Chapter 3 Unexpected Alliances

Draco – November 18, 1996

Fuck that cabinet.

He'd been thinking those words over and over since ditching potions to try to make some progress but to no avail. The damn thing was intractable. None of his attempts to untangle the finicky magic led to anything remotely productive. It was like he was missing some critical piece of knowledge.

Like maybe the will to actually make it work?

Fuck that cabinet.

The halls of the castle were full of the whomps and hoots as the students celebrated the end of the school week; it made his mood sour even more.

Most of the younger years from other houses knew to make way for him as he stormed by, his reputation preceding him, naturally. At least until he rounded the corner and a pudgy little Ravenclaw boy walked right into him, knocking him into the wall.

"Hey! Watch it, you - oh! Uh..." the boy stammered; eyes wide when realization set in over who he was speaking to. "S-sorry, Malfoy...err...sir." His round face was bright red from his flustered state.

And yet, the tool is still in my way.

Righting his vest and tie, Draco stepped right into his space and glared down at him. "Move," he seethed, voice low and dangerous. He had no energy to spare for any of this.

The boy scurried off with a squeak that may have been, "Yes, sir," though quite frankly Draco couldn't care less. He just wanted to get to his...their sanctuary and not think anymore.

"Oi!" He heard Pucey call out from somewhere behind him. "Looks like Malfoy's going soft! Not even a shove to the arm on that kid this time."

Draco rolled his eyes and continued to walk, not bothering to acknowledge him.

"I think he needs a little something to bring him back to life, eh," the arsehole continued. "What of it, Tracey? Wanna have a go with poor Drake? Think he could use a little companionship."

"Fuck off, Adrian."

Their mocks and laughter dissipated as he made his way down the stairs and finally onto the right floor. It was practically empty on this level now; the near silence brought his thoughts back to that fucking vanishing cabinet. It was taunting him.

Adrian was a useless tit, but he wasn't too far off. Draco was in serious need of a pick me up, or maybe a blow job, not that either was forthcoming given the givens.

And never with Tracey Davis.

He'd read a section in some book he'd knicked from Borgin and Burkes that insisted the best way to test a spell was to use it on something living. And there was no way in hell he was going to test it on himself. The Dark Lord already had his arm, and possibly his soul—he wasn't about to use himself to determine if the cabinet would work.

Knowing he had to give it a go at least once, for memory's sake and all, he decided to use a few of the apples left over from breakfast as his test subjects, until he could figure out an alternative solution.

As if I could find a volunteer...

The idea was for a passage to be created between the two that wouldn't result in a splinch or death—would the death of a few bloody Death Eaters really be so bad?—but that would require the use of a silent vanishing charm. Something that was way, way over his head, as adept as he was in the subject. Of course, the first time he tried it, murmuring Harmonia nectere passus, when he opened the cabinet door, he found the stupid Apple was exactly where he'd left it, unmoved and unchanged.

It also didn't help that he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following him. There was this buzz he started noticing recently. He couldn't say for sure when the first time was, but now almost every time he was out after hours, he noticed it. He'd taken to pausing in odd alcoves and looking to see if someone would pass by, but he'd yet to discover who or what it was.

Today the buzzing was absent, and it brought him no comfort as he stepped onto the second floor and made his way to Myrtle's abandoned loo. He pushed the door open, and his nostrils were insulted with an acrid tang. Once he got past the smell, he could feel Granger's magic pulsing in tingles along his arms and scalp.

"You again…" Draco said with a sigh as he rounded the corner of the lavatory.

There were three cauldrons this time, all brewing something different. He barely had time to concentrate on a single daunting task, and here Granger was splitting her focus on three different, and by the looks of it, complicated potions. Not for the first time, he wondered why she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw.

Granger glanced over her shoulder; she looked positively harried. "Yes, me again, I told you—"

"Can't you and your hair go be expansive somewhere else?" Draco groaned, gesturing extravagantly. He could swear the mane on her head had tripled in size since he'd seen it earlier in the day.

"Shall I reiterate?" she deadpanned.

He scoffed, exasperated by her tone. "For fucks sake, Granger, no, I cannot bear your reiteration." He waved an arm over her set up. "Just carry on, and allow me my wallow," he said, approaching the bank of sinks and braced against the nearest one. He'd never admit it out loud, but even as irritated as he was, the pulsing tingles and warmth of Granger's magic were soothing. Soothing enough that maybe her presence was worth it.

Merlin's balls, man. Pull yourself together!

The entire notion of it—sensing things—was quickly becoming a frustrating annoyance. He'd noted over breakfast earlier that there were no pulses or spikes at the Slytherin table, despite how many other students were there. No warmth, nor any of the other sensations he'd felt around Granger, or the buzzing he'd felt at night. At least, not until she'd walked in with the rest of the Gryffindors.

