Author's Note: 12/12/2021 grammar check

With the door closed behind them and Draco's towering presence ensconced at her desk, ministering to their simmering potion with careful and precise wand-work, Hermione transfigured her bed into a squashy sofa and relaxed onto the cushions with Winnifred Dawlish's little book of drivel on pureblooded manners. She marked several pages that piqued her curiosity with a careful bend in the corner of the weathered parchment and was working up the courage to ask Draco her first question when a searing hiss emitted from the bubbling brew.

Draco lowered his hawthorn wand to the desktop as he rapped his knuckles twice on the solid oak in a superstitious manner, and then moved to sit across from Hermione in the overstuffed armchair. He crossed his ankle over his knee and tapped the long fingers of his left hand on the armrest in a repeating, agitated rhythm as he examined her room with a curious expression. She watched with interest as his eyes swept over her belongings, pausing on the items that were unfamiliar to him, and narrowing into slits as they finally settled on the tattered cover of the book in her lap.

"Reading that for pleasure, are you?" Draco snickered as he shook his head, rubbing his palm over his jaw as he watched her, "I haven't seen that book in ages."

Hermione flipped the novel over in her hands and re-examined the title, frowning as Draco's lips settled into a lopsided smirk at her expense. "It was in the library!" She defended, flipping the novel back to the first page that she'd marked, "Surely, some of what's written is still applicable?" Otherwise, she'd wasted hours of her time in useless research– a vexing thought, indeed.

His fingers ceased their tapping motion, and he held out his hand across the threshold in a silent request for the book. Hermione leaned forward to slide the novel into his palm and flushed as Draco's serious expression held hers. She acknowledged that they'd begun to acclimate somewhat to each other's personality, which she assumed was a normal side effect of their forced proximity. She found it easier to speak to him now without wanting to throttle him after every exchange, although he was still a mystery to her.

Hermione didn't quite understand what had made him tick when they'd ran into each other after the Ascendio spell, as Draco was rather benign when it was just the two of them alone in her bedroom; certainly it couldn't have just been the mud on her clothing, as he'd been covered in filth plenty of times after training on the quidditch pitch. Perhaps it had something to do with her association with Ron and Harry - the Golden Trio? Hermione swallowed as she tapped her fingers on her knees while Draco settled back into the comfy chair with the book, propping open the battered cover and reading the forward from the author with a masculine snort.

Hermione pursed her lips to suppress a smile as she watched Draco flip to the first marked inquiry, his eyes dashing across the weathered pages in amusement as he read. She acknowledged, with reluctance, that her curiosity and interest in the handsome Slytherin slob was growing, and she enjoyed his sharp tongue and quick-wit as long as he was bantering with her and not against her. She wondered what he was thinking as he read the rubbish book and smiled despite herself while he snickered at the next chapter. His humor tapered into thoughtful silence on the third tab, and on the fourth, his expression sobered at length as he inhaled.

"This one," Draco said at last, handing her back the novel and tapping at the final marked page with his index finger– a dedicated entry on pureblood marriage contracts. He cleared his throat as he dipped his chin, "This is still applicable."

Hermione frowned as she recognized the title of the chapter. It was one that she would have sworn was antiquated, and she wrinkled her nose as she met his guarded expression across the little room. "Surely, you jest," she huffed into the uncomfortable silence, setting the book to her side and folding her arms over her bosom as his lips flattened, "But it's 1997!"

"It's written like something from the eighteenth century," Ginny laughed, handing over the novel to Lavender on the couch.

"That's because it IS from the eighteenth century," Hermione corrected from a pillow on the floor in front of the fireplace in the common room, plaiting her unruly mane for bed.

Lavender hummed in thought at the page as the light of the flames danced over her rounded cheeks, at last exclaiming, "Oh! I've heard of this – in a romance novel that I've read. The wizard was in a marriage contract with a wicked witch in Hampshire that his parents had chosen for him as a child, but he fell in love with the local tavern witch, and he broke his contract to marry her. He was exiled from his family, of course – and lost all of his wealth and connection. But it was worth it, in the end – for her and for her love."

Lavender huffed a dreamy sigh as she handed Hermione the novel, giggling into her hand at the serious witch's dubious expression.

"What? It was a really romantic story, you know."

