Chapter 13: Here comes trouble

The following two weeks were some of the best Draco ever had at Hogwarts. He and Hermione celebrated New Years together with a large bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy and heavy amounts of snogging. Every day brought Draco some type of happiness, and he woke nearly every morning already looking forward to the day.

Today, however, was the day that all went to shit.

As he sat at the faculty table, breakfast long forgotten on his plate, the only thing he could do was glare daggers at the ginger-headed fucker standing next to the Headmistresses podium. McGonagall was currently introducing Weasley to the students—as if they didn't already know who he was. Draco swore he could see stars twinkling in the children's eyes while they stared at the abhorrent red hair.

At the very least, Weasley finally seemed to have upgraded his wardrobe, though Draco couldn't quite understand why he had chosen leather pants of all things. Ghastly fucker.

As McGonagall finished her speech, the Hall applauded Weasley as he waved at them, and Draco only continued his glare as the Professors clapped alongside them. Neville elbowed him gently, and Draco's glare rounded on him.

"Relax, Draco. Ron's changed a lot since school, Romania's been good for him."

Hearing Hermione's words echoed back to him from someone else only irritated him further, and after downing his tea, Draco stood. He caught the gaze of Weasley as he took his seat next to Hagrid and nearly hexed the redhead at the grin he gave Draco.

Draco could feel Hermione's honey eyes on him as he walked from the hall, but he didn't care. He would retreat to his Dungeons for the rest of the day and try his damned best to forget that a Weasley was in his school.

"Care of Magical Creatures was brill!"

"Did you see how Professor Weasley handled that baby Longhorn? He's so cool!"

"And cute!"

"Do you think he would sign my trading card of him?"

Draco tossed his quill on to his desk and sighed as he rubbed his eyes. It was only midday, and already he had listened to these incessant ramblings for the better part of an hour. The only thing his students talked about was fucking Weasley. If they didn't stop soon, he would force them all to work in silence or take House points.

As he sat back in his chair and watched his fifth year class of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws work, he sighed again in irritation as the Hufflepuff currently drooling over Weasley nearly added one too many drops of wormwood.

"Miss Caprine," Draco called out. "It would do you well to pay attention to your Potion recipe and less to how Mr Weasley likes to take his tea."

Draco refused to call Weasley a Professor. He was here for term, and that was all; he never took his damned N.E.W.T.S, and he was entirely underqualified for such a title. Draco had earned his place here, and of course, Weasley had it handed to him on a silver fucking platter.

The students broke out into giggles as Caprine turned eight shades of scarlet and buried her head into her Potions textbook. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the teenage girl and instead focused back on grading papers. He would need to think of something to get his students talking again, some way to bring their interest back to Potions and less about those stupid dragons and their annoying Keeper.

The Hufflepuff girls began to whisper again, and with resolve, Draco stood. The sound of his chair scraping on the cobblestone caused all heads to turn in his direction, all conversation ceasing as the students gave their undivided attention.

"I think," Draco began, attempting to piece together some sort of plan. "That we will move next week's lesson to today."

Flicking his wand, a small pot floated from the cupboard, a sealed lid placed tightly atop it. He gestured for the students to gather around his desk as the pot settled on it. Once they had joined him, Draco removed the lid slowly. Euphoric looks passed over each student in turn, and Draco felt his own calmness settle over him as waves of honeysuckle, broom polish, and cherry strudel filled his nose.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?"

A pause, then one of the Ravenclaw boys hand shot up, momentarily reminding Draco of the Advanced Potion class he once shared with Hermione.

He inclined his head to the Ravenclaw, who promptly answered.

"Amortentia, Sir."

The scent of vanilla settled over him as he awarded the boy five points—that was new. "And can anyone tell me what it does?"

The still-blushing Caprine answered this time, her voice small with shyness. "Isn't it a love potion, Professor?"

Draco nodded, "Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence. But it does not create genuine love; on the contrary, it creates obsession, rather than love. Can anyone else tell me what else Amortentia does?"

A Hufflepuff boy, Loughran, piped up, "You smell things!"

The class erupted into whispered giggles, and Draco smirked. "Yes, for all intents and purposes. You smell things. Each person smells something different when in contact with Amortentia. There is, however, a third thing Amortentia does, and for the rest of class, you will be attempting to deduce exactly what that is. No one is to drink this potion, understood? Willoughby?"

Another set of giggles as Willoughby blushed and Draco handed each student a tiny vial of the potion.

"The first person to tell me the third use for Amortentia will win this." He held up a vial of silver liquid. "Felix Felcis, commonly known as liquid luck. You have one hour."

The students bustled back to their chairs, pulling out textbooks to read about the potion and speaking excitedly to their partners.

Draco smiled to himself as he returned to grading papers, his ears finally free of the name Weasley.

