Chapter Text
I ALMOST died once. My mum and I would take walks around our block every Sunday after lunch, regardless of weather. It was a time for just us two. She would point out the flora planted in the passing neighbors' gardens. I'd always had an affinity for learning and had- have, an endless curiosity on all matters. She would quiz me sometimes or if it was raining ask me which neighbors' potted plant should've been brought inside.
Bluebells were her favorites, which I can still affectionately say is horribly predictable. At the age of five, naturally bluebells were also my favorite.
Mrs. Pierce lived in the house on the corner of our street. She had planted a rare colored dahlia and mum pulled me closer to the fence, softly educating me on the origins of the brightly colored circular flowers. It reminded me of a lion's mane.
Mum had looked so happy and pretty. Brown eyes shining, the excitement stretched her smile across her whole face. My dad said that smile was as contagious as yawns.
Mrs. Pierce's old English bulldog got loose into the yard and charged the fence trying to get to us. Mum pushed me behind her and I panicked, stumbling into the street. A horn blared to my left and I closed my eyes to the oncoming car, bracing for impact.
“Hermione!“ I opened one eye to see my mum staring up at me from the ground. I'd never seen her so horrified. I was hovering over the hood of the car.
After I floated gently to the ground, unaffected by it all, mum had scooped me up and basically ran to our house. I had been completely lost on the severity of the situation.
We didn't walk that route around the block again. I had heard mum telling dad about the “incident” and felt guilty hearing how worried they both were.
I was already consciously practicing magic for a while by the time my Hogwarts letter came with Professor McGonagall.
I'm not as fond of flowers anymore.
Chapter 1
HARRY Potter threw his last sock into his school chest and waved his wand a bit too enthusiastically to shut it. At the loud thud of the heavy trunk bouncing on the floor of his bedroom of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Hermione ducked her head in.
“Are you trying to startle me into accidentally starting a fire- again? Honestly. I'm on edge as is, Harry Potter.“ His best friend and roommate half-joked. He grinned slightly thinking of their first night in the house. Kreacher had been standing at the foot of her bed in the middle of the night. Hermione had reflexively shot wandless magic at the figure in her room, lighting a tapestry aflame when the elf deflected it.
He knew their impending return to Hogwarts was sending the witch into an anxiety-fueled frenzy. Neither of the Gryffindors had set foot inside Hogwarts since the battle.
During the restoration process of the castle and surrounding grounds she had opted to be a part of the Hogsmeade unit. Harry joined the group rebuilding the main courtyard and quidditch pitch with Ginny. Ron had been volunteered to assist Hagrid in herding the displaced creatures of the Forbidden Forest by Mrs. Weasley. A punishment for his involvement in the twins' “harmless” biting bricks, specifically placed by unsuspecting Slytherins that couldn't use magic until their probation ended.
“The Wesley's are not bullies. Forgiveness is the only way forward.“ Mr. Weasley sternly told his gathered children, and Harry and Hermione.
“A bit of friendly razzing.“ Fred smiled cheekily.
"Yeah, harmless." George had worn a similar smile until Mrs. Weasley firmly placed her hands on her hips.
“Harmless!?“ Harry and Hermione had slowly backed away from the group of redheads, “Harmless you say?? THE NOTT BOY HAD TO GET FOUR OF HIS FINGERS REGROWN!“ they could still hear Mrs. Weasley's shouting on the walk to Hogsmeade. He had joked about the two of them escaping to Grimmauld Place and Hermione had stayed eerily quiet until they set foot in Hogsmeade.
After Voldemort's actual death Harry and Hermione had stayed at the Burrow. Being with Ginny and having her comfort was his priority, he trusted that his best friends were done circling each other and would be the other's source of support. Trusting Ron to be able to handle the amount of trauma Hermione had been through was laughable…now.
He had been so wrapped up in Ginny and having her with him after so long, the angry yelling of his best friends had been a shock.