He frowned and shook his head at her as if he was surprised that she didn't know, "It's widely practiced among the affluent. A way of protecting assets, if you will." He clarified with a superfluous wave of his hand over the armrest as if this was an acceptable custom, and Hermione supposed that for him, it was. The Malfoys were among the most affluential people in all of wizarding England and perhaps even wizarding society at large. There was a great deal of wealth and history to protect in their name – more than she could even imagine: Gringotts vaults filled with treasures and riches, spell tomes and rare books that had no other copies, knowledge that was lost to the world and unavailable to the masses – but not to them.

She'd heard rumors of his ancestral manor in Wiltshire – of the centuries-old wings of his estate, and the sweeping manicured grounds where the peacocks roamed free in the gardens. Her favorite rumor of his manor regarded the multi-story library that rivaled Hogwarts' in grandeur and collection, and she imagined she could lose herself for an eternity in such a room.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with her brooding silence as he loosened a second button on his collar, hooking two fingers into the soft material and pulling the neck of his dress shirt into a dipping V shape that exposed the column of his lower neck. Hermione's eyes snapped to the movement as Sunday night's erotic dream bloomed in reluctant hot flashes before her vision, and she fought against a horrified giggle as she tried to dispel the lewd images from entering her mind – images of a breathless Draco holding her hips against his robed erection as she writhed for friction and release.

I will not think about this, I will not think about this, I will not think about this, think about your essay, your arithmancy ESSAY, she chanted as her mind misfired, unable to control her ludicrous expression and watching in fascination as Draco's lips moved in odd shapes but no sounds emerged.

"What?" She barked, embarrassed with her unexpected and immediate arousal, and turning a shade of burgundy to match her sweater. He grimaced and let loose a shaky chuckle, rubbing his hand through his moonlight locks and disrupting them in an attractive pattern over his forehead, "Merlin, I think I've shocked you," he murmured in reference to the novel, waving his fingers at the forgotten book at her side. She allowed herself a nervous chuckle and nodded her head in agreement at the easy out, "Indeed, yes," she breathed, taking control of herself and placing her trembling palm flat against her uneasy abdomen, shaking her head for clearance, "I'm quite shocked."

His fingers picked in an uncomfortable rhythm at a loose thread on her armchair as they lapsed into thoughtful silence. The silence drifted for several moments before Draco tired of it and rose from his seat, pacing the periphery of her room as he examined her muggle belongings. He paused in his stride as he came to her overfilled bookshelf, tracing his fingers over the spines of her weathered collection as he read the titles aloud. He turned a devilish smile at her from over his shoulder as he swiped across a section of bawdy novels that she'd brought from home. A protest was on the tip of her tongue, but his voice sounded first.

"For pleasure, Granger – or, for research?" He murmured with a low chuckle, turning away from her to resume his assessment before he could catch her reaction to the proverbial bomb that he'd dropped. Her dark brows snapped into her hairline as she completed her transformation into a summer vine tomato – Draco's murmuring words echoing in the antechamber that used to hold the Brightest Witch of Hogwarts' brain.

For pleasure, Granger – or, for research?

My God, she thought with shattering realization, her hand clutching at her chest and twisting the fabric of her sweater as she stared at his broad back as if he were a dragon let loose, spitting fire and brimstone into her room.

He IS flirting with me! She sputtered internally, her face contorting with excited shock as Justin's taunting words echoed in her mind. Hermione had never been flirted with in an obvious way, and her mind spun as she decided that the prospect was intriguing.

Draco continued his careful perusal of her room, oblivious to her inner conundrum and misfiring synapses as he paused to examine a framed photograph that she'd taken with her parents this past summer holiday in France. They'd traveled to the balmy coastal town of Menton and had enjoyed the sandy beaches, baroque architecture, and cultivated ornamental gardens on their ventures as gawking tourists. This particular photograph was taken while they posed under a white-flowered terrace in the famed Serra de la Madone Garden. Her parents' arms were slung in a joyous embrace around Hermione's shoulders as they smiled as a family for the camera. Hermione's strapless white summer dress had matched the flowers that day, and her father had whispered to the top of her frizzy head that she'd belonged among the blooms.

"The prettiest girl in the Garden," her father beamed with pride, kissing the top of her sun-heated curls.

