The previous night had been a sleepless one for Draco. He had laid on the green velvet sheets rather than tucking himself underneath, contemplating his plans for winning Granger over. Point one, he noted, was to start becoming comfortable with referring to her as Hermione. Point two, he noted, was to arrange a mental list — he was very good at keeping mental lists in his head — of all the things Hermione liked and a separate list of all the things Hermione hated.

LIKES — books (especially Hogwarts, a History), elves, Potter, Weasley, the colour blue (he assumed), dancing. HATES — flying, Quidditch, divinations.

The lists were evidently a little sparse but with keen observation and research, he'd be able to expand till he had a perfect picture of Granger — Hermione. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione!

Draco had whispered it, feeling the curve of it on his lips. He would have to use it when he spoke to her this afternoon in the library. It would be the ideal place to catch her in a secluded area, alone. Otherwise, she was always with that barmy Ravenclaw or the Patil twins.

After giving it ample amount of consideration, Draco felt that the direct approach would be best. The deadline was Christmas, which meant he had no time to lose playing coy games. September was almost over, that gave him less than three months to make Gryffindor's Golden Girl fall in love with him…

He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes as he made his way to his second class. To Draco's relief, Slughorn had taken up his previous post as Potion's professor and it was the one class where he didn't feel the burning animosity of a teachers gaze upon him. Thankfully McGonagall had become Headmaster and all Draco needed to do in order to avoid her, was stay out of trouble.

Entering the potions room, Draco was relieved to see that as usual, he was the first there, except for Slughorn of course. He crept in so quietly, that the professor didn't even notice. He took his usual seat in the far back corner and began taking out his things and the homework they'd been assigned. Some of what they were covering, Draco had covered last year. Not all lessons under Snape's tenure was filled with dark magic.

Potions, Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology remained fairly normal, excluding the odd fact that in Potions they were taught to make a variety of different poisons and in herbology, they were taught how to concoct antidotes to those specific potions. Draco wished he could say the same about Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies, but under the tutelage of the Carrow twins, it was more like living a nightmare. Strangely enough, Draco was forced to sit Muggle Studies last year as well, except he was acutely aware that everything Alecto was teaching them was a whole bunch of rubbish.

The sound of chatter pulled him from his thoughts. The Patil twins, alongside Dean and Seamus, bustled in their boisterous laughter a piercing dig in his ribs. Mercifully, Blaise and Theo appeared behind them; the two Gryffindors only gave him grief when he was alone – alone without another Slytherin that is… and Slughorn didn't exactly count.

Blaise and Theo sat at the back in the centre as they always did, near Draco, but not right next to him. Although the three Slytherins were friends behind closed doors, they'd explained to him that while their parents were still under heavy suspicion and in the middle of their own legal battles, they couldn't outwardly show that they were fraternizing with a former Death Eater.

Draco, in all honesty, had understood. He hadn't been hurt or disappointed. In fact, he had anticipated that his actions during Sixth year and the Mark on his arm would have ramifications far beyond landing him in Azkaban.

He gave them a subtle nod. Theo sent him a wink back, forcing Draco to purse his lips to keep from smiling. His eyes darted to the door, his attention caught by Luna Lovegood as she walked in… Hermione at her side. They always took their seats right in the centre of the classroom, in front of his two Slytherin friends.

Class began; Marcus Flint and one or two other late-comers took their seats. Today wasn't a practical class and theory Slughorn usually went through bored Draco to death. Only because he had gone through most of it before; he far preferred practical classes where they were actually able to brew something.

"You definitely don't want to mix those two ingredients together — in this, or any other potion you're brewing," the Professor went on. "Eye of newt is highly combustible when added to — yes Mister Finnigan, your question?"

Draco tuned out, scribbling meaningless designs into the corner of his parchment. He usually kept his notes and work in immaculate condition, but as the days went on he was losing his will to do so. The last two years, of course, it was very different, he hardly kept notes at all. His studious approach to his academics had ended the day his father was sent to Azkaban and he'd become a Death Eater. School seemed unimportant. It still seemed unimportant.

Something fell onto Draco's lap. A little paper plane. He looked around and found Blaise and Theo wearing sly smiles on their faces. With a frown, Draco unfolded the note, his frown deepening, perplexed.

