24

Chapter 24

Friday 07 March 2003: AM

"Mmmphff – Wait, where are you going?" Hermione's tweed-clad bum bumps into the side-arm of the Chesterfield as Draco suddenly breaks off their swiftly-intensifying goodbye kiss in her lounge room. She watches in bemusement (and aggravation) as he charges toward the short hallway. Malfoy doesn't break stride, turning his head to explain, "I'll be right back, Granger – almost forgot something!".

Yeah – properly finishing that sublime kiss, Hermione thinks crossly. No matter – her quick check of the clock shows she still has a solid forty-five minutes before she's due at the office. Plenty of time to flip the script on Mr Kissy-Stoppy. She grins as she hears his familiar footsteps returning, careful to transform her little smirk into an expression of innocent anticipation as Draco rounds the corner. He carries two burgundy-wrapped parcels in his hands.

"What's this?" Hermione had noticed the packages stashed beneath Draco's side of the bed last night, idly assuming they were his clothes for this morning. Malfoy's finely-chiselled features are impassive as he places the items on the high back corner of the velvety red couch.

"Upgrades," he tells her succinctly. And uninformatively. Upgrades? Hermione's innate curiosity takes over as she eagerly unknots the black silk ribbon – no sticky tape for rich wizards – and pulls apart the wrapping on the first bundle. Her questing fingers move of their own accord to lovingly explore the glossy, dark fuchsia material nestled inside.

"Here – I'll hold it up so you can better see it –" the shimmering super-fine fabric glissades through Hermione's grabby hands as Draco steps forward to demonstrate the garment in full. He hoists it high enough to block his head from view.

"I think it's the right size – if not, it shouldn't take more than a day or two to fix – anyway, if you don't care for it, there are plenty of other cuts and colours available –" Draco prattles in an odd monotone as Hermione finally recovers the power of speech.

"Malfoy – stop. Please. I need time to appreciate the full majesty of this work of art." Hermione is indeed awestruck.

The kimono is utterly, unbelievably exquisite. It doesn't scream 'crème de la crème'; it murmurs it in a cut-glass undertone as it ushers you into the parlour for high tea. And judges your table etiquette with one perfectly-plucked, arched eyebrow.

Deep fuchsia from neck to knee – excepting the delicate black lace sleeve inserts running from collar to wide-sleeved wrists – the silk looks (and feels) like the finest quality Hermione has ever seen. She gasps as Draco slowly turns the robe to display the back; beneath the shoulders, a stylized pair of embroidered otters gambol in a saucer-sized circle. One is black and the other gold. The pattern includes tiny water droplets and flowers.

This has been custom-made… at great expense, and with careful forethought… for me. Me. How does Malfoy even know my corporeal Patronus is an Otter? Hermione is beyond flustered. Edging into a thrilled daze, actually. A jarring thought hits her; she vocalizes it before she can apply any filters.

"Malfoy – is this what you usually do? Bestow expensive gifts upon your… sexual partners?" Oh no – is this a placatory 'kiss-off' gift? Joy rapidly shifts to dread.

Draco lowers the magnificent wrapper; his eyes have darkened to the hue of wet pebbles. He answers slowly. "I do not. Most of my sexual… encounters are brief and – " he bites off the end of the sentence. "I'll return the robe."

He turns to fold it back into the burgundy paper, his arms and hands moving stiffly.

I'm such an imbecile – I've unintentionally insulted him… and he's revoking my gift…

"No! Please, give it back!" Hermione cries, grasping at the beautiful dressing gown. "I love it!" She makes a wild lunge for it as Draco attempts to stuff it roughly into the paper. They grapple briefly for possession.

"Stop it – you'll rip it, it's mine now –"

"No – I heard what you said, I'm taking it back – "

"GIVE IT TO ME!" Hermione growls like a Bengal tiger, shocking Draco into releasing the robe. He retreats a few steps, holding out his hands in exaggerated surrender. The disappointment that earlier tightened his expression has disappeared, replaced by dry amusement.

"Steady now, Granger… the kimono is yours… " Malfoy speaks in a soothing undertone.

Hermione bares her teeth, merriment uptilting her eyes. She pretends to ferally snarl, "Mine…"

He laughs. "Yes, yes… Do I take it that you… like it?" Draco busies himself with neatly refolding the paper, eyes directed downward.

Her breath hitches. Hermione walks forward hesitantly, stopping a few inches away from the reserved, generous blond.

