Hermione
September 1996
Gryffindor Common Room

"Hermoine you are my hero," Ginny gushed the moment Harry had finished recounting the events of their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Hermione smiled at the compliment but felt guilty for getting praise; all this attention for an act of violence. But she stopped short of protesting. Ron's strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, and he gave her a squeeze of encouragement. Hermione felt her heart flutter slightly at his embrace.

Harry, however, had moved on and was already pacing. "I can't believe Snape gave you three detentions."

"With Malfoy," Ron added in a sorrowful tone, again squeezing Hermione's shoulder for encouragement.

The four of them sat at the best spots in the Gryffindor common room, thanks to Ginny. When Ginny came in and overheard Ron say, "Hermione punched Goyle." Ginny had abruptly turned and shooed away the other Gryffindors who had been sitting on the overstuffed couches and armchairs by the fire, claiming emergency ownership of the coveted space.

"So he gave you three detentions for punching Goyle?" Ginny asked, now perching on the arm of the large armchair Harry sat in.

Despite Harry's preoccupation and frustration with the situation from class, Hermione could not help but notice Harry's whole posture change as Ginny angled herself absentmindedly closer to Harry.

Hermione knew she had no right to cast any judgment on Harry and his possible hidden feelings for Ginny. She, herself, was the queen of hiding feelings for a close friend.

She could not figure out what she and Ron were to each other. Ron was extremely temperamental and could hold a grudge better than anyone. He could also be sweet and charming. So when Hermione was the focus of his attention, even if it was for assaulting another student, she would greedily take it.

Just as Hermione was getting comfortable in the oddly intimate half-embrace they shared, Ron decided to add on to Harry's last comment, moving himself away from her.

"Snape was being a right git," Ron piled on, leaning even further away from Hermione with his animated comment. She reclined back into the couch, doing her best to hide her disappointment.

A hand appeared by Ginny's shoulder and then the handsome face of Dean Thomas. Leaning back, Ginny accepted a kiss from him which sent Harry careening to the far corner of his armchair.

"Look mate, Hermione got two more detentions because you two chimed in," Dean added, having been an eye witness. "It was bollocks, but that's the truth."

Ginny turned back to Hermione. "So why does Malfoy have detention with you?"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, but Hermione answered. "He called me a mudblood."

Anger registered across Ginny's face, but then her face settled into a question. "Snape gave Malfoy three detentions for saying…" Ginny trailed off, not wanting to say or make reference to the word. Hermione nodded.

It appeared a thought occurred to Harry. He cast a tense glance at Dean, who was currently affectionately wrapped around Ginny, and moved himself to the couch to speak to Ron and Hermione more privately.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, now leaning in toward his two friends. "You can spy on Malfoy! You can see if he's a Death Eater! His guard will be down when it's just you two."

The thought of being alone with Malfoy for three detention made Hermione's stomach turn. Having to spy on him soured the situation even worse.

Ron steadfastly nodded his head in agreement with Harry's proposal. She turned to face him, and found that he was now closer to her than she expected him to be. They had sunk into the comfort of the couch, and the smell of fresh cut green grass and peppermint permeated off of him and invaded her senses. It worried her how much his scent mimicked that of the amortentia potion she smelled during their first Potions class that semester.

"I'm not going to spy on Malfoy," Hermione told them, doing her best to ignore the flush of her skin caused by her proximity to Ron.

Strangely, it was Ron, not Harry, that pushed the matter further. "Come on 'Mione. It might tell us something."

Hermione firmly disagreed…internally. Tell them something about what? Their fixation with Malfoy felt like nothing more than petty childishness.

Harry was now leaning in, pulling Hermione's attention to him. "You don't need to talk to him. Just observe him. Maybe keep an eye on his arm."

She bit her lip. For two weeks she had been observing him but had failed to mention anything of the sort to her friends, one of which being obsessed with everything Malfoy did. Feeling oddly qualified for the task, she nodded.

"You're the best Hermione," Ron gushed, squeezing Hermione once again by the shoulder. It occurred to Hermione in that moment that for as long as she could remember, every time she felt positive reinforcement from Ron, it was when she was doing something that directly benefited him.

