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Deceptions	By : GypsyRaeyven Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1779 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Characters, locations and certain plot details of this story are owned by JK Rowling and her respective publishers. I do not own Harry Potter (unfortunately), and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter Two

The Art Of Numerology

Hermione Granger dropped a folded piece of bright pink paper into Harry's lap as she passed behind him to take a seat at the busy Gryffindor breakfast table. “It's from Cho,” she explained at his questioning look. She reached for a jug of water and poured herself a glass as Harry dropped his knife and fork onto his plate with a clatter and unfolded the note.

Ron Weasley looked across at Hermione with an amused expression on his face. “Since when have you been best friends with Cho Chang?” he asked, munching on a slice of toast.

Hermione shot him a withering look. “I'm not,” she replied, setting the water jug back down on the table where it promptly refilled itself. “She cornered me by the doors and wouldn't let me go until I promised to give that to Harry.”

Ron's freckled face broke out into a grin. He leaned across the table, blue eyes twinkling playfully. “And?”

“And what?”

“Did you read it?”

Hermione frowned at him. “No, of course I didn't read it, Ronald,” she replied sharply. “Some of us happen to have morals.”

“Hey, I was only joking...” he grumbled, holding his hands up in defence when he saw the look on her face. “What's put you in a bad mood?”

Hermione shook her head in annoyance and turned her attention back to Harry, casting a sidelong glance at him as she sipped her water. Three weeks had passed since the Death Eater attacks on Privet Drive and The Burrow. She had noticed how both Harry and Ron were quieter and more withdrawn since their return to Hogwarts, quite unlike their usual selves. Ron seemed to be coping a little better than Harry, but then his family were all alive and well. His aunt's murder had hit Harry hard, something which Ron in particular didn't understand, even becoming quite exacerbated with Harry's frequent and often unpredictable mood swings. He failed to see why Harry was so upset over the death of someone who had treated him so badly. She, on the other hand, had sat and listened to Harry when he opened up about that night and could appreciate why it had affected him as deeply as it had. Looking at him now, she noticed faint shadows under his eyes; his previously absent nightmares had returned with a vengeance over the past week. Nevertheless, a little smile played upon his lips as he read Cho's note. Hermione couldn't stop a smile from forming on her own face. She hadn't read it, of course not. But she had a pretty good idea what it was about.

The Winter's Ball, which had been announced at the start of term last week, was the only thing anyone was talking about at the moment and yesterday, whilst studying in the library, she had overheard Cho telling a group of her friends that she was going to ask Harry to be her partner. Hermione didn't have much time for the older girl; Cho had taken an instant dislike to her because of her close friendship with Harry, which in Hermione's opinion was both unnecessary and somewhat immature. But she knew how much Harry liked her and she wasn't about to spoil things for him. If anyone deserved some happiness, he did.

As for Ron... She looked across the table at him as he tried desperately to fend off Lavender Brown's attempts to feed him a forkful of sausage from her plate. Nobody had been more surprised than Ron himself when it became apparent on their first day back at Hogwarts that Lavender had developed an enormous crush on him. Surprised, and at first quite boastful of the fact. Until he realised that having her follow him wherever he went, including the boys' bathroom, was going to make him the laughing stock of the school. But the damage had been done and Lavender was now under the impression that she and Ron were going out, something which Ron himself profusely denied.

Hermione pinched a slice of bacon off Harry's plate and sighed inwardly. With things seemingly looking up for both Harry and Ron in the romance department, she couldn't help feeling a little left out. It was two years since her very first kiss with Viktor Krum and she had not given the subject of romance much thought since. But with the situation with Voldemort worsening by the day, she was beginning to view the path her life was set upon in a different light. The three friends were now in their sixth year at Hogwarts, and after the events of last term Hermione had set her heart upon becoming an Auror. Somehow, she had managed to sail through her O.W.L.s with Outstanding marks in all but one of her classes, with Harry doing almost as well, and Ron's results all passes except for a D in Potions. She had been fully prepared to devote all of her time and effort into studying for her dream, knowing it would leave no room in her life for a boyfriend, let alone anything else. But now the whole of the wizarding world stood poised on the brink of war and priorities were changing for everyone. Friends, family and loved ones were quickly becoming all that really mattered to people living in a world where the future was uncertain.

With Hermione deep in thought, Ron fighting a losing battle with Lavender's fork, and Harry absorbed in Cho's note, no one noticed a tall figure approach and peer over Harry's shoulder. Before anyone could react, a smirking Draco Malfoy had snatched the note from Harry's fingers and was waving it over his head. “Hey, look at this! Harry Potter has a girlfriend!”

Crabbe and Goyle, who somewhat predictably were stood just behind Draco, sniggered between themselves and a few people seated nearby turned to see what the fuss was about.

Harry was on his feet in a flash. “Give it back, Malfoy,” he demanded.

Draco's smirk grew. “No chance, Potter, we all want to know what it says.” He skimmed quickly through the note and chuckled to himself. “Harry, oh Harry,” he said, adopting a feminine voice as he pretended to read. “I love you so much! Please be mine forever and ever!”

“I mean it, Malfoy,” Harry threatened, his face flushing. “Give it back now or I swear I'll–”

“You'll what?” Draco interrupted, sneering at him. “Run crying to Dumbledore? Nothing new there.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a little. “My father sends his best wishes, by the way.”

“Your father got what he deserved,” Harry shot back.

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. “Think what you want, Potter, but at least he doesn't hide behind Dumbledore's skirts.”

A muscle tensed in Harry's jaw. “No, he hides behind Voldemort's instead.” His use of the name drew several resigned groans from the Gryffindor table, and even prompted Seamus Finnigan to lob a bread roll at him which missed and smacked Crabbe square in the forehead. Draco, however, didn't bat an eyelid. “I wouldn't say that was any different,” Harry continued, oblivious to the reactions around him. “Would you?”

“The difference,” Draco retaliated, “is that we chose the right side and you... didn't.” His upper lip curled derisively as he glanced across at Ron. “But why break with the habit of a lifetime? Your choices have always been questionable.”

Harry's eyes didn't leave Draco's face; he didn't need to see where Draco was looking to know exactly what he was referring to. “I've never regretted any of the choices I've made,” he said with quiet conviction, noting from the corner of his eye the way the Slytherin was subconsciously rubbing his left forearm. “Can you say the same?”

Draco's eyes instantly flew back to Harry's but Hermione intervened before he could respond, grabbing hold of Harry and pulling him away. “Snape,” she hissed in a low voice. The disturbance had attracted the attention of the Potions master, along with a few of the other professors. She turned to Draco. “You've had your bit of fun, Malfoy. Just give Harry his note and get lost.”

Draco glanced at her, his cold grey eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before flicking down to where a shiny red badge, engraved in gold with the letter 'P', flashed up at him from her robes. At the same time, Hermione's eyes dropped to his chest where an identical badge, but in green with a silver 'P', sat pinned beside the Slytherin house crest. Not for the first time, she cursed Snape for ever making Draco Malfoy a prefect. He leered down at her, making it clear that his prefect's badge rendered hers irrelevant.

“Hush, Granger,” he retorted. “Your opinion wasn't asked for.” He turned his attention back to the note, apparently deciding it was wiser to brush over Harry's previous question. “So, who's the lucky girl?” he continued, darting down between the tables as Hermione made an exasperated noise and released her grip on Harry. They both flew after him only to find their way blocked by Crabbe and Goyle. Cho, who had just taken her seat at the neighbouring Ravenclaw table, looked around as Draco advanced towards her. Her eyes fell on the piece of paper he brandished, and she turned a deep shade of red. “Why, it's none other than Cho Chang!” he announced, placing a hand upon her shoulder. She visibly flinched at his touch. “Glad to see you've finally put poor Cedric's death behind you.”

A furious Hermione extricated herself from Goyle's grasp moments before Harry pulled free of Crabbe. “That was out of order, Malfoy,” she cried, marching up to him. Her words rang loudly in the hushed silence that had fallen across the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables.

“Cho...” Harry began, but she had already shot up from the bench. Without a word, she pushed past Hermione and Harry, who tried in vain to stop her. She ran from the Hall, barely holding back her choked sobs.

“I really think you should be committed to St Mungo's,” Draco shouted after her with a laugh. “You can keep Longbottom's parents company,” he added, loud enough for the chubby boy seated at the Gryffindor table to hear.

