Draco sat in his usual corner of the library, trying to look absorbed in his book while his eyes kept drifting to the door. He'd always prided himself on maintaining appearances. Today it felt like work.
The library was quiet — the kind of silence that usually settled into something comfortable. Today it felt expectant.
He let out a soft breath. Theo would have a field day if he knew who he was meeting. Snape would likely have words. Several.
This was their first session, and Granger had suggested starting with the runes rather than Potions. Though he wouldn't admit it aloud, he was grateful. Time was wearing thin, and his patience even thinner.
The familiar sound of Granger's purposeful footsteps reached him, and he closed his book.
"You're late," he remarked as she came through the door.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm five minutes early, actually. You're just impatient."
"Never."
She gave him a pointed look and dropped her bag on the table, settling into the seat opposite him. There was nearly a metre of table between them.
"Right," Granger said, as if steadying herself. "We'll start with the alphabet."
Her stack of books landed with a thud. Draco restrained the urge to visibly react. This was going to be a challenge.
"Fine," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Let's get on with it."
She was already flipping through her first book, her brow furrowed, one hand tracing the runic symbols on the page. Her hair was pinned up today, loose curls falling over her shoulder. Draco found his attention wandering to the movement of her fingers and looked away, pretending to adjust his position.
She pushed the book across to him. "Start reading. There are twenty-four runes. If you memorise them tonight, we can move to actual translations by Thursday."
"I've got Quidditch Thursday, Granger. Remember your friend Vaisey? He plays."
Granger's expression tightened. "Don't call him my friend."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "What term would you prefer?"
"I'd prefer you to focus on the alphabet."
He sighed and turned to the runes. Every time he glanced up, Granger had already moved several pages further along. How was it possible to read that fast?
He tried to concentrate, but the sound of her turning pages and murmuring quietly to herself was a constant, low distraction. He looked back at the page. The symbols weren't particularly complex — just strange — but they kept blurring together.
"Are you reading it or just staring at it?" Granger's voice cut through, sharp but not unkind.
"I am reading," he said, a little defensively. "This section only shows what the runes sound like — not what they mean."
"What if you just give me what you need translated? I can see what we're actually working with and figure out what to skip."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "When Weasley asks you for help, do you just do it all for him?"
Granger blinked. "That has nothing to do with this."
"You are so predictable."
"I'm not going to translate it all for you," she said patiently, "but professionals spend years on texts like this. If I can see what we're working with—"
"I don't have years!" Draco's composure cracked. "I barely have months. I need it done now. If you can't—"
"Malfoy." Granger sighed, looking at his face. "Give me what you need translated. I'll put together a study plan for Thursday."
A beat. "After Quidditch," she added quickly.
Draco exhaled and pulled the book from his bag. He held it out.
Granger's eyebrows rose as she took it. "What is this?"
"That's what we're trying to find out."
---
"Library?" Harry asked over dinner.
Hermione looked up. "Sorry?"
He nodded at her bag. "You've been going a lot lately."
"Oh." She hesitated. "No, actually — the Potions classroom. I want to work through the antidote again. I keep making mistakes." She left out the part about Malfoy being there.
Harry's expression was careful. "I could lend you the Prince's notes."
"I don't want them. It's cheating."
He stopped himself from defending the habit. "I could at least come keep you company."
"I'm fine, Harry. Truly." She stood. "Enjoy your dinner. I'll see you tomorrow."
She headed down to the dungeons, arriving a full ten minutes early. She wanted to beat Malfoy there, after his comment yesterday.
She walked into the empty classroom with something close to smugness — until Malfoy stepped out of the supply cupboard.
"You're late," he drawled.
The smugness evaporated. "Do you live here? I'm ten minutes early."
"Still behind me," he said, something briefly amused in his eyes as he moved a cauldron to the worktable.
Hermione dropped her books down and took her seat. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"I don't really think about you at night, Granger," he said, lighting the burner with a casual flick of his wand.
Her face went hot. She fixed her attention firmly on her notes. "Good," she said. "I'd be worried about your sanity if you did."
