Disclaimer: None of the characters you recognize belong to me.

Author's Note: Okay first of all I owe my soul to Travis for the fantastic beta and MarenKPotter for her feedback and thoughts.

And I'm sorry for taking oh so incredibly long to get this one out. Really, truly sorry. I hope you all enjoy this just the same.

This chapter and the next two following it take place in the span of a day from the PoV of different characters. Something new, I guess, that I had to try. Well anyway I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I'll have the next two out very soon. Well, as soon as my muse allows anyway. Enjoy!

*********************

Morning

Petra, Emma, Orla and Adel

She was walking around the length of the room, running a hand along the wall as she passed.  For some strange reason, doing this, feeling the cool surface brush against the pads of her fingers; touching the stone cage that encased them in a dim cocoon, for some strange unexplainable reason this helped keep her sane. 

"Would you sit down already? Christ, you're making me dizzy," said Emma who watched Adel circle the room.  With only a faint smile in answer, the usually quiet Hufflepuff never paused in her slow strolling steps.  Emma was always a little testy, especially right before breakfast.

"Just shut your eyes, Em. I'll be joining her a little after breakfast," said Orla rubbing her legs. Save for a little weakness, a stoop in her shoulders and a hint of a whisper in her once proud voice, Orla seemed fine. 

"Breakfast will be here soon," Adel said quietly, wary of her voice carrying past the door and reaching the ears of the two guards at their post.

They had been moved via portkey to another location about a week or so ago.  None of them had cared much for counting the days gone by in the past, for time meant nothing in darkness.  It was only since the Reversal and the near escape that had made a little scratch in the casing, but once Petra had discussed what Hermione had told her, which were the reasons for their kidnapping and that people were still looking for them, the scratch had been knocked into a dent.  When Orla's health began reaching normalcy the dent was mangled into a crack, but it wasn't until they were moved to another place, another cell, that they had managed to twist the crack apart and make a little window where their hope could take in gulps of air and eventually pull itself out into the open.

Things somewhat remained the same. Wormtail came in three times a day with their meals.  Often he would bring a small trinket for them to spend their time with while he was in the room, then taking it back with him upon his departure.  Always he would sit by Orla, wand in hand and he would go about his tasks in healing her.  Sometimes he checked on the other girls. If one had a cough or a sore throat, he would be ready and their ailments healed. 

They were grateful, and they were confused.  Should they place their trust in this man who worked for the Dark Lord? He looked harmless enough except for the silver hand that twitched and clenched and grasped at the air, sending rivulets of sweat beading across his forehead. 

They had talked about him once the day before they were moved, and it was agreed that though they were grateful for his kindness they still knew nothing of him and would continue to remain closed mouthed in regards to matters of consequence.  They would not talk to him about the Reversal and if any more happened, and they sorely hoped it would, then they'd keep that too to themselves. 

And so they did what they could. They waited, they talked, and they shared their ideas. They also watched and listened a great deal more, gathering what little bits of information about their new location, but none listened and watched more closely than Adel. For she was able to gather her senses into a tight knot and focus on all that was around her; Even now, pausing for a moment at the door, her palm flat against the grainy surface, her eyes shut and darting beneath her lids. 

She had mentioned that breakfast was on its way and now all of the girls watched her.  Even Emma, though complaining of dizziness a few beats earlier, found it hard not to keep her eye on her companion.

"I still don't understand how you do that," said Petra who got to her feet and made for the door. 

The room was much smaller than the last and though the walls were not as thick, without the candles the room would be just as dark as their former.

Adel continued her leisurely stroll and looked over her shoulder to see Petra in a mimicking action press her hand against the door. She watched her body go rigid in intense concentration as if she was trying to see through the thick wood. 

"You're trying too hard," Adel told her and walked back to the youngest. 

She put a finger to her lips and motioned Petra to step closer to the door.  There was a shuffling behind them as Emma helped Orla to her feet.  The elder two stood quietly behind them and listened. 

"It's in the vibration," said Adel.  "The slight pressure of their bodies leaning against the doors.  You can hear it in the sound of their staffs squeaking along the floor."  She moved her hand along with Petra's farther up along the door.  "That's one leaning with both shoulders."  She slowly moved their hands to the right.  “And there's the other. He likes to lean with only the one.  When he's nervous you can feel his fingers tapping down here and when the other guy is tired, and I'm guessing that's later in the day a little after Wormtail brings us dinner, he shifts his shoulders from sided to side probably scratching or rubbing aches or something. I call him Shoulders." 

