Hermione had always been meticulous and detail oriented, but she had reached new heights this year. Her therapist explained that she was experiencing a mild case of OCD as a result of the trauma she suffered. That she was searching for relief and balance by trying to control any aspect of her life that she could. In doing so, however, she lost a bit of control over herself.

Non-sense. She was fully in control.

At all times.

Walking down the corridor by herself, Hermione heard a voice complaining about his tie. About how he could never get the uniform ties quite straight because of the inferior quality of the material and how Madam Malkin simply needed to supply superior options to those who could afford them.

The faceless student rounded the corner with two other bodies, one on each side of him. Instantly, her eyes found the tie in question. He was right. It was an absolute disgrace. What could have been a perfect knot was too lax at the top, too pinched at the bottom, and the whole thing was overall too bulbous. The proportions were off, causing the thin side to hang lower than the wider half, which was partly why everything looked all scrunched where it all coiled together. Without contemplating her actions, Hermione walked right up to them, effectively halting the three boys mid-stride. Focusing only on the task in front of her, she loosened the knot, balanced the lengths, looped, tucked and pulled snug. Satisfied, the witch stroked the material in appreciation of her work and walked away.

Not a minute later, it hit her whose tie she fixed. Whose chest she stroked… while moaning slightly in the simple gratification.

Malfoy

Draco Malfoy

Draco bloody fucking Malfoy

Waste of effort, fixing his tie. Waste of a tie too. Knowing him, it was already removed and thrown to the ground for being touched by a mudblood. Set on fire, perhaps, to kill her filthy, somehow contagious, biohazard-grade, muggle-descending germs.

Mortified. She was absolutely mortified and so distracted in transfiguration that she missed a question. She didn't get it wrong, but the professor did have to ask a second time. It was humiliating. And completely mortifying.

After lunch, came potions.

Potions with every qualified 7th year student.

Slughorn announced that he was pairing everyone off by skill level, and that only meant one thing. Without Harry and Snape's old book to steal the spotlight unjustly, there were two obvious contenders for best brew.

The prat never moved. Every single time they were paired together - which was every single time that Slughorn felt like mixing things up - Malfoy never got off his lazy arse and moved to her table. He made her move to him. Every. Single. Time.

Halfway to his table, trying her best to avoid eye contact, she took note of something else. Something that caused her to pause.

His tie was already messed up.

Or it was a new one because he swapped out the dirty one like she thought he would.

Throughout the entire lesson, his hands would fiddle with the dangling material. He would chop this, grind that. Stir here, simmer there. He did everything he was supposed to in order to produce a well-concocted Draught of Eternal Bliss (the effects of which were far less eternal-lasting than the name indicated). In between steps, however, he would touch it. He kept touching it, drawing her attention to the crooked accessory. It was driving her insane. Her teeth bit the inside of her cheek, her fingers impatiently drummed against the table while they waited for the professor to sign off on their work.

She sat there packing steadily as everyone else shuffled out already. Trying to keep her head down, she concentrated on ignoring the fact that he was staring at her. He was sitting there. Not moving. Not packing. Only staring at her. And she wanted to yell at him. Ask him why he was staring at her, but she knew, and she was afraid that if she turned to him even a little, she would repeat her mistake from earlier.

Eventually, she couldn't take it. She tried to convince herself to grab her bag and run, but she found herself rooted in place. When finally she shifted her gaze toward him, she found a curious lack of expression. There was not a Slytherin sneer in sight. No hint of the genetic Malfoy smirk. He simply looked at her, devoid of any identifiable emotion. Neither one of the two students did anything, though her resolve was starting to crumble. After a few minutes of him staring back at her expectantly, she straightened his tie and bolted frantically from the room.

This carried on for weeks. They weren't friends, obviously, but he no longer despised her. Or she assumed as much because he kept allowing her to touch him. They rarely spoke, a few exchanged words at most. Sometimes he thanked her.

His voice was surprisingly gentle when not insulting her, and she found she quite liked it.

"Honestly, Malfoy," she huffed. "At least straighten yourself up after you shag some poor girl in the broom cupboard." She nearly assaulted him in the corridor one day as he was walking with Blaise, Theo, Goyle and Pansy.

The guys next to him snickered. "I haven't shagged anyone." His voice cracked like a prepubescent boy, provoking a mocking cackle from Pansy Parkinson.

"Oh, of course not."

"I haven't!" he shouted as he watched her walk down the corridor. "Seriously, Granger! I'm not shagging anyone!" His friends were laughing louder at him now.

She felt like she was going crazy. It wasn't news to her that the privileged aristocrat received good grades. Not to say that she suspected daddy of buying his grades - not with Professor McGonagall, at least - but she speculated that he had all the help he needed to excel. She figured the tosser had various instructors since before he could talk, and that was more or less confirmed once when she overheard a conversation between the Slytherin purebloods comparing former tutors. What she hadn't realized before was how he seemed to genuinely care about school and how much of his own effort he actually put forth to do well. This was a realization that occupied her for quite some time.

With students taking only so many classes in their NEWT year, and each class thereby much smaller, all of the houses were together. This meant that Draco Malfoy was in almost every one of Hermione's classes. Only differences in their schedules being that she continued with History of Magic when he did not, and he continued taking Astronomy when she did not.