Awkward glances were exchanged around Neville. His friends had only recently found out that his parents were not dead, but in fact resident patients at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries after being tortured into insanity by Death Eaters. It wasn't common knowledge outside Gryffindor House, however, and Hermione could already see the wave of frenzied whispers washing across the other three tables as the news began to spread. Neville placed his knife and fork down, pushed his plate away, and rose to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster. “And who put them there, Malfoy?” he asked quietly. “Your family did. Something for you to be proud of, I suppose.” He gathered his belongings with shaking hands and quickly followed after Cho.

Harry glared at Draco. “You really can't help yourself, can you?” When Draco shrugged as if he couldn't care less, Harry's anger flared. He stepped up to him, deliberately invading his space and using his well-built stature to great effect over the taller boy. Draco took a reflexive step back as Harry prodded him in the chest with a finger. “You'll pay for what you just said to Neville,” he promised.

“And you'll pay for what you did to my father,” Draco countered venomously, shoving Harry backwards in order to regain his lost ground.

At the staff table, Snape stood up. Hermione groaned under her breath and shouldered her way between the two boys in an effort to avoid trouble. “Go after Cho,” she insisted, giving Harry a gentle push in the direction of the doors. “Leave Malfoy to me.”

But Harry continued to glare at Draco, who stared back at him over the top of Hermione's head, an unspoken challenge in his eyes. As was always the case between them, neither seemed willing to back down; in fact, Harry appeared to be struggling just to stay in control.

“Harry...” Hermione pleaded, quickly recognising the need to remove her friend from the situation before things got out of hand. His mood swings weren't the only thing that were becoming a problem. His temper was starting to get the better of him too, rising up out of nowhere in the blink of an eye. Something which Draco hadn't failed to notice, or take advantage of. This was the third time in as many days they had squared up to each other for one reason or another. Hermione planted herself directly in front of Harry, forcing him to break his eye contact with Draco. “Go after Cho,” she repeated firmly.

A tense moment followed, during which Harry's internal struggle appeared to be one he was losing. Hermione suddenly found herself reconsidering her position. She didn't particularly want to be stuck in the middle if Draco did succeed in pushing Harry too far. But then, to her relief and everyone else's disappointment, Harry turned abruptly and stormed out of the Great Hall, casting a furious parting glance at Draco as he disappeared through the doors. Draco turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “Do you think it was something I said?” he asked innocently, and laughter broke out among the Slytherins who had wandered over to give him their support. Seizing her opportunity, Hermione reached to steal the note from Draco's fingers while he was distracted, but he was too quick and snatched it away. “Not so fast, Granger. If you want it, you'll have to ask nicely.”

Hermione held out her hand impatiently. “Just give me the note,” she demanded. “I'm not in the mood for your silly games.”

Draco frowned. “That's a shame, you know how much I enjoy playing with you.”

“Leave him,” said Ron from the other side of the Gryffindor table. Lavender was seated beside him, watching the scene unfold with wide blue eyes. “He isn't worth it.”

But Hermione wasn't about to back down from Draco Malfoy, especially in front of half of the school. She narrowed her eyes at him as she looked for a way out of this that would give her possession of the damned note.

Draco grinned at her. “You know, Granger, you're quite attractive when you get mad,” he declared. Then he wrinkled his nose. “For a filthy Mudblood, that is.”

That was when Hermione's patience snapped. Draco held the note higher as she grabbed for it, leaning back so it was out of her reach. But Hermione was determined not to be outdone. She stood on tiptoes, her body pressed against his, stretching up over his shoulder. Draco chuckled as her fingers closed over his, a low rumble that Hermione felt vibrate through her. Her efforts were futile, though, as no matter how hard she tugged at the note, he wouldn't release it. Faces inches apart, they glared at each other.

“Let. Go.”

“Make. Me.”

“Get in there, Malfoy!” someone interjected, to much hilarity.

Draco chuckled again, but then his face grew strangely inscrutable and he shifted his weight slowly, deliberately, his body moving against hers. “All you had to do,” he paused to tuck her hair behind her ear, then leaned forward and whispered, “was say please...” He relinquished his hold on the note so suddenly that Hermione stumbled backwards. Her face burning, she regained her balance and hastened from the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy's laughter ringing in her ears.

* * *

The Hall doors slammed shut behind her and Hermione leaned back against them for a moment to recompose herself.

What, in the name of Merlin, just happened?

Taking the customary insults out of what Draco had said to her, she could almost have believed he was flirting. Which was nothing more than plain ridiculous. She covered her cheeks with her palms and wondered if they looked as hot as they felt. Never had she been so mortified in her life. Or confused for that matter. But more than anything she was furious. Furious with him for the things he had said to Cho and Neville. Furious with him for goading an already highly strung Harry. And furious with him for continuing to abuse his position as a prefect.

Hermione had been immensely proud when she received a letter from Professor McGonagall before the start of term last year, informing her she was to be a Gryffindor prefect alongside Ron. So proud, in fact, that her parents had even framed the letter, which was now hanging on the wall beside her bed at home. To then find out that Draco Malfoy had been given the same honour somewhat cheapened the experience for her. He had spent virtually the whole of their fifth year using his position as an excuse to bully people and generally get his own way. As a result, Hermione had fully expected him to be stripped of his prefect's badge this year, especially after the fiasco of Dolores Umbridge's spell as Headmistress and Draco's role in her Inquisitorial Squad. It seemed Dumbledore disagreed, however.

A group of approaching Hufflepuffs forced her to step away from the doors. Pushing the irritation that was Draco Malfoy to one side, her thoughts returned to Harry. If he had gone looking for Cho then the most likely place to find him would be Ravenclaw Tower. But as she headed in the direction of the stairs, Ron came hurrying from the Great Hall with Lavender in tow.

“Hermione!” he called.

She turned and stopped, waiting for them to catch up.

“Are you... okay?” Ron looked genuinely concerned.

Hermione forced a smile. “Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?”

Ron glanced doubtfully at Lavender, who gazed back at him like a lovesick puppy. “It's just, you know,” he continued, trying to edge away from her. “That little scene in there with Malfoy. He went too far.”

Hermione brushed it away as nonchalantly as she could manage. “Don't worry about it. It takes more than that overgrown ferret to bother me.” Ron opened his mouth again, but Hermione didn't want to discuss it any further and cut him off. “Look, I'll speak to you later. I'm going to find Harry so I can give this back to him.” She waved the note over her shoulder as she hurried away.

Half an hour later, she finally found him on her second sweep of the Gryffindor common room. He was curled up in an armchair, staring into the empty fireplace.

Hermione knelt beside him and held out the note. He took it in silence. “Did you catch up with Cho?” she asked gently.

Harry nodded.

“How is she?”

“How do you think, after what Malfoy said to her?” Harry replied bitterly. Then he sighed and glanced at Hermione. “Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“It's okay.”

He looked down at the note. “Cho asked me to go to the ball with her.”

Hermione smiled. “That's great, Harry.”

“But now she says it was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” A frown replaced the smile. “Why a mistake?”

“I don't know. Because of Cedric, I suppose.”

“But it's been well over a year!” Hermione exclaimed. “I thought she was past all that?”

“So did I.” Harry rubbed his scar subconsciously, something he was so prone to doing lately. “Looks like we were both wrong.”

Hermione's frown deepened; she was beginning to tire of Cho messing Harry around. “She's being silly. No one's going to think badly of her for wanting to move on after so long.”

Harry shrugged. “Malfoy does.”

“Oh, come on,” Hermione scoffed. “Everyone knows he only said that because he enjoys hurting people.”

Harry suddenly fell silent and Hermione watched as he absently folded the note over and over until it was too small to fold any further. Having initially put his mood swings down to recent events, she was beginning to wonder if she had been mistaken. Seeing him like this gave her the distinct impression that there was something else troubling him, something that ran much deeper.

“Anyway, thanks for getting this back, but there wasn't much point.” Harry flicked what was left of the note into the hearth. “If Malfoy's done anything, it's make me realise that things are never going to work out between me and Cho. If Cedric wasn't the problem, it would be something else.”

Hermione smiled. “Are you trying to say Malfoy's done you a favour?” she asked, attempting to lighten Harry's mood. But the smile she had hoped to see in return never came.

“Malfoy doesn't do himself any favours, never mind anyone else,” Harry muttered, pushing himself up out of the armchair.

Hermione took the hand he offered and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “Yes, well I don't know what's got into him this term but he seems intent on annoying as many people as he possibly can.” She relayed to Harry what had happened after he left the Great Hall.

Harry's face was as dark as a thundercloud by the time she finished. “I think it's about time Malfoy realised his actions have consequences.”

Hermione nodded. “I couldn't agree more, and if things were different... But in all honesty, Harry, we have far more important things to worry about than Draco Malfoy.”