"Malfoy… this is by far the loveliest, most thoughtful gift I've ever received. I adore it. Thank you." She leans in to shyly kiss his cheek. Draco turns and captures her rosy lips instead; he breaks contact to press his forehead against hers.

"I'm glad. That abysmal pink thing I wore the other day is a wash or two away from disintegration," he jokes. "Figured you could use a replacement."

Hermione nods at the unopened package teetering on the sofa. "Did you buy a back-up for the replacement, too?"

Draco runs his tongue across his teeth. "Not exactly. Promise not to freak out again, OK? Besides… 'Have you no consideration for my poor nerves?'".

Holy Regency Romance – Malfoy just quoted Pride and Prejudice! Again! …And a lesser character, no less!

Hermione rests the kimono atop the couch before quickly yanking up Draco's cream sweater and matching t-shirt to gently poke her right thumb into the shallow indent of his navel.

Yelping in surprise, he captures her digit and holds it at bay. "Hey! Why did you do that!?".

"Just checking for a belly-button," Hermione deadpans. "You can't possibly be wholly human."

Her keenness to discover the contents of the second gift results in her missing Draco's embarrassed light flush. Hermione is already twisting her fingers beneath the jet ribbon, impatience making her clumsy. Finally, the bow unties.

Wide-eyed, Hermione reaches for the ballet slipper-pink raiment. She carefully holds it against herself, marvelling at the texture of the… wool? It falls from neck to ankle, soft as butter.

"Malfoy, what is this material? I've never seen the like," Hermione admits. The fabric is somehow silk-smooth and wool-warm.

"It's vicuña wool, from Peru's Central Andes region. Look, it's warm, that's the main thing. I thought you could use this one in winter, and the silk kimono in the warmer months," Draco thrusts his hands in his pockets and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times.

"Shouldn't you be leaving for work soon? I'll call Macdolas to put away the robes."

"Wait – I haven't finished drooling over my new pretties," Hermione warns. "And I want to ask you a few questions."

"Of course you do," Draco huffs, rolling his eyes at the plain cream ceiling. "Can't it wait?".

"Absolutely not," Hermione is unyielding. "So the robes are made of vicuña wool, and…"

"Mulberry silk." He stares at the toes of his polished brown leather boots with apparent fascination.

"Mulberry silk," Hermione echoes. "Of course. The most refined, expensive silk in the world, correct?".

"Maybe. I picked it for the colour – don't make too much of it." Draco looks as though he'd rather be pooper-scooper-ing Hippogriff dung right now. Hermione folds in a smile.

"Uh-huh. The colour. So how do you explain the… Belgian lace sleeve inserts?" Hermione reads off the kimono's discreet care information label as Draco squirms some more.

"Came with the design."

"What about the customized embroidery on the back? The otters? How do you know my Patronus is an otter?" Hermione is enjoying her impromptu inquisition. Mostly because Draco is wriggling like a captive eel with every pitiful attempt at deflection.

"A whim. Potter mentioned it."

"Hang on – what's this?" Her clear voice rises as she spies fine silver script stitched along the breast pocket of the vicuña dressing gown.

"'Grace Lady Granger'…" A reluctant laugh bursts from Hermione's lips. "Malfoy - you sly, saucy, smart-alec!"

Draco guffaws, pleased as punch with his little joke. "It was Macdolas's idea."

"What rubbish! Trying to blame Mac!"

Hearing his name, the little elf rushes into the lounge. "Grace Lady Granger calls Macdolas?"

"Yes – put these away in Her Grace's wardrobe, Macdolas." Draco points peremptorily to the new apparel.

Hermione shoots Malfoy an admonishing glance, unimpressed by his curtness.

"Please." Draco bites out. He trades po-faced glances with Macdolas, before the majordomo neatly collects the robes and drops into a bow before Hermione.

"Macdolas is honoured to be of service to Grace Lady Granger," he states worshipfully.

Draco can't resist baiting his manservant before he departs on his errand. "Nice smoking jacket, Macdolas. Where are you sourcing these flamboyant 'uniforms', hmm? Did a children's costume shop go into receivership?".

Macdolas's offended gasp is matched by Hermione's ireful exclamation.

