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Chapter 2


You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen…


"I don't see why you're asking me to help you with this," Hermione began, leaning over the table we were seated at to snatch another book out from under my arm, which rested on it. "You know this stuff."

"If you must know, it's exams I freeze up on," I elucidated, turning a page and refusing to look at her. I wasn't planning to inform her that my rank was fine with me, just not my parents. Or that it was her I intended to exceed if possible.

"Lavender is best used for what?" she quizzed, changing the subject.

"Honestly Granger, I hardly know the girl."

I knew the eye-roll was coming before it even happened. "The herb, Malfoy."

"Sleeping or calming potions."

"Sleep yes," she agreed, lifting an index finger while her eyes scanned the page for more information. "But it's a little too strong for simple calming. Chamomile would work better for that."

"Fine, whatever. Close enough."

She raised her head so I was no longer staring at the part in her dark hair. "'Good enough' isn't good enough. 'Close enough' and 'exactly' are the difference between an E or an O on a test. Maybe that's your problem."

"Fine, alright," I held up my hands defensively. "Lavender: sleep, chamomile: calm; got it. Look," I slammed the book shut, coughing a little when a small cloud of dust rose from it. "Let's move on to another subject. The test isn't until next week and I can always convince Snape to give me some extra credit."

"Transfiguration it is." She extracted a different scroll of parchment from the mass of papers and tomes surrounding us. "I doubt you'll be getting any sympathy in that class."

Sighing, I pulled out my own notes and began looking them over, while she did the same. It took me a moment to catch her glancing up at me every so often out of the corner of my eye. I let this continue for some time before it began wearing on my nerves and I finally asked: "What?"

"Well, it's just…" she trailed off and shrugged and I got the impression she was feigning nonchalance. "You're…I don't know…different one-on-one."

I looked up and gave her a bewildered look. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Both, I suppose." She refocused her eyes on her writing, but continued talking. "I can't really compliment your behavior now without insulting your behavior before, now can I?"

"Maybe it's best if we don't get off-topic here, Granger," I suggested. "I'm backing off a bit on the sarcastic barbs-at least those aimed directly your way-because right now I need you. Don't get used to it."

She didn't respond to this and I took that as either offence or silent compliance, either of which were fine with me. The only other words spoken the entire session were school-related.


Needless to say, it took some finesse to handle all the questions regarding why I was giving the time of day to any Gryffindor, let alone Granger. The only time I actually told the truth about the whole thing was when someone, usually a fellow Slytherin inquired about a possible relationship.

The only thing worse than having a Mudblood for a tutor would be having one for a girlfriend.

I believe the most common rumors were that we were in cahoots about some unknown form of espionage (this one didn't last long considering Hermione's impeccable reputation for decency) or that we had been assigned to work on some project together and neither of us had a choice in the matter. The latter was the story I chose to tell my friends. It wasn't so far from the truth.

But my grades were improving. Slowly, but surely. And since that had been the point from the beginning, I could withstand the comments.

One day, walking into the library, late (purposely so) for our session, I found her reading. Surprise, surprise. The only difference was that today, I asked about it.

"What are you reading?"

Who knows why I cared. I'm not even sure I did at the time; I might have been making conversation.

Not even bothering to respond, she held up the book, while keeping her eyes on the pages so I could see the cover. Only the author's name in thick gold letters graced the front of it. No title.

"Never heard of him," I said, setting down my own books.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't have."

"Now, what's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, taking some small measure of offence. I read. Quite often, contrary to popular belief.

"Relax, Malfoy," she sighed, finally lowering the volume. "I wouldn't dream of shattering that carefully constructed ego of yours. You wouldn't have heard of him because this is not the sort of book one finds at Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. Robert Frost is a Muggle." She shut the book and held it out to me. "You should read it sometime."

"Right," I said sardonically, whipping the chair in front of me around and plopping down in it backwards.

She tossed the book rather unceremoniously onto her stack and scooted over to where I had opened mine. "Let's just get started."


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