AN: This drabble series initially started off on DefDrabbles, but I decided to continue it on here as it seemed so popular. The first five parts have already been posted on the blog, but there will be an additional seven (possibly eight) parts. This is only a drabble fic, so the chapters might be shorter than normal, but we'll see how it goes.
NEWT year was hell for everyone, even Draco Malfoy; hence why he was walking through the corridors buried in his Charms notes, as were many other seventh year students. He didn't bother to glance up – people saw the blond of his hair and cleared a pathway – such was the prestige of the Malfoy name. So when Draco walked straight into someone, his notes and theirs falling in a flurry of parchment, his first thought was to curse the first year who hadn't moved fast enough.
"Why in the Hell didn't you move?" Draco demanded, but when the girl raised her head he realised his mistake. "Oh, sorry Granger. Didn't realise it was you." He amended stiffly.
Hermione waved away his apology, stooping to pick up the mass of parchment. "Were you studying Charms?" She asked, sifting through the paper to find her own notes.
"Yes, why?" Draco held his hand out for half of the pile, and the pair headed for a window alcove with enough room to sit.
Hermione huffed out a sigh. "Because I was too. And the damned calligraphy lessons mean our handwriting is close to identical." It was true. Being a Pureblood definitely had benefits, but this was a drawback.
"Fuck, you're right." Hermione sighed again, and they feel into silence.
"Are you going to the Parkinsons' this weekend?" Hermione asked, not glancing up from her scrutiny of the pages.
Draco groaned, having forced the thought from his mind until then. "Unfortunately. I'm hoping to find the nearest alcohol cabinet and drown myself in it."
"Send me a note when you find one, I'll join you." Draco looked at Hermione out of the corner of his eye, unused to Pureblood women who didn't like the gatherings.
He finished separating his pile of notes, and turned to look at her. "You're not a fan of it all?"
Hermione shrugged. "They're alright, I just loathe the Parkinsons. They've wanted to set me up with their eldest son for years, and he's vile." Hermione finished sorting her notes, and picked up her pile. "But I'll see you this weekend – I'll see if I can wrangle some Firewhiskey." She smiled at him before departing, and Draco was left with an odd but pleasant bubbling in his stomach.