Draco
September 1996
Slytherin Common Room

A guttural growl ripped from the depths of Draco Malfoy's chest as he chucked his school bag into the stone wall of the Slytherin common room just after bursting through the entryway. Pansy, Blaise, Goyle and Theo followed closely behind. Goyle quickly scuttled to his dorm room, likely to lick his wounds from being embarrassed by a mudblood.

"What a bloody hypocrite!" Draco shouted, itching to throw or kick something else.

Pansy purred in agreement from the couch. She had already vanished her class robes which gave way to a pleated skirt and the long legs that existed underneath. Draco noted all of this and concluded that the display was meant solely for him. It gnawed at him that he couldn't care less that Pansy was putting herself on display for him. She didn't make him feel anything, even though he was desperate to feel something other than neverending numbness, mixed with the periodic rush of uncut rage.

Blaise, who had taken a seat at one of the many high-backed armchairs, took note of Draco's out-of-character display of emotion. "A bit dramatic, don't you think, Draco?"

Draco whipped his focus to Blaise, ready for an argument. Seeing the cool, demure, and perhaps judgemental, look from his level-headed friend, Draco relented and took a grounding breath.

"Why would he give you a detention for that?" Theo interjected, unphased by Draco's outburst.

Blaise raised an intrigued brow. "This is what we should be discussing."

Draco deflated a bit, realizing his initial reaction was unbecoming and pointless. He sat stiffly by Pansy. He left space between them, but he knew that sitting anywhere near her was an invitation for her continued attention.

"Have you ever heard him say it?" Theo asked as he twirled a quill between his fingers, fixated on the feather going back and forth.

Pansy shook her head and angled her body closer to Draco's. "I haven't," she contributed, moving her polished fingers across Draco's shoulder and up his neck. He tensed involuntarily.

He and Pansy had been… close in the past. Okay, more than just close. They had been intimate, not to mention that the Parkinson family had been pushing Pansy in his direction since their first year in Hogwarts. Draco's parents were marginally better, but only because his father did not deem the Parkinson family as a top-tier pure-blood family. All this was to say, Draco was very familiar with Pansy's touch, yet now, he tensed at it.

Nothing was like it was before. His path had once held limitless possibilities. He was a disgustingly wealthy pure-blood, meaning his future was blindingly bright. He could do what he wanted. He could fool around or fuck someone, and it wasn't an earth-shattering decision, because who was going to cast judgement on Draco Malfoy?

Suddenly though, he was paralyzed with indecision, not knowing if whatever he did could be the last choice he ever made. He couldn't be sure when his time would be up, when the Dark Lord would call upon him to deliver on his task.

When he turned to face Pansy, she was analyzing him skeptically. She wasn't an idiot. She had seen the change in him. Truth be told, he knew she was playing into her parents' expectations regarding a union between the two. Oftentimes, she seemed just as lukewarm on him as he did on her. But who was he to complain? It wasn't the worst deal for him; Pansy was fucking gorgeous. It didn't matter though. He saw his life through shit-colored glasses, and even her touch couldn't bring him comfort.

Realizing he had been quiet for far too long, he interjected with what he thought could be considered an acceptable comment from him at that moment.

"Three detentions," Draco huffed, adjusting himself stiffly on the couch. "For that mudblood."

"With that mudblood," Pansy added.

Blaise smirked. "Careful, Snape could be listening. You don't want another detention do you?"

Draco shot him a withering glare.

"I bet Snape loved a muggle-born once. Hell, maybe even a muggle. He's a weird bloke," Theo mused.

Draco, Pansy, and Blaise's eyes snapped to Theo, to which he only shrugged.

"I've never heard him say the word. He's always been a bit shifty with muggle-born stuff right?" Theo reasoned. "I bet he was in love with a muggle. Or maybe he still is. Otherwise why would he be so weird about it? He's on our side right? He could be in denial."

Pansy rolled her eyes, and Draco scoffed. Theo seemed undeterred and went back to glancing at whatever it was he was reading.

A high-pitched throat clearing came from the edge of where they all sat. A Slytherin, measly enough to be a first or second year, clutched a crisp, cream envelope in their hand.