“How dare you try to pressure me, Ronald Weasley! Me saying I don't want to talk was not an invitation to start groping at me!“
“Bloody hell, Hermione I can't keep up with these fucking mixed signals. You kissed me during The Battle!“ Ron was pointing his finger at her chest when Harry and Ginny pushed open the door to the bedroom. Neither noticed the couple watching. He could smell the alcohol coming off of Ron from the threshold. He'd started using liquor to try to quiet his unpleasant memories and emotions regarding the war.
Hermione took a deep breath and looked to the floor. “Yes I, I know and it was a mistake. I don't want to ruin our friendship on a whim. A heat of the moment kind of thing…” her apologetic ramble trailed off at the enraged glower on Ron's crimson face.
“YOU'VE BEEN ACTING LIKE A NUTTER THESE LAST COUPLE WEEKS! AND A FUCKING BITCH AS WELL! WE ALL WERE IN THE WAR! I HAD SHITE HAPPEN TO ME TOO!“
“Oi!“ Harry shouted angrily, blocking Hermione with his body. Ginny drew her wand.
He bellowed around his shoulder. “YOU'RE JUST A TEASE!” Ron had been cut off by Harry and Ginny. More yelling and insults to be had from the hot head. Harry felt a satisfying crunch when his knuckles had connected with Ron's face. Ginny bat-bogey hexed her brother so hard Mr. Weasley reluctantly escorted him to St. Mungo's.
Despite constant reassurances, Ron had always believed the two had found comfort in each other, physically, when he'd left them in the woods.
Hermione had been frozen until they had intervened and then inconsolable. He never discussed it with Ginny, how disturbing it had been to see Hermione Granger fall apart. They exchanged a quick glance, in silent agreement that things were worse than they had thought. Harry had moved her into his inherited house the next day. The Weasleys understood, Fred and George ominously assured her of their brother's imminent karma.
Harry knew better than anyone how it felt during a time when people held loved ones close and celebrated being with family, how stark the pain of lacking that closeness was. They had promised each other to always be family.
Harry added Hermione to his vault at Gringotts and the deed to Grimmauld Place, her protests pointless. She put Harry on her vault with his blood in a magical binding of their familial houses. He didn't remember giving her any blood.
To the Wizarding world they were proper family and she was proper insufferable about her part in it. Harry couldn't have been happier. Hermione and Ginny were the most important people in his life, also Kreacher and his delicious cooking.
Ron and him cleared the air eventually, but he knew his best friends wouldn't be talking for a long time. Ginny was also giving Ron the cold shoulder and spent half her summer with Harry and Hermione. She recieved her Hogwarts letter at lunch along with the residents of Grimmauld Place. Her mother arrived in the midst of the verbal portion of Hermione's indignant rage to fetch the youngest of her brood.
The Weasley matriarch had empathetically rubbed Hermione's back a couple times and sent Harry a look that asked can you not do or say anything stupid to make this worse? A slight nod was enough for her attention to turn to her daughter.
“Ginevra Weasley, you do not live here!“ His girlfriend had to be dragged through the fireplace by Mrs. Weasley when Hermione's accidental magic began exploding things around the kitchen. The ginger witch loved the action and was a huge supporter of Hermione's “justifiable bouts of powerful witch bad-arsery”.
Harry chuckled lightly as he levitated their trunks down the stairs, getting a playful glare from the pouty brunette.
In the recently cleaned and refurbished sitting room he tried to hold back his mirth at the grumbling witch by his side. Hermione was not used to being manipulated or bested in wits and wills. The fact that her defeat on both fronts happened simultaneously was sending The Brightest Witch of Her Age spare.
He was enjoying this rare occasion a little too much.
The Ministry's proposed Eighth year class was for any students whose Seventh year had been disrupted by the Death Eater regime at Hogwarts and those that were not able to return at all due to the war. The Minister himself had to call at Grimmauld Place to get them to be part of the first post-war term.