Petra grinned.  "What about the other one?"

"The one that taps his fingers? He's Squeaky. He fiddles with his staff a lot; scratches it on his side of the door when he's bored and squeaks it against the floor when someone is approaching.  If it's a sharp squeak then that someone is important. If it's all scatchy like, then Wormtail's here." 

And it was as if she had summoned him with her words, for at that moment there was a quiet scratchy squeaking noise. It was ever so slight that one had to be sincerely waiting for it to detect the sound. 

At a word from Orla, ("mattresses.") the four of them stepped away from the door. Petra and Emma helped her to her seat while Adel walked over to the far wall opposite the door as if it was her post. 

"Do you think any of this will help?" Petra asked looking to Adel who would have a clear view of the hallway once the door opened. 

"If there's another Reversal, then any little bit helps," she answered, folding her hands and patiently waiting. 

Orla grumbled over the girls' fussy attempts at making her comfortable, stopping only when Emma snapped at her to 'sit quietly you ungrateful lump.' Then the door opened and Wormtail, with the freshly dubbed Shoulders and Squeaky flanking him, stood in the doorway. He held a tray in one arm while his other hung limp at his side, silver twitching erratically.  He walked in with more trays floating in his wake. 

"Breakfast." was his greeting and the two men, one round and the other slight and broad shouldered, closed the doors but not before Adel managed to catch sight of a small group of men seated by a fire; three were eating out of large bowls while the other with his feet kicked back on a small table enjoyed a smoke. 

Wormtail went straight to the middle of the room where the mattresses lay and set his load down.  His eyes briefly flitted to where Adel stood then laid to rest on the trays.  "How are you feeling?" he asked Orla while the others went about lifting lids and pouring water into their glasses. 

"I'm feeling much better, sir." Orla answered and Emma handed her a glass of water.

"Weak?"

"Only a little."

Adel took her seat by them and Wormtail stiffened momentarily.  He was suddenly caught by how the candlelight struck her hair. The colour nearly as bright as the flames sent a shock through him, pulling him back to a silly memory he often perused whenever the moment took him, much like now; kneeling there by a child he barely knew in room littered with strewn paper faded and yellowed with age, torn remains of a photograph he found under a forgotten bed, and dwindling candles which in a past life used to be bits of rubble.

Despite the grim surroundings he still managed to find himself falling back into memory, though truth be told, it wasn't very hard.

"What do you think, Peter? Is Harry a silly name?"

"I don't know."

"Because James seems to think so."

"Ask Sirius."

"Oh he'll only want to name the baby after himself."

There was a loud rumbling laugh from the kitchen table. "Easier though, isn't it?" Sirius said with a wink in her direction.. "That way Prongs won't have to wonder why his son looks a lot like me." 

Lily wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Now that brings quite an awkward picture to mind," said Remus from his spot by the hearth.

"Don't encourage him."

"Only if you say please- Ah!" Remus shouted and jumped as the flames stretched for his robes.

Lily grinned and tucked her wand back in her sleeve. "Please," she said. 

Remus rubbed his arms and took a seat by Wormtail. He examined the cuffs of his sleeves and raised it for Wormtail's inspection. "I'll need to mend these now," Remus said. "Again."

"Well you were standing too close," said Wormtail.

"But it's not a very big fireplace."

"How does that even matter?" 

Then James opened the front door and stepped in. 

"Ow! Sodding pot."

Wormtail blinked and his surroundings came back into focus.  Four girls sat around trays loaded with steaming food. 

"I told you to watch it," one said.

"Yeah well you could've left the lid off. You've got the mitts, don't you?" said the other and she sucked on her injured thumb.

The girl with the mitts sighed. "It's still bubbling, Emma. Just start on the one Adel opened."

"Yes, mum."

"Shut it."

