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“Remind me why they thought having the Greenhouses so far from the school was a good idea?” Blaise mumbled as he trekked up the snowy incline towards the warm, inviting castle. 

Blue skies and bright sun smiled down upon the group of second year Slytherins and Ravenclaws as they traced the well trodden path from Herbology. They belied the bitter winds that whipped through the cloaks and coats of the students, chilling them to the bone. Hermione sighed, taking her wand out and trying the warming charm again, only to find temporary relief. It may have warmed the air around her, but it did not stop the biting breezes.

“Because Helga Hufflepuff did not want the magical residue from the castle, and related spell casting, to interfere with the plants,” grumbled the witch, recalling a passage from Hogwarts: A History. 

“And how did she not freeze to death going to and fro?” Blaise snipped, the warm blooded Slytherin missing the balmy warmth of his homeland.

“Probably by being better at spellwork than us,” snorted Millie to her side, her large arms wrapping the thick, woolen cloak to her body. “Being one of the Founders, and all, she could’ve just charmed her cloak to keep the wind out or something.”

“Is there a charm for that?” Greg asked, shuffling along behind Hermione and Millie. 

“I’m sure there is,” Hermione nodded, running plans through her head - research first or ask Professor Flitwick? “Just a matter of finding it.”

“And controlling it,” Draco snorted from her other side. “I imagine they want us to be able to control our magic before allowing someone like Finnigan to even attempt it.”

“Not like he won’t start a fire anyway,” Vince snorted. 

Hermione hummed in agreement, letting her loose hair whip around her face as the wind picked up once more. Even a year and a half later, Finnigan had the impressive talent to turn any spell into a fire. It became something of a betting pool going on just how spectacularly he would destroy the next desk. Of course, Blaise collected the bet, be them candy or galleons. 

"Yes, well, the sooner we are out of the cold, the better," the Italian wizard huffed, picking up the pace. 

A chuckle from her side, and Millie took off after the tanned wizard. Vince, not wanting to be left behind, patted Greg on the back before making his way inside. Meanwhile, Hermione used the walk to clear her mind. The past few weeks saw the second year Slytherins return to their normal equilibrium. Draco returned to the boisterous boy who lead them on, while the rest followed suit. Theo and Blaise relaxed more, now that their friend no longer swung between moody and sulking. Overall, everything progressed well.

No more Chamber nonsense. Her father retained the d ia ry, trying to work with the Headmaster and Lord Malfoy to destroy it. Still, the viper's pit of a house refused to let Hermione wander alone. Millie and Theo often accompanied her to the library, while Vince, Greg, or Blaise followed her as she ran errands. Daphne and Pansy made sure she found her bed at the end of the day. 

“It's a pretty nice day, honestly," Draco mused from her side, his grey eyes observing the peaceful, snowy grounds as they sloped into the inky, dark Black Lake. A hand went to his head, adjusting the warm, marino wool hat. They glanced towards her for a moment, taking in her profile, before flicking forwards once more. "It may be cold, but at least it is quiet."

A humming agreement answered the statement. Thoughts and observations swirled around her mind, as she walked at a sedated pace back to the castle. Ever since the visit from his parents, Hermione noticed another change in her friend. At first, nothing appeared too different between them. Yes, Hermione hesitated more, shared less, and kept her mind off of the reasons why, but Draco stuck closer to her. He accepted her silence, her need for emotional space, and, instead, remained available. He started to escort her from class to library and back to class. 

"I see you have finally deigned to join us," Blaise remarked as he spotted Hermione and Draco crest the hill into the warmth of the entrance hall. 

"Just enjoying the peace," Hermione hummed, waving her wand and muttering under her breath as she cleaned the snow and mud from her shoes. "Before we had to go all the way and join the Gryffindors for Charms." 

"That is a bit of a bummer, now that you mention it," Theo grimaced, walking further into the school. "I can't believe they thought having us together for so many classes would be such a good idea." 

"I think they are doing it on purpose," Tracy remarked as she headed forward. "I mean, think about it, what do they get out of it?"

"Animosity?" Millie deadpanned. 

"Exactly!"

"But we're only twelve or thirteen," huffed the other girl. "What is there to gain from students hating each other. We have to grow up and work with everyone anyways." 

The curly haired brunette stored the information and theories in her mind. Why did Dumbledore pair their year's Gryffindors and Slytherins? To her knowledge, the classes typically mixed together with greater frequency, allowing all four houses to intermingle. In fact, when Hermione compared her schedule with Annalie's, she noticed that they only had two of their major classes with the lion cubs. A gentle pressure guided her away from a suit of armor, one of which her nose almost became intimately acquainted with. Glancing to the side, a pale hand slipped back to Draco's side as he chatted with Theo and Blaise. Frowning, Hermione pondered everything that changed. 

"Valentine's day is tomorrow," Daphne gushed, coming up to Hermione's other side. "I heard that Lockhart is collecting all sorts of cards and favors to send out to students."

"That sounds positively atrocious," her face scrunched in distaste. "I cannot say I much would enjoy sending a note with him. What if he read it out loud?"

"You mean one of his 'cupids'?" Snorted the blonde witch.

"That's even worse," exclaimed Hermione. "Can you imagine? I wouldn't want something as personal as a confession to be read in front of everyone, let alone by a gnome of all things." 

"It would be rather ridiculous," chuckled her friend. "But still! At least it will be decorated this time."

"But it's just a muggle holiday," whined Pansy. "What does it matter for anyways?"

"It really doesn't," snorted the muggle born witch. "It's what my parents call a 'Hallmark' holiday, denoting the stationary brand that sells cards and trinkets. It's something that is driven more so by capitalism and the need to have and use 'stuff'  to celebrate more so than anything of substance." 

"Even our resident muggle born hates it," snorted Daphne. 

"Well, it is nothing more than a way to pressure society and try and mold it into some perfect vision of what romance should be," huffed the witch as she walked towards the next class. "I mean, really, what is the point of reducing the qualities of others and what they write to just the basic 'flower and chocolates' rot when romance can mean so many different ideas to different people?"

"I see we have struck a chord," Theo chuckled from behind. 

