Hermione idly stirred her tea while she crossed items off her list. She shouldn't be doing this. But when the opportunity presented herself, how could she refuse? After a few days of resiliently not thinking about Draco Malfoy and their encounter (as she was calling it), she found herself surreptitiously glancing in his direction during Potions. The first few times, she tried to ignore it. But time and again she noticed him discreetly rubbing at his arm. His movements were slight, but she'd picked up on them. Scratching, she'd bet. And she couldn't help but worry that the wound had developed an infection.
The idea of the salve flashed through her mind again in that moment. It wouldn't be hard to get the ingredients. Professor Slughorn was hardly as observant as Professor Snape. He wouldn't notice a few missing items. Not that she'd need many. She had already, loathe as she was to admit it, looked into a few healing salves. Strictly research, mind. It was in her nature. Always needing to know the answers. She had most of the things she'd need in her own stock. Aside from the porcupine quills and the fluxweed, she had everything she'd need. Except for a place to brew. Naturally she wasn't keen to use Moaning Myrtle's bathroom again. That ghost had quite the crush on Harry and it wouldn't do for him to find out she was brewing potions to help a Malfoy. Harry wouldn't understand her need to help. He saw things in black and white.
And then Slughorn had offered her the perfect premise. He needed assistance brewing some potions for the Hospital Wing. She'd practically leapt at the chance. A perfectly normal thing for her to do. The boys hadn't been surprised at all. Though Slughorn had seemed to want Harry, the teacher's pet since he'd found that wretched potions book, he had been content with Hermione's work. It wasn't as if many students were willing to give up their spare time to work in the dungeons.
So here she was on a Friday evening, brewing away. The Pepper Up potion hadn't taken much time at all, giving Hermione the chance to work on the salve. As both concoctions boiled in front of her, she took another sip of tea. The question was how to get it to Malfoy.
It was strange helping him like this. He was still obnoxious and rude in classes. Still wary and distrustful and hurtful as she'd discovered the other night. And yet something told her that his venom was no longer directed at her. She actually pitied him. It was a strange feeling. But he obviously had no friends to help him. No one he could trust. He was trying to do it all on his own. And it would be admirable if it wasn't so sad.
Hermione openly cringed at that. Thinking of Malfoy's actions as admirable was insane. And yet… she had to admit that it reminded her of Harry in some ways. Not wanting to depend on anyone else.
And his quiet comment as she left the Tower. She was sure she had heard him correctly. And she was equally certain that he hadn't meant for her to hear him. But his words had struck a chord of sympathy within her. So here she was again. Living in the gray.
She dropped the porcupine quills into the potion. It wouldn't be long now. She started as a gentle pop was heard in the room and her empty tea cup disappeared. A house elf, she supposed. And just like that, Hermione had her answer. "A house elf…" she murmured as she scooped the salve into the waiting jar.
Hermione smiled and nodded as Harry and Ron spoke animatedly about the Quidditch tryouts. Ron was to be Keeper if all went well. She kept her eyes fixed on the boys, because if she didn't, she knew she'd look at him. He was watching her. She could feel it. Could feel his eyes burning into her from across the Great Hall.
She supposed that meant he'd received the salve. In an attempt at discretion, she ventured to the kitchens to recruit Dobby. Not to send the salve of course, that would be foolish. But to introduce her to some of the elves who did the laundry. They weren't very happy to meet the person who had tried to leave them items of clothes to free them. But they were willing to help her. Once Dobby had left, she had come up with the half-baked story that Malfoy had "dropped" the jar, but she would not deign to return it to a Slytherin. There was some tittering about the students "needings to like each other, they do", but the elves acquiesced to her request.
"Oi, why is Malfoy staring at us?" Ron's irritated voice startled Hermione from her concentration. She really needed to work on not getting lost in thought!
Harry glowered over her shoulder. "He's staring at me," he muttered darkly. "He knows that I know he's involved with Voldemort." Hermione swallowed audibly. She seriously doubted that Draco was staring at Harry under the circumstances. But it wasn't like she could come out and explain why, could she?