Draco's arrested expression caused peculiar things to happen to Hermione's body. Her knobby knees began to tremble in her seat and her breath hitched in her throat as she met his hooded eyes from across the room, and she was spared from the words that may have spilled from his lips by the shower of golden sparks that erupted from their wands – signaling that it was her turn to brew. She launched from the couch in a whirlwind of nervous energy, holding her wand in a vice-like grip in her shaking hand as she said a prayer to the heavens and to all that was holy that she could perform the required meticulous wand-work in her sleep. She was thoroughly… completely… rattled.

When she was finally finished with her careful ministrations, she lowered her wand to the desk and squeezed her eyes shut, maintaining her distance from the dragon in her room. She straightened her posture as an uncomfortable length of time passed and took measured, practiced breaths as she mentally prepared herself for what may happen next. What if he does it again? She thought in an excited breathless chatter as she schooled her features into feigned casualness, turning her body in a slow circle and clocking her hip in a clumsy, painful thud against the side of the oak desk, folding her arms over her bosom in contrived confidence. And what if I liked it?

Draco remained oblivious to her inner conundrum, and she found him fiddling with a Rubik's Cube that he'd snatched off of her nightstand as he sat on the couch. She released a breathy sigh of pleasure at his momentary distraction with the harmless little toy, as she didn't know if she could stand the breadth of his full attention at this moment without it becoming obvious that she was affected.

"It's a mathematical puzzle," she breathed in a lilt, waving her hand at the toy as he clicked it into new positions, his expression quizzical at the changing colors on the face of the cube as if he was oblivious to the havoc that he'd wreaked inside of his potions partner, "Originally it was called a Magic Cube, although now it's referred to as a Rubik's Cube."

"There's nothing magical about it," he commented in dry amusement as his fingers twisted at the sides of the toy, rotating the faces into a mismatched clicking set of colors. "What is the point?" He asked after a moment, flicking his eyes to hers as he held up the cube.

She held out her expectant hands, and he tossed it in a gentle arch across the room where she could catch it with ease.

"The point is to solve it by aligning each face of the cube with a corresponding group of color," Hermione answered with welcome distraction as her knuckles popped and her fingers twisted and clicked the cube into a practiced fashion. Her hands whirled in a blur in front of her abdomen in a motion that felt pleasing to her as Draco tried to follow the unexpected flurry with his bewildered eyes. "And if you can solve it, it won't matter that the toy isn't magical. You'll feel like you're magical," she laughed in a breathy huff, holding up the completed toy for his inspection and feeling mentally reset by solving the puzzle.

He gaped at her as she tossed the toy in a clumsy arch to the side of his cushion, catching her misthrow with an easy snap of his hand in the air, his seeker's training obvious as he stared back and forth between Hermione and the puzzle like she was the puzzle.

"Fuck, Granger. Are you always like this?" He choked out at last, his fingers raking through his silvery locks as he blew out a ragged breath. The cube lay dropped and long forgotten in his lap as he settled his intense stare on her expression, his shoulders lined with tension as if he was poised to spring into action. She bristled as she met his warm eyes from across the room, feeling unsure of what he meant by his comment, and she stomped to her armchair as she collapsed in a graceful pile onto its cushioned seat. She crossed her stocking-clad legs at her knees and tugged at the hem of her black skirt as she gave him a healthy view of the side of her thighs, lifting her chin at him in defiance.

"Like what?" She challenged, daring him to speak. First, he was flirting with her; and now, he was insulting her? What?

His expression sobered, and he shook his head, reaching for his plain satchel and shutting himself up by popping a caramel candy into his mouth – a tactic that was eerily reminiscent of one frequently employed by two Gryffindor wizards who found themselves on the receiving end of burgeoning cases of "foot-in-mouth" syndrome. Several moments of silence passed while Draco summarily ignored Hermione, opening his transfiguration text and resting the heavy spine flat on his lap.

Perhaps I was mistaken earlier, Hermione thought with irritation as she opened her own text. She watched as Draco's absent stare locked onto an image on the page of his open chapter – his mouth sucking hard on his candy as his lips pulled to the side.

Perhaps he wasn't flirting at all, she glared with frustration, uncrossing her legs in an exaggerated huff and feeling a pleasurable thrill as his hooded vision snapped to the movement. He met her wide eyes with a narrowed stare as if he knew exactly what she was doing, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

And perhaps the jury is still out.

Merlin.

