A/N: Why hello there! This fic will be around 150-200 chapters until complete, with chapters averaging around 8K words. If you guys like the fic, please comment, review, and send some Power Stones.
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Hermione woke with a low, hollow feeling settled somewhere in the middle of her chest. She should have accepted Pansy's offer last night. Instead, she'd spent the evening in her room feeling sorry for herself.
She rolled over. The other girls were still asleep. She didn't want to go down and face Ron this morning. Or any morning for the foreseeable future.
She took a breath, threw off the covers, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor against her bare feet helped. She dressed quietly, slipped out, and headed down to the grounds — past the Entrance Hall, out into the pale, frost-tipped morning. Almost Christmas. She walked down to the lake and stood there, breathing.
To her surprise, Pansy was on the bench by the water.
"What are you doing out this early?" Hermione asked, walking over.
Pansy opened her eyes. "I like it here in the mornings. It's quiet." She glanced at Hermione. "Same reason you're here, I'd imagine."
Hermione nodded. "I needed some distance."
Pansy gestured to the space beside her.
Hermione sat.
"How was the wallowing?"
"I should've come down last night," Hermione admitted, eyes on the lake. "It would have been better than what I actually did."
Pansy shrugged. "I assumed you wouldn't."
Hermione turned to her. "Why?"
"Because why would you?" Pansy said plainly. "You don't trust us. Which — fair enough, honestly."
Hermione picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "That it's that obvious."
"The offer still stands, for what it's worth. If you need a break from the Gryffindor dramatics. Theo likes your company." Pansy paused. "Just don't get any ideas about that. Daphne has prior claim."
Hermione laughed softly. "Tell her she's got nothing to worry about. I'm not interested in Theo." A pause. "I'm not sure I know what I'm interested in anymore." She hadn't meant to say that last part out loud. She let it go.
A cool breeze came off the lake and she shivered, standing. "I should head back. Class soon."
Pansy nodded. "Right. Get yourself ready."
"I am ready." Hermione glanced down. "I just don't want to lose track of time out here."
Pansy looked at her.
"Is that a joke?" she asked.
Hermione shifted slightly. "What?"
"You can't honestly think going to class like that is appropriate." Pansy's eyes moved over her outfit with a look of mild professional horror. "Not after Weasley saw you last night."
Hermione looked down at herself. Standard winter uniform. Sensible. Warm.
She looked back at Pansy. "Given that I am required to wear uniform to class — what exactly do you suggest?"
Pansy stood up, and the small smile on her face made it very clear this had been her intention all along.
"Follow me."
---
Pansy said the password to the Slytherin common room — "Selcouth" — without a flicker of hesitation, and Hermione watched as the stone snake curled aside to form an entrance.
Pansy took her by the wrist and pulled her inside.
Hermione laughed nervously, looking around.
"Relax," Pansy said, dropping her hand. "We're going up to my dormitory. Daphne should be the only one in there."
Hermione followed her through the common room, stealing glances as she went. It was a striking contrast to Gryffindor Tower — where the tower was warm red and gold and slightly chaotic, this was cool and precise: dark furnishings, muted greens and silvers, low-hanging lanterns casting a watery light over everything. The lake shifted outside the windows, its green glow constant and fathomless.
When they reached the dormitory, Pansy pushed the door open and Hermione followed her in.
Daphne was at her desk, finishing what looked like an assignment. She looked up. Her expression moved from surprise to something more considered.
"Well," she said. "Now I've seen everything."
Pansy was already pulling her toward Daphne's vanity. "Make her look like she slept last night," she said, disappearing into her wardrobe before Daphne had a chance to respond.
"I don't really wear much makeup—" Hermione started.
"I won't do anything dramatic," Daphne said, walking over. "Just sort out the evidence."
Hermione sat and watched in the mirror as Daphne worked with a light, competent hand — a little concealer under the eyes, a dusting of powder, nothing more. The girl was almost irritatingly skilled. Hermione supposed there was an art to looking effortless.
"So," Daphne said conversationally, blending something across her cheekbones, "why didn't you sleep?"
Hermione hesitated. "Parkinson didn't tell you?"
"If you're going to be wearing my things, it's Pansy," Pansy called from inside the wardrobe.
"She doesn't share if it's not hers to share," Daphne said, with a small smile. "So. What happened?"