"Worried about me, are you?"
"Let's just get started."
He flipped open the textbook. "All right. Walk me through what you did. Step by step."
"I crushed the Bezoar as instructed, then added it to the mortar."
"Did Snape teach you nothing?"
"I paid every attention in Snape's class!" Hermione said.
"Then why didn't you powder it properly? It needs to be ground fine before it goes in — if the pieces are too large, they don't incorporate."
"That's not what the book says."
"Forget the textbook." Malfoy closed it and slid it off the table.
Hermione gasped. "What are you—"
He was already walking away, looking entirely unbothered. "The textbook assumes you know the fundamentals, Granger. It shouldn't need to spell out everything."
"You can't just throw my things around like that!"
"You're not going to learn from reading."
"It's served me perfectly well for six years."
"It's a miracle you haven't poisoned anyone."
She wanted to scream. Instead she took a slow breath. "Fine. Get me the Bezoar and the mortar from the supply cupboard."
---
Thursday, Hermione was at the Gryffindor table for dinner when Daphne appeared with a very deliberate smile.
"Uh, Hermione," Ginny whispered, nudging her.
Hermione looked up. "Oh. Hi, Daphne."
"Haven't seen you since Monday," Daphne said simply.
"I know. I've been busy."
"Avoiding Vaisey?"
"...Yes."
Daphne nodded, glancing around. "All right, brightest witch of her age — lesson one of friendship."
Hermione blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Daphne gave her a pointed look. "Your girlfriend is tired of your boy problems."
Ginny was already laughing. "I like her," she decided, extending a hand. "Ginny Weasley."
Daphne looked down at it. Something shifted in her expression — the briefest flash of old instinct — and she closed her eyes for a second before sighing. "I'm already friends with the Muggle-born," she muttered. "Might as well continue disappointing my parents." She shook Ginny's hand.
Something stung in Hermione's chest. The slip had been caught and corrected quickly, but the implication behind the original word was still there.
Daphne looked at her. "I didn't mean it."
"I'm used to it."
"I'm working on it," Daphne said. "I won't do it again."
Hermione's expression softened, though the sting lingered. The effort was genuine — she could see that. "I know," she said quietly.
Daphne's shoulders relaxed slightly as she sat down. "So, Ginevra—"
"Ginny."
"Ginevra." A beat. "It seems Pansy's and my attempts at setting up our dear Gryffindor haven't produced results. What would you suggest?"
Ginny scoffed. "Oh, don't look at me. I already tried setting her up with Ron."
Hermione's eyes went wide. "Ginny!"
Daphne waved a hand. "We know about the Weasley situation. Vaisey turned out to be dreadfully dull, so that's off the table."
"How about we simply do nothing?" Hermione suggested. "I don't need a date right now. I'm busy enough with classes, and I've started tutoring."
She left out the details — specifically that the person she was tutoring was Malfoy, and that he was tutoring her right back.
"Tutoring?"
"Ancient Runes. Actually, I should head to the library. I've a text to finish looking over."
Daphne nodded. "Have fun. I'll stay with Ginevra a while longer."
Shaking off the strangeness of the entire situation, Hermione headed to the library.
She had been working for over an hour when Malfoy finally arrived, still in his Quidditch gear.
"I'm not late," he said before she could speak. "Practice ran long and I didn't have time to change." He shrugged off his robe and sat.
Hermione blinked, taking in the way his Quidditch jersey clung to his arms.
She looked back at her notes quickly, something warm spreading across her cheeks. "Right," she murmured.
"Did you work out where to start?" Malfoy asked, leaning forward to see the book.
"Yes, actually." She turned the book toward him. "These aren't Greek runes."
Malfoy stared at her. "What?"
"They're Elder Futhark. The oldest known runic alphabet. That's why your translations were going nowhere — you were looking for the wrong system entirely."
"But Theo said—" Malfoy stopped, his jaw tightening as understanding caught up with him. Theo had tricked him. To get him here.
