Friday, 19 February 1999
"Would you look at that," a soft voice drawled from the doorway. "He hasn't been around for months, so naturally, just when you look forward to having a room all to yourself, the bloody Head Boy suddenly shows up again."
Staying down in his horizontal position on his four-poster bed, Draco turned a page, never taking his eyes off his book. He smirked a little. "Just imagine having to share a room with someone who shows such blatant disrespect to their superiors."
Nott chuckled and set his trunk down behind his own bed. Draco sat up against his pillows and closed his book so he could study his dorm mate. Nott had always been pale and thin, but right now he looked positively gaunt, with greyish skin and dark, purple circles around his eyes. His hair seemed almost black due to his paleness, and it was longer than Draco was used to and looked quite unkempt. Still, he made the effort to smirk nonchalantly, though it was clearly insincere.
"I take it you misbehaved badly and that your private-tower-privileges were revoked as a result?" he quipped, bending down to remove the lock from his trunk.
"Clearly," said Draco with a hint of sarcasm. "I know that any attempts to try to convince you that I'm out on good behaviour will fall to deaf ears."
"Quite right," replied Nott. He waved his wand and pointed it towards the wardrobe next to his bed, nonverbally instructing the contents of his trunk to put themselves away. Once the last pair of socks disappeared into a drawer, he straightened up and turned to face his dorm mate again. "In all seriousness, though—nice job," he said. "Must not have been easy."
Draco shrugged a little and put his book down on his nightstand. "It actually hasn't been all that bad since I lost my cool and broke her skull."
"I've always suspected that violence actually is the answer," said Nott, the corners of his mouth briefly raising upwards with amusement before his facial expression darkened again.
The dormitory went silent and Draco grimaced a little as he watched his friend let himself fall backwards onto his bed. He had been dealing with Greengrass' silent sadness for the past week, and now that Nott had returned he would have to deal with that, too.
He sympathised with Nott, of course. He himself had lived in genuine fear of losing both his parents for two full years, and even though he still worried that his fellow Slytherins would find out exactly what Lucius had done to have himself acquitted, the immense relief that he was not dead or in Azkaban was stronger than that.
Despite assuming to understand how Nott must be feeling, Draco struggled to find the distinction between sympathy and pity. Being supportive of emotional matters was just not something they did; it was not how they were raised. Nott rarely displayed emotions beyond nonchalance, and Draco didn't think he had the experience to show him his understanding without insulting his pride.
Instead, he chose to satisfy his curiosity about something Nott had just mentioned. "Why were you so looking forward to having a room to yourself?" he asked.
"Because being surrounded by certain people all week is exhausting," came Nott's quiet reply. He then propped himself up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes. "You assumed I stayed at the family Manor, didn't you? I have only been home for the funeral. Didn't really feel like rotting away in a big empty house by myself. I stayed with family."
The Nott family wasn't very large. As far as Draco knew, Theodore Nott had one uncle on his father's side and two male cousins that were a fair bit older than him. On his mother's side, there was only one unmarried aunt.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he decided against saying anything else about Nott's father and cleared his throat. "Did you already run into Greengrass in the common room?" he asked instead.
"No," Nott answered shortly. "Why?"
Draco shrugged again. "I just wondered. I think she missed you."
"Oh."
The answer was soft and stiff, and Draco frowned in Nott's general direction, wondering why he didn't make a joke or otherwise acknowledge this statement. Perhaps he had miscalculated the friendship between him and Greengrass; maybe they weren't really that close after all.
Instead of pressing the matter, Draco dropped the subject altogether and allowed Nott to redirect the conversation to the schoolwork he had missed in his week-long absence. After a while, his answers came out softer and with longer pauses in between, and shortly after there was only the sound of even breathing that suggested Nott had fallen asleep.
Draco shook his head and picked up his book again. He caught himself finding it ridiculous that his friend had fallen asleep this early on a Friday night, but he quickly reprimanded himself. He should really be more empathetic from time to time. Besides, it wasn't as if he himself had any spectacular plans for this night.
With a sigh, he dove back into his book.
