#DramioneMonth

[sailtomarina]

The Artist's Daughter

She was here again.

Draco Lucius Malfoy, First and Only Prince to the kingdom, stayed hidden in the stacks next to a row of tomes dictating the genealogies of the royal families dating back hundreds of years. He had his private tutor to thank for the tiresome task of locating the volume listing the exact ancestor Draco had failed to name correctly in his latest exam. The other day, he’d been here searching for a text that would answer which crops their kingdom specialized in for exports. Ridiculous, really. As if he wouldn’t some day have advisors to do all this research for him.

Then, just like today, he’d seen a girl wandering through the shelves. She hadn’t noticed him, of course. Draco was far too sneaky to be detected by some muggle, which she had to be given her unaware musings as she walked around with her nose buried in a book.

The first time, he’d remained hidden, even going so far as to cast a disillusionment spell on himself. As surprised as he was to see a stranger, he supposed that if they were to wander any of the handful of libraries in the castle, this was the most appropriate one. It was situated on the ground floor not too far from the entrance and ballroom. This is where most of the muggle texts were organized, along with an unfortunate number of historical texts currently pertinent to Draco’s education.

She’d struck him as pretty, albeit in a muggle sort of way. She’d worn a simple lady’s gown in a pale yellow that contrasted with the rich dark curls tumbling down her back. Freckles sprinkled generously across her pale skin, markings his cousins would have glamoured over from birth. If he guessed correctly, they weren’t too far apart in age, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. That was another indicator of her humble breeding—he didn’t recognize her, not from school or from the countless balls and feasts he’d attended growing up. She couldn’t be a noble.

Today, she wore a dress in a lovely sage green with tiny white flowers embroidered along the scoop neckline. Draco imagined her eyes to match the green, or to perhaps blink at him in a hazel hue. He needed to know.

“Who are you?” His voice came out much harsher than intended. 

He’d stepped out in front of her just as she was about to pass, causing her to come to an abrupt stop before crashing into him. Startled eyes, irises dark brown and glinting with a hint of gold, gazed up at him. He’d been wrong about the colors.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there. I’m Hermione Granger. And you are?” She stepped back to an appropriate distance from him, hugging a few books to her chest like armor.

“I’m Draco,” he said simply.

“The prince?” She didn’t sound too surprised, and eyed his unmistakable platinum hair.

“The very same. Why are you here in the library?” He’d finally tempered his tone to a more congenial one. 

“I was told I could read whatever I liked in here. My father is painting your Grand Ballroom.”

Ah. She was the daughter of the painter.

His mother made it a point to elect a new project as soon as the previous one was complete. Previous years had resulted in a reworked Imperial Garden, which boasted rose gardens with every imaginable variety, both magical and non-magical. A formidable greenhouse was added shortly after, and the caretaker they’d employed soon obtained and cultivated the rarest of specimens for use in medicine and potions. 

This year, Queen Narcissa turned her attention to the Grand Ballroom. She and his father adored hosting balls at every opportunity. What better way to display their love for art and beauty than to paint the entire ceiling and all its walls with depictions of magical beasts and figures from history. Circe. Merlin. Rasputin. Titania and Oberon.

Draco had assumed they’d hire a wizard, but he should have known that when it came to art, the king and queen saw no difference between magic or not. They simply wanted the best, and if that happened to be stationary art, then so be it.

“Find anything interesting?” He feigned interest, intent on keeping her talking. She was far more entertaining than pouring over volumes of ancestors alone.

She perked up at his question, and Draco could have sworn sections of her hair floated for just a brief moment.

Certainly not.

“I did! Did you know your castle is situated on top of the most powerful spot in the kingdom? All of the most prominent ley lines converge here underneath our feet!” She stomped one foot in emphasis. He wouldn’t be surprised if she went through several slippers a season if she always beat on them in that manner.

Wait.

Did she say “ley lines”?

“Are you a witch?” he blurted out, once again wincing at the gracelessness of his question. His mother would be mortified if she could hear him.

Hermione looked at him as if he was stupid. “Yes. Why else would your family let me wander around here by myself?”

“I don’t know, maybe because this is the one library of many where muggles are allowed? They do come here occasionally, muggle nobles, to garner favor with us,” he sputtered. He still couldn’t quite believe it. She was a witch. She was an unknown witch of his age. “Why don’t I know you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“My parents are muggles. I might have a squib ancestor somewhere, but as far as we know, I’m the only magic user in the Granger family. They sent me abroad for schooling since Hogwarts doesn’t currently accept muggle-borns.” She raised her eyebrows as if challenging him, but Draco couldn’t find it within himself to care about her background.

Hermione didn’t fawn on him like the other girls who had paraded themselves around him at school. She didn’t bat her eyelashes or titter behind a gloved hand. She didn’t wear gloves at all, her slender fingers wrapping around ancient texts as if relishing the touch of the worn covers. She probably thumbed the pages like his instructors told him never to do.

He would have thought that would annoy him, but he instead found himself intrigued in this muggle-born witch who liked reading, wore slippers instead of heels, and forewent glamours.

“Do you want to see the other libraries?”

His words were like a spell, as effective at getting her to brighten as a cheering draught.

“Oh, can I? The king and queen won’t mind?” She nearly vibrated in her excitement.

Her hair was definitely twice the size it was before.

“Not if you’re with me,” Draco said with a smirk, though that was partially a lie. If they’d wanted her in the other libraries, they would have explicitly told her. 

“Well, in that case, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” She made to dash away, but he caught her shoulder before she could do so.

“Allow me,” he said with a gesture towards the books still clutched to her chest.

“Oh, I can carry these.”

“Please, I insist.” It wouldn’t do if either of his parents not only caught him skiving off lessons with the girl, but allowing her to carry around books like some commoner. When she finally let go of her findings, he cast a featherweight charm and looked at her knowingly. She flushed an adorable shade of pink.

“They really weren’t very heavy, but thank you anyways.”

They spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring, only making it to two additional libraries. Hermione had only added to the pile of books floating behind Draco. He had to refresh the charm multiple times due to the sheer weight.

“You do realize you can’t remove these from the castle, don’t you?” He hoped this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see her, that she’d continue to visit along with her father for as long as there was work. “How long will it take your father to finish the ballroom?”

“To answer your first question, yes, I do understand that I’ll need to reserve these books to read later. I was hoping you could help with that.” He nodded his agreement, even as he inwardly danced with joy at the thought that he now had a reason to continue seeing the girl. “And to answer your second, it could take my father years.”

“Years?” Draco was aghast at the approximation.