Wormtail began to quickly work on Orla's arm.  The girl was practically repaired, all she needed was rest and in a couple days she'd be as good as new. But what then? She'd be used once again for her blood whenever his Master called for it.  It seemed that all of his hard work would prove to be futile. Unless of course he chose to follow through with the inklings of thought that plagued him, but what good would that do him? His only recompense would be a slow and painful death, and that was only if he even managed to get the four of them out of the room. But was it worth it? This was the question he often asked himself every time he stepped through those doors.  Even now, kneeling there and listening to them bicker and talk of nonsense, he wondered if there was any point. He knew what would become of them if he did nothing and he was sure that they were aware of their own fate.  He also knew his purpose in that room was to bring any word of Reversals to the Dark Lord, not develop an unexplainable attachment to them. 

With these thoughts in mind, he only continued to debate the consequences of his actions when suddenly he grew aware of a pair of eyes on him. He looked up and caught the stare. His silver hand twitched and jerked, but he forced himself to hold the gaze of the one he knew as Adel. 

The hand was shaking heavily now; yearning to grip and squeeze and grind to dust; it shuddered with the ever blinding need to tear and thrash and sear its victim. 

Wormtail fought his master's gift and clenched it in an effort to keep still, and somehow this kept the fever at bay.

"How is she?" Adel asked, breaking his concentration and thankfully bringing his attention elsewhere.

It took a moment for him to realize who 'she' was, but before he could reply Orla answered for him saying, "She is doing quite alright, though she does feel a little tired now and then.  She is also wondering if you could be a pal and pass the bread, please?"

Adel coloured slightly and handed her a slice while Emma accused Petra of hogging all of the oranges. To which she replied with a quick, "I'll stop hogging the oranges if you quit hoarding the bacon."

"Can I ask you a question?" Adel said. The other two voices slipped into the background and Wormtail nodded, not looking up.

"Why do they call you Wormtail?"

A quick silence ensued thereafter for it seemed that the answer to her question, thought but never said aloud, would prove to be far more interesting than the still steaming pots of today's meal.

"Because I want them to." Was the answer he gave them since he couldn't and didn't want to go into all of the minor details. 

"Why?"

"Because that is my name."

Emma snorted. "Your mum named you Wormtail?"

He froze for a moment in contemplation and Adel saw his lips twitch into what she summed could be a smile. "No," he said. "My father did." Then he laughed a wheezing laugh which startled them all.

"And your mum said yes to that?" Emma said incredulously.

"My mother didn't have a choice."

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "That's a load of bollocks," she huffed, her eyes narrowing in that stubborn way of hers. "Everyone has a choice."

Wormtail looked at her thoughtfully. "What would you have named me then?"

Before she could answer, Adel suddenly found herself saying, "Horace."

There was a pause then, "Horace?"

"I like that name."

"Nah, doesn't fit."

"Wormtail is fine," he said.

"Wormtail is horrid."

"You're horrid," Orla teased. "Just let him be. He likes his name."

"Does he?" Petra said aloud though she really didn't mean to and no one quite knew what to say to that. Conversation became nonexistent for the rest of the visit.
****              

Hermione

Slowly, wearily, her eyes fluttered open and the red cocoon that was her curtains greeted her a solemn good morning. There was a slight shift in the fabric as someone brushed against it in passing.

“Lav, have you seen my brush anywhere?”

Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes and self consciously winced when her jaw cracked while yawning. She stretched her arms above her head; fingertips pressing against the headboard. Then she sighed and rubbed the corner of her eye at a persistent bit that refused to budge and yawned once more.

“Check the second drawer in the washroom.” She heard Lavender say absentmindedly.

Hermione sniffed, gathered the nest that was her hair and pushed it over her shoulder. She could hear Parvati rummaging in the drawer then say, “No. No, I don't see it.”

“Hey you know, I think you might have left down in the common room by the lamp.”

“Oh drat, come with me?”

“Sure, love. Just give me a minute to…pass me that pin over there? Thanks. Alright, come on.”

Hermione managed to sit up just as they shut the door behind them with a soft click. She pulled the curtains aside and blinked at the early morning rays filtering into her senses. The soft light fell around her head and over her shoulders, casting her in a lovely glow, and went about the room with soft hues of pink and gold.

Early morning was when she usually felt her best. This particular morning however proved to be quite different. If the dark circles didn't go on to prove so, then surely the incessant yawning would.