Forty minutes later, Draco's attention drew from his papers to a commotion at the back of the room. A quarrel had broken out between a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff, Willoughby, of course—the troublemaker.

"What's going on here?"

Willoughby scrubbed at his face while the Ravenclaw, Daggle, pointed an accusatory finger. "He tried to drink the potion! Even after you explicitly told him not to, Sir. I was trying to pull it from his mouth, but it splashed on his face!"

Draco tried to hide his amusement; leave it to his students to discover the final use of Amortentia by accident.

"Willoughby, let me inspect you." Draco placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, and when the Hufflepuff dropped his arms, audible gaps erupted across the room.

The boy had become quite the looker. Where his nose had been bulbous and much too large before, it now curved into an elegant slope. The green of his eyes shone brightly, now perfectly symmetrical and framed by full lashes.

The girls began to whisper and giggle almost immediately.

Draco conjured a small hand mirror and handed it to Willoughby, who gaped as he took in his appearance.

"Mr Willoughby, would you care to tell me the third use for Amortentia?"

"Is it... to make someone more attractive?"

Draco smirked and took back the mirror, "When applied to the skin, Amortentia can act as a glamour of sorts. It makes the user's physical appearance perfect in every way. It isn't permanent, and when used for long periods can cause serious damage. But Mr Willoughby, I do believe you have won today's prize."

He handed the vial to Willoughby, another memory of Slughorn giving the same vial to Potter their sixth year. Oh, how Draco had envied him.

"Use it well."

Awe-stricken, Willoughby took the vial and Draco chuckled to himself as he dismissed his class. "Wednesday we will be brewing Invisibility Potion and testing it, so make sure you're prepared!"

Excited chatter left the room, Willoughby the centre of attention, and of course, the boy lapped it up like a starving dog. Draco shook his head in amusement; his students always entertained him.

He was just glad he finally figured out how to one-up Weasley.

The rest of the day passed in a rushed blur of papers and potions, Draco preparing the seventh-years for their N.E.W.T.s. The fact that most of them would rather stare at each other than their textbooks and cauldrons caused his irritation to flare. He hadn't been this bad when he was a teenager, had he? Though, he supposed not much time was given to pining after girls.

The tables were already half-filled by the time he tore himself from grading essays to attend dinner. And of course, Weasley was already there, regaling Hagrid and Trelawney with whatever stupid story spewed from his lips. How interesting could Romania be, anyway? Draco never heard of anything fun going on in Romania.

Wrinkling his nose as Weasley flung his fork about, Draco walked to his chair. He nodded in greeting to Neville, Susan, and Hermione. Hermione gave him a dazzling smile, but Draco couldn't find it in himself to return it. Not with Weasley nearby. Still, he tried to give her a half-smirk, which seemed to do the trick as she returned to her food.

It fell instantly. The overwhelming urge to hex the ginger's mouth shut coursed through him when that annoying laugh reached his ears as he sat. Instead of acting on that urge, he poured his annoyance into cutting his chicken, the cutlery scraping noisily against the plate.

Hermione gave him a concerned look, about to open her mouth to question him but was interrupted.

"Good evening, Draco." Professor Vector greeted as she took her seat next to Draco, blocking the space between him and Hermione.

Draco let out a relieved sigh. His patience was on a short leash already, and the last thing he wanted was to be questioned about it. Weasley and Hermione were close friends, and he knew she would side with Weasley should it come to it. Draco didn't want to be on the losing end of an ultimatum.

"Good evening, Vector."

They fell into silence, though Neville spoke to Susan on his left, and Hermione spoke to Sinistra on her right. It was almost comfortable, except for the conversation filling the air at the opposite end of the table. Even the damned students began to look at him, all doe-eyed and simpering.

"'Mione! Come down here a minute!" Weasley called, leaning back on the legs of his chair to glance down the platform. Draco saw Hermione roll her eyes but acquiesce, standing to walk down toward him and Hagrid.

Draco couldn't help the sharp glare he gave Weasley, who noticed and gave him one in return.

Hermione picked up on the looks between the two of them and reprimanded Weasley as she approached. "Honestly, Ronald. Draco's only glaring at you because you're so loud—"

"Oh, it's Draco now, is it? Didn't realise you two were so chummy."

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, her stilettos tapping with irritation on the floor. "Yes, Draco and I are friends. Not that it's any of your business."

Weasley shot another glare in his direction, "Malfoy can be friendly all he wants, but he'll always be a ferret to me."

Draco ground his teeth, about to stand and argue until McGonagall cleared her throat. "If this is quite finished," she quipped, "perhaps you would like to continue that story about the Norwegian Ridgeback, Professor Weasley?"