"Something stupid with Ron," Hermione said.
Daphne nodded as she picked up a pot of gloss. "Boys are monumentally dim. Trust me — I know."
She turned the chair around so Hermione could look at herself.
It was disconcertingly effective. The hollowness under her eyes was gone. She looked like herself, only more present.
While Hermione had been looking in the mirror, Daphne had cast a couple of quiet charms on her hair — smoothing the worst of the frizz with what smelled faintly of jasmine, and gathered the curls into a loose half-up style, a few untameable pieces left to fall around her face.
Pansy emerged from the wardrobe, arms full. She laid everything out on the bed.
"It's still your uniform," she said. "Just… improved."
Hermione walked over to look. A shorter pleated skirt, a fitted version of the standard white blouse, and a deep-green fine-knit jumper.
Hermione held up the jumper and looked at Pansy.
"I'm not a Slytherin," she said.
Daphne rolled her eyes. "Green is a colour, Granger. I wear blue on occasion and I'm not a Ravenclaw."
Pansy tapped the jumper with her wand. It shifted to a deep burgundy-maroon. "Better?"
Hermione smiled. "Much."
She took the clothes and went to the bathroom.
She changed quickly, then stood in front of the mirror for a moment, adjusting. The skirt was shorter than anything she would have chosen herself, but the fit of everything was good — better than good.
The bathroom door opened.
"Finally," Pansy said, and then looked at her properly. "All right. You actually look decent when you make the effort."
"Don't push it, Parkinson."
Daphne clapped her hands together, delighted. "Weasley is going to rue the day."
Hermione smoothed the skirt and looked down. "It is very cold outside. And this skirt is extremely short."
Daphne headed to her chest of drawers and threw a pair of tights at her. "They're charmed. You won't feel the cold."
Hermione caught them and pulled them on, the warmth immediate and reassuring. She tugged the hem of the skirt down half an inch, accepted her tie and coat from Pansy, and followed her out.
---
Theo walked into Ancient Runes with Draco, the two of them in the middle of some low, intent conversation.
Draco looked pale — paler than usual, and more drawn. Harry wasn't wrong about that, Hermione thought, watching them from her seat. She wondered briefly whether Daphne could work some of her quiet magic on him. Then she wondered when she'd started thinking about Daphne Greengrass in terms of quiet magic.
Theo spotted her watching and paused mid-sentence, knocking his elbow into Draco's arm to draw his attention.
"Don't—" Draco had started, already irritated, but Theo was walking toward her before he finished.
Theo stopped at her desk, looking down at her with an expression of mild, amused assessment. "Well. You look different."
Hermione shifted slightly. "Good different or bad different?"
"Good." He leaned on the edge of the desk. "Did Pansy get hold of you?"
"Her and Daphne, yes. How did you know?"
"Because I bought her that jumper for her birthday two years ago. I was fairly certain it was green, though."
Hermione laughed. "It was."
Draco had finally made his way over. He stood looking at Hermione with a small, concentrated frown, as though she was a piece of homework he couldn't quite make sense of.
"What's on your face?" he asked.
Theo looked at Draco like he'd just asked something deeply stupid, and sat down in his chair.
Hermione scoffed and turned back to the front.
Draco sat behind her. She could feel him still looking. "Have you got a date tonight?" he asked, reaching forward to pull on the end of her hair.
Hermione's hand flew back instinctively. She turned around. "No, Malfoy. I do not have a date."
"Then why do you look like Pansy ambushed you with her wardrobe?"
"Because she did. Now be quiet — I am not getting another detention." She turned back around as Professor Babbling began.
---
When class ended, Draco held Theo back as Hermione walked out.
Theo turned with a long, patient exhale. "What now?"
"Why are Daphne and Pansy playing at makeovers with Granger?" Draco asked.
Theo shrugged. "Maybe if you weren't disappearing every night to do Merlin-only-knows-what, you'd know."
"That's not an answer."
"She had a rough night," Theo said. "Pansy found her and invited her down. She didn't come, but it seems Pansy managed to get her down to the dormitory this morning instead."
Daphne appeared in the doorway, blonde hair over one shoulder, books against her chest. "Boys, if you're done gossiping, Hermione and I are trying to get to class. Pansy and Blaise are already waiting."
