Hello everyone! Soooo, I'm writing again and I wanted to satisfy some Dramione headcanons (mostly enemies to lovers trope stuff, among other things) I have rumbling around in my head. This one might start off a little slow (have to set the scene of course) but I haven't been writing so much lately so be gentle please. Hope you enjoy. xx
Warnings for this fic: Spoilers for Book 6, coarse language, lemons, maybe some BDSM later. Who knows. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
"Oh…Bloody hell!" Gasping, Hermione Granger pulled her fingers away from her overflowing cutting board and brought them to her mouth. The knife she was holding clattered onto the table, and several brown seeds rolled off onto the floor. Muttering under her breath, she made rapid use of some of the nasty words she had tucked neatly away into the part of her brain she made a habit to ignore (which was a considerably small percentage), as a stinging, throbbing, stich-worthy cut on her index digit bled profusely. Her blood dripped from the tip of her finger, down her hand onto the remains of the ingredients before her, and she sighed heavily. Shite.
Rarely did Hermione take to swearing, which just goes to show how poorly her day was progressing thus far.
A voice cut through her pain-induced reverie:
"Ms. Granger, do watch the Gurdyroot, I don't think your draft will take too kindly to the inclusion of your own blood, my dear." Professor Slughorn was smiling in that slightly-disappointed-but-reconciling way that he so often did at everyone who wasn't Harry Potter, or really, everyone who wasn't cheating their way through Advanced Potions. Without even looking up from her self-mending spell, she knew Harry was looking back at her now, as was most of the class, thanks to Slughorn's pointed tone of concern.
"Yes, thank you Professor." She smiled wearily. The rest of the class turned back to their own brewing, which she had a feeling wasn't going much better than her own.
Scourgify-ing her workplace, she rolled her eyes over to Harry as Slughorn turned his body laboriously towards the front of the dungeon. Her friend was motioning for her to crack the roots with the handle of her knife, miming the collection of the Gurdyroot Extract into an invisible vial. She had attempted to procure the ingredient by cutting them down the middle, as her textbook directed her to. It did not go well, obviously. And Harry, his back now turned, his nose incessantly pressing into his ancient copy of Advanced Potion Making, infuriated her. Perfectly colored steam rose from his pewter cauldron, turning from green to orange as he stirred somewhat erratically. The Half Blood Prince's volume had been a tense subject between the two of them lately, and a great source of amusement for Ron. To relieve some of the intense (and truly Gryffindor-esque) competitive feelings rising within her towards her best friend, she promised herself she would go see Professor McGonagal about it before the end of the year. She knew Harry might be angry with her for giving him away, but part of her admitted she didn't enjoy being second in her class.
Breathing deeply, feebly denying the growing jealousy in her stomach, she returned to her Grundyroot. Obeying Harry's suggestions, again, she was able to get three vials full of the necessary liquid. Honestly, if she hadn't been so preoccupied, she would've remember that little tip. She was, quite frankly, astounded she didn't, as she usually remembered everything that could in any way better her skills (and grades, especially in Potions.) But the fact of the matter was, she had her mind on other things, and that's the only reason her Love Potion Antidote was the color of weak coffee and not lilac. Yes. The only reason.
Slughorn had decided on teaching the class how to brew this specific antidote immediately after Ronald had so stupidly eaten all of that very obviously suspicious chocolate (from a complete stranger, no less) from Harry's bed the other night. Of course, she had been worried more than angry at his dim-wittedness; Harry had told her Ron had nearly died. Thus, her frustration at not successfully completing this draught was rising within her like odious bubbles in her throat. Was this really so difficult? She had read the ingredient list thrice, and the steps for brewing it at least ten times before she came to this class, so what was the problem? She was doing everything correctly. One terse look over to Harry's now perfectly pink potion rilled her up even more. There was absolutely no reason as to why she should be failing such a rudimentary potion. As her hair practically bristled in frustration, she felt tears welling in her eyes. It was like the Draught of the Living Death all over again.
Scooping up the pieces of the Grudyroot, Hermione added the remaining vials of extract as per the directions, stirring and letting simmer when need be. The clock on the southern wall told her she was nearly out of time. Harry was corking the last of what was his no doubt perfect antidote, to Hermione's extremely irritation. Ron, to her right, was looking, befuddled, directly into the face of his cauldron. A dark green puff of smoke erupted suddenly and he was left coated in a thin layer of what looked like sickly ash.
