A/N: I'm VERY happy to share with you an Art/Fic Collab that NikitaJobson and I did last week. Please visit this fic on Ao3 to see the art!
This is a TWO-shot. Final chapter will post Tuesday Jan 18.
Hermione had always known she had a temper. That was never a surprise to her. What came as a shock, though, was how easily it flared—bright and searing. And over the strangest of things.
A misplaced quill on her library table. Pages of her Advanced Arithmancy book sticking together while Professor Vector waited for her to find her sources. A bottle of Asphodel powder left unstoppered by a deskmate. And Draco Malfoy. All things about him, really.
Smirks she'd seen cast her way since first year were suddenly the cause of hot anger in her belly. His hand in the air a split second before hers sent her into a rage that stewed and boiled. And just his—his face. Just his face was truly… It was maddening.
At breakfast one morning, she was stabbing her beans and toast, seething over the way his face just—just was. He was resting one hip on the corner of the Slytherin table, gesturing dramatically as he told a story to his fellow snakes. Maybe something about Quidditch, because his eyes were bright and invested. But then she saw his gaze pass toward the Gryffindor table, she saw his lips move as his eyes landed on her, and she heard his friends start to chuckle and snicker.
Her skin ignited in rage. Her fingers went white around her fork.
"Are you alright, Hermione?" Neville asked. He and Dean Thomas had been the only Gryffindors of her class to come back for their eighth year with her.
She tossed her fork down with a clatter and answered brusquely, "Fine. Thank you."
Ginny cleared her throat from next to her. "Would you like to read the letter I received from Harry?"
"No." Hermione's reply was short. She was busy plotting murder.
"Hermione," said Ginny, leaning close. "If you keep staring at him, I think he'll get the wrong idea."
Her head snapped to Ginny. "Idea? What idea?"
Ginny shrugged and sipped her tea. "I just think you're giving Malfoy quite a bit of power over you when you fixate on him like that."
"I'm not fixating."
Ginny raised a brow at her. Hermione reached for her coffee cup. She supposed she had been rather fixated.
There was little she could do to get rid of Draco Malfoy now that the Ministry decreed that he would be cleared of all charges in the war, as long as he returned to Hogwarts for his eighth year and maintained good marks. She didn't even believe he should have been charged with anything — the war was terrible on all of them. She'd been fully prepared to let bygones be bygones this year. She'd approached him after the Welcome Feast and offered her thanks for not identifying them at Malfoy Manor during the war. He'd tilted his head, looked her up and down, and said, "That was you?"
It was the first burst of burning anger she'd felt, deep in her chest. She scoffed, "The person screaming under your aunt's blade? Yes, that was me."
His narrowed eyes had searched her. "Well, no thanks necessary. I was being truthful when I said I didn't recognize you. You were wild looking, weren't you? Dirty and smelly—"
"You're being ridiculous," she spat. "Of course you knew who I was, who we were."
His lips pulled downward in a thoughtful expression. "I don't think about you much, Granger. It had been almost a year since I'd seen you. You…" He leaned close. "You fade from memory rather quickly."
Her knuckles curled dangerously. Her wand twitched in her sleeve, asking permission to slide between her fingers. "I'm just trying to start anew here," she said. "We have a long year ahead of us. But maybe this was my fault for assuming you'd done something worth thanking. I'd mistaken cowardice for bravery." She'd turned on her heel and marched away, not waiting for his response.
The next day, they'd run into each other outside the Potions classroom, and he'd faked a contemplative expression, snapped, pointed, and said, "Hermione Granger, right?"
The spell was on her lips before her wand was in her hand. He'd been sent to the Hospital Wing with boils on his skin, and she'd received the first detention of the school year. While she'd learned her lesson about not drawing her wand any longer, he certainly hadn't stopped his harassment of her.
Now, sitting at the breakfast table with her friends, she couldn't even concentrate on the conversation around her because Draco Malfoy was running his hand through his hair in that way that made her want to sizzle it all off.
"Maybe you need a good snog," Ginny's voice cut through her thoughts.
Hermione's coffee cup sloshed and spilt all over her toast. She cursed in a colorful way that had Neville turning pink and banished the liquid, pushing away her half-eaten, soggy plate. Before turning to Ginny, she checked to see that — yes, Malfoy had seen and was smirking that damn smirk again.
