For anyone who would like to listen to the songs that I wrote this to: user/1247560918/playlist/3YZwjaPeQaFuHArhaoTbmt
September, 1996
"Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger." Dumbledore eyes them, tone jovial. "Pleasure to see you both again."
Malfoy shifts uncomfortably in his chair, tugging at the sleeve of his right arm. In his peripheral vision, he sees Granger shift uneasily as well, her back rigid against the chair as she strives to lean as far away from him as possible.
A scoff rises in his throat, but he extinguishes it before it can come barreling out.
"As you mostly likely both know. You two are our top picks for Head Girl and boy." Dumbledore claps his hands together softly.
"Thank you, Professor. It would be an honor to be chosen." She beams at Dumbledore, and Draco has to fight off the urge to roll his eyes.
He nods respectfully at the old man, but says nothing.
"Well, I know perhaps this seems like an unusual pairing." Dumbledore looks between the two of them, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But we do have a special tradition we are hoping to instate this school year."
Draco furrows his eyebrows, and when he looks over, Hermione seems confused as well.
"Gryffndor and Slytherin," Dumbledore says thoughtfully, his gaze landing somewhere above their heads. "Two great houses."
Get on with it, old man.
Dumbledore seems lost in his own thoughts for a moment, and Draco is almost grateful for Granger when she clears her throat, grabbing Dumbledore's attention again.
"Ah, yes." The elderly wizard smiles at them. "My apologies. I do seem to be absent-minded nowadays. That's what a century alive will do to you."
We'll both be a century old by the time he finishes.
"We have a special project in mind for you two, something collaborative."
Granger lets out a strange strangled sound, and he smirks.
The headmaster continues, "The professors and I agreed that this would be a good time for some interhouse collaboration. There are dark times ahead indeed. In times like this, unity is paramount."
A vein twitches in Draco's jaw as he stares at Dumbledore who meets his gaze placidly.
Granger speaks first. "Professor, I'm really not sure-"
Dumbledore waves his hand, and Granger's words die in her throat.
"Since you're both gifted at potions, we would like for you two to teach a remedial potions class to the third years. Think of it as a…" the headmaster made a nonchalant flipping gesture with his hand, "a prerequisite for next year."
The bushy-haired witch's mouth is almost hanging completely open. "You want us to teach a class together?" Her panic is evident in her wide eyes.
"Precisely, Mrs. Granger." Dumbledore grins at them again.
Draco feels a flicker of panic rising in his chest.
"Headmaster," he begins, searching for the right words, "I don't know if that-"
Dumbledore holds up his palm again, effectively stopping Draco's speech.
The older wizard turns to look at Hermione. "Ms. Granger, you've thought about pursuing a career in teaching after school, have you not?"
She swallows. "Er, yes, professor, but-"
Dumbledore swiftly turns to face him. "And you, Mr. Malfoy, what is it that you would like to do after Hogwarts?"
The mark on his forearm burns, and he itches the fabric above it with his thumb "I don't know."
"Well," the headmaster claps his hands together suddenly, "this is the perfect opportunity for you two to try it out, is it not? Plus, this will give you a chance to get acquainted before you start working together next year." He gives them both a significant look.
And then with a flick of his wrist, Dumbledore dismisses them, both of their protestations dying in their throat as the old man said, "Now, run along now, children. It does no good to dwaddle."
Draco stands up first, his legs rigid as he ascends the stairs out of the headmaster's office, the clicking of Granger's rapid footsteps echoing behind him.
October, 1996
She corners him after Defense Against the Dark Arts. Her brow is furrowed in anger, and her rising voice assaults him in the corridor.
"Malfoy, where have you been?"
He sneers at her, and drawls out lazily "Why, Granger, have you missed me?"
She makes an aggravated sound in the back of her throat, her voice haughty when she says, "Hardly, but our class begins tomorrow, and I wanted to go over lessons plans with you."
He gives her an incredulous look, moving to shove past her, but her foot steps out, blocking his path and he growls.
"I assumed you already had everything settled."
"If you think for one" her voice sharpens impossibly higher, and he winces, "second that I'm going to be doing all of the work for our joint assignment, then you are entirely stupider than I thought you were."
