So I'm finally home! What a trip! It was great, I highly recommend travel to everyone, etc. etc. Okay, now for the part that you've all been waiting for. I hope the wait was worth it!
Chapter VIII
Draco, I will not allow you to drop this class. If you find yourself having troubles with studies, quit Quidditch instead. School work comes first.
Lucius
Damnation. Draco crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it next to the torn envelope it had come in. The day had gotten ten times worse. He'd be presenting his project with Brown in a few hours time, and then he'd be switching partners — and he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to veto Madame Pomfrey's decision, whatever it was. Bugger.
His owl, Fitzwilliam, gave him a look of dignified pity before he nipped at Draco's finger for a treat. "Alright, you bloody thing. Here." He tossed the bird a hunk of sausage and shooed him off the table. Pansy was sitting beside Draco, contentedly cutting up a small stack of pancakes. "So I take it your father won't let you drop out of Healing?" she asked.
"Don't remind me," Draco groaned dramatically as he cradled his head in his hands. "It's bloody awful! He said I have to quit Quidditch if schoolwork is too much. I can't do that!"
Pansy tutted, rubbing her hand over his back in soothing circles. "You'll be fine, Draco. You don't have to drop anything. If you fall behind in Healing, Blaise would be more than happy to help you study."
Right. He hadn't told his girlfriend the true reason he was trying to drop out of this class. He'd used the same story on her as he did on his father: that he was having a hard time balancing classes, Prefect duty and Quidditch. After all, if he had told Pansy the truth (namely that he hadn't stopped thinking of that night in the library when he'd met Granger's eyes, and that he found he didn't truly mind this as much as he'd wanted to) she'd probably use it as blackmail for the rest of his natural-born life. And, considering a family history of longevity, that would be a long time. "Thanks, Pansy," he mumbled, and continued eating his breakfast, though for the briefest of moments, he snuck a glance at the one girl whom he really wished he could stop thinking about.
Hermione Granger was blissfully unaware of the new sentiments blooming in Malfoy's heart; indeed, she still loathed the very idea of a partnership with him. Yet the class approached, and she carried a nagging, foreboding suspicion that they'd be paired together. "Best to get it over with," she assured herself, though the ominous twist in her stomach distracted her more than once from the lessons that day.
It was with a great trepidation that she found herself seated next to Blaise, absentmindedly flipping through her note cards and wishing fervently that she would be partnered with someone reasonable. Madame Pomfrey started class with a good afternoon, and then she outlined how each group would present. "You and your partner will not present together, however," she said slyly. "Instead, you will present your findings to your new partner. Our eight patients are waiting in the back room for their cure, so signal to me that you have finished your presentation and I will bring one in." At this moment, a roster appeared in her hands.
"Miss Chang has decided to give up her position in this class, but she will be partnered with Miss Brocklehurst today. Then, on Wednesday, we will have a new student, and he will be Miss Brocklehurst's partner." Cho blushed slightly at the stares while Madame Pomfrey announced the next pair, Ernie and Susan. Hermione knew that Cho was still having a rough time in school since the end of fourth year, and pitied her.
"Mister Zabini, you will partner with Miss Brown." The two, since they were already seated so closely, smiled in acknowledgement at each other, though Lavender was already making her new partner uncomfortable with something she whispered to him.
But Hermione's mind was on other matters. If Blaise was paired with Lavender, then that meant —
"Miss Granger, you will be paired with Mister Malfoy." Merlin. She managed to contain her sigh and instead stole a glance at Malfoy. If he was angry at the partnership, he didn't show it. His face was calm enough to resemble a marble statue's, paleness and all. She smirked inwardly at that.
Draco was indeed disappointed, but for reasons entirely different. He was dreading the partnership because he was finding her not as grating as he had before. Inwardly, he promised himself not to be forgiving with his insults any longer. If he continued thinking of her in an even remotely pleasant way, he was afraid he'd be in danger of forgetting her crimes against his person. And there were plenty, he added hotly (though he couldn't think of one at the moment, because he had caught her eyes on him once again).
