Hermione walked down the corridor, eyes tracking a familiar shape. Even in her own head she was embarrassed about how much she thought about him. She told herself she was just watching to see if he'd taken her suggestion to heart – though he certainly hadn't shown any evidence of it over the weeks since their conversation. She rationalized her staring as evidence collection, rather than some sort of dewy eyed fascination.
Of course, his shoulders weren't particularly likely to perform any acts of kindness, and they had all her attention at the moment. There was something about the set of them, the way he held himself. It helped that she knew the feel of them, the planes and curves. She could just sink her teeth into-
Hermione's attention shifted as a first year crashed into another student. It looked as though the little girl had been scurrying along with half the library in her arms. She probably hadn't been able to see over the stack at all. The older girl, a fifth year Hermione recognized, huffed out a breath. She had all the markers of an impending nervous breakdown. Probably she was splintering under the pressure of O.W.L.'s.
Hermione's eyes flicked back to her original subject as he unexpectedly stepped forward. She watched as he bent and gathered the books. He held them out toward the first year, who stared at him in terror.
"Don't touch those!" The older girl ordered. She turned to Draco. "What?" she said. "Have you cursed them? Will all her hair fall out if she takes them?" The fifth year crossed her arms over her chest. "Have you thrown in a cursed book, so You Know Who can possess her?"
Hermione watched him bend down and place the neatly arranged stack on the ground again. "I was being polite," he said so quietly Hermione could barely make it out.
She watched him straighten and meet the girl's glare with a blank face. "No one needs your help," the girl declared.
"My mistake," he said, and – to Hermione's surprise – inclined his head toward both girls before continuing on his way. She watched his straight-backed from disappear down the hall.
The first year looked up at the older girl. "Are they really cursed, do you think?" she asked. The older girl shrugged, mumbled something inaudible, and strode away. Hermione sighed.
"I'll have a look," Hermione said, stepping forward. "But I seriously doubt it." She cast a few revealing charms, but found nothing, of course. "They look fine to me."
The little girl stared up at Hermione with sincere eyes. "Does he really curse people's books?" she asked.
Hermione smiled slightly and shook her head. "Not that I can recall." She leaned in conspiratorially. "But it is always a good idea to be on your guard when you're walking. Technically there's no magic aloud in the corridors, but I've seen my fair share of tripping jinxes."
The girl's eyes widened. "How do I watch out for them?"
Hermione laughed. "Well, Protego is a shield charm," she said, demonstrating it. "It might help."
A life-sized bobble-head replaced the first year, nodding rapidly along with Hermione's every word. She laughed. "You'll learn later. Don't worry. Most of the older kids won't bother a first year, and I doubt many of your classmates have gotten the hang of magic just yet."
"So, I'm safe?" the girl asked.
"Well," Hermione said, helping the girl get the books situated in her arms again. "That depends on whether you have the sense to take only as many books as you can safely carry."
The girl reddened, and mumbled something about there being so much to learn. Hermione could remember feeling exactly the same, but she thought she'd done it with rather less innocence and rather more arrogance.
"You've time yet," was all she said, giving the girl a pat on the head and heading off to her own destination.
Draco was reading a book on the bed when Hermione arrived that night. He glanced up at her when she walked in. He looked nearly ready to say something, then shifted his attention back to his book at the last second.
Hermione dropped her bag on the floor and went to join him. She stood in front of him, drawing his attention back to her. He closed the book with an audible snap.
"If you've heard a rumor about me cursing books-" he began, irritated resignation ringing through his every word.
Hermione shook her head slowly. "Not a peep. I did, however, see you help a first year when she dropped hers."
He snorted. "And disprove your theory about being nice."
"Really?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "That's not what I saw."
"Don't," he said, taking up his book again.
"Don't what?" she asked. She shifted forward, easing in between his legs.
His eyes flicked up to meet hers, then dropped down again. "Don't try to train me like some bloody puppy. I'm not going to respond well to pats on the head when I've done something you like."
"Pats on the head," she repeated, testing the phrase out. "Hmmm . . . I wouldn't say that's what I was intending." He took a breath, and she knew he meant to say something, but she merely bulldozed over him. "I was, however, hoping to do this." She leaned forward, brushed her lips against his. When he didn't respond, she pulled away, amused. "Ah," she said. "Pats on the head." She rolled the phrase around in her mouth. "I think I understand."
She eased off of him and flopped down, head on the pillow. He stayed where he was, sitting on the side of the bed with his book in his lap.
"Do you know," Hermione began, with the air of talking to herself more than him. "When I saw you move forward, I really wasn't sure what you were going to do. I was a bit concerned," she admitted, "to be honest." His eyes were still on his book, but she was very sure he was no longer reading. "And then you helped her with her books-"
"Tried to, more like," he cut in.
"And I thought," Hermione went on, disregarding his interruption, "Isn't that sweet?"
"I'm not," he declared, "Sweet."
"Not particularly, no," Hermione agreed easily enough. "What you are," Hermione decided, "Is sexy."
That got a reaction. He turned to look at her in surprise, and she smiled saucily back. She was delighted with the feeling.
"That's what I thought," she went on. Unable to maintain eye contact, she let her eyes shift up to the ceiling. "After the fifth year was rude to you."
"When I stood there and let her insult me?" he drawled. "I'm beginning to understand that your attraction to me may not be entirely complimentary."
Hermione laughed easily. "You don't understand," she said, sitting up. "You've always been this spoiled little boy," she said, looking up at him. She was surprised to find his attention hadn't shift back to his book, but remained firmly fixed on her. "You've always thrown tantrums, and insulted anyone who dared beat you, or was rude to you, or did really anything you disliked. This was the first time I've ever seen you let it go."
She slid closer. "Which is, I think, one of the major difference between being a boy, and being a man. Boys are selfish, and foolish, and . . . " she groped for the right words. "Petty," she decided. "Men know how to tell what's actually worth fighting for."
"Plenty of men are selfish, and foolish, and petty," he said, closing his book and setting it aside.
"Whether you're a man or not has nothing to do with your age, Draco, and everything to do with the choices you make." She eased closer, until their mouths were inches apart. "And, I'm not telling you this as a pat on the head. I just thought you might like to know why I want to jump you right now."
Her eyes dropped to his mouth just in time to watch it bow ever so slightly.
"You have," he said, leaning closer, "The absolute oddest taste."
"Well, yes," she agreed. "Hasn't that been obvious all along?"
She was the one who closed the distance between their mouths.