"Gladly, but do keep the tears to a minimum."

What?

Draco jerked away from the sink, irritated that he'd considered her anything other than exasperating? Though truthfully, he'd appreciated the glimpse she'd given him of the soft angle of her jaw and length of her neck. He'd noticed the top two buttons of her uniform blouse were undone when he walked in.

"I beg your pardon! Malfoys don't cry," he stated, puffing his chest out and glaring at her. How dare she imply otherwise!

Hermione shrugged. "According to Myrtle, they do." She crossed her arms and smirked, daring him to deny it. Which of course, he couldn't. Bloody fucking ghost!

"I always look forward to our time together, Draco," Myrtle crooned, swooping up from her stall. "Especially when you're weeping. I keep the stall next to mine open just for yooou–"

Waving his wand above his head, he sent up a set of sparks that crested back down over them, lighting the room as they fell. He'd come here for some peace and he intended to have it. It was high time he put a stop to this nonsense.

"Oi! Right, that's it. Both of you, do fuck off!" The wail the ghost let out as she whooshed away was enough to make his head throb. Hermione, on the other hand, looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Really, Malfoy? Do you honestly think you're intimidating?" She glared. "And mind your language!" She chastised him with a disapproving once-over. "To think that you consider yourself a part of the 'civilized elite'! Your crudeness is very unbecoming, and seeing as I'm a Prefect—"

"I tremble in fear of your house points-taking abilities," Draco cut her off with a sneer and turned back to the sink. He could still see Granger in the mirror's reflection "Crazy bint…" he mumbled.

"Like I'd even bother!" she shouted, turning back to her cauldron.

"Oh no, had something more illicit in mind then, did you? Going to sic the She-Weasel on me? I'd wager you have that entire family wrapped around your finger," he snapped, turning back to face her once more. "Or some obscure hex you've read about in one of your precious books?"

Her jaw dropped open. "I would never!"

"Fine."

"Fine!" Her hair whipped behind her as she turned her back to him.

Bloody Gryffindor.

Draco took the moment of quiet to turn on one of the sinks' taps and splash some cool water on his face. It offered a modicum of relief, but nothing could touch the level of self-loathing he was attaining that day. He'd just picked a fight with a witch for no other reason than she was present, and the worst part was he felt ridiculously guilty!

Fuck this fucking day.

After a few minutes of just listening to the water run, he turned off the tap and slid down onto the floor, leaning back against the wall facing Granger as she continued to stir whatever disaster she was brewing. If it were even possible, her hair had gotten bigger since he looked at her last. Her back was still to him, but every so often he caught her glancing down and back, chewing on her bottom lip. She seemed at war with herself, until she mumbled incoherently and fully turned back around. A wave of warmth washed over Draco.

"But really, are you okay?" Hermione sighed, dropping her stirring rod onto the makeshift table she had set up just outside the stall.

Draco considered not answering, but another wave hit him, and he realized the pleasant warmth was again her magic interacting with his own. He felt himself soften if only a little. She seemed genuinely interested. "I'm fine, Granger, just—" Hiding out in here with you instead of plotting out your beloved Headmaster's murder. "—stressed," he said, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

"Oh, okay." She looked far from convinced, but didn't push.

It may have been the emotional exhaustion or that, for once, she actually seemed sincere in her query, but as he watched her fiddle nervously with her hands, he felt compelled to return in kind.

"How're your potions coming?" he asked and was rewarded with another dramatic sigh.

She looked at each of her cauldrons. "Those two are fine, this one...Horribly." She shook her head, causing her wild hair to dance around her face.

"I think you're overreacting to Potter's improved performance," he offered, pulling his knees up and dropping his head into them. He still didn't understand why she was so convinced that the twat was remotely better than her in anything.

"Really?" She frowned. "Well, I don't believe I am."

Of course, she doesn't. Draco rolled his eyes. She may not have been able to see, but it would have taken a significant amount of energy to contain the urge, so he didn't.

"What are you brewing that has you in a tizzy?" he asked, still resting his head on his knees.

"A batch of Antidote for Common Poisons."

Draco couldn't help but laugh. "We learned that back in Third Year, or was it Fourth?"

"It was third, but there is a version of it in our N.E.W.T. text. The infernal Half-Blood Prince has heavily annotated it, and well, I was curious. But this color and texture are all wrong."

Draco sat up at that. "Half-Blood Prince?"

"Harry's copy of the text—" she added a few drops of essence of lavender, if Draco's nose was to be believed "—it's filled with annotations and spells."

Draco watched her insert her stirring rod and do three counterclockwise turns. Her eyes began to widen as she completed the step.