"Merlin mate, will you let it go? You have no proof. And if Dumbledore wanted you to worry about it, he'd have said something." Ron sat up animatedly in his chair as something behind Harry caught his eye.
"There's that McLaggen again. How am I going to go up against him? He thinks he's all that…" and just like that both boys were lost glaring at their opponents. Determined to put all of it behind her, Hermione rose from her seat.
"Well if you two are just about finished, I have the Defense paper to work on. If you were smart, you'd get to it too." Leaving them groaning behind her, she swept from the Hall. It was a good time to retreat. And yet… she casually glanced behind her. Just as she suspected. Malfoy's eyes had followed her as she departed. She met his glaze and held it for a second before hurriedly turning away. What was she doing? Looking back at Malfoy as if… well as if… as if he were worth looking at! Utterly ridiculous! Thank goodness Harry and Ron seemed oblivious.
She rushed to the library, determined to lose herself in her paper. Because when in doubt, one simply went to the library.
"What am I going to do 'Mione? McLaggen is sure to beat me at the tryouts," Hermione dropped her quill to focus on Ron's fretting and sighed. He'd really been lacking in self-confidence these past few weeks. This keeper position was so important to him and he was good, he really was. Or at least she thought so. Not that she knew much about Quidditch. She simply knew that he was a better choice than Cormac McLaggen. That arrogant oaf could get on her nerves faster than Malfoy.
"You'll do wonderfully Ron. You just need to believe that." Hermione patted his arm, wondering for a moment if he too was affected by the physical contact. There had always been something about Ron…
"Wish I could Hermione. I think I need to go practise some more. Maybe Harry'll come with me." Hermione sighed again as she watched him grab his things and leave. And then she felt it. That prickling sense of awareness. She looked over and there he was. Malfoy was sitting quite a distance away, but she was sure he had been looking at her. Discreetly watching her. It wasn't the first time.
Over the past few days, she'd noticed him watching her more often than not. It was disconcerting. In classes, in the library, in the Great Hall. And aside from that first day Harry noticed, Malfoy had managed to be more discreet. If Hermione hadn't felt that prickle… well she might not have noticed either. And of course, it helped that she'd been watching him too. For signs of infection, more injuries… perhaps she was overreacting just a tad. She'd done her part. Now she simply had to let it go.
Hermione determinedly returned to her reading. He could look all he liked. It wasn't as if he had even bothered to thank her for the salve. It wouldn't have been that difficult. A discreet note, or an owl… but deep down Hermione knew those weren't really plausible. And it wasn't the first time she'd been underappreciated for her efforts. Why would Malfoy be any different?
Malfoy glanced in Granger's direction under hooded lashes. It wouldn't do for anyone to notice him looking at her. But for some reason, after all this time, he couldn't stop thinking about the Mudblood. Not a very healthy fixation for an imminent Death Eater.
He always knew she was a good-goody. Ready to help anyone in need, fix any problem. Yet he wasn't her problem. She should have left him that night. Shouldn't have kept helping him after. Shouldn't have been so damned understanding. He thought he saw that in her gaze the other night. That got to him. Angered him, irritated him… confused him. Everything confused him these days. Nothing was what he thought it'd be. But she hadn't told Potter or Weasley. He wondered about that. Those three were a unit. And he knew that Potter had been keeping an eye on him. He wasn't oblivious. And yet she'd said nothing to him. It was obvious. If she had told him, there would have at least been some of that infamous Weasley temper. Potter wouldn't have been happy either. Which meant she hadn't said a word. About any of it. Strange that Granger was the person who ended up keeping his confidence.
He watched Weasley agitatedly grab his things and depart. He tried not to laugh. The fool was so concerned with the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts. As if those were important anymore. As if anything other than the impending war was important.
Malfoy snapped his book shut. If he'd needed a reminder of that, he'd just given himself one. He didn't need to be thinking about Granger. He needed to think about the loathsome task before him. And the consequences he'd face if he didn't succeed.