The dungeons were horribly cold now that Autumn had set in, and as he sat there with his feet propped up, staring at Weasley and Potter scrubbing cauldrons, he had a moment of near remorse. 'Near' being the operative word. He loathed cleaning cauldrons; it wasn't becoming of a Malfoy. But since he'd accidentally set Snapes' robes on fire with a faulty potion, he'd been assigned the delightful task of cleaning first year cauldrons for the remainder of the term.
It was abhorrent.
"How are things going with Hermione anyway? Are you going to be able to take her to the Yule?" Ron panted like a buffoon, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.
Malfoy pulled a face and canted his head from side to side. "It is quite definitely a possibility." Two sets of eyes glared at him from behind stinking, sudsy cauldrons and Draco couldn't help but laugh outright. "I am steadily working on it; it'd help if you could offer some assistance."
They shared a look between them and Ron's pinched face was the one to speak. "Like what?"
Inspecting his cuticles, Draco shrugged. "What sort of stuff does she like?"
"Reading," they replied in tandem.
"Brilliant," Draco deadpanned. "Anything other than the horribly vague topic of reading which encompasses millions of tomes throughout the known world?"
"I mean, if I were—and I'm not—wanting to seduce Hermione, I would go for books," Harry answered with a shrug, grimacing as a bit of grime sloshed from the cauldron and onto his lap.
Books. How on earth would he make that work for him?
xXx
During their sixth year a small bookshop opened in Hogsmeade. Its tomes were dusty and usually second hand, it's carpet smelled a bit musty and it's shopkeeper forever testy, but it's crowning jewel was its stacks.
Up until this particular Saturday, Draco had not set foot in the store. If he was ever in need of something it was a quick owl home and the proffered items would appear by owl post the following morning. But for Granger, he crossed the threshold of The Midnight Owl with only the smallest of disgusted grimaces.
He browsed the aisles, studying the spines and titles he'd never set eyes on before. Malfoy Manor boasted a right proper collection of rare finds, but the ones here were obscure, by authors he'd never heard of and topics he couldn't imagine anyone actually wanting to read. Stumbling across a book on the history of Nifflers and their obsession with glittering treasures, he flipped it open with idle curiosity. Some twenty minutes later, he'd tucked himself into a dusty little armchair near the window and was well into the third chapter when Granger fell into the seat across from him.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Her tone left little to the imagination, she was in her usual irritable state.
He didn't lift his gaze from the printed word, and it had nothing to do with being engrossed in the tale of the Cursed Niffler. Apparently cast on them by a Warlock Frentheir who had become so obsessed with his own fortune that he cursed an entire magical being lineage; Draco did, however, hold up a silencing finger as he finished the page.
"Sorry, what?" he said absently, delighting in her stewing ire.
Crimson coloured her cheeks. "Why are you in my bookshop?"
A wry smile tugged at his lips. "Did I miss your name on the awning?"
"You know what I mean."
Draco snapped the book shut, but not before cataloging the page he'd left off on. "Do I? I just happened in for a book. I didn't know it would be so irritating to you."
"A book on Nifflers?" She snorted, her eyes narrowing derisively.
"I love Nifflers." Draco was powerless to stop the slow curling of his lips into a grin. She settled into her seat with a huff, a stack of three books precariously teetering on her lap, and he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "I was looking for you and found this strangely interesting book."
A soft hum filled the air, her lips pulling downward. "Thomas Grimp has an entire series about the history of Magical Creatures."
"Does he?" Draco's voice lilted in genuine surprise, eyeing the author on the front of the book.
"Yes," she responded tersely. "I've read them all. The Niffler one is interesting, if not a bit pandering, if I'm honest. But his take on Thestrals and his theory on their magical defense mechanisms was honestly," she paused, lost in her thoughts, "awe-inspiring."
"I've never seen a thestral," Draco admitted, the strange confession slipping past his lips of its own volition.
"Neither have I. Hope I don't for a long time. You might also enjoy his novella on the Goblin Wars. It's fiction but he interviewed dozens of Goblins on their lore and their ancestors." She paused, her blush deepening. "I'm rambling. Sorry."
"I like listening to you," Draco said honestly, surprising himself. Her gaze shot up to his, the space between her brows wrinkling in disbelief. "What books did you choose?"
"Oh—" She turned the stack in her lap, reading the spines. "A few fictions and a history of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
Draco choked on a breath. "The Sacred Twenty-Eight? Why on earth would you read that rubbish?"
"It's interesting!" The witch pressed, the edge of her lip pulling up into a half-smile.
"It's archaic. Those beliefs died—or are dying out." Truthfully, Draco felt a bit shameful that she might read of his family's legacy in those pages. While his parents were still considered traditionalist in most respects, they didn't subscribe to the ridiculous notions of blood purity. The last vestiges of that racist idealism died with his grandfather.
"Well, it's still important to learn about." Her tone took on a superior quality and she tilted her chin infinitesimally higher.
"Why?"
Her dark gaze locked onto his, rendering him breathless for the span of exactly two heartbeats. "Because learning about the horrors of the past is the only way to prevent it from leeching into our future. If we know it, we can fight it."
Something was changing, her smug self-righteousness was no longer maddening—it was endearing. She spoke with such devout conviction that he found himself lost in her tangents about the strangest of topics.
"Do you want to get a Butterbeer?" The question blurted out and Draco wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the arrangement between himself and the Gryffindor twits or genuine interest, but he knew he wanted to spend the afternoon with her.