"And what do you even know about romance, Granger," sneered Weasley from a pack of Gryffindors. 

"A whole lot more than you," snorted the Slytherin. "I would hope that you would know a bit more about how to handle a witch, considering you do have older brothers. From what I can see, they, at least, know how to treat a woman. I can't say that you do, though."

Not caring to continue the confrontation, Hermione glided past the spluttering, puce boy and made her way to her normal desk. No way did she want to end up being late to one of her favorite classes because of Ronald Weasley. Still, anticipation hung heavy in the air as the teenagers giggled and stole glances from across the corridors. Supper that evening proved to be a rather hormone charged affair, with the whole castle excited for the upcoming holiday for the first time in Hermione's short memory.

Dear Father, 

How have you and Mother been? I hear from her often, and would like to extend the current olive branch here. I know that there is much going on and that you may be busy. How are the abraxans? And the elves? I wonder how the extension for the library is going as well? I know it has been your life's work to try and get more books into those shelves.

I find myself in something of a situation. After I blew up at Hermione a couple of weeks ago, she has been rather reluctant to open up to me once more. We share in many of the same activities, and I have tried to be patient. There are times when I know she wishes to speak to me, but shuts down and closes off her emotions and thoughts. I am wondering if there is any advice you may be willing to impart? I know that Valentine's day is on the horizon, and wanted to do something. I wish to use the holiday to the fullest, seeing as Hermione is not one for the muggle implications anyway. 

And so I write to you, Father. What suggestions do you have for your son? To make his friend feel a bit better, to let her know that I do still care and that I apologize for taking out my anger and frustration upon her earlier. I know that there is not much I can really do to make her feel better, no more than time and consistency, but if you have any brilliant ideas, I would quite like to know.

Waiting quite impatiently,

Your son,

Draco

Lucius twirled the letter between his fingers, an amused smirk upon his face. Leave it to Draco to use this muggle holiday as a way to work back into Hermione's good graces. He truly did learn from the best. On more than one occasion did the wizard use the holiday as a means to soften hard news for his wife, or to win back her good humor after misstepping. The Malfoy men could be quite persuasive and charming, when they chose, and often failed quite spectacularly with their partners of choice. Something that Narcissa often held over his own head.

A smug smile curved his lips as long legs swept through the halls of his family's French chateau, looking for said wife. She would love to see what their son inquired. It warmed his heart, seeing the blooming romance between the two young Slytherins. Not to mention, Narcissa loved to be correct in her assumptions. 

Walking over towards the smaller library housed in the French estate, Lucius perused the shelves until he found one. Flipping through the pages, he nodded to himself, satisfaction curling his lips. Yes, this would do well to send to Draco. They were only twelve, after all, and Draco still wanted to work on winning her trust back. There would be time for more meaningful gifts in the future.

Weak sunlight greeted the excited murmurs of the Great Hall. Students milled about, far more awake than Draco knew them to be on a normal day. While not a holiday celebrated by most of the traditional religions, students often fell into the lure of celebrating romance. It marked a day where witches and wizards would start to make intentions clear, an unofficial sort of beginning. One that Draco knew himself too young to start, but still wanted to participate in one small way. 

Pink hearts floated throughout the Great Hall, pinks, reds, and whites adorned the whole hall, decorating the banners with little cupid and heart motifs instead of the normal House banners. 

Little did Draco know that what was to come would be far more terrifying than anything his mother could concoct. Gildory Lockheart swaggered to the front of the Great Hall and beamed at the students below. All around, students sat forward, watching the man with unveiled interest and intrigue. The whispers in the hall rose to a fever pitch, causing Draco to glance around. 

“Good morning everyone," boomed the boastful voice of Lockheart, his beaming, bright smile greeting the Great Hall. "I am so happy to see so many of you here this morning! As promised, on this day to celebrate love as Saint Valentine would want us to!" A loud bang and the hall exploded in a shower of pink, white, and red (a theme, Draco observed). "Our lovely cupids will be delivering the letters submitted to me throughout the day! Please! Enjoy!"

A dozen dwarves flew from behind the staff table, their white, cherub wings fluttering behind them. A mixture of awe and disgust filled the young Slytherin. Where did he find dwarves? How much did he pay them? How did the charms work? Just - why? Before he could blink, they scattered throughout the crowd, delivering messages in rather gruff, no-nonsense manners. Quite at odds with their angelic garments. He hesitated to add appearance as the whole. Several had beards.

"Am I in a nightmare?" Greg shuddered, shrinking away from the falling heart confetti.

"Merlin, please let it end," Blaise whimpered. "This is not romance. This is gauche." 

"For some people, those two things do overlap," Millie pointed out from across the table.

"But why dwarves?" Theo inquired, watching as one swooped towards the Hufflepuff table. 

"I wish I knew why," Hermione answered, her nose stuck in a book. 

Draco thanked his lucky stars he decided against sending his letter. Not with this farce of a holiday celebration. Standing, they all passed a small queue of giggling girls as they went to fill out messages and cards to be sent by the 'cupids.' Relief surged through his body when he noticed no one he knew in the queue until he saw a little head of long, ginger hair. Raising a brow, Draco continued forward. Catching the look of bemusement as he watched the girls giggling in the queue from his mentor, Draco diverged from his friends to catch the sixth year before he disappeared. 

"Hey, Draco," Jeremy greeted upon seeing the second year. "Have you come to join the line?"

"No," scrunched the blonde's face, distaste curling his lips. 

"Thank Salazar for that," chuckled the older teen. "What is it then? Classes start soon."

"I wanted to speak with you before lunch, if possible," Draco requested, clenching his hands to stop them from fidgeting and fight the rising heat . "It is in regards to what we talked about earlier."

"Ah, say no more," a grin crossed Jeremy's face, knowing and amused. "I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall and then we can move to a more private setting." 

"Thank you," relief flickered across Draco's face for a moment, before he slammed his mask back on. "Everything is just-"

"Overwhelming?" Chuckled his mentor. 

"I'm still amazed that the Headmaster allowed him to do all of this," muttered the second year, eyeing the whole hall. 

