Theo huffed as he walked out of the bathroom, fresh from the showers, "You're still reading? I was in there for an hour." He said, rubbing his hair dry with the towel in his hand.
"Forty minutes." Hermione corrected with a stretch, looking around the book to Theo.
She could see why Daphne was so obsessed with wanting to date him. He was rather fit.
Draco glanced from the book to his girlfriend before looking at Theo, "Nott, put some pants on, would you?" He half snapped.
"I'm decent," Theo complained.
Decent wasn't the word Draco would use to describe a man standing in nothing but a towel around his hips and one being placed over his shoulders as they spoke.
Theo smirked and leaned against the bedpost at the foot of Draco's bed, towel still slung low on his hips. "Scared, Malfoy?"
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Of what? You flashing my girlfriend?"
Theo raised a brow. "You think she'd look?" He shot Hermione a flashy grin.
Hermione laughed, but didn't lift her head from Draco's chest. "I mean, he is rather pretty."
Draco made a disgruntled noise low in his throat, snapping the book shut.
"Theodore," he said, tone clipped, "you have five seconds to put on some bloody trousers before I hex you straight into next week."
Theo grinned like a kid on Christmas.
Pushing off the bedpost, he stretched dramatically before dropping his towel.
"Theo!" Draco yelled, practically covering Hermione's eyes with the book as he threw a pillow at him.
Theo cackled, catching it mid-air. He used it to shield himself as he walked over to his trunk completely unbothered.
Hermione was laughing as she pushed the book away from her face. "I think that's my cue that it's time to go." She smiled, "I have rounds with Pansy today."
Draco groaned, "No, don't go, send Weasley instead."
Her smile flickered for a moment before she pressed a kiss to his lips, "No can do, I actually like Pansy. Remember?"
Draco watched her as she moved out from under the duvet, stretching as she stood up, still in just her blue sweater and white lace knickers.
He dragged his eyes down her legs, groaning softly as he moved to grab her, "You cannot leave here like that."
Hermione laughed, stepping away from his hands, picking her jeans up from the ground, "Well, I did plan on putting my jeans on."
He flopped on the bed, watching her get dressed, smoothing out her hair.
"You're cruel, Granger."
She hummed, kissing him once more, "I will see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"I have patrol all morning, Ginny claims I owe her lunch, I should find a way to make up with at least Harry, and Daph and I have a library date tonight." She explained, recounting her plans for the day to him.
Draco huffed, "Be less likeable and find a break for me, yeah?"
After having left Draco's dorm, Hermione hurried to Gryffindor Tower for the fastest shower and change of her life.
She was rushing down the stairs to the common room, painfully aware she was five minutes late for patrol.
"Woah, Hermione!" Harry laughed as she almost bumped into him. She had her prefect badge pinned askew and her hair was still damp, an apple in her mouth, "Where are you running off to?"
Hermione skidded to a stop, popping the apple out of her mouth, covering her mouth sheepishly as she finished the bite she'd started, "Sorry. Patrol. Pansy's going to kill me, I'm late."
Harry nodded, and though he was trying to be casual, Hermione knew him better than she knew herself at times. "Not to keep you, I- I haven't seen you in… a while."
He didn't sound angry. Not really. Just… resigned. Tired.
She frowned, eyes darting away, "I've just been trying to keep the peace."
"Hasn't been working."
She nodded, "Is he still mad?"
"Worse." He muttered.
"Are you? Mad?"
Harry scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze for a second before meeting it again. "I miss you."
That wasn't a yes.
It also wasn't a no.
She smiled sadly, "I miss you too. I meant what I said to Ron, though. I'm not…"
"You should go. Pans' 'will kill us both if she finds out I'm keeping you."
"Right. How are you two, anyway?"
He laughed softly, "Still not talking."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged, "Not like we were dating. I just liked not being The Chosen One with her."
"I'm still sorry." She whispered, hurrying out of the common room.
Pansy was waiting for her outside the portrait.
"Finally." She drawled, "I was about to assume you were kidnapped by feral centaurs."
Hermione fell into step with her, "I overslept." Not exactly true, but the easiest explanation.
She hummed, "Overslept, or otherwise preoccupied?"
Hermione looked at her, scrunching her nose as she asked, sickeningly sweet, "Do you really want to know?"
"Mm," Pansy smirked, "I see. Was it good?"
"Pansy!" The Gryffindor girl laughed, pushing her softly, her ears tinting red.
Pansy grinned, delighted, "Come on, I have heard nothing but people fawning over him for years now. My own family fawns over him. The least you can do is tell me that I didn't mess up by not grabbing him when I had the chance."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "You're the worst."
"And yet here we are. On patrol. Together. Best of friends." She looped her arm dramatically through Hermione's, "It's tragic, truly. My family would be devastated."