“Years,” she repeated. “If you go take a look, you’ll see why. He’s not even working alone—he has an entire team helping with the moldings and scenery.”

Trust his mother to pick a project of such staggering proportions that it required multiple artists. On the bright side, that meant he’d have a long time to get to know Hermione, even if it was only during the holidays.

“It’s a shame you can’t attend Hogwarts.” It wasn’t until she tutted in agreement that he realized he’d said the words aloud. If she’d been like any other girl, she would have pounced on any hint of attachment on his part. She, however, did not.

“Well, if the king’s word is true, then I may soon. In exchange for my father’s work, yours agreed to update Hogwarts’ policies. I love Beauxbatons, but I can’t disagree that staying closer to home would make everything a lot easier on my family.”

“If you do,” Draco said the words slowly, hardly believing they were coming out of his mouth but needing her to know before it was too late, “then you should ask to be sorted into Slytherin.”

His heart sank at the way her nose wrinkled and lips turned downward in a grimace. “Isn’t that house renowned for pureblood ideology? I was leaning more towards Ravenclaw, myself.”

He nodded somewhat agreeably. “Books and cleverness…you could certainly do worse. They’re not a bad lot, if you ignore their tendency to disappear into their studies. Though…” he trailed off, reluctant to give away his feelings again without assistance.

“Though it might mean we don’t see each other? I wouldn’t let that happen outside of exams,” she said offhandedly. “I’ll keep in mind what you said. Snakes can be quite clever, in a sneaky kind of way.” The pointed look she sent Draco reminded him of how he’d approached her in the first place.

“Quite.”

A gentle melody played in the air, noting the top of the hour and finishing with eight long chimes.

“And that’s my cue. Hold on to those for me, would you?” Hermione leaned up onto her toes, laid the palms of her hands atop his shoulders, and pressed a kiss onto one cheek, then the other.

Draco could do nothing but stand still in shock at her forwardness. Then he remembered where she went to school and the strange habits the people of that land practiced. He cleared his throat to cover his awkward silence, but the crooked smirk she wore proved the attempt useless.

“When will I see you next?” He realized how needy that sounded as it came out, and hastily continued,“Just so I know when to have them ready?”

She flitted to the doors and didn’t respond until she was nearly through them, “I’m sure you’ll find me!”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind her stack of books, the echoes of her soft lips on his face, and the sweet scent of apple blossoms in the air. Draco wondered if she had perhaps cast some sort of love spell on him. How else could he explain his complete lack of reservation around her, or why her humble origins didn’t matter to him like he thought they should?

Queen Narcissa found him still in contemplation shortly after, and was impressed at the amount of reading material gathered around him.

“My dragon, there you are! Wilfred said he’d sent you to recover texts on our family history ages ago.”

“Mother, did you know the painter has a daughter?”

Narcissa blinked as she processed the odd question. “Master Granger? Of course. Hermione is a lovely, bright little thing. I told her she could read whatever she liked in our First Library. Why do you ask?”

Her son continued to stare at the wall, and she had half a mind to cast a homenum revelio.

“Draco?”

He came to with a shake and gave her one of his rare, full smiles. “No reason. I think we’ll be wonderful friends. You should make sure Hogwarts changes their acceptance rules before school starts again.”

Bewildered and bemused, she stroked a hand over his hair, so like his father’s. “I take it the two of you met?”

“We did. These are all hers.” He gestured towards the books once more.

“And here I thought you’d finally taken an interest in your studies.”

He snorted and she nearly pinched him on the arm for his cheek. She made do instead with a tickle to his side. He ducked away from her with a laugh, holding up his hands in surrender. “Mother, please! That isn’t fair! You know all my weak spots.”

She desisted in her attack with another indulgent smile. “And don’t you forget it. Just be careful with Hermione, dear.”

“What do you mean?” He tilted his head in confusion and she nearly sighed at his naivety. The young could be so oblivious, but she envied them their freedom.

She thought back on her own upbringing. The Blacks were more ancient and arrogant than even the royal family; her marriage to Lucius had been agreed upon at birth and as expected as the fact that clouds brought rain and Blacks were as pure as pure could be. She knew she was his from the beginning, and no amount of pining after others or imagining life in another place with a different name would change her fate.

Narcissa looked at her son, a near perfect replica of her husband aside from the softer grey eyes she’d bestowed upon him and his smile. He’d been so much like her at the start, but over the years he’d become more and more like his father. Now, today, he was like his younger self again.

She didn’t care what Lucius intended for his heir. She just wanted him to find happiness.

“True friends are difficult to come by, particularly for people of our station. I have a feeling that, if you nurture your relationship with Hermione, she’ll be someone worth keeping at your side.”

“What would father say?” he asked, caution and desire battling for domination on his face.

“He prizes power above all else.” This much was true. Lucius just happened to have a bit of a blind spot outside of magical families. “Apply yourself to your studies, help one another, and I’ll take care of Hogwarts and your father.”

Listening to his mother, Draco started to relax and let a bit of his earlier hope trickle back in. He wasn’t sure how Hermione had secured her approval, but she had. Greater deeds had been turned into ballads.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit terrifying sometimes?”

Narcissa smirked, immediately reminding Draco of wild curls and a smattering of freckles. The two women looked wildly different, yet they gave off a similar air of confident capability.

“I have been told. Once or twice.”

He made a note to tread carefully around Hermione in the future. If she turned out anything like his mother, he never wanted to be on the opposite end of her ire.

Oh, the feats they would accomplish together.

WC 2606

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 4 - Alternate Universe, September 22 - Royal AU

Cross-posted to AO3

I have half a mind to write a full story in this setting, since it spiraled into something I want to know more about. I didn’t think I used to have a thing for royal AUs, but maybe I do???

[kidnthehall]

[dhrmonth]

Day 1: Eighth Year

[starsin-motion]

[Aftermath of torture // veela]

For Dramione Month, Day 11 - Creature Bonds.

**

It was only a horrible dream.

It wasn’t real. Hermione wasn’t in pain, though she was still fatigued, her bed was soft and warm.

But as Hermione slowly opened her eyes, she knew at once this was not her lumpy cot in their tent.

She immediately sat up, frantically looking around.

Standing sitting next to her was a woman reading a small weathered notebook, who quickly realised she’d woken up.

“Hermione,” Fleur began softly, brow punched together in concern. She closed the book before putting it on the bedside table where her wand should’ve been. “Do you remember what happened?”

Hermione blinked. Then panic surged through her. “Where’s Ron? Harry?”