"Ginny. What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"
Ginny pressed her lips together to hold back a grin. "I'm just saying, maybe you need a little release for all this tension. You've been rather prickly since we got back here."
Adjusting her sleeves primly, Hermione said, "That's not true at all. I've just been a bit lost without an impending war to fight."
"So you've found a new war, is that it?" Ginny said mischievously.
Hermione frowned. "Perhaps."
A burst of laughter came from the Slytherin table, and Hermione decided to pack up her things and head to Potions class early.
She knew it was all very juvenile. And a part of her wondered if this was what her Hogwarts years would have been like without Voldemort. Without Harry even. Now that the war was done and Harry wasn't here, would her only concerns be whether or not Draco Malfoy was laughing at her?
Twenty minutes later, as Professor Slughorn was detailing the day's assignment, and Malfoy's shoe was tapping the side of her stool in odd rhythmic patterns designed to drive a person mad, Hermione decided to rise above. It wasn't worth this. Ginny was right — fixating on her anger gave him the power. A cool, calm feeling rushed over her. She would take the higher ground.
A soft smile crossed her features as Slughorn permitted them to grab their ingredients from the cupboard. She wouldn't even run to be first. She would get top marks whether she got the best ingredients or not. It was just a fact.
As she floated to the cupboard and reached up calmly to take her bat wings, Flitterby, and kelp, Hermione listened to the calm tattoo of her heartbeat. When a long, pale arm stretched over her head to take the jar her fingers were extending for, and a voice said, "You know, you're supposed to drink your coffee, Granger. Not wear it. You smell like a cheap cafe," Hermione turned slowly, a serene smile on her face.
Then she caught sight of his smirk and kneed him in the groin.
The puff of air leaving Malfoy's lungs was the most satisfying sound she'd ever heard. She wanted to dance to it at her wedding.
Hermione had only a moment to realize that she'd forgotten all about "rising above." Malfoy's wand slipped into his hand, and with a wordless flick he sent a jinx her way. They were in such close quarters in the cupboard that when she deflected with her own hastily drawn wand, the spell went sideways, careening through the shelves and bursting jars, exploding potion bottles, and freeing lacewing flies.
Unnamed substances fell over the two of them. A burning in her shoulder told her she had seconds to clear whatever was eating through her robes.
"Scourgify!" She cast the charm just as Slughorn did the same, and everything was cleared from their persons except glass shards and bat spleens.
"Miss Granger! Mr. Malfoy!" Slughorn bellowed, aghast. "What in Merlin's name happened here?"
"He cast a jinx!"
"She assaulted me—"
"In close quarters—"
"—with her knee—"
"—where there could have been really terrible consequences—"
"—the Malfoy line could have ended today—"
Slughorn cast a Silencing Charm over them, frowning. It didn't stop either of them from continuing with wild arms and heated glares.
"Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger. You both have detention. Seeing as you just depleted the student cupboards of spare beginner potions and draughts for the Hospital Wing, I see it only fair that I ask my two brightest students to brew until everything is replaced!"
Hermione's eyes popped wide. Everything? she mouthed. There must be hundreds of vials that crashed just now. Most of it was beginner stuff, but even with two people working it would take—
"Maybe a week? Maybe more? Depends on how well you learn to work together," Slughorn said, as if talking to small children.
Malfoy was shouting silently next to her, waving his arms and pointing to himself, then her. She might have caught his lips make the word "Quidditch." She rolled her eyes. Many Slytherins had not returned after the war, so Headmaster McGonagall had approved the Slytherin eighth years to play this year.
"That's final, Mr. Malfoy!" Slughorn nodded his head and returned to the front of the classroom. Hermione and Malfoy had to split ingredients with their deskmates, pouting in silence for the rest of the hour.
At the end of class, Slughorn called them up, and removed the Silencing Charm.
"I have Quidditch practice tomorrow. We play Gryffindor on Saturday — you know this, Professor!"
"Perhaps next time you'll think of your team before you pull your wand on a classmate! Now, I will leave out extra cauldrons after dinner and a list of the destroyed potions. You will have access to my storeroom, but you will need to sign out every ingredient, so do keep record."
