Chapter 29: Promise
His workbench was lined with ingredients and he tried to work calmly. Hermione had pulled all the things for the daily draft out of her bag, and then summoned her own cauldron, scales and knife from the bag. What didn't she keep in that thing? He had more than enough ingredients and supplies for both of them, but she insisted using her own cauldron. That was amusing.
Draco hadn't really understood this potion when Potter had made it in Slughorn's class. That failure had annoyed him. His mind had been so full of other things, that he'd made several stupid and careless mistakes. After that, he'd worked to figure out the Draught of Living Death. Something was still off, but he was sure part of that was due to his own distaste surrounding its nature. He believed potions were meant for altering the state of the mind, transforming, healing, medicine, for the pure sake of an experiment, or working side by side with Herbology. Poisons and other damaging brews had never given him much interest. He actually found them repulsive. Working around the fumes unsettled his stomach half the time, but he'd stomached it enough to figure this one out.
The fact that Hermione appeared almost enthralled by the bet caught him off guard. She'd played him. Was he about to be hustled? Part of him didn't think her capable of it. When he'd taken her bet, she'd pulled her hair into a ponytail at the back of her neck, smirking at him so arrogantly that he'd been taken aback. He had never seen that look on her face.
Now, they both were working over their cauldrons. He was slightly flustered, which didn't help his focus. She wasn't better at potions than him. He'd been tempted to burst that bubble multiple times during their years in the dungeons, just flat out demolish everyone. It had been more entertaining to sit back, get the easiest grade in his life, and enjoy the antics of the rest of the class. Severus had been cross with him. He'd said that Draco could've been the next Potion Master of Hogwarts if he applied himself. Draco hadn't wanted that. Dealing with snot-nosed brats for the rest of his life? No, thank you.
He was distracted again and added too many drops of Wormwood essence. Damn it!
His eyes flickered over to Hermione. She was calm and steady. He recognized that posture. Why the hell are you competing with this witch, when you should have started on that daily draft to stop damage? Call it off. No. He grit his teeth. She wouldn't be bullying him at the Burrow, in his own bedroom and in his potion laboratory! That was too far. This was his home, his lab, and his pride.
As he sat glumly at the end of a long hour, he thought maybe he should've listened to that little voice. Maybe he would've done better if his concentration hadn't been split. She silently Evanescoed the contents of both cauldrons away. How had she done it? He frowned bitterly. How many times had she tried to make it? Why? It was an awful potion. Her concoction had been nearly perfect. Draco frowned deeper, turning away from her immediately and beginning to sort out the ingredients for the daily draft.
"...Draco…"
"You won, Granger," he snapped irritably, summoning his scales from across the room and refusing to look at her. "It's about time to start the potion I came here to make today. Make yourself useful, or get out."
Hermione hugged him suddenly from behind. He paused, slowly placing down the ingredients he'd been sorting. Naive, isn't she? A cold voice whispered in his ear. The Draught of Living Death isn't the only life-ending potion you could make. Does she really think she stopped you with this? Draco felt, for the first time in ages, his voice rise up to challenge the coldness. Maybe she did. Maybe this stupid bet will make me stop listening to your pathetic banter.
"Say you promise."
Draco frowned, trying to turn around. She tightened her grip on him immediately, refusing to let him.
"What exactly am I promising?"
"...Promise me you won't do something to hurt yourself, without talking to me first."
Draco closed his eyes. Why would she ask him that? She'd just stun, bind or petrify him. Why would she even ask? That answer was obvious. He began to sort ingredients again, eyes opening slowly. "No."
"...Promise me... or I won't help you with the potion for your mother."
What?! Draco whirled around, pulling her arms away from him. How dare you, Granger… that's out of bounds! She took a step back, frightened at the look on his face. "You sure know what buttons to push now, don't you Granger?" he snapped angrily, throwing her arms away from him. He had no choice. "Fine! I promise I won't do something to hurt myself until I talk to you first." He put up both hands, walking away from her, away from his lab, away from the ingredients. Coming here was supposed to clear his head, let him focus. Fuck that! Doors slammed out of his way as he stormed off, voice cold and cross. "I can't do this. Don't you ever play that card, again, Granger. One and done, are we clear?"