* * *

If Hermione thought her morning had started out badly, she was in for an unpleasant surprise as it proved to be the beginning of a day that got progressively worse. The fact that her first class also happened to be her least favourite should, she supposed with hindsight, have served as a forewarning of what was to come.

She stood at the foot of a ladder leading up to a trapdoor in the North Tower, her arms loaded with gaudily decorated books, and looked around her at all the students milling about. Professor Trelawney is going to be in for quite a surprise, she thought. There had been a significant increase in those taking Divination this year; Hermione herself had been dismayed to learn that in order to be accepted into Auror training she would need to pass a wide variety of N.E.W.T.s, which included the one subject she had vowed never to return to.

What something which basically amounted to fortune telling had to do with law enforcement she couldn't begin to imagine, although it was supposedly considered beneficial to have a broad knowledge of all the different branches of magic. The only consolation was that Harry, who had no real plan beyond Hogwarts and didn't particularly wish to dwell on the matter, had offered to endure it alongside her for the sake of her sanity. Ron had also decided to sign up for the class at the last minute, if only to keep Lavender happy. She had nagged him repeatedly on the matter until he was so fed up that he gave in, much to her satisfaction. Hermione watched them now, Lavender with her arm hooked through Ron's, hanging onto him as tightly as she could while Ron did his best to look interested in whatever it was she was saying.

It was only when Trelawney opened the trapdoor and invited them inside that Hermione noticed another student she hadn't expected to see. She pulled out a cushion at one of the small round tables which were draped with elaborately embroidered scarlet and gold silk covers, and watched as Draco Malfoy did likewise. She nudged Harry, who was seating himself beside her, and nodded across the room. Harry's brows lifted in surprise. Draco had never made a secret of how little he thought of Divination and everything associated with it, so to see him here was both surprising and intriguing. “What do you think he's up to?” Hermione whispered to Harry, who shrugged in response.

Professor Trelawney was already sweeping round the room, separating everyone into mixed sex pairs. A hovering stack of pink paper hearts followed her, distributing themselves to each table as she went. When she reached their table she blinked and peered down at Hermione, her thick glasses making her eyes bulge. “Ah!” she exclaimed suddenly, making Harry jump. “I knew you would return!”

Hermione smiled sweetly up at her, then glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye and grimaced. “Must have been in her tea leaves,” she mumbled and Harry was forced to duck his head to hide his grin.

Trelawney didn't appear to notice. “You are fortunate that Seers such as myself are so forgiving towards those who are ignorant of our talents,” she continued graciously, and whirled away with a flick of her long bejewelled shawls.

“I think she remembers you,” Harry said, still grinning. Hermione swatted him on the arm with her pink heart. Having sensationally walked out on a Divination class in their third year, she would have been more surprised if Trelawney hadn't remembered her. It was only with McGonagall's blessing that she had been allowed to drop Divination altogether after that, something which now meant she had two years worth of staring into teacups and crystal balls to catch up on. The very prospect was enough to make her head pound.

“What do you think we're doing with these?” Harry wondered out loud, picking up his own pink heart between thumb and forefinger like it was about to bite him.

As if in answer to his question, Trelawney positioned herself in the centre of the room and flung her arms open wide, her eyes closed. “Love...” she began in a loud whisper, and everyone stopped talking amongst themselves in order to listen.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh great,” she muttered.

“Love...” Trelawney repeated, her whisper softening. “The most powerful emotion in the world.” She paused dramatically and opened her eyes to gaze around. The majority of the boys were lolling on their tables, their interest in the lesson having already waned. Lewis Roper, usually one of Hufflepuff's more studious pupils, had folded his pink heart into a paper plane and was trying to make it fly by waving his wand at it from under the table where it wouldn't be noticed. The plane itself didn't budge; it was only the table flying a foot into the air that gave him away. Trelawney fixed him with a furious glare as he stashed his wand away hastily, the table dropping back to the floor with a clatter. The pink plane unfolded itself back into a heart and Trelawney, looking decidedly vexed, turned her attention on the more appreciative members of her audience. Lavender, Parvati Patil and a number of other girls were hanging off the Professor's every word. “The most powerful emotion in the world,” she repeated, “yet almost impossible to find.” Lowering her arms, she clutched Lavender's shoulder and leaned in close to her. “How do you know when true love has entered your life, when your soulmate is just a breath, a heartbeat, or maybe even a seat away from you...”

Lavender turned wide eyes on Ron, who was sitting beside her, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh as he went as red as his hair and shifted his gaze to the floor.

“The truth is that fate determines who that person is by the date of your birth and the name you are given.” Trelawney waved her wand and several incense burners placed around the room starting to smoke, their sickly sweet scents quickly wafting around her students. She returned to the centre of the room. “Let me show you how they hold the answer to the question of whether that special someone truly is... your destiny.”

“Splendid topic, Professor Trelawney!” Everyone in the room started at the bright, cheery voice that cut through the hazy stupor they were rapidly falling into. Hermione craned her neck to see Albus Dumbledore's head poking through the trapdoor. A flustered Trelawney adjusted and readjusted her shawls. “Unfortunately,” Dumbledore continued apologetically, “I must deprive one of your students of such knowledge in favour of more pressing matters.” He crooked a finger at Harry, beckoning him over.

Speculative whispers began to sweep around the tables, and Harry and Hermione exchanged a worried look as he stood. Dumbledore interrupting a lesson to personally speak with a pupil was almost unheard of. “Should I bring my things?” he asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore waved a dismissive hand. “Leave them here, you can collect them afterwards.”

Harry crossed the room, passing Professor Trelawney on his way to the trapdoor. She reached out and grabbed his arm as he went by. “Never mind, my dear,” she told him sympathetically. “Love will be the least of your concerns in the coming months.”

Harry smiled weakly and extricated himself from her grip. “That's – er – good to know, Professor,” he replied, and hurried to the trapdoor before she could launch herself into the subject of his long anticipated demise, something which she predicted each year without fail. It appeared to Harry to be one of the few pleasures she enjoyed. Along with a newly acquired taste for sherry, if the smell on her breath was anything to go by.

“Perhaps Miss Granger would like to find another partner for this task,” Dumbledore prompted, “given the unlikelihood of Harry returning before the end of the lesson.”

Trelawney blinked like a bewildered owl.

“Might I also suggest that it be Draco Malfoy?”

Draco's eyes flickered from Harry to Dumbledore.

“As much as I'm sure everyone is looking forward to seeing if he and Vincent Crabbe are each other's – to quote yourself – destiny,” Dumbledore continued with a twinkle in his eyes, “I feel it would be a question better left unanswered.” A series of sniggers broke out. Crabbe had been forced to join Draco and Pansy Parkinson due to the odd number of students in the class, but with Harry's departure that problem would be rectified.

Hermione cursed Dumbledore's sharp eye for noticing that. Draco was watching her with a lazy smile, whilst beside him Pansy was shooting her a look so murderous that Hermione was glad looks couldn't actually kill. She turned to Trelawney. “Professor, I'm sure I can work on this by myself. I don't need a partner.”

“Nonsense, Miss Granger!” Dumbledore replied cheerfully. “Not having a partner would rather negate the purpose of this little exercise, wouldn't you agree?”

She opened her mouth to protest further but Dumbledore had already disappeared from view. Harry shot her an apologetic glance as he followed the headmaster down the ladder. Ron leaned across from the next table. “Too bad,” he whispered. Hermione scowled as she moved Harry's books and bag over to her side of the table. “'Bad' is having to sit this nonsense in the first place,” she replied, biting back the rest of her words as Draco dropped his things into the space she had cleared and sat down on Harry's vacated cushion. She pointedly ignored the look he gave her.

“Each of you take your dove quill,” Professor Trelawney waved her own in the air with an exaggerated flourish, “and use your bleeding heart ink to write the name of your partner on your heart.”

Hermione pursed her lips disdainfully and scrawled 'Draco Malfoy' across her heart, digging her quill in so viciously that she ripped a hole in the paper. She heard Draco chuckle beside her, and as she looked up he quirked his eyebrows at her. His amusement faded though as he shifted his gaze back to Trelawney to find her pointing at him, her eyes fixated on him in a bug-eyed stare. Everyone turned to look at Draco. “You...” she said, her voice faint. “You are an eleven...”

Draco stared back at her as if she was deranged. “I'm a what?”