"Malfoy! You're being unkind – is this the less pleasant 'Lord of the Manor' side of your personality? If so, I'd rather you left it in your mouldering ancestral pile, thank you." Hermione lays a comforting hand on Macdolas's angry little shoulder. He is quivering beneath his elaborately decorated ultramarine quilted smoking jacket; the appliquéd golden moon-and-stars pattern shifts with his slight movements.

"I like your outfits, Mac – they express your personality, and always make me feel cheerier when I see what you've crafted to wear for the day. Draco's merely envious of your creative abilities," she coos.

Macdolas turns up his puzzled pear-green peepers to answer, "But does not Grace Lady Granger know that Master Malfoy is a professional – "

"Macdolas! May I remind you of the conversation we had before I brought you to work for Hermione?" Draco hurriedly buts in.

"Don't shout at him, Malfoy! You steered the conversation in this direction," Hermione rebukes the sulking blond.

"Sorry," Draco mutters insincerely. He looks up from beneath his flaxen fringe, puffing it awry in sulky exasperation.

"Master Malfoy is correct to scold Macdolas for not holding his tongue," Macdolas surprisingly accepts, hanging his head bashfully. Hermione kneels to scoop her little friend into a quick hug.

"You're a dear, Mac. Don't let Draco needle you, he's quite the stirrer today."

Pulling away, Hermione thinks she catches a glimpse of Macdolas's pointy little tongue retracting into his mouth – did he just poke it out at Draco behind her back? She turns her head… Draco looks fit to kill. Most likely, then. She pretends she didn't witness the silent provocation.

Macdolas skips out of the room, pausing to fire a final glare at Malfoy that is returned with vim. Hermione allows herself a chortle once she's certain her elvish guard dog is out of sight.

Draco is unimpressed. "You're encouraging him in his defiance, Granger! He brazenly manipulated you into that sickeningly schmaltzy hug – and then stuck out his bloody tongue at me! I know you saw him."

Hermione shakes her head pityingly. "Malfoy, is it really my fault you have trouble exercising authority over your staff? What use is your expensive Pureblood education if you haven't mastered the art of throwing about your hoity-toity weight?" she teases, relieved when he grins in spite of himself.

"'Hoity-toity', hmm? Is that any way to describe your wardrobe sponsor?" Draco stalks forward, waggling his fingers predatorily as a giggling Hermione backs away.

"Don't – tickling isn't fair, c'mon, there's no need for – " Hermione squeals as Draco effortlessly swings her into his arms and flumps them onto the Chesterfield. He laughs with her as his wicked fingers lightly tease her ribcage and armpits beneath her brown tweed jacket. She kicks her legs helplessly, trapped in his spread lap.

"No, stop, stop – I can't breathe –" Hermione gasps between fits of giggles. Draco immediately ceases his titillating touches, easing her into a back-to-front gentle hug as her wheezing subsides.

"Are you OK, ma petite?" he asks softly, circling his arms around her midriff.

Hermione hastens to reassure him. "I'm fine. You're a lot of fun, Draco Lucius Malfoy." His full name leaves her lips before she can abbreviate it to their usual appellation. And there's a sentence I never dreamed I'd ever utter, her shocked mind supplies.

Draco promptly responds, "As are you, Hermione Jean Granger." His strapping arms tighten infinitesimally around her waist.

Casting about to cover her flurried nerves, Hermione seizes on a safer topic.

"Malfoy – would you care to explain how and why my fridge and pantry are mysteriously stocked with fresh, top-of-the-line groceries every day? And why Mac refuses to explain their provenance?" she presses.

"Well, he's a resourceful little gremlin, isn't he? Only the best for Grace Lady Granger, I believe." Hermione can hear the smile behind his reply, though she can't see it. She shakes her head, determined not to allow him to cleverly deflect the issue this time. She chooses her words with care; the memory of his injured reaction to her thoughtless query about the kimono is foremost in her mind.

"I must insist on recompensing you for the food, Malfoy. I appreciate your generosity – but you've already given me so much… I'm not merely talking about material goods, either." Hermione manages to crook her head up and around enough to catch his steady heather gaze with her earnest nutmeg eyes.

"No." His reply is uncompromising.

"But –"

"Granger, what is the use of being filthy rich if I can't splash it about?" Draco drolly observes. "I have more Galleons than I could conceivably spend in five lifetimes. Allow me to gift you a few sausages and the odd trinket, please."

'A few sausages and the odd trinket'? That's like calling the Hope Diamond a blue stone. Hermione stifles her qualms as Malfoy continues.