Hermione laughed — genuinely, not unkindly.
Malfoy looked at her. "What the bloody hell?"
"I do like Theo," she managed, "but he played you completely."
"He's smarter than you'd think," Malfoy muttered, which sounded less like a compliment and more like a grudging concession.
"I looked through the book and started a couple of translations." She turned it over in her hands with a frown. "It's very old, Malfoy. I was worried about it falling apart in my bag. Where did you get it?"
Malfoy shifted. "Found it in the Restricted Section," he said — too quickly.
"I've been in the Restricted Section. This book isn't from there."
His eyes met hers briefly before dropping to the book. "If you're going to interrogate me, I'll manage on my own." He reached for it.
Hermione pulled it out of his reach. "Does it have something to do with your father?"
"Don't talk to me about my father," Malfoy said sharply.
"So it does."
"No. It has to do with me. Just leave it, Granger."
She looked at him for a moment, then back at the text. "I didn't mean to pry."
"You pry constantly. You're the nosiest person I know."
"And you're the most insufferable."
"You're friends with Weasley. That can't possibly be true."
Hermione handed the book back to him. "I won't ask about your father, and you don't make remarks about Ron or Harry. I've made notes — start translating."
---
"I don't like that Greengrass was talking with Ginny," Ron muttered as they walked to the dungeons.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "She was being friendly, Ronald. You should try it."
"Like you do?" Ron jabbed back. "Haven't seen Vaisey around much. Did you scare him off? And if my sister starts snogging a Slytherin, Hermione, I'll—"
"You'll what, Weasley?" Pansy's cool voice drifted from a nearby alcove. She stepped out into the corridor, tucking her Transfiguration essay under her arm and looking perfectly composed.
Ron's face went red. "I'll — I'll have a word with her. A firm word."
"How terrifying." Pansy pressed a hand to her heart in mock fear.
Harry bit back a laugh.
Ron looked at him. "Harry!"
"Sorry. It was a bit funny," Harry admitted.
Pansy's expression warmed fractionally. "At least someone here has a sense of humour." She looked at Hermione with a smile. "I'll walk with you. I don't want to be late."
Harry was sceptical but didn't protest. He fell into step behind her.
"So tell me, Potter," Pansy said, turning around to face them while walking backwards with complete ease. "What's it like?"
Harry blinked. "What's what like?"
"Being the Golden Boy. Always in the spotlight. Everyone wanting a piece of you. The Boy Who Lived." She tilted her head.
"Pansy," Hermione murmured in warning.
"It's fine," Harry said. "Brilliant, Parkinson. I love nearly dying every year."
Pansy's grin widened. "And I thought my life was glamorous. Do go on."
Ron was still sulking. "Ignore her, Harry. She's fishing for information to give Malfoy."
"Malfoy doesn't need information from me," Pansy said flatly. Her gaze drifted to Hermione. "Come over tonight?"
"I've got tutoring."
"Again? That's the fourth time this week."
"And tomorrow, and the day after. I'm tutoring every day, Pansy."
"Who needs that much tutoring?"
Hermione gave Pansy a pointed look, which Pansy was clearly studying for any additional meaning.
When they walked into the classroom, however, the quiet fiction dissolved entirely.
Malfoy was sitting at the Gryffindors' usual table.
Ron's mouth fell open. He pointed. "What the bloody hell is he doing there?"
"I wish I knew," Hermione muttered, crossing to the table. "What are you doing?" she hissed.
"Helping you," Malfoy said under his breath. "Act normal."
"We were supposed to meet tonight. Harry and Ron cannot know about this." She was barely keeping her voice together.
"Malfoy, move," Ron snapped, arriving behind her.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I don't think so, Weasley."
Pansy appeared at Hermione's shoulder, taking in the scene. "We may as well all sit together," she said, dropping elegantly into a chair. "Inter-house unity and so forth."
"No. Absolutely not!" Ron said.
"Oh, look!" Slughorn beamed from the front of the room, catching sight of the mixed group. "Inter-house unity in practice! Ten points to Gryffindor and Slytherin!"