It was a while before he got an answer, however, as a large scroll of paper displaying a chart made up of numbers and letters chose that moment to unfurl itself, hanging suspended in front of Trelawney so that she was obscured from view. A brief battle between it and the professor ensued as she tried to step in front of it only to have it continually flap her away. After several attempts she gave up, and Hermione briefly considered spelling the paper into place but decided that would be far too charitable of her. In any case, Trelawney was more than capable of doing so herself.

If she's even sober enough to realise it.

A voice rose up from behind the paper, somewhat muffled by its size and thickness. “Give each letter of your partner's name a number according to its place in this chart.”

Hermione frowned at the chart. It was nothing more than the alphabet and the corresponding numbers – one to twenty-six – for each letter. She sighed. Underneath the chart a note had been written:

The letters J through to Z have double digit numbers. In these cases, add the two digits together to form a single digit number; this is called reducing.

“Add together all the numbers in your partner's name, and keep reducing until you are left with one single digit number.” Trelawney peered around the edge of the paper. “This...” she paused until she had everyone's attention “...is your partner's Destiny number!” A moment later the paper rolled itself back up. Trelawney eyed it cautiously where it hovered over her head, but when she took a step forward and it didn't budge, she made a small sound of triumph and turned her attention back to her class. Her eyes wandered blankly over the sea of faces in front of her until she settled on Draco's again. “Oh yes, you. The eleven... Quite unusual. The only one to be compatible with all other Destiny numbers.” Her eyes flickered to Hermione and she gave a small start, as if noticing her for the first time. And then, to Hermione's curiosity, a smile spread slowly across her face. “Especially three, the neutral number. How interesting that you should have ended up together for this.”

“Hey, Draco, baby. Pansy here is a three,” Blaise Zabini called out, mirth lacing every word. Pansy stomped over to retrieve the heart he had seconds ago plucked from Crabbe's fingers but as she returned to her table she shot Hermione a smug look. Draco, on the other hand, didn't seem the slightest bit interested in whether she was a three, six or three hundred and six. Judging from the expression on his face he appeared to be rethinking his decision to take Divination, and for once Hermione found herself in complete agreement with him.

“Professor,” she interjected, her patience already failing, “Malfoy – I mean Draco – isn't an eleven.”

Trelawney peered down at her in irritation.

“If your chart thing,” Hermione continued, her tone clearly expressing what she thought of it, “is correct–”

“Of course it's correct!” Trelawney interrupted in an affronted tone.

“Well then, Malfoy–” she glared at him from the corner of her eye as he sniggered “–Draco is a five.”

Professor Trelawney was gawking at her as if she had just sprouted horns, wings and a forked tail. Horrified didn't even come close to describing the expression on her face. “Nonsense!” she barked. “You cannot possibly understand the complexities of such calculations having only just learned them.”

“But, Professor, it's all there.” Hermione gestured at the airborne scroll of paper which helpfully unrolled once again and was swiftly secured with her Adhaero Spell. “Look...” And she proceeded to reel through a series of equations to prove her point, leaving Trelawney cross-eyed. “And I'm a four, not a three,” she continued resolutely, “so as for any compatibility between the two, even I know that an odd and an even Destiny number have no common ground.” As if to further cement her argument, Hermione reached for the smallest of her pile of books, entitled The Art of Numerology by Wanda Watkins. She flicked quickly through to the page she wanted and began reading out loud. “Destiny number four produces a character of exceeding virtue. You must choose your friends from the few that live up to your high moralistic standards; it will be difficult to hide your disappointment in anyone who fails to meet your ideal. The negative manifestation of number four often produces dominant and bossy individuals – avoid becoming too stubborn and fixed in your opinions.”

“Dominant and bossy – that sums her up perfectly,” Pansy remarked loudly from the other side of the room.

Hermione, cheeks turning slightly red, ignored the laughter that broke out among the Slytherins and ploughed on regardless, wishing that she had taken more time to read the book instead of giving it a cursory glance late last night. “Destiny number five suggests that the direction of growth in your lifetime will be toward becoming a harbinger of change, freedom, and progressive thought and action. You must learn to accept changes as they come along and not cling to the outdated. Avoid rebellion, and focus on enlightenment and progression that will benefit mankind as a whole.”

The room fell silent as she read, dozens of pairs of eyes once again turning on Draco.

“Your life is broadened by gaining an understanding and an appreciation of all kinds of people. Be warned, however. As clever as you are, you have a tendency to make the same mistakes over and over again...” Hermione paused and gazed down at the page before her in astonishment. She hadn't expected something as profound or indeed prophetic as that. She stole a glance at Draco, whose own gaze was fixed solidly to the table in front of him.

“Have you – quite – finished?” Trelawney asked, sounding slightly irritated.

Hermione ignored her and turned back to the book in order to finish making her point. “An odd and even Destiny number pairing (with the notable exceptions mentioned previously), frequently prove too much of a challenge. Odds and evens have different temperaments and different ways of communicating. Odds are deceptive and obscure, while evens will be more direct and to the point. Evens do not like change, odds require it. Consequently, they have a low compatibility rating.” She placed as much emphasis on this last part as she could, regarding Trelawney stubbornly.

“Professor?” Lavender Brown had raised her hand. “I think Hermione's right, but she also said there were notable exceptions.” She had her own copy of The Art of Numerology open in front of her, her finger marking a point on the page from which she began to quote. “These exceptions occur when the odd and even Destiny numbers together equal nine. Nine is the largest and therefore strongest and most stable of the root numbers, and this directly correlates to any such relationship between eight and one, seven and two, six and three or–” she looked up at Hermione and Draco “–five and four!” she finished triumphantly.

Professor Trelawney clapped her hands together, her bangles jangling noisily. “There,” she said to Hermione, “I was quite correct.”

Hermione began to object but Trelawney had already moved on. “Your birthdate?” she demanded of Draco, who replied more obligingly than Hermione had expected, earning himself a glower. “And yours?” Trelawney turned to her. She mumbled her response and Trelawney proceeded to close her eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Hermione was beginning to think that her own incense had sent her off to sleep when her eyes flew open and she pointed once again at Draco. “Eleven...” she whispered, and the misty voice and wide eyes were back.

Hermione rolled her eyes hopelessly at the ceiling.

“There is no doubt this time,” Trelawney continued pointedly, to which there were several stifled sniggers. She paused for silence, and then whispered, “Your Life Path number is eleven...”

“That's not the only thing about me that the number eleven applies to,” Draco implied suggestively, grinning across at the Slytherins and receiving a wolf-whistle from Blaise in response.

“Yes, your IQ being the other,” Hermione muttered.

Draco turned a puzzled expression on her. “My what?”

“Precisely,” she bit back, but the word was swallowed up in a surge of chattering voices as the class began to lose its focus.

Trelawney stood in the centre of the room, seemingly at a loss as to how to bring everyone back under control. Her calls for quiet went unheeded. “No, she's right,” Lavender piped up eventually, in a bid to help out her favourite teacher. “The numbers in Draco's birthdate do equal eleven.”

“What's so special about eleven anyway?” Draco drawled in a bored voice as the class began to settle back down.

Trelawney opened her mouth to answer his question but Lavender got there first. “It's a Master number,” she replied excitedly. “One of the most important numbers in Numerology.”

“Master number?” Draco echoed. He caught Hermione's eye and grinned in an insufferably smug manner.

“Yes,” Lavender continued. “Some of the most important witches and wizards have had eleven as their Life Path number.” She thumbed through The Art of Numerology. “It's all here, on page twenty-five. Life Path eleven: You have the skills to become a great leader. You crave independence, and the need for personal achievement. You have very strong personal wants and desires, but struggle to follow your own convictions. Although you may hide the fact, you can be self-centred and egotistical, and demand to have your own way in many circumstances. Nervous energy is a trait often observed. Because of this, you may be seen as an extremist who is sometimes overzealous in expressing likes and dislikes. Nervous tension can result in a state of emotional outrage, which to those around you may seem out of character. In some instances, your strengths can also become your weaknesses. You may find it hard to decide what to do at times, and struggle with indecisiveness. There is also a tendency to harbour feelings of unease and dissatisfaction with accomplishments in life.”

Draco sneered at Lavender and her book, apparently none too impressed with its character assassination of him. “And who seriously believes all that crap, Brown? You would need to be funny in the head.” He shot a look in Trelawney's direction which escaped no one except Trelawney herself, who was watching Lavender with a decidedly put-out expression on her face. “Oh wait.” Draco's eyes returned to Lavender. “I forgot who it was I was talking to. You've been funny in the head since first year.”

Lavender, who was already blushing having realised she had annoyed Trelawney, blushed an even deeper shade of red and lowered her face. Hermione, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy for the girl, found herself jumping to her defence. “You know, Malfoy, if being funny in the head is a requirement for this class, it certainly explains why you're here.”