"Oh, oh! Malfoy, come look at this."

Draco pulled himself up off the floor and walked over to look in the cauldron. "Look at that. It smells different than I remember."

"Yes, I believe that'll be the honeywater, mint, and lavender." She pointed into the cauldron. "And look, there are gold swirls with the teal."

"Interesting," Draco took another inhale and used his wand to agitate the potion. "Stewed Mandrake?"

"Yes, how did you know?" she asked, eyeing him curiously.

"Well, the gold, obviously," Draco said, looking down his nose at Granger.

"What?" she frowned. "Stewed Mandrake doesn't add gold hues."

"Well, not normally, but Common Antidote has unicorn horn and mistletoe berries, which would react with the mandrake, give it that nice gold swirling effect. It's quite clever, really. Made this way, it would be able to revive the patient if they'd passed out." She'd been shaking her head as soon as he'd begun his explanation as if he couldn't possibly be right.

"But that's not the proper way to make the potion."

His eyes rolled, and he groaned at her words as well as the spikey assault of her magic that accompanied her irritation. "It's called improvisation, Granger. Surely, you experiment some. Look at what you're doing right now," he said, with a wave of his arms over her workspace.

"This was academic curiosity. I would never administer this to someone. It isn't an approved potion."

Oh, Merlin, help me.

"Why on earth not? You know what all went into it." Draco wordlessly spun his wand over the potion again. "Look at the color and movement in the cauldron. This would be very effective."

"No, I do not know!" She bristled. "It's made up!"

The spikey feeling surged and the air filled with the heat of her aggravation. Draco looked up at her and shook his head. At least he could be disappointed in someone besides himself. "Come off it, surely at this point, you aren't just blindly following directions. You know what all this shit—"

"Language!"

"—does. Yeah, yeah, I'm a crude bastard. Get over it. Each element added has a purpose. Where do you think new potions come from?" Draco waved his wand, conjuring a set of vials, and began siphoning off the potion.

"Of course, I know that! But why would we have a recipe to follow—"

He aborted his progress, without the soothing waves of calm her magic usually evoked he found he was supremely pissed off now. It was one thing for Granger to be irritated with him, as her surging magic indicated, but of all people to be unable to follow the nuance of potion-making—he'd expected more from her. "If you don't know, I can't explain. Now kindly, fuck off!"

Her hands gripped her hips so tightly her knuckles were white with the effort. "I should take points. And we can't use that potion."

Draco sighed in irritation. "Please do. And you do what you want, but I'm keeping a few of these." He moved the last of the brilliant potion into a vial and directed the vials into a small box that sat on Granger's makeshift workbench. Once the vials settled, he ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes as he tugged at the limp strands. He'd already been tired when he'd arrived at the lavatory, but after dealing with the overwhelming verbal and magical presence that was Granger, he was just exhausted.

Granger's shoes clacked against the tile floor, moving closer to him. Her magic swirled all around him, and somehow it no longer felt like a storm invading his senses but warm and familiar. "I have something to show you," she said more softly.

Draco cracked open his eyes. "Is it the tally of how many points I've lost my house?"

"No, you prat! I'm trying to do something nice," she said, rubbing her arms briskly.

Draco took her in, the warmth of her magic continued to pulse around him, and he wondered if it was possible that she could feel his, and if so, what it felt like. Cold and uninviting, he assumed based on how she still seemed to be trying to rub warmth into her arms.

He followed her over to the last stall in the row. She opened the door and waved her hand at a series of labeled bottles and vials. "Not that you'd have any reason to know this or care, I suppose, but I have an interest in healing. I've brewed some Draught of Peace as well as some Dreamless Sleep and Pepper-Up."

Draco leaned in and inspected the potion's color, then turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "These all look perfect."

She huffed. "Just because the Draught of Living Death was a bear doesn't mean I'm not a good potioneer." Her eyes narrowed. "When brewed the correct way," she added. He rolled his eyes.

"My apologies, Granger," he said with a slight bow in her direction. "So why are you showing me these?"

"I thought that should be obvious."

"Is it?" He raised a brow.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "I've brewed them for you."

Her magic spiked across his scalp. He was too tired to enjoy a riled-up Granger, but he was also confused. Rather than further antagonize her, he asked, "Why would you do that?"

"Really, Malfoy, I know we aren't friends, but we keep encountering each other, and you just seem so…" she trailed off, waving an arm in his direction, as if it was something she expected him to understand.

"So, what, Granger? Don't stop now. Put me in my place."

"Defeated, exhausted. We may not like each other, but no one should be so run down as you are. I don't expect you to share what's going on with you. Merlin knows you've got Harry hassling you enough." Her magic flowed around him, warm and inviting. "I'm here if you want to talk. And well, if you don't, at least I know you have access to these if you want them."