“Outside with Bill,” said Fleur, placing her hands softly on Hermione’s shoulder to keep her from flying out of bed. “They are fine.”

Looking down at Fleur’s hands, she saw it then. Her arm tightly bound with bandages.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was a living nightmare.

“Oh my god,” gasped Hermione, her panic escalating to hysteria. She couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no–“

A thunderous bang from outside cut through her horror, so loud they both flinched. Hermione began to tremble in her grasp.

“Here.” Fleur uncapped a pale blue potion from the bedside table, and forced it down her throat in a few quick motions. Peppermint oil–it was a calming potion.

The effect was nearly instantaneous. Her heartbeat slowed, and she was able to take a shaky deep breath.

But the loud banging outside continued with an increasing pace.

“Draco Malfoy has been waiting outside the wards.”

——

The wings on his back tore through his clothing, and the remaining fabric hung off him in pieces. It was as though he didn’t care, or maybe he didn’t even notice. His feathers were a deep grey; so dark that on the cloudy, cold shore near Shell Cottage, they nearly looked black.

His face was more angular than she remembered, more closely resembling the Veela she’d seen during the World Cup than the boy she knew in school. He still looked gaunt as he did before, but there was beauty where she didn’t expect it.

He looked like an angel thrown from Heaven.

His eyes tracked her every moment as if he could see through the wards that should have concealed her. As if there were none between them.

He paid no mind to the others around her.

“What do we do with this overgrown chicken? He keeps throwing himself at the wards.”

“He is not a chicken,” Fleur snapped at Ron. “He is a Veela.”

“Whatever he is, he could bring Lo–“ Harry nearly choked on the name. Clearly frustrated, he spit out, “You-know-who here.”

Hermione gulped. “How did he find us?”

Malfoy tilted his head slightly. The three looked to Bill and Fleur for an answer, but Bill hesitated. Fleur squeezed his hand, and looked to Hermione with what could only be pity.

“A Veela will become hostile in situations where their–“ Fleur hesitated just as Bill had, “–their mate is in danger. They do all they can to ensure their mates safety.”

With the help of the earlier calming potion, she did not flinch as Ron and Harry did.

“Veela know where their mate is at all times, it is instinct,” Fleur continued through the tense silence. “But they would never hurt you. He won’t bring you-know-who here.”

“Not intentionally,” Bill added. “But it could happen if the Dark Lord finds out what’s happened.”

Hermione moved closer to the low humming wards, the Fidelius charm tied to Bill’s soul that should’ve concealed her did nothing to keep Malfoy from knowing she was in front of him.

“Leave,” Hermione commanded sharply. “Don’t come back here.”

Malfoy recoiled, but he still made no move to leave.

Hermione huffed. “I am safe here. Leave.”

The sudden stretch of his wingspan startled the group. Her mate turned away from her, his wings picking up the wind from the nearby coast, and took off.

//fin.

[dracosbeeech]

Please tell me people are actually going to participate in dramione month because I desperately need some new material. Twitter has been so dead and I miss the interactions with the fandom.

[sophiesstreet]

#dramionemonth

Day 17: Halloween

He’s an artist 🧑‍🎨

[mesencephaleisole]

Late @dramionemonth and @inktober combined! Hermione learns to fly~

[dhr-ao3]

Potions Club

Potions Club https://ift.tt/JaMRnQ4 by quillandpotions Professors Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy unite to rejuvenate a Hogwarts student organization. As they navigate their shared project, their professional interactions transform into personal connections, evolving from shared dinners to intimate conversations. In the process of establishing the Potions Club, they find not only a pathway to enrich their students' lives, but also a surprising love that transcends their past differences. Words: 2383, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Professors, Hogwarts Professors, Hogwarts, dramionemonth, Fluff via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/caZrEql August 04, 2023 at 03:22AM

[quillandpotionsfordramione]

My very first work!

Potions Club (2383 words) by quillandpotions Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Professors, Hogwarts Professors, Hogwarts, dramionemonth, Fluff Summary: Professors Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy unite to rejuvenate a Hogwarts student organization. As they navigate their shared project, their professional interactions transform into personal connections, evolving from shared dinners to intimate conversations. In the process of establishing the Potions Club, they find not only a pathway to enrich their students' lives, but also a surprising love that transcends their past differences.

[sailtomarina]

The Wounds of Time

Someone once said, “Time heals all wounds.” 

Draco wanted to find this unknown, probably a muggle who’d died long ago, and kill them again for good measure.

Well, maybe not kill. Hermione wouldn’t like that and it would look bad, a former Death Eater murdering some idiot muggle, no matter how justified the reasons.

Draco would point out to this stranger and anyone else who would listen that time does not heal all wounds. It does a fair job of dulling the memories and emotions, but by itself, time means nothing, True change requires a catalyst.

Exactly ten years ago today, the Second Wizarding War came to close. Celebrations had been had, vows made to change what needed to be changed for such a war to never happen again, and the villains of the war punished for their crimes. 

He’d lost his father to Azkaban and his mother to grief. Draco might have joined his father if not for the testimony of a trio who had zero reason to help him, but did so anyways. He should have been thankful. He should have blessed the second chance he’d been given.

Instead, he festered in his empty manor, alone except for the family elves. If not for Hermione, he might have never left. He’d have expired, leaving nothing behind but a tombstone: “Here lies Draco Malfoy, beloved son, terrible friend, and a failure everywhere that matters.”

It would have been true. Draco had given up. 

Then came Hermione with her team of eager workers and a handful of hex-happy aurors. Malfoy Manor was next on their list of properties up for inspection, one they’d saved close to the last because of its sheer size and famed collection of books and dark artifacts.

Their interactions started with single sentences.

“Take us to the library.”

“Show me Lucius’ study.”

“Hold this.”

At this point, she still wore her Ministry uniform, every button fastened, her riot of curls securely pinned behind her ears.

Then, over time, her questions became more personal, conversations lasted longer.

“Malfoy, what do you do when we’re not forcing you to host us?”

“You have an entire section of muggle children’s literature, did you know that? Did you read any of them?”

“Have you been sleeping? I also don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything in all this time we’ve spent at the manor.” 

By now, she’d traded out the dark robes for chunky jumpers and muggle jeans that showed every damnable curve. The hair that used to be the subject of his ridicule became a steady feature in his dreams. He could drown in those curls and die a happy man.

Their romance came slow at first, creeping up on Draco unawares until he realized he’d already fallen for the witch with her infuriating mouth, her ferocious hunger for knowledge. They danced around one another for months on end, words and eyes exchanged frequently as if in a constant duel.

