Wanderer

Milk with an Expiry Date of Three Hours

Chapter Thirteen- Milk with an Expiry Date of Three Hours

They walked along the corridor in silence. Hermione patted the bag at her side, feeling reassurance in the cushion of the cloak and slight rustle the Map made. It hadn't been one of the terms (she doubted McGonagall, nor the Ministry, even knew of its existence) but it made her feel better to know they were safe, rather than sorry, that she could whip it out at any moment and conserve their secret for just a little bit longer. Her conversation with Ginny had been playing on her mind. If the girl had been spying on her, had seen her disappear off the Map, had she also seen Malfoy disappear too? Had she connected the dots, whatever those dots were? Somehow, for some reason, Hermione figured they were undetected, not least because she didn't think Ginny had the kind of temperament that would put up with her best friend meeting a former Death Eater, who also happened to be awaiting his trial for murder and terrorism, in an intracable room every night. She supposed the absurdity of the situation was an advantage after all. The moment they were discovered, all hell would break loose.

Malfoy stopped suddenly and Hermione nearly walked into the back of him.

"Draco, what-?"

He swallowed. "Is this a good idea, Granger?"

Hermione blinked at him. Her thoughts trailed off. "What?"

Malfoy sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was dressed in black slacks and a black trench coat, dark green scarf tucked around his neck. She knew she must look like a child next to him, with her pink duffle coat, white bobble hat and matching mittens. An eyebrow raised when he'd seen her coming towards him that morning, and Hermione's cheeks had momentarily flushed as bright as her coat. He looked like the Malfoy she knew, the one who cared for his appearance, with every strand of hair falling back into place on his head. Hermione almost hadn't the heart to remind him he'd be invisible for the duration of their trip to Hogsmeade.

"What if someone sees me?" he asked.

"The Cloak isn't as fickle as a simple charm," she said. "It's highly unlikely."

Malfoy nodded. It was too rushed, too harried that she didn't think he had really heard her.

Hermione moved in front of him and, before she could overthink it, took his hand in hers. They were both wearing gloves but Malfoy lurched as though she'd scorched him. She didn't let go. "If you don't want to go, we can go to the Room instead. It's meant to be liberating, not another form of entrapment."

Malfoy looked at her. His eyes were wide. After a moment, he shook his head slightly, detangling their hands and said, "You're right. Besides, I could do with a Firewhiskey."

He carried on walking and Hermione started at his sudden pace, skipping a little to catch back up with him. She rolled her eyes when they finally fell back into step and said, "Would it really have killed you to just leave it at, 'You're right'?"

There was a ghost of his old smirk playing at his lips, and Hermione pondered on the fact that it filled her with a warmth she never would have assumed it could. Hogwarts was empty. Not another student passed them by, most playing out in the snow or having already made their way down to Hogsmeade after breakfast earlier that morning. Each empty corridor they made it down added to the relief she felt lighten her chest. They continued until they reached the Headmistress' office.

Hermione cleared her throat, hugging her bag to her body, and announced, "Rhubarb and Custard."

The stone gargoyle leapt to the side and one by one, the bricks behind him cracked and shifted, raining dust, before the entire wall was slowly rotated to reveal the ascending staircase. She glanced at Malfoy.