Swallowing said yawn, Hermione gathered a sweater and skirt into her arms and trudged into the bathroom. Another indication for lack of sleep. Trudging. One does not trudge when one must be up and at `em during the course of the day. That is of course unless one had quite the unsettling dream upon waking.

No, Hermione Granger did not feel at all refreshed after such a dream in which she was in the clutches of the Dark Lord posing as Harry. In fact, it could be said that she felt even more tired now than when she had finally gotten to sleep, but it was understandable as she spent most of the night fighting to stay awake and the better part fighting to gain control.

Shutting the washroom door behind her, Hermione then went about turning on the shower. She stuck her hand under the spray, testing the water then turned up the heat. “Just for now,” she muttered to no one in particular and didn't mind when the mirror gave a cautioning response. Then stripping off her nightgown, she opened the door and gingerly stepped inside.

Let it be known that Hermione Granger was not one for hot showers. They made your skin dry and your hair fall out, or at least that's what her parents told her in days of old. Nonetheless, she turned the heat as far as it could go or as much as she could take anyway, and she stood there; the steam billowing about her and the not yet scalding water pounding against her aching muscles, and she took a deep steadying breath.

Nights like these called for hot showers.

The heat warmed her and made for a much needed fictional comfort blanket. A strange thought: water as a comfort blanket, but it was there just the same, and when she was done she felt, if not fully rested, then at least warmed to the bone and ready to face the day.

“Okay,” she said, now fully dressed and drying her hair by her bedpost. “Now, let's grab our books and head down for some breakfast.”

Months ago she would have thought it to be simply ludicrous talking to an empty room, but oh, how time has changed. Now Hermione liked the comforting reassurance of the silence that answered her and the freedom to choose her own actions.

She tucked her wand into her robes and headed down the stairs nodding a `hello' to the girl named Eran Lot who sat at a desk in the empty common room.

“Aren't you going down to the Great Hall to eat?” Hermione asked, adjusting the strap of her satchel.

“I already have. Had to scarf everything down quick so I could finish reading this.”

And she held up a thick book for Hermione's inspection. They chatted for some time until her stomach called out for better fare.

“I'll see you later then,” said Eran when Hermione excused herself and stepped through the portrait hole and out into the hall.

Two second years turned to look at her. One whispered to the other and they quickened their steps. Hermione frowned but continued her pace. She wondered if Harry and Ron were still talking to the Headmaster about joining her with the group today bound for St Mungo's.

During the course of the term, the seventh years were to sign up for the group excursions to wherever their future job entailed them to be. For Hermione, who was keenly interested in Medi care, her destination was to be St Mungo's. For Harry and Ron, set to be Aurors, they had to choose from the Auror department in the Ministry of Magic or the Auror training school situated somewhere in London.

Harry hoped that Dumbledore would be a good sport and let them skip classes for a day, but all in the name of research and of course Hermione's health, for who knew what they could possibly discover from one meeting with the Petra's sister, who was now a full time resident in the hospital.

Ron just hoped that Dumbledore would fail to use his common sense and think that yeah, “Eight eyes are cooler than two.”

“Eight? There is only the three of us that need to see her. That makes six.” Hermione had said the night before while they trudged (it was a long day) up the staircase to their respective dorms.

“Oh you know,” said Ron. “Harry. Glasses. Another set of eyes.”

Hermione had given him an amused grin while Harry dutifully turned to look at his best friend with something that looked very much like confusion.

“Did you just call me four eyes?”

“I might have, yeah.”

“I haven't heard that since I was eight.”

“See now that's a shame. Four eyes is such a great insult, you know. Stings.”

“Didn't feel much of anything, really.”

“Wait till you get in bed. Have a good cry.”

“Only if you won't listen.”

“Now where's the fun in that?”

“Carrots.” Hermione had said, breaking the aimless banter, and they paused at the landing.

“What?”

“Carrots. That's an insult.”

“How is that an insult?”

“Your hair.”

“My hair is red.”

“It is not. It's more orange than red.”

“Are you blind? It's flaming!”

“I'd say he's more of a beet than a carrot,” said Harry.

“I thought beets were purple,” said Hermione.

“What's a beet?” said Ron.

“No, I'm pretty sure they're red.”

“What's a beet?”

“Maroon. They're maroon,” said Hermione. Then turning to Ron she said, “A beet is a vegetable, Ronald. How can you not know that?”