It was blank.

He looked up at the two questioningly. And then in a horrifying flash, Blaise's lips split into a wicked grin, his brows dancing, his eyes to the paper note, his lips mouthing, 'watch'. Slowly but surely, writing on the paper appeared before him, the letters re-arranging, new ones emerging and before Draco could see what it said, it folded itself back into a paper plane and flew off, it's nose crashing right into the side of Hermione Granger's temple. She grabbed at the offending object and Draco looked on in trepidation as she unfolded it just as he had.

A blush came to her face, not a shy girlish one, but one that spoke of rage and indignation. Hermione whipped around and despite Draco's best efforts to act nonchalant, Hermione caught him jerking his head down. He dared not look up and pretended to write something. His own cheeks were burning, his heart thudding with frantic concern for what the note had said.

From the corner of his eye, he spied his two so-called friends. They had their most studious faces on, their brows furrowed in concentration, mastering the act of deceit. Draco was close to snapping the quill in his hand in half by the sheer force of his embarrassment. He stole a glance up at Hermione and realized that with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach she was showing Lovegood the note, and her big moony eyes gazed over at Draco with pressed lips.

Try as he might, he couldn't help but look guilty. He grit his teeth swearing revenge on his friends. There was no way he was going to forfeit and let Blaise win, but every time he thought about the brown-haired girl in front of him, his stomach roiled, not from disgust but from the absolute gnawing fear of simply having to talk to her again.

The first time she'd seen him in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, he'd noticed there was no hint of surprise on her face. Potter must've told her what happened before the Wizengamot; to Draco's shock, he'd given eyewitness testimony helping both him and his mother avoid Azkaban. His father, however, had not been so lucky. Lucius Malfoy was returned to his cell, another thirty years added to his previous sentencing.

Currently, his mother was under house arrest and Draco was on probation — oh, and of course, there was that nasty stipulation that he had to pass his N.E.W.T's in Muggle Studies… education at its finest.

Hermione hadn't looked at Draco since that first day at school and now… now she wouldn't stop looking at him.

It was time to execute the first step of his grand plan. With the little courage he had left, he made his way to the library. Potions and the rest of his classes were anti-climatic. Hermione hadn't been waiting outside class to hex him as he'd expected. In fact, she was the first one to leave, beating Draco to the door.

He was so livid with Theo and Blaise that he didn't even ask them what the note said. He would tell her the truth – that he hadn't written it, nor knew what it said. When Blaise tried to divulge the message, Draco refused to hear it. It was a blatant disregard of betting rules and knowing this, Blaise promised to make it up to Draco in some form or another for trying to influence the wager.

"I honestly think it did more to help your cause than harm it," Theo had snickered.

"Just stay out my way," he'd warned. "Both of you."

Draco turned left down the aisle and stopped short. There she was as he'd predicted, sitting at a table a few seats away from the window, her head bowed so low her nose was almost touching the desk.

He drew in a deep breath and released it, reassuring himself that at the end of the day, she was just a girl… a woman… and as his father always said, 'women are simple creatures if you know how to handle them'.

A few long strides and he was looking down at her. Not directly over her but a safe distance away.

Her head snapped up, clearly startled.

Several seconds went by without either of them saying anything. Draco realized he had opened his mouth but wasn't speaking. He tried clearing his throat, suddenly unable to recall the plan.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice edged with irritation.

"Nothing," he scowled, his expression reverting to its natural sneer before remembering he was supposed to be nice to her. "I mean… well, I was wondering… if you would like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend."

He watched Hermione turn around slowly, her eyes searching for someone else behind her as if it was impossible for her to be the one he was addressing. "Are you…" she raised her big brown almond eyes up to his, searching. "Excuse me?"

"I just thought maybe you'd like to go…"

Hermione's lack of response felt like an eternity of excruciating torture. Her eyebrows had furrowed in genuine bafflement, staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. Slowly, almost breathlessly, she said, "Why on Goddess' green earth would I want to go anywhere with you, Malfoy?"

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again. He rolled his shoulders back standing up straighter. "I'm offering you an olive branch. I know we've had our differences, but—"

Her eyes flashed, giving him pause. "Differences?" she grated out, each syllable chafing. She had recovered from her initial shock; a low burning flame burning bright in her irises.