"Professor Dumbledore is an eccentric, enigmatic man who enjoys the more absurd and outlandish things in life," snorted Jeremy as he turned to walk out of the Great Hall. "It'd do you well to remember that, just because he appears to be a dotty old man with quirky tastes, he is still the same man who brought Grindelwald to his knees and held the last dark lord at bay."

Keeping his face blank, Draco nodded. Casting his eyes back at the delighted headmaster, dressed in a rather ridiculous set of fuchsia robes with little white hearts and confetti stuck in his beard, the Slytherin allowed the seeds of distrust to grow. He didn't like the previous year's 'adventures,' nor how Hermione found herself tangled up in Potter's mess. This year, he hoped that she would escape relatively unscathed. With the journal acquired and being studied by their parents, he hoped they could avoid the Headmaster for the rest of the year. 

Classes proceeded at their normal pace, Hermione noted. Several cards landed on the desks of those around her. Most amusing happened to be when a first year Hufflepuff proclaimed his love for Millie's 'ample gifts'. Hermione considered locking her friend's legs together to keep her from rushing off and hexing the poor lad. For the rest of the morning, she dared the rest of their friends to breathe a word. To say she put the stinging spell to good use would be an understatement. Blaise still watched her with wounded puppy eyes after his first attempt earlier that morning.

Controlled chaos reigned supreme as the classes all let out and the students descended upon the ancient corridors once more. Hermione walked with Millie and Daphne, trailing behind Draco, Vince, and Greg, ducked to avoid flying letters and dodged various dwarves as they dive bombed various students. All the while, laughter, both malicious and innocent, echoed off the stone. 

"Oi!" Shouted one of the older students down the way.

"Hey!"

"Watch where you're going!"

"Sweet Helga Hufflepuff!" A particularly scandalized badger exclaimed.

Rushing past them, messy hair bobbing back and forth, Potter gripped the strap of his satchel. Emerald eyes darted behind skewed black, wire-rimmed glasses, navigating between the throngs of students. A hasty 'Sorry!' followed the boy savior as he ran passed. His bag hit Hermione, causing her to yelp and trip backward into Draco. His hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her. Before either could do more than exchange confused glances, a middle aged dwarf flew past in hot pursuit of the Boy-Who-Lived. The distinctive sound of flesh slapping against pavement brought all movement to a stop at the intersection of the Transfiguration corridor and the staircase that led towards Charms. 

To say his luck ran out would be an understatement. Just moments after, the loud, gruff cough followed, the 'cupid' floating above the (rightfully) terrified boy.

"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

"His hair is as dark as a blackboard,

"I wish he was mine, he's really divine,

"The hero who conquered the dark lord," warbled the dwarf, off-key, being sure to draw out the end of each phrase.

A scarlet, embarrassed flush crept up Potter's neck and face, coloring his ears pink. Panic and fear filled his eyes as he glanced around. Towards the back of the hall, another face paled and eyes blew wide. She shrunk away from the crowd that circled the Boy Wonder, and Hermione knew. Ginny Weasley wrote that rather unfortunate piece of poetry and had the displeasure of seeing it delivered to her reluctant crush. 

Hermione withheld a wince and grabbed onto Draco's arm. In an instant, his silver eyes locked with hers. Shaking her head back and forth, she prayed her friend picked up on her request. No one deserved to be heckled for that . Better let it be a mystery who his secret admirer could be than to expose her to the teasing of the whole school. His eyes flicked towards the retreating first year before looking back at her a scowl on his face. Hermione knew he enjoyed ribbing Potter as often as possible, with the most embarrassing information he could get his hands on. This time, however, wouldn't hurt just the Boy Wonder. 

"Fine," huffed her friend just loud enough for her to hear.

"Thank you," smiled the witch, glad he agreed.

"Sweet Merlin, Ginny!" Exclaimed Ronald Weasley, loud enough t o be heard across the whole, silent crowd. "I thought you were just joking when you said you wrote something!" A derisive snort followed. "You really should try something else. Writing just isn't your thing." 

A gasp broke through the crowd, students now shoving forward to try and see the reclusive first year shrink further into herself. Mouth agape and eyes wide, a bright, red blush painted her skin, tears gathering at the corners of her hazel eyes. Draco's hands, still on her shoulders, guided her towards the edges of the corridor and out of the way of the pressing throng of the student body watching the drama unfold. 

"I hate you!" Screamed the elven year old girl, tears streaming down her blotchy face.

Shouldering past the crowd past them, the little girl disappeared through the cramped corridor and turned into an unused passageway. Worry and foreboding erupted into Hermione's mind. For a reason she could not place, the behavior concerned the older witch. Forced isolation, especially for a witch who grew up around so many people, felt off, wrong somehow. Looking back, she locked eyes with her other best friend, her dark eyes mirroring the same sentiment. 

"He really is an insensitive git," muttered Millie next to her, grasping her hand in solidarity.

Her friend understood. Being picked on and teased never felt good, and while some people found power and purpose in shifting that type of attention towards others, Hermione hated it. She despised bullies, and, in her eyes, Ronald Weasley was the worst of the lot. He got away by being likeable, coming off as goofy, and earned a laugh more often than not. Her blood boiled, watching the boy laugh with those around him. Even Potter distanced himself from the boastful boy. 

"Come on, let's go," Draco murmured, releasing her from his hold once the crowd dispersed. "If we don't hurry, we may be late to class."

Nodding, Hermione pushed off the wall they backed into. One last, considering glance watched the entrance to the passageway, hoping to see a little bob of ginger hair peaking out. Nothing greeted her questing gaze. Only the usual rush of students making their way towards their next destination. Frowning, Hermione walked behind Millie as they caught up to the rest of the second year Slytherins. Draco stuck to her side, silent and watchful. 

Tears ran down her face, mixing with the watery snot that fell from her nose. Dark stones paved the floors and walls of the secret passage Tom showed her earlier that year. The mocking laughter rung in her ears, high and low, her brother's condescending smile, the amusement of everyone else. For a moment, she locked eyes with Hermione, her wide, warm, honey gaze concerned and worried for her.