Monday, 21 February 1999
Draco sighed and rested his chin against his left hand as he scribbled down a quick summary of Professor Wilberforce's lecture onto the parchment with his right hand. Next to him, Morag MacDougal sat upright and listened intently, her brows knitted together in piqued interest. She was the model pureblood student, behaving exactly how all the professors wanted purebloods to respond to Muggles.
He had tried to open his mind, but no matter how he tried to frame it in his head, Muggle Studies remained a dreadful subject. Wilberforce just wasn't a very compelling teacher, even if some of the things she had taught them over the past few months could perhaps be described as sort of interesting.
Still, he had stopped resisting. He didn't possess the natural curiosity that MacDougal had for things unknown, but he had come to accept that resisting only made things harder for himself. Keeping his head down and quietly participating in class was much easier, and allowing himself to be somewhat interested in things like electricity and Muggle medicine wasn't as bad as he had always told himself it was. Muggles really were quite ingenious and endlessly creative.
When the bell chimed, Draco sighed and shut his textbook, slowly collecting his belongings in his bag. Wilberforce moved back to the front of the class and tapped against his desk when she passed him.
"A moment of your time, please, Mr Malfoy," she requested softly.
Sighing again, Draco rose and swung his bag over his shoulder before moving to Wilberforce's desk. A strong feeling of dread flipped his stomach around. Every time the Muggle Studies Professor wanted to see him after class he appeared to be in some sort of trouble, and he was utterly tired of it. She gestured toward the chair in front of her desk, and he slowly sat down again. The older witch rummaged through one of her drawers and took out a roll of parchment, placing it in front of him.
Draco frowned as he unrolled it, discovering that it was the two-roll essay he had written about his visit to Granger and her family. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when his eyes reached the bottom of the second page and he discovered the newly-added writing in red ink.
"You gave me an Outstanding for this?" he asked slowly, glancing up at Wilberforce.
"I sure did," she smiled. "You really managed to surprise me with your essay, Mr Malfoy. I can tell you've been sufficiently open-minded during your visit to really learn, and that's an impressive accomplishment from someone who has shown nothing but defiance in this class for months. I can honestly say that you've made me proud."
A feeling of discomfort spread through Draco's stomach. People being proud of him was a new sensation, and not one he was particularly comfortable with. First it was Merrythought, and now Wilberforce just days later…
"Thank you," he managed uncomfortably. "Was there anything else?"
The Professor studied him for a brief moment. "No," she answered. "That was all. Have a great rest of the day, Mr Malfoy."
Draco barely resisted the urge to frown at the older witch as though she had lost her mind. "Yes… You too…" he reluctantly muttered before getting to his feet, leaving the classroom and making his way down to the Great Hall.
Lunch was a quiet, lonely affair. Greengrass and Davis were surrounded by a flock of sixth-year girls, and Nott had yet to show his face around the Great Hall. He hated being the center of attention, and being the son of a recently killed fugitive unfortunately meant that the entire school whispered about him. Draco seated himself in a quiet spot and ate in silence.
Once he finished his sandwich, he noticed Granger walking up to the double doors with Terry Boot—undoubtedly making their way to their next class—and Draco hastily swallowed his last bite and snatched his bag off the floor as he got to his feet, crossing the Great Hall toward the pair without really planning ahead.
"Granger!"
The Head Girl glanced over her shoulder in surprise and slowed down once she noticed him making his way over. Boot frowned at her before giving him a once-over, clearly suspicious of him, but Draco paid him no mind. Although some of their classmates had mellowed down their animosity toward him after that fateful Defence Against the Dark Arts class from last week, most of them still seemed unable to wrap their heads around it.
"Malfoy, hi," Granger greeted him politely, curiosity evident in her voice. "What do you need?"
Without answering, Draco opened his bag and took out the rolls of parchment he had just received back from Professor Wilberforce, wordlessly handing them to her. She blinked in surprise but accepted them, carefully unrolling the parchment and scanning his handwriting for clues.