Ron's mouth dropped open in surprise as the class burst into laughter again, this time with the exception of the Slytherins who glowered at Hermione from across the room. Draco himself glared angrily at her. “Watch that mouth of yours, Granger,” he warned. “You never know what trouble it will get you into.”

Hermione frowned at the thinly-veiled threat but decided to let it pass. After the scene in the Great Hall that morning, she didn't want to create another so soon.

Instead, what she got was worse. Much worse.

Trelawney was regarding Draco and Hermione thoughtfully. “Your Life Path number is nine...” she said eventually, gazing with intent at Hermione. Hermione's eyes narrowed as she spotted the momentary flash of spite from behind the professor's glasses.

A second later, Lavender almost squealed with excitement. “Oh!” she said, wriggling in her seat with wide-eyed glee, her previous embarrassment forgotten. “Nine and eleven!”

Trelawney nodded, determined not to be beaten to the explanation this time. “Nine, the highest of the root numbers, and eleven. A Master number. A powerful numerical alliance. Added to each other they equal twenty, reduced to two. And that is, my dear...?”

“The number of the lovers...” Lavender answered, somewhat breathlessly.

“It is indeed.” Trelawney was still looking at Hermione. “I think we should see exactly how compatible you and this young man are.” The chart and writing on the paper behind her, still held steadfast by Hermione's sticking spell, dissolved and a quill appeared, hovering expectantly beside it. “Let's see... a combined Destiny number of nine.” The quill sprang forward and scratched a large black '9' onto the paper. “A combined Life Path number of two.” A '2' was scratched beneath the '9'. “We multiply both of these with the Bonding number, three.”

Hermione and Draco exchanged a fleeting glance, expressions of disgust and horror clashing with each other at the mention of the wizarding world's version of marriage.

A small murmur escaped Trelawney as she watched the '9' and '2' disappear to be replaced with '27' and '6'. “Added together...” The quill promptly scratched '33' beside them. There was a pause as Trelawney turned to look down at Hermione and Draco. “It can't be...” she whispered in such a manner that Hermione wasn't fooled for a second. Whatever it was she was up to, Trelawney knew exactly what she was doing.

“Their own Bonded number, the number which derives from the merger of their names...” The quill responded behind her, a '2' appearing before she had even finished speaking. “Two, once again the number of the lovers. Added to one, which symbolises unity...” Trelawney waited for the quill to scratch out a '3', “...and multiplied with the thirty-three to give a compatibility score of...”

Hermione watched with a growing sense of dread as everything else on the paper dissolved and the quill scratched out its final number.

“...ninety-nine percent!”

Lavender fell off her cushion with excitement.

“My dears!” Trelawney grabbed Hermione's hand, simultaneously reaching for Draco's which he snatched away. Hermione couldn't recall the last time Trelawney had referred to her, or Draco for that matter, as 'my dear'. Between them, they were possibly her most antagonistic students. And then Hermione's jaw dropped in astonishment as she suddenly realised what was happening.

Trelawney brushed off Draco's reaction. “That's in the top three percent!”

“You don't say,” Hermione grumbled under her breath, trying to ignore the way everyone was staring in fascination at them. Everyone, that is, with the sole exception of Pansy who looked like she was about to explode.

“That would make you...” Trelawney paused dramatically, “...Twin Flames!” she declared, and clasped her hands together jubilantly as she looked first at Draco, who lounged forward on the table looking as if he found it all highly amusing, and then at Hermione. The room erupted into a riot of wolf-whistles and cheers, and a positively glowing Trelawney flicked her shawls. “How fascinating...” she murmured. And then she flashed a triumphant smile at Hermione.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. There was no doubt about it; Professor Sybill Trelawney had just exacted her revenge on her two least favourite pupils in the most perfect way possible – by tying their names together in some ridiculous concoction of destiny and fate when it was obvious how much they despised each other. She knew as well as Trelawney did that something like this would be all over the school by the end of the day, especially if the frantic whispering between Lavender, Parvati and the Spinks twins behind those silly pink hearts was anything to go by. Trelawney had set her up for Merlin only knew how much teasing, fully aware of how much it would irritate her. Hermione would have been impressed, had she not been so utterly annoyed. What neither of them realised, however, as Trelawney turned away and Hermione glared daggers at the back of her head, was precisely how much of an impact the professor's actions would have...

* * *

“Hermione..?”

“What?”

“What's a Twin Flame?”

Hermione stopped so abruptly that Harry, who had been on the verge of running in order to keep up, collided into the back of her, knocking his glasses to the floor. He had just returned from collecting his books and bag from the Divination classroom following his meeting with Dumbledore which, he told Hermione and Ron apologetically, he had been asked not to discuss with anyone until circumstances allowed. Both of them had been visibly affronted by this but said nothing and they were now on their way to their next lesson, History of Magic, when Ron blurted out that question.

Hermione turned impatient eyes on him. “Ask Lavender, I'm sure she would take great pleasure in telling you.” She bent to retrieve Harry's glasses and handed them to him. “Sorry, Harry.”

“Thanks,” he said, and then, “Twin Flames?”

“Don't ask.”

Harry stared at her in bewilderment, but when it was clear she wasn't about to elaborate he looked over at Ron who only shrugged. “Have I missed something?”

Hermione grimaced. “Only that infuriating woman as good as marrying off Malfoy and I,” she announced bitterly and at completely the wrong moment as a group of Hufflepuffs, which included the Spinks twins, passed between them and scurried off giggling, glancing back at her as they disappeared around a corner. She let out an exasperated sigh and resumed her walking sprint only to be brought to a halt once more by Harry's hand on her arm. “What?” he asked incredulously.

Hermione shifted the weight of the books she was carrying. “Apparently, according to our Destiny and Life Path numbers, or some such nonsense, Draco Malfoy and I are Twin Flames. Soulmates,” she added for Ron's benefit, wrinkling her nose.

Harry laughed out loud. “Soulmates? I bet that went down well with Malfoy.”

“Well, to be precise it's a bit more than that. And actually he seemed to find it quite funny.”

“More than?”

“Yes, Ronald.”

“How?”

“Does it really matter?” Hermione snapped. “It's all utter rubbish, the sort of thing someone with air instead of a brain would believe. What are you doing?”

Harry had fished out his copy of The Art of Numerology and located the entry on soulmates which, to Hermione's annoyance, he proceeded to read a section of to Ron. “Whereas soulmates are two people whose souls are irrepressibly drawn to each other, there are a special few who are actually considered to be two halves of the same soul. Twin Flames, as they are referred to, generally possess a compatibility score with each other that sits within the top three percent. If Twin Flames meet before they are ready to accept their destiny, they will subconsciously repel each other and find it impossible to get along. However, when the time is right and they allow their love to develop, it is without doubt the most enjoyable experience two people can ever wish to share. When this happens, they truly compliment each other and find it difficult to be apart. Meeting your Twin Flame is very rare.”

“See? Absolute nonsense.”

Harry shoved the book back into his bag with a grin. “Well, Hermione, either someone has a very twisted idea of what a 'most enjoyable experience' is, or you and Malfoy definitely don't believe in destiny.” He missed her scowl as his attention was still buried inside his bag. “Damn,” he exclaimed, pulling out a few tattered scraps of paper and sifting through them. “I don't have my History of Magic essay.”

Ron suddenly dived into his own bag, producing several even tattier scraps of paper than Harry's. “Me either,” he groaned.

Hermione shook her head hopelessly. “Honestly, the day you two remember your homework–”

“–will be the day you fail an exam,” Harry finished, smiling at her. “Yeah, we know.”

Hermione returned the smile affectionately. “See you in class,” she called, turning to go on without them.

Harry glanced at Ron. “Race you!” he shouted and he was off, running in the direction of Gryffindor Tower before Ron even knew what was happening.

* * *

The whispering that stopped the moment Hermione walked into the History of Magic classroom barely had time to register when Fay Dunbar appeared before her. “Is it true?” the Gryffindor girl asked, wide-eyed.

Hermione frowned at her as she tried to pass. “Is what true?”

“About you and Draco Malfoy...”

She could quite happily have cursed Trelawney on the spot. “That depends what you're talking about,” she replied tersely, dropping her book bag onto her desk with a thump.

Fay appeared uncomfortable saying it, but she did anyway. “That there's something going on between the two of you.”

