Project Doom
Part III
By: FortunaMinor
Nearly a month had passed; the weather was turning quite chilly, and Hermione Granger had survived a cold, shopping with her mother, and dealing with Draco Malfoy on a daily basis. The witch was extremely proud of herself, and Harry had taken to calling Malfoy her boyfriend, which she wasn't so pleased with.
It was a positively freezing Saturday morning in late October, and she and Draco were set to meet in a few minutes—when a knock came on her door, she was surprised to find that it was nearly ten minutes before he was due to arrive. Upon opening the door, she saw why; he stood before her in pyjamas with a robe hastily thrown over them. He looked more dishevelled than she'd ever seen him. His nose was red and his eyes were glassy—it was obvious he was sick with the cold that had been so popular amongst the students.
"I can't meet with you today," he croaked.
Her response was to roll her eyes and drag him back to his room, where she snatched the robe from his shoulders and shooed him toward the bed. When he'd settled in and looked at her balefully she couldn't help giggling, "It would figure that the only time I'd be able to tell you that you look and sound dreadful that I couldn't bring myself to do it."
She returned an hour later with a supply of Pepper-Up, which she forced upon him despite the fact that he was grumpy and embarrassed that she'd seen the steam leaking from his ears.
When Hermione stopped by with a late lunch, she assumed he was sleeping and went into his room quietly without knocking.
"Granger?" came the incredulous voice of Pansy Parkinson.
"Oh, hello, Pansy," she tittered nervously as she set the bag containing Draco's lunch onto his desk before beating a very hasty retreat.
When Draco emerged from his shower, clothed in fresh sleep pants and a t-shirt, he was met with the sight of Pansy Parkinson thumbing lazily through a set of notes so complicated she had no hopes of comprehending them. He'd left her alone while he'd gone to shower with hopes that she'd grow bored and leave; apparently that hadn't worked.
"Granger came by," Pansy said lightly as she tossed the notes onto the desk where she found them. "She's brought you lunch."
"Right," Draco said as he made short work of digging into the soup and sandwich Hermione had brought. They'd been to the campus deli only once, but Hermione had remembered what he'd ordered—a turkey sandwich on rye with only mustard and lettuce, and a small cup of French onion soup. He was glad that she'd had them leave off the tomatoes, as the very thought of them made him nauseated.
He ate in silence, though he could tell Pansy was positively bursting to question him. The moment he'd cleared away the remains of his lunch she began her interrogation.
"Why did Granger barge into your room without knocking?"
"I suppose she didn't want to disturb me in case I was sleeping."
"Does she routinely bring you lunch?"
"No."
"Then why did she today?"
Draco sighed impatiently, "Because I'm ill, Pansy. Really, are you jealous? I could have Granger bring you a sandwich if it will make you stop questioning me."
"You don't sound too ill," the former-Slytherin witch said shrewdly.
"I've had a couple of doses of Pepper-Up."
"Ah, and did Granger bring those by as well?"
"Yes."
"Draco!"
"I did the same for her when she was ill; she's merely returning the favour."
Pansy looked extremely sceptical, "That's all? Since when have you been concerned enough about her to bother bringing her anything at all?"
Draco ran a hand through his damp hair, "You're looking for something that isn't there, Pansy. She's my Transfiguration partner and we get on passably outside of class—that's all."
Pansy, both his long-time friend and ex-girlfriend, eyed him for a long while as though she were sizing him up. "I don't believe you," she said flatly.
"And I don't care. I've told you the truth, and it's really none of your concern anyway."
"There's something going on, even if you don't realise it yet." With that, the blonde witch left the room leaving a scowling Draco behind.
He felt completely foolish for doing such a thing, but when Hermione looked in on him later, he feigned sleep. Pansy's words had troubled him—so much so that he was unable to sleep much for the remainder of the day despite the fact that he didn't feel particularly well.
The next morning, knowing he wouldn't be able to avoid Hermione forever, he rose, dressed and made the short walk to her room.
"You're feeling better, then?" she asked as she raised a hand to his forehead, checking for a temperature. He was uncomfortable with the familiarity of the gesture. "Well you aren't running a temperature and you look a right sight better than you did yesterday. Did Pansy see to it that you had your lunch?"
"Yes, er, about Pansy—she didn't say anything to you, did she?"
"Not a word," Hermione said with a blush. "I meant to apologise to her for just…I should have knocked, I'm sorry."
He waved her apology off, and she smiled at him. That simple act was enough to stop him in his tracks—when, exactly, had things changed between them? They had gone from outright hostility to grudging civility out of necessity…but when had they become so friendly with one another?
"Malfoy, maybe you'd better be getting back to bed—you don't look so well."
He nodded absently and allowed her to shuffle him out of the room; he didn't know whether his pallor had come from his cold or from the sudden realisation that there might have been some truth to Pansy's words after all.
By the time mid-November had arrived, Hermione and Draco were at the peak of their project—things were going so well that, if all went according to plan and their research held, they would be able to submit their research, in article form, to any one of the major Transfiguration publications. Such an achievement was absolutely unheard of in undergraduate work; they both hoped to accomplish such a feat.
