Chapter Text
Hermione jiggled her knee as she watched Professor Slughorn make his way into the potions classroom. As he placed his folio on the desk and removed his hat and outdoor robes, she couldn’t help thinking what a strange fellow he was. For someone so extremely caught up in appearances, rank, and status, he certainly didn’t look the part. He tried, yes…he absolutely acted the part, and seemed to have some degree of success. But as far as she was concerned, he just didn’t fit the mould. He didn’t appear influential or important. He didn’t look like someone who could gain the attention – and admiration – of, well, anybody.
Which is maybe why he tried so hard. Always attempting to rub shoulders with influential people, or those close to them. It was the whole point of his Slug Club. It’s raison d’être . Of course Slughorn had invited Harry, Ron and herself to join this year – being a member of the Golden Trio carried a lot of weight post-war. He’d seemed positively delighted to discover all three of them would be returning to Hogwarts for its first ever eighth year. They all accepted, of course, lest they appear too high on their horses.
Ron had been ecstatic to receive his invitation – healing his hurt ego for having been snubbed sixth year. She and Harry had accepted out of a sense of obligation.
It wasn’t like Hermione was looking to do anything that put her and Ron in the same room together. In fact, since their disastrous attempt at a relationship over the summer, she had been desperately trying to keep him at arm's-length. They were still friends, or at the very least still friendly with each other. But their friendship was very different than it had been before. Knowing that Ron had seen her naked. Fucked her. Heard her come…all of it changed everything. She couldn’t go back to the way things had been before. She didn’t want to.
But it was clear Ron felt differently.
He wanted another chance with her. To make things right. Claiming they were both fucked up owing to the trauma and events following the war.
Which wasn’t entirely wrong.
But it didn’t change the fact Hermione unequivocally did not want to get back together with him. Did not want to ‘cut him some slack’ as he’d put it, and repeat one of the worst mistakes of her life.
She sighed, watching Slughorn as he began writing the day’s lesson plan on the chalkboard with a slight sense of irritation. Musing how different her approach to school was this year over every single other one. For starters, there was no Voldemort to worry about. No impending doom or death. Harry – and the entire wizarding world – was safe. Which meant she was free to entirely focus on her studies. Finally.
Only things had changed since sixth year.
A lot had changed.
She was nineteen now. An adult. And her approach to school and especially to her professors – many of whom she’d fought alongside – had changed. She respected them, sure…but not as authority figures. Not anymore. Now they were her peers. She’d even classify some of them as her friends.
Not Slughorn, of course.
She sucked at her teeth and shifted her position on her stool, pulling down her uniform skirt. She’d somehow managed to outgrow it, but hadn’t wanted to buy any new ones, this being her last year and all. She’d vowed to transfigure it – lengthen it slightly – but just hadn’t gotten around to it. She only ever remembered when it hitched up in class. When she could do nothing about it.
“Hermione, please,” Harry said quietly as he put his hand on her knee to stop it from jiggling. “You’re shaking the whole table.”
“Sorry,” she said, casting him a quick glance. “Just feeling antsy today.” It was their first week back after Christmas break, and their first potions class. Slughorn would be assigning them partners for their end of year projects.
“Well, then,” the professor finally began as he looked around the classroom. “I hope you all had a restful winter break, and are ready to get back to your studies and tackle your end of year projects.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and ran his thumbs up and down his braces, stretching them out. “Each of you will be paired with a partner, with whom you will not only work on your final projects, but all brews for the remainder of the year. You’ll become potions partners, so as not to…” he stopped, and chuckled at his own joke before even making it, “...so as not result in any cross-contamination.”
There were a few twitters among the classroom’s brownnosers. Hermione looked around herself in disgust, making a mental note of exactly who had laughed at that awful joke. Praying to God, Godric Gryffindor and Albus Dumbledore that she wouldn’t be paired with any of them. As her gaze swept over her peers, she made eye contact with none other than Draco Malfoy who was, apparently, doing the same thing as she was. They paused, looked at each other for a very brief moment and then with a slight frown, he moved on.
Huh.
Not exactly a display of gratitude for testifying at his trial and getting him pardoned. Hermione shrugged slightly. He had thanked her already. What did she expect? His never-ending devotion and service?