And Ginny wondered - what would it be like if Hermione was her sibling, and not Ronald? What would it be like to go to someone who appeared so concerned and worried for her well being? Even now, what if she went and found Hermione? The older girl would talk with her, bring her somewhere away from the crowd. Ginny had two eyes and two ears, she heard what the school thought of Slytherin's muggleborn. Most of it derogatory. None of it kind. She'd understand. 

If not Hermione, then many the Twins? They always made time for her, showed her their inventions and made her laugh. They would make sure to get Ron back, good and proper. Like he deserved. They always comforted Ginny when Ron's cruel streak targeted her before. Merlin, even Percy would take Ginny and listen to her. He may be the brother the others liked to pick on, but he always sat down and took her problems seriously. Something not even Dad did. 

Resolved to do just that, to find the Twins or Percy, Ginny wiped her tears and looked around. Back in the odd, abandoned loo. Leaning forward, she splashed cold water on her face in an effort to clean up and soothe the heat in her face. Hazel eyes gazed at the mess she became. Hair askew, cheeks red and splotchy, and eyes bloodshot. Everyone would know.

But who would pay for her humiliation? A cold, venomous voice inquired in the back of her head. Who will I punish for making a fool out of me in front of the whole school?

Her eyes, no longer lost, sharpened with determination before fear widened them. What was she thinking? Making someone pay? It was no one's fault? Ginny would run from the dwarves herself! They were right terrifying. 

Still, that seductive voice whispered in the back of her mind. Tom would have helped her. Tom would have made them stop. Tom would have stood up for her. 

Ginny missed him dearly. Instead of going out to find her brothers, the girl curled into herself, a fresh round of tears choking her throat, the gurgling, hiccupping cries tearing through her. She missed her best friend. She wished she could find him. 

Tom would know what to do.

"Hey kid," grinned the sixth year as he watched Draco approach.

"How were your classes?" The younger Slytherin inquired.

"They went quite well, thank you for inquiring," the older boy grinned and led him into corridor just off the Entrance Hall. "I heard all about the excitement earlier this morning, though. Was it as spectacular as I heard?"

"If you are talking about Potter falling face first onto the corridor floor, then it was rather eventful," snorted the blonde, entering a small side room hidden behind the tapestry of two witches dancing under the moonlight. "Potter's mortification was quite funny, but Hermione was more worried about the youngest Weasley girl."

"Ah, that's understandable," winced the older teen. "I'm sure, being a victim of bullying herself, Granger is sensitive to those types of things."

A frown furrowed his brow. He never considered that angle before. The older students still worked to harass Hermione, but that remained in the privacy of the Common Room to his knowledge. Still, she never spoke a word of people making fun of her. Then again, Hermione kept to her friends and branched out to those who knew her from classes, people like Bones or Abbott or the Ravenclaw Pat il , who knew that the witch meant no ill. 

"You really need to start paying attention to your surroundings, Drake," chuckled the other boy, his eyes watching as Draco assimilated the information. "The more information you have, the more change you can affect." He watched as the younger snake processed the words before continuing. "Now, then, I do remember you asking to meet me for a mysterious reason?"

"Right," pink tipped his ears, unsure how to present his problem in an artful manner. Giving up on it, he decided to be more direct. He needed help, after all. "After the whole incident with Hermione-"

"Taking out your insecurities and fears on those closest to you," Jeremy corrected, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Yes, that," huffed the blonde, wondering when anyone would let him live it down. His mother surely hasn't yet if her most recent letters were anything to go by. "I have noticed that she has been more reluctant to open up to me - which is fine!" He rushed out, knowing where his mentor would go. "And I haven't pressured her or anything." 

"Good," nodded the teen. "We've talked about this. People need time to rebuild trust. It's one of the fundamental tenants of society and social currency. To build trust, you need time and effort on both sides, and breaking it often leaves cracks that may never fully heal. In the case of dealing with other people, that may be seen more in asking more questions. For business, it could mean more detailed and detailed contracts to cut down on loopholes. With witches, well, it's a good thing she knows you as well as she does."

"Right," flushed the second year. Trust. He heard about it all his life, but experiencing it break removed it from an abstract idea to a very real, very concrete concept. "And I've been doing everything we've talked about.” A pensive expression furrowed his brow as he reflected upon the suggestions that he placed into motion. "I can't tell if they are making any sort of difference yet, though."

"They will," Jeremy reassured him, a warm hand on his shoulder. "it will take time, but I promise you that it will make all the difference in the world. But, back on topic, what is going on?"

"Well, I reached out to my father and I asked him what he thought I should do or get for Hermione," Draco admitted, the warmth of his blush still heating his neck and cheeks. "And he sent me a book of floriography and the language of flowers. He said to owl him back with my choice and he would get me a silk flower made up." 

"That is a brilliant idea," beamed the sixth year, eyes shining. "What did you pick?"

"A purple hyacinth," he resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. "I know I really messed up, and I wanted to make sure Hermione knew how sorry I feel -even now. And that it is genuine." 

"How apropos," chuckled his mentor. "I know that Annalie began covering the language of flowers with Hermione last year. She asked if it truly existed, that it fell out of favor with the majority of muggle popular culture some time ago."

"At least she'll know what I mean," sighed the dramatic second year.

"But that's not what you wanted to ask about," Jeremy deduced, leaning back against the wall as the winter sunlight filtered through the stained glass. 

"No, it's not," flushed the second year once more. "I don't know how to get it to her."

"Why not just give the witch the gift?" Inquired the sixth year.

"Because I don't want to pressure her if she didn't get me anything in return," muttered the second year. "I mean, who wants to feel pressured into something? Or worse! Make her feel guilty because she didn't get me something."

"That is no problem," chuckled the bemused teen. "You know Hermione got everyone some sort of gift."

"But it is not the same," whined the blonde boy. "She gave the girls muggle magazines about all sorts of things. Everyone got candy, and she brought over more magazines and books for Theo and Blaise. Greg and Vince were given a sort of special parchment to help with their studies."

"What did she get you?" Eyebrows rose high as he listened to the panicked recitation of the gifts everyone found.