Draco felt himself relax, then faltered; it wasn't safe to trust. Could've just made some myself. "And you haven't poisoned them? Dosed them with Veritaserum so Potter can interrogate me?"

She rolled her eyes at his theatrics. "If you're that worried, you should have just made them yourself, instead of waiting for me to do it..."

"Too many other things going on, Granger," he said. It was the truth, though he knew if he'd spent less time watching her and actually focusing on the task, he would have had plenty of it.

Exasperated, she shook her head. "Whatever, Malfoy. Anyway, they're perfectly acceptable. They are all brewed exactly to specifications."

Draco snickered. "Of course, they are. Hermione Granger does not experiment with medical potions. Not even when they are being brewed for the son of a Death Eater."

He heard her sigh. "You don't know me, not really. But for me, the world isn't black and white. I've had to live in the grey so that Harry and Ron could keep their ideals more than once. So that grey you're living in, I get that." She turned away from him and walked back to the workbench. She picked up a scrap of parchment and began scribbling a few notes and then picked up one of the teal and gold vials and held it up to the diffuse light that shone through the stained-glass windows.

Draco watched her for a few moments, then turned back to the stock of potions. She'd done something nice for him. Not because she liked him or owed him, but because she wasn't the kind of person to tolerate suffering in others. Fucking Gryffindors. He reached out, took several of the vials, and slid them into his bag.

"I'll be revising in the library all weekend, Malfoy. You're welcome to join me. I'm also researching a focusing draught. I realize that perhaps I'm being too rigid in my approach to potions. I do realize that for our N.E.W.T.s, I'll need to demonstrate more than rote knowledge. I'd be interested in discussing some of the finer points of it with you if you're so inclined," she said, returning to her parchment to scribble a few more notes.

Draco nodded his head and then, realizing she wasn't looking at him, said, "Yeah, I might do. Be nice to talk potions with someone besides Theo."

"He'd be welcome too; he's quite good in charms."

Draco shifted his weight; she was willing to revise with snakes? She was right. He really didn't know Hermione Granger.

"Close your mouth, Draco, no need to be so shocked. I revise with Ravenclaws too. It's not like Harry and Ron are interested."

Draco snapped his mouth shut. "You mean Potty and the Weasel aren't stimulating." He chuckled to himself.

Hermione snorted and finally turned to him, a single brow arched dramatically. "Academically, no. Though they have other fine attri—" She paused and frowned.

"Attributes? I doubt that," he said, with a bit of a laugh. "Well, I'll give you Potter has some skill as a duelist, but you cannot tell me that Ronald Weasley is anything but a twat."

With a shake of her head, Hermione turned back to her potion notes. "Normally, he's not all bad, but lately…"

"I can make you a 'Weasley is our King' button if you'd like to show your support."

Draco felt his lips curl into a smile as the room filled with her tinkling laughter and that warmth that was her magic. He liked hearing her laugh; it made him feel lighter, less burdened. When did that happen?

"I just might take you up on that. Just might at that. Anyway, do invite Theo along. I have a couple of protection charms I'd like to run past him." She pointed her wand and directed the cauldron in which she'd brewed the antidote to the sinks and pulled down a clean cauldron.

"Sure, Granger, I'll do that. I'll see you around."

"Yes, you will. We have rounds together, remember. Maybe you could be on time? Save me the agony of conversing with Macmillan?"

"Oh, right. Okay, I'll see you then. Um...and thank you," Draco said, patting his bag, "for the potions."

"Mmmhmm, you're welcome. And I do wish you would just vanish that antidote, or at least promise not to use any of it until I get the chance to discuss it with Madam Pomfrey."

"Sure, Granger." Draco stared at her a moment longer as her focus shifted fully to the new cauldron and her notes. He was beginning to think that nothing in the world was quite what he thought.

Draco – November 19, 1996

The next day found Draco annoyed, having tossed and turned all night. Granger was getting under his skin. First, her comment about his ignorance, followed by her admission that she might be ignorant too. It was too much, and that was before her surprising actions. She had made him potions, recognized that he was hurting, and did something to help. He couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't his mother had done or seen so much.

No, Draco found that he couldn't just push aside what was happening between them any longer. He was ready to confront the fact that Hermione Granger was not at all what he'd thought and that maybe, just maybe, sharing Moaning Myrtle's loo with her wasn't so terrible. Maybe, revising with the school's ultimate bookworm would give him a chance to recover his grades, something else he desperately needed to do. It wouldn't be one-sided either. He had a lot to offer her, she needed to find her footing with potions, or she'd never reach her full potential.

Don't forget how sensing her magic makes you feel… how she makes you feel.