“I eat food, Hermione. Not study them.”

“Well maybe you should check what things are before you put them in your mouth.”

“Should I take notes too?”

“Think of another vegetable,” said Harry.

“Why do I have to be a vegetable?” said Ron.

“Dunno.”

And with that they had said goodnight, and went off to bed.

Hermione now swallowed a yawn and switched the strap of her satchel from one shoulder to the other.

The meeting with Dumbledore shouldn't take very long and they would be back in time for breakfast.

She took a step off the moving stair case and walked through the doors of the Great Hall, noting that it was nearly fairly empty save for Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick who were quietly talking, and the odd Hufflepuff mechanically eating and turning the pages of their books

Hermione sat on the bench and pulled out a book and a quill from her satchel. Placing one on top of the other on the table, she poured herself some tea and flipped to a page she had marked off.

She was reaching for the sugar bowl when someone took a seat beside her. She turned and Malfoy stared right back at her solemnly. He didn't say a word and she thought it very strange that he would bother to take a seat next to her, and also a little uncomfortable that he wasn't talking. So she thought she thought she'd take a stab at it and make the first move.

“Hello,” she said with a slight question in her tone.

As if he wasn't the one who approached her, Draco lazily directed his gaze to the doors in sheer boredom, not saying a word.

“Okay,” said Hermione. “Well if you don't mind, Malfoy I have to get some work done.”

Expecting an answer from him but getting none she only sighed and stirred some milk into her cup.

“You know you're not supposed to take milk or sugar with your tea, right?” he said.

She managed to barely keep her surprise in check and just continued to stir. “Did you sit here so we could talk about how I take my tea?”

“No, but if you add any more sugar in there we'll soon have to.”

“I don't think it's any of your business how much or how little sugar I take.”

“No, but I'm pretty sure your mum and dad wouldn't be too pleased either,” he said, and then visibly cringed at his words.

Hermione blinked and failed to notice said reaction.

She took a breath, and calmly turned back to her book in silence. “If you're just here to toss insults around then I'm of no use to you, Malfoy. Find someone else to bother.”

She heard him sigh possibly in frustration, possibly in boredom, she really couldn't tell and frankly she bloody well didn't care.

“Listen.”

And she suddenly found herself caring at the touch of his hand on her arm.

Hermione started and looked at the alien contact, then up at his face. He quickly recoiled and she jerked her arm away.

“What-”

“I'm here to apologize,” he said gruffly.

“For what, calling me a cow?”

“I didn't call you a cow.”

“Well, you came close to.”

“Granger, don't make this any harder than it already is.”

“I'm not doing anything. You approached me.”

“How does Potter put up with you?”

“He doesn't put up with me. I put up with him.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Is this your apology because I really have some reading to do.”

Malfoy waved a hand towards her open book. “Oh, by all means. Don't let me stop you.”

“Thank you,” she said curtly and all attempt at conversation withered and slumped.

Malfoy still sat by her side, reading along with her quietly. “You know, Dream Walking was already covered about a month or two ago-”

“Oh will you please just go to your table and leave me alone?” she said in exasperation.

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, but held back and instead grit his teeth as if steeling himself for something unpleasant. Then he said, “Alright. I was out of line. Bad form and all that. I know what I said then wasn't the right way of going about apologizing-”

“It most certainly was not.”

“Is there any chance that you'll let me finish?” he said then shut his eyes momentarily, silently berating himself. When he opened his eyes to look at her once more, Hermione was mildly stunned to find a semblance of what could very well be vulnerability in his proud pointed features. Or was it contrite? Whatever it was, the look changed him a great deal. It didn't so much as go so far as to humble him, but it made her interested in what he had to say, as well as trigger the memory of a very different Draco Malfoy shaking sense into Ginny and speaking of caring and craziness. So she listened with ignited anticipation and a mild curiosity.

“Right, so I was talking to Freckles and she's got this thought in her head that in order to make our relationship work, I have to attempt civility with not only her family but with her friends too.”

“Really?” said Hermione with feigned surprise. “What an awful idea.”

“Oh shove it, Granger. Anyway, she's right I suppose. So,” he cleared his throat and shifted his weight on the bench.

“I'msorry.”

“Pardon? I didn't quite hear you-”

“What are you, deaf? I said I was sorry now shut it and accept my apology.”