Hence the disgruntled witch complaining to the fireplace the two were meant to floo through to Headmistress McGonagall's office. At least it was distracting her from overthinking her anxiety. True to form, Hermione might have been out maneuvered by Kingsley, but she'd made stipulations for them in exchange for her acquiescence.
Flooing to Hogwarts instead of taking the train for start of term.
The floo connection between Grimmauld Place and the office would remain open for their use, with permission.
Harry's personal favorite: no press, aurors, or speeches from the start to the end of term for the Golden Boy, or Girl. The fact that she did not include Ron was not lost on him.
The devastation they had felt at Ron's abandonment in the forest had made a wall between him and them. Harry wasn't sure when he went from playing referee to Hermione's protector, he just knew that she was his sister more than Ron was his brother.
In the wake of nightmares and flashbacks, guilt and remorse they became each other's rocks. Harry said as much then and Hermione's shoulders relaxed a bit.
“You'll always have me Harry.“ She whispered from behind the curtain of bushy curls. “You're my only family now.“
“And you me.“ He told her with a smile and a squeeze to her shoulder. “Come on, our first real term without evil bastards trying to kill us. It'll be a game of exploding snap.“
“I do like the idea of being able to focus completely on studying for our NEWTS.“ Hermione mused and he had to suppress an eye roll.
“Yeah, sure. Now get into the bloody fire.“ Harry dismissively agreed, holding out the pot of floo powder. She narrowed her eyes and disappeared in a flash of green flames.
Merlin help save me from Hermione's study timetables.
He stepped out of the fireplace and found Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini standing with Kingsley and McGonagall on the circular capet. McGonagall had personalized the office he would always associate with Dumbledore, but it was still a jolt to his system.
A throat cleared and Harry nodded to the Slytherin's, Malfoy was more interested in staring to the right of the hearth. Without looking The Chosen One knew what, or more appropriately, who held his attention. The blonde git had been getting sloppy and what Harry had once been convinced was a cruel need to crush the muggleborn, clearly was more of an infatuation. Ginny had noticed before he did.
The only person who didn't seem to realize this was Hermione.
“Harry Potter and Hermione Granger of House Potter.“ The Sorting Hat announced from the mantle, startling everyone in the room. Harry wished Malfoy would stop trying to avada him with his eyes and go back to gaping at Hermione.
The petite witch awkwardly shifted from foot to foot and looked ready to bolt. Her anxiety at returning to the castle and the group in McGonagall's office was getting to her. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the door. Unfortunately the wizards were in that path.
“Harry, Hermione, you're late.“ Kingsley softened his admonishment with a small smile. Malfoy looked like a ghost in between the Minister's ebony and Zabini's mocha complexions. McGonagall and Hermione were tiny when surrounded by the above average height wizards, including Harry. Hermione had filled out in a womanly way, but still needed to gain a little more weight. Her nightmares and post-war mental space tapered her appetite. She'd hexed Harry so much during meals he ate with a shield charm so he could continue to argue more food into her.
“Minister.“ Hermione greeted sharply, “We are no such thing.“ With the flick of her wand a parchment unrolled in front of them. The snakes wore varied degrees of surprise and admiration on their faces. McGonagall covered a chuckle with a cough and waved the young wizards back a step from the two.
“As per the agreements made in recompense for the Ministry's interference in mine and Harry's…choices, it states that on this day we were to floo to this office. No set time was given, leaving that small freedom to arrive when we so pleased.“ She primly clarified, crossing her arms over her chest and storing the parchment back in her beaded bag. Harry smirked and saw similar reactions all around. Malfoy stepped closer to her as though the few strides from him to the witch were too far.
I'm gonna be sick.
Harry was equal parts smug and nauseated that the once purist piece of Death Eater shite was a goner for the most brilliant, outspoken, and headstrong muggleborn witch. He was fully looking forward to his sister bringing Draco Malfoy down a peg. Or five. Perhaps Dean could teach him the magical scoreboard he uses for the common room drinking games and quidditch gambling.