She chewed on the thought a moment, her brow crinkling her and her lips pursing. "Yes."
The answer rocked him, pushing his head back as though she'd reached crossed the table and slapped him for the presumptuousness of asking her out. "You do?"
She tucked her chin and giggled. "Trust me, it's just as surprising to me."
Warmth bloomed slow but steady in his chest and although disbelief still coursed in his veins, he rose to his feet. "Can I get those for you?"
Her brow knitted as she stared down where he'd gestured. "My books?"
"Yeah."
"Oh. Um, sure, I suppose so." She handed them off and although he pretended to buckle under their weight, earning a delightful little laugh from the witch, he winked and made for the front of the shop.
Sweet Salazar, what was happening? Was he starting to actually like the Dragon Queen?
xXx
"You've got a little—" Draco laughed, motioning to his upper lip and hoping that she pick up on his hint. With a start, she swiped at her lip and giggled into her empty cup.
As surprising as it was that he enjoyed Granger's company at all, it was even more surprising that she was an actual riot when butter-buzzed. The music lilting through the air of the Three Broomsticks was the standard jovial instrumental tune they played on repeat for the past several decades; yet, she as she sucked on her second butterbeer and shimmied her shoulders to the melody, Draco couldn't help but laugh to himself.
"Do you want another?" she asked, her brows arched angelically. "I could grab us one."
A genuine laugh spread through him as he pushed his butterbeer to the side. "Should I cut you off?"
"Absolutely not. I would be offended if you tried." Her gaze narrowed and Draco's hands came up in defense.
"Alright, little drunken swot, I'll grab one more round before I escort you safely to your tower."
At the severe roll of her eyes, Draco slid from the booth and ambled his way up to the bar. It was late in the Autumn and every time that blasted door swung open, Draco felt a chill spread up his spine. Madame Rosmerta was at the far end of the bar, leaning across the counter and chatting with Flitwick and McGonagall, perhaps never coming to his aid.
With a loud groan, he turned towards the soft laughter trilling through the air. In his booth, with his witch, was Blaise-fucking-Zabini. His gaze narrowed dangerously and he slapped a palm on the counter several times, never taking his gaze from the scene he left behind.
"You're very rude," the barkeep huffed, glaring at him as she slung a bar towel over her shoulder. "What d'yah want?"
"Two Butterbeers, one spiked with firewhisky—" She glowered and he acquiesced. "Please."
He waited patiently—well, as patiently as he could—his finger tapping to a frantic beat on the worn bar. Zabini was an alright bloke; he'd known him since he was a tot. And not to say he didn't trust him—but, Merlin he didn't trust him. Rosermeta deposited the two drinks and Draco tossed twice the cost on the bar and rushed back to his seat.
"Zabini," he deadpanned, slipping into the spot next to Granger and handing her the un-spiked Butterbeer.
"Malfoy, there you are. Was just keeping Granger company while you were otherwise preoccupied." His sterling white crescent smile gleaned against his dark skin and Draco's patience wore thin.
"How thoughtful of you." Draping his arm around the witch's shoulder, Draco sunk into his seat and brought his drink to his lips, his gaze never wavering.
Blaise's gaze flashed, his head jerking quickly to the side as he eyed his friend. "You okay, mate?"
"Better than okay. I'll see you back at the castle, yeah?" Curling his fingers around Granger's shoulder, he felt her stiffen and knew at that moment he'd made a grave fucking mistake. But in for a sickle, in for a galleon, it seemed; he couldn't back down in front of Zabini—wouldn't back down.
"Right." Zabini's hands lifted as he slid from his seat. "Good talking to you, Granger." His eye drifted closed in a wink and Draco nearly growled as he took another long drink of Butterbeer.
Once his new Slytherin adversary was across the bar, Draco cleared his throat and sat up tall, bringing his elbows back to the table and ignoring the heat of a fresh blush on his cheeks. The weight of her stare bored into him and with every ounce of strength he possessed, he ignored it. Surely, he could find a safe topic to discuss, to drag them from the horrible display he'd just put on.
"This is why I don't like you, Malfoy." Granger clipped, her body stiff next to him.
Fuck. He swallowed the last of his butterbeer and turned towards her, his lips pulled into a tight line. "Sorry?"
"You're putting on a show. And I can understand that, I have that defense mechanism myself at times; but I don't know what part of you is real and what part you're acting. I don't trust you." Those four words crashed into him and he sputtered out a half-hearted excuse. "Save it," she interrupted, pushing him from the seat so she could rise to stand. "At this point, I don't think you know what's fake. You should work on that."
Grabbing up her cloak she was gone in a flurry leaving an untouched butterbeer and a bag full of books in her wake. With a loud groan, he sank back into his seat and buried his face in his palms. One step forward, three steps back.
No one quite knew how to bollocks shite up like he did.
xXx
AN: Sorry about the delay there! Life and all that nonsense!
I will be editing as quick as humanly possible to get these last couple chapters to you my darlings!
And if you're interested in hearing the wild ramblings of myself and my friend, Frumpologist, head over to facebook and like our new page Wine, Wands and Wafflings. We will be publishing a new podcast show in the next few weeks, interviewing your favorite authors and chatting about beloved fics! It's gonna be an absolute riot!
Thanks to MCal for her beta eyes and alpha heart in this piece. I love you!