And now, on the anniversary of the victory over Voldemort, Draco was alone in his manor once more. The work was done, his home declared curse free. There was no further reason for Hermione to visit—she had other projects lined up ready and waiting. 

He swirled the firewhiskey in his glass, liquid the color of her eyes. The vintage was too rare, going down too smooth and leaving behind a gentle smokiness. He needed something cheap to feel the burn. 

Then, he felt a ripple in the wards. Perhaps they’d left something behind.

“Draco?” Hermione’s voice came soft and unsure, so unlike the tone he associated with her.

“Granger? What are you doing here?” Like an idiot, all he could do was stare at where she stood in the arch of the library. He chose this room for the evening because it had been her favorite.

“I…” She walked forward to stand a mere arm’s length from where he sat in his armchair. “I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

And he was. He was.

“You look beautiful.” He couldn’t not say the words. She could be wearing one of those hideous knitted creations, and he still would have meant them. Instead, she wore a gown, deep blue and sparkling like a night sky, the lines clinging to every line and curve.

“Thank you. Tonight’s the Commemoration Ball.”

“Ah.” Of course. Draco should have known, even though he was never expected to attend. He wouldn’t anyways. It wasn’t his place.

“I already did my speech and took photos with the boys,” she elaborated.

Draco could have made some joke about the cheap alcohol or food to explain why she’d shown up. Or, maybe asked if some fool had stepped on her foot in an embarrassing attempt to dance—probably one of her “boys”, or that git, McLaggen, who worked in her department.

He did neither of those things. He stared at her as she spoke on, describing the crowd, her speech, the incessant press. On and on.

He glanced down at her feet and noticed the way she kept shifting from one foot to the other. “Why don’t you kick off those heels and join me for a drink?”

“Oh! I don’t, I mean, I’m fine, you know how heels are—”

“Granger. Sit. Relax. You’re already here. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

“I couldn’t impose. I really just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re alright, you know—”

Sod it all.

In one swift move, Draco stood to crowd her space with his frame. Even in her heels, she barely came up to his chin. He took her elbows in hand, spun them around, and pushed her back into his chair. She had the distinct look of someone who’d been frozen.

“Better.”

As she continued to gape at him, Draco dropped to a knee and began removing her shoes.

“Malfoy!” Hermione’s senses returned and she attempted to kick at him. One firm hand on the calf of the offending limb put an immediate stop to her movements.

Taking advantage of her shock, he finished removing the last shoe and slid the hand holding her calf down in a kneading motion. Her skin was warm to the touch, the muscles beneath slender yet firm.

“I see they keep you active despite your position. Nice legs.” He couldn’t have held back the smirk at her whimper if he had tried.

Both thumbs pressed into the arch of her left foot, rubbing circles to ease the soreness.

“Mmmmm, M-M-Malfoy!” She nearly swooned in her ecstasy as she melted into the chair.

“You might as well call me ‘Draco’ now.”

She opened one eye to peer down at where he knelt. He moved onto the other foot and she sighed happily.

“You are a darling of a man. I’m convinced you can do no wrong.”

This could have been his segue to romancing Granger. Like the idiot he still was, he instead said, “I’m sure the others at the ball would disagree with you.”

Within moments, he grasped at nothing and found himself locked eye to eye with Hermione, his face cupped in her hands. If he glanced down, he probably would have been able to see down the neckline of her gown.

“I meant what I said, Draco. The man that you are now, the man I’ve come to know, would not do the wrongs of his past.”

He tried to pull away, but her nails dug in. “Granger, stop it—”

“No. You stop it. Stop wallowing in this dungeon you’ve created.”

“I don’t know how.” This time it was his voice that was quiet and full of doubt. It disgusted him to hear himself.

Rather than pull away, Hermione did the complete opposite. She relaxed her hold and in a move that felt magically slowed she leaned forward to wrap him in a hug. 

“So let me show you,” she whispered into his ear.

For once, Draco listened. He listened, and he learned, and he became a man whose wounds, while not fully healed, reminded him of the journey he had made, Hermione always at his side.

WC 1350

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 3 - Celebrations, September 18 - End of the War

Cross-posted to AO3

I know, I know! I'm a day late on this prompt, and today should be focused on Hermione's birthday! I somehow got the days mixed up, so now here we are. I still hope to get a little something out for our favorite curly-headed swot. In the meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed this!

[sailtomarina]

Birthday breakfast

“Shhhhh, let her sleep.”

“But it’s time to get up!”

Hermione smiled, eyes still shut and clinging to the vestiges of sleep. She felt wrung out and deliciously sore from when Draco had woken her up at midnight to give her the first birthday gift of the day. She wasn’t sure what time it was now, but considering her heavy eyelids, it was probably still far before noon.

“Scorpius, get back here!”

Slam!

She kept her breathing slow and steady despite the door knocking into the wall and the weight that landed at the base of the bed.

“If she doesn’t wake up, then how can she eat breakfast?”

It took all her willpower to not chuckle at the pout in the little boy’s voice. At eight-years-old, Scorpius reminded her so much of his father, full of demands and seemingly without a concern in the world. Hermione knew better, of course. Her adopted son had experienced grief too early with the loss of his mother. His resilience was a testament to the love lavished on him by Astoria and Draco long before Hermione had come along.

She heard the soft patter of footsteps. A second weight dropped the mattress even further. Hermione knew Draco wasn’t fooled by her little act.

“I suspect she’ll wake up soon, my star. The food will keep until then.” Humor laced his words. Hermione could just imagine Scorpius’ lip jutting out in response.

“But—”

“But,” Draco emphasized, “We could try a spell to help her wake.”

Well, this would be interesting.

“A spell? Please, Dad, show me!” Scorpius bounced in place, sending shockwaves through the bed. Perhaps they should consider casting some permanent stabilization charms.

“Okay, repeat after me: tempus passus!”

Hermione nearly snorted at the fake incantation. Tempus passus, really? That was the best he could come up with?

“Tempus passus!”

“Now wave your wrists like so.”

The bed shook once more with the force of Scorpius’ movements, one of his hands smacking her on the thigh.

“Wait for it…”

Hermione fluttered her lashes, then twitched. With a groan, she rolled over and stretched her arms out.

“It’s working!”

“Scorpius?” She didn’t have to fake the scratchiness in her throat. She could desperately use some coffee.

“Happy birthday, Mum!”

That opened her eyes faster than any bang of the door or jolt to her mattress. The sight of a grinning Scorpius filled her vision, any hints of reservation completely absent. 