Irritated, irrational, calm, unburdened. Draco shivered at the memory of her magic enveloping him as she showed him the potions she'd brewed for him. It wouldn't do. He did his best to banish those unhelpful thoughts. He didn't have time to deal with the implications of how her magic impacted him. He had other matters to attend to.

However, he did know that he could not allow her to be right when it came to his lack of knowledge about the world outside of the Wizarding community and decided a bit of research was in order.

Draco strode into the Slytherin common room and looked for the only person he felt comfortable questioning about Muggles. Sitting in a club chair, isolated from the rest of the room, sat Blaise Zabini, flipping through a copy of the evening edition of the Daily Prophet. Draco continued in that direction and settled into the chair opposite Blaise.

"Blaise, what do you know about Muggle healers?"

Blaise lowered the paper, folded it back into a tidy square, and then turned his attention to Draco, his head tilted and eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Doctors, as they're called, do much the same things that our healers do, just with technology and pharmaceuticals."

"Farma-suit-cuticles?"

Blaise snickered. "The great Draco Malfoy admits he doesn't know something. I have to say Draco, I'm astonished. Flabbergasted even."

"Do shut it, Blaise. There are plenty of things I don't know. Like your mother's preference in wedding vendors, do you get a return discount?"

"Well, that's hardly going to make me want to continue this conversation." Blaise reached out for the newspaper.

Draco took a deep breath and resettled his mask. "My apologies, habit. Would you be so kind as to continue to indulge my curiosity?"

Blaise dropped the paper back onto the end table. "That's more like it. You'll be Minister of Magic in no time."

Draco felt his mask slip for a moment. That was a future his family might have wanted once, but today all he could really hope was to live through the year. He pulled it back together and hoped Blaise didn't notice. "I believe you were going to explain what a farm-a-suit...um…"

"Pharmaceuticals. Yes, think Muggle potions. They use science, chemistry, most specifically. Quite ingenious, really. Would you believe they can treat practically all the same ailments as our healers? In fact, some of their drugs, a shorthand for pharmaceuticals, mind you, have fewer side effects than ours."

Draco's head felt like it was spinning, so many unfamiliar words. He'd have to spend some time looking these things up. Maybe he'd even ask Granger about some of it; she seemed to have kept up with Muggle things. Wanting to get back to figuring out the kind of people Granger's parents were, he asked, "And how does one become a... doctor, right?"

"Yes, doctor. They spend a great deal of time in school. The training programs are very competitive. Most don't get in."

"Is it quite lucrative?"

Blaise shook his head with a smile. "Only you would ask that question."

He threw his foot out, kicking at Blaise's legs. "Oh, fuck off. It's a valid question! Asked by me, or not."

"Well then, yes," he said, pausing for a moment in contemplation before refocusing on Draco. "But more than that, the training itself is expensive, prohibitively so in some cases. Typically, doctors are from families with money, or they incur debt to pursue the field."

"Huh."

Blaise chuckled. "Muggle medicine has come quite far since the days of kings, mate. They really aren't as barbaric in their ways as we've been led to believe."

Draco scoffed and tried not to fidget under the scrutinizing gaze he could feel burning into him.

"What's with the questions?" Blaise asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I've never heard you ask about Muggles."

Draco should have known better than to try and play coy with Blaise. It was well known that Zabini had the ability to read people's intentions almost immediately. There would be little chance he'd finish this conversation without his friend having caught onto his reasons for initiating it. There was really no point in trying to hide them.

"I was informed that I'm ignorant," he stated, running a finger across his brow.

Blaise roared in laughter. "Who would dare call the Malfoy Scion ignorant!?"

Burrowing himself further into the chair, he grumbled. "No one."

Blaise leaned back in the club chair, folding one leg over the other with a deliberate casualness Draco recognized. It was a useful tactic when one wanted to buy himself time to think. Next, Blaise placed his elbow on the armrest then rested his chin on his hand as he turned to Draco. "Only person I can think of is Granger." Draco's hackles rose at the mention of her name, expected though it was.

"What do you know about Granger?" he couldn't help but growl, his grip tightening on the chair.

"She's brilliant, obviously," Blaise said with a flourish. "Daughter of Muggle healers, is considering healing as a career, likes to read classic Muggle romance." Blaise shrugged as though that weren't far too much to know about someone wholly unconnected to them.

It irked him that Zabini seemed to know more about the witch than he did. He'd never seen Blaise spare her a passing glance! "What the fuck, Blaise? How do you know all that about her?"

"How does anyone know anything about anyone?" He gave him a sly smile. "I collect observations, as you know. In this case, most are quite obvious. She's top of our class, and sure, she's a know-it-all, but she does seem to actually know it all." He began to inspect his nails as he continued. "She spends time with Pomfrey, only one reason to do that. And, I too, happen to be a fan of Pride and Prejudice."