"Hermione?" Draco repeated silently, with visible distaste, as Theo walked past him into the corridor.
He didn't like it. The easy familiarity of it — his friends and Granger moving through the corridors together, laughing, calling each other by first names. It sat wrong in his chest in a way he didn't particularly want to examine.
He knew what Potter was probably thinking: Granger in place as the inside man. Getting close to them, extracting whatever information she could. But watching Daphne and Hermione walk ahead of him, deep in some conversation that was making them both laugh — there was nothing in Daphne's posture that suggested performance. No edge to it. She just looked happy.
It wasn't right.
"She still looks like herself," Theo said as he fell into step beside them.
Daphne rolled her eyes. "She looks pretty."
"She was already pretty," Theo said, catching Hermione's eye and winking.
Draco's stomach did something uncooperative. He walked faster.
When they reached the D.A.D.A. corridor, Hermione exchanged a look with Daphne and made some excuse about needing to pop in early, disappearing into the classroom.
Daphne stayed behind, leaning against the wall, holding her books against her chest.
"Draco, save us some seats?" she asked.
He gave her a narrow look, said "Fine," and went in.
Theo turned to Daphne. "What's wrong? Don't say it, let me guess—"
"Please don't make a joke," Daphne said quietly, but he'd already opened his mouth.
"Granger's charm's got to you as well, has it?" He grinned.
"That is entirely Pansy's doing," Daphne said flatly. "Theo, listen. Slughorn's Christmas party—"
"Ah, yes." He nodded approvingly. "Well done worming your way onto that guest list, by the way."
Daphne resisted the urge to groan. Why was he like this. "Theo. I'm going to just say it. Will you go to Slughorn's party with me?"
Theo stopped.
He blinked at her.
Then he laughed — surprised, warm. "Yeah, of course. You didn't need to make it a whole thing." He shook his head. "Come on, class is starting."
He walked in, still shaking his head.
Daphne stood in the corridor, staring at the space where he'd been.
That had not sounded like a date.
---
Hermione sat down next to Harry, smiling. "Morning."
Harry looked her over. "You weren't at breakfast. Though I can see why you might've been busy." He nodded at her hair and face. "You look nice."
"Pansy and Daphne," Hermione said.
Harry raised an eyebrow and looked across the room to where the Slytherins were filing in. "The same Pansy and Daphne?"
"The very same."
Harry dropped his voice. "I don't love how suddenly friendly Parkinson's being, Hermione. It's strange."
She sighed. "Harry, you think every Slytherin is a threat. Look how you're treating Malfoy — you've spent half the term convinced he's plotting something."
"He looks like a ghost," Harry muttered.
"He's probably exhausted. N.E.W.T. workload is brutal, even for people who don't have to deal with what we do. Not everyone finds everything easy."
Harry gave her a doubtful look but didn't push it — because just then, Ron and Lavender arrived, pressed together in the doorway, laughing at something.
Hermione watched them come in without any particular expression on her face. She wasn't sure what she felt, precisely. It wasn't the sharp stab of the night before. It was flatter than that — a dull, tired sort of tiredness.
Ron slowed when he saw Hermione. His face softened slightly, the way it sometimes did when he wasn't paying attention.
"What'd you do?" he asked, taking her in — her hair, her face, the collar of the maroon jumper.
Lavender pulled at his arm. "Won-Won, come on. Parvati saved us seats."
"Yeah," Ron said, looking at Lavender. "Right. Yeah." And he went with her.
Lavender glanced back at Hermione as she steered Ron away. "Oh — wow. You almost look presentable today, Hermione."
Harry, without missing a beat, said, "I think she looks really nice."
Hermione looked at him, surprised. He was watching Ron's retreating back with an unreadable expression.
---
Draco cornered Pansy in the common room after lunch.
"What are you doing?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
Pansy frowned. "Going to Potions. Same as you, I'd imagine."
"Not class." He stepped closer. "Granger. What is this sudden friendship?"
Pansy looked at him with the particular patience she reserved for when she thought he was being wilfully obtuse. "Hermione is decent company. She doesn't disappear every night and refuse to say where she's been. She was upset — I did something kind. Remarkable concept."
"You're not kind to Gryffindors, Pansy."
"I wasn't kind to anyone six months ago. That's rather the point." She moved past him toward the corridor. "It's not as though I've invited Potter for afternoon tea. I'd sooner walk into the Forbidden Forest barefoot."
