Hermione
Hogwarts
Night of the second detention

Hermione walked to detention by herself that night. Harry had already rattled off a list of what she was to look for, to which she reluctantly listened. Ron was nowhere to be found.

Given the turmoil and confusion Malfoy had caused her over the course of the past week, Hermione had her own plan. She would confront him, demand to know why he was acting so odd towards her. The change in his behavior was disruptive at best and altering everything she thought she knew about herself at worst.

And yes, she could have abstained from contributing to whatever it was he was doing. But she couldn't, so at the very least, she had to understand why he was acting this way.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" Slughorn bellowed upon her entering the classroom. Hermione merely nodded and made her way to her station.

When she chanced a glance to her right, as expected, she saw Malfoy, his eyes trained on the board at the front of the classroom.

Summa Scientia

Brew Time: 1.5 hours

While its complexity appealed to Hermione, the selection of the potion itself gave her pause. It was a class-three restricted potion due to its addictive qualities and horrendous side effects in withdrawal from it.

Again, she looked over to Malfoy, whose head was pensively bent.

Looking uncomfortable, likely due to his inappropriate potion selection, Slughorn began.

"Well, you can see we're brewing Summa Scientia. A nifty little potion which, in moderation, can unlock the unlimited potential of one's mind. Some say Nicolas Flamel was under the potion's influence when he discovered the philosopher's stone!"

Hermione and Malfoy looked skeptically at their professor,neither looking pleased with the potion they were asked to brew.

"This potion is infinitely easier than the potion you both whipped up last week which, might I add..." Slughorn paused, hoping to get a positive reaction out of the two, "...were magnificently done."

After no response, he continued.

"Well, follow the instructions as they are in the book, no modifications, and I have everything listed on the board. Seeing as how everything went well last time, I don't see any reason to stay and look over your work."

Hermione felt Malfoy look in her direction. Last time, it had been her that disputed this arrangement. Hermione kept her lips tight and said nothing.

"Alright then!" Slughorn slapped the top of his desk and stood to his full height. He gathered his things and, as he did last time, waltzed out of the detention mere minutes in.

Silently, the two began to prepare their brew plan for Summa Scientia.

An hour had gone by with little said between them. There were a few interactions in the store room ('I have the Beetleworm out, do you need it?' 'Have you seen the Sasparilla? It's not where it should be.').

The potion they were to brew that night was leagues easier than Potentia Infinitus but several times more dangerous. Several stages during the brewing, if done incorrectly, posed the risk of explosion and toxic fumes.

It was really quite irresponsible that Slughorn had left them alone, Hermione thought.

As they made it to the latter half of the brewing, she focused on an upcoming dangerous step. Like before, she and Malfoy were almost synchronous in their movements as they concocted their potions.

Hermione was about to add her first ingredient, which if done wrong, could cause an explosion. Before doing so, her eyes trailed over to Malfoy's station.

She eyed him with bated breath as he dropped the same ingredient she held into his cauldron. She let out an involuntary sigh of relief after no explosion followed.

Shaking her head at her lapse in concentration, she focused on the Slipseed she held. Carefully, she poured the 50 grams of the ingredient into the boiling cauldron.

The boiling liquid stilled instantaneously, its contents transforming to a tar-like state. Now, she had to wait 10 minutes for the solid mixture to loosen over heat.

Hermione took a step back, sighed, and absentmindedly brought her hair into a messy bun atop her head. As she did, she turned to see Malfoy looking at her. Unlike before, he didn't avert his stare after their eyes met.

"What?" she snapped.

"I see you managed to not blow yourself up," he replied in a bored manner.

"I let you go first to make sure nothing would happen," she responded sweetly.

Malfoy strolled over to her station. Instinctively, she took a step back.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, but he was unbothered. He made his way to her cauldron and looked in.

"Pretty good," he remarked, looking mildly impressed.

"I know," she replied, stepping forward towards her potion, closing the gap between them.

When he didn't say anything but made no move to leave, she continued.