And just like that, Weasley's attention drew back to story-telling, Hermione standing to his right, and laughing like she hadn't just told him off. Draco instantly knew where he stood. They were friends. Lovers, though that part remained a secret. But it would never compete with Weasley's friendship.

The chicken suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth.

"Mione, wanna go with me to Hogsmeade this weekend? I haven't had proper candy in ages." Weasley practically begged.

"Of course!"

Draco slammed his fork down on the table at Hermione's excited answer.

"Draco, are you alright?" Vector asked beside him.

Neville turned to him from his conversation with Susan, "Hey, you good, mate?"

Swiftly standing, Draco pulled his black robes tighter around him, "I don't particularly enjoy the taste of tonight's dinner. The chicken tastes like weasel." He took one glance at Hermione's concerned face and left, striding from the Hall.

It was only Weasley's first day here, and already Draco wanted him gone.

It was going to be a long term.

The weekend crept up on Draco without warning. He had avoided Hermione the entire time, afraid of the words that would pass between them. She'd tell him that this was fun while it lasted, but now that Weasley was here she wanted nothing to do with him. And he refused to let her say that to him. Best avoid it altogether.

It would be a lie, however, if Draco were to say he wasn't annoyed that she and Weasley would be going to Hogsmeade together. Not jealous, though. Malfoy's didn't get jealous.

Draco could tell the ginger tosser was up to something; all through breakfast, he kept reminding Hermione of going to Hogsmeade, even coming to pull her chair out for her when she was ready. Draco had nearly choked on the scent of leather and dragon dung that clung to his clothes.

So, that was why, an hour later, after trying and failing to grade papers, Draco went down to Hogsmeade as well. He needed another batch of chocolate wands anyway. At least, that's what he told himself.

The air was brisk as he walked down to the village, but he barely noticed. The only thing Draco paid attention to was searching for a familiar head of bushy hair. He spotted it through the window of The Three Broomsticks and decided perhaps a nice butterbeer was in order.

The place was packed with students and townsfolk alike; Saturdays were always a busy day for the pub. Rosmerta bustled behind the bar, and Draco waited patiently for her to take notice of him as he leant against the wood. Flitwick sat a few stools down, and Draco nodded in greeting to him.

He casually looked about the room with nonchalance, instantly spying Weasley and Hermione at a booth in the back. One he particularly remembered Ginny and Dean Thomas sharing on more than one occasion. That fucking git.

Draco didn't even bother to order a drink as he strode towards their table. Fuck, he didn't even know what he was going to say; he just knew he had to put some distance between the two of them.

I'm not jealous.

He could hear the tail-end of their conversation as he walked closer, and it caused rage to boil his blood.

"—a proper date. I miss you, Mione."

"Ron, I can't just—"

"Hello." Draco interrupted, standing at the end of their table.

Hermione perked up instantly, both hands cupping her butterbeer. "Hello, Draco."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Weasley spat out, taking a swig of firewhiskey and tossing his arm around the back of Hermione's seat.

Draco picked off a piece of invisible lint from his grey peacoat. "Just came to see if my friend was alright. She looked quite uncomfortable. Perhaps it's the overwhelming stench of dragon dung in the air."

The rage Weasley gave off could practically be felt; Draco only smirked at his reaction and tucked his hands into his trousers.

"Get out of here, ferret. Hermione and I were having a private conversation."

Hermione looked at Draco, and he could see her pleading with her eyes not to leave.

"How about I buy the next round?" Before Weasley could even protest, Draco turned back to the bar and called for Rosmerta, not even caring that the woman practically ran frantic with how busy it was. Grabbing the handles of the butterbeers, Draco walked back towards the table. They seemed quite animated this time, and he hid around the turn for a moment to listen to their conversation.

"I'm ready now, to settle down, I mean."

"That's lovely for you, Ronald. But I'm not the same witch anymore. I haven't just been waiting around for you—"

"Hermione, I'm ready. I mean it. I want to be with you again."

"I can't—I don't..." There was a pause, like she was trying to think of what to say. "I have a boyfriend."

A thrill went through Draco at the statement. He knew she was likely saying it just to throw him off her, but there was still a part of him—the part that wanted to claim her as his own—that celebrated the words. Boyfriend.

"You don't have to pretend to have a boyfriend just to—"

Draco came around the turn and clunked the glasses to the table, purposely sloshing butterbeer on Weasley. "Oops. Maybe it'll improve the stench. Seriously, do they not know how to wash clothes in Romania?"

Weasley stood with a roar and grabbed Draco's collar, picking him up with a strength few possessed. Draco would be a liar if he didn't say he was a bit scared, though he tried not to show it. They were nearly the same height, but Weasley was stronger, his time with dragons made sure of that.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione shouted behind them, having stood from the table. "You put Draco down this instant."