There was a pause while Hermione pursed her lips as if in thought, then said, “Only if you apologize for telling me to shut it.”

“What?”

“Please.”

Malfoy made an impatient noise. “I said I was sorry, alright?” he hissed and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, lest a stray ear were to hear his words.

And Hermione found herself holding back a smile, torn between being amused at the fact that he was apologizing, or that he was referring to Ginny as “Freckles”.

“That doesn't sound very sincere now, does it?”

“Stop being a git and accept my apology.”

“Apology for what?”

“You know what.”

Hermione only looked at him. If they were going to end this childish feud, then they were going to do it properly.

Malfoy met her gaze then said sullenly, “For calling you names, you fussy, self gratifying know-it-all.”

“And for being absolutely horrid, unfair, bullying and slightly jealous?”

“Now hang on, Granger I don't know what you're going on about being jealous. Jealous of what?”

“Apology accepted.”

Draco blinked. “Well…good.”

Hermione offered him a tentative smile, “Listen, I know that you really care for Ginny and this is why I'm giving you a chance. So yes, no questions asked, all things forgotten, this is our new start. Our first meeting. So,” she held out her hand. “Hello, I'm Hermione and you must be Draco. I'm pleased to meet you, Draco.”

Slowly Draco took her hand in his and they shook. “Well, Hermione,” he said, testing her name on his lips. The sound was foreign to her ears and it all felt very strange indeed. “I don't think I've ever first met anyone who already knew my name,” he said.

“Oh shut it, Draco.”

“I think not, Hermione.”

“We're getting along fine, Draco.”

“Are we, Hermione?”

“Well, being on a first name basis is always a good start.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

“Hmm.”

“Well this was exciting. I should let you get back to your abominably sweet tea and three month old lesson,” said Draco getting up from the bench and sticking his hands in his pockets.

Hermione sipped her tea. “Actually it's two.”

“Two what?”

“Two months.”

“Know- it-all.”

“Thank you.”

*****

Lavendar and Draco

*****

"Waitwaitwaitwait. Hang on a second. Hermione Granger is You-Know-who?"

"No. Granger is working for You-Know-Who...or...she's being controlled by You-Know-Who...I dunno which."

"I thought she was in love with You-Know-Who."

"No, that's Ginny Weasley, and she likes Draco Malfoy."

"Pasty looking blonde?"

"That's the one."

"She's too good for him."

"I totally agree."

"Poor Hermione."

"Poor Ginny."

"What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs I hope."

Friday mornings were always exciting.  For one thing it was the day before the weekend, and for another it was the day Lavendar Brown received her package for the predictions column she wrote for the magazine Miss TW, which stood for Miss Teen Witch. Not a very original name but one must make due. 

Now Lavendar didn't deal with death, money or love all too well, but she had a knack for sniffing out danger and treachery.  Choosing a select few from the pile of notes delivered, she answered questions and sorted things out with care. 

Snatches of conversation, some interesting and many as the one above quite ridiculous, reached her sensitive ears as she made her way through the Great hall to the nearly empty Gryffindor tables. From afar she spotted an all too familiar shade of pasty white casually leaning on the table talking to Hermione, who was sipping from her cup.

Lavendar watched Malfoy gesture lazily with a hand towards her plate and Hermione's head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Malfoy nodded, his other hand fiddling with something in the pocket of his robes.

Lavendar watched Hermione say something that must have been quite daring for he looked taken aback, his cool air dissipated. 

Malfoy's gaze shifted to the entrance and upon noticing Lavendar's approach he straightened and casually pulled his hand from his pocket.  Lavendar's eyes narrowed and she quickened her pace. No visions struck her and yet she still wondered what the man was up to. 

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she asked. 

Malfoy paused in his conversation, and eyed her. "I go to school here, Brown."

Lavendar couldn't help the flush in her cheeks. "You know that's not what I meant. Why don't you go to your table and leave Hermione alone?"

Malfoy smirked and with an amused, "Quaint." he turned back to resume his conversation. 

Hermione swallowed the last of her drink, but before the cup could fill up again, he snatched it from her grasp saying, "Ah, look here Brown. Hermione finished her tea." And thrusting the cup under Lavendar's nose he said, "Here go on, give us a reading then."  He leaned on the table with one hand in his pocket, looking ever so smug. 