Clearly that wasn’t going to happen.
She turned her attention back to Slughorn.
“Now in light of recent events…” he went on, clearly referring to the war, which in Hermione’s opinion probably merited a little more than a ‘recent events’ footnote, “...I’ve decided to assign everyone a partner from a different house – in the spirit of inter-house unity, and getting to know our fellow classmates a little better.” There were a number of groans at this news. “I’ve also decided to match partners based on their current academic achievements in potions, to ensure an even pairing of skills and abilities. I don’t want a strong potioneer paired with someone who struggles, as it won’t allow me to gauge if the latter is learning anything, or simply riding the coattails of their classmate.” Even more groans, whispers, and complaints followed this revelation. He smiled at the class, “Yes, yes…I know this may come as a bit of a shock, but I do want you all to learn something in this class. Once paired together, I’ll expect you to select a potion for your end of year projects. I’ll remind you all, it should be a long-brew potion. Something that takes anywhere between two and four months to successfully brew. You will run your selections by me for approval, and to ensure the correct ingredients are either available, or procurable.”
He paused for questions, and when there were none, pulled a list out of his leather folio and began assigning partners.
Harry was assigned to work with Hannah Abbott, while Ron was paired with Luna. This last pairing caused the former to groan and the latter to squeal in excitement. Hermione could understand Ron’s trepidation – while Luna was an amazing friend and all around wonderful witch…she wasn’t exactly the most disciplined or practical student when it came to school work. But neither was Ron. This pairing would force him to be the disciplined one. It was a match made in heaven, and Hermione couldn’t help a smirk.
As Slughorn made his way down the list, Hermione watched her pool of potential potions partners get smaller and smaller. She’d had her bets on being matched with Micheal Corner, whom she knew was Ravenclaw’s top student in the class, but he ended up with Pansy Parkinson. Hermione frowned. She had been entirely unaware that Pansy was even remotely skilled at potions. She looked around the dungeon, trying to figure out who was left that would be at the same skill-level as her.
And that’s when their eyes met. Again.
Draco Malfoy.
He was already looking at her, having clearly come to the same conclusion, only faster. He tilted his head and raised his impossibly pale eyebrows.
Was it possible Malfoy was even paler than before? His hair definitely seemed less blonde, and more silver than she remembered it. And though she was loath to admit it, she definitely remembered how Malfoy looked. Most girls at Hogwarts did. He was easily one of the best looking students there – and the summer between seventh and eighth year hadn’t changed that. In fact, he seemed to have gone through a growth spurt. He was taller. His shoulders broader. His features more chiselled – his jaw was square, and his cheekbones impossibly sharp. Even his eyes had changed. Hermione remembered them being such a pale blue they were practically grey. But not anymore. Even from across the room she could see they were a vibrant icy blue.
Had he glamoured them?
She didn’t know Malfoy very well – if at all – but she didn’t think he was the type to do that.
In the background, Slughorn cleared his throat to declare what had already been established by elimination, “And our final potions partners, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy.” He rocked back and forth on his feet for a moment before continuing. “Now then, if everyone would collect their belongings and join their new partners, we’ll begin today’s lesson.”
She looked back at Malfoy and he jerked his head, indicating the free space next to him. He’d already been sitting alone. She nodded, and began collecting her things.
“Fuck, Hermione…and I thought Hannah Abbott would be a chore,” Harry muttered, then glanced at Malfoy. She bit her lip, and nodded. Looked at her best friend and tried to put on a brave face, “At least academically we’ll be well matched,” she said.
“But what about everything else?” he asked.
Indeed. What about everything else?
Hermione shrugged. She didn’t have a clue. She’d just have to make the best of it.
She stacked her books, topped them with her parchment and quill, then slung her satchel over her shoulder. “Wish me luck,” she said quietly to Harry, and then bravely made her way to the very back of the classroom to join Malfoy at his table.
He’d already rearranged his belongings to ensure they were on his half of the workstation. He’d even moved his stool over, and was practically sitting at the end of the table. She frowned slightly, but vowed not to get this partnership off to the wrong start. So she bit her tongue and refrained from making any snarky remarks about getting as far away as possible from the mudblood, and instead simply said, “Malfoy,” in greeting.