"You're deluding yourself if you think you can actually be her friend."
Pansy stopped walking and turned. "I think you're too anchored in what your father believed to recognise that you actually enjoy sparring with her. Theo says—"
"Theo's an idiot."
"Theo says the two of you bicker constantly in Ancient Runes but you've never once actually insulted her — not properly. Anyone watching would notice it." She turned back toward the Potions corridor. "She matches you intellectually, Draco. It's not complicated."
"I am not going to befriend Granger."
"Then don't. But you have no say in what the rest of us do. Give me one legitimate reason we can't."
"She's Granger—"
"Not a reason."
"She's friends with Potter—"
"Not a reason."
"She helped put my father in Azkaban—"
"Also not a reason. Your father made his choices."
"She's a Muggle-born—"
Pansy stopped. She turned to look at him properly, and something in her expression shifted — not quite pity, but close to it. "Draco. Those are excuses. Every single one of them." She took a breath. "We're not twelve. Your father is in Azkaban, not here telling you what to think. Think for yourself."
Draco said nothing, jaw tight.
Pansy looked at him for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. "Lucius tried to kill Potter last year. Where does that road end? Two years from now? Four? Because I am not going to stand there and watch you hurt people I care about — and I am not going to watch you get yourself killed over it either." She looked at him. "I don't want that for you. Get out while you still can."
They walked into the Potions classroom.
Draco stopped.
Granger was at the front of the room with her back to him, talking to Slughorn. She still had her robe on, so he'd seen nothing of her outfit in their earlier class. Now he could.
It was still her uniform. But the skirt — Pansy had an absolute talent for weaponising the school dress code — fell several inches higher than regulation, and the fitted maroon jumper was very clearly one of Pansy's, and it fit Granger significantly better than any jumper Draco had ever seen on her.
His gaze dropped to the hem of the skirt.
"You're staring," Pansy murmured near his ear.
Draco tore his eyes away. "What?"
"I said," she said pleasantly, "you are staring."
"I am not." He cleared his throat. "I was wondering what Slughorn was saying."
"Of course you were. Slughorn is endlessly riveting."
Draco moved toward his seat.
At that moment, Granger finished her conversation and turned to head back to her desk.
She nearly walked into him.
They both stopped short. She dropped her Advanced Potion-Making textbook.
"Merlin's sake, Malfoy," she muttered, crouching to pick it up. "I know you're a Slytherin, but do you have to move so quietly?"
He saw how the skirt shifted as she bent.
"Don't—!" He put his hands on her shoulders before he'd quite decided to, straightening her back up before she could get any lower.
Granger went very still.
Slowly, she looked up at him. "Malfoy," she said carefully, "what are you doing?"
He stared at her. That was an excellent question.
"Just — don't bend like that," he said, his voice coming out more strangled than he would have liked.
Pansy had her hand pressed firmly over her mouth.
"I'll get it," he said, with the confidence of someone who had already committed to a decision he was going to regret. He crouched down, retrieved the book—
—and found himself directly at eye-level with the hem of Granger's charmed tights and significantly-too-short skirt.
Right. This had been a terrible idea.
He stood up abruptly and held the book out without meeting her gaze.
Granger took it, fingers brushing his. Her brow was furrowed somewhere between suspicion and genuine concern. "Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine." He walked away.
Theo failed to conceal his expression.
Draco sat down and directed a look at him that he hoped communicated the depth of his irritation. "Not a word."
"I wasn't going to say anything." Theo was clearly delighted. "Just noting what a thorough gentleman you are."
"It's not gentlemanly," Pansy said sweetly, settling into her chair. "Is that your wand, Draco, or are you just very pleased to see—"
"Parkinson." He opened the potions textbook to a random page and stared at it. "I was saving her from embarrassing herself. The skirt is impractically short and she clearly has no sense of how to manage it."
"Very noble," Pansy said.
Theo was looking at the ceiling.
Draco found the relevant page, or the page that was closest to relevant, and turned his attention to the ingredients list. He was not going to look over at Granger's desk. He was absolutely going to focus on brewing a correct Amortentia base. He was completely, entirely fine.
"Draco." Blaise's voice, cutting through.
"What?"
"You're stirring too fast."