To her surprise, most everyone else had figured out what they were doing it seemed. Ronald was, of course, hopeless, but Hermione Granger shouldn't be the last person in the dungeon to complete (what was in her mind) a simple antidote. Of course, it was much more difficult for everyone else, but being the brightest witch of her age meant she held herself to what might have been considered impossible standards. As her classmates were visibly preparing to leave, she still felt the same dreadful block in her mind, unable to concentrate on finishing a most important antidote.
Sneaking another look around the classroom as she brushed in the final Wiggentree twigs, Hermione noticed she wasn't the only one lagging behind. To her utter shame, she realized it was no other than Malfoy.
Since Snape left Potions for Defense Against the Dark Arts, it seemed Draco Malfoy was hardly trying. He apathetically glanced from Crabbe to Goyle's cauldrons, scowling at both of them long like he was expecting one of his lackeys to just do everything for him. Ugh. What an absolutely lazy, incorrigible, arse.
Crabbe nearly knocked over his entire workbench as he bent over to stuff his parchment into his bag, eliciting a snort from the intolerable blonde.
In the front of the dungeon, Slughorn was talking. However, Hermione was so absorbed in hatefully watching Draco, legs propped up on his desk and his glinting knife languidly chopping what looked like the wrong ingredients, she failed to notice Slughorn addressing her once again, all too directly.
"Ms. Granger! I do believe you have lost control of your antidote!" His face reddish and wrinkled, Professor Slughorn was waving his wand at the bland looking potion that had frothed over the side of her cauldron while she was distracted. Oh, blimey…
Having raised the attention of the class for the second time that day, Hermione heard quiet giggling to her left and caught the smirking glances of her fellow classmates with burning cheeks. Slughorn had propelled the potion back into her cauldron and was politely stirring it for her as she gripped her wand with white knuckles.
"Thank you sir, I do apologize, I was just-"
"Not to worry, not to worry!" His face resembled that of a sulking child, only wrinkled and folding. "It is quite all right Ms. Granger, but do come see me after class. I'd like to have a word." Her professor delicately stoppered some of her miserably mediocre antidote, smiling at her with as weak an expression as the color of her draught. She felt mortification growing from her belly and sneaking its way up all over her pale skin. She was sure she had turned a faint shade of fuchsia that her antidote was supposed to resemble. She looked at Harry over her Professor's shoulder and he smiled in his lopsided, apologetic way.
The rest of the class was chatting amiably now and ignoring her, though some threw suggestive glances at her as they passed by. The clock tolled four times and she suddenly felt very oppressed under the shallow ceilings of the dungeon. Cramming her things into her discretely expanded school bag, she wandered hesitantly to the front of Slughorn's desk. He was stocking the antidotes into what resembled a golden merry-go-round, each vial finding a home in an elegant, filigreed container. She noticed tiny initials magically carving themselves onto the empty lines above the vials as they were placed. Slughorn's pudgy fingers counting each one as they floated from midair to the vial holder.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy… Mr. Malfoy! Yes, I see you! Come here, my boy." Slughorn looked at him crookedly, watching him sigh dramatically and stalk over to his desk.
"Yes, it seems you didn't turn anything in to me today. How terribly disappointing, Mr. Malfoy." Slughorn gave him a pointed look and Hermione watched what could have only been contempt flash across his face before Slughorn continued. "Yes, it seems you haven't been keeping up with any sort of work this year, and not just in my class. Well, Mr. Malfoy, laziness is not tolerated in Advanced Potions - you're supposed to be training for your NEWTs, not to mention the Ministry after your schooling. "
Hah! As if Draco Malfoy would be doing anything besides kissing Voldemort's arse after next year, Hermione laughed to herself, feeling her anger and resentment building within her. Like his bloody father.
Giving him a knowing grimace, Slughorn turned to her, a kinder expression in his eyes.