"A box of apple tarts and some of my favorite ink, with a note saying to come to the potions lab later," Draco pinked again. And Merlin, did he hate how he couldn't seem to keep the persistent flush under control. He couldn't even lay a finger on why the subject summoned bashful, embarrassed emotions. "And that was all! I mean, she got everyone about the same thing, but I just-"

"Well, that solves it," Jeremy exclaimed, patting Draco on the back. "You're to meet her later this afternoon away from the majority of your peers. Just give her your gift then. It's not a real flower, is it?"

"It's a silk one," the second year answered, his attempts to keep his face under control once more failing. "Father said that until I could charm the flower to never die, that I should hold off on sending them." A confused pout pursed his lips. "Something about how the magic is more meaningful when sent with the purest of intentions."

A boisterous laugh bounced off the stone walls of the little alcove. Looking up, Draco caught Jeremy, head thrown back and arms holding his stomach, laughing at the observation. At first, disbelief and further befuddlement filled the blonde. Disappointed disapproval painted his features. Head slightly tilted to the side, brow arched, and lips turned down in a small frown, the expression displayed his displeasure. Besides, what did he say?

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Dodging diving dwarves and listening to salacious, often ill-written poems and notes, the second year Slytherins went through the rest of Valentine's day with little fanfare. Several letters found their way to Hermione, most of them being cards from her friends with little chocolates and meaningless trinkets.. In fact, most of the second years received similar gifts, Draco being no exception. Still, the vast amount of cards that piled on his plate after supper boggled his mind. Panicked, silver eyes darted around the table. 

"What do I do?" Hissed to the boy.

"Can I burn them?" Hermione inquired, twirling her wand in her hand as she eyed the pile of parchment as if it offended her.

"I wouldn't recommend it," sighed Millie across from her, her grin broad. "We don't know if any of them are dosed. We wouldn't want to risk those getting into the air."

"How unfortunate," Hermione's pert nose scrunched, reminiscent of the bat of the dungeon. "But does that mean we can take them outside and then burn them?"

"Are we going to do that for your pile?" Snarked Blaise, bringing to attention the (smaller) mound of letters next to the curly-haired witch's side. 

"No, I promised to use any post I received today in a lesson later with Professor Snape," the girl sneered down at the parchment envelopes. 

"Are you not, or aren't you lot, witches and wizards," Huffed Tracy from Millie's other side. "Merlin and Morgana, Draco, have you even checked your ring? And really, don't you lot know the detection spells?"

"Muggle-born," Hermione raised her dainty hand to defend herself as everyone else groaned. Draco didn't dignify the other girl with an answer. His ring warmed up from the moment the first letter fell. His mother taught him to always have the mail scanned. Shoving down the desire to flush, having not taught Hermione that trick yet, the blonde scowled at his fellow second year. A grin tipped her lips, impervious to the impetuous expression on the Malfoy heir's face. Frustration pricked at the back of his head. Why did they take Hermione and Pansy's expressions to heart and not his? 

"I think I know why our Head of House asked for you to take these to him after supper," frowned the half-blood witch, hiding the worry behind the fascination as the envelopes glowed. 

"I didn't really expect anything less," shrugged his friend. "I know that the Weasley twins were sending letters and cards out to as many people as possible. Getting some sort of booby-trapped 'invention' of theirs was a given."

No one spoke much after that, watching as the multicolored glow faded from the pieces of parchment. Those didn't hide just the harmless pranks of the Gryffindor terror twins. People wanted to harm Hermione, and Draco hated that she lived with that fear. Leaning back, he watched as the other second years made up for the lack of their bickering. Glancing back at Hermione, an idea struck. 

"Why don't I help you get them down there," Draco offered. "We can add my letters in the mix and see what types of things people decided to be appropriate to send me." 

"Then we can burn them?" Hermione inquired, her voice quiet and resigned as she glanced up at him.

"Then we can burn them." Nodded the boy.

Mind made up, and very satisfied with the dilemma of how to leave the dorm without Blaise and Theo taking the mickey out of him, Draco soon joined the quidditch conversation. With the quidditch season back in full swing, and the chamber all but forgotten by the goldfish memory of the school's rumor mill, he conversed with his friends about the upcoming Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw match. Meanwhile, Millie teased Hermione into a quiet conversation, too soft for him to hear above the din of the Great Hall during supper. 

"Let me levitate those for you, Little Snake," Southington remarked, placing the letters into a small satchel with great care and precise wand work.

"Thanks, Annalie," grinned the second year. "Could you do Draco's, too? He offered his letters for the cause of knowledge."

"Of course," the beautiful, blonde witch smiled down, waving her wand to create a film before his own envelopes floated into the leather satchel. 

Standing up and following the sixth year, Draco and Hermione left the Great Hall early. Most of the students were still talking and laughing, discussing the stories of the day. Despite the rather public and humiliating fashion that Potter received his own card, his story did not rank amongst the top of what the blonde heard. 

From the Ravenclaw table, he heard one of the fourth year boys tried to ask out Cho Chang, a third year seeker for the team, and puked on her shoes. A Hufflepuff regaled the table with the story of one of the boys going to surprise his girlfriend with sweets only to find her making out with another girl in a broom closet. Their fight caused such a commotion that Professor Flitwick had to pry the pair apart. According to the rumor mill, the boy actually came back from snogging another girl in the quidditch stands and had her lipstick smeared on his collar. 

All in all, it lived up to what Draco anticipated: a teenage drama, much liked the shows his mother would listen to on the wizarding wireless. He thanked his lucky stars no dwarves tackled him to the ground (which Draco bet they used as a way to work out their frustration at being used in such a mortifying way) and that all his friends remained just that -friends still. No hidden drama. No weird fights about people they aren't even romantically interested in. Just the group of them, laughing as the rest of the school dissolved into a teenaged mess of hormones and anxiety. 

"Ah, Miss Granger," Uncle Severus greeted them at the door to his office, Southington taking her leave. "I see you brought Mister Malfoy this evening." 

