"He's always had the skill, he just needed to practice," Hermione insisted, voice growing slightly short with impatience, although why she couldn't be sure. Certainly, she hadn't been one of the people who expected Ron to amount to so much on the Quidditch pitch, even if she'd ended up being surely one of his greatest followers, just as she had been Harry's. There was simply something about Malfoy saying something to that effect, when he had the help of his father, of a far superior broom, that rankled her nerves as much as Draco ever did. "He worked... hard to make his way onto that team, and deserved it. Anyone can see that."

But she too fell silent along with Draco, calming down with the silence which stretched between the two of them, nose only wrinkling slightly when his hair whipped in her direction, a few flecks of perspiration touching her cheek, which she rubbed away with the back of her hand. (Or maybe it was just her imagination. It was still strange being in such close proximity to him at all.)

"It's all one life, you know," she told him quietly after she considered his words. "You can try and run or hide from your past, but your life is one continuous stretch. It won't be strange to have us around for long."