"Besides…" – he chuckles – "…it pleases me greatly to ensure my monthly expenditure doesn't escape my father's disparaging notice."

The confession startles Hermione; she twists properly to sit side-saddle, Draco's right arm bracing her back. "You need your father's approval on your budget?" she asks apprehensively.

"No, Granger – the opposite. The Malfoy fortune, land, and titles were formally and irrevocably passed to me as a condition of Lucius's sentencing. Hence why I wear the signet ring." He holds up his right hand before shrugging carelessly.

"I send Lucius the Gringotts' statements to get his goat… petty, I know. But rather satisfying."

"Good." Hermione's satisfied sanction surprises him. "He's brought his opprobrium on himself."

"Indeed. So, no more questions on that score, please. You're doing me the favour – usually I struggle to spend my coin on anything other than –" he grinds to a halt.

"Never mind." Draco cleverly stays Hermione's spirited questions by kissing them from her parted lips.

I'm such a sucker for Malfoy's smooth smooches. She struggles to conjure much self-reproach as Draco licks darting forays across and inside her willing mouth. Their enthusiastic canoodling is interrupted by the sound of the Floo activating; it takes them a few moments to register the disturbance.

"Hermione? And… Draco? Hullo!" The high, clear, untroubled feminine voice is accompanied by an angry catty screech. "It's alright, Crooky – we're here. Once I've checked for Blibbering Humdingers, I'll let you out."

Head whipping toward the fireplace in surprise, Hermione's high mahogany ponytail accidentally thwacks Draco in the face. "Oof!"

"Sorry, sorry! Malfoy – let me up please," Hermione struggles to remove herself from Draco's lap with dignity or grace. Only his steadying hand grabbing the back of her jacket saves her from a nasty face-plant into the coffee table. Hermione gives him a grateful glance as she stumbles toward her old schoolmate.

"Luna – hello! I didn't know you were dropping by this morning?". She engulfs the ethereal blonde in a warm hug, mindful of the enraged half-Kneazle in the large cat carrier swinging from Luna's left hand. "And Crooky, too!".

The big marmalade tomcat prods an angry talon out of the cross-hatched front door of his prison; Hermione narrowly avoids the slash. Luna sets down the cat carrier on the floor rug, blithely ignoring the violent rocking from side-to-side as Crookshanks tests the structural fortitude of the receptacle.

"He's not a good traveller," Luna redundantly comments. She extracts her wand from the pocket of her bright purple robes, closing her eyes in deep concentration. Turning slowly, she recites an incantation Hermione has never before heard.

Apparently satisfied that no Blibbering Humdingers are lurking in the flat's little living room, Luna opens her crystal blue eyes and curves her lips into her unique, guileless smile. "All clear."

Kneeling to undo Crookshanks's cage, Luna pauses for a moment. "So, Draco… I guess you've finally told Hermione about your long-time cr – "

"Let me help you with that, Luna!" Draco nearly bowls over Hermione as he rushes to the little Ravenclaw's side. "Mind the claws – and the fangs." Crookshanks senses freedom is imminent and is snapping his jaws.

Hermione forgets to quiz Luna about her interrupted statement when she witnesses Luna affectionately squeezing a crouching Draco into a loose sideways hug… which Draco awkwardly returns.

There's a Blibbering Humdinger if ever I saw one, she opines faintly.

"You two are… friends?" Hermione eventually twitters uncertainly. Luna nods serenely; Draco looks apprehensive.

"Yes… Draco was very good to Mr Ollivander and me, during our stay in the dungeons," Luna offers up the allusion to her kidnapping, imprisonment and torture as though she were describing a summer holiday at the beach. She ignores Draco's immediate protestation.

"Draco smuggled us extra food, and blankets at night; he returned early in the mornings to transfigure them back into rags, so we wouldn't be punished. And kept us company, when he wasn't needed upstairs." The blonde witch calmly adds, "We learned a lot about each other, I think."

Malfoy makes a strangled noise in his throat that could be alarm or denial. He loudly interjects, "Granger – is it alright if I liberate this giant orange bathmat now? Does he bite?"

"Not often. But I wouldn't call him names if I were you, Malfoy – he's extremely intelligent. And holds a wicked grudge," Hermione warns.

