Hogwarts 1995
Hermione scowled at the open space on the bookshelf. It was as infuriatingly vacant as it had been the week before and the week before that.
"You can't be serious," she muttered to herself, and moved the stack of books that was nestled in the crook of her arm to rest on the nearby shelf.
Tipping her head forward, she gathered her hair in her hands and pulled the spare hair band off her wrist. She looped the band a second time through her hair and tightened it with a tug before righting herself.
It had been close to a month since she first tried to check out a particular book from the Hogwarts library, and she had lost all patience. It wasn't as if linguistics was in the Hogwarts curriculum. Logically, the book should be settled under a layer of dust on the shelf, not checked out and held for over a month.
"I hope he notices," a Slytherin girl whispered loudly to her friend from the nearest aisle. She held the flowy fabric of her skirt in her fingertips and spun in place. "It just arrived by post this morning."
"It would be impossible for him not to!" Her friend wiggled her shoulders suggestively and giggled. "Gods, Lucy. You're going to make the perfect Mrs. Malfoy."
Hermione couldn't help the way her face scrunched up at their excited chatter, and she decided to make a beeline out of the library. After collecting her books, her eye caught on the parchment settled in the centre of Madam Pince's desk. A few weeks back, Hermione had asked Madam Pince who had the linguistics book, but was told that the information was confidential and she would just have to wait for it to be returned.
Unfortunately for Hermione, the due date for her Astronomy essay was fast approaching and she didn't have the luxury of time. If she wanted to impress Professor Sinistra with her correlation of the magical interpretation of the stars to the symbiotic language of Muggle astrology, then she would have to find other ways to acquire a name.
Her attention drifted over to Madam Pince, who was on the opposite end of the room assisting a group of chattering first years before falling back to the list.
A minute later, Hermione seized the opportunity and whispered a copying charm as she passed by the desk, practically skipping out of the library in excitement. Later that night, within the privacy of her four-poster, she skimmed the list and found her answer three-quarters of the way down the page.
Malfoy, Draco, The Wizarding Guide to a Thousand Years of Muggle Linguistics
Malfoy.
Her eyes narrowed on the surname and she glared at it until the ink bled together. What would Malfoy want with a Muggle book?
Hermione scanned the corridor, searching for Malfoy's signature platinum blond hair as the fifth year Slytherins exited the Charms classroom. Lucky for her, he towered over their classmates which made it impossible for him to blend in with the crowd. He was busy shoving a stack of parchment and books into his bag, and didn't notice her step into his path.
Snapping her fingers in front of him just moments before he collided into her, she huffed, "Malfoy, surely you have the funds to just purchase the damn thing if you're going to keep it for months."
A sneer settled on his face at the sound of her voice and he latched the top of his satchel. "I have no idea what you're going on about, Granger. Have you recently suffered a Bludger to the head? I knew the Gryffindor team was hopeless, but allowing Bludgers in the stands is a new low even for them."
"Don't be obtuse. When are you planning on returning the linguistics book you have from the library?"
Malfoy's silver gaze bore into her and his jaw clicked. "Just how did you come across this information?"
"Madam Pince," she lied with practiced nonchalance. It was a half-truth, as she'd seen his name on her list.
His head cocked and she suddenly felt like she was under a microscope as he inspected her. "Except Madam Pince doesn't release names of students, even for a bribe, which leads me to believe that you obtained my name using less than honourable methods."
She felt a heat flush her cheeks and she remained silent, refusing to confirm his theory.
"Figures. It's typical that you'd only break the rules over a book. If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than be needlessly interrogated over something that I don't have." He turned and melted into the flock of students headed towards the enchanted staircase.
Determined to not let him evade her questioning, Hermione hurried to follow after him. She darted through gaps in the groups and struggled to catch up; his strides were so long that she had to take two steps for every one of his.
"Tell me, what do you want with information on Muggle Linguistics?" she asked when she slid into place next to him, slightly out of breath.