Hermione's jaw dropped. She had been anticipating what Fay would say but she certainly wasn't expecting this. Barely ten minutes since they had left Divination and already the Hogwarts rumour mill was in overdrive. She stared at the dark-haired girl in front of her in open-mouthed astonishment, certain she must have misheard her. Why would anyone actually think that there was something 'going on' between her and Draco Malfoy? “Who in the name of Merlin told you that?” she demanded.

Fay glanced awkwardly to where Lavender was sat but didn't answer.

Hermione rolled her eyes; she might have known. “We were partnered up for a lesson, Fay,” she said irritably, glaring at Lavender. “I hardly think that constitutes as something 'going on'.”

“They weren't just partnered up for a lesson,” smirked Blaise Zabini's voice from the back of the room. “They were partnered up for a lesson on love.”

Hermione's jaw clenched tightly. “Numerology, actually.”

“And love,” Blaise persisted.

The temptation to throw her book bag at him was almost too great.

“Is it true though?” Hannah Abbott blurted out from across the room, drawing Hermione's attention to the fact that everyone was staring at her with interest.

“Do you really need to ask?” she replied caustically, her generally steadfast patience wearing thin for the second time that day. “Seriously, me and Draco Malfoy? Have you any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

Fay started to ask another question but Professor Binns chose that moment to float through the door, saving Hermione from further discussion on the matter. Ron and Harry were close behind, entering through the more conventional way of opening the door. Both were panting after the sprint back to their dormitory to get their essays.

Fay moved away and Hermione dropped into her seat, acutely aware of the renewed whispers around her and the stolen glances in her direction. Harry sat down beside her and tried to get her attention but she ignored him. She really didn't feel like talking to anyone right now.

* * *

It felt like the lesson would never end. Even Hermione found Professor Binns' monotonous droning unbearably dull at the best of times but today it seemed to go on and on in a manner reminiscent of torture. Blaise, free of Draco's presence, took advantage of the opportunity – and his drawing skills – to taunt Hermione mercilessly. When the lesson did finally end, there were dozens of scraps of paper scattered around the room depicting animated sketches of herself and Draco engaged in some frankly disturbing activities, and his constant stream of suggestive comments about the pair of them had even resulted in Binns pausing in his lecture, something he had never done before, and ordering Harry to sit down and put his wand away when one particularly lewd comment regarding cursed tombs causing people to grow three heads had made him see red. The subject of magic in Ancient Egypt would never hold the same interest for Hermione again following Blaise's degradation of it. Blast the pyramids and their back passages and secret entrances. And blast Draco Malfoy for apparently wanting to be a cursebreaker if his Quidditch ambitions came to nothing.

Eventually the three friends were making their way down to the Great Hall for lunch. Harry and Ron knew her well enough not to bring up the subject of Draco, but the stares and whispers Hermione was receiving from everyone else couldn't be prevented. She seated herself between Harry and Neville and stared firmly at her Ancient Runes textbook, refusing to look up unless she was spoken to. Nevertheless, she could almost feel the weight of so many pairs of eyes on her. Draco, she noted upon a brief scan of the room, was nowhere in sight. She wondered if he had been getting the same kind of treatment. Somehow, she doubted it.

She deliberately turned her attention to her Ancient Runes essay, digging out a quill from her bag and throwing herself into deciphering a centuries-old inscription. She became so engrossed in what she was doing that she barely heard Neville hissing her name, but a follow-up nudge from Harry made her raise her head. She gazed from one to the other vacantly. Ron's eyes were bulging at her. “What?” she asked, suddenly growing concerned at the expression of shock she saw on his face.

Neville pointed vaguely at her robes. “Look!”

Hermione looked. Nothing seemed out of place that she could see. “What am I supposed to be looking at, exactly?” she asked with a frown. And then something caught her eye. She grabbed a handful of her robes and peered in disbelief at the house crest. Wrapped around the body of the Gryffindor lion was what appeared to be a serpent. No, she amended, was a serpent. And not just any old serpent either, but the one from Slytherin's house crest. She stared at it in horror.

Harry leaned across for a better look. “It looks like a fairly complex charm,” he observed. “I wonder who did it?”

Driven partly by instinct and partly by the sensation of being watched, Hermione glanced over to the Slytherin table and caught Blaise grinning wickedly at her.

“Could have been anyone,” Ron murmured, watching the snake writhe in an unashamedly provocative manner, holding the lion tightly in its grasp.

“Well, we've got Charms next,” Harry said reassuringly. “We'll go there early and find Flitwick. He'll get rid of it.”

But to everyone's surprise, Hermione shook her head. “No.” She watched Blaise turn to Daphne Greengrass on his right and say something which caused her to look directly at Hermione and laugh.

“Why not?” Neville asked in confusion.

“Because it's better just to ignore it,” she replied, releasing the fabric and smoothing her robes back into place. “All of it. If nobody gets a reaction out of me, they'll soon get bored and find something else to talk about.”

Harry glanced sceptically at Ron, who shrugged, but they silently agreed to let the matter drop.

* * *

The Charms class itself passed without much incident, other than Professor Flitwick being planted upside down in the waste paper bin by one of Dean Thomas' errant Purgatio Charms. The sight of Flitwick's knees and feet flailing in the air as Dean held the bin and Seamus pulled him out had the class in hysterics, and Flitwick himself joined in with the good humour once he was freed. Amidst all of this, Hermione was relieved to find that she and Draco appeared to have been forgotten. Perhaps, she thought, as she made her way to her last lesson of the day, I did overreact. Maybe things weren't going to be as bad as she had feared.

It wasn't long before her hopes were dashed.

The final lesson of the day just happened to be Potions. Harry and Ron had popped back to Gryffindor Tower to collect yet more forgotten essays so she went down to the dungeons alone. To her annoyance, a large group of second and third year Slytherins were gathered outside their common room, their chatter ceasing when they saw her approaching. She eyed them obstinately as she walked by and for a moment thought she had survived unscathed, but the second she had her back to them an array of kissing noises commenced which followed her as far as the Potions classroom door. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

But what she didn't expect was the scene that greeted her when she walked in. She stopped in her tracks and stared at the blackboard. Someone had written, in what looked like permanent chalk:

When's the wedding, Malfoy and Granger?

As if that wasn't bad enough, Draco entered the room immediately behind her. That certainly accounts for the kissing noises, she thought with a blush, realising he must have been trailing her down the corridor. Like her, his eyes were also drawn to the blackboard. The other students laughed and wolf-whistled at them. Draco simply smirked at her and brushed past, far too closely for the amount of room there was.

"Oh, get a room," Blaise drawled, shoving Draco in the direction of their seats. Hermione hurried to her own seat and sank into it, grateful at least that it wasn't double Potions. This was going to stretch on for long enough as it was.

When Harry and Ron arrived minutes later, their eyes also flew straight to the blackboard. Why is everyone doing that? she wondered irately as Harry strode over and threw his bag down onto the desk beside her, his face red from more than just the run to avoid being late. He looked so rankled that she suspected if Snape didn't arrive soon, his blackboard might end up strewn over the floor in tiny pieces. She smiled up at him, grateful for his show of outrage on her behalf, but his eyes were already locked with Draco's taunting ones and the spark of fury that she saw igniting in reply in Harry's made her reach out a restraining hand. This was definitely not the time or the place.

Snape himself swept into the room before any confrontation could take place, and both Harry and the rest of the class took to their seats, the latter watching with interest as the professor's black eyes immediately settled on the blackboard. Hermione groaned inwardly.

Snape's only reaction was to raise an eyebrow. “Would either Draco or his betrothed care to supply an answer before we begin?” he asked in his monotone voice.

Everyone turned to look at Hermione and Draco, who was sat beside a fuming Pansy Parkinson. “Not until Hagrid has had a shave,” Draco obliged. He leaned forward to look at Hermione, who pressed her lips together and purposefully studied the desktop. “He certainly isn't coming to our wedding unless he does. Isn't that right, Muggles?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Harry. Hermione froze in her seat, not quite able to believe it. Muggles?! She turned her head slowly and stared past Harry to Draco, who grinned back at her. He was actually getting a kick out of this, she realised in shock.

The entire class had collapsed into riotous laughter around them. Snape promptly silenced them in his own inimitable style; a threat of a week's detention and twenty points from Gryffindor House, five points from Slytherin. He walked to the front of the class and to Hermione's relief cleared the board with a wave of his hand. She was only half listening as he started the lesson.

So much for ignoring it and it would go away. No wonder the rumours were flying – Draco was doing nothing to quash them; if anything, he was fuelling them.