“Granger,” he replied, watching her intently. Tracking her every move as she put her satchel down and organised her books and parchment, and finally sat down on her stool. He very noticeably noticed her bare legs, far too much of which were on display owing to her too short skirt. She tugged her skirt down again, as Malfoy appeared to expend some effort to stop staring at them. His nostrils flared, he frowned, and he clenched his jaw. Shifted his chair even farther away from her.
What the actual fuck?
Hermione couldn’t help feeling insulted.
But again, in the name of peace and inter-house unity, she bit her tongue.
Thankfully, Slughorn launched into the day’s lesson, eliminating any need for small talk. As Hermione took down exhaustive notes, she couldn’t help noticing that Malfoy didn’t write a single thing down. In fact, he didn’t even have a parchment out. He just sat on his stool, listening, and fidgeting with his quill. He had exceptionally long fingers. Graceful, even.
Hermione shook her head, and returned her full attention to the professor. When he finished explaining the attributes of today’s potion, along with its uses and benefits, he told them all to get started with their brewing. Malfoy immediately stood up, heading for the potions cupboard saying, “I’ll grab the ingredients,” over his shoulder.
Well alright, then.
Hermione busied herself getting the fire under their cauldron going, and preparing their work space. Checking they had knives, chopping blocks, mortars and pestles.
When Malfoy returned, she was pleased to see he hadn’t forgotten anything, and had clearly picked the best of the available ingredients. She couldn’t help a smile.
“You approve?” he asked with the cock of an eyebrow.
She smiled even wider. “I do,” she confirmed.
He nodded, and they companionably got started prepping the ingredients. Malfoy’s cutting was precise, his mashing better than hers owing to his greater strength, and he seemed to have an innate ability to pour exact amounts of liquid without actually having to measure them. He was…a fantastic potions partner. More incredible still, was the fact he seemed to know exactly what to do, despite the fact he hadn’t written a single word of the lesson down.
“How do you do that?” she finally had to ask, looking at him with exasperation.
“Do what?” he replied as he finished stirring their potion. He set the timer to three minutes and looked at her, his overly blue eyes so focused, she felt herself blush a bit.
“How do you know exactly what to do, without any notes or instructions?”
He shrugged one shoulder, “I have hyperthymesia,” he said matter-of-factly. “I remember everything I experience with perfect recall. Including today’s lesson.”
Hermione stared at him. “But that’s not….”
“Fair?” he finished for her.
She bit her lips, but couldn’t help nodding.
“What’s not fair, Granger, is the fact I have to remember every awful fucking thing that’s happened my entire life in perfect fucking detail ,” he sneered. “Like being bit by a bloody albino peacock when I was three, or when my father punished me with his cane for the first time when I was nine, when I was transfigured into a fucking ferret and smashed repeatedly on the ground, when I was branded like a fucking animal by the Dark Lord, and when I d— …” he broke off abruptly, took a deep breath. “There are a lot of them,” he finished, as if she hadn’t already guessed.
“I’m sorry,” she frowned. “I was only thinking…”
“You were only thinking how it applies to school. I got that.”
Mercifully, the timer went off and they got back to brewing their potion in silence. When they’d finished, he backed away from both Hermione and the cauldron, and Professor Slughorn came to inspect their results.
“Perfect, perfect, perfect,” he declared.
Hermione couldn’t help grinning, and when she looked at Malfoy he was….not quite smiling. Rather, his lips were pressed tightly together. Maybe he was constipated. She had no idea. Couldn’t read him one bit.
After Slughorn had taken a sample phial of their results and they began cleaning up, Hermione cleared her throat.
“I suppose we should get to the library rather quickly to research options for our end of year project…” she started, “...before all the good books are taken.”
Malfoy attempted to conceal a sigh, but failed. He looked at Hermione and asked resignedly, “When did you want to meet?”
“Tonight? After dinner?”
He clenched his jaw and ran his hand through his hair. “Sure, I’ll find you,” he said, then grabbed his satchel and left the classroom in a whirl of robes.