"I don't like that he's having us brew this."

"Agreed," he nodded, his attention still on her potion.

The exchange between them felt almost cordial, which snapped Hermione back to her intention for the evening: to get to the bottom of Malfoy's bizarre behavior.

"Also, what is your problem?" Hermione demanded. His body angled towards her, gazing down from his tall vantage point. He gave an amused smile that ruffled her.

"I have many problems. I suppose you are one of them."

"You have been weirdly polite to me in Runes and then an absolute twat to me in every other class," Hermione carried on. "Why?"

His gaze turned serious, his amused smirk fading away. "Granger, I have no clue."

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean you have no clue?. It seems completely deliberate on your part."

He shrugged and made his way back to his station. Not letting it go, Hermione trailed after him.

"Perhaps I'm trying to mend muggle-born and pureblood relations," Malfoy teased.

Hermione stilled. He was joking. He had to be. But he said muggle-born, not the other word…

"So, what, you relentlessly go after me in every class we share?" Hermione replied, now standing by his potion. She raised herself on her tiptoes and peered into his cauldron. "Yours looks good too."

"I know," Malfoy smirked.

"Well?" Hermione crossed her arms, waiting expectantly for an answer.

"Might I remind you that, as you so eloquently put it, you have also relentlessly gone after me in class," he pointed out.

Hermione huffed.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd leave me alone."

He turned, making her conscious of how close she was to him. His smell permeated the air, cedar and fresh rain, and her breath hitched.

"Would you like me to stop?"

She stared up into his eyes and felt electricity pulse through her. Hermione fought against the feelings.

"Why aren't you playing Quidditch this year?" she questioned, changing the subject. Malfoy's eyes shifted for a moment then settled back on her.

"I didn't feel like it," he answered, brushing past her to go to the storeroom. She knew quite well he had all the ingredients needed. This was just a tactic to avoid her question. She followed him.

"I believe that as much as I believe Trelawney can actually predict the future," she called after him. He let out a soft laugh that trilled through her.

"She's a right fraud," Malfoy agreed, entering the storeroom.

He began collecting random ingredients with no role in their potion.

"So really, why aren't you playing Quidditch this year?" she persisted. His back was to her, grabbing more ingredients.

"You don't care about Quidditch," he replied, not turning towards her. "Why does it matter?"

She bit her tongue.

"It just does, okay?" was all she could come up with.

He turned, gave her a disinterested look, and waltzed past her. She scurried after him, following him back to his table.

"What about you?" Malfoy finally said while setting down his mystery ingredients, angling his chin towards her.

"What about me?" Hermione replied defensively, edging closer towards where he stood.

"You and the Weasel finally make it official?" he asked, casually looking up to see her reaction.

She stopped in her tracks, stiffening.

"Ah, a question you don't want to answer. Interesting how that works," he chided.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed. In an attempt to seem casual, she stretched her stiff limbs, which only resulted in her looking more suspicious.

He looked her up and down and, this time, laughed. "Granger, you're an open book. It's so obvious."

"I'm not an open book," she protested.

Malfoy started grinding some of the ingredients he had collected from the storeroom. Hermione watched him curiously, not sure what he was doing. As he continued to grind the items, her eyes drifted to his arms and shoulders which flexed as he exerted brute force to bring the ingredients to powder form.

"What about Pansy?" Hermione abruptly asked. Her eyes trailed up and met his.

"We're not together," Draco answered flatly.

"Well neither are Ron and I," Hermione retorted, uncomfortably, without quite knowing why.

Malfoy paused his grinding. She stood directly in front of his cauldron now, just an arm's length away from his tall form. She started to feel overheated and not just from the nearby flame.

"Why are you acting so differently this year?" she finally asked, barely above a whisper.

There was a minute and a half left before the next step in the potion.

His eyes darkened in a way that momentarily unnerved Hermione. Then they were his again, but something tense lingered behind them.