His pace quickened, and the corner of his lips curved up as if he were amused by her attempts to match his pace. "I could ask you the same question. If I were you, I'd be less concerned about an inconsequential book and more concerned about me informing Madam Pince that her system has been compromised."
"Why do you have to be such a pra—"
The toe of her shoe scraped against the stone floor at an uncomfortable angle, and suddenly she was tipping forward with the floor rapidly approaching. In an effort to prevent her fall, Hermione threw out her hands, but instead found herself suspended with Malfoy's arm fastened firmly around her waist.
Hermione's thoughts stuttered, trying to process the way the heat of Malfoy's body soaked through her robes, and the sounds of the corridor around them faded away.
"Oh," she breathed, finding her balance as he helped her back to a standing position.
The crowded hall parted around them, continuing about their day as if the world hadn't stopped turning.
There were a few immutable truths in life.
The sky was blue.
Magic was real.
Malfoy hated her.
The way his arms cradled her and the rapid rise and fall of his chest against her made her doubt the fidelity of her truths. In their younger years, she was sure that Malfoy would've watched her fall and then spent the remainder of the school year mocking an injury she sustained by walking—not catch her.
His throat dipped, and suddenly his eyes were anywhere but on her. "Watch where you're going, Granger. Just forget about the book."
And then he was gone.
That Friday, Hermione heard the unmistakable footsteps of Malfoy pass through the library while standing in front of an empty table and shuffling through her satchel for her essay. She could pick out the sound of his gait from a lineup; it was practiced and confident, surely a result of years of Pureblood training. She paused in her efforts and looked up just as he rounded a corner and his steps faded away. Not deterred by their earlier conversation, she closed her bag and hoisted it over her shoulder before rushing in Malfoy's direction.
She turned the same corner and made it twenty paces down the aisle before accepting that she'd lost him. The library was massive and, much like the rest of Hogwarts, easy to hide in.
"I thought I told you to forget about the book." Malfoy's drawling voice caught her off guard and she jumped in place, throwing a hand over her chest. "Is it against the Gryffindor code of ethics to follow instructions?"
Whirling around, she followed the direction of his voice. "I never forget about a book," she replied just as he came into view, her heart still rapidly beating in her chest.
He had settled at a table nestled between unpopular sections of study. It was the quietest section of the library, and hardly any students passed through. Though the small table had the capacity to seat two, he was taking out books from his bag three at a time and filling the entire space in front of him.
"Why are you studying all the way back here? It's all dusty and dark." She eyed the thin layer of dust on the shelves around them with mild revulsion. "I nearly walked right past you."
"There are people I prefer not to see. It's quiet here. At least, it was until you came around," he added, tossing her an irritated look.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione pulled out the empty seat next to Malfoy and plopped down. The table was smaller than the ones she usually used, and her knees practically knocked against his when she turned to face him. "Well, since we're both here." She held out her hand expectantly towards him and he gave her an incredulous look in return.
"I already told you, you're not taking this book."
Her eyes rolled of their own accord. "The book that you 'don't have'?" When he didn't respond, she said, "I'm not going to take it. I just want to reference it for my essay. You're here anyway, and I know you keep all your books in that expandable bag."
"No."
"It wouldn't kill you to think of someone other than yourself, Malfoy. I know you want to emulate your father, but from one only child to another, you're never too old to learn how to share."
The vein in his temple pulsed and she could feel displeasure radiating off him. "I'm not like him."
The sharpness of his tone startled her. Everything she'd seen from him during their first few years of Hogwarts had demonstrated how Malfoy wanted nothing more than to be the spitting image of his father.
"You aren't? Well then, what a wonderful opportunity this is to prove me wrong," she stated calmly, nodding to her outstretched hand.
A tense silence settled between them, and she turned her nose up at Malfoy. Neither seemed to want to be the first to break their stare.
"Just… try and be quiet." He sounded weary. "I had to help Theo with Potions before this and I've already wasted valuable study time arguing with you. I don't want to be here all night."
"The library is a sacred space." She placed her hand on her heart and lowered her voice. "I wouldn't dare disturb it."
"If only I could be as lucky," he quipped humorlessly.