-
At dinner Hermione found herself sandwiched between Harry and Neville. Which, in the grand scheme of things, was actually a very good place to be. They were two of her very favourite people in the world. Less fortunate, was the fact Ron was sitting directly across from her. Conversation was decidedly stilted as a result, as she constantly tried to steer it away from the topic of ‘them.’ There was no ‘them’ as far as she was concerned, and she didn’t want to discuss ‘them’ as if there were.
She looked over her shoulder at the Slytherin table, checking to see how far along Malfoy was with his dinner. Only he wasn’t there. He’d be hard to miss with his silvery hair. Had he finished already? Impossible. Dinner had only just started. Was he running late? That would really put a wrinkle in her plans to meet at the library.
She shook her head and tried to focus on her meal. Only she couldn’t. She was already scanning the Great Hall, looking to see which of her seventh and eighth year potions classmates were there, and which were missing and quite possibly already in the library, taking out the very best books.
She couldn’t take it.
She wolfed down her meal, and got up. “I’m headed to the library,” she announced, and extricated herself from her Harry and Neville sandwich.
“Already?” Harry asked. “We just got the assignment today…”
“Yes already, Harry,” she replied, shaking her head at his complete lack of academic prowess. She looked over at the Hufflepuff table and saw Hannah Abbott deeply engrossed in conversation. Obviously not about potions from the way she was gesturing and giggling. Those two were clearly doomed.
“See you later,” she said, patting Harry on the shoulder and making her way towards the library.
When she arrived she went straight for her favourite table – only to find Malfoy already sitting there, pouring through a huge tome on potions. She smiled and made her way towards him, only to notice his shoulders tense as she neared him. It couldn’t possibly be related.
She got to the table, draped her satchel over the back of a chair, and sat down, looking at him. “How long have you been here?” she asked.
He looked up at her, his whole demeanour strained. As if he were a tightly strung bow. “A few minutes,” he replied.
“I didn’t see you at dinner.” It was meant as a statement, but might have come out more as an accusation.
“Because I wasn’t in the Great Hall for dinner,” he replied, then shook his head. Closed his book. “So Granger, about this potion…” he turned in his chair to face her, cracked his neck, “I’m assuming you want to tackle one that’s either extremely rare, or extremely well known for its difficulty…” he raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
She nodded. Bit her lips.
She could see him watching her mouth before returning those intensely blue eyes back to her own.
“We don’t need a book to tell us the latter,” he said matter-of-factly. “We could brew polyjuice, veritaserum, amortentia or felix felicis….” he paused before adding, “Or wolfsbane.”
Hermione shifted on her chair uncomfortably. Pulled her skirt down.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve already brewed one or more of those, haven’t you?”
“Might have,” she replied evasively, and busied herself by pushing her curls out of her face, and attempting to push them behind her ears.
Malfoy’s nostrils flared slightly, before he leaned his elbows on his knees and asked, “Which one?”
She cleared her throat, admitting, “Polyjuice.”
“When?”
“In second year.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, then leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, assessing the witch in front of him with what looked like a sense of appreciation.
“Why?”
“Hmm?” she replied cagily.
“Why on earth did you need polyjuice in second year?”
Hermione licked her lips before finally biting her lower one, all while Malfoy watched her closely.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “We were trying to figure out who the Heir of Slytherin was,” she finally told him.
His face pinched ever so slightly before he asked, “Who did you think it was?”
This conversation was making Hermione hot. Uncomfortable. She lifted her hair off her neck and twisted it into a loose bun. Fished her wand out of her satchel and poked it through to hold it.
Malfoy pushed his chair back, crossed a leg over his knee, and ran a hand over his face, pausing and rubbing at the stubble on his chin.
“Granger,” he said somewhat tightly. “ Who did you think was the Heir of Slytherin?”
“You,” she finally admitted.
“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. “Who did you impersonate?”
“ I didn’t impersonate anyone. I was involved in somewhat of a polyjuice mishap…”
Malfoy raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“...but Harry and Ron transformed into Crabbe and Goyle and followed you into the Slytherin common room to fish for clues,” Hermione finished. Malfoy didn’t respond. He just looked at her in incredulity. “They came out convinced you weren’t the heir, if that’s any consolation,” she added.