Draco was utterly gobsmacked. "Fuck."

"So, why does Granger have you questioning me about Muggles?" Blaise asked with an air of nonchalance.

"Something she said, things she's done…" He trailed off; he'd already said too much.

"Drake, I know your father…"

Draco shook his head. "Fuck him too. I just, maybe you could suggest some reading on the subject?"

"Sure. I can answer your questions too. Not as well as Granger, of course, but you know Italy's wizarding world isn't nearly so...restrictive."

Draco nodded.

Blaise leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You know I don't buy into those views, yes? If you find you have more questions, I promise to be discreet."

"I... I, well, you understand my position." He'd definitely said too much.

"Too well, unfortunately. Remember you have friends, Draco," Blaise said, glancing around. "There are more of us than you think."

A loud bang came from the entry portal, followed by Crabbe and Goyle stumbling into the room, an almost sour feeling brushing against Draco in their wake.

Blaise stood abruptly and patted Draco on the shoulder. "You'll find some enlightening books in the library. A touch out of date, but a good start. I'll be seeing you."

"Yes, see you," Draco said, struggling to stay calm.

More of us than you think.

That was not safe knowledge to be sharing, especially with him. His mind reeled, had others noticed he was a less than willing servant. Because that would be very bad.

Mask of indifference as firmly in place as possible, Draco stood and called out, "Crabbe, Goyle, I require your assistance."

If there was even a chance that associating with Zabini could make anyone question his loyalty to the Dark Lord, he had to put it to bed immediately. And what better way to do that than by being seen heading off to work on his assignment.

He really was starting to hate this life.

Draco – November 21, 1996

Three days later, Draco was lost in his own thoughts as he climbed the stairs to the Prefect's meeting room that evening. He'd forgotten to note the partner schedule for the week, so he was pleasantly surprised when he found Granger seated in one of the chairs, nose deep in 'Advanced Potion Making.' He couldn't help the quirk of his lips at the sight of her. Her hair was frizzier than usual; he found it unexpectedly endearing.

After speaking with Blaise about Muggles, he'd come to the realization that Hermione may have had a point when it came to his ignorance outside the Wizarding world. He'd found a used copy of 'My Life as a Muggle' by one Daisy Hookum; he'd discovered it was on the assigned reading list for Muggle Studies. Not one to be left behind in knowledge, he'd spent the last few days reading about the life of the woman who gave up Magic for a year.

Researching bloody Muggles. Will wonders never cease?

He hadn't seen her since their last rendezvous in their lavatory sanctuary and found he was eager to speak with her about what he'd read.

"You really shouldn't doubt yourself when it comes to the spectacled git, Granger. I can assure you; you've mastered how to properly brew Draught of Living Death." It registered after it left his lips; he'd just freely given Hermione Granger a compliment. What in Circe's name was happening?

The small smile she gave him when she looked up caused his stomach to flutter, his breathing slowing to a halt as she put her book away and approached him. Her smile didn't drop as she advanced, and he struggled to stop from squirming at the eye contact.

"Exhausting thought, and having wisdom with each studious year," she quoted, coming to a stop in front of him. He noticed that he enjoyed observing her from this angle, the top of her head aligned with his nose; she had to tilt her head slightly back to meet his eyes. So close in his space, he could feel a sense of intimacy surrounding them—the magic emanating off of her soothing his near-constant anxiety.

I'd hardly have to bend down to reach her lips…

He quashed that train of thought immediately, frowning while taking a step back and attempting to refocus on the nonsense she'd just said.

"Come again, Granger? Are you speaking in tongues or was that an actual phrase?" he quipped. He really wished the fluttering in his stomach would calm the fuck down.

She snorted, brushing his words aside with a quick wave of her hand. "Don't be ridiculous, Draco. It's a quote by Lord Byron. Do you know who that is?" He shook his head 'no' as they made their way out of the classroom to begin their patrol.

She shrugged. "I'm not surprised. He was a Muggle poet, after all. I don't expect his works would be found in the Malfoy library, considering."

He was pleased to find the lack of her usual condescending tone. Perhaps she'd actually been sincere in her apology about his ignorance.

All the more reason to show her I'm not.

He was quite sure it was becoming important to him that she see him as more than just an arrogant prat.

"I'll have you know, Granger, that the Malfoy library is one of only two libraries in Britain to hold every book written about Morgana, Merlin, and the Lady of the Lake, Muggle works included."

Her wide eyes, full of shock, warmed him. It felt exhilarating, being able to tell her something she didn't know. Especially something about himself. Who's ignorant now? His smile widened as she tried to regain her composure.