He dropped any pretense of working on his potion. He moved until she was between him and the potions table.

"Stop presuming to know anything about me," he said coldly, looking down at her, now with almost no distance between them. His body must have warmed from the physical exertion of grinding the ingredients, because, in this close proximity, Hermione could feel the heat radiate off him.

She maintained her stance. "I know enough."

He scoffed. "Not enough to know what has changed."

Looking into his piercing, steel-grey eyes, habit forced an argument to her tongue.

"Am I supposed to feel bad for you? A privileged, pureblood wizard. You can have or do anything you want."

The stillness of his body was more unsettling than any movement he could have made. Eventually, he leaned forward, and his stare turned icy.

"You know nothing, Granger."

His words were articulate and lethal. She adjusted her posture and stood taller.

"Yet you presume to know everything about me, just because I was born to muggle parents," she shot back, defiantly cocking her chin again.

In her mind, she questioned why she persisted. She could just walk away.

Suddenly, he leaned in, reaching an arm past either side of her as he grabbed the potion table's edge, trapping her between his body and the hard surface behind her.

A timer went off on Hermione's wrist. Not a second later, a similar alarm sounded from what she could only assume was his watch. It was time for their next step.

But for a half a second longer, neither moved. Hermione's hands, resting at her sides, twitched. Draco's long arms on either side of her, didn't move, keeping her right in front of him with nowhere to go.

It was like they stared at each other with a mixture of disdain and concentrated curiosity for minutes, rather than the second or two that it was.

Finally, he dropped his arms to his sides, and, without another word, Hermione hurried to her station to finish her potion.

The remainder of the brewing was tense but quiet. The two would exchange one-sided glances as the other began a dangerous pass on their potion. Other than that, they remained mute.

Finally, Hermione finished her potion, as Malfoy did as well.

Looking into her pewter cauldron, she concluded she brewed a perfect potion, which for the first time in her life, she wished she hadn't. The disastrous side effects of this potion weighed heavily on her shoulders. It crossed her mind to warn Dumbledore about what Slughorn was having them do.

With that thought still in her mind, she started her cleanup, sending bowls and knives to the front of the room. At one point, she glanced over to Malfoy's station. He was adding the ingredients he had prepared from the storeroom to the potion.

As had become commonplace, Malfoy glanced her way as she looked on.

"You want to know what I'm doing?" he questioned, keeping his attention on his measurements.

"Yes" she replied evenly.

He let loose a dramatic sigh before beginning.

"My father had a friend who was addicted to class-three potions," he continued to measure his ingredients as Hermione, without realizing it, began walking towards his station.

"My father concocted this mixture to reduce the negative impact of the addictive qualities. Overall, it dulls the need to seek another dose, both by reducing the addictive nature of the potion and lessening the side effects that ultimately drive the user back for more, if only to make the pain go away."

She looked on in awe as he added his personal mixture to the potion.

"It's undetectable," he answered her unasked question.

"Then why isn't it added all the time?"

"Not good for business," Draco replied. With his free hand on his wand, he wordlessly mixed the ingredient in.

She stared at the swirling potion, and, indeed, it showed no change after the added ingredients. Eyes wide, she looked back to Malfoy.

Strangely, his eyes wouldn't meet hers. It was like he couldn't physically face someone seeing a considerate side of him. Then, he held out his hand.

"I figured once you knew what it was, you'd want to add it to yours too," he offered the bowl with the remaining ground materials. "It's 5 grams per dose."

Something powerful struck Hermione behind her chest. Every event from the previous week that had sent her brain reeling felt insignificant compared to the confusion and strong emotion she felt at his considerate act.

Tentatively, she took the bowl and went to her station. Measuring as he instructed, she added the contents to the potion and with a hand on her wand, whispered the incantation to stir.

Malfoy cleaned his station as she added the additional ingredient to her potion. She looked down at the now empty bowl Malfoy gave her and kicked herself for not paying attention to what he put into it.

"I'll tell you what I put in it."