"Now, please meet with your new partner and prepare your presentations. I will be walking around to assess how well each group did." The class began to shuffle around and switch seats. Some seemed willing to go, others not. Granger was the slowest of all. She repacked her bag as if she would never see each article again, and her feet dragged across the floor. When she sat, however, her eyes were alight with rebellion as she said, "Wow, this chair is so cold. Just like your heart."
Draco scowled at her, but found he had no retort. So he continued scowling as she pulled out her cauldron and a small amount of ingredients. His own presentation was a simple spell that alleviated the sniffles, but that left him with little to prep for—and idle hands are the Dark Lord's hands. He cast one of his favourite hexes while she reached deeper into her bag.
"Ow!"
"What?" he asked, playing innocent.
"I just cut my finger on my parchment!"
"Then don't."
It was her turn to scowl, and it cheered him up infinitely. Draco, one; Granger, nothing. "Do you want to present first?" she asked curtly, but he shook his head no. "Fine." She straightened her note cards on the table, cleared her throat, and began her speech.
"The Drying Potion," Hermione stated clearly, "can be traced back to Rome in 1800 BCE. It was used to keep salt dry during transportation from one part of the Roman Empire to the other. Only recently has it been adapted to help alleviate the symptoms of a cold." She began to describe the process of making the potion, which she had practiced enough to do without thinking. Hermione used this time to study Malfoy.
Something about him was off. He wasn't interrupting her speech like she had expected him to, nor was he staring at her disdainfully. His gaze was more careful, more . . . thoughtful. It was absolutely unnerving, almost as bad as being verbally abused.
She finished her speech and pulled out the vial of potion to give to a subject, but Malfoy seemed to have snapped out of his stupor. "That was all wrong. You can't use that potion to dry out the sinus."
"Of course you can," she snapped. "We've researched it for two weeks, almost every day."
Though his face was impassive, she could just tell that he had been plotting this the entire time. "But it's ridiculous. Why would it work?"
"We tested it ourselves, Malfoy. It works."
"Are you sure?" he pressed, his smirk finally revealing itself.
Hermione threw her hands in the air. "Yes! Why are you arguing with me?"
"Why am I not arguing with you?" he snapped right back.
Wow. What a great conversation. Hermione quietly fought the urge to smack him upside the head. "Malfoy," she began instead, "just start your presentation before I curse you!"
"Miss Granger, please," Madame Pomfrey interrupted, stepping up to their table with a frown. "I don't want to hear another threat come from your lips today!"
Hermione bowed her head in submission and muttered in the affirmative. Malfoy was about to laugh when the professor turned on him. "You, Mister Malfoy, are also to blame. When the two of you enter my class, I want you both to be civil with other classmates, and especially your partners."
"Civil?" he said distastefully, as if even pronouncing the word caused him pain.
"Yes, Mister Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey insisted. "Civil. And I don't want either of you calling each other by last name. Given names only in this room, please."
That marked the first time in Draco Malfoy's life that he shared a sympathetic glance with a mudblood. About halfway through it, both of them seemed to gather their wits and turn away — but the strange occurrence still wriggled its way into Draco's subconscious, right next to his unacknowledged preference for her bright eyes.
Bugger him sideways.
Madame Pomfrey ordered him to present, and he did so mechanically, while Granger busied herself with her quill and ink, taking cramped notes as he spoke. Eventually, the professor saw fit to move to the next group. It was then Draco leaned in closer to Granger and whispered, "You'd better not use my first name, ever."
"Why ever not, Draco?"
He slapped his hand on the desk in front of her, drawing her eyes up. They were irritated. "I mean it," he hissed. "Don't."
"As long as you don't use mine," she countered as she returned to her notes. "And by the way, Malfoy. . . ."
"What is it?"
"You've, er, got something on your cheek." She motioned absently to the right side of her face, glancing up almost shyly. Draco hesitated for a moment, then quickly mimicked her movements. "Is it off?"
"No, just a bit further down — there, like that. Right. It's gone."
"Right." He paused once more before launching back into his lecture.