"Yes, Professor," chirped the girl, the small smile crinkling the corner of her eyes. "Draco offered his post to be of assistance. Tracy cast some sort of detection charm on my pile, and I was wondering if we could compare and contrast what our post contained."

"That is a sound, scientific proposition," the man nodded, his dark eyes locking upon Draco's. He remained impassive. After that incident, his Godfather followed him with his hawk-like eyes. Waiting and watching. It unnerved the boy, so used to the open affection between them. "I suppose this will be a very good lesson to teach the both of you. Never trust your post. If you have a personal elf, we would have had them go ahead and sort any mail you received while in the castle."

"Why didn't they do that for Draco?" Hermione inquired as they crossed from the public office to his private lab. 

"While at the school, personal elves are not allowed for those below year five," her father explained. "The only exception would be if someone from the Royal family attended or if we had reason to believe that a person was in harm's way. The idea is that the school's wards would weed out anything truly harmful."

"That doesn't appear to be the case," Hermione frowned at the two separate piles that sat upon the wooden counter top. "Not if Tracy's spell really did detect all of those things."

"I trust that Miss Davis used the traditional tracing spell," the potions master remarked, demonstrating the wand movement. "It is supposed to glow, each color representing a different type of malicious trap or enchantment. Green for poisons, pink for love potions, red for hexes and jinxes, blue for substance, and yellow for curses. The brighter the glow, the more powerful the enchantment." 

The frown that creased Draco's face deepened after Hermione cast the spell (perfect the first time, as per her usual). The bright, sickly yellows and reds dominated the pile of missives sent. Several glaring greens and a few blues dotted the parchment envelopes. Glancing at his godfather, a grave and serious expression settled upon his face, lips set to a straight line as he observed the harm students intended for his daughter.

And Draco hated it. 

One by one, they dismantled the curses and hexes, his godfather explaining the basic process. Draco wished he hadn't. 

Die bitch . 

Leave us alone, you mudblood whore.

You don't belong here.

One letter detailed just what the sender wanted to do with Hermione should she cross their path alone. The words too graphic and heartbreaking to recount. Cold, clammy fingers reached out towards her, gripping tight as they shook. Draco couldn't tell where the rage ended and the fear began. People really thought that way about Hermione? 

Silver eyes, molten and unguarded, watched the little witch next to him. Her lips pursed to the side, reading the letters, cataloging their contents, and memorizing the handwriting. A sort of clinical detachment cloaked her as chocolate eyes traced the various pieces of parchment. Draco wanted to snatch her away from it all, shield her eyes and make it all stop. Looking up, his godfather appeared much the same. 

"There are some I recognize," determination lit her eyes with righteous fury. 

"Do not get caught," her father warned. 

"No, I think I shall not," mused the witch, crossing her arms as she performed the same spell on his pile.

Pinks and greens clashed together in a rather garish dissonance of color. Some bright, others dull, most assuredly trying to get to the Malfoy fortune through the only heir. A sneer of distaste curled Hermione's lip as she counted the multiple missives. 

"I suppose we can't burn them," she sighed. 

"No, little witch, we cannot," chuckled his godfather. "Burning love potions tends to aerosolize the ingredients, and it would be toxic to ingest. We don't know what they are, what they are mixed with, nor do we know the senders."

"Is there anyway to reverse engineer it?" A wicked gleam lit in Hermione's eyes, scaring and intriguing the boy in equal measure.

"Explain," curious, dark eyes fixed on the witch.

"Surely, you know of a way to break down what ingredients are used in the potion and perhaps trace it back to the sender," mused Hermione.

"Of course, we could go through and determine just what concoctions these are and how the students were able to get their hands on it," Uncle Sev chuckled. "But you will find the majority of the ingredients are quite common and are difficult to trace. Unlike something like Amortentia, which requires an offering from the caster, the common love potion requires none of those things. At least, not enough to sufficiently track."

"That sounds like a lack of creativity and development and not a lack of potential," his friend remarked, her cinnamon eyes calculating as the pink glow faded from his pile. 

"As you say," the grump professor smiled, shaking his hair back and forth. "But back to the matter at hand. You need to make sure you protect yourself from strange post."

"Of course," chocolate curls bobbed up and down. "I do not much care to find out what those different spells did, let alone fall victim."

"Very good," he nodded. "Now then, let us neutralize those love potions. If you'd get me the silver cauldron on the second shelf, Hermione."

All the while, Draco leaned back and watched. He glanced through the disarmed post, looking through the writings once more. Instead of focusing on the words themselves, he examined the writing. Jeremy told him to be more observant of his surroundings just that afternoon, and Draco began to see why. It appeared his friend knew some of the people just by the varied handwriting alone. And he? He couldn't tell you whom anyone could be just from the writing. What he could do, starting now, is take notice and keep an eye out for similarities in the future.

"How do we know it's their actual handwriting?" He mused aloud.

"That is an excellent question," the deep baritone of his godfather rumbled. "There are several spells that can reveal the original handwriting. There are a few here that were written by dictaquill, which, as you both know, writes in a standard script. Aside from that, if you are lucky enough, you are able to go and trace the magical signatures. The spell would need to be sufficiently strong to do so, as it decays over time. But those are all different ways you can search and hone in on your query." 

"Let's go ahead and cleanse your letters first," Hermione asserted. "Then we can compare and see which ones are from dictaquills and which ones were changed."

Nodding, Draco relented to his curiosity and let his friend and godfather pull him from his musings. If he could find out how had sent Hermione the more dangerous, then he could protect his friend better. Considering the fixed, determined air that surrounded the witch, Draco figured she came to the same conclusion. The better they could detect foul play and tricks, the better they could protect those they cared about. And wasn't that the most important part?

"That will be all," her father intoned as she and Draco worked through the various letters to disenchant. "I will store these for next week. I expect both of you to be here on Thursday." 

"Yes, Dad," grinned the little witch.

"Of course, Uncle Sev," Draco responded at the same time.

"Very good," nodded the man. "At that point in time, we will discuss different ways that people hide their correspondence. As you can well see, the post is not well protected coming into the school. It is important the both of you know how to detect danger in the objects around you." Seeing them both nod, the tall, lanky wizard dismissed them both with the wave of a hand. "I will see you both tomorrow for class."