Hermione looked up to see him watching her stare into the empty bowl. The skin prickled around her neck. How could he tell that was what she was thinking?

Blushing, she put the bowl down, picked up her wand and sent it off to be cleaned.

As the potions did not need to sit overnight, the two bottled their potions in the vials left out by Slughorn, leaving them at their stations. The potion was murky grey, thin, and unappealing.

Hermione considered if it was worth nicking any of this potion. Even with the anti-addictive qualities to it, she didn't feel compelled to.

"I'm not going to take any," she shared aloud.

"Me either," Draco replied as he took one last look at his clean table and then to Hermione's, which was also cleared. "Ready to leave?"

She nodded shyly, trying to tamp down any feelings of nervousness that began to rear in her belly.

As had now become tradition, Malfoy leaned over her to pull open the door, bringing his body close enough to give her the faintest sense of him.

A reckless instinct to lean back crossed her mind, which she squashed along with everything else that was challenging her state of mind in that moment.

The two traversed the stairs with only the sounds of their footsteps accompanying them.

Hermione had about a hundred things she wanted to say, or ask, but she couldn't. The self-awareness of how she was reacting to being around him rendered her mute.

That night the moonlight was less prominent when emerging onto the upstairs landing. Instead of a cool blue illumination of the hallway, a warm glow of torches made their surroundings halfway visible.

With her book bag on her shoulder, she scratched awkwardly at her arm.

"I'd like to know the ingredients," Hermione said, her voice hesitant. She felt her skin itch with nerves, suddenly hyper aware of every movement she made in front of Malfoy. "I don't doubt your mixture, but I'd like to know how to help nullify…"

"Granger," Malfoy interrupted her. Her darting eyes centered on his expression; it was strangely calm and beautifully lit by the flicker of flames surrounding them.

"I didn't think you'd make it through the night if you didn't know what I put in that. I can tell you."

She shifted her weight, careful not to trip.

"I just know it's late. You can just write it down. You can give it to me at Runes on Monday."

"I can tell you now," he said. "Let me walk you back to your common room"

She froze. He scratched the back of his neck.

"My mother would be appalled if I didn't escort you back," he offered as an explanation. "She was a bit intense about formalities like this."

Hermione scoffed. "You didn't walk me back last time"

"Yeah, that's because you verbally assaulted me and stormed off," he protested.

She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm perfectly safe and able to take care of myself," she retorted. He nodded.

"I'm fully aware," he spoke. "All the same, can I please just walk you back?"

Satisfied that he recognized her abilities to protect herself, which often enough, Harry and Ron would not, she nodded, and they began to walk in stride down the corridor, towards the Gryffindor tower.

Other than Filch, no one would be out at this time, which was a relief. Hermione wasn't sure it was possible to explain why she and Malfoy were walking alone in darkened corridors together.

"So," Hermione finally broke the silence, "what's in it?"

"Two parts dried ragwood, one part dried slingwart, and one part cinnamon."

"Cinnamon" Hermione repeated back, thinking to herself how she would have been sure that would leave an aftertaste.

"It surprisingly blends in," Malfoy responded to her unspoken curiosity. "Or that's what my father has said. I thought the same as you, or what I assume you were thinking. But his friend never seemed to know the difference."

"Is your father a skilled potion maker?"

"He may even be better than Snape," he said, giving a side-eye glance with a grin. "If you can believe it"

"That's saying something," she returned with a subtle smile.

The moving staircase slowly settled in front of them, groaning to itself as it briefly paused for them to step up, then moved on to its next destination.

They ascended both landings and had to wait again for the staircase to settle on their destination.

"Your parents…" he began. His voice was uncomfortable, eyes shifting around. "What do they do?"

Hermione could barely contain her shock. Had hell frozen over? Draco Malfoy, was asking, somewhat sincerely, about her muggle parents. A surprised laugh escaped her before answering, "They heal teeth."

"Teeth?" His look was incredulous.

She nodded with a smile. "Teeth."