Hermione quietly congratulated herself as Malfoy spoke of his spell's history. He hadn't realized that when he slammed his hand down, he'd unwittingly dipped his fingers into a small bit of ink she had dripped onto the table in her haste. If she hadn't remembered the war, she would have told him about the blue all over his fingers . . . but she had remembered.
Hermione smiled.
Malfoy, zero; Hermione, one.
He finished his speech a few minutes later, a bit short of the requirement, but otherwise without flaw. They then both raised their hands, signalling for their test subjects, and Madame Pomfrey retreated into her office. The first student she sent out, naturally, was Neville. Hermione knew full well that Malfoy would rather hex Neville than cure him, so she claimed the boy. Malfoy just shrugged and began to scribble some notes.
Madame Pomfrey sent out the other patient then. He was a boy Hermione didn't recognize, and was instantly sorry she didn't. Judging by his robes, he was a Ravenclaw, probably a few inches taller than her, with such a pleasant smile she found herself blushing for no reason. Where Neville's cold seemed to ravage his entire body, this boy only had a pinkish nose. "Hello, Neville," she began when the former arrived at the table. "And hello, er —"
"Mathias," he supplied gallantly. "And you must be Hermione."
"Yes," she giggled (oh Merlin, he had her giggling now) before she pointed to her partner. "This is Mal —" But she realized she needn't bother. When Mathias turned to introduce himself to Malfoy, the strangest thing happened: Malfoy paled considerably, and even began to tremble, though it was with rage and not with fright. He managed to look impressive even with the smear of blue on his cheek. Mathias, on the other hand, reddened down to the roots of his hair (sandy brown) and his fists tightened at his side. The tense silence was only broken up by Mathias' curt nod, which Malfoy only just returned.
"I see you two know each other already," she supplied. Malfoy snorted, but Mathias seemed to recollect himself.
"Yes. We grew up together."
Another awkward pause.
"Well," Hermione said brightly, "we're supposed to help relieve you two of your colds. I'll be treating Neville. Mal"— Madame Pomfrey turned to stare —"er, Draco will treat you." When she said his first name, all three of the boys stared as well, but Malfoy's maliciously triumphant smile revealed itself almost instantly. "Er, I'll go first," Hermione said pointlessly, confused. She handed Neville the bottle and instructed him to drink the whole thing.
He gulped it down. The change in him was apparent when he finished; he stood straighter and, despite a few coughs from the dryness of the liquid, seemed to breathe easier. "Did it help?" Hermione asked excitedly.
"I . . . yes, it did! Thank you Hermione," he added sincerely. He almost skipped out of the room, though after he stumbled a few times, he decided to play it safe and walk.
Then it was Malfoy's turn.
It's hard to say what exactly happened. Malfoy rose, she remembered distinctly, and held his wand at arm's length. Mathias paled a bit, but held his ground. One minute, he was standing, his lips moving as if in silent prayer. The next moment, he was on the ground, writhing as boils sprung out on his face and hands. Hermione screamed. Madame Pomfrey materialized beside them.
"What happened?" she asked Malfoy. He looked deathly pale, his eyes wide and frozen. All an act, Hermione thought with sudden anger.
"I - I was . . . I was trying to do the spell, that's all. I swear," he stuttered.
Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips. "Clear up that hospital bed while I levitate him, Miss Granger," she said instead, and Hermione obeyed automatically. Malfoy stood in stunned silence while the professor examined Mathias. "This hex is Dark Magic and isn't allowed here at Hogwarts," she said as she pulled out her wand. "Whether it's an accident or not, you're to have a week's detention with me, Mister Malfoy. Is that clear?"
To Hermione's surprise, he didn't protest.
"Mister Badeau is replacing Miss Chang this Wednesday." Hermione and Malfoy both started at that pronouncement, though Hermione felt herself much happier than Malfoy looked. "I hope by that time," the professor continued, "you two boys will have worked out your differences so that this rivalry doesn't interfere with my class."
Malfoy paused, then agreed with a low, "Yes, Madame Pomfrey."
"And by the way, Mister Malfoy, you should wash the ink off your face before you leave," Madame Pomfrey instructed.
He grabbed a nearby metal tray to see his reflection, then glared directly at Hermione.
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