Draco had had two weeks to come to terms with the change in dynamic regarding his and Granger's interactions—they couldn't fight like cats and dogs if they intended to be successful, and Draco decided that their truce was a good thing. He would even go so far as to call her a friend, though he'd be hesitant in telling anyone—including her. He felt justified in his attitude toward her; she was brilliant—even he could admit that, and she could even be sort of pleasant when she wasn't trying to set him on fire.
Currently, his Transfiguration partner was on the other side of his room completing a complicated bit of spell work; he hadn't been aware that he was staring until she cleared her throat a few minutes later.
He saw confusion evident in her expression—Draco thought he would hate to have such expressive eyes, for he was much too private to allow such open displays of emotion.
"I think that's enough for tonight," she said.
"Right," Draco told her in that airy tone that practically screamed, 'I'm uncomfortable!'
She moved to the desk and helped him clear away all of the books and the thick files of extensive notes they'd taken. When reaching for the last file, Draco had grasped it first and her hand settled atop his for a moment before she snatched it back.
"Sorry," she muttered. It had been harmless, really, but his expression was so odd—mostly unreadable, though Hermione was fairly sure she detected a bit of anger. "I said I was sorry," she said peevishly. "I didn't mean anything by it, you know. I'll go so you can wash your hand this instant—I'd hate for my mudblood germs to be the cause of your death." She swung around furiously and was nearly out of the door when he called her back.
"Granger, stop," he said in a low, even tone. She turned to face him, glaring fiercely, daring him to insult her. "You said that—not me. Remember that."
When he turned back to his desk, dismissing her, she grew indignant and forcefully tamped back the urge to stamp her foot. "Why did you look so…so…I don't know? You had the strangest expression on your face, like you were angry but fighting the urge to be sick."
Hermione Granger, while not easily intimidated, was immediately cowed when he strode toward her and stared at her defiantly. "And you assumed that I meant to call you a mudblood." Hermione nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Don't assume things about me, Granger."
She winced at the sharpness in his tone, feeling guilty for causing such a scene when their association had been relatively free of rows or duels. "I'm sorry."
He remained stoically silent, unimpressed by her apology.
"I'm sorry, alright? I'm tired and frustrated, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have assumed anything about you. I'm sorry."
Apparently he felt that she had grovelled enough, because Draco told her that it was fine, and that he would see her in class the next day. She gave him a hesitant smile and left for her own room; he was glad to see her go.
He knew that the odd expression she'd mistaken for an unspoken slur on her heritage had been an unconscious reaction to the flop his stomach gave when she'd touched him, and he would have to deal with the ramifications of this new development.
Things had been relatively normal between them in class the next day; the conversation had as they walked back to the residence hall had also been normal, if a bit too polite.
"Let me get that Lohman book from you," Draco told her as she unlocked her door and tossed her bag down. She went to her desk and extracted a thin book bound in green leather; the book had been invaluable to their research. When she turned to hand the book to Draco, she found that he'd moved closer to her and she was suddenly standing much too close to him.
She held the book up weakly; glad when he took it so she could hide her slightly trembling hand. Hermione leaned back against her desk, grateful for the distance it afforded. "Are we still meeting on Thursday?"
He leaned in suddenly and kissed her.
It was over as quickly as it had begun; Hermione was reminded strongly of the peck that Alexander Thompson had given her in primary school.
She tried to wipe the look of shock from her face—judging by his expression, he was trying to do the same. Hermione wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, though she knew better. Draco would feel that he was being laughed at and if she had learned anything at all about Draco Malfoy, it was that he would not abide ridicule.
Hermione noticed that he was looking at her expectantly but couldn't figure out what he wanted from her—did he want her to act like it hadn't happened? Was she expected to haul him in and kiss him back? Merlin forbid, was she supposed to talk to him about it?
"So, Thursday?" she tried pitifully, hoping that was what he wanted.
Apparently it hadn't been; his expression grew stony and he turned to go. Hermione, logical as she is, moved to number two on her list of possible reactions. She caught his arm lightly and he spun to face her—pointedly ignoring the strange expression he wore, she put her hand behind his neck and pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his in a lingering kiss.
Obviously, that had been the right thing to do, for Draco moved his hand to Hermione's face and made to deepen this kiss, nipping at her lower lip to seek entrance into her mouth. Yielding to the unspoken request, Hermione allowed herself to be pushed against, and eventually up onto her desk while Draco stood between her parted thighs.
When Draco pulled away from her, Hermione, again, had the strangest desire to laugh—she had just been snogged senseless by Draco Malfoy, the same Draco Malfoy that she'd try to set on fire a mere two months prior.
She was spared the potential awkwardness of the situation by Draco brushing another kiss across her lips before departing, leaving the green book tossed carelessly onto Hermione's bed.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related trademarks belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not attempting to seek profit from the use of said trademarks, nor infringe upon copyrights held by the author and various publishers.