The stairs rearranged in front of them, and they walked up to their final landing.

"That sounds miserable," he added, trudging up the last few steps.

"I couldn't agree more," she laughed. The thought of spending days on end in someone else's mouth unsettled her.

"Good thing you're a witch then," he said, all too casually for the subject matter and who he was.

As they stepped off the final landing and approached the Fat Lady, who looked apprehensively at the two, Hermione cast a suspicious glance over Malfoy. "Yes, I suppose so."

An extended silence passed between the two, but neither made a move to leave.

"I'm not going to say the password in front of you," she finally said, and she thought her tone sounded almost flirtatious. She reddened and hoped the dim castle light would provide cover.

"Why would I ever want to go into the Gryffindor common room?" He mocked drolly as he leaned leisurely against the wall by the Fat Lady.

"Perhaps because we actually get sunlight in our dorms and yours is underwater," Hermione taunted back. "Seems a bit depressing"

He raised a brow. "Granger, we're Slytherins. We hate the light."

She smiled. "Yes, I believe I read that in Hogwarts, A History ."

"Of course you did."

Another beat of silence passed where neither knew what to do. This was all his fault, she thought in a fluster of emotions. If he would have just let her walk back herself, they wouldn't be in this situation.

"Well I should go," she mumbled, bowing her head and turning to the Fat Lady.

With her back to him, she felt his hand close gently around her wrist.

"Wait…" his voice was faint. It barely cut above the faint flicker of the nearby torches.

Everything in her froze, yet her body could have powered a small muggle house with the electricity coursing through her. She turned to understand what it was he was doing, but his eyes wouldn't meet hers.

His fingers brushed across the smooth skin of her wrist, and his touch felt more calloused than she would have expected from a privileged pureblood.

Her mouth had opened, but nothing came out. She was without a clear thought for maybe the first time in her life.

"I'm not a fool, Granger," he said, gesturing to where he held her wrist softly. "I do not think this, touching you, makes me dirty somehow." Her gaze turned away from his, down to where his hand connected with her wrist.

"Why does it matter what I think," she managed to whisper shakily.

His fingers slowly began to move, exploring beyond her wrist and down to her hand. They both looked on as if neither had control of the situation.

She felt his hand subtly pull her weight towards him, or maybe she was moving on her own?

"I don't know why it does," he answered her, his voice sounding raw and uncertain. "But this whole week, telling you that. Clearing that up. It was all I could think about."

Her eyes finally found his. Unlike before, they now bored into her, searching for something, but, at the same time, she could see an internal battle raging within him.

Hermione could only assume that something similar reflected back to him.

"You could have told me sooner…" she heard herself say, but didn't recall sending the signal to her brain to say it. Her voice was too husky; too familiar with him. And she felt herself taking a step closer as he studied her like an experiment…

"I dare say!" The Fat Lady interjected. Both Hermione and Malfoy leapt from one another, having forgotten that they had a pseudo witness to whatever the hell it was they were doing.

"BOTH of you should be in your common rooms. You wouldn't want anyone to talk now, would you?" The Fat Lady asked, knowing that, if anyone were to talk, it would be her.

Hermione looked up and saw Malfoy dip his head.

"Right," he coughed, still refusing to look up, to face what almost happened. "Goodnight."

Before she could say another word, he turned and walked away, descending the stairs that had dutifully waited for him.

Hermione stood there, side-by-side with the Fat Lady, looking at the ghost of where Malfoy had just disappeared.

After a few moments of not moving, of not breathing, Hermione pulled air into her lungs, filling them until they could not take any more oxygen. Unfortunately, it did nothing for her racing heart that threatened to leap out of her chest.

A battle still waged within her. On one side, the previously triumphant side, was the belief that this thing with Malfoy was some odd fixation she picked up, that she just liked being able to tell-off a pureblood every so often.

But the other side, the one that was gaining ground, and fast, firmly felt that whatever she was feeling towards Malfoy was not at all normal, and by no means convenient.