Laughing, Hermione let her guide them through the corridors, "It is strange, is it not?"
She shrugged, "You started as a plan, 'Mione, then you threw that plan of mine out the window and fell in love with my best friend. This whole year has been a hell of a ride."
"So what I'm hearing is you're the reason Ron and Harry hate me."
Pansy snorted, "If Potter hates you, I need to have a strong word with him. Bloody hypocrite."
"Would you, actually?" Hermione asked, "Not about me. About you guys. I think it's still bothering him that you disappeared on him."
Pansy was quiet for a beat, and Hermione thought maybe she'd overstepped.
But then the Slytherin girl sighed, guiding them toward the staircase landing that overlooked the courtyard. "It wasn't personal, you know. I just panicked."
"Pansy Parkinson panicked?"
"It's a real alliteration."
Hermione leaned into her, silently telling her to keep talking.
Sighing, Pansy continued, "He's a good shag, Hermione." There was a pause. "And that's all it was meant to be."
Hermione nodded.
"And then… then you and Draco weren't talking and we found out about what he was doing with the cabinet and why and- and he needed help." She was barely checking the classrooms now, "So I distracted Potter in a way I knew would distract him. But then he got… sweet. And nice. And we talked after we'd… do stuff."
She let out a soft laugh, lowering her voice, "And then we made Amortentia and I don't think I smelled him in it, but there was something suspiciously like broom polish in there and I don't like Quidditch but Potter does." She said it like it didn't mean anything. But her voice had gone soft.
Hermione pulled her to a stop, "Pans…"
"Don't look at me like that." Pansy laughed, "I'm fine. I don't want a relationship, Hermione!"
Hermione tilted her head.
Pansy smiled, a little wistful, but her usual confident edge was still there. "Honestly? I don't think I'm built for it. Relationships, I mean. Never really felt that way about anyone. Family's always nagging me, asking when I'll settle down and have a family. I told my mum I'm more likely to be running a business empire or causing a scandal than getting married anytime soon."
They started walking again, "I just don't want one right now. Especially not with Boy Wonder."
Hermione sighed, "I understand, but I still think you need to tell him. He'll understand." She elbowed her, "Besides, if you smelled him in Amortentia, you're a little too far gone."
"Relationships are messy and dangerous. I mean, look at you and Draco. You love him and he loves you, but that's not going to save either of you when the Carrows walk in."
Hermione didn't answer.
They walked in silence a few paces before Pansy added, "You know he's not going to say it, right?"
Her brows pulled together, "What'd you mean?"
"I love you." Pansy said, "He's not going to say it."
"It's not because he doesn't." The Slytherin added hastily, "I see how he looks at you. How he acts. He definitely does. It's just… I assume you know how outdated pureblood customs are?"
Hermione nodded slowly. "I've read about them."
"He was raised a certain way. We all were. And Narcissa tried her hardest to raise a good man, and I think she did the best she could, but with Lucius for a father… I've never heard them tell each other they love each other. I've heard Narcissa say it to Draco. But not her husband. Love is a liability. Showing affection is dangerous. Admitting to something as ridiculous and vulnerable as love is weakness." Pansy explained, trying her best.
Hermione let that settle. Her chest felt tight in that way it always did when someone said something about Draco that she already knew deep down, but didn't want to acknowledge aloud.
That feeling was unfortunately becoming very familiar.
"I know you already told him you love him. I just wanted to explain his emotional constipation." Pansy added. "That's why he's not saying it. Because if he says it out loud, then it becomes true. Then he's not just fighting for his mother or his own life. He's fighting to survive for you. And that kind of love is the fastest way to get yourself killed."
They walked up a staircase. "Do you think I'm mad for staying?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Yes." She answered without hesitation, "But that's what makes you a Gryffindor."
As they reached the new floor, Pansy exhaled and nudged her again. "So. Hypothetically. If Potter were still interested…"
Hermione blinked. "Are we really doing this?"
Pansy smirked. "What? I said I'm not built for relationships, not that I'm allergic to flirting."
Hermione laughed, soft and tired. "I think he'd say yes."
She wouldn't say it, because she knew Pansy would kill her for it, but she swore she saw her smile.
The Slytherin girl cleared her throat, clearly moving the conversation back to Draco rather than Harry, "So. On a scale from 'respectably decent' to 'I saw God'—how good is he?"
Hermione considered it, knowing she had to throw the girl a bone, "We didn't shag." She admitted, "But he is incredibly proficient when it comes to dirty talk. And that's all you're getting!"
Ginny and Hermione sat out in the courtyard, the warm May air around them as they ate their lunch beneath the sprawling oak tree overlooking the lake.
Ginny tossed a grape into the air and caught it with her mouth, grinning smugly. "Still got it."