"For Malfoy," the measly one spoke, cracking a bit in their voice.

Before Draco could take hold of the letter, Blaise intercepted it. Without another word, the first or second year scurried off.

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco questioned Blaise as he watched his friend unseal the envelope.

Blaise was nonplussed. "I assume this is about your detention, which is of course public discourse at this point."

With a hand on his wand, Draco cast a nonverbal charm, sending the letter into his hand. Blaise looked impressed.

"Practicing nonverbal spells are we?" Blaise questioned teasingly.

Theo looked up. "Wait, are we not supposed to be?"

For a split second, Draco felt a spark of life light up within him. The normalcy of their banter brought him back to simpler times. It dawned on him then that this was perhaps the most conversation his friends had had with him since the start of the year. Most times, Draco felt like no more than a wisp of a vapor at Hogwarts, desperate to materialize and have any sense of stability like he used to have.

Draco grasped the letter and opened it up. Blaise was right; it was about the detention.

"Tomorrow evening, 8pm. In the potions dungeons with Slughorn."

"Slughorn?" Pansy questioned, plucking the letter from Draco's grasp to look for herself.

To his side, Theo chuckled. Again, the three sets of eyes found their way to him.

"I think it's obvious actually," Theo began as he readjusted himself in the chair. "You and Granger are probably top of our class, hell maybe in the whole school at potions."

"...Granger is…" Pansy started to refute Theo's claim, but he waved her off.

"Please Pansy. It does us no good to pretend that Granger isn't talented," Theo said plainly as a scandalized look spread across Pansy's features. Theo was unmoved by her reaction. "With everything that is happening," Theo started again, this time using the colloquial phrase that they had all begun to say instead of, 'impending war'. He continued, "potions are drying up, and ingredients are thin on the ground. There is a huge boone for anyone putting decent potions out on the market."

Blaise nodded, picking up where Theo left off. "Slughorn is an opportunist. If he's using the Hogwarts stockroom, and can use some of the more rare ingredients kept there, he could make a killing off a decent potion. He must have heard you and Granger got yourselves detentions and convinced Snape to let him take care of the rest."

Draco nodded in a bored way, agreeing with Blaise and Theo.

Separately, Draco began thinking that brewing potions was not much of a punishment. In fact, he was quite fond of it, even if, so far this year, he had been shit in class due to being distracted with his impossible task. Really it didn't matter what he was tasked to do. The true punishment was having to spend any time with that insufferable, obnoxious Granger.

The sheer thought of the mudblood made his skin prickle with effortless hate. That wasn't the worst part though. What made him nearly lose control was this disgusting feeling that, if she hadn't been a mudblood, he may have actually been impressed with the bravado she showed in class earlier that day. He hated himself for even noticing it, but something about her had changed since last year. Not as if he had ever paid attention to her before, he noted in his mind.

Lost in thought, Draco had failed to notice Pansy's hand creeping through the opening of his robes. Frustration, panic, and loneliness all pulsed through him at her touch, and he forced himself to respond with how he may have reacted to her advances in the past.

"Clear out," Draco snapped at Blaise and Theo. Blaise rolled his eyes and strolled away, grabbing the scruff of Theo's robes as he did. A few younger students were nearby, who Blaise dutifully shooed away.

It was by no means private, but perhaps Draco could let off a bit of steam somewhat-alone with Pansy.

Picking up on his cue, Pansy angled her body to rest against his chest, her other hand now working its way up to his pecs and towards his throat. She teased her nails at the soft spot under his chin, leaving faint red marks in her trails.

Blood pulsed through him, and the rush of it all gave him sanctuary from his racing thoughts. He eased back into the couch as Pansy draped herself over him, his free hand curving around her waist, resting on her exposed leg.

This was normal, Draco thought. This was how it's always been. This was how he imagined the rest of his time at Hogwarts would play out, just fucking around.

Pansy placed slow, lingering kisses along his neck, and her hand inched down from his chest, down his abdomen, towards the outline of his belt buckle under his robes. His hand inched up on her creamy leg.

His thoughts were still racing despite the distraction that was Pansy. He tried to will himself to focus on the task at hand.