Kingsley pinched the bridge of his nose. “When you've completed your NEWTS I hope you'll be using your talents for the Ministry.“
“That remains to be seen.“ She sniffed and faced McGonagall. “Headmistress.“ She brought the older witch into a short hug, then walked to the door and the Slytherin's. Nott was closest and smiled warmly at The Golden Girl.
Harry couldn't see her face, but had been told about her interaction with the brunette Slytherin during the Battle of Hogwarts and the reconstruction efforts. In fact she had tentatively interacted with all of the Slytherins, much to Harry's, initial, dismay and Ron's jealous disgust. The male snakes were shameless flirts, except for Malfoy. Harry had only seen Malfoy look at Hermione since he and Ron had burst into that drawing room and apparated away with Dobby.
“Hello, Nott.“ She patted the roll of his white button down sleeve just below the elbow. His palm face up, twitched toward her fingers and she nodded to his mates. “Zabini, nice to see you.“
“Granger, those muggle trousers are lovely.“ The Italian wizard bowed and Harry snorted. He could've sworn Malfoy growled. Harry hadn't even really looked at her form- fitting jeans and black jumper. Thanks to that comment all eyes were on her. Her spine straightened when she met Malfoy's gaze, in Harry's opinion, over the top I-want-you-to-have-my-baby eyes. It was making Harry blush feeling the sexual tension that their staring pumped into the room.
Zabini looked on, mildly interested, which is to say gleeful, at this scene. For Zabini's usually aristocratically bored front that all the Slytherin's wear, that is. That pureblood poncey superior air would slip just enough for Harry's sharp eyes to read some emotions. The only reason he didn't suspect imperius on the fucking lot of them, until their individual and collective actions on behalf of the Order during the battle.
Nott was doing a poor imitation of the snobby-arse face and another piece of this Slytherin/Hermione puzzle fell into place. He wanted her and he was jealous of Malfoy.
Ginny is going to need reigning in on this. Harry internally groaned, thinking of his girlfriend's jubilation at discovering not one, but two wizards' interest in Hermione. She'll meddle and attempt to match make and Harry will have to deal with the two witches in his life making this into one of their fucked up girl things. He'll be in the middle, monitoring their alcohol intake and eventually reuniting them against a common enemy. Harry knew his protectiveness and “nanny-ing”- as the girls called it- was misplaced when they were concerned, but it was born from love.
“M-Malfoy.“ Hermione's almost breathless voice shook Harry and he cleared his throat.
“Granger.“ The blonde Slytherin purred.
Bloody hell.
“See yous in class.“ She quickly said and left.
Harry nodded to the snakes. “Night. Headmistress, Kings.“ He farewelled the room and caught up to the speed walking witch.
It was strange being back in the castle. His true home still felt like home, if not a little tainted. Hermione used her embarrassment as a coffin for her own skeletons around Hogwarts.
“Not a word, Harry Potter. Not one sodding word.“ She wouldn't meet his teasing grin.
THE Eighth year common room was located on the third floor, not far from Fluffy's old room. The portrait for the common was of Dobby, dressed in a variety of colors that was hard to look at. Hermione glanced worriedly to Harry and blinked back tears. She mercifully did most of the talking and the joyful crying of the elf made slipping past him easier.
He'd talk to his friend later. Tell him how sorry he was that he couldn't save him. How grateful he was that the eccentric elf got all three of them out of Malfoy Manor. How much he missed and loved him.
Once inside the vastness of the open common, dining, and kitchenette areas the Gryffindors studied their new living quarters. The color scheme of rich browns, cream, gold and silver lent a cozy poshness to the environment. Harry found it comforting. The fireplace on the far left wall had couches and arm chairs spaced around different sized tables. The dining table a few paces to the right was long with eighteen cushioned chairs and a grotesque amount of yellow roses as a center piece.