He tilted his head to the side, “What kind of mishap?”
Hermione shook her head before cradling it in her hands in embarrassment, “I accidentally used a cat hair, rather than a human hair in my potion,” she said with shame. “It wasn’t pretty, and it didn’t wear off after an hour.”
Malfoy actually snorted with laughter, “Served you right,” he finally said, running his hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled. “So polyjuice is off the list,” he concluded. “Do any of the other potions interest you, or do we want to spend our time pouring over dusty books nobody has checked out in years to find something more obscure?”
“Honestly?” she asked.
“Honestly,” he confirmed.
“I’d like to at least have a look and see what else there is.”
Malfoy nodded. “That’s fair,” he said, then stood up and made his way to the stacks, looked around, then began pulling down several dust covered books.
Hermione followed close behind, as he started passing books to her, stacking them in a pile in her arms. It was, if she had to be honest, the very opposite of what she was used to doing with Harry and Ron. She was used to being the one to find the best books and resources.
“Why am I carrying everything?” she finally asked in exasperation.
Malfoy looked down at her with a frown. “Because you can’t reach the top two shelves,” he said matter-of-factly.
Touché.
“What about that one?” she said, trying to point with her chin, “The one with the green leather cover? By Laperrière?”
Malfoy pulled it half out and examined the title. Nodded. Added it to their growing pile. It was getting heavy. His eyebrows shot up, and he grabbed one last volume from the top shelf muttering, “This should do,” and then took two-thirds of the books out of Hermione’s arms and carried them to their table where he dropped them with a loud thump. Hermione joined him, and very deliberately placed her books down carefully, giving him a pointed look.
Then they both sat down and began examining their finds.
Malfoy immediately dismissed several books, including the one by Laperrière.
“What’s wrong with those?” she asked, unable to comprehend how he’d ruled them out so quickly.
He sighed, and picked up the rejected books one by one. “This one mostly deals with complicated variations on love potions, which I am absolutely not interested in making.” He took the next book, “This one claims to be bilingual, but is mostly written in Russian, which I don’t read.” Finally he took the Laperrière book in hand, “And this one smells.”
“It what?” Hermione asked in surprise.
“It smells. I don’t even want to open it again.”
“It smells,” she repeated with a frown.
He nodded and passed her the book. She opened it and leaned in to take a whiff, and….bloody hell. It did smell. Like an old pair of gym socks that had been forgotten in a duffel bag for a few weeks. She grimaced, “You’re right. Pass.”
He took the three books and set them aside as Hermione divvied up the remaining stack. She paused at the black bound volume Malfoy had selected last, turning it over in her hands. “Malfoy…” she said as she opened the book, “...this is dark magic.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide.
“So?” he replied.
“So?”
“Yeah. So?”
Hermione sighed. “We can’t do a dark magic potion,” she said.
Wasn’t that obvious? Did she have to spell it out for him? If Draco Malfoy brewed a dark magic potion, every single student in Hogwarts would be talking about it. How the marked Death Eater was a dark wizard. That he was probably still an acolyte of Voldemort’s. And that he’d probably imperiused her to get her to agree to anything so patently absurd.
No. Absolutely not. They would not brew anything from that book for their end of year project.
“Why not?” he asked, crossing his arms. “You said you wanted to find something obscure. I guarantee the potions in this book will be exactly that.”
“Well, I’m not looking through it,” she said, laying it aside.
“Good,” he replied and added the book to his stack.
She looked at him for a moment, and huffed in irritation. Fine. Whatever. Let him look. They had to agree on a potion to brew, and she would never agree to anything from that book. Nor would Professor Slughorn, for that matter. It was easier to just let him waste his time.
Malfoy’s jaw clenched visibly as he watched her.
“Okay,” she said, sitting down, loosing her hair and fluffing it. “Let’s get started.”
She pushed her stack aside, took the book on top, and opened it up. Started perusing its contents. She got through the first few pages and stopped, as a strange feeling came over her. A tingling sensation on the back of her neck. It felt like…someone was watching her. She looked up, and sure enough Malfoy was just staring at her. Frowning. His nostrils slightly flared.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He took a moment to respond.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I can’t sit here.”