Leaning forward, Hermione hugged and kissed her father on the cheek before skipping out the room with a smile on her face. It had been ages since she spent any quality time with her favorite people in the castle. Sure classes were fun, but there were always others around. In addition, her own hesitance and insecurity stopped her from approaching Draco on her own. Logically, she understood what happened that day - red up and upset that his parents couldn't be with him, Draco exploded. The instant fight or flight instinct to run away from his ire, from the hurtful words, lingered even after his apology. It struck too close to home for Hermione to feel totally at ease in his sole company, even now.

"I know you wanted to meet earlier," Draco remarked as they stepped into the main portion of the potions classroom. "Since we were both called into Professor Snape's office, we couldn't meet as planned."

"That's fine," Hermione squeaked, not expecting him to bring it up. Then again, Draco always observed and noted what others said. It made him an effective communicator, be it good or bad. "It's nothing extravagant. I just wanted to give you a Valentine's gift."

"Oh?" A blonde brow quirked, a slight smirk pulling up his lips.

"If you don't want it, that's fine," huffed the thirteen year old, hiding her flustered expression behind haughty frustration. 

"Wait, no, that's not what I said!" Draco exclaimed leaping forward, slight panic on his face. 

"Are you sure? I mean, I did get everyone a couple of things, but if you are happy with just the tarts," Hermione remarked, banter settling her nerves. And just why did the thought of getting him a Valentine's gift unsettle her? They were friends, best of friends. Shaking the thought as best she could, and hiding the sudden, overwhelming shyness behind her mask. "And I thought you would like it too."

"Yes, I'm sure," whined the blonde aristocrat, pout and puppy dog eyes staring her way. "Pleeeease, Hermione! I even have something for you!"

"Oh?" The Slytherin witch matched his earlier bemused smirk and knowing gaze. 

"That's not funny," Draco retorted, a faint, pink flush creeping up his neck and ears. Good , Hermione thought to herself with a nod. 

"That's not what I said," remarked the witch. Upon seeing his scowl, Hermione relented and beamed. Slipping her hand into the pocket of her woolen robe, Hermione slipped out a long, rectangular package the size of her hand. "I know you've talked about these before, and I thought you'd like one." 

Grinning from ear to ear, Draco snatched the package from her hand and untied the brown string that held together the brown wrapping paper. A red, lacquered wooden box with a brass closure revealed a handsome fountain pen. She noticed he always watched her father as he wrote with his pen. A handsome, black body led to a silver nib, engraved with the delicate, intricate Malfoy house crest. Wide, silver eyes, lifted the fountain pen out of the package, rotating it back and forth. The body gleamed and glinted in the light. 

"Woah," gasped her blonde friend, handling the pen with care.

"I asked Dad for a bit of help with the nib. I know that you've been frustrated with quills, that they break easily and don't write well outside. These are fountain pens that have been enchanted to keep the ink at a consistent temperature. It is spelled to be impervious to fire, and charmed to be resistant to falls. The ink is a specific black ink for fountain pens, and is spelled to never run out," Hermione rambled, unable to keep her nerves to herself. "Of course, it is also enchanted to write at all sorts of angles. We tested it to make sure it works, even writing upside down."

"This is perfect," Draco reassured her.

"I'm happy to hear," murmured the witch.

And for a moment, everything was okay. The moment disappeared, as all do. Capping the pen, Draco placed it in his pocket. Silver eyes glanced up, sheepish and bashful even if the rest of his expression remained straight. Hermione remained silent, keeping her own face neutral. From the look alone, Hermione figured her friend waged some sort of internal debate and didn't want to interrupt. Determination replaced the previous hesitation as he straightened up and retrieved a long, thin box from his bag. 

"Well, I guess we must've been thinking along the same line," the wizard remarked, a hint of blush the only indication of any discomfort. 

Small fingers reached out to grasp the wooden box. Giving Draco a reassuring smile, Hermione reached forward. Much like her gift, co a rse twine tied the plain, brown paper together. Precise movements untied the knot and removed the thick paper. A beautiful, wooden box hid beneath, as small indentation at one end of the lid. Slipping the wood out, a gasp left her lips. Lavender and purple silks blended together in a myriad of small flowers clustered along the top of a fresh, spring green stem. One long, slender leaf framed the back of the flower from stem to just beyond the tips of the very top flowers. Purple hyacinth her mind remarked, dazed and flattered. Forgiveness.  

Fighting against the tears that threaten to clog her throat and wet her eyes, Hermione inspected the flowers more closely. Fingers met the soft, smooth texture of delicate silk, fine and expensive as no fraying nor loose threads appeared anywhere. Little, yellow stamens extended from the center of each beautiful, hand crafted bloom, the petals open and curved. The artisan captured the flower at its most vibrant and alive. Removing the flower from the box, a slim vase appeared at the base, holding the flower up right upon the potions classroom table.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, more to herself than to her companion. Removing the flower from the box, a slim vase appeared at the base, holding the flower up right. 

"Yeah?" Draco inquired, soft and unsure. 

"Yes," Hermione responded, letting him see the emotions she couldn't even name. "it's beautiful."

"I'm glad to hear," he responded, a soft expression on his face. 

And for a while, Hermione admired the flower in the flickering torchlight of the dungeon classroom. Wondering, just what did this mean? Forgiveness, her mind scoffed. Obviously. He wanted to let her the depth of his remorse. He wanted her to know that he cared. The very idea stole her breath away. Hermione decided to work on letting her best friend back in. It would be hard, she conceded, but her gut said it would be worth it all in the end. Careful and gentle, Hermione replaced the flower into the box, the vase disappearing as the lid slipped over the exquisite, silken gift. 

Honey eyes examined her friend. Instead of the arrogant, self-assured Malfoy Heir, her friend Draco stood before her. Unsure and still off balance, he leaned against the table behind him. Both hands rested in his pockets, fists obvious to see from her point of view. Silver and grey observed her, looking for any tell, good or bad. Instead of the blank, stoic face, open curiosity and a hint of the earlier bashfulness lingered. Such an odd, interesting contradiction of traits met her gaze.