A breakfast bar lay beyond that in the shape of a “J”, separating the kitchenette and table. To their far right stretched a corridor with six doors, three on each wall. Across from the closest head of the table was another hallway with seven doors, three on either side and one at the end.
Harry walked to the first door on the left wall of the corridor across from the table. If had a gold and a silver name plate. He'd call it instinct, Hermione would spend every free minute in the library and have an actual name for being drawn to his door.
H. Potter
B. Zabini
“Well my roommate isn't a complete tosser.“ He joked and when she didn't respond he looked straight out to the lengthwise dark wood. Hermione stood with her profile to him. Under the chandelier light the witch glowed, reaching a hand to the floating bouquet of roses.
“Yellow roses.“ She had a way of saying random things as though everyone else's thought processes worked on her genius level. He waited impatiently, his best friend couldn't help herself and it was when she was most like the old Hermione. The Hermione Granger that refused to be cowed or be told not everything is found in a book, pre-war.
That Hermione Granger would never look so exhausted and forlorn. Not even when Ron had left during the horcux hunt. He'd seen her countless times around Grimmauld Place, face crumpled as her mind took her somewhere else. Lost in her guilt and anger, Harry knew it well. They'd all had to do things to survive, sacfrificing pieces of their souls to be able to keep fighting.
“It means friendship…” She brushed her fingers over the petals. “Forgiveness.“
Neville came out of the room two doors down from Harry's. He had shot up, taller than Harry, and his hair was stylishly shaggy. The lanky physique replaced with lean muscle, same shy and crooked smile. The wizards enthusiastically greeted each other. Hermione smiled widely and wrapped her arms around his neck. Their no longer awkward and insecure friend bent, lifting her into his arms. Neville had grown into himself and was kind, but easily intimidated by witches like Hermione.
Jesus. What the bloody hell is Ginny doing to me?
“The others went into Hogsmeade for drinks. I've got Michael Corner for a roomie.“ Neville was telling her. “I thought we'd just have drinks here.“ He pulled out a shrunken bottle of firewhiskey and grinned.
The Gryffindors poured glasses of the unshrunken Ogden's and settled into the couches by the fire. They all took a large drink. Ginny wouldn't be done with Head Girl duties for another hour. Neville was politely nodding at Hermione's explanation of the Ancient Runes joke on her jumper.
Harry would bombarda his bollocks before ever admitting it, but maybe a Slytherin redemption case is just what Hermione needed.
¤¤¤¤¤¤
HERMIONE'S nerves kept her tossing and turning all night. The firewhiskey had helped get her to sleep, but did little to keep her asleep.
Pansy Parkinson, her roommate, arrived with loud goodnights from the other Slytherin's outside the door. The sleek raven-haired witch's fond smirk fell when she saw Hermione sitting up in her four poster.
“I assumed you'd be asleep.“ Parkinson sneered, crossing to her own bed with emerald curtains. She stiffly began removing her clothes and Hermione went back to her book, unsure of how or what to say to the pureblood. Parkinson had refrained from her usual cruel and bitchy comments, but it wasn't clear how far this olive branch extended.
With a heavy sigh, the Slytherin climbed into bed. “Look, I hear enough Death Eater, The-Girl-Who-Wanted-to-Sacrifice-Potter shite out there, I refuse to have to listen to it in my own fucking quarters.“ She said woodenly.
“I can appreciate that.“ Hermione responded. “I hear enough of Golden Girl, Brightest Witch of Her Age nonsense and I'd like to not deal with that in my quarters.“
The witches shared a cautiously amused smirk. Parkinson visibly relaxed and laid back on her pillows. Placing her book on her nightstand, Hermione rolled to face the wall, her back to the other bed.
“I didn't want him to…die.“ It was said so quietly it took a moment to process the words.
“You were scared, Parkinson. I would've done anything to avoid Death Eaters and Voldemort if I'd had that luxury.“ She confessed just as softly.