"Clear." she spoke quietly, following him out of the lab. "I'm sorry-"
"Time to fly," he spat angrily, entering his room again to the balcony, the doors bursting open loudly again. Draco swished his wand to summon his broom. "Come on."
She froze, clearly apprehensive, "Flying? Now? You want me to do that now?" she paled slightly when the broom zoomed into his hands. "...while you're angry?"
"Yes, while I'm angry." he snapped, setting the broom between his legs. "Flying clears my head. Make good on your word, Granger, or don't expect me to keep to mine."
She sat behind him, holding on to his waist tightly. Draco took off immediately into the sky, pushing the broom through the maze of statues and plants in the gardens. Her grip was like iron around his waist, and he could feel her head pressed hard against his back the entire time. The rush of air against his face made him relax. He slowed, circling high over the house to a lake beyond the garden. Lazily, he dove towards the water, fingertips brushing the surface, then back up. He did this a few times, the motion never failed to calm him.
With a start, he realized she was shaking. Draco paused, hovering close to the water. Why did that matter? Did he care? She held him even tighter as they sat still in the air, shuddering. Even angry at her, he did! Draco moved gently to the edge of the water, by a small cluster of trees and wildflowers. His feet lightly touched down.
Hermione released him immediately, falling off the broom onto her back. Her hands fumbled with her bag and he saw her summon three stomach settling vials. She drank all of them, and still looked sickly green. She put both hands over her eyes, pressing the heel of her palms hard against her eyelids, taking long, trembling breaths.
Guilt twisted his stomach. He had just wanted to calm down. Maybe he'd flown too aggressively with her on the back. It hadn't felt like it to him… but her reaction told him the truth.
"Never again," she muttered softly from her place on the ground. "Not when you're mad at me."
Silently agreeing, he sat down next to her. "Granger, why are you afraid of flying, anyway?"
"It's heights, not flying," she still didn't move, but her color was getting better. "...okay, well, maybe a little of both. No flying books ever helped. You just have to do it, and that's not how I learn."
"Madam Hooch was there to teach it-"
Hermione snorted, managing to pull her hands away to rest on her stomach, her dark eyes flashing at him in irritation. "You do remember our first flying lesson, don't you? Neville fell and broke his wrist. You and Harry were acting like such children that day! I never wanted to touch another broomstick after that."
His lip curled down slightly. That just wasn't right. Any witch or wizard should be comfortable flying. It was freedom, and peace, and exhilaration. How could she not enjoy it? Waving his wand, a second dark, sleek broomstick flew over the lake to them. She sat up when he put it across her lap. "You need a teacher to learn how to fly. It doesn't come naturally to most people."
Hermione shook her head no, "Harry was able to do it the first day, without a single lesson!"
Draco shrugged, "Potter has always been strangely immune to normal magical standards."
"I don't want to learn," she protested, not touching the broomstick, eyes fearful. "You just said I had to fly with you! I did that. You never said I'd have to do it more than once!"
"The Draught of Living Death isn't there only killer I know how to brew, Granger." It was a bluff. He'd never really tried to make anything else, but her widening eyes told him she believed him. Would she ever really be able to know when he was lying? "Here's the deal. Every flying lesson, you can ban me from brewing one more thing."
"...why is it always bets and deals with you Slytherin?" she chewed her lip and he could see she was almost about to agree. "You lie, all the time, Draco. Over stupid little things. How can I trust you?"
Oh good, she was starting to pick up on that. Too bad she didn't think to call his bluff.
"True, and that's not likely to change." He stood, broomstick in one hand. "I would give you my word, every time. I am a little too proud to go break it."
Hesitatingly, she put a hand on the broom and stood. Her face was still undecided. "... You'll do this properly, right? I mean, no zipping around like we did just now, but actual lessons and small steps?" She held the stick tightly in both hands, "This isn't going to cure my fear of heights."
"I'll take it slow." He held out his hand, "Deal?"
Her hand met his and they shook.
