"The hood-winked pastor ate the vegetables from his master."

"Next."

"Erm—Moving so curvy, the pirate dogged—"

"Dodged."

"I know," Vince snapped. "Dodged- scurvy."

"Again."

Vince huffed and placed his hands on his temples. "Moving so curvy, the pirate dodged scurvy."

"Good. Next."

"K-k-Quality quilts of question…able… sk-silks." Vince sighed and dropped the ledger. "Granger, enough," he moaned.

"One more," Granger said with a hopeful nod. "Come on, you're doing fine. One more."

With an exaggerated eye-roll, Vince watched as Granger tapped the ledger again. The letters rearranged themselves into what he hoped would be his final sentence of the evening. He took a deep breath and began, sounding out the letters and words with increasing ease. "The hard-working boy deserves a n-new toy. He'll find something there, h-hiding under his chair."

Granger gave him an encouraging smile and raised her eyebrows.

"What?" asked Vince. "Did I mess it up?"

"No—weren't you listening?"

Vince frowned. "To what?"

Granger sighed and unwound her fingers from where they had been twirling curls into her bushy hair. "To the words, Crabbe."

He drew his eyebrows together and peered down at the ledger, moving his mouth slightly as he re-read the sentence. Then, "Oh. You mean that's— for me?"

Granger grinned and nodded.

"You got me something?" he asked, surprised.

Granger blushed, looking away. "Oh, just something small," she said, flapping her arms in a circle, then folding them into her lap. "You've been working so hard, I just thought . . . you know . . ." Granger let out a little laugh. "Just open it."

Granger got him a gift? Feeling warmed by the idea, Vince clamored out of his library chair and squatted down to peak underneath it. Sure enough, there was a lumpy package, wrapped in parchment scraps and tied up into a curly bow with a piece of twine.

Picking up the package, Vince couldn't resist giving it a little squeeze and a shake to try and find out what it was. The contents were soft, mostly, except for a little hard bit in the corner.

Vince tore open the package and his hand fell on something warm and knit. He pulled it out of the paper and held it up. It was a jumper—a handmade jumper, from what he could tell—and it was large and a bit sloppy and droopy and looked absolutely ace for cold nights in the dungeons. The jumper was a wooly burnt red with a shoddily stitched Hogwarts crest in the upper left corner. Vince fingered the material and could smell the faint hint of Granger—that sort of Granger-y scent that reminded him of book ledgers and library candles—and offered her a smile. "You make this?" he asked.

Granger bit her lip and shrugged. "I was sort of testing it out. I've never tried to make anything quite so large before." Her eyes widened. "Not to say that you're large! I just meant-clothing. For humans. That's all."

"I know what you meant," said Vince, fighting a strange urge to press the material against his chest. Instead he stepped toward Granger and, without having to awkwardly initiate it, Granger opened her arms and gave him a hug. "Thanks, Granger. I really like it."

"You're welcome," she said with a small smile. "There's something else there, too." She gestured to the torn wrappings on the library desk. Vince reached inside them and pulled out a soft, paperback book. The cover was a bit bent up and wrinkly and the binding looked loose with age.

"Bobby the Beater?" Crabbe asked, sounding out the words on the cover. There was a picture of a Quidditch Pitch on the front and a muscular looking cartoon depiction of a bloke with a beater's bat and a mischievous grin.

"It's one of those sports mysteries," Granger said with a shrug. "I thought it was time for you to start looking at novels, rather than all those boring sentences." She paused. "I know it looks sort of . . er, juvenile, but I promise you, boys our age still read them. There was a whole pile of these in one of the cabinets in Gryffindor, and I can say with certainty that I've seen 4th and 5th years reading them."

Vince nodded, not sure what to say. He'd never read a novel before, or anything with chapters. That Granger felt he was ready for them was a huge boost to his confidence.

"We can work on it together, if you'd like," she said, pushing her hair back off her shoulder.

Vince gave her a timid nod, then set the book back down on the table. He then pulled the enormous jumper over his head, tugging the fabric over his enormous girth. He held his arms out at his sides and the loose sleeves dipped down to his fingertips. "What do you think?" he asked her.

Granger frowned and looked him up and down, appraisingly. She reached forward and began to roll the sleeves up, bit by bit. It was very uncomfortable, being ogled by Granger, but, when she sat back and her face relaxed into a satisfied smile, Vince felt proud and just a bit giddy. "Perfect," she declared with a nod, "if I do say so myself."