* * *

When the lesson was over, Hermione unexpectedly thrust her books into Harry's arms and asked him if he would take them back to the Gryffindor common room. He looked at her quizzically as he struggled to contain them all, but nodded. “Sure.”

“Thanks,” she said over her shoulder. She was already weaving between the desks. People on their way to the door nudged each other and stopped to watch. Draco had his back to her, but Pansy saw her approaching and scowled. Hermione ignored her. “Can I have a word with you?”

Draco looked over his shoulder at her. “You don't have to ask, Muggles.”

“Outside,” she said through gritted teeth, aware that Snape was also watching them through narrowed eyes from behind his desk.

Pansy opened her mouth, more than likely to object, but Draco shoved her towards the door. “I'll catch you up,” he said firmly. At first it didn't appear she was going to leave, but then she caught Draco's eye and turned sharply on her heel. Hermione stalked out after her and glared at all those who were hanging around. One by one they reluctantly drifted away.

Draco was leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching her with a mildly amused expression. When she turned to him, he grinned wickedly. “Couldn't wait to get me on your own, Granger?”

She glared at him. “What are you up to, Malfoy?”

The innocent expression on his face looked completely out of place. “I don't know what you're talking about, Muggles.”

“And stop calling me that!” Her temper was starting to rise. Damn him, he always knew what buttons to press.

As if reading her mind, he pushed away from the wall and approached her slowly. She stood her ground despite the dangerous look in his eyes. “I enjoy seeing you squirm, Granger,” he whispered as he circled her closely. So closely that the sleeve of his robes brushed against hers. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. He reminded her of a wild beast playing games with its prey before the kill. “That must have been hard to swallow,” he continued, pausing before her, “to learn that I'm your soulmate instead of Potter or the Weasel.”

“You don't believe that rubbish any more than I do,” she retorted, meeting his gaze defiantly.

“Maybe not,” he replied smoothly. “But it's intriguing all the same...” That sentence was left hanging in the air. He raised a hand and Hermione recoiled. “Oh get a grip, Granger,” he muttered irritably. She watched as he reached for the house crest on her robes. The charm was fading slightly but it was still obvious. “Not bad, Zabini,” he chuckled, stroking the bewitched embroidery with his thumb. It was such a gentle caress, not what she had expected at all. And neither was what happened next.

“The snake...” Draco's voice had softened. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “And the lion...”

Hermione swallowed somewhat nervously at his abrupt change in demeanour.

“...inextricably entwined.”

For a moment, their eyes locked and a shiver ran down Hermione's spine at his words. “It will fade!” she hissed, pulling her robes from his touch. She was not going to be Draco Malfoy's prey.

The moment was broken. Draco leered at her. “Maybe, Granger, but not completely.” His eyes strayed lazily down her slender figure, eliciting another shiver from her in response.

“Look, Malfoy,” she seethed, hoping he hadn't noticed. “I've had enough of this. If you, or Zabini and his silly drawings, don't stop then I'm–”

“Drawings?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him but quickly realised from his puzzled expression that he didn't have a clue what she was referring to. She sighed and reached into her bag. After a quick fumble around she pulled out the remaining drawing from the History of Magic class. It was one of the less expressive ones but she still hesitated before holding it out to him.

Draco took it from her and one glance at it made him laugh out loud. Hermione scowled at him. He watched as animated Hermione looped her arms around animated Draco's neck and lifted herself, wrapping her legs around his waist as she was pushed up quite firmly against the edge of the paper. Before his image could dip his head for a kiss, the drawing froze and looped back to the beginning. “You kept this?” Draco asked, tearing his eyes from the scene with a huge smirk.

Hermione opened her mouth to deny his accusation but shut it again as he raised an eyebrow. She couldn't deny it because she had kept it. She, Harry and Ron had collected all the others after the lesson ended and destroyed them. Why had she held on to this one? She pushed to the back of her mind the fact that she would accidentally catch glimpses of it each time she went looking in her bag for something, and the tingle it gave her in the pit of her stomach whenever she did.

Draco grinned at her. “Want it back, Granger?”

She knew she should have told him where to stick it but for some unfathomable reason she held out her hand. She almost saw what he was going to do before it happened. In a blatant nod at that morning's scene in the Great Hall, he lifted the paper up over his head and said, “Come and get it then...”

Hermione stared at him for a moment, then turned on her heel. “Get lost, Malfoy,” she spat over her shoulder, but she only managed a few strides before Draco caught hold of her arm. “Get off me,” she snapped, shrugging free and turning back to face him. He held the paper out, pushing it into her hand when she ignored his gesture, forcing her to take it.

“Why would I want to stop, Muggles?” he answered to her previous warning. “I'm enjoying myself.”

“I'm sure Pansy can keep you amused if you're that desperate!” she retaliated through clenched teeth.

“Granger, that wouldn't happen to be a note of jealousy I detect in your voice?” Draco grinned again as an incensed Hermione fumbled with the pocket her wand was kept in. He turned away with a satisfied smile. “Pansy has her uses, believe me,” he remarked as he strolled down the corridor, slipping into the Slytherin common room seconds before Hermione's Trip Jinx hit the bare wall and dissolved into a sprinkling of sparks.

She whirled away in the opposite direction, furious with herself for reacting as she had. Once again she had given him exactly what he wanted. Suddenly desperate for some time on her own, she decided to give Gryffindor Tower a miss and instead headed to the girls' bathroom on the second floor. Although it had been restored to full working order after the events of their second year at Hogwarts, hardly anybody used the bathroom due to Moaning Myrtle's presence. Thankfully, Myrtle was nowhere in sight when Hermione entered. She slammed into one of the cubicles and sat down on the edge of the toilet bowl.

What a mess. No matter what she said or did, she knew she couldn't do anything to prevent the rumours that were being spread, especially with Draco playing up to them. And all because she was too stubborn to back down when he had challenged her that morning, igniting an interest in them among their classmates. And now this whole Divination thing was only fanning the flames even more. Despite what she had said about ignoring it and people would soon become bored, she knew that the idea of herself and Draco Malfoy even so much as being civil to one another was a big deal. Their bitter dislike for each other, and the history behind it, was common knowledge. It was second only to Draco's intense rivalry with Harry. The fact that Draco was a Slytherin and she a Gryffindor barely factored into matters. He was a pureblood, son of a Death Eater. They who tortured and killed Muggle-borns, like herself, for fun. That was where the sensation lay. For this reason alone she knew no one would seriously consider the rumours to be true, or at least she hoped not. No, it was nothing more than a bit of fun for everyone; blowing up a story out of absolutely nothing for their own enjoyment. Just another distraction from the seriousness of the situation beyond the walls of Hogwarts. Even so, Hermione found herself stunned that people who knew her would so readily spread lies about someone they professed to know and like. She snorted in disgust; the school was full of wannabe Rita Skeeters' it seemed.

A familiar watery giggle came from the adjacent cubicle. Hermione groaned and grabbed her bag, scooting out of the bathroom just as Moaning Myrtle floated up the U-bend. Before the door slammed shut behind her, she heard Myrtle call after her in delight, “So, Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes has fallen off her pedestal!”

* * *

Hermione couldn't concentrate at all during Herbology the following morning. She couldn't get her mind off Draco Malfoy, and it was not for lack of trying; the last person she wanted in her head was him. But no matter how hard she focused on Professor Sprout's instructions, Draco would find a way to invade her thoughts. Consequently, she finished the lesson sporting a comically-sized bandage on her thumb, the result of a bite from a Maybeak, a particularly nasty variety of carnivorous cucumber. It had taken both Ron and Harry to prise it off, and in turn it had bitten Ron on the nose which was now swollen to nearly twice its size, making him breathe with an audible rasp. Madam Pomfrey had refused to do little other than clean the wounds and bandage them, or in Ron's case cover it with the tiniest of plasters, which only served to make him look more ridiculous. She claimed it would ensure they paid more attention in class in future. Ron hadn't been happy, protesting that he had only been helping to get the offending plant off Hermione's thumb.

He was still bemoaning his misfortune to anyone who would listen as they made their way outside later that day to enjoy the early evening sunlight. Hermione followed, still lost in thought. She kept asking herself the same question and for once could come up with no answers; how was she going to deal with Draco? Today had been markedly better than yesterday but that was due in part to having had no lessons with either him or Blaise that day, not to mention skipping breakfast and lunch and eating only a very brief dinner. The gnawing in her stomach told her that this wasn't something she could continue for long. The taunts from everyone else were as ruthless as she had expected and showed no sign of abating anytime soon, but to her surprise it didn't bother her as much as she had thought it would. What did bother her was Draco and his new-found way of getting under her skin. At least when he was insulting her there were clear boundaries. But this almost-flirting, as she was calling it, was different. It unsettled her. She didn’t know how to react to it and he was taking advantage of the fact.