Hermione tried to mask her shock as he dug out the red and silver hardcover and tossed it onto the table between them. She grinned in triumph. "Now that wasn't so difficult, now was it?"
Malfoy grumbled something unintelligible in reply.
A better person may have used the moment to pass an olive branch to Malfoy, but Hermione was not that person. Instead, she made a show of taking her time pulling out each item from her bag and straightening it on the space in front of her. It wasn't often that someone could convince Malfoy to do anything he didn't want to do, and she wanted to savour the moment like the sip of champagne she had tried at family Christmas.
When Hermione approached Malfoy's library table the following night, he made no attempt to mask his glower. "This is why I didn't want to share. Why do people take kindness as an open invitation to stalk me in the library?"
"Stalked here often?"
"You'd be surprised."
She tutted and released a heavy sigh. "And here I thought what we had together was special."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he muttered, "Just because I stopped your face from striking the floor doesn't mean we're friends, Granger."
"How disappointing to hear that, Malfoy," she tsked, undeterred by his biting tone. "I was hoping that you'd engaged in some self reflection on our history together and decided to turn a new leaf. I suppose I'll have to cancel the order I made for our friendship bracelets."
"What?"
"I made yours blue," she added conversationally as she sat down in the chair next to him and placed her bag on the table. "Mine is green."
His brows scrunched together in offense. "Blue? Wrong house. I'm not a damn Ravenc—"
"—For your eyes. A bit like a stormy grey sky." She canted her head to the side with a smile and unbuckled her bag with a click. "Now that you mention it, I don't think I ever thanked you properly for catching me."
He levelled her with a stare before finally grumbling, "I have wicked fast Seeker reflexes, obviously. You can't hold that against me."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Without another word, he unceremoniously shoved the linguistics book towards her and continued scrawling on his parchment with practiced ease.
Hermione began rereading where she had left off on her essay, chewing idly on the tip of her quill. She wasn't sure how long Malfoy had been staring by the time she noticed him frowning and watching her.
"What?"
"Aren't your parents teeth healers? Surely they didn't raise you to gnaw on your quills."
Her eyes widened and her hand fell back to the table. "I didn't even realise I was doing it. How did you know my parents are dentists?"
He immediately turned away from her and back to his work.
"Malfoy—"
"You must've mentioned it in Muggle Studies," he muttered. "Stop biting your quill. It's distracting."
Her heart rate doubled at his words.
They hadn't been in the same Muggle Studies class since third year.
"Why green?"
Knitting her brows together, she placed her quill on the table and looked back over to Malfoy. "What about green?"
"You said you gave me blue for my… you said you selected blue for me." He placed a bookmark between pages and closed his tome. "Why did you pick green?"
She felt bewildered at the question. "You're asking why I picked a hypothetical green friendship bracelet to pair with yours?"
He ran a hand through his hair, and she couldn't help but stare for a moment at the way it settled. A bit messy but in a way that made her want to touch it to see if it felt as soft as it looked. Perhaps she actually had fallen in the corridor and was so concussed that this was nothing more than a delusion from a bed in the Hospital Wing.
"Green is my favourite colour," she finally replied, deciding on the truth.
A half beat later, he nodded and reopened his book, silent for the rest of the night.
One week after Hermione first accosted Malfoy in the corridor, she opened up the linguistics book and it cracked open to a section which was marked with a thin silver placeholder.
"What interest do you have on the word 'resfeber'?" she asked, thumbing at the corner of the book.
He froze in her peripheral vision. "Why do you care? Shouldn't you be busy writing Weasley's essay?"
"The restless race of the traveller's heart before the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation are tangled together," she recited from the page. "Hm. I never knew there was a word for that."
"There is a word for most things," he snapped. His eyes remained fixed on the book in front of him, but were still as if he'd stopped reading.
Shifting her weight until she faced him, she prompted, "Is that why you have this book? You needed to find a certain word?"
"I just" —his shoulders tensed and his knuckles turned white around the edges of the book— "like finding new words. It's a game of sorts."
"You like… words?" she repeated in disbelief.