….

….

….

"What's with you today, Granger?"

Granger was gnawing on her lower lip again. It had been bitten into her mouth so much already, that Vince was tempted to offer her a healing salve.

"Nothing," she said distantly, with a frown. She was jumpy and anxious looking despite the grayish pallor to her skin and weary-looking eyes. "Go on," she ordered, tapping the ledger four times with her finger. "Next one."

Vince paused, starting to grow concerned. Granger looked like she hadn't slept in days and her prickly temper was grating on his nerves. "No," he said.

"Crabbe," she bit back, eyes narrowed. "Just-finish up, alright? I'm on a very tight schedule. We've only got until," she whipped out her wand and cast her thousandth Tempus of the night, "eight o'clock. Okay?"

"Granger, no," Vince said, crossing his arms and turning to look at her. "Something's wrong. I can tell."

"That's not your business," she snapped.

Vince tried to ignore her bad mood. He knew she was just being testy because something was bothering her. "Are you ill or something?"

Granger closed her eyes and threaded her fingers tightly through her hair as if she were about to tear it out. "No, Vincent," she said, carefully. "I am not ill. Can we just finish, please?"

"I don't want to finish," he said. "You need a break."

"A break is the last thing I need."

Standing up anyway and ignoring Granger's pleading eyes, Vince pushed the ledger toward her pile of books and placed a hand on her shoulder. Expecting her to jump away from him, Crabbe was shocked when Granger seemed to lean into his hand just a bit, her eyes shut, exhaling deeply.

"Get up," he ordered.

"Crabbe, please . . . "

Without bothering to try and persuade her more, Vince snatched up both of their wands, cast a quick spell sending all of her items back into her back and proceeded toward the door with their belongings.

"Vincent Crabbe!" she hissed, jumping up from her seat. Madame Pince gave her a severe look and put a finger up to her lips. Granger ignored her and scrambled after Vince who was making his way into the corridor. "Get back here! Oh, you—!"

Lumbering quickly, he headed down the corridor and turned left, making sure that she saw which way he went. He headed toward a large, circular area of the castle, lined with benches and a drinking fountain. It was surrounded by floor to ceiling windows which now had a view of the castle grounds in the purpling haze of dusk. He plopped himself down on a bench in the empty space and waited for Granger, huffing and puffing down the corridor, to catch up with him.

"What," she breathed heavily, her eyes wild, "is your problem?"

"You're not a very good teacher when you're in a bad mood," Vince offered with an unapologetic shrug, ignoring her look of indignant outrage. "And I don't feel like wasting my time. Or yours," he added.

She let out an indignant little noise. "Why, you—! Ungrateful!"

"Just sit down, Granger, before your brain explodes or something."

Granger stomped over to the same bench as Crabbe and plopped down with a huff. Her arms were crossed and her shoulders were tense, her body turned tightly inward. Crabbe snuck a look at her and could see the dark expression on her face and noticed her lower lip trembling with what he guessed were unshed tears.

"Here," he said, digging around in his bag until he found a thermos. "Drink this."

"What is it?" she asked, her voice small and weary.

"Tea." He unscrewed the lid and poured a bit into it, handing her the steaming cup.

Granger clamped her hands around the sides of the cup and tilted her head toward Vince. He was used to spending time alone with Granger, but for some reason—with them out of the library—everything felt very . . different. As though the library was their own place in which they were exempt from the rules of Hogwarts life. Here, in the empty corridor, Vince became suddenly aware that he was alone with a pretty girl—a Gryffindor, a Mudblood, in a very public area. It could look very bad if someone were to see them. The whole situation made his hands sweaty.

Granger made a little sniffling nose and he could see that she had started crying. She tilted her head further and furiously wiped a hand across her cheek, as though crying in front of Vince had made her angry.

"Granger-Hermione," he said softly, hoping that the use of her first name wouldn't startle her. "'The fuck is it?"

She responded with a little hiccuping sob. Perhaps it was true that girls needed to be treated with softer gloves, but Granger was always so matter-of-fact and bossy with him, it seemed he had forgotten the Unwritten Rules of Women. Not that he'd ever known them, but he supposed those were things others might consider to be common sense.

Though, he'd never really had much in the way of common sense, either.

"I don't mean it in a mean way," he said, shifting awkwardly. Her head dipped further to the side and she buried her face into his shoulder.

"I know," she sniffed, her voice muffled. "I'm just being ridiculous, that's all. It's embarrassing."