“You can’t sit here?” she repeated.
He shook his head, “No, I can’t sit here.” He got up, and began collecting his belongings. “I’ll check these out. Have a look, and come up with a short list for…” he looked at her.
“For next week?” she suggested.
“Next week?” It was his turn to repeat.
“What’s wrong with next week?” she asked defensively.
Malfoy shrugged. “Nothing. I just expected you’d be itching to get started. That you’d want to pick something sooner.”
Hermione took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Why did everyone think she was so unreasonable? It was really rather insulting.
“How about Sunday, then?” she suggested. “We can meet after lunch and compare notes.”
Malfoy frowned. “Can we do Sunday morning, instead? I have quidditch practice after lunch.”
She’d completely forgotten Malfoy was back to being the Slytherin house team’s seeker after several years of hiatus, and that as a result, Slytherin had won every single one of their matches this year. Malfoy was….well, he was a brilliant seeker, if she was being completely honest. Far better than he used to be. She even thought he might be better than Harry, though would never voice that opinion out loud. It didn’t matter, anyway. Harry had opted not to join the house team this year. Something about wanting a drama, competition and tournament-free year, which was understandable.
“Sunday morning would be perfect,” she smiled.
He gave her a single curt nod, picked up his stack of books, and practically ran out of the library.
Hermione shook her head. Puzzled. She really, really didn’t understand him at all.
-
Hermione was first to arrive at their next potions class and sat at the same table Malfoy had selected last time. Intentionally sitting at the back of the class was, in and of itself, a new experience for her – and she watched as everyone arrived.
She felt…nervous for some reason. Jittery. Her stomach twisting itself into knots. She couldn’t figure out whyuntil, just as Professor Slughorn was about to close the classroom door, Malfoy arrived. He rushed into the classroom in a swirl of robes and walked to their table at the back, passing behind Hermione and slipping into his seat. Very intentionally moving it over so he was sitting farther away from her.
Bloody hell. This again. It explained why she was so on edge.
She looked at him with a frown, but all he gave her was a quick nod of acknowledgement.
Then Slughorn cleared his throat and started his lesson, and she was forced to pay attention and take notes. Irritated at Malfoy who just sat there and ‘experienced’ the lesson so he’d remember it forever in perfect detail.
Wanker.
Hermione’s irritation with Malfoy subsided when they actually got to brewing. Again, he proved an excellent potions partner. He selected the best ingredients, and was meticulous in their preparation. Until he was chopping a sopophorous bean, that is, and slipped – cutting his finger.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and immediately put his finger in his mouth. Looked around the classroom, then took the knife, chopping board, and everything on it, and walked to the front. Gave Slughorn a meaningful look, was given a nod by the professor, and proceeded into his office.
What the fuck was going on?
Hermione made to follow, but was stopped by Slughorn. “My dear,” he said with a nervous laugh, “...why don’t you go select a new sopophorous bean and get back to your potion? Mr. Malfoy will rejoin you shortly.”
“But,” she started.
“He’ll rejoin you shortly, Miss Granger. Please get back to your cauldron.”
She nodded, went to the ingredients cupboard and found a sub-par bean – it was all that was left – then slowly made her way to the back of the classroom, catching Harry’s eye on her way. He had that look on his face. The same one from sixth year. The one that said he was absolutely convinced Malfoy was hiding something.
The thing about Harry suspecting Malfoy was….well, he was usually right.
Hermione sighed, and got to cutting the new bean – very carefully. She added it to the cauldron, and continued working on the potion, looking towards Slughorn’s office every few minutes.
Where was Malfoy?
Finally, after ten or fifteen minutes he emerged and joined her at the table.
“What were you doing back there?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said tightly.
“Nothing?” she repeated, not buying it.
“Nothing,” he said again. Firmly, as if closing the topic.
She shook her head and reached over. Took his hand in her own. He went to pull away, but she held firm. Examined it, and frowned. Besides the fact it was ridiculously cold, there was no sign of his cut. She looked up at him, “You healed it?” she asked.