"And your work has not been as I would have expected these past few months. Not exactly up to par, as you might say. I am sorry to see your talent wither in such a way," he added thoughtfully, as if he had only just realized Hermione had been turning in mediocre potions this very afternoon. No, she guessed, He has to have noticed... and I can't ignore my potions have been dreadful as of late... Her mind wandered to Harry's copy of Advanced Potion Making and felt the usual twinge of jealousy and resentment. She knew she was overthinking her potion making now that Harry had been surpassing her. So she decided, as it was obvious after all, it had to be the only thing distracting her from her work. Refusing to acknowledge possible, other, distractions, she nodded fervently at Professor Slughorn's words.
She thought about mentioning Harry's dishonesty, but bit her tongue for the moment. That wouldn't reflect well on her, having kept his secret for so long as a Prefect, and for telling him now, only when she found herself in a spot of trouble.
Slughorn gave the pair a long look. Hermione felt particularly embarrassed and enraged to share a disappointed lecturing from her Potions Master with someone she might consider her mortal enemy, and most importantly, a terrible student to whom she felt she could share absolutely no similarities at all. Unfortunately, they were being similarly scolded at this moment, and her shame only intensified. She might have turned the shade of an eggplant if she hadn't reminded herself to breath.
Malfoy didn't look to happy about being there either, though she was sure he wasn't happy being anywhere at all. She crossed her hands behind her back, doing her best to ignore his loathsome presence.
"Well, I know it is unusual of you. And I have decided all you need is a way to work through your Potions-block, if you will," He chuckled before continuing, "So, I will be assigning you as Mr. Malfoy's tutor here for some time- Now, don't make that face, either of you! This is for your own good, and the good of your NEWTs," He looked seriously at Hermione, whose face had paled considerably from it's previous rose hue, taking advantage of her obsessive need for perfect grades. However, thoughts of the future has been pushed almost entirely from her brain. The ceiling seemed to press down ever closer.
She opened her mouth in protest, her bottom lip trembling with a mixture of rage and shame. "But sir, I-I… wouldn't it be best if someone else tutored him? I mean, I'm.. I'm c-complete rubbish at the moment, and frankly, I-"
"But, no, Ms. Granger, that's exactly why I've chosen you to help Mr. Malfoy here!" Slughorn looked delightedly at the blonde, who opened his scowling mouth to speak as well, but was silenced by a chubby finger. "You are simply experiencing what every great Potions Master - or Mistress - goes through; a period of brewing that is somewhat... undesirable, but is only cured by more practice. Come now, Ms. Granger, you must know what I mean! This cannot possibly be the worst thing to happen to you. And I assure you it's for the best option for the both of you, yes, Mr. Malfoy, the both. I want you two to occupy this dungeon twice weekly, for as long as I see fit, until the both of you are producing the kind of work I expect of my 6th years."
Hermione felt like all the evil in the world could have congregated on that very spot and she would still only be able to think of the horror of tutoring Draco Malfoy even for an hour, much less an indefinite period of time. Perhaps all the evil in the world HAD found its way into that dungeon - Draco was looking more and more sinister by the moment. A ripple of fear found her fluttering stomach as she likened his scowling face to his evil Death Eater father's. She was afraid he might even hex their Professor until Slughorn cheerfully (though with his typical look of concealed anxiety) waved them off in dismissal. "Well, don't let me keep you. But do communicate with one another!" He yelled after Draco, who had spun on his heel and left the room as soon as he saw the Professor was done speaking.
Hermione thought about running after him but decided against it, though she was certain she knew where he was going. But she was already in a foul mood, and was in no mind to try and convince a seething Malfoy of her good intentions to work together or help him collect Essence of Murtlap. The whole afternoon had been an absolute nightmare, what with Ginny nearly hexing Romilda Vane in the Great Hall after visiting Ron in the hospital wing, Lavender Brown's pointed looks and whispering to her cheeky little friends, her own failures in what used to be an easy subject…
She felt the threat of tears in her throat again and tried to substitute her self-pity with the rage she felt for Malfoy putting her in this position. She couldn't be angry with Professor Slughorn, he was, after all only trying to help her. But Malfoy… she could have been tutoring anyone else, but this weak-willed, ferret of a Slytherin git was ruining her semester. It was unlike her to wish vengeance, and she hadn't the heart to even think of it with everything going on. Instead, she did her best to forget about him, and made her way out of the dungeons to enjoy some much needed studying.
Though she couldn't drop the feeling that she had been harboring for the past couple of weeks now. She had a nagging feeling that he might be in some sort of…trouble. Harry had made some scathing accusations against him this year, and she knew Draco wasn't always this uncaring about his schooling.