Vince reached up a tentative arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. He should have felt funny about doing so, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he did, but at the moment it just seemed like the right thing to do and he thought it was what Granger wanted him to do. She seemed to turn her body more towards Vince and snuggled into his shoulder with a sigh.

Vince gave her an awkward little pat on her arm. "Don't be embarrassed," he said. "I can't even read. Now that's embarrassing."

Granger shot upright and flashed Vince a scowl. "That isn't true and you know it."

"Yeah," he said, raising his eyebrows, "thanks to you."

"And you," she said. Granger straightened, the dusky purple light casting a cool hue over her skin. She fixed her brown eyes on him. "Give yourself credit, Vincent. For God's sakes—"

"Shut up, I know," Vince grunted, holding out a placating hand. "I'm just trying to make a joke. Lighten up already, Granger."

She made a frustrated sound and pounded a small fist against the bench. "I'm just frustrated, with . . . Merlin with everything. School, OWLS, and that nasty bint, Umbridge," she said through gritted teeth.

Vince bowed his head. "Oh."

"Yeah," her voice shook. "Your favorite Professor. And," she added, throwing a furious look at Vince, "And I wish I could talk to you about it, but, as you know, due to your continued support of that vile woman, that just isn't possible."

"Yeah, I get it."

Granger made a sort of grumbling sound. "You get it," she muttered. "Ha."

"Drink your tea," he said.

"Why," Granger asked, suspicion marring her features. "Why are you so keen on making me drink it? It is just tea, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Vince, with a nod. "It's soothing. Calms the nerves, and all that."

Still looking skeptical, Granger took a sip. She let out a heavy breath. "Ooh. It's so warm. My throat's been bothering me and," she took another sip. "Mm, that is nice. Really nice. Thank you, Crabbe."

"Welcome."

After awhile, it seemed the tea was taking effect and the tension had eased from Granger's shoulders. She gave a sleepy yawn and leaned against Crabbe again. "Why do you follow that idiotic bitch around anyway?" she asked. Then she frowned. "Gosh, sorry, I don't know what came over me. I don't usually curse." She giggled. "Even if it is true, in this case."

"Umbridge is a bitch," Vince agreed, amused at Granger's comment. "But I need the extra credit. Plus my father told me I had to be nice to her."

"Ugh," Hermione made a disgusted sound. "Your father. What for? So he can look good at the Ministry in front of all his Death Eater pals?"

A lump rose in Vince's throat and he swallowed hard. He didn't want to talk about his father. Not with Granger. Not with anyone.

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth. "God-I am so sorry," she whispered, looking aghast. "I don't know what's come over me. I would normally never—I didn't mean—"

"Not your fault," Vince muttered, wishing she hadn't said it, but knowing it was what she had thought, anyway. Besides that, it was the truth.

Granger's eyes grew impossibly wide. And then furious. "Oh my God," she said slowly. She held the tea away from her now, as if afraid to touch it. "What," she breathed, "Is. In. Here?"

Smirking a bit, Vince shrugged.

"Vincent!" Hermione jumped up and set the cup down on the bench, backing away quickly.

"Relax, it's nothing bad," he said, laughing at her. "The Slytherins drink it all the time."

"I feel dizzy." Granger put a hand on her head. "Oh, Merlin. Oh, what was in there?"

"It's a mix of Valerian root, and Kava and something else. And Moonstone Dust or something like that."

Granger looked demented. "Or something like that?" she laughed, desperately. "Those are all mind-altering ingredients, you utter moron!"

Vincent kept laughing. "It's fine Granger. A little bit is good. It's soothing tea." He got up and approached the Gryffindor where she had flattened herself against one of the windows. She looked terrified. He grabbed her hand in a gesture of comfort. "Granger, you're okay. I wouldn't give you something to hurt you."

"You lied to me," she accused, weakly.

"I was helping," he said, starting to feel guilty. He drank soothing tea all the time, and it just made him sleepy. He hadn't thought there was anything wrong with it. "I didn't think it was bad."

"No," she murmured, her wide eyes fixed on the floor. "I guess you wouldn't have known." She dropped her head in her hands. "But your friends should have. Merlin, they can't be giving you things like that! It's illegal, I'm sure."

"Come on," he put an arm around her and walked her back over to the bench. "Sit down, Granger."

She yawned and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hands. "I have so much to do, Crabbe. I can't work like this."

"You couldn't work anyway, the way you were all wound up."