Lavendar knocked his hand aside saying, "Shove it, Malfoy."

"Oh come on, Brown. Here then, show us that great talent of yours. It is easy isn't it?" He brought it close for inspection. "What, you just have to look real hard, right? And oh! Would you look at that! I think that little leaf thing looks kind of like..." he moved it farther from his face, eyes squinting, still staring at the contents, "Like a bone or something. Now what does that mean, do you think? Bad breath? Bad luck?" and now he looked over at Hermione who sat with her arms crossed over her chest. "Bad...hair, maybe?"

At this Hermione laughed. "Just stop it, Malfoy. We've talked, you've had your fun. Now just go and have your breakfast."

With his pocketed hand, Draco fumbled with the cork capped onto the vial of green liquid he had made the day before. 

"I swear Malfoy, if you don't get that goddamn smirk off your face..."

Draco allowed Lavendar to go on, half his mind concentrating on the important task at hand. He uncorked the vial with his thumb and let it drop into his pocket. Then he pulled out his hand, careful not to spill a drop. 

He rested his elbow on the table, the vial hidden and pressed tightly to his palm. "Are you done?" he asked Lavendar.

"What?"

"Good." He transferred the cup to his other hand and gently inched the vial up against the rim.  "Now how about that reading?"

Lavendar fumed.

"Malfoy, what happened to being civil?" said Hermione.

With precision and care, he dipped the vial's contents into the cup.

"I haven't called her names, have I?"

"Oh why don't you just-"

"He's going, Lavendar," Hermione said sternly with a pointed look at him. 

Draco held both of their gazes, transferring the now potion tainted cup to his empty hand and placing it with a flourish onto the table. After a beat, the cup automatically filled with hot tea.

Satisfied, Draco took his leave and sauntered to his table. Lavendar took a seat and let out a cry of frustration. Hermione handed her the marmalade. 

"I hate him," said Lavendar.

"I'm sure many feel the same." said Hermione, picking up her cup of tea and bringing it to her lips. 

Lavendar placed a hand on her arm. "You're not still going to drink that, are you?"

Hermione rested her elbow on the table, the steaming cup still clenched between her finger and thumb. 

"And why ever not?"

"Because...well, his hands were all over it and...oh you don't want to drink that, darling."

"I'm pretty sure that with his nearly obsessive compulsive habits of cleanliness, he's very capable of washing his hands thoroughly."

Hermione blew gently then brought the cup to her lips.

"Wait!" Lavendar cried and bit her lip.

Hermione looked at her in amusement, but waited for an answer.

"It's- it's just that...earlier when the two of you were talking, I saw he had his hand in his...pocket, oh my god what am I saying?" Lavendar couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips.

“Now that is exactly what I'm wondering," said Hermione.

"Ignore me. It's just tea."

"Yes it is."

"And really, I don't feel any bad energy coming from it. So.” She took a breath. “It's just Malfoy being a prat," Lavendar said, picking up her own cup and lifting it. "Cheers then."

They brought their cups together with a faint clink and took a sip. 

Hermione flinched and sucked in a breath.

"Still hot," she said.

"So how are you?"

"A mess. With finals coming and the applications for the schools-"

"You're going into medi-care right?"

Hermione brought the cup to her lips and swallowed. "Yes."

"Well Christ, love. It's only March."

“Which leaves me with only three months and I've just started properly revising.”

Lavendar rolled her eyes. “Oh dear me, three months. So little time. Are you going to St Mungo's today for the tour?"

"Yes," she said in between sips. "The earlier the better."

“Well you'll be fine. I'm sure of it,” Lavendar assured her, now suddenly preoccupied with the mound of letters her owl had dropped by her plate.

Hermione arched a brow and reached for the Daily Prophet. “No bad energy coming off me in waves?”

“None at all,” Lavendar said nodding a hello to Parvati who had just come back from hairbrush hunting. “You found it?”

“I found it,” Parvati said, pouring herself some milk. “It was under my bed the entire time. Morning, Hermione.”

“Morning.”

“Did you, erm, sleep well?”

“As well as anyone can allow, yes. Thank you.”

Hermione noted the disconcerted look on Parvati's face, but chose not to say a word and instead contented herself with her tea.