Why should I care what he does in his spare time? She chided herself for thinking of him as any more than the bigoted prat he was. However, her mind kept flitting back and forth to a memory she held of him from weeks before. She thought of the anguished look she kept seeing on his face, and the secretive glances he stole over his shoulders as he disappeared into a certain vanishing room on the seventh floor. Even from her position behind one of the hallway's great pillars, she had watched his hand shake as he drew out his wand. She remembered now the cold suspicion she had felt. She couldn't help but wonder what he was up to, but even more suspiciously, if he was alright. The thought that she might be concerned for the git was disturbing. It implied she cared for him, which she assured herself she most certainly did not.
But even a first year would have been able to tell Ms. Granger was at odds with herself, not just by the look on her face, but in the weary way she pushed open the large doors of the library, lacking her usual zeal. But it would have taken much more than Professor Trelawney to divine on which side of her internal argument she was leaning, because Hermione herself had not a clue.
Absolutely stomach-turning, that Granger. Draco Malfoy stormed through the moving staircases to the seventh floor. And an absolute waste of my time, this school is. Stuck with a mudblood know-it-all for god knows how long! Merlin help me. His lip curled into his characteristic sneer as two Hufflepuffs shrieked as he elbowed them out of his way.
He had watched her struggling in Potions every once and a while. She was always second guessing herself, that one. Always worried that she could be trying a little bit harder to be perfect; perfect Prefect Head-Girl Hermione Granger. He could hardly believe she was falling behind in Potions, but was even more perplexed as to way Slughorn was so sold it was a fabulous idea to have her teach him anything in her state. Absolutely mental. And bloody terrible with a knife.
He usually remembered the humiliation of her or any of Potter's little friends with pleasure, but it had disgusted him to watch her dirty blood oozing down her arm earlier. Everyone was watching her, and he could see her blushing even past all that hair. He lazily watched her seal the wound on her tiny hand, watched the shape of her body shift in her robe. Briefly, he wondered if he would watch her die during his aunt's little visit to the school. The idea of another Mudblood dead vaguely amused him, though he flinched away from picturing her cold body on the ground. He imagined her wild hair spread around her head, matted with blood, lips blue and eyes wide open. The thought of it made him uneasy, for some reason. He shook his head at himself as if the banish the feeling entirely.
He felt his father's eyes on his back. "Don't forget the objective. You must remain diligent…"
Why he was even bothering with going to class at all, he had no idea. His father had tried to no avail to lessen his schedule, claiming an apprenticeship at the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore's lockdown on the school's campus prevented that from becoming reality, unfortunately. That old oaf has got me running around this bloody school for no bloody reason…
At that Draco turned to glance behind him. The stairwells were curiously empty; he supposed everyone was off to enjoy the sun near the lake or studying in the Great Hall. He, however, continued up the stairs with long, shaky strides. He felt the familiar grip of fear and anxiety in his throat when he thought of where he was heading. Unwilling as he was to admit this fear even to himself, he couldn't ignore the feeling. It was beginning to consume him, despite his successes so far. He practically felt the burning of his father's eyes on his back again, even though he was currently in Romania on business for…well…
He couldn't even think it without hesitation. I'm being a fool. If I'm supposed to do his bidding, I shouldn't be scared of him, much less a name. It was impossible these days not to think of his objective, and the man who gave it to him. He could almost feel his wand against his throat.
Voldemort. I am his faithful servant. The dark mark on his arm twitched under his cold silk shirtsleeve.
Sometimes Draco felt like the Dark Lord was peering into his brain, even when he wasn't around, much like he felt his father's eyes on his neck from time to time. He knew being chosen for the job was significant, and of course represented the redemption of his entire family. But still, he was comforted by the idea of being so unimportant to Voldemort himself that The Dark Lord could have no possible interest in the inner workings of Draco Malfoy's mind.
At least, he hoped not. There was a lot in there he wasn't proud of, and not just the growing fear tightening his throat.
Draco steeled his resolve. Without even realizing it, he had reached his destination. Swallowing hard, he watching the door begin to solidify before him. It was an honor, truly, to be chosen by the Dark Lord for such a task. And he wasn't going to disappoint him.
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