“Mum”. He’d called her “Mum”.

“Oh, Scorpius, honey—” Her words cut off with the force of the young boy’s skinny arms wrapping around her. Behind him, Draco wore a gentle smile, which she matched with her own.

She hadn’t dared hope for this day. In her mind, Astoria would always be Scorpius’ mother. Hermione loved him, of course, but she knew better than to expect she’d ever take the woman’s place in their hearts. Even though Astoria had passed while Scorpius was barely old enough to remember her, she had already left her impression behind, that of a mother and wife who loved with all her being and regretted nothing but leaving her boys behind. The best Hermione could hope for would be to carve out a place of her own and bring them the joy they deserved.

“Happy birthday, love.” Draco joined them in their embrace, all-encompassing and reassuring in his warmth. She could have stayed like this all morning.

Scorpius had other ideas.

He wiggled and pushed, ending their hug with a cry of “Birthday breakfast!”

“There’d better be coffee,” Hermione teased. They were all too aware of her pre-caffeine grumpiness.

“Here, Mum!” A tray was shoved into her lap, set with steaming coffee, a carafe of pumpkin juice with three glasses, and a full English breakfast several times the size of her usual morning meal.

She raised an inquiring brow, which Draco met with a knowing smirk. “How about a breakfast picnic for three?”

Today, of all days, Hermione set aside her rule against food in bed. There was much to celebrate, least of which being her own birthday. 

WC 678

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 3 - Celebrations, September 19 - Birthday

Cross-posted to AO3

I’ve always considered Hermione’s birthday as set at the perfect time of year, just late enough to see the start of my favorite season with its turning colors and color evenings, but still warm enough to only need a light cover in the day’s sunshine. I’m excited to see all the artwork and fics centering on our birthday girl!

[sailtomarina]

Romantic, If a Bit Macabre

She’d burst from the Floo with all the grace of a forest troll straight into Blaise’s drawing room, interrupting the third round of drinks. Draco had just been in the middle of explaining to Pansy that he was not interested in a blind date with yet another friend of hers—just because he and Hermione had broken up did not mean he was ready to get under someone new.

The littlest of details reminded him of her. A line from a song playing in the background at the pub. A book left along a side table, as if waiting to be picked up and finished. The hint of cinnamon when he walked by their favorite bakery, or wafting up from someone’s hot cocoa. He couldn’t escape her no matter where he went, and the twisted thing was that he had been the one to end things.

He’d pursued her so relentlessly at the start, wooed her into acceptance. Their sex was…there weren’t words to describe that level of compatibility. Once she was his and he was hers, he thought they had obtained their happy ever after. For a while—1 year, 2 months, and 23 days to be exact—that was the truth of it.

Then he had to go and muck it all up by asking her to marry him.

She said no.

That was that. The next day, Ginny showed up at the flat they had shared for half a year and packed up all her belongings. She even took Hermione’s favorite mug, separating it from the paired set to which it belonged.

Hermione’s reasons for refusal were simple in that they defined her. How could he deny her dreams? With her planned career path, she didn’t have time to devote to marriage, didn’t want to change her name, and didn’t want to have children yet. Never mind the fact that Draco had never expected any of those things. He didn’t care about continuing the Malfoy legacy and hadn’t for a long time. All he wanted was to be bound to her in the most intimate of ways.

Now she was here, Floo powder dusting her chunky maroon jumper and a streak of soot across her nose. The curls she’d taken to straightening for work were out in full force the way he preferred and dancing in a halo around her head like a creature possessed. She was breathing heavily as if she’d just sprinted across a field, her cheeks flushed red. Draco thought she’d never looked more lovely.

Hermione took three long strides and grabbed the closest person to her by the collar.

“Wha-what’s going on?” Theo cried, just managing to hand off his whiskey glass to Blaise before stumbling along behind her.

“You’re going to be our witness,” snapped Hermione.

She came to a halt in front of Draco. He couldn’t for the life of him understand what he’d done this time to earn the intensity that emanated from her tiny frame. And why did she need a witness?

“Go on, take out your wand.” She waved at Theo impatiently.

Draco took a sharp breath the instant her eyes turned away, and shrugged at the confused looks his friends sent their way.

“What’s going on, Granger?” He asked quietly. If he was about to die, he wanted to at least know why.

The faintest flicker of something, an emotion he couldn’t place, appeared before she schooled her face back to confidence. “I’m here to remedy a wrong.”

“A wrong,” he repeated.

They stared at one another for an awkward amount of time, likely only a few seconds, but it felt like minutes.

“Can you elaborate?” Did she want him to apologize for proposing?

Hermione took a deep breath and as his eyes scanned her figure, he realized she was gripping the hem of her jumper in a familiar gesture attempting self-control.

That flicker he’d seen earlier was fear.

“I overreacted when you proposed to me. I pushed you away instead of listening.” Her words came out in a single exhale as if they’d been waiting to vomit up from the moment she’d appeared.

He probably should have felt relieved, but all Draco could feel at the moment was numb confusion. 

“And how are you going to right overreacting and not listening?” His eyes panned over to Theo, who still stood with his wand held at an awkward angle awaiting instruction.

The unexpected feeling of her hand, so small and warm, taking his own snapped his attention back to her. She stared up at him like she was looking for something. Reassurance? Permission? Draco would give it all to her if only he knew how.

“I just need to know one thing first,” she said, just soft enough to stay between the two of them. In the motion to take his hand, she had stepped close into him. He tried not to greedily gulp in her comforting scent.

His voice came out rougher than intended. “Ask away.”

She continued to stare up at him for a few beats more, blinking heavily and lips parting in the waiting. Draco felt frozen within the amber of her eyes, caught like an insect and helpless to the flow of time.

“Do you still love me?”

He sucked in a deep breath. He’d been holding it in anticipation of her question, and now he felt like the hourglass had turned and the sands were rushing him along towards a yet unknown end.

“Of course I do.”

Hermione nodded as if she’d expected that answer, but the loosening of tension in her jaw revealed her relief. She turned back to Theo. “I need you to be our bonder. Place your wand against our hands.”

Bonder?

“I, Hermione Granger…”

His heart thundered in his ears, nearly drowning her out. “Hermione, you don’t have to—”

“…promise to always listen and communicate.”

“Love, please—”

“I promise to cherish you as you deserve and make time for us. I vow to stay true to my love for you, Draco Malfoy, for as long as you share that love.” She turned to nod at Theo, but before the other wizard could bind the oath, Draco cut in.