"It's your Muggle Studies essay," she concluded aloud, lifting the first page and scanning the second. Draco watched as her eyes reached the bottom of the roll, and he was pleased to see her eyes light up before snapping up to him. A bright smile spread on her lips. "An Outstanding? That's fantastic, Malfoy! Well done!"
The compliments from his teachers had done nothing but make him feel uncomfortable, but strangely enough, Granger's obvious pride of his achievement made him feel rather good about himself. The brightness of her demeanor seemed contagious, and Draco instantly felt lighter.
The bell chime echoed through the Entrance Hall, and Boot cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We should be getting to class, Hermione."
"Right," she agreed, smiling at her Ravenclaw classmate before turning back to him. "Can I read it?" she asked, holding up his essay rolls. "You never gave me an in-depth opinion of the day, and I can't say I'm not curious to know what you thought."
He held out his hand, wordlessly asking for the scrolls back while drawing his wand with his other hand. He nonverbally cast a duplication spell and handed Granger the newly-conjured copy. "You can keep that," he told her. "Now run along, we don't want you being late for class, again. If you're not careful you'll gain a reputation."
Granger shot him a half-hearted glare, but she couldn't quite fight back the twitch of amusement that played on her lips. "Git," she murmured, but she smiled before she turned away and left with Boot in tow, and Draco couldn't stop himself from staring after them for a moment, frowning. Her insult hadn't sounded sincere—it was almost affectionate.
Draco started moving through the castle, leisurely making his way to the library, knowing Nott would be there, waiting for him to help him catch up on his homework. His mind was racing. It was getting easier and easier to talk to Granger and open up to her. On top of that, it almost seemed like he was starting to crave their interactions.
Their conversation in the library last week had made him reflect on what he knew about Granger, and while he had already begun to view her in a new light, that conversation had really opened his eyes.
She was clever—he had always known that—just like he had always known how passionately curious she was. When he was younger, he had always made a mockery of bravery, but he had slowly come to admire it, even the small instances, like volunteering to have difficult conversations.
And then there had been that tension. They had been moments away from a consensual kiss, there was no denying it. Last time, it had been an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment move to eliminate a rare wave of emotion on his side. It hadn't been about her; she was just conveniently there and she had been kind to him when no one else was.
This time, it had been personal. There had been a build-up. It was mutual. Even though she had been very clear last time that she didn't want it to happen again, Draco was sure something had changed between then and now. He didn't know exactly what, but whatever it was, perhaps it was worth investigating.
Saturday, 26 February 1999
He was just about to make his third sprint around the Quidditch pitch when someone called out his name. Draco turned his broom around and glanced down at the field. Three people in crimson robes stared up at him, one with a long, red mane to match. He sighed unhappily as he lowered his broom. He hadn't checked the field reservations before coming down here this morning, so he was likely being booted with a legitimate reason.
Weasley marched up to him as soon as he touched down on the field, the Quaffle held between her arm and hip. "Malfoy, we booked the field all morning," she announced brusquely, her eyebrows knitted together in a deep frown of displeasure, clearly expecting trouble.
"I didn't check," Draco grumbled. "I'll leave."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and as he brushed past her, and he missed the way she stared after him with blinking eyes. "Malfoy!" she called.
"What?" he sighed, turning back to her.
"Were you training or just letting loose?"
He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Do you see a Snitch, Weasley?"
A small smirk appeared on her lips, and she pointedly looked him up and down with her eyebrows raised. Her two teammates, Thomas and Mallory, snickered softly, and Draco sighed, shaking his head. He had set himself up for that one.
Weasley tucked the Quaffle between her knees and briefly turned her attention away from him to tie her hair up in a ponytail, before shooting him another frown. "Do you ever play Chaser?" she then asked, taking the Quaffle under her arm again.
"Sometimes," he answered slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Why?"
"This is supposed to be Keeper training," said Weasley, gesturing a hand to her two teammates, "but as you can see, we're missing a Chaser because Demelza has a counseling session. Would you want to fill in?"
He could almost feel his eyebrows merge with his hairline. "Why in the world would either of us want that?" he scoffed disbelievingly.