A fond smile curved her lips as she walked forward and surprised the second year Slytherin. She hugged him. For being her friend. For caring. For wanting to be there. For showing that diligent loyalty. For believing in her. A few moments passed before two warm arms responded, wrapping around her and holding her close. Luxuriating in the warmth, Hermione allowed all the fears and anxieties of the day melt away. 

For this moment, everything was good.

"I think that is a rather sweet gesture," Minerva insisted, swirling amber, aged whiskey in her tumbler. "And they are children, Severus. Only twelve and thirteen. I highly doubt either of them are thinking each other in any light even remotely romantic. Most of the children in their age are still rather oblivious to it all."

"They hugged," pouted the taciturn potions master, sipping the exquisite vintage. One of the small creature comforts he allowed himself upon occasion. The scowl, despite the indulgent nightcap, remained fixed on his face. "And they exchanged gifts that are more than just sweets and pieces of parchment." 

"Aye, ye've told me that only ten times now, Severus," snorted the transfiguration mistress.

"Yes, well, it bears repeating," huffed the man. 

"Ye said she got a nice fountain pen and engraved the crest herself?" Minerva mused, leaning back. "That takes quite a bit of skill, both with magic and art." 

"She found the crest in one of the pureblood genealogy books, copied it, shrunk it down, and used that as a template," Severus remarked, sipping the amber liquid. 

"That's a rather clever work around," remarked the elder witch.

"Yes, and then she had me observe her as she enchanted everything," snorted the man, the memory of Hermione, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth as she worked, rose to the forefront of his mind. "When she couldn't get a spell, she asked if I could cast them instead."

"And what did she use to get ye to agree to that," inquired his colleague, co-parent, and resident cat animagus. 

"She said she would spend the whole evening with me, making sure everything was prepared for the first years tomorrow while I relaxed," he ran a hand through his hair. "The little witch went and prepared all the ingredients, stocked the cupboard, and made sure all the cauldrons were ready for the lessons."

"Did she now?" Laughed Minerva, a delighted expression crinkling the corners of her eyes. "It took so little?"

"I will have you know that I happened to have a remarkable break through on my base for a more effective and efficient blood replenisher," huffed the wizard, crossing his arms across his chest. "Subsequent testing has proved the method sound, and I will be able to move forward with testing several other alterations."

Chuckling, Minerva shook her head back and forth and leaned back into her chair. They finally ended the most tiring, trying, and hormone filled Valentine's Day she could remember, stretching all the way back to her own school days half a century prior. it sounded like Hermione took advantage of Severus' preoccupied state to complete her gift without the man noticing. An effective strategy that most children learned at some point or another. It heartened the Head of Gryffindor to see the development in her pupils, both past and present. Having a daughter softened Severus, allowed him to start forgiving himself for that horrible Halloween night. Having a supportive, encouraging parent allowed Hermione to blossom and brighten. No longer the steely, sullen girl who walked into all her classes ready for the next assault, a quiet confidence surrounded the witch now. 

Having a child affected the elder witch in a much different way. Being the one who facilitated the meetings between the wretched woman who birthed Hermione and the young witch Minerva called her own, guilt ate away at her conscience. Every week, the little snake wrapped herself in a cloak of courage worthy of any Gryffindor and marched into a small adjacent office for her weekly meeting. An hour later, a different teenager walked out, eyes empty, face blank, and no hope that could be seen. So, Minerva did her best to soften the blow, to reassure Hermione that there were people who cared about her well being in the here and now. 

"She mentioned wanting to do something kind for him," her lilting soprano spoke into the silence, memories of her own playing through her mind. "I know that she feels 'bad' is her word, for being unable to trust Mr. Malfoy after his outburst a few week ago." 

"He was quite out of line," Severus bit out, tone brooking no argument.

"And I do not disagree," her mild response smoothed the ruffled scales. "Hermione wanted to convey that she still valued his friendship, despite the cool way she has purported herself around him as of late."

"He deserved it," huffed the man hiding the pout behind his crystal tumbler.

"It sounds like he quite enjoyed the gift, I take it?" Minerva inquired.

"Quite."

"And what did he get her?" A mischievous grin bloomed across her face.

"A silken purple hyacinth," scoffed the dark wizard. Beneath his breath, he muttered, "useless, bloody fecking Malfoys and their supposed charm. Wankers."

"I have a sense you think this came from Lucius instead of the younger Mr. Malfoy?" Laughed the tabby-cat animagus. 

"Of course it did!" Exclaimed Severus. "Bloody language of the flowers, do you know how long it took him to teach me that?! He ended up giving up, and do you want to know why-?"

"I think ye'll tell me either way," snorted the witch.

"Because it's bloody useless," scoffed the man, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs. "Utter tripe, the lot of it. What good is fashioning up a bouquet just to tell someone you fancied them, or to tie up an arrangement to tell them to go away?"

"Ye have to admit, it's amusing to watch people fawn over flowers that literally spell out 'leave me alone,'" Minerva snickered. "And ye know-"

"Yes, yes, that purple hyacinths are supposed given by those seeking forgiveness, but they also mean sorrow and sorrow for the passing of a person," ranted the potions master.

"It appears Lucius taught ye more than ye ken," the Gryffindor sassed. 

"Right, laugh at the dark dungeon bat as he has to prepare to beat wizards off his daughter," huffed Severus, collapsing back into the wing back chair.

"Aye, and I talk to her about everything under the sun at least once a week over tea and biscuits," remarked Minerva. "I've asked her what she thinks of boys, and Mr. Malfoy in particular. He has been paying particular attention to her, even if she hasn't noticed yet. She sees boys as her friends, people she enjoys spending time with but hasn't thought much beyond that. Once she does, I will let ye know."

"Then we plan how best to beat off the savages?" Severus perked up.

“Then we plan how best to give her the tools and empower her to make her own decisions," Minerva corrected, lifting her tumbler. "And prepare to beat off the savages."

"Good," the wizard hummed, content once more. "Good, I am quite partial to that plan."

"I thought ye might be," snorted the witch.