“Um, Hermione?” Ron's nasally voice broke into her musings.

She blinked, realising with a start that she had almost walked right into Professor McGonagall. “Sorry, Professor,” she mumbled, stepping back.

McGonagall gave her a stern look. “Do watch where you are walking, Miss Granger.” She turned to Harry. “Professor Dumbledore requests your presence in his office, Potter,” she said in her no-nonsense voice. “Follow me.”

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione and shrugged, then trotted after her.

“Again?!” Ron exclaimed. “What for this time?”

Hermione shook her head distractedly.

“What's up with you anyway?” Ron asked, poking at his bulbous nose for the millionth time.

Hermione turned away from the retreating figures of Harry and McGonagall and continued walking. “I'm okay,” she replied noncommittally.

Ron caught her up and stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop. “No you’re not. What is it?” He peered at her closely. “Is it because of Malfoy?” Hermione gave a tight-lipped nod and resumed her walk, Ron falling into step beside her. “What's he up to?” he pondered. “All that bloody Muggles stuff...”

Hermione grunted. “Change of tactic, or so it would appear. It's only taken him five years to figure out that being his usual obnoxious self has little effect on me, so he's being nice instead. The only problem is,” she admitted reluctantly, “it's working.”

“But I don't get it. Why is he singling you out? It's always been all three of us before.”

Hermione stared at him curiously. “Are you jealous, Ronald Weasley?”

Ron went red. “No, don't be daft.” He gave an embarrassed cough. “But it's a bit weird, don't you think?”

Hermione's brow wrinkled in thought. He did have a point.

“Well, just ignore him,” Ron advised, then remembered who he was talking to. Hermione looked up at him as she sat down on a tree stump near Hagrid's Hut. He grinned back at her. “Yeah, I know. That's like me telling Mum that I really don't need another jumper for Christmas this year.”

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Ron sat on the grass beside her and for a while they chatted about other things, mainly what Dumbledore wanted with Harry. By the time they got up again, they'd exhausted just about every possibility, laughing long and hard over the suggestion of a polyjuiced Voldemort shuffling around in Dumbledore's ageing body and needing somebody to go to Hogsmeade to buy him some Fizzing Whizzbees. But the good mood faded as they headed to the Great Hall for a light supper and the conversation revolved back to Draco Malfoy.

Hermione spotted him sat at the Slytherin table, flanked by Crabbe and Blaise and surrounded by a host of fellow Slytherins from various years. They were all laughing at something Blaise had said, and Hermione suddenly decided that she wasn't that hungry after all. Ron bumped into her from behind as she halted unexpectedly in the doorway, knocking his nose on the back of her head. “Bloody hell!” he cursed. “Could you give me some warning next time?” He clutched at his face, a trickle of blood running from his left nostril.

Hermione grimaced and handed him a clean handkerchief from her pocket. “Sorry...”

Ron took it and tried his best to pinch his nose shut to stem the flow but it was far too swollen and sore. “This is useless,” he grumbled eventually. “I'm going back to Madam Pomfrey and this time I'm not leaving until she fixes it.” He threw a departing glance towards Draco. “You know, I can't see why you don't just play him at his own game.”

Hermione watched him go with a thoughtful expression on her face. Play him at his own game? She turned back to the Great Hall, her eyes seeking out Draco once more. A slow smile spread across her face. Maybe that wasn't as absurd as it sounded.

* * *

There was still no sign of Harry over an hour later and Hermione was starting to get worried. With the Voldemort situation so precariously balanced, an announcement of war could come at any time. On both occasions that Harry had been summoned to Dumbledore's office in the last couple of days she had secretly feared the worst. Yesterday her fears had proved unfounded. But tonight this prolonged disappearance troubled her.

Ron had returned from his trip to the hospital wing looking as green as the cucumber which had bit him. Madam Pomfrey had sorted out his nosebleed, then given him one of her more potent medicines to negate any poison remaining from the earlier plant bite. She had insisted he didn't need it, that it was extremely rare for anyone to be allergic to Maybeak juice, but Ron had been adamant. Something he now regretted. He had slinked straight off to bed accompanied by a big bowl and muttering something unintelligible about slugs.

Hermione gazed around the Gryffindor common room. Neville had been sat in the armchair by the empty fireplace for the past forty-five minutes, clutching his glowing Remembrall and trying desperately to remember whatever it was he had forgotten. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were huddled around a table in the corner, papers spread out in front of them. Instinct told her it wasn't any last minute essay they were working on. Parvati and Lavender were stood beside them, blocking her view somewhat and giggling uncontrollably. She watched them suspiciously, wondering if this business with Draco was making her paranoid. But then they all burst into laughter and Hermione caught Dean's sly glance at her. Irritation surged through her as she got to her feet and stomped over to the portrait. Was it just her imagination or did the Fat Lady appear to be smirking at her too?

It was a relief when she found herself alone in the corridor, although now that she was there she wasn't sure what to do. After a moment of deliberation she headed in the direction of Dumbledore's office, hoping to come across Harry on his way back. There was no sign of him, however. The stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the stairwell gazed back at her impassively, its hewn visage seeming to mock her as she threw incorrect password guesses at it. She didn't know what she hoped to achieve; even if she did chance upon the right one, she was hardly about to barge into Dumbledore's office demanding to see Harry. She turned away in frustration when 'chocolate frogs' got her nowhere but was immediately brought up short by the sound of approaching voices. Moments later, Professor McGonagall and a bespectacled man with greying hair rounded the corner. Hermione instantly recognised the limping man as Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister of Magic following Cornelius Fudge's sacking. McGonagall's eyebrows rose when she saw Hermione. “Yes, Miss Granger? What can we do for you?”

Scrimgeour acknowledged Hermione's polite greeting with a nod, but he seemed impatient to be on his way so she drew a deep breath and asked, “Professor, I was wondering where Harry is?”

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. “That, Miss Granger, is of no concern to you.” She glanced at the Minister, who gave a brief nod, before continuing. “However, suffice it to say he has left the school for the evening and will be back in the morning. Pear Drops!”

Hermione opened her mouth to ask where he had gone but McGonagall suggested firmly that she should return to Gryffindor Tower before curfew. With that, she followed Scrimgeour past the gargoyle and up the stairs, the hideous stone creature leaping back into place behind them.

Hermione was beyond worried now. What in Merlin's name is going on? If the Minister of Magic himself was involved, then there was only one explanation she could think of. She chewed anxiously on her thumbnail. Now she had two things preying on her mind.

* * *

Hermione's footsteps echoed as she made her way back along the deserted seventh floor corridors. As she neared Gryffindor Tower, she became convinced that she saw movements in the shadows thrown by the lit torches on the walls and had an unerring feeling that someone was watching her. Putting it down to Peeves the poltergeist, or one of the more salacious ghosts that roamed the school, she quickened her pace all the same. Nevertheless, she was caught completely off guard when someone grabbed her from behind just as she was about to give the password to the Fat Lady. Her assailant pulled her backwards down a small side corridor and hauled her into a store cupboard. She was astounded when she turned around to find Pansy Parkinson stood against the door, glaring at her. “I don't know what you think you're doing, Granger, but it ends right now.”

“What does?” Hermione asked, her head still whirling.

“Don't act dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about.”

After the last couple of days, Hermione decided she really wasn't in the mood for this. “Actually, I don't know what you're talking about. Now if you don't mind...” She made a move for the door but was pushed back roughly. Pansy's slight stature belied her strength.

“I'm not finished with you yet,” she hissed, pulling her wand out.

“Well, I'm finished with you,” Hermione retorted, making another move for the door. “Get out of my way.”

Pansy planted herself in front of Hermione, pointing her wand squarely at the other girl. “This is your first and last warning. Stay away from Draco.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Hermione considered the absurdity of the situation and couldn't decide which was more ridiculous; being trapped in a store cupboard with Pansy Parkinson, of all people, holding a wand to her face or being warned to stay away from someone she would be perfectly happy never to see again. In the end, she couldn't help herself and laughed out loud. “You've lost it, Pansy, you really have.”

Pansy glowered at her. “I mean it, Granger. If I see you throwing yourself at him like you did yesterday, I'll make sure you regret it.” She whipped around and yanked the door open. Hermione watched her leave in stunned silence. Throwing herself at him? The door slammed shut in a cloud of dust, making her sneeze. What in Merlin's name is wrong with everyone this term?
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Deceptions