Ron looked as though he might combust.
"Let it go," Hermione said quickly. She turned to Malfoy, voice low and controlled. "You could have warned me."
Malfoy hummed. "Where's the fun in that?" He glanced at Ron. "Brown not joining us today, Weasley? Finally worn her out?"
Hermione kicked him under the table.
Malfoy grunted.
She mouthed: "Stop it."
He mouthed back: "Make me."
Pansy was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, head tilted slightly. She leaned toward Harry. "I don't like this," she said quietly.
Harry glanced at her, surprised. "Neither do I."
Slughorn clapped his hands. "Today we'll be brewing the Calming Draught — a precise, patient potion. Qualities I know you all possess in abundance."
Hermione suppressed a groan and they got to work.
She could feel Malfoy's eyes on her almost immediately.
"Slow down," he murmured.
Hermione tilted her head slightly, making sure Ron and Harry were occupied. "What?" she whispered.
"You're stirring too fast. Watch me."
She risked a glance. He was focused on his own cauldron, expression calmer than she'd seen in weeks. His movements were smooth and deliberate — no wasted motion, no tension in his grip.
She relaxed her hold on the rod and matched his pace.
"There," Malfoy said quietly. "You've almost got it."
"Don't get smug," she muttered.
It was strange, seeing him smile like that at anyone — let alone at her. Stranger still, the way it made her feel.
The rest of the class went without incident, and while Hermione's potion fell short of Harry's mysteriously exceptional result, it was measurably better than her recent attempts.
"Same time tonight?" Malfoy asked as they were packing up.
Hermione nodded, smiling without entirely meaning to.
---
Draco was pulling on his robes when Pansy walked into his room.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Out."
"With Hermione?"
He stopped mid-motion. He turned, expression carefully blank. "What makes you think that?"
Pansy crossed her arms. "You've been slipping off like clockwork since Monday."
"According to you, I've been sneaking about since summer," he said, tone dry. He sighed. "You're not going to start on me about fancying her again, are you? I didn't enjoy it the first time."
"I'm saying you've been different lately. Around her."
"She's tutoring me," Draco said flatly. It was humiliating to admit, but it was better than wherever this conversation was heading.
Pansy went quiet. He moved for the door.
She stepped in front of him. "Then why all the secrecy?"
He shook his head. "Apart from the fact that you'd do exactly this? Because it's embarrassing, Pansy. Having to ask Granger for help."
She pressed her lips together. "Fine," she said, stepping aside.
He could feel her watching him as he left.
By the time he reached the Potions classroom, he knew he was well past their agreed time. Granger was already there, book open on the table.
She looked up. "What took you?"
"Got held up." He sat down, pulling out his notes. "Shall we start on your potion?"
She set the book aside. "What are you teaching me today?"
"How to stir, apparently," he said.
"Ah yes, because my fundamental problem in Potions is clearly my stirring technique," she replied.
Almost. He almost laughed. "Grab your rod."
She arched an eyebrow and a laugh bubbled out of her. "You might want to rephrase that."
Draco blinked — then let out a low groan as it caught up with him. "Granger. Just pick up the stirring rod before I change my mind."
She was still grinning as she reached for it.
"You're insufferable," he muttered, turning to light the burner.
She stood and crossed to the cauldron, dropping the rod in as she pulled out her wand to add water. "You can't just put it in dry, Granger!" Draco said, pulling the rod back out.
She had to bite her lip to keep a straight face. "You're doing this on purpose now."
"Salazar — it's not your blood, it's your mind that's filthy!"
"Blame me all you like. I'm entirely innocent." She filled the cauldron. "Just talk me through it."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh, is that what you want, Granger?" His voice dropped, deliberately low.
Her mouth dropped open. "That is not what I meant!"
He laughed — properly. "I can play your game, too."
She scoffed and turned back to the cauldron. "Six drops of Fluxweed oil and three Blood Roots, split lengthwise?"