He glares at her, hard, but she doesn't flinch. "Well, Granger, I just assumed that a swotty know-it-all such as yourself would already have lesson plans backlogged from your various hours tutoring Potter and the Weasel."
"Don't call him that," she snaps.
"Sorry, Granger," he smirks at her, "didn't mean to insult your girlfriend."
She shoves a notebook into his chest, and he stumbles back a step, scowling at her as he flips through the pages.
"This is our lesson plan. Memorize it and don't be late tomorrow." She sends him one last withering glare and stalks off, her angry footfalls causing two second years to leap out of her way.
November, 1996
"Now Amortentia," she enunciates the syllables, and Draco rolls his eyes, "is a powerful potion with a distinct mother of pearl sheen that will cause its user to fall into a dangerous obsession with the potion brewer." Two brunette third year girls in the front row titter, and then blush a deep red when Draco makes eye contact with them. He smirks as they start giggling.
Hermione sniffs, shooting him a glare. "It does not, however, manufacture true love." Her tone softens slightly."That cannot be created. It's a natural phenomenon." Draco scoffs, aggravated by her show of sentimentality, and she shoots him another baleful look.
"The potion smells distinctly of whatever the brewer is most attracted to, even if it is something the witch or wizard isn't aware of." She clears her throat. "It's said to mimic the heart's true desire in that regard."
A group of Slytherin boys scoff in the corner, and this time Hermione's glare is directed their way.
She moves to the steaming cauldron set behind them, leaning over the edge of it and sniffing delicately. "For example, I-"
Draco cuts her off, "Granger here probably smells chocolate frogs, the stench of poverty, and body odor." She scowls at him, clearly catching his reference to Weasley, and he smirks in return, lifting his eyebrow.
"Actually," she says, tone sharp, "I smell," she leans in, eyes closed and breathing deeply. She opens her eyes and he spies a flicker of panic in her gaze, before she stutters out, "I—well, it doesn't matter exactly what I smell. It's different for each person."
She turns away from him, facing the class again, her back unnaturally rigid, and her fingers clenched by her side. "So, class, partner up and we'll-"
Her voice becomes muffled under the sound of the students shifting around, and he stares at her questioningly.
December, 1996
They're sitting across from each other in the library, the scratching of the quills against parchment the only sound as they both grade exams.
"These children are idiots," he mutters under his breath, as he draws ex over ex on the paper.
She shoots him a look. "They're learning."
"They're fumbling," he retorts back
Granger sniffs and turns back to her stack, picking up another scroll.
He feels her eyes on him, and looks up, making an aggravated sound. Taking advantage of his diverted attention, she reaches out and snatches the scroll away from her, scanning her eyes over the page.
"Malfoy," she says, squinting at his comments, "you've marked every single one of these wrong."
"So glad you can read, Granger."
She glares at him, stabbing her finger at question 14 on the page. List the ingredients for Felix Felicis "He got all of the ingredients right," she says, staring at him.
He crosses his arm and sniffs haughtily. "I didn't like his penmanship." He leans back in his chair and adds, "It's atrocious, honestly, as bad as yours."
She stares at him. He waits for admonishment, but then something seems to crack in her face, and her mouth peels open in a wide, ridiculous smile and she's laughing.
He stares at her, confused. Madam Pince glares at them from her desk, but Hermione laughs harder at the older woman's angry stare.
"Have you gone mad, Granger? What's wrong with you?" He leans forward, squinting as he examines her. Her tawny hair is down today, and the curls are framing her face, creating a soft halo that diffuses the sunlight coming in through the window behind her. Her nose is wrinkled, her teeth white and even, the top row biting down on her bottom lip as she attempts to compose herself.
"Absolutely mad," he mutters under his breath, but then he catches her gaze again, and she stutters out another giggle, her face turning pink with exertion as she tried to contain the laugh coming out of her in spurts, and he felt something strange and light bubble up inside of him too.
January, 1997
"Fuck," he roars, slamming his hand down on the side of the cabinet. His other hand is clenched tightly on his wand, and he kicks the side of the rickety wood as he exhales harshly.
He had tried repairing charm after repairing charm, but nothing stuck, and the cabinet was still as broken as it had been before he had been tasked with fixing it. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the smooth wood and breathing in, attempting to slow his breathing.