As Slughorn continued, Hermione seethed. She wasn't as limited in free time as Malfoy was, but she had plenty of things to do this week. Still, nothing could take away from her the expression on Malfoy's face as he'd doubled over in pain. She smiled contentedly.
"What are you grinning about?" Malfoy said, turning to her as Slughorn left them to sort it out.
"Just glad I could help the Slytherin team lose this week." She beamed. "Now, I propose we do the Pepper-Up Potions first, depending on how many vials we need. That will only take three hours tonight. Then tomorrow we can do another three or four hours—"
"Why don't we just do it all tonight. Get it over with."
She blinked at him. "Excuse me? All of it?"
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from her. "Get it all done and never think about it again."
She supposed there was a certain benefit to it. After tonight it would be over with. "We'll see. I don't want to commit to that until we see the list. You don't really want to sacrifice a full night of sleep—"
"I don't sleep." He shrugged. Pink sprouted on his cheekbones when he saw the concern on her face. "We'll brew coffee and a stimulant potion too, that way you can stay up."
Her lips opened and closed, speechless for a second. Until she remembered the way she spilled coffee on herself. And how he mentioned he could smell it. It made sense that he would guess her preference for coffee.
"Of course. It's an option. But like I said, can we just wait to see the list?"
He nodded and grabbed his satchel. "Fine. See you after dinner."
Hermione frowned at the sudden change of personality. He hadn't insulted her once. In fact, he seemed quite eager to get away from her. She had a modicum of guilt about kneeing him in the balls, but really, he'd tripped her up some stairs last week.
When Hermione told Ginny she wouldn't be headed back to the common room because she had detention, Ginny leveled a no-nonsense gaze at her. "What happened?"
"I may or may not have gotten into an altercation with Malfoy. It's fine." Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder and told her not to worry. "I have a guaranteed job at the Ministry upon graduation. I can stand a detention on my record. It wouldn't be the first time."
When Hermione got to Slughorn's classroom, she found Malfoy already there, using his height to grab ingredients on the top shelves of Slughorn's personal cabinet. Hermione raced to the slip of paper on the desk that detailed the destroyed stock. Her eyes popped wide.
"Forty vials of Pepper-Ups? And eighteen Sleeping Draughts! Twenty Calming Draughts and a Black Fire Potion — that explains the burning, but—" She looked up to see him bringing the ingredients to the bench. "We can't possibly do all this in one night. How many cauldrons—"
"Eight cauldrons," he answered. "We start with seven cauldrons of Pepper-Ups. That should make almost thirty vials. And during the seventy-minute brew time, we'll prepare the Black Fire and let that set for six hours until it's time to stir. Once the first round of Pepper-Ups are done, we'll start the second set, and use the spare cauldrons for the first Calming Draughts…"
He continued, detailing a very extensive plan, refusing to consult her on any step of it. She placed her hands on her hips when he finally finished, "And after letting the Sleeping Draughts cool, we should be out of here by four in the morning."
"Malfoy. This is too much."
"It's not. There's coffee." He pointed at a carafe steaming in the corner. "Drink. Let's start."
She huffed. "I know you want to go to your Quidditch practice tomorrow evening, but truly, the margin for error in some of these is so slim, it's doubtful we'll produce perfect samples every time!"
His gaze landed on her for the first time since she'd come through the door. "We're the two greatest potioneers Hogwarts has seen since Slughorn and Snape themselves. Of course we'll make it perfect."
She felt heat flush her cheeks. He'd admitted that she was a great potion maker. No, better than that. That she was the best. The "greatest," he'd said. Even if he ranked himself above her (incorrectly), it was still an admission. A… a compliment.
"Right." She cleared her throat and pushed her hair over her ear. He turned away and started organizing the ingredients. "I just don't think this is worth the stress of a night of non-stop potions. Listen, let me speak to Ginny and see if the Gryffindor team can switch with you for the field tomorrow night. This is… well, partially my fault that we're here so—"
"A large part your fault."
"No, no, I'll take only twenty percent blame, thank you very much."
"More like seventy-five."