In mid-October, Professor Babbling set a hefty translation to be worked on in groups of three. When Theo Nott, of all people, asked Hermione to join their duo, she was awfully tempted to decline. Unfortunately, however, there were only so many options in the 7th year Ancient Runes class as there were precisely nine students. Six of whom were Ravenclaws. Theo seemed rather amused by Malfoy's grumbling regarding their group and how Theo was a wanker, but no one said anything about it.

Two weeks later, Hermione and Draco were the last two not paired off for a project in Arithmancy. She found it odd that her usual partner, Justin Finch-Fletchley, was committed to working with Blaise Zabini, one of Malfoy's best mates. So, reluctantly, they were paired for the month-long project.

She tried to not think about how this made her feel as she got ready for their first meeting. She tried to not think about it as she headed off to see him in the library. She tried to not think about it when she was two bookcases away from the table where she always sat. Which he knew about somehow. She tried to not think about how that made her feel either. She wasn't thinking about any of that when something stopped her. "Draco, your tie," a sickly sweet voice said. "Here, let me." Someone else was fixing his tie. A female someone else. Not that she cared. It was good, really. Now she wouldn't have to constantly fuss over him. Not that she fussed over. She certainly didn't want to fuss over him. She would much rather not fuss over him and not think about him, and only work on their assignment. "There. Properly crooked. Granger won't be able to resist."

"Thanks, Pans."

"Do you think she'll ever figure out that you do it on purpose?"

"Not sure. Don't care. I hope when we're married with five children that she'll still want to fix my tie."

"Married? Draco, you haven't even asked the witch out yet. You don't even talk to her! You seduce her into fixing your tie so that you have a few creepy seconds near her and then you stalk her."

"That's a wild misrepresentation."

"Is it? Is it really?"

"You can go now, Pansy. She'll be here any minute."

That was her cue to leave too. She couldn't listen to any more of this, and she definitely couldn't face him now. Hermione turned right around and walked out of the library, not thinking about what they said nor how it made her feel. Then, from that moment, Hermione proceeded to avoid Draco as best she could for the entire week. She refused to straighten his tie. Did her best not to look at it at all, which was becoming progressively more difficult as it became progressively more and more skewed. She tried her darndest to not sit near him, and in the few cases where they were assigned next to each other, she sprang out of her seat and ran the second she was free to do so.

Double potions on Friday was more agonizing than normal. It was quiet and tense. One partner eagerly sought the other's attention, while the second spent the time looking anywhere else. Class ended and, in an effort to get away from the blonde as quickly as possible, Hermione jumped to her feet. She reached for her bag, but there was a large hand holding it down in place. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What?"

He had an open vulnerability that she had never seen in him and it physically pained her to know she was the source of his distress. "Did I do something to upset you? I suppose that's a stupid question," he sighed in defeat, removing his hand. "Of course, I have. I mean… I wouldn't even need to, would I? You have enough reason to hate me as it is, but I've tried being conciliatory and you've been going out of your way to avoid me all week."

"It's not that, Malfoy."

"What is it then?" Her hand reached out automatically, but she reigned it back in before it touched his house tie. "You still haven't told me why you never showed up on Sunday." Nothing came out when she tried to explain. Instead of trying again, she blushed and looked down. Of course, that didn't prevent him from noticing her rosy cheeks. "You know, Granger, I saw you the other day with Boot." She tilted her head to the side and gave his chest an inquisitive look, having no idea what he was talking about. "I have to admit, I don't appreciate you fixing another wizard's tie." Oh, right! She did. She did do that. Without having Malfoy's tie on which to fixate, her obsession wandered. She fixed Ginny's tie nine times in the last four days alone. She straightened every book in the Gryffindor common room and found herself organizing the potion ingredients more each time she stepped into the pantry.

He stood and the monstrosity moved right in front of her face. It was difficult to look away from the green material lying haphazardly against the white shirt. "Why do you care?" Despite knowing what she did, having heard it herself, it was almost impossible to believe. More importantly… that devious tie held her attention and would do so until it was corrected.

"Because I like when you fix my tie." Okay. That was okay. She could handle that.

Feeling like it was acceptable to do so, she reached up and began slowly unknotting the mess. "Why?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

"Because I like being close to you." Nope! That was more than fixing his tie, and it was dangerously close to approaching the conversation she had been avoiding all week. "And I don't like you being this close to someone else." Her fingers were shaking, more nervous now than ever before. His hands rested gingerly upon her own. "Do you like being close to me?" She couldn't respond, she needed to straighten his tie, not think about the warm breath on her neck when he leaned down. "Granger," he growled softly. She nodded. "Tell me."

"I like fixing your tie."

"That wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear."

Her hands tugged down in an attempt to free from his grip. All it ended up doing was pull him in slightly closer. She glanced up right in time to see his eyes dart to her lips.

She felt like she was losing control and desperately wanted to take it back. "Please, let me fix your tie." Strangely, this was the most intimate situation she had ever been in.

"Are you going to fix anyone else's tie?" She shook her head. "Only my tie then?" She nodded. "Promise?"

"Yes, your tie," she confirmed. "I only want to fix your tie."

"This is the strangest confession, but I'm totally into it."

"May I fix it now, please?"

"If I say yes, may I fix yours?" She looked down in a panic, but her tie was perfectly straight. "Your question was meant literally. Mine was a metaphor."

"For what?"