Hermione rolled her eyes with a fond smile. "You've had far too much free time since Quidditch ended."
"No Quidditch and no boyfriend." Ginny muttered, tearing off a piece of her sandwich, "I'm waiting for Blaise to make a move. He's rather slow with it."
"He's being respectful. You and Dean just broke up." Hermione pointed out.
"Like a month ago!" Ginny whined, "I need something to keep my mind on. I can't study for any more O.W.L's, I can't keep listening to Ron complain about you, and I cannot fathom another conversation with McGonagall about my post-Hogwarts plans."
Hermione pulled at a blade of grass, "Or- and this is just a thought - focus on your future?"
"The only future I want to think about is what color I'll be painting my room this summer. I'm thinking butter yellow. Really throw mum off her feet."
Leaning over, Daphne pointed at her Transfiguration notes, "I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong, 'Mione!"
Hermione leaned closer, tilting the parchment towards herself. They were sitting in her and Draco's usual corner of the library, fairy cakes in front of them. They were meant to turn them into fairies.
She frowned. "Did you eat lunch?"
"What?"
"You're transfiguring food. If you haven't eaten, you're not going to be able to focus. Trust me. It happens to Ron all the time."
Daphne had left the library an hour later, wanting to work on anything other than transfiguration, leaving Hermione to finish putting the books back on the shelf.
She was taking her time putting them back rather than setting them on the cart for Madam Pence to do herself, in fact, offering to reshelve the ones she'd have to do that night.
She was in the Dark Arts section, standing on her tip toes as she tried to put a rather thick book back on its rightful shelf.
She leaned a little further, book wobbling slightly when it was plucked from her hand, "Hey—!"
"You could have levitated it, you know." A familiar voice drawled into her ear.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment before turning around on the ladder, careful not to lean too hard on the bookshelf and cause it to tip over as she rolled her eyes, "I am perfectly capable of using a ladder, thank you very much."
Draco smirked, looking through the books, "But why, when we can bend the laws of physics to our desires?"
Hermione took the book back, snapping it shut, "Sometimes, believe it or not, the Muggle way is more fun."
Draco stepped closer, resting a hand lazily on the rung just above her foot. "Alphabetizing the darkest books in dark corners is what Muggles consider fun?"
"Maybe you should come by my home sometime this summer and I'll show you." She wasn't sure why she was saying it, knowing it wouldn't happen, but the idea was fun to play with.
His smirk faltered, just slightly, "Maybe next year. Now come down so I can kiss you." His hand— the one not on the ladder— was held out for her to take.
As soon as her foot touched the ground, he was already pulling her in—not urgently, not carelessly, just… intentionally. Like he'd been waiting all day to do it.
He had.
He backed her into the bookshelf, his fingers locking with hers, a grin on his face as he kissed her, "I missed you." He murmured against her lips.
"You saw me this morning."
"I still missed you." His mouth was warm against hers.
"You're getting soft," she teased, brushing her nose lightly against his.
His hand slipped to the curve of her waist.
"I still have books to shelve," Hermione whispered.
"I'll help." He kissed the corner of her mouth.
She hesitated, but as he nipped at her lower lip, she rolled her eyes, pushing him away. She grabbed a pile of books, "Two shelves down to the right, eighth spot up."
"You didn't even look." He commented in disbelief.
"I don't need to."
Draco paused and then, "Merlin. It's terrifying how aroused I am by that."
Hermione shot him a look over her shoulder, lips twitching. "Books turn you on?"
"Frustratingly brilliant witches turn me on. Mine specifically." He grinned.
"Then I suggest you focus on shelving unless you want Madam Pence to catch you in a compromising position next to the potions section."
Draco raised a brow, clearly weighing the risk. "So you're saying there's a chance?"
"I'm saying I will hex you if you so much as look smug while I'm alphabetizing." She turned away before he could reply, mostly to hide the blush creeping up her neck.
"You're hot when you're bossy."
"I'm always bossy."
"Pot, kettle."
She snorted softly.
They moved through the aisles together, Draco making increasingly dramatic commentary on each book while Hermione batted him off with carefully timed shushes and poorly hidden smiles.
At one point, he reached for a high shelf, windlessly levitating the thick tome into place with a lazy flick of his fingers. She watched him, amused.
"Magic. Efficient. Elegant. Sexy." He was practically posing.
His fingers kept brushing hers between books, a casual intimacy that neither of them commented on.
Eventually, Hermione gave in and let him carry the heavier stack, though not without a pointed, "Try not to drop them and damage any spines, or I'll damage yours."
Draco only grinned. "Kinky."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're so much more annoying now."
"Please, I'm just matching what you put down, Granger." He laughed, turning to her, "Tell me your biggest fantasy isn't to get fucked against one of these very shelves and I'll drop it. Completely. You won't hear another peep from me."