"I'll negotiate only to forty," she said with a haughty glare. "It wasn't my jinx that knocked over all those potions. But let me talk to Ginny—"
"I'd rather just get this over with," he said flatly. "Get out of being stuck in a room with you as soon as possible."
As much as she'd like to comment on that insult, she felt the same. "Fine. We'll try. But don't be cross with me if we don't make it!"
He started immediately on the Mandrake root. She had no choice but to start the cauldrons. Once the first seven potions were started, he instructed her to bring over the salamander blood for the Black Fire potion.
She trudged over and said, "I'm not your assistant, Malfoy. No need to order me around when I'm fully capable."
"Fine." He stood and glared down at her — Merlin, he'd grown tall. "Make the Black Fire. Call me if you need help." Sneering, he moved to his satchel and grabbed a scroll she recognized as their Transfiguration homework.
Out of spite, Hermione endeavored to make the most perfect Black Fire potion anyone had ever seen. Then once it was boiling and they had thirty minutes left before the Pepper-Ups needed to be stirred, she pulled out her own Transfiguration essay.
It went a bit like that for a few hours. When their timers would go off, they'd put down their homework and check on the cauldrons. They'd start the next potions, and when they were boiling, both Hermione and Malfoy would retreat to their own corners of the room and do their coursework.
It allowed Hermione to notice several things about him. He was a very fast reader. She would assume that he was only skimming, barely taking in information, but it couldn't be the case with his marks. For their Muggle Studies homework (required for him, elective for her), she noticed that his reading slowed a bit, perhaps as he went over concepts he couldn't grasp. Part of her wanted to ask if he needed any help, but that was a stupid old habit, left over from Harry and Ron.
The other thing she noticed is that his lips would pull tightly together when he got stuck somewhere. She watched him write his notes, and pause, referring back to the text. His lips pursed when he needed a second read.
And finally, for someone not sleeping, he certainly looked healthy and rested.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" she finally asked at quarter past eleven, when their Pepper-Ups were completed and they were onto the Calming Draughts and second phase of the Black Fire.
"Because we're in detention, Granger," he answered drily.
She rolled her eyes. "Today, you said you haven't been sleeping."
"I did."
Huffing, she closed her book. "We're brewing Sleeping Draughts next. Have you tried one?"
"That's not what I need, but thanks for your concern, Granger."
"Not what you need? How could it possibly—"
"It's sleeping that's the problem," he said harshly. "I can't dream if I don't sleep, so I don't sleep."
She was taken aback by his honesty momentarily. "Oh. Oh, I see."
Hermione was no stranger to the nightmares that come after seeing the kinds of things she'd seen. And Lord Voldemort had been living in his house after all.
They were quiet for a while longer. By two in the morning, Hermione was fading. Malfoy had taken some of the coffee meant for her a few hours ago, but other than that, she'd had the full carafe. It wasn't helping.
When her wand buzzed to tell her it was time to stir the final ingredients into the Black Fire potion, she heaved herself up out of her chair. She was going to ask Malfoy if they could just skip lunch tomorrow to come back and finish the last set, when she saw her Black Fire had turned a suspicious shade of navy, instead of sky blue. She tried to stifle the gasp that popped from her lips.
"What? What is it, Granger?"
She grabbed the vial of beetle wings she'd thrown in over six hours ago. Only they weren't beetle wings. "Malfoy, why did you bring Billywig wings over for the Black Fire?"
"I didn't." He stood and stormed over to her. "I brought them for the Calming Drought." He grabbed a vial to the right of the simmering blue cauldron. "These are the beetle wings."
Hermione blanched. "Why would you put them over there!"
"I didn't put them anywhere! I pulled down all the ingredients. If you're so disorganized that you can't figure out the difference between beetle wings and Billywig wings—"
"Don't blame me!" she screeched. "I'm simply attempting to follow this insane plan of yours to brew fifty potions in one night!"
"It's not insane. It's rationally divided and implemented, except for the bloody Black Fire potion which is apparently now destroyed!"
"Oh, I can't believe you!" she seethed, pacing away from the table and back again. "I can't believe it's two in the morning, and because you couldn't separate the ingredients—"
"I couldn't separate the ingredients? Granger, at least I can read the ingredients." He snatched up the other vial and held them both out to her. "Do these look like the same words to you? One of them says 'beetle' and the other says 'Billywig.'"