Malfoy was breathing deeply. He seemed…pained. Slightly panicked. His nostrils were flared, his eyes wide, and his pupils dilated.
She let go of his hand, and saw instant relief on his features.
“Yes,” he said shortly. Frowning.
With what looked like some degree of effort, he pulled his frowning gaze from Hermione and looked at the ingredients, the cauldron, then asked, “You’ve added the lacewings?”
Hermione took a deep breath, trying desperately not to be offended by his obvious discomfort at her having touched him. Of being near him. She nodded her head, “Yeah. We start stirring again as soon as the potion turns purple. Then add the dandelion root.”
He gave her a furtive look and nodded. Immediately started preparing the dandelion roots for the next step while she just stared at him, feeling slighted, confused, and all around irritated with him. It’s not like they had to get along – they just had to be good potions partners. That was it. That was the extent of their relationship. They weren’t friends, so she needn’t beat herself up over his odd and infuriating behaviour.
The potion took on a decidedly violet hue, and she began stirring. Thirteen times counter-clockwise, followed by six clockwise. She looked at Malfoy and saw him hesitate slightly before joining her in front of the cauldron to add the dandelion roots. They both peered inside the cauldron as the roots sunk to the bottom and apparently did…nothing?
They looked at each other a moment, then back at their potion.
“Is it supposed to do anything?” Hermione asked.
“It’s supposed to turn navy blue,” Malfoy replied. Looked at his watch. “I don’t think it’s supposed to take this long.”
“Maybe it’s the bean,” Hermione theorised.
“The bean?” Malfoy frowned at her.
“Yes,” Hermione answered as she pushed her hair back off her face. She was getting sweaty from standing over the cauldron for so long. “You bled all over our bean. I had to get another one. It….wasn't ideal.”
Malfoy swallowed, his Adam’s apple rather pronounced and bobbing in his throat.
“So you’re saying this is my fault?” he sneered.
“No,” Hermione shook her head. “It’s the bean’s fault. Or….” she leaned in conspiratorially, “…it’s the professor’s fault for having such shitty sopophorous beans.”
Malfoy actually smiled. “Granger,” he drawled, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.”
“You haven’t?” she asked in surprise. “Clearly we haven’t spoken much.”
“Clearly.”
“So how do we salvage this?” she asked.
Malfoy looked into the pot, considering. Shook his head, “We don’t.”
“We….we don’t ?” Hermione repeated with incredulity. Did he just intend to give up? Fail that day’s lesson? What kind of potioneer was he?
One that gives up, obviously.
She huffed, pulled her hair off her neck, and fanned herself with her hand.
Malfoy backed up so fast he crashed into a stool and almost fell. Steadied himself, and closed his eyes, apparently trying to compose himself.
Hermione had had enough of him for the day. She waved Professor Slughorn over and asked him about their potion. Explained everything they’d done – presumably correctly – only to result in a decidedly purple, and not navy blue, potion.
“Ahh, Miss Granger,” Slughorn replied, “…that’d be the sopophorous bean. It was either not prepared properly…” Hermione snorted at that suggestion, “…or was of poor quality.” He looked at Malfoy a moment, and took a deep breath. “I imagine your second bean was…the bottom of the barrel,” he conceded.
“It absolutely was,” Hermione confirmed.
“Yes, well, that would do it.” He peered into the cauldron. “Very good work all the same. Everything else appears to be in order.” He collected a sample, then vanished the remaining contents. “Clean up your workspace, then you’re free to go.”
They made quick work of it considering Malfoy had already removed half of their supplies and never returned with them. When their table was clean Hermione spared him a quick glance, “You’ll be ready with your suggestions on Sunday?”
“Right after breakfast,” he confirmed.
“Good,” Hermione nodded. “We’ll meet in the library?” she asked.
“No,” Malfoy rapidly replied. “Outside.”
“Outside? It’s January, Malfoy. Why on earth would we meet to discuss our project outside?”
He at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. Took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly.
“The Great Hall, then,” he suggested.
“Okay, fine. Sunday. After breakfast in the Great Hall.”
She gave him one last look, then grabbed her satchel and robes, spun on her heel and walked out of the classroom, her head held high, and robes billowing behind her.
She could make an exit too.