He hears a noise suddenly, and his gaze shoots up, landing on her. She lets out a squeak of surprise, and he stalks towards her, footsteps angry. She backs up into a wall, and he's towering over her, gaze hard and angry.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?"
Something close to fear flashes in her eyes, but then she's straightening up and crossing her arms under his vicious look. "I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy."
He slams a hand down besides her, trapping her in and snarls out, "How did you get in here?"
She sniffs, her gaze unwavering, but he looks down to see that her fingers are trembling against her skirt. He's close enough to smell her—a mix of sandalwood and citrus that he accidentally inhales with his harsh breathing.
"I followed you here." She lifts her chin up, her gaze defiant. "You've been avoiding me."
"The whole world doesn't revolve around you, Granger." He narrows his eyes, his tone hard, as he unconsciously bridges the small distance between them.
"I know that," she snaps, "but you—" she looks down, struggling to find the words, "you haven't come to our class—And you haven't helped out with grading either!" Her tone turns indignant at the end, and if he wasn't so furious he might have laughed at the ridiculousness of it.
"I've been busy," he bites out.
She looks around him, her gaze landing on the vanishing cabinet. He tries to angle his body so that she loses sight of it, but it's too late. "That's a vanishing cabinet, isn't it?" Her tone is softer when she asks him.
He says nothing, jaw tense as he stares at the space below her ear. His arm is still trapping her in.
"You're helping Voldemort, aren't you? You're going to fix it so that…so that death eaters can come into Hogwarts?" Her inflection makes it a question, but the finality with what she says it shows him that she already knows the answer.
His head snaps up at the mention of the Dark Lord and he gives her a hard look. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't say his name? You're doing his bidding now and you can't even say his name out loud?"
"Drop it," he says sharply, dangerously.
"I will not—"
"DROP it!" He shouts, shooting his other arm out on the other side of her, keeping her effectively locked in the space.
Her eyes glance down, staring at his right forearm where the sleeve is pushed up, his dark mark angry and red from his scratching. She reaches out to touch it, and he drops his arm immediately, stepping back from her jerkily.
"When did you take the mark?" She asks, quietly. Her gaze is unreadable.
He snorts but doesn't answer her, and she steps closer, encroaching further onto his personal space.
"When did you take it?" She repeats, her tone sterner.
"None of your bloody business," he growls out.
"You stupid, stupid boy," she says lowly, muttering to herself as she shakes her head from side to side, eyes never leaving the dark ink. He glares at the curls skating across her face due to her rapid head movement.
He bristles, "The fuck do you know, Granger?"
"Why did you do it?" She's staring at him intensely, and suddenly all he wants to do is leave. He spins around quickly, ready to leave this room and this girl, when she launches herself at him and grabs his arm.
He tries to shake her off. "Let me go," he says, voice dangerously low.
When she doesn't release him, attempting to tug him back instead, he roars out, "LET ME GO."
He spins around, glaring at her, and she's glaring right back at him, chest heaving with her angry breaths. He backs her into the wall again, his fingers digging into her hip as he pushes her against the hard stone. His voice comes out shaky when he says, quietly and viciously, "leave it alone."
She stares up at him, eyes narrowed and her cheeks pink. "No," she says, slowly, enunciating the two syllables like he's a child, an idiot.
His fingers tighten even more on her hip, and he sees her wince in the low lighting. He stares at her, the amber flecks in her eyes flashing in the low light, calling to him. They're both breathing harshly, and he digs his fingers into her hip harder, eliciting a soft moan of pain, which makes him close his eyes tightly, the pounding in his head hard and furious. He breathes in deeply, a thousand images flashing past his mind:
their grading sessions the library, her taut posture lecturing in the front of a classroom, her hair, her laughter, the dark lord's sneer, his broken father, his breaking mother, the softness of her skin when she accidentally brushed against his hand, the twinkle in her eye when she felt like she had a particularly good retort.
And filled with anger, frustration, and fear, he does the only thing he can think of- he kisses her.
She lets out an oomph of surprise, her fingers briefly pushing him away, before she suddenly grows pliant, opening her mouth in a sigh as her fingers push into his hair, grasping roughly at the strands.