"I have a question, Malfoy," she announced with abrupt nervous energy, needing to distract herself from her current train of thought lest she do something she regret, like march across the room and question him directly about his feelings. She had a niggling suspicion in her chest when she thought of their earlier conversation. "You said that contractual marriages are still practiced," she started in a careful tone, letting her text slide off of her lap and onto the cushion as she fidgeted, "And what, exactly, does that mean for you?"

He swallowed his candy and straightened his posture on the couch, his ankle crossing over his knee as he balanced the bottom of the book's spine against his thighs and spoke, "I have a contract," he replied, bouncing his shoe as his stoic eyes searched her perplexed face.

"Do you really?"

"Mmm," he nodded, closing his heavy book in his lap and giving her his full attention.

"You're engaged?" She breathed in surprise, thinking back to Lavender's gossip in sixth year and ruminating at how little she actually knew about Draco Malfoy. Her assumptions were profoundly colored, she realized – and maybe appropriately so, at times – by their childhood squabbles.

"I'm not engaged," He replied in his smooth cadence, folding his arms over his broad chest as he watched Hermione frown, "I'm under contractual negotiations, if you will. The witch isn't of age."

She tapped at her chin with her index finger as she surmised what he hadn't said. "So, you've already signed," She assumed, since he was of age, her lips flattening with realization as he nodded his head at her statement. Draco was a few months older than Hermione, and she suspected that he'd delayed his formal magical education so that he could start school at the same time as his friends.

"Yes. But it isn't magically binding until her signature is on the parchment," He answered in a gruff voice, reaching into his satchel for another wrapped sweet.

"When?" She clipped with what she hoped sounded like curiosity, bouncing her leg in agitation. She watched as his cheeks pulled in as he sucked hard on the caramel candy. She heard him crunch and she cringed at the noise, thinking of how bad that was for his teeth, and then she heard his low drawl, "When what, Granger?"

"When did you sign?" She clarified with annoyance and a slight roll of her eyes, kicking off her loafer and smirking with satisfaction as he startled at her little shoe flying across the room. She toed off her remaining loafer and waited for his answer, shifting in the chair so that the dark seam of her stockings was on full display up to her mid-thigh, although she was unaware of what she'd done.

"In June," He answered in a low pitch, reaching for a third caramel sweet as he stared at her legs, transfixed, "On my birthday."

"Is it Parkinson?" Hermione laughed with abrupt annoyance as her eyes bounced around her room, feeling an intense need to fidget with something in her fingers. She stood to grab her Rubik's Cube from her nightstand and plopped back into her chair.

"Pansy? Merlin, no," he scoffed with an affronted look, opening his text again and dipping his chin, appearing to look busy with the chapter as his cheeks tinted pink, "Pansy is a family friend. Nothing more." She waited for him to explain further, and when he didn't, she pressed.

"Then who?"

Indeed, curiosity was eating at her as she stared at the top of his head. Who was the unlucky witch who would share the snobbish Malfoy name? Her mental catalogue of school-age witches was too vast and disorganized, and she barely knew the names of the younger classmen of her own House, let alone the names, blood status, and eligibility of the neighboring Houses. He raised his chin at her clipped question, his lips curling into a lopsided smirk as he examined her twisted expression. Satisfied by what he saw, Draco drawled, "Jealous, Granger?"

"Hardly," she huffed, rolling her haughty eyes and disassembling the cube for a third go-round in her fingers. "Merely concerned," she grinned in a challenge as he narrowed his eyes. She snapped the cube into dizzying patterns as his lips flattened into a frown.

"I think it is magical, after all," he remarked, watching as her nimble fingers made deft work of the toy. She tossed the finished puzzle to his side, and he fiddled with it in his hands as the next shower of sparks erupted from their wands, signaling the potion's need for attention. Minutes later, after he returned to his relaxed position on the couch with the cube back in his grip, Hermione interrupted the silence once more.

"You can take it with you," she nodded to the toy, "For practice. I should like to see if you can solve it."

"Then you'll be disappointed," he snorted, tossing the cube between his hands like a juggler. "I didn't get an O in arithmancy, Granger," he deadpanned, and she startled herself with her abrupt laugh.

"Clever," she smiled down into her transfiguration text, thinking that this was the first attempt at humor that he'd made at his own expense in her presence.

"Not like you," he smirked, settling back against the couch to study his book. She bit her lip at the compliment and flicked her warm eyes to his face, but he was already absorbed in his work, mouthing incantations in silence and flicking his wrist in practice as he read through a transfiguration chapter. They sat in companionable silence for the remainder of the afternoon, disrupted only by the soft knocks of Harry and Ron returning from the quidditch pitch to check on her.

