A month had passed. A month filled with threats and exposure and of Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom stealing ingredients from the potion storeroom. They'd managed to save Slughorn from getting into any trouble with Peeves's help, but Snape was getting more and more furious by the day. 

Emma didn't truly believe that he was angry about the ingredients going missing; he wasn't doing anything in his power to find out where they were all going and he, being the former Potions master, should have had a bunch of potions ready in his office somewhere. The office that once belonged to Professor Dumbledore was massive, from what Emma could remember by being called there before Christmas in her fifth-year, and ingredients and any other potions could've been hidden in there. 

She hoped Snape was only playing the part of an angry Headmaster who was trying to figure out how to find 'Potter's sister.' He knew who she was. Oh, he knew. He had once muttered Lily's name when he first saw her, and the Death Eater she had run into a few weeks ago had said that she resembled Lily, so Snape, assuming that he knew her mother from school, definitely knew who she was. But why wasn't he doing anything about it?

He murdered Dumbledore for Voldemort, it seemed like he'd do just about anything for Voldemort. But he wasn't giving her up. It was now almost April, Snape had had six and a half months to ship her off to him but he hadn't. What was he waiting for, what was his plan, and what was he doing?

Draco found her in the library on a Saturday afternoon in the restricted section; she had been book searching for an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Zacharias Smith had been in there before Draco arrived, and was sneering and making snobby, cruel remarks to her before he left, moving far away from Draco as they passed ways. 

"What'd he want?" the blond Slytherin sneered, his eyes on the back of Zacharias's head as he left. 

Emma pulled a book from the shelf and tucked it under her arm. "Just to be a pain in the neck. How'd you know I was here?"

"The library is about your only safe haven. No Death Eaters, save for me, no teachers, save for Madam Pince, and no gits, save for Zacharias Smith." 

Emma chuckled and walked passed him toward one of the tables to lay the books she picked out on. Draco didn't appear to be worried about getting a move on with his essay, which was due the following Wednesday, and she didn't think he had even started. He sat across from her with a lazy smirk on his face, and just stared. Ignoring him, Emma took out her parchment and pens and flipped through her chosen books. 

His stare began to irritate her. 

"Could you stop staring at me and . . . do something wise?" she said quietly without looking up from the library book. 

"I am doing something wise, I'm remembering you."

"What a terrible excuse," she chortled, finally looking up into his eyes. "But really, you're distracting and I want to get this done. You'd be wise to do the same."

"Is this for Defense? I've already finished."

Emma raised her eyebrows, surprised that he'd even started. There was no way he had finished before her, had even started before her, there was just no way. She had always finished before him. Always. She analysed him for a moment, as though it would do any good in figuring out whether he was lying or not. He never seemed to wear any ordinary clothes when it wasn't cold. He always wore suits or clothing that made him look like he had a lot of money - he did - and when it had been colder the past winter, he looked like any ordinary Muggle, with his warm hats, beanies, and coats and pants. 

Now he looked like a typical rich boy who wore a lazy smirk on his face. 

"I don't believe you," was all Emma said to him, before turning back to the library book. Nothing on the pages were telling her anything Carrow wanted for his essay. "I've been searching this library all week and there hasn't been anything to give me a head start. How could you have finished before me? No, I'm not accepting it."

"Just accept that you've been defeated," Draco sighed, leaning back in his chair and throwing his feet up onto the table. Emma moved the books away from his legs and glowered at him. "If you want, we can go back to the common room and I can show you what I've done. You can copy mine and - I don't know - rearrange the wording. Carrow's an idiot, he'll never know."

"Sounds like you know him well," said Emma, looking up at him with a hint of a smirk. His grey eyes narrowed back at her. "But I will take you up on that offer," she added, standing and beginning to pack away her parchment and pens. Draco gathered the books she had picked from the shelf and took them back for her. When he returned, he fiddled with the opening of his suit and grinned. "Oh, ever the gentleman, Draco." 

"I am a gentleman. I'll even take your bag for you - "

"I'm OK, thanks," Emma said, laughing slightly. She swung her bag over her shoulder and, once Madam Pince checked that she hadn't taken any books, the two left the library together. "I'm surprised she didn't catch you with your legs on the table. Imagine how she'd react if she saw how close they were to her books."

"I bet you would have loved to see that," said Draco. "Anyway, how's Daphne behaving around you now? You said she gets nervous and drops things, or cringes away from you. Any change?" 

"Nope. I mean, she doesn't exactly drop things anymore and retreat, but whenever I talk to her she doesn't look me in the eye and mumbles. Astoria, on the other hand, has been threatening to expose me for the last two weeks. I don't think she will though, she can't be that evil."

"I've been in Snape's office and there isn't any sign of potions or anything like that. I'm just surprised that Weasley and Longbottom know which ingredients to dispose of. They look dumber than a bag of rocks, especially Longbottom -"

"Draco -"

"No, really, I'm genuinely surprised they know which ingredients to get rid of."

Emma gave him a look but smiled nonetheless, fighting the urge to roll her eyes and call him an idiot. In return, he simpered.