Hermione's mouth opened—then promptly shut.
A beat passed.
Draco's smirk grew smug.
"Third shelf on the left," Hermione said, handing him another stack of books, trying to redirect the conversation.
"I knew it," he whispered, stepping closer, arms still full of books, though somehow he made that look almost rakish. "You've thought about it."
Hermione gave him a flat look. "I've thought about hexing you until you can't move," she said evenly, though her ears betrayed her by flushing pink.
"Not what I asked." He tilted his head, the grin never leaving. "But duly noted. Immobilization hexes and being bent over ancient woodwork."
Hermione paused, "I'm trying to work, Malfoy."
"I'm helping."
"You're flirting." She laughed, walking towards him.
Pausing by his side, she lowered her voice, "Incorrectly, I might add."
Draco huffed, "Excuse me, but what about my flirting am I doing incorrectly because it seemed to have worked on you." He followed after her.
"Well, for starters," Hermione made her time of putting a couple of books in place before answering, "It wouldn't be bent over ancient woodwork."
Draco stopped short, blinking. "Oh?" His voice had gone up way too high for his liking.
Hermione slid the last book into place with maddening precision, dusting her fingers off like she hadn't just dropped a verbal hex right on his libido. She turned to him, casually. Too casually. Smiling like nothing more than a girl passing by as she made to grab another stack, moving to the charms section.
Draco groaned, heading after her, "And where- how- explain."
Hermione hummed, "You're a smart boy, Draco. Figure it out. Or keep stacking, and maybe I'll give you another detail."
"You're heartless, Granger." He whispered, already sorting through the stack in his arms and slipping them into place.
Hermione watched him as he finished his stack of books and took hers as if to make a show of how much he wanted the answer.
"It wouldn't be bent over a desk like you so kindly assumed." Hermione drew it out.
Draco paused, glancing back.
"Keep shelving, Malfoy," Hermione said, standing behind him.
He huffed, turning back to the shelf.
She let him mutter for a moment, clearly enjoying his unease and then, "You'd pin me against a shelf."
Draco turned around, and she shot him a look that said, "Get back to it".
"You're feeding me crumbs, Granger. This is sadistic." He complained, looking around for the next spot.
"It'd be against reinforced oak with preservation charms." She continued, tongue darting to wet her lips, "The walls are thick, if you time it right, the library's never too busy."
Draco's hand slipped slightly, and he cursed under his breath.
"I imagine Madame Pence never goes too deep in the restricted section, but, then again, where's the fun in that?"
He didn't know what part was worse: that she was actually telling him as if it was tea conversation, that anytime he tried to look at her, she'd make a noise at him to go back to shelving books, or that she'd clearly thought about this more than once.
"So, you've thought about this more than once."
She hummed.
"More than twice?"
Another hum.
"Pinned against the shelf. Was I… behind you? Or…?"
She handed him another book, and he caught the flush creeping up her neck, "Depends on the day."
He turned then, not caring, "Okay, you're going to need to start talking more before I put any more books on shelves."
Hermione laughed, seeing the blown look of his pupils and the flush of his ears, "It depends what I'm doing that day. If I'm stacking books, you'd come up behind me. Kiss my neck a little. Push my skirt up."
Draco dropped the book she'd just given him.
"Careful. That one's expensive." She chastised.
"I don't care. Keep talking. I'll buy four." His voice was rough, his throat gone dry.
"If you're with me and we're studying, when we go to put the books back, you'd pin me against the shelf and kiss me. Maybe your leg would find its way between mine. Maybe your hand would too…"
"And if we were arguing?" He wondered.
"You'd pin me and do that thing where you lower your voice and hiss at me. Probably some "admit it. You want me to ruin you right here." And I'd protest. I'd push you away, you'd pull me closer, I'd tell you to fuck off, you'd kiss me. Hard. Draw blood, maybe. I'd protest while you say those filthy things you like to say. But I wouldn't actually stop you when you slip my knickers off."
Draco stepped towards her, close enough she had to tilt her head to keep eye contact, her back brushing against the books on the shelf behind her.
He leaned in. "You know, you get this little crease right here—" his finger lifted, ghosting just shy of the space between her brows "—when you're pretending not to enjoy this."
She hummed, "Do I now? I'll have to watch that."
"Don't. It's why I started fancying you." He breathed, "I'm going to kiss you again, Hermione."
"And when Madam Pence comes by and sees your hand halfway up my blouse?"
His eyes flickered down to her blouse, "I'll owe her a formal apology."
"You should get to work on it then."
His eyes flickered back to her face, "Wanna hear one of mine?"
Hermione's breath caught slightly, but she made no effort to move away, her arms finding their place around his shoulders, "Your what?"
"Fantasies." He whispered, breath ghosting her face.