"Because that way you won't have to leave," Thomas explained patiently. The dark-skinned Gryffindor shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he readjusted the broom he rested upon his shoulder, "and we get to properly train our Keeper with three Chasers. One would call it a win-win situation."
Draco stared at the three Gryffindors with suppressed uncertainty, confused that they would want him to stay and join their training. Dean Thomas had been locked up in his family manor's basement for months, and Ginny Weasley was close to all three members of the damned Golden Trio, so surely she had a special kind of dislike for him.
None of their behaviour made much sense to him, but the need to feel the wind in his face and have the speed of flying quiet his mind was stronger than his aversion for Gryffindors.
Draco let out a string of air. "Alright," he conceded after a silence, and he reluctantly turned to face Weasley. "Where do you want me, Captain?"
Weasley let out a laugh and glanced at her two teammates over her shoulder. "Please tell me you heard him say that, too."
"Oh, I heard it," chuckled Mallory.
Stepping forward, Draco snatched the Quaffle from Weasley's grip, ignoring her loud protests. "I regret this already," he grumbled. "Now let's get up there before I change my mind."
"If you think I'm just going to let you act like the Captain of our training—"
"Weasley," he interrupted her, and he threw the Quaffle at her stomach, catching her off guard. "Shut up and let's get started."
She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and huffed, glaring at him. "I will join you in that regret. Let's fly, boys."
The four of them mounted their brooms and flew up to the Quidditch goalposts. Draco listened to Weasley's instructions without comment and moved higher up in the sky like she asked. She followed him up and tossed him the ball again.
"Don't hold back," she shouted over the wind.
Draco sped up in the opposite direction of the goalposts and made a sharp turn when he was at the halfway line of the field. He sprinted back and shot the Quaffle at the left goalpost with a forceful throw. Mallory leaned down on his broom to increase speed and managed to stop the Quaffle with the tips of his fingers.
"Nice one, Malfoy!" Thomas called out before throwing the red, leather-covered ball into the air and punching it in the direction of the right goalpost with a balled fist. Mallory wasn't fast enough this time, and Thomas scored.
The training continued on for about an hour and was not nearly as bad as Draco had initially expected. Even if this wasn't his preferred Quidditch position, playing Chaser and being able to punch against a ball did wonders for his headspace right now.
There was a friendly harmony between the three Gryffindors, and none of them were shy when it came to giving him tips to improve his throws. He would never admit it aloud, but watching Weasley and Thomas fly, he admired their skill.
When the training ended, they touched down on the ground again and Weasley strode over to him while the two guys made their way over to the changing rooms, carrying the crate with Quidditch balls between them.
"I expected a lot more trouble today, Malfoy," she said, "but I dare say that this wasn't bad."
Draco gave her a nod. "He should do fine against Hufflepuff," he offered softly, nodding his head at Trev Mallory's back, "but he's not fast enough against Ravenclaw's Chasers. That broom of his belongs in a museum, not on a Pitch."
"I don' think yer wearin' the righ' colour robes ter be givin' advice," grumbled a deep voice from behind him.
Weasley looked up and grinned at something above Draco's head. "Hi, Hagrid," she said cheerfully. "Did you watch?"
Draco slowly turned around and glared up at the shabby-looking half-giant. His eyes quickly lowered to find Granger standing next to him, and he took a deep breath, continuously repeating a silent chant in his head to stop his lip from curling into a sneer. Currently, he was on surprisingly good terms with the Head Girl, and he needed things to stay that way. He knew that this idiot meant a lot to her, or she wouldn't have defended him so fiercely back in third year. As difficult as it was, he should refrain from any insult.
"Sure did," the large oaf answered in a barely understandable growl, but Draco didn't miss the way he briefly studied him with clear disapproval before focusing on Weasley again. "Yer leadership's improved lots. Harry woul' be so proud ter see yeh like this."
"Thanks, Hagrid," Weasley beamed up at the half-giant before turning back at Draco. "You too, Malfoy. Looks like the positive rumours about you are true for once." With those words she turned around and stalked off to the changing rooms.