Malfoy cringed, his lips twisting to the side as he nodded once.
She studied him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. "I like finding new words, too."
His shoulders dropped in relief when she didn't probe him further. She retrieved her essay and a quill from her bag. Her foot bounced against the wooden floor while she used the tip of her quill to skim through her paper.
The influence of Muggle Astrology application in the field of Muggle healing took root in 1450 in eastern Asia, where they believed planets ruled over organs and diseases.
Dipping her quill into the ink, she brought it back to the parchment and—Malfoy's hand landed on her knee, abruptly ceasing her movements. Both she and Malfoy looked down at his hand in shock.
He yanked his hand away as if burned by touching her. "You're driving me mad. I can hardly concentrate with your leg shaking the entire table like that."
"Sorry," she muttered, her face flaming hot.
Several aisles away, there was a hysterical giggle. "Stop, Abby! I swear I saw him walk this way."
Malfoy slowly slid down his seat until he was at Hermione's height. "You do see how that's not an effective form of concealment when you're over 72 inches tall?" she whispered, keeping her voice low as the footsteps grew louder.
Narrowing his eyes at her, he brought a single finger to his lips as a silent threat.
After the footsteps receded, he let out an exhale and sat back up.
"Hiding from a pair of fourth years, are you?" she snickered.
He bit the inside of his cheek and winced. "I can't even study without them terrorising me. Even when I try to be cruel, they think I'm just playing hard to get. You wouldn't understand."
"You're absolutely correct, it would be impossible for me as a Muggleborn to empathise with the struggles that you go through as a handsome and rich Pureblood heir," she tutted softly and looked up at him. "However do you survive the horrific persecution of women vying for your attention?"
Just when she thought he would toss a snarky remark back at her, his lips curved up. "Did you just compliment me, Granger?"
Heat bloomed in the centre of her chest. "I just never saw you as the shy type. I would've thought you'd encourage a horde of women who fancy you to fawn over you all day."
"They don't fancy me. They want my name and my titles, and everything that comes with being a Malfoy. People like them think someone like me is nothing but my name." Any trace of playfulness dropped from his expression.
After a beat, she finally responded, "Well, if they think that's all you are then they don't know you."
The days flew by and Saturday came quickly.
Hermione's morning had been awful. Crookshanks woke her up before dawn and vomited on her new jumper, then she ran out of curling cream after her shower and her hair was a frizzy mess. To top it all off, when she finally made it down for breakfast there were no waffles left at the Gryffindor table.
By the time Malfoy approached her in the library, she had been there for an hour and had her head buried in a book to distract herself from her frustrations.
"What happened?" he asked. If she didn't know any better she would've thought she heard a touch of concern in his tone.
She rested the spine of her book on the edge of the table and craned her neck to look at him. "Why do you think something's wrong?"
His gaze flicked up to her ponytail and back to her eyes. "Just that your… never mind. You just look like you're in a sour mood."
"Gee, thanks, Malfoy," she replied in a monotone. "Just what every witch loves to hear."
He hesitated to take the seat next to her, but she moved her bag over to make space for him and he relaxed.
Charmed knitting needles hovered next to the table, clicking and clacking as they formed the start of a scarf. She had decided to multitask today; knitting was a perfect way to work on her S.P.E.W. quota for knitted garments with the bonus perk of annoying Malfoy.
Much to her irritation, he seemed completely unaffected by the noisy needles.
"Do you not care about the sound?" she finally asked.
"I didn't know you knitted," was his reply.
She chewed her lower lip, wondering what he was thinking. "Yes. I make hats and scarves for House-Elves. The sound doesn't bother you? Not even a little?"
"No, I quite like it actually. Reminds me of home." He paused in his work and pushed it away, giving her his full attention.
"Home?"
"Mother knits. Her favourite pastime is gardening but…" He searched for the words to continue. "As of late it has been knitting."
The soft inflection when he spoke of his mother was the antithesis of how he had spoken of his father.