He runs his hand up her neck, holding her roughly underneath her jaw, as his other hands pulls her hips into him, grinding himself into her stomach. She lets out a breathy moan at the contact, and he bites down on her lip, eliciting another breathless sound from her. Her arms wind around his neck, and she steps on his shoes as she tries to get closer to him.
"Sorry," she breathes out, and the word is like a bucket of cold water. He steps away from her abruptly. Her eyes are glazed and wide, her mouth swollen and shining. She raises one hand up, swiping her index finger against her lips, and he stumbles back, horrified.
He stares at her, panic clouding his vision, and then turns to leave.
"Malfoy," she calls out, and against his better judgment, he pauses, his body tense. "Just—just come back to the library," she finally says, her voice soft.
He stares there for a minute, breathing in deeply, her taste still on his tongue. Then he walks away, not looking back.
February, 1997
He comes back to the library a month after what he's come to call the incident. He spends the first two weeks after constantly looking over his shoulder, suspicious at every turn that Potter's gangly frame would grab him and drag him down to Dumbledore's office, hexing him until he admits what is happening right under their noses.
He is surprised, and suspicious, when nothing happens. Weasley and Potter still glare at him in their lessons, but Hermione's gaze is more inquisitive, more searching, and he takes great care not to meet her look straight on, avoiding any places where she might be. At their weekly lessons, he stands at the back of the class, directly across from her, a sea of students between them so that he can avoid being near her. He adds little to the discussions, but glares at any student that doesn't listen to her lectures.
He can't get her scent, the feel of her hair, the smoothness of her lips, out of his mind, and at night when he can't sleep, haunted by his senses, he thinks he might be going mad.
He finally stalks into the library late on a Friday and finds her at their table near the far right corner. She looks up when he roughly sits down in the chair and hisses, "What did you tell Potter?"
She looks at him, her mouth set in a thin line, and sets down her quill. "I didn't tell him anything."
He gives her a disbelieving look, and she stares back, raising one eyebrow.
"Don't lie to me, Granger."
"I'm not," she says, hotly.
They stare at each other, neither breaking eye contact.
Finally, he says, "Why haven't you said anything?" His tone is harsh and cold, but there is a vein of curiosity that is threaded within the letters.
"Because," she says simply, "I'm going to change your mind."
He scoffs and glares at her, making to get up, and she tosses a pile of parchments at him.
"Since you're already here, you might as well grade these with me." He scowls at her, but sits down again anyways.
Halfway through the pile, they're bickering loudly, and then she drags him over to the potions section, intent on proving him wrong.
"Mundugwarts are not endemic to South America," she says, huffing.
"Granger, I've been to South America, I'm telling you right now they most certainly are."
She makes some aggravating noise, and scans the books in front of her, reaching for a thick hardcover textbook right as he does. Their fingers collide, and he looks at her, suddenly noticing how close she is. His eyes drift down, settling on her gently curved cupid's bow. Her breathing quickens, her neck tensing with the rapid movements, and he watches a slight flush swim across her chest.
Quickly, he bends down and kisses her, his touch rough. She responds just as fast, hands fisting into his robes as he backs her up against the bookshelf. All he can think is mistakemistakemistakemistake but he kisses her hard, one hand digging into her hip as the other squeezes her breast She inhales sharply, startled, and his fingers loosen, rubbing circles against the hard points of her nipples instead. Her sigh drifts off into a moan, and he groans against her shoulder fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
This is the last time he thinks, biting down gently into the soft column of her neck before he begins sucking at the skin there. The thought sends a frisson of panic inside of him, and he pushes against her, trying to get impossibly closer. He reaches for her knee, pinning it up against the bookshelf so that he can rub himself against her heat, and she throws back her neck, eyes closed as she lets out a loud moan. He clamps one hand against her mouth, the other casting a quick muffliato as he thrusts against her again, his own growl low and deep inside his chest.
OnelasttimeOnelasttimeOnelasttime.
Authors Note: Hi guys! This is my first story, and I'm so excited to share it with you. Please leave a review! Not only does it make me edit faster (this is currently un-betaed so all mistakes are my own) but I'd also just love to get to know you guys!