Granger openly studied him with curiosity before following the half-giant in the direction of the goalposts. Draco stared after them and was surprised to see Loony Lovegood in the distance. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed her before, because she wore a purple dress with a matching robe and no shoes. She skipped toward Granger, enthusiastically holding up a glass jar that—as far as Draco could see from this distance—was empty. He rolled his eyes at the group and made his way to the changing rooms as well.
Once he had changed into fresh robes he made his way outside again, only to discover that the Gryffindors and Lovegood were still there. Thomas and Mallory had joined them while the giant savage had just left, his large silhouette still visible in the distance.
Draco sighed and moved in their direction, since they stood between him and the exit of the Quidditch Pitch. Once they noticed him, the group started their trek back to the castle, and he noticed with surprise that Granger waited for him to catch up with her. When he did, he raised an eyebrow at her and waited for whatever it was she had planned for him.
"I read your essay earlier," she started, "and I thought it was really good."
The corner of his mouth twitched as Draco forced himself to keep from smiling. Her praise really shouldn't lift him up like this. "Why do you sound so surprised?" he muttered instead.
"Because I am." Granger glanced at him, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "I have never known you to be particularly open-minded about anything relating to Muggles before, so yes, I was very surprised to discover that you wrote a very informative and seemingly unbiased essay."
"What can I say," he grimaced, "a final warning and the threat of expulsion are a very effective form of motivation."
Clear disappointment briefly flashed over her face and Draco sighed, halting and holding out his arm to keep her from moving away. The frown on her brows deepened and she tensed a little when he leaned closer to her. "Stop that," he said in a low voice.
"Stop what?" she questioned, her voice barely above a whisper. She found his eyes and held his gaze uncomfortably, and Draco ran his hand from her shoulder down her arm before letting go of her again. She shivered a little.
"Stop immediately jumping to the worst conclusion," he said softly, sticking his hands into the pockets of his robe. "You read the essay, and after our conversation in the library the other day I would think that you would recognise that what I wrote is true to how I feel."
Granger stared at him in silence for a moment. She seemed a little nervous that he had brought up their library exchange, and Draco studied her as a plan formed inside his head. He slowly took a step in her direction as he watched her closely to see the changes in her body language. She didn't tense up more than she already had, but the look in her eyes could only be described as apprehensive. Still, she held on to her stubbornness and remained in place, waiting.
He leaned in a little more, fighting to keep from smirking when the look in her eyes changed from apprehensive to alarmed. She raised her chin a little and narrowed her eyes, and Draco cocked his head slightly to the side. "I thought you said you vouched for me," he said softly. "Do you really have so little faith in me?"
"No," Granger breathed, "it's just—"
"Deep down, you're quite prejudiced yourself?" Draco suggested softly, interrupting her. "After all, as a pureblood Slytherin and Death Eater, I can't possibly be redeemed?"
The Head Girl shot him a glare. "You know I don't think that," she hissed.
"Then what?" he challenged softly.
She took a deep breath and briefly averted her eyes before looking up again with a newfound determination. "For five years I've seen you strut around the castle like you thought you were some kind of superior being," she bit out, "and then, during the height of the War you showed us that you were only interested in saving your own skin. These past few months you have really turned around, I'll give you that, but it is still very recent that I have started believing that you're not just some selfish coward."
Draco raised his eyebrows and waited for anger to fill his chest, but surprisingly, it didn't come. He felt a strange kind of amusement as he held her gaze and took another step in her direction. From the look in her eyes he could see that she thought he was standing much too close to her; he was well within her personal space.
Slowly but determined, Draco leaned in closer, very surprised to see that Granger allowed this and stayed firmly in place. He could feel her quickened breaths on his face, and for a moment Draco thought he might have miscalculated the situation. When their faces were only mere inches apart, Granger proved him right and quickly turned her face away from his.
He smirked and turned his head a little. "Now who's the coward," he breathed into her ear. Draco straightened his posture and spun around, stalking off toward the castle without allowing himself to look back, even though he couldn't wait to see how she would respond to this.