blinked. "What the—"
"You didn't honestly think I'd still be holding it, did you?" Hermione asked. She watched the realisation move across his face.
His gaze dropped briefly, involuntarily, to the neckline of her blouse.
Hermione felt her face grow warm, but she tilted her chin up. "Unless you're planning to search me, I'd say we're at an impasse."
A stack of files toppled somewhere to their left. Malfoy stepped back immediately, releasing her wrists and turning toward the noise.
Hermione pushed away from the wall and straightened her clothes, exhaling slowly.
"We should finish," she said, addressing the back of his head. "That was probably Mrs Norris, which means Filch won't be far behind."
Malfoy turned back, paused for just a moment, then walked to his desk without a word.
They worked in silence for the rest of the evening, the air between them thick with something that neither of them named.
Filch let them out an hour later, handing back their wands at the door.
In the corridor, Malfoy pulled himself straight, the familiar mask sliding back into place so smoothly it was almost unsettling.
He glanced at her. "See you around, Granger."
"Don't count on it," she replied, and headed for Gryffindor Tower.
---
Draco turned in the opposite direction, toward the dungeons.
Pansy was sitting on a step near the bottom of the staircase, as if she'd been waiting for him.
She looked up with a smile. "Have fun in detention?"
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked instead.
"Prefect rounds tonight." She fell into step beside him. "I came by to break you out, but you both seemed — preoccupied."
Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"
Pansy's expression was all smug amusement. "Let's just say the view through the gap in the door was quite informative. Watching you chase Granger around Filch's office was fascinating, Draco."
"We were sorting through detention slips."
"You were sorting through something, certainly."
"You've lost your mind, Parkinson."
She laughed softly. "I should get back — that Ravenclaw prefect is probably already looking for me."
"Who are you paired with?"
"Larkspur." She pulled a face. "Insufferable creep keeps walking directly behind me on the stairs."
"Hex him."
"I don't need Snape lecturing me about abusing my prefect duties."
Draco's expression soured.
Pansy noticed immediately. "What's wrong? You've gone green."
"Nothing." He rubbed a hand over his face. "My bloody father, is all."
Pansy frowned. "What does Lucius have to do with your prefect duties?"
"You really don't want to know."
---
The weeks that followed were consumed by the Vanishing Cabinet.
Ancient Runes was turning out to be unexpectedly useful — each deciphered passage of the old book brought him a fraction closer to understanding the cabinet's damage. It was slow going. The end of September arrived, and he'd barely worked through two pages. The Dark Mark on his arm was a constant reminder of how little time he had.
"You look terrible," Daphne announced one evening, dropping into the chair across from him in the common room.
He didn't answer.
"Homework?"
"A love letter to the Giant Squid," he said. "What do you want, Daphne?"
She leaned forward, trying to get a look at his work. He snapped the book shut before she could.
"You've looked like a Dementor's been following you around for weeks," she said. "What's going on?"
He almost told her. For one moment, the weight of it pressed so heavily on his chest that the words nearly came out on their own. Then the moment passed.
"Don't you have someone else to bother?"
"Pansy's bathing. Blaise is at Slughorn's. Theo's somewhere — I'm not entirely sure. And Crabbe and Goyle are useless."
"Make new friends," Draco snapped. "I'm busy. Honestly, it's no wonder your sister is embarrassed by—"
The slap cracked across the room.
Draco's head turned with the force of it. He stood very still, a hot sting spreading across his cheek. Daphne's hand remained raised. There was no regret in her expression.
"I hope whatever you're dealing with kills you, Malfoy," she said quietly.
Her heels rang against the stone floor as she walked away.
---
The first Hogsmeade trip of the year fell on a crisp, grey October morning.
They ended up in the Hog's Head after an unpleasant encounter with Mundungus Fletcher trying to sell Sirius's effects from under his cloak.
Harry had made up his mind. "I'm going to tell Dumbledore. He's the only one who frightens Mundungus."
"Good idea," Hermione said quietly. It was, she thought, probably the best idea Harry'd had in some time — though she kept that to herself.
She noticed Ron's gaze drifting toward the bar for the third time and raised an eyebrow. "What are you staring at?"
"Nothing," he said, looking away too quickly.
"Right. I'm sure 'nothing' is out back getting more Firewhisky." Her eyes moved to Madam Rosmerta.
Ron turned pink. "I wasn't staring at Rosmerta."
"I didn't say her name."
Harry knocked back the rest of his Butterbeer. "Shall we head back?" he asked, with the tone of a man begging for mercy.
---
The women's bathroom at the Three Broomsticks was empty when Draco slipped inside and flattened himself against the wall behind the door.
His pulse was unsteady. He could have asked Pansy to deliver the package — she wouldn't have asked too many questions. But she might have touched it. And Daphne was no longer speaking to him.
The door swung open.
Katie Bell, a sixth-year Gryffindor, stepped in and moved toward the sink, turning on the tap. She caught his reflection in the mirror before she could react. Her expression shifted — recognition, then fear.
Draco stepped forward, pressing a hand over her mouth before she could cry out. He met her eyes in the dirty mirror.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. His voice was steadier than he felt. "I need you to do something for me. Take a parcel to Dumbledore. That's all. Deliver it to his office. That's everything."
