Hermione hung back. “Hey, Ron, Harry? You guys can go on ahead. I’d just like to ask the Professor something.”

The two boys nodded, leaving, only Harry sending a small, suspicious glance back. Hermione grabbed her bag and walked up to where Professor Malfoy was sitting.

“Um, Professor Malfoy?”

“I was wondering if you had a list of the things you were planning to go over this year,” Hermione said seriously. “I really don’t want another repeat of today-” she blushed at the thought of not being able to do a spell in class, “-so, if I could prepare and study for future lessons, that would be great.” 

“B-but sir, I…if you understood my need to excel, you’d give me a list. You could…I suppose you could give a list to everyone.” Even knowing the material, she doubted the other students would be able to do everything on the list, but she was sure she could. Hermione frowned. “But, being who you are, I guess you wouldn’t understand.”  

“No, you wouldn’t understand,” Hermione said, getting angry. “It’s because of people like you that I strive to excel. Or, well, people like you used to be. In First Year, I studied long and hard because I was so excited to be magical, but I wasn’t anything like an eleven-year-old brainiac. It was your son who first introduced me to the word Mudblood, in Second Year, and made me feel like I had to prove that I was worthy of magic. So if, after I’ve told you this, you still think you understand, you’ll give me that list. I take my studies very seriously.”

“Thank you Professor,” Hermione said, smiling sweetly. “My lips are sealed.” She plucked the sheet out of his hand and, taking her bag, she left. When she was almost out the door, she turned and said, making sure he could hear, “You don’t make your son’s decisions, sir, but you do influence them.” And then she was gone.

“Look at him,” Ron said with disgust, his mouth full of mashed potato. “Acting like he was almost bloody killed! He only got a split lip and a broken nose.”

“If you stare any harder, you’ll set their table on fire,” Hermione said absently, reading from her DADA textbook for the third time. “And swallow before you talk.”

“And Parkinson, that pug-faced cow, she’s all over him like a dog in heat…”

“You sound like you’re PMSing, Ronald,” Ginny said from her seat across him. “Honestly, just ignore it.”

“Oh wait, hold on, why’s the Ferret staring at you, Hermione?” Ron was frowning.

“What?” Hermione looked up from her textbook. “Malfoy’s staring at me?”

“He’s right.” Ginny turned very conspicuously in her seat to catch a glance at Malfoy Jnr. “He’s looking at you weirdly.”

“Probably thinking of a hundred ways to kill me,” Hermione said dryly. “Ignore it. I am.” She began piling food on her plate. “Where’s Harry, by the way?”

Across the hall, Draco was staring at Granger calculatingly. He was thinking about the conversation between him and his father earlier. "Bother anyone else, but leave her alone.” That’s what Lucius had said to him. But why?

He glanced at his Father, sitting at the High Table. Was he turning into a Mudblood-lover? Surely the Dark Lord would punish him for that. What if… But he refused to think about that. His Mother was gone, but Lucius had always been faithful to her. He couldn’t possibly…

“Why are you shaking your head?” Blaise Zabini asked him, looking at him curiously. “And why are you staring at Mudblood Granger?”

“Nothing,” Draco said shortly. “I’m just pissed at Weasley.”

Blaise nodded in understanding, before returning to his meal.

Lucius looked over at his son, catching the look that he gave him. Great, now another child to worry about. He sighed, thinking about what he could do. He could always tell Draco the truth, about how he only wanted to get on Granger's good side because she might be useful... But something was holding him back. Maybe it was because, deep down, he knew she never would.

"Lucius, stare at the table any harder and it'll combust." Severus said from next to him. Lucius turned his head towards him, sneering.

"Quiet, Severus, I'm thinking."

"Don't kill yourself." 

“I’m going to talk to my Father,” Draco said with authority to the small group around him. They all looked at him, surprised.

“Why?” Pansy asked. “Is it business about…You-Know-Who?”

“No,” Draco said curtly. “Personal matters. If I haven’t finished my talk with him when dinner finishes, take my bag down, will you?” Pansy nodded, and returned to talking with her friends

Draco wiped his mouth daintily with a napkin and stood up. He strode to the High Table, passing the Gryffindor Table as he went. He absentmindedly realised Potter wasn’t there.

“Father,” Draco said, standing in front of the professors. The chatter in the Great Hall was noticeably quieter. “A word?”

Draco followed his father stiffly. Once they were in the classroom, he closed the door and locked it, placing security spells over it to make sure they would not be overheard.

“Father, what’s going on? What’s this business with Granger?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Father, so don’t act innocent now.” Draco sneered. “Besides, it doesn’t suit you.”

Lucius growled. "You have grown very disrespectful here, Draco. Maybe I should transfer you to Durmstrang." He warned. "I am merely trying to get on her good side. There is no denying it, she IS the smartest witch of this time. She may prove to be useful. Not to mention how close she is to Harry Potter." But even as he said them, the words felt like a lie. 

“Going to transfer me now that Mother’s not here to stop you?” Draco spat. He missed his Mother dearly, even if it had already been a few years since her death. “She’s not the type of smart you want. She can get everything right in class, but I doubt she’d be able to hold her own in the real world. She doesn't know about things that you can't learn from a textbook. And she’d rather die than let you use her to get Potter.”