"You still call each other by your surnames… so cute," Luna dreamily observes. "How long have the pair of you been – "

Her enquiry is drowned out by Crookshanks's wild yowl as Draco flips the final clip on the cat carrier and swings the front door open, retreating back a few circumspect steps as he does so. The fluffy ginger feline catapults across the floor like a henna rocket, unfortunately colliding with Macdolas as the little house elf trots through the open doorway. Fur and terrified shrieks fly as the furious cat's extended claws find purchase on the back of Macdolas's quilted blue smoking jacket. Macdolas reacts to his sudden moggie-jockey by galloping between the trio of humans grouped by the hearth and around the couch, screaming like a banshee in accompaniment to Crookshanks's incensed caterwauls.

Aghast, Hermione realizes that Draco is adding his rowdy, helpless laughter to the cacophony in her lounge room. He is bent double, resting his hands on his jeans-shod knees for support as he guffaws unreservedly at the bizarre spectacle unspooling before them.

The gleeful prat is actually crying from laughing so hard. If she weren't worried about Mac, Hermione would have been tempted to join in with his infectious hilarity. Luna's wide Arctic blue eyes have widened, but her placid composure is otherwise undisturbed.

"Don't just stand there cackling like a hyena, Malfoy – do something!" Hermione shouts above the din. She pulls her vine wood wand from the deep side pocket of her tweed skirt, as it is increasingly plain that Draco is incapable of doing anything beyond sputtering deep belly laughs.

He does manage to snort, "What – should I start taking bets? My Galleons are on the furry bathmat!"

"Oh, you're a laugh riot today, aren't you? Forget I asked, I'll sort this myself," Hermione mutters disgustedly. "Luna, please be ready to grab Crooky – I'll take Macdolas." Luna nods unquestioningly.

Taking careful aim, Hermione intones, "Altum Somnum!". The Bewitched Sleep Charm works perfectly. Hermione clutches Macdolas by the side of his collar as his bugged-out eyes roll back in his head, while Luna gently plucks a floppy Crookshanks from the newly-perforated smoking jacket. Carefully, Hermione slides an unconscious Mac onto the Chesterfield, slipping a plump cushion beneath his head. Luna begins to place Crookshanks at the other end, thinks better of it, and lays the big feline down on the rug, beside the coffee table.

The two witches share a smile of satisfaction and relief; they turn to note that Draco has backed up to and slid down the wall beside the fireplace. His long legs are sprawled akimbo and an occasional giggle still leaks from his mouth, like a slowly-deflating balloon.

Sensing their stares, Draco looks up, arranging his features into an expression of artless innocence. Hermione sternly crosses her arms and purses her mouth.

Draco croaks, "I'm sorry, ladies. It wasn't my fault I couldn't help – did you see what just happened here?" He swabs at his laughter-damp eyes with a handkerchief. "Granger – your… cat? Kneazle? Kneazlecat?... just rode my house elf. I just… I can't… " he dissolves into another bout of giggles.

"Malfoy, I swear to Merlin that I will Petrify you if you can't get yourself under control," Hermione threatens. "I don't have time for this."

She checks the clock. Damn – I really don't have time for this. She has a little over five minutes before she's due to start work.

"Luna, are you staying here in the flat while I go to work? Or would you like to come with me? I'll have to wake Mac and Crooky before we leave, though."

"Oh, that's alright, Hermione. I'm attending an International Magical Creatures seminar at the Ministry this afternoon. I thought I could spend the morning in the MOM library and perhaps have lunch with you before then?" Luna explains in her languid voice. "I brought Crooky along because he's been shredding Hagrid's clothes when he's left alone during the day… Hagrid thought he might like to see you for a little while."

"Crooky's been acting out? Oh, I'm sorry, Luna – I should come visit more often. I'd bring him back here to live permanently… but I'm out most of the day, and he ran away back to Hogwarts when I first tried it…" Hermione trails off, unhappy guilt turning down the corners of her mouth.

Luna shrugs. "It's nothing serious, Hermione. But a trip's as good as a séance, isn't that what they say?".

"Exactly," Draco chips in. "Granger, I can stay here until Mac-Dumb-Arse and the Tangerine Terror come around, if you like." He leans his chamomile-blond head back against the wall again, grinning evilly. "I've an inkling that my seditious little steward might be ailurophobic – best if I'm here to ensure his workplace health and safety, yeah?".