Katie's eyes darted between his face and the wand in his other hand.
He extended the package.
She flinched back instead — and Draco's wand hand moved before he could stop himself. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Imperio."
The resistance went out of her. When he opened his eyes, she was standing still, gaze glassy, breathing shallow.
"Deliver the parcel to Dumbledore's office," he said. "Walk directly there. Don't hesitate."
She nodded mechanically, took the package, and left.
Draco stared at the closed door for two seconds. Then his stomach turned completely over and he stumbled into the nearest stall, barely making it before he was sick.
He didn't bother to close the door.
The bathroom door opened.
"What are you doing in the women's lavatory, Draco?" Pansy asked, her voice dry.
He didn't respond. Didn't get up. His stomach was still churning, the cold spreading through him from the inside.
"Katie Bell just walked out of here looking rather possessed," she said, as if reporting on the weather, and came to stand behind him.
"Did she." He pushed himself upright, shoulder knocking against hers as he went to the sink.
Pansy dropped her voice. "Daphne hasn't left our room since you said what you said." Her tone had sharpened now. "Whatever you're doing — stop it."
Draco ran cold water over his hands, watching his reflection. The boy looking back at him seemed like a stranger.
"If Daphne's upset, that's her business."
Pansy grabbed a fistful of his hair and turned his face to look at her. "Draco. My patience is just about gone."
He winced. "Let go."
She released him with a sharp exhale. "Go to Snape."
"What?"
"Go to Snape and have him fix whatever is broken about you, because Potter and his lot followed Katie Bell out of here, and I'll wager he's about to lay the blame at your feet!" she hissed. "You need to look like you haven't been spending the afternoon practising the Dark Arts!"
Draco's chest seized. He had to leave. Had to get out before Potter started working backward.
"I don't need Snape," he said, moving past her.
"Yes," Pansy said, "you do."
---
"I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor," Harry said to Professor McGonagall.
On one side of him, Ron rubbed the back of his neck; on the other, Hermione stood very still, the way she always did when she was trying not to say the wrong thing.
"That is a serious accusation, Potter," McGonagall said, after a measured pause. "Do you have proof?"
Harry launched into his account — the visit to Borgin and Burkes in August, the way Malfoy had spoken to Borgin with an air of threat, the cabinet he'd seemed so interested in. He mentioned that Hermione had gone inside afterward and posed briefly as a customer to try and draw more information out of Borgin.
McGonagall's gaze moved to Hermione, who kept her expression neutral.
"Malfoy had something taken to Borgin and Burkes for repair?" the Professor asked.
"No — he wanted advice on how to mend something. He didn't have it with him. But the point is, I think he bought something at the same time, and I think it was that necklace—"
"You saw Malfoy leave the shop with a similar parcel?"
"No, Professor — he told Borgin to keep it at the shop for him—"
"But, Harry," Hermione interrupted, "Borgin asked him whether he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no." She paused. "The logic matters."
"Because he didn't want to touch it!" Harry said.
"What he actually said was, 'How would I look carrying that down the street?'" Hermione replied.
"He'd look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace," Ron said.
"It's small, Ron. He could have slipped it inside his cloak without anyone noticing. And when I asked about it, Borgin told me the price — not that it was already sold to a customer."
"You were too obvious — he worked out what you were doing within about thirty seconds, of course he wasn't going to say — Malfoy could have sent for it since—"
"That's enough," McGonagall said, cutting across them with the air of someone who had heard quite enough. "Potter, I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. But we cannot point the finger at Mr Malfoy simply because he visited a shop from which this necklace might have been purchased — a shop that Miss Granger has now also visited, it should be noted. Stringent new security measures are in place throughout the school this year. I do not believe that necklace could have entered the castle without our knowledge." She turned toward the door. "And in any case, Mr Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today."
Harry stared at her. "How do you know?"
"Because he was serving detention with me. He has failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice running." She held the door open. "Thank you for your concerns, Mr Potter. I need to go up to the hospital wing and check on Miss Bell. Good day."
They filed out without another word.
---
Snape set a small vial on his desk and nodded.
Draco took it without looking and drank it in one swallow. It burned — thick, metallic, wrong.
Snape watched him with cold precision, arms folded.
"McGonagall has confirmed you were in her detention all afternoon," he said quietly. "As far as the school is concerned, you never left the castle."
He resumed his slow pacing. "The Imperius Curse. Your mother—"
"Why does everyone keep invoking my mother?" Draco muttered. "You, Pansy, Granger—"
Snape stopped. His eyes fixed on Draco with a sharpness that dropped the temperature of the room. "What does Granger have to do with any of this?"
Draco leaned his head into his hands. "Nothing. We had detention together last week — sorting through old records. Filch keeps ancient files on everyone. My mother's name came up. That's all."
Snape was silent for a long moment, then resumed pacing with a slow, deliberate step. "Keep your distance from Granger, Draco. She has an unfortunate talent for asking exactly the questions one would rather she didn't."
Draco scoffed. "Trust me — I'm the last thing you should be worried about when it comes to her."