"Six drops," he confirmed.
She counted under her breath, watching the drops fall, trying to ignore the warmth still lingering in her chest.
Draco moved closer, watching her face — the slight tension in her brow, her lips moving soundlessly over the numbers.
"You're making this look so much more complicated than it is," he pointed out.
She huffed without looking up. "Maybe I like making things complicated."
"Oh, I know."
"How do I split the Blood Roots again?"
"Lengthwise, Granger," he said, more patiently this time.
She cut carefully and precisely, the quiet between them settling into something that was almost comfortable.
"Deeper," Draco said.
Her hand stilled. She looked up.
"You're barely grazing the surface. You need to go deeper."
"Oh." She swallowed. "Right."
She scraped the roots into the mortar, transferred the contents to the cauldron, and picked up the stirring rod.
"Your wrist is too stiff," Draco sighed. He came around the table and leaned over the cauldron, assessing the brew. It was bubbling in a way that wasn't ideal.
She went still as he stepped close.
"Relax your wrist," he murmured.
Before she could react, his hand covered hers on the rod. His touch was light, steady.
"Relax," he said again, quieter. "You're not fighting it. You're coaxing it."
Granger exhaled slowly, loosening her grip. "Coaxing it," she repeated.
She tried to focus on the cauldron. She did. But the warmth of him standing at her back, the steadiness of his hand over hers, made it extremely difficult.
"Better," he said.
She nodded. "Thanks."
The movement broke something in Draco — her hair shifted, and her perfume hit him squarely. He stepped back and withdrew his hand as if it had scorched him. He covered the reaction with a scoff. "Don't get used to it. I won't hold your hand through every lesson."
She kept stirring, very deliberately looking at the cauldron.
Her hand felt cold where his had been.
She added the Hyacinth flowers and watched the colour shift.
"So," she said.
Draco smiled softly, despite himself. "Yes?"
"Read anything good lately?"
He looked at her, a slow smirk forming. "Is that really the best you can do for small talk?"
"I thought it might be nice to talk about something that isn't Potions," she said, slightly flustered. "Apparently not."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not much for small talk, are you?"
"I can manage small talk. Just not easily with you."
He shrugged. "I haven't read anything recently. You?"
"Little Women," Granger said, a softness coming into her face. "It's a Muggle novel."
"Muggles have little women? Like house-elves?"
Hermione let out a short laugh. "No, Malfoy. It's about four sisters. It's a classic."
"A story about sisters," he repeated, sceptical.
"About their lives and how they grow. It's quite moving, actually. I think you'd find it interesting if you gave it a chance."
He crossed his arms, something glinting in his eyes. "You think I'd enjoy a book about four Muggle girls learning life lessons?"
"There's even a romance."
He laughed. "I keep learning things about you."
"This is practically the first real conversation we've had, and most of it you've spent making fun of me. What could you possibly have learned?"
"That you're considerably more tolerable when you're not lecturing me about my choices." He leaned back. "And that you have a questionable mind."
Granger smiled.
"Don't smile too much. We'd lose all the fun of pretending we still hate each other."
"I don't hate you," she said, easily, like it was nothing at all.
Something ached behind Draco's ribs. She should hate him. After everything he'd done — and everything she didn't yet know. A world in which Hermione Granger didn't hate Draco Malfoy was a frightening one.
He cleared his throat. "I've also confirmed your mind wanders at the worst possible moments."
She froze slightly, then recovered. "Is that so?"
"I'd say so."
"Well," she muttered, "perhaps if you weren't always going on about your rod..."
"Stirring rod," Draco said, a laugh escaping him.
"Yes, yes — all the practice you have handling it." She waved a hand.
"Sod off!" He was properly laughing now. "I can't help what you choose to read into things."
"Do you ever get tired of being so smug?" She was laughing too, both of them having long since stopped paying attention to the potion.
"You said I hadn't learned anything. I'm simply proving you wrong."
"Congratulations, Malfoy. Six years, and you've managed three observations."