“I, Draco Malfoy, will never stand in the way of your dreams.”

“Oh, Draco…”

“I promise to support you in every way I know how to help you achieve them. I vow to match every one of the oaths that you’ve made to me and to love you until my very last breath.”

He willed her to feel his resolution through his gaze and grip. The first time he’d been involved in an Unbreakable Vow had been without his knowledge when his mother had made Severus promise to protect him. Draco knew the consequences of a broken vow. He also knew that he could never, ever break this one.

Tears spilled from her eyes as he continued to hold on to her and the golden threads of their oath wrapped around from wrist to wrist. They might as well have been alone, their friends and surroundings fading into nothingness as the light of their promises glowed all around them. They only saw each other and the hope of the future ahead of them.

“Granger, did you seriously prefer an Unbreakable Vow to waiting for me to set you up with Draco?”

Pansy’s shrill voice broke through the spell, effectively dispersing the tension in the air.

“Well, I thought it was romantic, if a bit macabre,” drawled Blaise. He took a sip from  what was probably Theo’s glass, given he held an empty one in his other hand.

Draco still held her hand in his own even though the magic of their vow had faded. She didn’t try to pull away, instead nestling forward as he proceeded to wrap his free arm around her. He peered down at her, a smirk starting to form on his lips.

“You were Pansy’s blind date?”

She snorted into his chest. “Yes, you prat. You shouldn’t have turned her down the past few times. We could’ve resolved this much sooner.”

“You realize accepting would’ve meant me moving on, right?”

This time it was her turn to grin up at him, a knowing glint in her eye. “Yes, but I would’ve pulled you right back to me.”

“You’re a witch.”

“I’m your witch.”

The groans that followed reminded them that no, they were not alone. “Get a room, you two!”

So, they did.

WC 1404

DHR Month Fest Prompt: Week 2 - Bonds, September 10 - Unbreakable Vow

Cross-posted on AO3

Big props to Pansy for helping Hermione try to fix things up with Draco, am I right?

While an Unbreakable Vow might be over the top, I don't think it's too unlike Hermione to do something so extreme given what she was like growing up with Harry. The girl has zero chill.

[kidnthehall]

Dramione Month day 8, Soulmates. Part 1 & 2

[sailtomarina]

Starting Over

She ran through the rubble, calves burning, a stitch in her side stealing her breath, yet still she carried on. 

“Hermione!”

“‘Mione!”

“Hermi—”

She ignored the calls, simply waving a hand in acknowledgement as she continued her search. There was something else she needed to do. Someone she needed to see.

“Granger.”

And then, there he was.

Unmistakable white hair mussed and longer than it had ever been before, dirt and blood clinging to his clothes, ice grey eyes focused on her own.

Hands settled on each of his shoulders, halting Hermione’s charge as surely as an immobulus. His mother and father copied the direction of his gaze. Assessing. Unreadable.

“Granger,” he said again, voice so soft yet reaching her ears just like it had always done time and time again.

He stepped towards her, and the hands, those same hands that held onto him for all his life, did the unimaginable: let go.

Released by their acceptance, she flung herself at him, skinny arms wrapping around skinny torsos in defiance of any who would separate them.

“It’s over. It’s actually over!” She soaked his shirt through with tears of relief and hope. She cried for all the pain they’d endured, were still enduring, and would face in the coming days, weeks, and, likely, years.

“I love you. Don’t ever forget that.” His tone forced her head up. Behind him and his parents stood aurors, their wands out and waiting. The distaste was evident in their eyes as they watched her and Draco embrace.

She tightened her arms and glared back at them. “You can’t! You won’t!”

“Granger, you have to let go.” He cupped her cheek, the skin of his palm so cold, fingers trembling.

“No!”

It was just like him to chuckle in this situation, to smile down at her as if he didn’t quite know what to do with her, but wouldn’t have it any other way.

“This might be my last day at Hogwarts, but this won’t be the last time you see me. We will be together again.” 

The conviction in his voice shone out of his eyes, giving Hermione the strength she needed to finally loosen her grip.

“I’ll fight for you.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“I love you.”

Her declaration brought back the smirk she adored.

“I know.”

She remained there even when the aurors secured magical binds around their wrists, and long after the Malfoy family was whisked away to face the consequences of their choices. The dust of centuries of solid rock, now crumbled beneath her feet, swirled around Hermione, reminding her of the impermanence of all things, even foundations once thought indestructible.

It was nearly dark when Harry and Ron found her, and by that time Hermione had decided on a number of actions, starting with the gathering of evidence and witnesses. She’d been wrong, before. Their fight wasn’t over.

A new one had just begun.

WC 486

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 3 - Celebrations, September 20 - Last Day of Hogwarts

Coming in short on the day of, and now I'm wondering if I should have taken this more as an Eighth Year graduation. Oh well! There's still time for that, since obviously Hermione will get Draco out to join her for that re-do :)

[sailtomarina]

An Exchange of Pretty Faces

Hermione squealed as the Beauxbatons’ carriage appeared on the horizon, the powder blue globe led by a fleet of impressive Abraxan steeds that flew through the sky. She waited outside with a crowd of her fellow students, all of them bundled within their fur-lined red robes to stave off the winter chill.

“Hermy-own-ninny, shall I lift you on my shoulders?” Viktor teased from where he stood behind her, his large hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

“You will not!”

His chuckle caused a flush to rise along her neck and up to her cheeks. Her first and oldest friend at Durmstrang, Viktor’s teasing about her height had only increased as they got older and the difference between them widened.

“Maybe these French students vill match your stature better, kote.”

She turned to smack him on the arm, while he pretended to cower in fear at her harmless attack. Hermione ignored the glares of those around them. Jealousy and discrimination were familiar enemies at the school, something Hermione had learned from her very first year. Pureblooded ideologies ran rampant in Durmstrang’s halls, extending from students to teachers to the very foundations of the institute.  

Muggle-borns were not accepted at Durmstrang, and, normally, Hermione would have attended Hogwarts. She had been born and raised in her early years in England, but a terrible accident left her orphaned and in the care of a previously unknown magical ancestor, Hector Dagworth-Granger. The renown potioneer took to the northern territories for his research, bringing young Hermione with him.

Hermione wanted to thank whatever gods and circumstances made it so that she caught the eye of Viktor Krum, a prodigy Quidditch flier who didn’t take kindly to discrimination. It certainly wasn’t the dangerous sport that brought them together—she couldn’t stand flying and spent more time worrying about possible injuries than enjoying his games. They did share interests in Transfiguration and Ancient Runes, which was more than most of the fans who catered for Viktor’s interest could say for themselves.