An intrusive image interrupted his thoughts. It was a flushed look of defiance mixed with unchecked confidence. The thought focused, and it was the look Granger had on her face when she confronted Goyle. He recalled the fiery look behind her eyes directly after delivering her punch to his housemate. What was her deal with slapping the hell out of Slytherins anyway?

Suddenly, he felt a rush, and his hand moved towards the inside of Pansy's thigh. She angled herself to give him access.

Another intrusive thought about Granger barged into his consciousness. Specifically, how she could not seem to get a handle on her unwieldy hair. She was supposedly the 'brightest witch of her age', Draco noted, mocking her in the privacy of his own thoughts. It would seem that if that were the case, she could figure out how to tame her insane hair.

Freckles and flush and anger burned in his mind's eye. He thrilled again, now turning to Pansy and taking her mouth with his.

Unlike other times with Pansy, Draco felt desperate as he kissed her. His tongue met hers, and even though their hookups typically had a lazy cadence to them, he found that he was changing that pace, pushing into her harder with his mouth, wanting more.

His hand looked to explore, hoping to find some way to be satisfied. His hand moved from the inside of her thigh up the side of her crisp white blouse, gripping at her breast, but he felt nothing. It didn't do it for him. Something was wrong.

Then a memory of Granger slapping him in third year and then a realization.

He pushed Pansy off him, taking a breath from the corner of the couch. Pansy, to her credit, only looked annoyed at Draco, rather than hurt.

"Draco," she began, adjusting herself demurely, "this doesn't need to be 'a thing," she continued, "but if you're going to be weird, I don't want to do this."

He was sucking in air through his teeth, trying to subdue his thoughts, desperate to banish the epiphany he just had.

It was the thought of Hermione Granger that had been arousing him, and that was absolutely, unequivocally, wrong.

"I'm going to go take a shower," was all he could manage as he stood, adjusting himself to be decent, and leaving Pansy sitting there, more exasperated than anything.

Walking to the prefects' bathroom, he shook his hands out, trying to release some tension from his body. His mind was completely out of sorts since coming back to Hogwarts. Nothing felt normal to him anymore. Everything had been turned upside down.

He let out a shuttered sigh. This was all insanity. So he began to reason:

If his task to kill Dumbledore was insanity and everything else about his life at present was insanity, it would only conclude that his mind was descending into madness. Which, in turn, explained why he had been aroused by the most frustrating, most undeserving, and above anything else, the biggest mudblood of them all, Granger.

Bursting through the doors to the bathrooms, he beelined to a shower stall. Disrobing quickly, he turned the faucet on, keeping the water ice cold.

Without sparing another thought, he stepped into the frigid waters, hoping to banish the dark thoughts that he just experienced.

Later that night, Draco laid listlessly in his four poster bed, curtains drawn tight to prevent the shameful thoughts from leaking out.

His activities in the shower earlier that day replayed over and over in his mind, reminding him of his weakness, and how each day, his steely resolve to hold his emotions at bay cracked.

The cold water of the shower had done nothing to relieve his hard-on and only pissed him off. His only solution was to angrily wank the feelings away.

He wasn't even capable of keeping her face out of his thoughts as he finished.

Laying in bed, Draco's skin crawled with guilt. He was proud to say he never wanked it to a mudblood before, and the fact he broke that streak with Hermione Granger…

He groaned, loud enough to draw attention. Taking hold of his pillow, he slammed it over his face.

Granger was conventionally attractive. From what Draco could gather in rare instances of exposure under her robes, she had a body that, in other circumstances, would excuse a toss off.

She was so bloody obnoxious though! The swot would always have something to say, even if no one cared to hear it. It was like she didn't give a shit what people thought. For someone as bright as her, she should have figured out that image was everything.

Of course she lacked self awareness, though. The witch refused to tame that damn hair of hers. It was distractingly wild, and too large for her heart-shaped face.

In his mind's eye, that heart shaped face came into focus, then her hot, fiery brown eyes, then her pink, pouty lips.

He warmed suddenly; a cross-stream of fresh arousal, and morbid contemplation about the bane of his existence converged into a storm front.

"Fuck!"

"Shut the fuck up Draco."