"Three," he confirmed. "Including the public displays of affection." He tilted his head. "Vaisey, was it?"
Granger's laughter faded. "It's not what it looked like."
"That's what everyone says."
"It's true. I ended things with him."
Draco sat up fractionally. "Why?"
He hated how interested he sounded.
She hesitated, her eyes finding his. "I realised he wasn't what I wanted." Her voice had gone slightly dry.
Draco held her gaze. One second. Two. Three.
The air between them grew thick with something neither of them quite had a name for. He could feel his pulse quicken. Not what I wanted. He wanted to press her — wanted to ask exactly what she meant by that — and another part of him wasn't sure what he'd do with the answer.
His smirk had gone somewhere. "So what is it you do want, Granger?" The words left his mouth before he decided to say them.
She shifted, but she didn't look away. "I don't know," she said softly. "But it's not him. And it was never really Ron." A quiet laugh. "I don't think I ever actually wanted him. He was just comfortable. Familiar."
She exhaled, tucking her hair back. "Maybe I like making things complicated," she said — the same thing she'd said earlier.
"What about you, Malfoy?" She turned it back on him like a shield. "What do you want?"
Something shifted in his chest — the kind of shift that didn't go back.
"I want—" He'd started to answer when the cauldron began to bubble violently.
He was on his feet instantly, crossing to it.
She watched him — the way he'd faltered before the potion interrupted, the way his voice had almost opened for a moment. Something tightened in her chest.
"Look what you've done," Draco said, adjusting the heat with a tap of his wand. He'd meant it to land like a jab. It didn't quite.
"Flirting?" he added.
The word came out wrong — tentative, almost, instead of mocking.
"I wasn't flirting," she said, her cheeks colouring.
He kept looking at her. His brain had stopped cooperating entirely.
"I wasn't," she repeated, less certainly.
"You sure you don't want to just admit," Draco said, his voice quieter than he intended, "that you might be a little interested in me?"
Her breath caught. "Are you seriously asking me that?"
"Why not? You don't want Vaisey. You never wanted Weasley." He held her gaze. "It sounds like you're looking for something else."
She swallowed.
"I'm messing with you, Granger," he said quickly, and the shutters came back down. "Obviously."
"Obviously," she said, very quietly.
He turned and started packing his bag. "Potion's done. You did well."
Granger blinked. "Oh. Um. Thanks."
He slung his bag over his shoulder, not quite looking at her. "Same time tomorrow?"
"You still want—"
"Don't overthink it, Granger," he said, moving toward the door. "You need the help. So do I."
She nodded. "Same time tomorrow."
He paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
She held her breath, watching.
"Hurry up," Draco said. "I'll walk you back."
"You'll — what?"
He didn't turn around. "It's late. You wandering the corridors alone is asking for trouble."
"I am perfectly capable—"
"Until there's a troll or an escaped convict involved."
She scoffed but followed him, adjusting her bag strap. Their footsteps echoed softly on the stone.
"I wasn't flirting," Granger said.
"You're still on that."
"Because it's absurd. As if I'd flirt with you, of all people."
"Of all people," Draco repeated. "Charming."
"You're insufferable, self-centred—"
"Devastatingly handsome," he added, with a smirk.
She glared at him.
"I won't take it to heart, Granger. I know I'm better than Weasley."
She opened her mouth, clearly searching. "Ron is — he's—"
"I'm not insulting Weasley," Draco said. "I'm just saying I won't be offended by your apparent lack of taste." He stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "This is your stop."
Granger turned on him, properly furious now. "My taste is perfectly fine. Ron is a better man than you could ever hope to be."
Draco's voice was quieter this time, without the sneer he usually wrapped around it. "Just because he doesn't call you a Mudblood to your face, doesn't mean it doesn't bother him that you're exactly that — and better than him in every way that counts."
Something in her expression shifted — not what he'd expected. "I can't actually remember the last time you called me that," she said.
Draco stiffened. He looked away, his features harder to read in the low light of the corridor. "Get some sleep, Granger," he said, and turned to go.