She arched an eyebrow, "Go on then."
His gaze dropped to her lips, and he leaned in, lips brushing against her jaw, "You're here late. Everyone's gone. You look like you've been here all day. You don't notice me come in until I'm behind you."
She didn't interrupt. Just watched him, chest rising and falling a bit faster.
"You start to turn, but I tell you to stay still. That I'm going to make you mine right there, on that very desk where you write your essays and organise your notes and mark all your little tabs."
Hermione exhaled slowly, biting back the urge to swallow. "You're possessive in your fantasies."
Draco smiled. "I'm always possessive with you."
She shook her head a little, not trusting herself to speak, so he kept going.
"You argue, of course. Always do. Say you're busy. That I can't just walk in and distract you. That you're in the middle of something terribly important." He tilted his head, watching her closely. "But the second I whisper your name, just once, into your skin, you let your hips press back into mine."
Hermione bit her lip. "And then?" she murmured.
Draco's voice went quieter, as though confiding a secret into her ear. "Then I tell you I've been watching you for weeks in that library chair with your legs crossed too tightly. I tell you I know you've been thinking about me when you bite your quill. I tell you I'm going to bend you over and ruin you until you forget what book you were even reading."
Her breath hitched.
"And then I do." He kissed her—slow, molten, full of threat and promise. When he pulled back, he was smirking again, but this time it was different. A little darker. A little more dangerous. "That's just one. In another, I'm under the table touching you while you read."
Her fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt.
"You don't get to cum until you finish the chapter." He murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth, "If I'm lucky, Potter and Weasley are sitting across from you. They'd have no idea what's wrong, just that you're suddenly very flushed and having trouble concentrating."
She huffed a laugh, "Possessive."
"You keep saying." He went to pull away, and she made a noise, not letting him move.
"One more." She whispered, "Before we finish with the books."
Draco grinned like a wolf circling its prey, "Does it have to be in the library?"
Hermione's fingers curled into his hair, "No. just… keep it interesting."
Draco's smile turned slow and wicked, the kind that made her forget how to breathe.
"Alright," he murmured, nose brushing against her jaw before he dipped down to kiss her neck, "We're in the potions classroom. No one else is there, and I, uh, I have you bent over Snape's old desk."
Hermione let out a startled breath, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. "Snape's desk? You really are deranged."
He pressed his lips against the pulse point of her neck, "I'd have you bent over, arse in the air. You're wearing one of your shorter skirts, so when I walk up behind you, I can see your knickers. How wet you are."
She sighed softly.
"You act like you hate it. I make you spread your legs apart. And I fuck you. Achingly slow. And I make you recite a step-by-step guide to make a potion. And every time you're wrong…" He trailed off.
"…every time you're wrong," he murmured, lips brushing her skin like a spell, "I pull out. Just a little. Just enough to make you beg."
Hermione's breath hitched audibly, her grip on his collar tightening.
Draco pulled back slightly to look at her, but not too far.
"When you really mess up, though, and trust me, you will," He bit his tongue as if trying not to say it out loud, "I make you start from the top. And maybe make your arse a little red."
He saw it pass over her face, the slight flicker of confusion, her mind not catching up fast enough.
Her brows drew together ever so slightly—the crease he liked—just before the realization caught up to her, and her lips parted in a breath that was more sensation than sound.
"You'd spank me?" she asked, voice low, disbelieving—not scandalized, not horrified. Curious. Teetering on the edge of something else.
His mouth twisted into a grin, "I'd have you count them. Just enough that when you sit down in your next class, you wouldn't be able to keep still."
Hermione's eyes shut for a moment, and he knew she was thinking about it, picturing it in her beautiful mind.
"Finish shelving the books and I'll consider it." She decided, pushing him away.
They were in potions working in the same pairs Slughorn had decided on a while back.
Hermione was rather relaxed, reading the instructions out to Draco as he worked on the potion.
"The heat should be at a simmer." Hermione read, and Draco lowered it, watching as the potion bubbled.
He turned to her, "You know, we're meant to be working together. Not just have you read to me while I do all the work."
Hermione hummed, placing her hands over the page, "You like looking at me. Don't act like you're in pain."
Draco smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing over his face, his hand brushing against hers, just slightly, not for anyone else to notice, just for him.
"Maybe I do." He said quietly.
She smiled, letting her hand rest there. Not holding, just touching, "You're getting rather bold."
"Just wondering how long it'll take Weasley to throw his knife at me. He keeps glaring."
Hermione looked across the table over at Ron, who was indeed glaring. She pulled her hand away, turning from Draco, "Stir clockwise. Thirteen times."
Draco's eyes flickered, but he didn't complain, grabbing the stirring rod, "I could do something, you know."
"Please don't." She whispered, closing her eyes. She was so tired of Ron's glaring and comments.