A snort came from the other bed. “No. You wouldn't have, Granger.“ She said. “But…thanks… for being kind.“ The snarky witch choked out. “You aren't as self-righteous as I'd thought.“
A compliment? This is unexpected. I didn't think I was that sloshed.
“Your hair isn't as atrocious as it was.“ Parkinson slurred sleepily.
“Neither is your pug nose.“
She had fallen asleep and when she woke next she was covered in a sticky sweat. Sighing, she went to the adjoining loo they shared with their neighbors, the Patil twins, for a shower. Across the hall was Harry and Blaise Zabini, sharing a loo with the room across from the Patils' where Neville and Michael Corner were. The door at the end of the hall was Malfoy and Nott's room.
She tried not to think of that, them, him, as she stepped into one of the showers. Good Godric her head was pounding. She would have to get a hangover potion from Neville.
Seeing the Slytherin model-esque wizards was overwhelming. It was too soon. Each of the unfairly fit men had been present for her worst moments, two of which occurred in this blasted castle of bad memories.
Nightmares.
The grey eyes that frequented her night terrors and dreams alike. The dreams were a recent development, materializing from the tingle of Malfoy's piercing stare on her while cleaning up and repairing the village of Hogsmeade.
The blonde heir had already apologized for, well everything. Stood a head taller than her, face angled to appear he was making eye contact. The pain and depth of remorse in his face belied the forced casually elegant body language and crisp consonants coming from those lips. They were so full, for a wizard. It was…
Distracting and bothersome!
Her subconscious missed the owl and featured flashing, swirling greys and firm kisses on her skin. Admittedly, the scenes of Malfoy and his swoon-worthy self were a nice reprieve from her usual horror show. It was sodding erotic. She hadn't experienced a wet dream until Malfoy, not even of Ron, and the day after the first steamy sleep fantasy she avoided his gaze more steadfastly.
The tingle of his stare grew to a throb in her lady parts. Why wouldn't he stop?
You felt it last night too and you didn't even look at his face. Felt what, though?
It's Malfoy, he thinks you're inferior.
“Oh, shut up!“ Hermione muttered, turning off the shower and drying herself jerkily. This was doing nothing for her hangover.
It was the first day of classes she would not succumb to bloody hormones right now. If ever and with a decisive nod she dressed in her uniform.
She moved to the door with her shoes and bag, dropping them when she caught herself in the mirror between the two armoires by the door. The white button-down, skirt, knee-high socks, and tie were nostalgic. Bitterly nostalgic. The skirt and shirt a bit smaller than she would've worn them previously, but she was an adult now. Her frizzy mass of curls were slightly tamed by the weight of length and practiced smoothing charms.
A grown witch playing undamaged school girl.
“I'll hex you through the fucking wall!“ Parkinson shot out of bed, pulling her wand up at the last second to blast the stupefy at the ceiling.
“Circe's sake Parkinson, you want to wake the whole school?!“ Hermione hissed snatching the wand from her.
The now-composed witch crossed her arms tightly. “I'm hungover to the Gods here Granger, and you're bungling around like a bloody troll.“
“I am sorry I scared you I'm going to ask Neville for a hangover potion when he wakes up, if you'd like one.“ Hermione whispered, peeking out their door to see if anyone was stirring from the noise.
“I silenced the room after your first nightmare and Draco's potions are far superior to Longbottom's.“ She scoffed, snatching her wand back and pressed a vial into the hand not holding shoes and her bag.
The snide remarks or cold teasing over being witness to her nightmares never came.
Could she and Parkinson be friends? She always had a hard time connecting with her female peers, well her peers in general really. Her confidence came off as arrogance and her ability to absorb facts then recite them back, abrasively swotty.
At the surely sentimental look on Hermione's face the Slytherin groan and lightly pushed her into the hall. “Go, you bloody sickening Gryffindor before I sick up on you. The first one's free.“ And the door clicked shut in her face.