Draco

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What in the name of Merlin's left tit was he doing?

Draco walked at a blistering pace through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts. Periodically, he'd shake out his hand, trying to rid his body of pent up adrenaline.

"Fuck!" he cursed out loud, his gruff voice bouncing against the stone walls.

He was a master of control, second to none, other than his Mother, perhaps. How could he not get a handle on this?

After all, there were bigger issues for him to consider, such as having to kill Dumbledore. Yes, he still had to think through that.

But somehow, his sick fascination with Granger was trumping all of that.

Draco sharpley barreled around a corner, clipping it with his shoulder painfully.

His hand flinched at the memory of her skin. Merlin it was so soft, and warm. And her eyes, the way she cut through him made him want to renounce the Dark Lord on the spot.

She had moved in towards him. He could have swore it wasn't just his doing.

He scolded himself for even entertaining this madness. There had to be an ounce of his voice of reason left within him.

His new addiction withered away at that voice, though. Was it an addiction, or a distraction from the inevitable?

Regardless, bickering with Granger or finding ways to be close to her when no one else was looking consumed him. It was the light in a room filled with darkness. It was a singular point of focus.

Arguing with her in classes was innocent enough. What happened that night after detention, that was dangerous.

His mind replayed their interaction, and it made him squirm.

He had wanted to tell her that he wasn't a fool, that he didn't truly believe touching a muggle-born would dirty him somehow. Logic would deem that absurd. But he needed her to know that he didn't believe that. He felt an urgency to have her understand him.

Why he needed that understanding, though…now that was the fucking question.

Because what he thought would cure him of all of this was to feel her, not to explain himself to her. He could feel his body demanding a release to this obsession with something physical. That is why he reached out to her. That was his intention: to take her, shove her up against the wall, and take her mouth with his and finally put a rest to this madness. He knew that would be all he needed.

But he couldn't even do that. He was a fucking mess.

Everything halted when Draco, not paying attention and halfway into the Slytherin common room, collided directly with Theo.

"What the hell!" Theo croaked, peering down to the floor where his previously held cup of tea now laid. Draco looked down at his sleeves to see the water had scorched him, red welts forming on his hand. But he didn't feel anything.

Draco peered at Theo blankly for several seconds before the latter grew unnerved and snapped his fingers in front of his distant friend.

"Merlin, Draco," Theo started, giving Draco a once over. "What happened to you?"

Snapping to attention, Draco examined himself, thinking something was physically wrong.

"No, nothing's on you," Theo clarified, this time leaning in closer to his friend. "You're all, jumpy."

Draco sucked down a forced, slow breath, calming his senses. He steadied his face into cold granite.

"Nothing has happened," Draco explained evenly, perhaps too stiffly. Theo gave him a lengthy look before turning away. Draco deflated.

"How was detention with Granger?" Theo asked, causing Draco's skin to prickle.

"Obnoxious. Long. A waste of time," Draco sputtered out.

Complicated, maddening, everything…his mind corrected internally

"Just one more left," Theo shrugged, walking back towards the dorms.

Draco stalled. Yes, there was only one more detention left. Why did that make the pit of his stomach drop?

Alone in the Slytherin common room, Draco forced himself to work this problem.

Whatever it was that he was doing with Granger, well, it made him feel whole. Or at the very least, pulled him back from the ledge of his dark thoughts.

The likelihood of him surviving past the year was minuscule. Hell, he hadn't even decided if he would earnestly try to kill Dumbledore, despite promising his Mother that he would. His life felt bleak.

But the past week antagonizing Granger and breathing in her flowery scent before each Runes class was the most engaged he could remember being for a long time, and it begged him to consider the possibilities of it all.

He was going to die. The absoluteness of it buzzed in his bones.

So what if he indulged? Draco had heard of the concept of a "last meal" for those awaiting The Dementor's Kiss. What if he let this play out with Granger? If there was nothing he could do to save himself, what if he made her his last meal?