Draco stirred the potion slowly, his gaze still flicking toward Ron, who was now muttering under his breath, clearly displeased, Daphne elbowing him.
He wanted to hex him, if he was honest. He could see how much it was bothering Hermione, even if he hadn't heard what exactly Weasley was saying to her.
Hermione shifted in her seat, trying to focus on the potion rather than the tension at the table. She hated the way Ron was acting—jealous, territorial, and utterly childish. Draco caught the flicker of frustration in her eyes and softened his tone.
"What if I did something without causing a scene?" He offered.
Hermione rolled her eyes, leaning towards him, nudging him slightly with her body, "Don't tempt me, Malfoy."
Draco grinned.
"I didn't know you knew how to do that," Harry commented from across from them, and Pansy snorted.
The smile slipped from his face, and he rolled his eyes, looking up at him, "Scar head—"
Hermione kicked him lightly.
"Potter," Draco corrected, and Hermione smiled, "I'm full of surprises."
Harry raised a skeptical brow, the corners of his mouth twitching, "Good job, Hermione. You've got Malfoy whipped."
"I am not—!"
Pansy made a soft noise of disagreement before he even finished.
It wasn't quite a laugh, but it wasn't supportive either—more of a smug, knowing sound that said you wish.
Draco scowled at her. "Careful, Parkinson. I know where you sleep."
Pansy didn't flinch. "You're all bark. We both know Granger's got you wrapped around her little Muggleborn finger." She knew the implications she'd set up for him to take. He wasn't the only one who didn't quite appreciate Ron's current attitude towards her friend.
Draco smirked, his eyes sparkling as he grabbed the metaphorical rope she'd thrown, "Well, she does have very nice fingers. Soft hands."
The silence that followed was sharp and fleeting, quickly broken by the choked sound of Harry coughing— and maybe laughing— into his sleeve and Ron dropping his knife on the stone floor with a loud clang.
Hermione flushed immediately, turning to Draco, "You did not just—"
"Just what, my witch?" He murmured, feigning innocence.
She kicked him, actually kicked him, "We're in class." She hissed.
"You're the one making it dirty!" He laughed, "I could have said you have a good mouth on you, but I didn't!"
Hermione's eyes widened, and she heard Daphne's delighted squeal from across the table. And if Daphne had heard, it was safe to say Ron had too.
Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes, "Merlin, Hermione, I did not need that image."
"Don't you dare!" She pointed at Harry, "Wipe it away! I don't want you thinking of me doing that!"
Pansy was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, "I thought you said you hadn't—"
"Pansy," Hermione warned.
She raised both hands in mock surrender, "I'm just saying—"
Hermione whipped around to Draco, "Ask her who she shagged just before Christmas Hols. I think you'll love the answer." She blurt out.
She didn't have to look at them to know both Harry and Pansy's smug looks would have slipped.
Draco blinked, "I don't really care."
"Trust me, you will," Hermione whispered.
Pansy was glaring daggers at her now, "Hermione." She hissed.
Hermione turned to her, smiling innocently, a 'You know I can fix this, if you apologies'.
Draco looked between the two girls, eyes narrowing as the tension took a sharp turn. Pansy's usual cool exterior was cracking—just slightly—and Hermione's smirk was far too satisfied for anything innocent. Far too Slytherin.
"Pansy-"
"She's making things up to distract from the fact you were just talking about her mouth."
Harry, who had gone quiet and suspiciously still, coughed into his sleeve again. He looked like he was debating between fleeing or dying on the spot.
Draco turned to him slowly. "You know something."
"I know a lot of things." Harry said, "Most of them usually end in a certain bald man trying to kill me every year."
Though he wasn't completely sure what nerve he had hit, he did see how Pansy, Draco, and Hermione's faces flickered and the tone changed.
The air went still. Like someone had cast Silencio over the whole corner of the classroom.
The casual tension, the teasing— gone. Replaced by something colder, heavier.
Hermione cleared her throat, "Raise the heat a little and add the flower petals." She said, trying to move the conversation back to potions before Harry could notice how still Draco had gone, how she had stopped breathing, or how Pansy was looking at Draco with something similar to pain.
Draco didn't move.
The petals sat in the small dish beside his hand, untouched, forgotten. His throat moved around words that wouldn't come, jaw tight.
Hermione stood up, moving closer to him, her hand wrapping around his bicep, "Draco," his name was low in her throat, soft, but desperate nonetheless, "It's going to boil over."
And that seemed to pull him out of it. He grabbed the petals, tipping them into the cauldron.
Ron scoffed, loud and pointed.
Pansy shot the red head a look, "Do you have something you'd like to say, Weasley?"
Ron leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, clearly itching for a fight. "Plenty, actually."