Draco cleared his throat, ignoring it. "The war is over and…" he hesitated, dropping the speech he'd prepared. Looking her over, he was in disbelief that a witch like her wouldn't want to be on the arm of a wizard such as himself. She was covered from head to toe in a baggy sweater and unsightly muggle jeans while he stood before her in tailored robes. Her hair alone could only be described as a nest for crows and – exasperated he huffed, "Do you really dislike me so much that an hour alone with me would kill you?"

The fire burned brighter. "Yes," she hissed. "That's exactly it. An hour alone with you might very well kill me, or have you forgotten what happened the last time I was in your company?"

Draco didn't risk taking a seat at the table afraid that his proximity near her and her rising voice would draw unwanted attention.

"Hermione, I—"

"Don't!" she rasped. "Don't say my name like it means something like we're friends. We're not friends and we never will be. Harry might have the misguided notion that there's some good in you, but I remember perfectly well how you simply stood by and watched while your aunt tortured me—!"

And that's when it happened. It was like Seamus Finnigan all over again. Verbal diarrhoea he couldn't hold down.

"Fuck you," he snarled. "What the hell was I supposed to do? Sacrifice my life for yours? Why the hell is everything my fault?" She came to an abrupt stand, walking away from him, her things left on the table. "Well guess what!" He said following her through the aisles. "It's your fault you were caught by snatchers! Who the fuck is stupid enough to get caught by snatchers!" But she still wasn't stopping, and she still wouldn't look at him. In a fit of rage, he grabbed her arm, twisting her around to face him.

"Let go—!"

"Listen, princess," he spat viciously, "count your lucky stars that's all my aunt did to you!"

What happened next was also like his altercation with Seamus Finnigan. Except instead of a threatening shove, Hermione reeled her hand back and slapped him across the face, hard enough for his head to turn.

Draco slowly drew his eyes back to hers, his hand holding his burning cheek. It was by mere serendipitous chance that no one had seen or heard them. Hermione turned to leave again, her chest rising and falling. He grabbed her wrist this time, yanking her to his chest. "I didn't kill Collin Creevey," he growled, his warm breath rustling the stray hairs on her forehead.

Hermione looked at him then with a strange expression, her anger giving way to some other emotion. With her free hand, she reached for something in her back pocket, and then shoved him away using both palms, pressing something against his chest. He caught it before it fell. A piece of parchment. The remnants of the paper plane Blaise had sent her.

Shaking her head, slowly, the fire dying in her eyes, she whispered, "I never said you did."

Draco watched as she backed away, her steps uncertain, her eyes not leaving his. Then she paused, staring at him for what felt like an eternity, but was only a moment, and then turned the corner and left.

As soon as she was out of sight he tugged frantically at the note smoothing the creases. In curling cursive, that was undoubtedly Blaise's handwriting, it read, I bet you've got the most beautiful bush.

He felt his pulse in his throat, on his tongue and for a minute he could do nothing else except read and re-read the words over and over again. With a blank expression on his face, he tucked the parchment into the pocket of his robes and made his way back to the table she had abandoned.

Draco reluctantly admitted that his first attempt at beguiling the witch had not gone the way he had hoped, but he was nothing if not persevering. Blaise's sabotage and Draco's temper tantrum had been damaging but it could be fixed. Fixing the Vanishing cabinet had come at a cost to his soul, but no one would know the hours of mental labour he endured to be able to complete his task.

He'd learnt in his Sixth Year, that anything could be fixed given the proper attention. And that was why he was now going through Hermione's belongings. It was time for Draco to begin his research. Rummaging through her bag, all he found were inconsequential things… her textbooks, her quill and ink… but there was something that might prove useful: a book called The Great Gatsby. Draco took a quick glance around him and pocketed the novel. He felt oddly satisfied knowing all too well that Hermione would soon realize that he had stolen her book. And what's more, she would have to come find him to get it back.

A/N: Going to try this fun thing by naming each chapter after a book title. Clearly, I'm a little bored but Covid-19 has me under strict lockdown at home. Hope everyone is coping with the obstacles we've faced this year and that you enjoyed chapter 2. Let me know what you think :)