That familiar anger she associated with him rocketed to the surface. She slapped the vials out of his hands. As they crashed on the floor, she said, "Don't treat me like a toddler just because you want to stick a broom between your legs tomorrow evening. We could have done it simply and thoroughly, but no! No, you needed to go fly around some hoops for a few hours!"
"I don't give a fuck about Quidditch practice, I just don't want to spend every day of the rest of the week locked in a room with you, you twit."
"Oh, I'm very sorry, Malfoy, but it looks like we're doing up another Black Fire tomorrow evening."
He muttered something that sounded like, "Fuck that," under his breath and waved his wand to clear the cauldron, then set it to boiling again.
"What are you doing?"
"Starting it again." He reached for the beetle wings.
"You'll never be done by morning!"
He spun sharply and pointed to the door. "Go to bed, Granger! If that's what you want, go to bed, and I'll finish this."
"Slughorn wouldn't find that acceptable terms for detention—"
"Who gives a fuck! I just want you out of here so I don't have to look at your stupid face again!"
"My stupid face?!"
He threw his arms wide and spat, "Your stupid face and your ridiculous hair and ungodly eyelashes—"
She crossed her arms. "I'd be happier to get rid of your stupid face and your filthy smirk—"
"—damned freckles and bland, boring eyes—"
"—and your stupid, stupid, stupid mouth!"
His hands dropped onto her shoulders and with a swift tug, she was swept forward, her face inches from Malfoy's.
His breath puffed over her lips, and he looked down his nose at her and said, "This mouth, Granger?" in a low, gravelly voice.
And Hermione remembered what Ginny said about needing a good snog. Yes, she thought. Yes, that's exactly it. And without really considering who it was she needed the good snog with, she threw her arms around his neck and pushed up on her toes, pressing their lips together.
And in the heartbeat that he didn't return the kiss, Hermione saw the rest of her school year flash before her eyes. The embarrassment, the teasing. Her chest constricted at this terribly awful thing she just did — kissing Draco Malfoy.
But then his mouth opened against hers. And his arms wrapped around her waist, squeezing her close. And Hermione heard the softest moan blossom from deep in his throat. It made her lightheaded.
Her fingertips danced along his neck, and she let him lead, opening her mouth to his. One of his hands drifted up to hold her jaw, tilting her just so, and then his tongue was pushing into her mouth, twisting with hers. Her skin was buzzing in the places he held her. Leaning closer, she felt herself fall into him as his mouth became more aggressive, nipping and sucking.
A good snog. That's certainly what this was. The fumbled attempts between Ron and herself over summer were nothing compared to this.
Malfoy turned them, pressing her back against the side of the table. She felt light as air in his arms. He pressed his hand against her back, and she arched her chest into him. His mouth was equally quick and luxurious, spinning her circles and taking his time.
When he broke off for air, she thought maybe he'd pull back and they'd scream at each other about whose fault this was. But his mouth attached to her jaw, sucking kisses into her neck. A tight moan popped from her throat when he sucked hard against her pulse, and one of his hands reached up from her back to tangle in her hair.
"Ridiculous hair," he murmured into her skin. And she felt herself smile as her eyes fluttered closed. He tugged at her curls, opening her neck to him and arching her breasts against his chest. Just then, she could feel him, hard and thick against her stomach. Her eyes snapped open, and she blinked wildly at the ceiling as Draco Malfoy pressed his erection to her and started tugging her shirt out of her skirt. Her body burned for more, but her head made her hesitate.
As if sensing her trepidation, the timer she'd set on her wand went off for the other potions. Malfoy pulled away from her neck, turned her face to his, and said, "Leave it." He kissed her again.
She sighed against him before pulling away. "Leave them? The Sleeping Draughts?"
"We'll do them tomorrow," he panted against her mouth. His eyes were dark and hot.
"What about—what about your Quidditch practice? Or your meticulously planned night of potion making so we wouldn't have to come back?"