Hermione sighed, her hand still lightly resting on Draco's arm. She could feel how tense he still was beneath her touch, and she wasn't exactly planning on letting him go until he untensed.
"Ron, please." She whispered, closing her eyes.
"I just think, maybe, if you didn't have your tongue halfway down Malfoy's throat, he'd be able to focus long enough to notice when his potion's about to boil over."
"Ron." Harry groaned.
"What?" Ron asked, "It's true."
"You want to say that again, Weasley?" Draco asked.
"Stop." Hermione said sharply, tightening her hand, "Ron, shut up."
"You're cozying up to him in the middle of class!" Ron huffed, "He's still— he's—"
"What?" Draco cut him off, "I'm still what? Go ahead. Say it."
"Stir counterclockwise. Fifteen times." Hermione said, squeezing her hand once, not dropping her eyes from Ron's.
Draco's jaw clenched.
"A Death Eater's son. A Malfoy." Ron said the three words he wanted to say hanging in the air.
"And he's still the one I'm snogging. Your point?" Hermione snapped.
Ron stared at her as if she'd slapped him. Again.
"Ron, mate, drop it." Harry said, "Seriously. Not the place."
Hermione sat back down. "Turn the heat up." She murmured to Draco, and he did as she said.
"I don't need you to defend me, Granger." He whispered.
"I don't care." She whispered back, checking the textbook, "One squid tooth."
Ron's scowl deepened across the room, but Hermione didn't glance his way again. Her focus was on Draco, on the way the tension around them had shifted into something sharper, something electric beneath the calm surface of their shared space.
"Squid tooth," Draco murmured, reaching into a small pouch and dropping a jagged black shard into the simmering brew.
"Add three drops of dittany extract next," she said, voice steady, though her eyes never left the potion.
Draco nodded, his hand steady despite the delicate task. "Three drops? Not four?" He asked.
Hermione's eyebrows pulled together, forming that crinkle Draco was so mesmerized by, "Three." She repeated, but the look on his face said something else.
"Are you sure? You're not wrong?" He asked, smirking slightly. "Three drops it is," he said, voice low and deliberately slow. "Wouldn't want to make you start from the top."
She felt her face grow red at the words, their stolen moment in the library flashing through her mind.
'You'd spank me?' She had asked.
'I'd have you count them. Just enough that when you sit down in your next class, you wouldn't be able to keep still.' He'd responded.
She grabbed the textbook, looking through the instructions, "Yes, three drops of dittany, unless…" she trailed off, "Unless using rose petals, then four." They'd used rose petals.
Draco's smirk deepened. "You want to count them for me, love?"
"I'm nauseated. Actually nauseated." Harry said, looking between the two.
"You should've seen the pining." Pansy muttered, "It was worse."
"Did you know she reads her notes twice after she's written them?" Blaise said, flopping into the chair across from Draco, that following Friday.
Draco looked up from where he was revising his essay, "Sorry?"
"Did you know she reads her notes twice after she's written them?" Blaise said again, more slowly this time, as if Draco were the thick one. He dropped a book on the table with a thud and leaned back in his chair, watching Draco with the idle curiosity of someone poking a caged Kneazle.
Draco blinked. "Who?"
Blaise gave him a look. "Your girlfriend, dumbfuck."
He nodded slowly, "Is there a reason you're stalking her?"
"We were studying. In the library. Which, she keeps turning red, and I want to know what you said to mess with her head." He pointed at him accusingly.
Draco didn't even pretend to hide his smirk. "I haven't gone near the library. I've been down here."
"You said something, though, didn't you?"
"Why does everyone always think I'm the one who did something? She's the one who said what she said. I just played along. It's not my fault if she can't sit still in the library anymore."
Blaise narrowed his eyes, "You're claiming she's making herself blush like that?"
He shrugged, but the curl of his mouth gave him away, "What can I say? The witch has a vivid imagination."
"She knocked over an ink pot when I mentioned you. You've broken her brain. I hope you're proud of yourself."
"Extremely."
"Do you know she had the audacity to argue with me about the properties of flobberworm mucus like I wasn't trying to help her?"
Draco snorted. "You tried to correct her notes?"
"She was wrong."
"She's never wrong."
He threw his hands up, "That's what she said!"
Draco was grinning now. "So, she argued with you, proved she was right, and all the while was thinking about me, is what I'm hearing."
Blaise leaned forward, glaring. "You think this is funny?"
"I think it's fascinating," Draco said, smug. "Did she tear you apart academically or just destroy your will to live in silence?"
"I liked you more when you were a prat."
The note fell onto Hermione's desk in Charms the following morning.
She had been chewing on the end of her sugar quill, the topic of the lesson a review from third year, leaving her bored out of her mind.
She paused when the note had landed, rolling her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at the blonde boy behind her.