"That's...quite unexpected, Draco. I didn't know," she said. He took unexpected pleasure at hearing his given name from her. But his joy began to deflate as he saw her pull into herself. He hadn't meant to upset her, but it was the only logical explanation to why her magic dulled and seemed to diminish. This just wouldn't do; he craved the peace her magic brought him, and he found he didn't want to be responsible for dimming her light.

"All right then, Granger. If Muggles are meant to be so ingenious, why have they not discovered a way to make their photographs move? How unimaginably boring, staring at a picture that you can't interact with!"

Her face lit up with a bright smile. Draco wondered how often she looked like that: happy, excited. The fluttering moved up into his chest, securing itself around his heart like a vice. He inhaled a stuttering breath as her warmth surrounded them again. He pondered, not for the first time, if she could feel his magic and if it felt the same.

"Muggles rely on their memory to recreate the moments in pictures," she explained, her swottiness coming out. Draco stifled a laugh. There she is.

"For example, there is a picture on our mantle at home of myself and my parents outside the Royal Albert Hall from when I was seven. We'd gone to see Swan Lake at Christmastime that year." They stopped often, peeking into the classrooms one by one as they made their way back to the staircases. "Even though it's just the three of us in the photo, I can still hear the cars from the busy street, taste the hot chocolate on my tongue, and feel the nip in the air. I don't need to speak to the picture to remember what happened."

They inadvertently bumped shoulders as they both tried to turn the corner. Draco's heart leapt into his throat at the contact. Compose yourself, Malfoy! Bloody idiot.

"Besides, it isn't as though we can't create moving pictures. We can and have done for quite some time. They're called motion pictures. There is even a way to create them at home, with something called a video recorder." Draco rolled his eyes. Leave it to her to have an answer to show him up.

"So, you see, as much as I love magic and all that it gives us, we Muggles aren't as incapable as many think. We've done all right for ourselves all these years if I do say so myself." She nodded confidently.

He sniffed, unable to entirely disagree. Though his father had instilled in him the idea that Muggles were nothing but barbaric Neanderthals, unable to do anything but kill and destroy that which they feared, he couldn't help but concede to Hermione's point. If she was any example, perhaps they weren't as horrible as the rest of Wizarding society thought. Though he did catch on to how she'd included herself as one of them, which was a bit odd.

"Granger, you said 'we Muggles.' Do you consider yourself a Muggle or a witch? Or both?" He glanced at her briefly as they trudged along. He noticed her curls bounced against her back while they walked, the torches on the walls illuminating her natural highlights. He wondered if they were soft to the touch.

"Hmmm...I suppose both. I feel as though I'm a walking dichotomy. I'm both and neither fully," she concluded with a nod before her brows creased slightly. She abruptly stopped. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

Stumbling at her unexpected stop, Draco bumped against a pillar. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced down at the mess of old plaster that had fallen onto him. "A not infrequent issue," he grumbled under his breath, brushing the dust and plaster off of his robes.

They stood there for a moment in silence before Hermione shrugged and walked away. Circling back to their previous conversation, Draco cleared his throat when he caught up to her, matching her stride.

"As much as it pains me to admit it, I suppose memory can be quite powerful on its own." He glanced down at her. "And I suppose if you're, what is it they call you? 'The brightest witch of her age'? Those Muggles that raised you mustn't be completely inept." He watched as a light blush appeared on her cheeks. That may have been a bit too much. "But Wizards have always been and will continue to be far superior. In all things."

She tucked her hair behind her ear as she shook her head, turning away from him. Not quickly enough, though, as he caught her fighting off a smile. "Whatever you say, Malfoy."

He was back to being Malfoy, but all the same, he felt as though they'd broken through another barrier. It was an astonishingly good feeling.

They continued on their route, alternating between chatting and bickering as they went. As they climbed the stairs to the astronomy tower, Draco felt a sense of contentment walking beside her. It was akin to when he was meandering around with Theo or Blaise. No pressure, just companionable silence on and off as they went.

"I can't believe you don't enjoy flying, Granger. It's like a Pygmy Puff not enjoying causing mischief! Brooms are to Wizards as—"

"I don't know how, all right?" she snapped. "It frightens me! There is absolutely no stability when sitting on one, and...it doesn't…" She trailed off.

"Doesn't what?"

She huffed. "It doesn't listen to my commands! It's the only class I've ever not passed in my entire time here at Hogwarts. And," she stressed, her voice raising an octave. "It's completely ludicrous that they even count it as one, to begin with! It shouldn't be required. There are perfectly good alternatives—"

He reached out and grasped her hand, giving it a solid squeeze. He had no idea what possessed him to do it, but it felt right. She didn't flinch.