"I just couldn't be in the same room as you while all I wanted to do was this." He pressed soft kisses to the corner of her mouth. Air whooshed out of her. "I couldn't stand a week of being this close to you. I wanted to get it done or it would drive me mad."
She didn't know what to say to that, so she kissed him again, forgetting all about the Sleeping Draughts.
His fingers continued to tug on the hem of her shirt, and before long, his warm hands spanned over her waist, racing around her ribs to her low back. He lifted her swiftly, setting her on the edge of the table, and her knees opened to him on instinct.
When he stepped closer to the cradle of her hips, she burst out, "I've never done this before."
He looked into her eyes, searching for something. "Alright." He ran a hand through his hair, and she thought he was about to end it. "Then, you can decide what 'this' is. Alright?" She nodded, and he kissed her again for only a second before asking, "Can I touch you?"
She swallowed as a swell of heat poured into her. She responded firmly, "Yes."
His hand slid up her stomach, reaching toward her chest. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as he found her breast. Pressing his lips to hers lazily, he ran his thumb over her pebbled nipple, moving smooth circles over her bra.
It felt good. Amazing. Far better than the pawing Ron had done.
"Is it white cotton?" he said huskily.
"My—my bra? I think so, why?"
He smiled against her lips. "I imagined it would be."
She flushed and let him kiss her and tease her skin. There was something tightening in her core, and her voice kept breaking on uneven sighs.
"What about your knickers, Granger?" His hand left her jaw and dropped to her knee. That same something tumbled inside of her. "White cotton?"
"Yes. Yes, they are."
He slid his hand up her thigh and whispered, "Can I touch you there?"
Her head jerked in a nod, the easiest decision of her life, really.
Moving slowly up her thigh, his hand eventually snuck under her skirt. The first brush of his knuckles against her knickers had her gasping. He did the same, muttering, "Fuck."
She felt his fingers moving against her below, and his other thumb rolling her nipple. She curled her hands into his hair and held his mouth against hers as he worked her higher. He would pass his fingers over her knickers, inching higher to that place that needed the attention, and then drop low again. Over and over.
"Malfoy, please," she finally broke.
Almost in unison, his left hand pulled her bra down, and his right slid her knickers to the side. He groaned low in his chest and slipped his fingers through her, over her.
"Can I make you come? Please?" His voice was husky and dark.
She murmured her agreement against his mouth, and then his palm filled with her breast, and his fingers slid against her clit. She gasped, and his tongue dove into her mouth.
Her head didn't feel attached to her body. She floated in this tortured pleasure for what felt like hours. She knew her mouth was sloppy against his, that her hips were rolling forward against him, but she didn't care as long as he kept touching her.
His fingers circled her clit over and over, rubbing slow and soft. And then finally, he slipped down and slid one finger inside of her. She bit down on his lip, losing herself in the feeling of it. It was so much better than anything she'd tried alone. As he slid in and out of her, she thought she could probably die like this. Then his hand twisted, and suddenly he was touching her clit again.
She squealed, her toes curling, her mouth dropping open.
"That's it," he whispered.
The hand that had been at her breast had slid around her back, holding her close. The fingers in her knickers moved skillfully, relentless. She felt like a motor that just wouldn't start. The gears grinding over and over and over until—
The tightness inside of her snapped, and she shouted out as she clamped down on him. She fell forward against his shoulder, struggling to catch her breath against the bright light behind her eyes. He continued moving over her, drawing it out for longer than she could bear.
When it finally ceased, she rested against his body, unable to face him after something so embarrassing.
"Been dreaming of what you sound like," he whispered. "The only good dreams I have."
Hermione heard it like an echo in a cave. Something she couldn't quite parse out, but knew was important. He kissed her neck, pulling her face back to his. He removed his hand from her knickers, and brought his fingers to his lips, sucking them dry. Her eyes fluttered as she watched.
"I need…" He panted. "You don't have to do anything else, but I need to get off."
Her eyelids popped wide as she realized he was still standing there in front of her, hard and aching. "Oh."
"I just… I can turn away." His eyes were running over her lips, like memorizing them. As if he needed to think of them…
"You can… I mean, I can help?"
His breath seemed to catch, and he swallowed drily. "You don't have to—"
"Tell me what to do?"