Draco was leaning back in his chair, twirling his wand in his hands. Arrogant. Smug. Ridiculously handsome.
She huffed, popping the quill between her lips as she unrolled the note.
You're chewing on your quill. Again. It's adorable and incredibly distracting. Stop.
She snorted, scribbling on her own piece of paper before leaning back to slip it on his desk.
Draco grinned to himself as he unfolded it.
Distracting implies you were paying attention to begin with. If you don't remember this lesson from third year I may have to reconsider who I'm dating.
Pansy leaned over, wanting to see what Draco was smiling at. She laughed softly, "She's got a point." She whispered.
Draco conjured a piece of parchment, this one charmed with a disillusionment charm.
When it landed on Hermione's desk, she quickly slipped it into her lap, tapping it with her wand to reveal the message.
Rethinking your standards already, Granger? Tragic. Maybe you can offer me a private tutoring session.
She huffed.
The last time you and I were in the library, you practically backed me into the shelves because you wanted me to admit you were right.
Hermione could practically feel the smugness radiating off of Draco, and when she glanced back, he had raised his eyebrows as if saying guilty.
She didn't say anything as she grabbed the note he'd left for her.
I gave you the chance to tell me I was wrong. It's not my fault you can't lie. Was it bent over the table or up against the shelf? I can't remember.
Dropping the note into her bag, Hermione shook her head, not dignifying him with a response.
There was a pause—long enough for her to begin chewing on her quill again, gaze drifting toward the blackboard where Flitwick was now droning about wand trajectories.
Another note landed, this time feather-light and scented faintly like whatever ridiculously expensive cologne Draco insisted on wearing.
You're doing it again.
She blinked, looked down.
The note continued—
Sugar quill sharing is encouraged, you know. That's how friendships work. And relationships.
Hermione laughed softly to herself, and Harry glanced over.
"What's up?" He asked.
She was quick to hide the note, shaking her head, "Nothing. Just a funny thought." She said, popping the sugar quill out of her mouth.
When Harry turned away again, she turned around holding the sugar quill to Draco, raising her eyebrow in a challenge.
Draco's eyes lit up and he leaned forward, taking it with his mouth.
And somehow—she didn't know how—she was sure he was winning some game.
Hermione laughed as Draco's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, chin resting on her shoulder.
"You have been so clingy recently!" She said through laughter.
Draco turned her around easily, "I am a dying man, Granger, let me ravish my girlfriend while I still can." He complained, kissing her lightly.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as Draco kissed her again, slow this time, more reverent than teasing.
"You're being dramatic," she murmured against his mouth.
Draco pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, expression soft but edged with something real. "Do you want me to be less… clingy, I guess?"
Her smile flickered, eyebrows pulling together as her hands found their rightful place against his shirt, "No. Godric, no, Malfoy. It's just… shocking. I didn't expect it. You're all… smug, normally."
"I'm still smug," he huffed, "I'm just…" He trailed off.
Terrified.
He was terrified.
That didn't seem like the right thing to say to her, though, so he just kissed her again.
Hermione frowned, pulling back, "You do know you're not actually dying, right?" She asked with a nervous laugh.
Draco didn't answer right away, his hands slipping down to her hips, just holding her, "I mean, statistically speaking, we're always dying. Just very slowly."
He reached a hand up, pushing her hair behind her ear, hand pausing against her cheek as he took her in.
There was so much in her face. Happiness, fear, sadness, love. Misplaced love. And his heart ached to shut her out, but the clock was ticking in his head, and he couldn't bring himself to push her away just yet.
She leaned into his touch, "You're scaring me." She admitted.
He huffed a laugh, "You should be." He kissed her forehead. "Meet me by the lake for lunch?"
"Draco—"
"I'll be waiting." He pulled away, already disappearing around the corner.
Draco adjusted the blanket for the third time, stepping back with a frown.
It was still wrinkled.
He flicked his wand to smooth the edges and moved the basket over to be less centered.
It was charmed with preservation charms to keep the food inside from going bad.
Blaise had caught him sneaking out of the dorms with said wicker basket and raised an eyebrow, but mercifully hadn't said anything.
Draco was sure he would've killed him on the spot had he tried to make a joke.
'This is ridiculous,' He thought to himself, wiping his palms on his trousers, crouching down to fix the glasses, muttering a quick scourgify on them, 'It's just lunch. It's Granger, not the bloody princess of Spain. We've snogged in empty classrooms. We spent the entirety of the holiday break together. Alone. Our friends know now. She's seen the fucking dark mark and didn't run!'
She was going to laugh at him.
Or she was going to look at him with that stupid soft expression where her eyebrows came together and her mouth did that dumb smile frown thing that made his chest feel all weird and tight.
"Salazar," he muttered to himself, rubbing his hand against his already tight feeling chest.