Although she is impressed that Malfoy knows the term for a phobia of cats, Hermione is loath to take his offer at face value. "Do you promise not to tease either of them? You've been butting heads with poor Mac constantly of late… and please don't call him that mean name again. "

"I swear on Salazar's grave – I shan't be anything other than the epitome of benevolence, ma petite." Draco clambers to his feet, seemingly oblivious to his public endearment. "Besides – with you gone, Macdolas and I won't have anyone to bicker over, hmm?" He smiles candidly at Hermione; his unguardedly beautiful face makes her feel… peculiar. She gives herself a mental shake.

Quit dithering and get moving, woman.

"Well – if you're certain it's not an imposition – thank you, Malfoy. There's an old litter tray and clumping clay in one of the laundry cupboards, should Crooky need it… and some tins of tuna in the back of the pantry… Oh, and please don't let him out of the flat – "

"Relax, Granger. I have this covered." Draco pads closer, until he is only a foot away. He bends his head as though to kiss her, but hesitates. "You'd best depart, lest you wish to berate yourself all day for a minute's tardiness."

Drat the man – he knows me too well. Hermione doesn't stop to consider the implications of that unsettling observation.

"Thank you. If you have any problems – "

Draco shakes his head in exasperated amusement. "Go – the wizarding world needs you!" He firmly guides her to the fireplace; Luna is already waiting patiently inside the chimney. Her calm tiffany-blue eyes reflect her contented smile as she watches their little pettifoggery.

Just before Hermione ducks her head to join Luna, Draco catches her hand in his. "Granger – one last thing… Would you care to accompany me to the ballet tomorrow evening? Mother has a couple of tickets she doesn't wish to use." He shrugs dispassionately.

"It's modern ballet, doesn't go forever. And the seats are guaranteed front row – Mother won't sit anywhere else. I thought perhaps you'd enjoy it. Seems a shame to let them go to waste… but of course, if you'd rather not –"

He attempts to slide his big pale hand away; Hermione isn't having it. She wraps her other hand around their laced fingers. That familiar tic in Draco's jaw jumps at her gesture.

"I'd like that. Very much. What time?" Hermione warmly accepts the unanticipated invitation.

"Oh. Good. The performance begins at half seven; we could dine beforehand? If you Floo to the townhouse by five, it allows plenty of time for both." He glides his free hand to her left hip.

"Excellent. It's a 'not-date' then!" Hermione grins at her little joke; Draco frowns and coughs out a laugh.

"Right."

Hermione runs with her impulse to reach up and plant a quick kiss on Draco's unsmiling, sensual mouth. He returns her osculation with zeal, before he steps back, eyes aglitter.

Mutely, she turns and stoops under the mantle, joining Luna as they disperse the magical green powder and announce their destination.

Once they've doddered out of one of the Ministry's Floo fireplaces, Luna tucks her hand through Hermione's elbow. "How long have you been dating Draco, Hermione?" she asks in her customary quixotic tone.

Hermione vigorously shakes her head. "We're not 'dating', Luna – it's more like a – a friendly, mutually beneficial arrangement…"

Luna nods sagely. "I see. So, friends who f– "

"Luna!" Hermione hisses, scandalized. They are currently surrounded by a horde of other Ministry workers and visitors, all headed for the bank of elevators.

"– fornicate," Luna finishes her sentence, blinking owlishly at Hermione's gobsmacked aspect. "That's the correct terminology, isn't it?"

The two young witches momentarily stop in their tracks, ignoring the grumbles of other pedestrians as they block the thoroughfare.

In unison, the friends burst into spontaneous, unconstrained laughter.

Hermione clutches Luna in an affectionate hug. "Merlin, it's good to see you, Luna! And we have so much catching-up to do… why did you never mention your friendship with Draco before?".

"He asked me not to," Luna reveals. "He's a very private person, Hermione. And rather lonely, I think."

Malfoy's such a silly, misguided goose of a man sometimes! Hermione fumes.

She steers them in the direction of the lifts once more.

"Not any more, Luna – not if I have anything to say about it," Hermione determinedly declares.

And this isn't me being soft-hearted… Draco is my… friend, Hermione uneasily assures her carping internal monologue.

It's only natural to care about the welfare of your friends… right?

Riiiight, answers that bitchy little voice.

Oh, just shut up already, Hermione feebly retorts.

She presses the button for Level Two and exchanges a sunny smile with her blonde amiga.

"Luna, tell me – what do you know about vicuña sheep?".