Hermione fiddled with the edge of her book, and before she could probe further, her index finger burned with the distinct sting of a papercut. "Ow! Bugger!" She instantly popped her finger between her lips and laved the cut with her tongue to lessen the pain.
"Such a Muggle thing to do," Malfoy chided with a half smile.
"Don't mock me when I'm in pain." She couldn't help but pout. "I can't be the only one in the Wizarding World with that habit."
"Only the vampires."
Her brows shot up and her interest piqued. "Have you ever met a vampire?"
She'd only ever read about them in books. Given the vilification of Werewolves compared to her experiences with Professor Lupin, she knew that firsthand experience would be crucial to understanding the tribulations of a real vampire.
"My Great-Aunt, though that was just my speculation as a child. She was either a vampire or a Bogart masquerading as a human." The corners of his lips quirked up and she laughed. When he took her hand in his, she felt a tingle of electricity from his touch. A wave of his wand later, the cut sealed itself and the pain dissipated. "Much better."
"How'd you know how to heal that?" she asked, her eyes wide with wonder. "We haven't covered it in any classes."
Before he could reply, the charmed Galleon in her pocket heated with a reminder of the meeting for Dumbledore's Army in the Room of Requirement.
"I didn't notice the time!" With an unceremonious snap of the book, she slid it back over to his side of the table and rushed to pack away her supplies. "I have a meeting to attend, but thank you for letting me reference your book tonight. I've made a great start on my essay and it shouldn't take too many more sessions until I have what I need."
"More sessions?" He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head slowly. "Merlin. You don't have to live in the library. I'm sure your grades will do just fine without the extra two feet on Muggle star reading."
"You're one to talk. I see you here more than anyone else." She pushed her chair into place and picked up her bag. "Lucky for me you'd rather share a study space with me than the alternative."
"What's the alternative? Peace and quiet?"
Tapping her freshly healed index finger against her chin, she answered, "I believe their names are Lucy and Abigail. I sure would hate for them to find out about the location of your secret study table. Of course, if I still had access to the book then I'd have a mutual interest in keeping your secret spot secret."
"Bloody hell, Granger. First theft and now blackmail? I'm almost impressed."
She'd never admit it, but she felt a certain level of satisfaction hearing his approval. "See you tomorrow, Malfoy."
On the two week anniversary of the first time Hermione joined Malfoy at his library table, the table was empty when she approached it after class.
Sure, she could've had the information she needed after the first few days, but she had intentionally slowed her pace just to see him grumble night after night before handing her the book. The rational part of her knew that she should be grateful she was able to use the book as a reference for as long as she did, but the other side of her was disappointed not to have an excuse to continue with her snarky study partner.
In truth, the essay had been submitted the night before.
As difficult as it was to reconcile in her mind, she had started to enjoy her time in the library with Malfoy. Each day that passed by made her realise how little she truly knew about him, and part of her hadn't wanted to give that up just yet.
Learning about him felt like solving a puzzle and he had only just begun handing her the pieces.
Twenty minutes into her study session, a shadow fell across her table and she felt a tall presence behind her.
"Scintilla?" Malfoy drawled, sounding a bit amused. While reading his book the day before, she hadn't been able to resist marking a section of her own for him to find.
"A trace of something, a tiny brilliant flash or spark," Hermione replied, her brow furrowed in concentration as she dragged her quill across the parchment with a flourish. "I told you, I like words, too. As a matter of fact, love of learning is a tenet of my personality."
For a brief moment, she thought he might turn around and walk away, but instead he said, "'Tenet' is a palindrome."
She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the smile that tugged at her lips. "Drab as a fool, aloof as a bard."
"Did someone hit you with a Confundus when I wasn't looking?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed her quill onto the table. "It's something my dad always said. It's his favourite palindrome."
"Then swottiness runs in your family?"
"It's the only thing that runs in my family," she quipped. "As you may have gathered, we Grangers are more into academics than physical activities."
His expression quickly transformed into a devious smirk. "Physical activities?"
She felt her face heat at his implication. She'd never so much as had a kiss, not that it was any of his business.
Malfoy's eyes fell to her cheeks. "Redder is also a palindrome, Granger."