She thought she heard a grumbling of being too hungover on the otherside of the wood and Hermione smiled while making her morning coffee. Setting her mug on the long table, she pulled out a chair and prepared to reread some of her texts for upcoming classes.
The crackle of the fire across the common room had Hermione dropping to the floor in between two of the dining table chairs.
“Hermione.“ The head in the flames drunkenly called. The long couch separating the common and dining areas blocked most of his face. The voice was unmistakably Ron Weasley. “Mione, please!“
“Great.“ She muttered. Out of her periphery a glint of light off highly- polished shoes caught her eye. Just inside their shared hallway Malfoy bemusedly smirked then outright bloody grinned at the witch crawling frantically to him.
She yanked him down by his wrist. “Granger-” His protest cut off by her hand over his mouth. The feeling of his lips against her palm flooded her with heat.
“Shut your bloody gob!“ She whispered furiously.
Why does he have to smell so good? Don't look into those black holes of hypnotizing grey hormones. It's just hormones. He is fit, sinewy. That's the word. Merlin's pants stop Hermione!
“Mione, I know you're up and I knooow that's your mug.“ The body against hers shook at the slurred whining and she wrapped around the blonde like devil's snare when he shifted as though to get up. “Alright, Hermione. I'm- I won't give up.“
Her head dropped onto Malfoy's shoulder at the crackle of his departure and her lack of tension highlighted the stiff muscles under her arms and legs.
Oh Godric, Malfoy!
Her cheeks and necked burned with embarrassment as she untangled and stood away from him. As unaffectedly as possible Hermione waved her wand, blocking Ron from floo calling in the future. Malfoy gracefully rose from his position of the carpet, she could feel his eyes on her.
“Weasley harass you often, Granger?“ Malfoy drawled, dewrinkling his uniform with his wand. The underlying anger in his tone snapped her attention to his face, hoping for a sliver of an identifiable thought or emotion.
He made the usual white button-down shirt and black slacks look sexy. His silver and green tie hung loosely around his collar and one of his hands slid into his pocket. The platinum locks were gel-free and longer in the front and fringed over his eyes. She found it frustratingly attractive. His pureblood society mask was firmly in place and she looked away after briefly meeting his expectant gaze. She felt moisture in her knickers and reverted to her defense mechanism; staring at his earlobe. If either of them actually ventured to speak to the other she would stare at his earlobe or over his shoulder.
“Not at all.“ She sniffed. “I just don't wish to speak with him at this time.“
Hermione went to retrieve her coffee when a large hand wrapped around her bicep. Her wide eyes reflexively looked into his and her chest exploded with warmth. The heat from his grey looking into her brown was electrifying.
Please look away.
His hand slid over her shoulder to the side of her neck, slowly. As though waiting for her to push him away. His thumb was resting in the hollow of her throat. Malfoy smirked at her gasp when he gently brushed her skin rhythmically. It was oddly soothing in contrast to the riot he was inciting on her insides.
“I know it's hard to wrap that big brain around and i dont blame you for being wary of me, but I'd back you in every situation.“ His deep voice drew her to his mouth briefly. The meaning behind his words brought her back to those startling greys. Malfoy's chuckle was harsh and she missed the contact as his hand dropped to his side. “It's the least I could do, Granger, and I will.“ His eyes were as steely as his tone.
What? What?! What in the name of Merlin…
“I'll see you in class, Granger.“ The bored upperclass haughtiness was back. Malfoy grabbed her hangover cure from where it had rolled off the table and placed it in her hand. He turned on his heel and left through the portrait hole.
“Wow, Granger.“ She jumped a foot into the air and whirled on an overly smug Pansy Parkinson exiting their room. “I find myself, bizarrely mind you, looking forward to living with you this term.“
Bizarre was the perfect word for how this term was going to go.
Hermione grumbled about eavesdropping the entire walk to the Great Hall, her sodding roommate nearly skipping beside her.
Sod it all, this year is a new leaf. A chance to turn prejudices around and exude a united Eighth Year class.