She moaned and shrugged, dropping her head in her hands. "Well, what am I going to do now?"

"What you need is sleep. You look like shite, Granger and it isn't healthy."

"But I have to study for the OWLs . . . the practical exam is—"

"Months off." Crabbe scratched his head and stretched.

"Two months," she groaned "Eight weeks."

"Sleep. You can study in the morning with a fresh head."

Granger closed her eyes and leaned against his shoulder again. It seemed to be her new favorite thing to do. "Okay," she said with a nod, finally giving in to the calming effects of the tea.

"Come on, Granger," said Crabbe, standing and pulling her up with him. "I'll walk you back to Gryffindor."

She nodded, compliant, and began to lead the way back. When they reached the top of what seemed like a million staircases, Crabbe huffing and puffing and dragging the sleepy Granger up beside him, they paused in front of portrait of a woman who looked like Crabbe's Aunt Doris.

"This is Gryffindor?" he asked.

Hermione giggled. "Shh," she whispered, placing a finger on his lips. "Don't tell."

He gently removed her hand from his mouth, still feeling the warm tingle from where it had been. "I know," he said. "Okay, then. Get some sleep."

Granger turned to him with tired eyes and smiled softly. Then she leaned forward and gave him another hug. "Thank you, Vincent," she whispered into his chest. Granger sure liked to give hugs, Vince thought. Not that he was about to complain. "It's nice to know you care. Even if your methods are a bit misguided and completely unethical."

Vince pulled back. "Get some sleep, Granger."

She nodded and loosely waved goodnight. Aunt Doris swung open, allowing her entrance and Crabbe turned away, shuffling back down to the Slytherin Common Room with an embarrassing grin on his face.

….

….

….

"Where've you been, you guileless fuckwit?"

"Fuck you, Draco. Move."

"Fuck you, Crabbe. And no." Draco had blocked Crabbe's path to the dormitory and was standing importantly with his arms crossed and head tilted back in challenge. "You were supposed to be here. We were having a team meeting and you—" Draco poked Crabbe in the chest repeatedly, "missed it."

"Catch me up later, I was working."

"Working, were you?" Draco asked with a sneer. "Did I tell you to do work tonight or did I tell you we were having a team meeting?"

"I forgot." Crabbe scowled. "Did I miss something?"

Draco slapped a crumpled piece of parchment against his chest. "This. You need to learn it by tomorrow. And you'd better find someone to teach you, because I don't have the time."

"Weasley is our King?" Crabbe asked.

Draco frowned, a suspicious look on his face. "Yeah . . . Go on."

Crabbe held the note up and read the lyrics, a clever combination of rhymes that degraded the entire Weasley family. When he was finished he said, "Nice, Draco. What's it for?"

Draco gave him a funny look, glanced back at the parchment and then up at Crabbe again. He seemed to be less angry and more perplexed. "How'd you do that?"

"Do what?" asked Crabbe, trying to push by Draco again, but finding his way blocked by spread arms.

"You read that," Draco said. "How'd you do that?"

"Oh," Crabbe blushed, forgetting that Draco was one of few people who knew about his struggles with school. "Um" he shrugged. "I dunno. I just did."

Looking to the left and to the right, Draco began to gesture wildly. "What do you mean you don't know?" he hissed. "Crabbe! You're reading?"

"Guess I am." An unbidden grin began to tinge his features, despite his attempts at nonchalance.

"Merlin for breakfast, you brilliant bastard!" Draco reached up and thumped Crabbe on the forehead.

Crabbe flinched. "Ow. What?"

"You're reading," Draco yelped, "that's what!" Draco looked beside himself and Crabbe couldn't help beaming with pride.

"That's right," said Crabbe. "I am."

"This is what you've been doing all the time, is it?" Draco asked. "It is, isn't it?" Before Crabbe could answer Draco blundered on. "I knew it. Someone said you'd been dating a Mudblood or something and I was about the hex the pants off your fat arse, but reading! Merlin, Crabbe! Good going, there."

"Thanks, Malfoy." Crabbe didn't dare ask the source of the information, but knew that it meant he needed to be more careful during his study sessions with Granger.

"It's about fucking time, anyway." Draco laughed and patted Vince on the shoulder. "Look, just learn the song by heart. We're singing it tomorrow at the game. That'll really show that Potter and his little pauper whose boss, right?"

"Right."

Draco smirked and rubbed his hands together. "Right. So learn it."