She bristled. "Are you going to join me or just harass me?"
Without another word, she scooped up a stack of nearby books and moved them to the other side of the table, clearing room for Malfoy to join her.
Halfway through the night, Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a jar of dried flowers and a cup. Malfoy didn't say anything, but he looked over at her with curiosity and watched as she pried off the lid. She sprinkled the dried blossoms and filled the bottom of her cup.
"Augamenti," she whispered, carefully directing the stream of heated water to avoid spilling a drop. She could feel the weight of his stare as she worked. "Would you like some tea?" she prompted, picking up the jar and giving it a little wiggle in his direction.
His fingertips drummed on the top of the table as he considered her offer. "What will I owe you in return?"
She blinked, taken aback. "Nothing? Not everything is a transaction, Malfoy. It's just a simple tea."
"Why is it pink? I've never seen tea like that."
The question sounded more like confusion than an accusation, so she decided to humour him. Hermione retrieved a second cup from her bag that was usually reserved for Harry and placed it on the table in front of her.
"This is called salted sakura tea, and it's made from seeping cherry blossoms. My parents took me on holiday to Japan last year where I first tried it." She carefully portioned a scoop of dried blossoms into the cup and tapped it once with her wand, filling the cup with hot water.
They watched together as the dried blossoms bloomed under the water. With an encouraging smile, Hermione handed the cup to Malfoy. Their fingertips brushed when he accepted it, and he lingered for a fraction of a second before pulling away.
The air between them shifted, and she was suddenly hyper-aware of his every movement. She saw each rise and fall of his chest, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lip, and the stray fringe that fell over his eyes.
He stared down into the cup with a furrowed brow before taking a cautious sip. "It's good!" he exclaimed under his breath, not bothering to hide his bewilderment.
"There's more to the world than just Earl Grey."
His eyes tightened a fraction, on the defensive. "I only meant—"
"I know." She interrupted him and waved off what she was sure would be a rambling of the merits of Earl Grey and tradition. After taking a long sip from her cup, she inhaled the subtle floral scent of the beverage. "People travel from all over the world to see the cherry blossoms, and the traditions around the blooms date back thousands of years."
"They're just flowers. Why would anyone care?"
"It's not just the flowers—though they are stunning. They signify the end of Winter and the coming of Spring. The blooms only last for a couple of weeks, and there is a sort of beauty in the way the petals fall off the trees one by one, symbolising the brevity of life." She took a long sip of tea and warmth filled her chest.
"And you've seen these blossoms in person?"
She smiled faintly at the memory and a feeling of nostalgia washed over her. "I have. It was one of those moments where even when you were still in it, you knew it would have an impact on you for the rest of your life."
He pressed his lips into a thin line as he continued to stare at the floating blossoms. "My family has never taken a holiday unless it's in a foreign wizarding community. Father said the Muggle cities are full of brutes and degenerates."
"Is that what you believe?"
A pregnant silence lingered between them. "No," he finally answered, pushing the word out as more of a sigh than anything.
"Good. I'd hate for you to limit your worldview like that." She dragged a finger along the rim of her cup. "I think if you took the time to explore the world, you'd be pleasantly surprised at what it has to offer."
He drained the rest of his tea, leaving the blossoms at the bottom of his cup. "Mother says some of the best moments in this life are ephemeral," he muttered.
"Exactly, but their short lifespan doesn't diminish the impact they've had on generations of those who have been privileged enough to experience them."
After a long pause, he repositioned himself until he faced her. He held her eyes, searching between them. "You… should be careful. Umbridge knows about yours and Potter's club and is determined to find it. She's practically been frothing at the mouth at the opportunity to expel you all for defying her 'educational decrees'."
Hermione's grip tightened on her cup and she sat silent for a moment, stunned. Harry had heard rumours of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad attempting to follow members of the DA around Hogwarts but she thought they'd only been rumours. "We'll be careful. Thank you for the warning, Malfoy."
One corner of his lips lifted with his empty cup. "And thank you for the tea, Granger."