"Pecker up, Granger," he soothed. She was practically in tears, and for once, Draco longed to not be the reason for them. He slowed them to a stop at the top of the staircase, still holding on to her hand. One more floor, and they'd be done. "Try not being such a swot all the time, and perhaps I'll be inclined to teach you myself one day," he said, their eyes locked. Her magic rippled around him; it felt like sparks were bouncing off of them as her eyes searched his. He knew he was getting in way over his head with her now.

A loud round of coughing broke the moment, and he quickly dropped her hand to seek out the culprit. Hermione led the way, finding Crabbe, Goyle, and Adrian Pucey gagging on their tobacco pipes.

"Excuse me! Just what do you think you're doing, smoking on school grounds?' Hermione snapped at them. "Twenty points from Slytherin for the three of you!"

The idiots, not having noticed Draco behind her, ran their eyes over her, their faces twisted into vulgar expressions. Pucey going as far as licking his lips. "How's about you put tha' mouth o'yours to better use, Sweetheart," he leered, earning him a laugh from Crabbe and Goyle. The gasp that came from Granger made Draco's blood boil. How dare they think he'd allow anyone, let alone a fellow Pureblood, to speak to a girl that way. Gryffindor or not, it was unacceptable.

"You lot are an embarrassment to the house of Slytherin, speaking to a girl like that," he seethed, stepping out of the shadowed corner behind Granger.

They seemed to startle at his presence briefly, then continued, "Oi, come off it, Draco! She's only just a cheeky Mudblood. Not like she'll ever be anything more than a placeholder. You 'ear that, Mudblood? Not even worth keepin' around—"

"Finish that sentence, Pucey, and I'll hex your lips shut," he growled. "Didn't your mothers teach you anything in between their rounds of Gleek? Bunch of trolls, the lot of you!" He relished in the look of horror on their faces. Everyone knew not to get on his bad side. "And smoking? You know well enough that it's a privilege to hold a pipe like that in our circle! Ten points more from all of you! Now get back to your dorms before I report you to your fathers for being such disgraceful fools!"

The three Slytherins scurried away, mumbling their apologies to him as they passed. Draco was so focused on watching them leave, he almost missed the bemused look Hermione was giving him.

"What?" he asked, smoothing down his robes before resuming their patrol. Granger followed swiftly. "They were out of line back there. I couldn't very well let that stand, could I?" She hummed in agreement, seemingly content with continuing on in silence.

It wasn't until they'd arrived that Draco realized he'd escorted her to the Gryffindor common room entrance. Glancing around, he waited for her to say something, unsure how to end the night.

Thankfully, she took the lead and sighed. "Well, I suppose this is it then," she said, twisting her hands together. Draco raised his eyebrows in agreement. Chancing a glance at her face, he saw her studying him quizzically.

"Right then, 'night, Granger," he said. It felt off, just leaving it like that. Their relationship had changed, shifted that night, but wasn't at equilibrium yet, and left him not knowing quite how to act.

"You know, you may come off as an arrogant ass to most, Draco, but…" she paused, giving him a quick once over before turning towards the portrait. "You're not as bad as you seem."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he stood there watching as she walked through the portal. She turned back around then, giving him a small wave before the portal closed.

Draco walked around the corner, out of sight of the portrait Granger had just disappeared behind. He took several deep breaths to slow his speeding heart and allowed himself to lean against the cool stone wall. Once he felt like himself again, he turned to head for the stairs, the Room of Hidden Things his destination.

He'd barely made it to the stairs when he felt it again, that buzzing. He looked around and thought maybe off in the distance, he could see the silvery trails of a ghost. Perhaps that was the origin of the buzzing he'd felt several times now. There were plenty of ghosts haunting the corridors of the castle. It would at least explain why he had yet to see the source. It wasn't as if the ghosts took typical paths through the castle. He shook off the feeling and let his thoughts drift back to making Hermione Granger smile, the image continuously swirling through his head and conjuring a smile of his own.

A/N: Huge thanks once again to our tremendous Beta Irma66. And we are just overwhelmed (and overjoyed) by all of the comments, follows, favorites, and kudos. Thank you so much to all of you reading our story :) We can't wait to share more with you, except for our next post, which will be just a little bit delayed because we are doing the April NaNoWriMo! We currently have 125k words of this story written and are both aiming to write 50k more each this month. Wish us luck! Or better yet, come find us on Nano: KMD0107 & therealMKT we'd love to be your buddies! While we're doing Nano, we'll still be posting Six Sentence Sunday teasers on Tumblr you can find us there as KMD0107 & the-og-mkt, we'd love to be friends over there too. We both post Dramione, Reylo, and occasionally LoVe.