"I'm fine," she whispered, waving them off through the crack of her door.

When evening came, and the last golden shower of sparks erupted from their wands, Hermione turned from her desk to face Draco and found him packing his items. He pocketed the cube into his school robe and nodded to her, "Well, Granger," he drawled, "I'll show you my progress on Monday." He tapped at the cube in his pocket, and Hermione smiled as he turned to leave. She shuffled on her feet as the door shut, feeling a strong rush of nervous energy as her mind spun in reflection of everything that transpired that afternoon. She clasped her hands above her head as she paced a line in the carpet, ruminating over every little word that was exchanged with Draco and arguing over their meanings.

Hermione turned with an abrupt spin on her heel and bolted through her wooden door to locate an objective opinion in her best friend Ginny, as she needed confirmation that she hadn't just lost her mind. Instead, she was greeted by Ron's surprised intake of air as she collided with his chest on the upper landing, recoiling with a violent backward step into her room.

"Ron!" She shrieked, steadying herself and holding her hand to her chest, "Merlin, I wasn't expecting you!"

"Clearly," he laughed, embarrassment warming the broad freckled planes of his face, "Can I come in?"

She nodded and moved to sit in her armchair, offering him a seat on the couch. He glanced around in thought at her setup as he sat down, biting the inside of his cheek as his shoulders hunched, a bad habit that he'd developed. "So… this is what you two do all day?" He asked, waving his hand at her cauldron and at the cozy seating arrangement.

"Essentially," she agreed, not wanting to divulge the exact details of what had transpired that afternoon. Ron needn't know that she was tentatively bonding with Draco while they worked, as it didn't mean anything.

He nodded and wrung his hands in his lap. "I've been meaning to talk to you, 'Mione," he started, his eyes guarded as his lips pulled to the side in an uncomfortable frown, nervous energy radiating from his side of the room. Hermione relaxed her lips into a polite smile of interest and crossed her legs at her ankles while she waited. She had an idea of what was coming, and she hoped that she was wrong.

"I… umm… this isn't easy to say," he sighed, shaking his head and resting his elbows on his knees, "You know I've always loved you, 'Mione," he started in a quiet pitch as he stared at her face, digging his toe into her carpet as she sucked in a nervous breath at his confession. He took a deep puff of air as he continued, "But I think that it's more like a friend now," he sighed as he exhaled, blushing as he met her wide eyes, "Listening to you talk about Viktor has been… confusing, to say the least. I think because… because I've always thought it would be me that you'd… fancy… my mum always said… but… I really… I just want us both to be happy, 'Mione. And I'm happy with Lavender," he said in earnest, his lips tugging at the corner in a small smile as he felt encouraged by Hermione's frantic nod of agreement, "And I think, if you're okay with it, that I'm going to ask my mum to stop pestering you… and have her pester Lavender, instead," he finished with courage, holding his breath for her answer.

Tears sprang in the corner of Hermione's eyes as relief flooded her chest. She gave Ron a watery smile as she laughed into her hand, teasing him as she replied, "Of course, Ronald. I would love nothing more."

The deep rumble of his pleasant chuckle met her ears as he enjoyed her quip and slight nod to his overbearing mother. "I thought you'd say as much," he smiled with visible relief, walking over to her and swooping her into a hug. She wiped her teary eyes against his shirt and laughed into the fabric of his sweater. Ron held his arms around her shoulders in a loose grip as she rested her cheek against his chest, thinking that he would always smell like home and friendship to her… and that his hugs would always feel like comfort and warmth.

"I'm very happy for you, Ronald," she said with quiet sincerity as they pulled apart. He dipped his chin and nodded at her as he gave her room one more glance-over before walking to the doorway. "What were you running down the stairs for?" He asked as he paused at the door, turning to look at her over his shoulder.

She erupted in a fit of laughter as she shook her head at him, waving off his question with her hand. "It isn't important," she smiled, tilting her head at him, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, 'Mione," he smiled back, closing the door behind him. She turned to her ancient window and propped her elbows on the jutting stone ledge as she looked up to the waxing gibbous moon and its shadowy tendrils of light. Her eyes traveled across the black expanse of the clear Scottish sky, marking the twinkling namesake constellation of the boy who continued to surprise her.

Goodnight.