Draco smirked at Weasley's anger-filled face only inches from his own. "Better listen to Granger, Weasley. Wouldn't want this getting back to your superiors that you fought a Hogwarts professor, would you?"

"I think, given who it is I'd be fighting, they'd forgive me." Weasley bit back, his grip tightening on Draco's coat. He hoped the house-elves would be able to get the dragon smell out of the fabric.

"Gentlemen," the ever-calm voice of Lupin piped up, "if you'd like to fight, I believe Madam Rosemerta would appreciate it outside."

"That I would!" Rosmerta shouted from behind the bar.

Draco looked around and noticed the entire pub had gone silent to watch their exchange.

"Well, Weasley? Fancy a fight outside or are you finished with the theatrics."

Weasley let go of his collar with a shove, and Draco stumbled into the table behind him. He shot the redhead a glare as he straightened his coat. "Gryffindors. Always so quick to anger."

Lupin and Hermione still looked at them both like a ticking Bombtastic Bomb waiting to go off at the drop of a hat. And he supposed, given the erratic breathing and wild eyes of Weasley, that could be true.

Draco opened his mouth for one last snide comment, but a sharp look from Hermione over Weasley's shoulder had him snapping his jaw shut. And there it was—Hermione's choice made. It would always be Weasley.

Fine. Without a word, Draco turned and left the bar.

This time, as he walked back to the castle, the cold froze him to the bone, his hands shivering and teeth chattering. He didn't bother with a warming charm; he needed the cold. Needed to feel it in his veins; his heart. Maybe it would help him stop whatever the fuck it was he currently felt.

The journey to his room was mindless; he didn't even remember walking there. Draco sat on the edge of his bed and dropped his head to his hands instantly, the tips of his fingers cold as ice, and they ran through his hair.

"You stupid arsehole." He chastised himself. "You made her choose. Fucking idiot"

He silently berated himself for a few minutes until a knock on the door had him sitting up. It was probably Lupin, come to tell him off for what a giant idiot he was. As if Draco didn't already know that.

"What do you want, Lu—" Draco opened the door to find a flushed and angry Hermione glaring at him, breath heavy.

She pushed her way inside and tore off her coat, tossing it on the nearby chair. It was the first time she had been in his rooms, but she owned the space like she had been there a hundred times before.

"What the seven hells was that about?" she yelled, crossing her arms and looking down her nose at him. Her lips were pursed and cheeks reddened by the cold, chest still heaving. All Draco could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her.

"What? Weasel started it." Draco mirrored her crossed arm, leaning against the now-closed door. "You looked like you needed saving—"

"I just wanted you to join us so he would stop talking about getting back together! I didn't want you to nearly start a fight! I haven't seen Ron be like that since—since school!"

Draco flinched at her shrill tone. Hermione was obviously very upset. "Well, you made your stance abundantly clear to me. I know he's more important to you than I am, so if you want to get back together with him, by all means, I won't stand in your way."

"Are you—what?" Hermione blinked and dropped her arms, looking caught off guard. "You think I want to get back together with him?"

Draco shrugged and became very interested in the thread of his shirt. "I don't hold you to anything. If you want out of... whatever we are to be with him, I'll understand."

"You're an idiot; you know that?"

Draco glanced up to find Hermione's eyes filled with tears, her knuckles white as they gripped her arms tightly. Probably to keep from crying.

"I love Ron; he's very dear to me."

Draco grimaced. Here was the big 'get lost' moment.

"But I'm not in love with him."

Hermione walked forward and uncrossed her arms, tucking her cold hands into his and pulling his arms down. "I want you, Draco. I've enjoyed the time we've spent together and... and I want more."

Something in Draco's chest squeezed and released at the same time. Like all the tension disappeared at one moment. He pulled Hermione forward and tucked her in his arms, pressing his face into her curls and breathing in her scent.

Vanilla and honeysuckle wrapped around him like a safe cocoon. "I'm sorry, I just... I just always thought you two would be together and then he came back, and I figured..."

"That's the problem with you," Hermione chuckled and wiped away her stray tears. "You assume too much without asking. If you would've just asked me, Draco, I'd have told this to you before Ron even got here."

Draco nodded and pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"And, while we're on the subject," Hermione murmured, "you are as important to me as Harry and Ron, okay?"

Draco felt something else in his chest ease. He placed a gentle kiss to her temple and her cheek. "Okay."

Hermione grinned, "Good, now with that out of the way, why does your bed look bigger than mine?"

"Does it?" Draco smirked and kissed the side of her mouth, relieved at the change of subject. "Why don't we measure?"

The laugh that left her mouth as Draco led her to the bed made his head fuzzy. And when she straddled his lap and claimed his mouth, he could feel that she meant every word.

He'd try his best to believe it.