“I hear some of their students count Veela in their ancestry. Isn’t that fascinating?” Hermione gushed, wondering if she’d be able to spot any of the likely suspects. Would they sprout wings, or might the Durmstrang students all be in danger of their infamous beauty?

“Perhaps, though I doubt that vill help them vin in the end.” 

Viktor referred to the entire reason for Beauxbatons journey to Durmstrang. Their month-long visit was the first of its kind in what was meant to be a friendly exchange of cultures. He had listened with amusement when Hermione likened it to Muggle exchange students. Instead of staying in a fellow student’s home, the Beauxbatons students would stay within the institute itself.

She jumped up and down trying to see over the people in front of her to catch a glimpse of the students exiting the carriage. From what she could tell, their uniforms matched the light blue hue of the carriage. She was relieved to see that someone had warned them about the time of year and made sure their cloaks were also lined with lovely white fur. Even from where she stood, she could tell they still shivered.

It wasn’t until much later after they’d followed the delegation into the castle’s banquet hall that Hermione got a chance to see one of the students far closer than she would have expected. Despite Viktor’s constant presence, she still found herself next to one of the few empty spots at their table.

“Is this seat taken?” She startled at the musical voice belonging to a boy she could easily imagine as a descendent of Veela. 

His hair, nearly white and of the finest texture she had ever seen on a boy, grew long and was tied together with a fine gold cord, allowing the ends to trail over the front of his shoulder. She might have been tempted to describe his features as too sharp, but instead felt caught by the lightness of his eyes, something else she had never before seen. They were the soft grey of her snowy owl’s wings.

“Ne. Have a seat,” answered Viktor from her other side.

The strange, beautiful boy dipped his head in gratitude and slid into place. Hermione’s face burned as she realized Viktor answered to cover her awkward staring.

“Excuse me, but are you Viktor Krum?” His eyes shone with curiosity as he looked past Hermione.

Great. Was he just another one of Viktor’s fans?

“I am.” They shook hands over her plate. Hermione had half a mind to smack hers atop theirs straight into her mashed potatoes.

“And you? What is your name?” Those pale orbs now looked curiously at her, and she was glad she hadn’t given into her impulse.

“My name’s Hermione Gr—”

“Hermione? Like in Shakespeare, or Homer?” Her name rolled off his tongue like a pleasant melody.

Her jaw dropped. This was the first time anyone had ever, ever asked about her name, and not to joke about the length, but from actual recognition.

“Shakespearean Hermione, from A Winter’s Tale. I’m surprised you knew!”

“Well, Hermione of A Winter’s Tale, I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Draco, like the constellation?”

This time it was his turn to smile in delight at her connection. “The same! My family has a tradition of taking names from the stars.”

“Draco is a strong name,” Viktor said approvingly, causing the other boy to noticeably preen.

Hermione mustered up her courage. “I hope you don’t mind me asking…”

“Ask away.” Draco tentatively sipped at his borscht, before humming and taking several more spoonfuls.

“…but are you, by any chance, related to any Veela?”

Viktor snorted at the nonplussed look that crossed Draco’s face.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s just that, you’re so…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she realized how silly what she was about to say sounded.

“What Hermy-own-ninny means to say is that you are very pretty. Vhite hair, vhite skin, sharp face,” Viktor elaborated for her, each item in his list a nail driving into her back.

“Oh! I, uh, no. As far as I know, there are no Veela in the Malfoy line.” She noticed Draco had a habit of playing with the ends of his hair. He did so now and when he’d first asked to sit next to her. “Thank you, though. I think you’re pretty, too.”

Rather than sound like the sort of automatic response one gave as a compliment for a compliment, he sounded sincere, but before Hermione could say anything in response, his next words wiped the smile right off of her face.

“What did you say your last name was, again?”

Usually, when someone asked for her family name, it wasn’t out of some passing curiosity to know her full name. It was because they cared, and cared greatly, about her lineage. They wanted to know if she came from good wizarding stock, to assess her worth in comparison to theirs.

“Granger. Hermione Granger.”

And there it was: the forehead wrinkle, the faraway gaze as the listener sifted through their knowledge to pinpoint anything that might signify importance. 

“Are you related to the Dagworth family?”

Now that did catch her by surprise. “Hector Dagworth-Granger is my great uncle.”

Draco’s eyes were piercing in their recognition. “You’re the Mudblood heir they spoke about in the newspapers.”

This wasn’t the first time Hermione had heard the derogatory phrase, but hearing it still cut her deeply now as much as it did the first time. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and reply, but Viktor beat her to the punch.

“Take that back, Malfoy,” he said, his voice shaking in fury on her behalf.

She registered surprise on Draco’s face, and saw the way his eyes flickered between the two of them in suspicion. “Are you two…dating?”

“Ve are not dating. Ve are friends, and vot you said is inexcusable. Apologize now or you can forget ever talking to us again,” Viktor insisted, his hand coming up to rest reassuringly on her back.

Draco stayed silent a bit longer as he stared at them both. He had already shifted slightly away from her, as if afraid they’d touch elbows like they already had multiple times from the start of their conversation. He opened his mouth, only to shut it once more.

That was enough of a message for Viktor.

The Bulgarian stood and held a hand out to Hermione, which she took without hesitation. Before she followed him away, however, she turned one last time.

“For what it’s worth, Draco, it was nice speaking to you. I hope you enjoy your time here.” She smiled sadly at the way he continued to look at her, his brow furrowed and lips tightly pressed together.

Perhaps, in another life, under different circumstances.

She hurried after Viktor, already intent on convincing him to finish writing his Transfiguration essay with her.

Grey eyes that shifted with his mood from pale ice to stormy clouds followed them all the way across the hall until they exited. Draco turned back to his plate, soup now cold and unappetizing in the absence of what he had hoped would be a couple of new friends. The plates in front of where they’d sat had already disappeared as if they’d never been there at all.

He was lucky Madam Maxime hadn’t heard their exchange, or she would have been livid. His own mother would have disapproved of his blatant display, one she would have deemed beneath their station despite her own husband’s use of the term. That was a large part of why he’d been sent to Beauxbatons Academy after all. As his mother would put it, it was long past time the Malfoys and Blacks put away their prejudices and looked to the future. Like a bigot, he had reverted to old insults.

He would try to find Viktor and Hermione and apologize like he should have done immediately from the start. Draco hoped they would listen. He wanted to ask Viktor to fly with him. He wanted to learn more about Hermione, no matter her last name. Did she like to read, like he did? Was her hair sentient? Its large mass was what had called him over to their part of the table in the first place.

Draco hummed as he finished the last of the pelmeni he’d scooped onto his plate. It was decided. He would look for them at breakfast the next day, and all would be well.

WC 1752

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 4 - Alternate Universe, September 25 - Beauxbatons/Durmstrang AU

Cross-posted to AO3

This prompt was super fun to imagine and write! I've said this before, I know, but I really want to read a longer story of this setting now. Why did Hector insist Hermione attend Durmstrang? Was it really out of affection or to keep her close for convenience? Or was it for another reason? Does Viktor actually harbor unrequited feelings for Hermione? And will Draco obtain their friendship like he hopes?

[sailtomarina]

An Insufferable Duo

Hermione used to believe there was a rhyme and a reason to her classes. The professors no doubt put hours into their lesson planning, taking time to consider each and every single possibility of student interaction and error. They were adults. They were infallible.

That was before years of friendship with Harry Potter and the chaos that inevitably followed in his wake, Cornish pixies wreaking havoc in the classroom, points repeatedly given to a professor’s favored house, and detentions under an egocentric maniac with a blood quill fetish.

The war was over and won, and life had gone back to normal. Supposedly. Hermione had returned to a depressingly shrunk 8th-year student body, only without her best friends and any semblance of familiarity.

Hogwarts felt different. She was different.

And now, she was class partners with Draco Malfoy. She was more than half tempted to murder Professor Slughorn in his sleep.

It happened like this:

The start of the term confirmed a depressing fact—very few students in Hermione’s year had returned to finish out their studies. The reasoning for some was obvious, their names carved into the monument outside the castle walls, candles forever lit in memory. Others transferred to Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, or even fabled Uagadou. Hermione would have considered the Ugandan institution if not for her promise to Headmistress McGonagall. There was always her Masters studies, she supposed.

The decreased student population meant several things, the most prevalent at this particular moment being a lack of potential partners. Harry and Ron had accepted Minister Shacklebolt’s offer for a fast pass on the D.M.L.E. track to becoming aurors. The same offer had been extended to her, as well, but she was done with violence. She needed a break, a return to what she’d thought would be comfortable familiarity in academics.

Instead, she found herself surrounded by people whose names she knew but little else besides. Even within Gryffindor, there were very few she’d label “friend” in the truest sense of the word. Ginny, who she had once confided in, stood apart as Harry’s girlfriend and Ron’s sister. Hermione felt awkward around Ginny after she’d broken off any chance at a romance with Ron.

There was Luna, a friendship Hermione hadn’t at all expected to grow as strong as it had, but that was the truth of it. The bond still felt new, born from their shared history and her recent appreciation for the girl’s strange, but not unwelcome, conversations. Unfortunately, Luna wasn’t in any of her classes. Instead, Hermione found herself mostly surrounded by students of other houses.

She had no one but herself to blame for arriving to Advanced Potions class late on the very first day. She found it increasingly difficult to sleep, much less wake up in the mornings.

Looking down from the doorway into the dungeon space, she saw all tables save one filled to capacity: Malfoy’s table in the far corner. There was nothing else for it; it was either cause a scene by trying to squeeze into an already-occupied space, or grit her teeth and get the class over with for the day.

She should have fought to join another table.

The moment she dropped her bag on the empty stool, Professor Slughorn cleared his throat in that obnoxious way of his, tapped his wand against his cauldron, and announced, “Take note of those sharing your table today, because they will be your partners for the rest of the term.”

Pale grey eyes rimmed with impossibly white lashes shared a mutual look of horror at the verdict. 

That had been three months ago.

“Pass the porcupine quills.” Malfoy stood over their cauldron, keeping a careful eye on its color and texture.

Hermione quickly handed him the ingredient before returning to the Sopophorous beans. It should have felt odd after all these years to take a backseat to another student at the Potions table, but she’d learned to trust Malfoy. The Slytherin had a way with the ladle that she’d only ever seen in Professors Snape and Slughorn. 

She’d originally thought the points Snape handed out so easily were results of favoritism, but now she knew otherwise. Malfoy legitimately understood the craft in a way that Harry never had when he’d blindly followed Snape’s notes under the guise of the Half-blood Prince.

They’d chosen to brew an Elixir to Induce Euphoria for their term project, but not just regular euphoria. They hoped to create a variation that could be taken long-term with a gentler effect, hopefully without the nasty pitfall of the original.

When Malfoy had first broached the idea, Hermione had been stunned at the vulnerability he revealed. This wasn’t just some lazy tweak to an existing potion. This was a genuine desire to improve something that could benefit so many others like them who still suffered from the war every single day. It was for him. It was for her.

“Now the mallowsweet leaves.”

This was one of their recent changes. The plant was notorious for its…relaxing side effects, particularly when smoked by Hufflepuffs. Hermione would have thought it more suitable for a Calming Draught, but it was here again that Malfoy surprised her.

Previous tests proved that adding the gold leaf not only smoothed the usually fast induction to a more natural pace, it also shared the peppermint’s ability to lessen the severity of the user’s euphoria.

Take that, Snape.

“Is this enough juice?” Hermione offered the cutting board to Malfoy for his inspection.

“Press the flat of the knife against the beans. You can get out more juice than that.” He offered her a rare smile to soften the correction, though to others it probably looked more like a passing grimace with how quickly it vanished.

When Harry had used that little trick in the past, Herimone had balked at the departure from the text. Working with Malfoy these few weeks had warmed her up to taking a more exploratory approach to Potions.

They proceeded in their seamless teamwork, oblivious to the attentions of their classmates.

When partners were first announced, everyone had assumed that they’d murder each other within the week. That might have been the case had they’d traveled back in time to their 6th year. That assumption was ignorant of a number of facts.

First, Malfoy had apologized to Hermione shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. Granted, she’d received his words by owl, but the letter was one of the most heartfelt messages she’d ever read, much less addressed to someone he’d long considered lesser than himself.

Second, she had convinced Harry and even Ron to testify on his behalf. Their testimony hadn’t been full of praises, but they spoke the truth of what they’d seen. The gratitude she saw in his eyes and the embrace he shared with his mother afterward stayed with her even now.

Third, and perhaps most surprising to Hermione, was that Malfoy was legitimately brilliant. He’d been too obsessed with challenging Harry growing up to properly study in all their earlier years. Now, with only his mother at his back and humbled as he was by his experiences, his priorities had adjusted in kind. Hermione found herself fighting to hold her place at the top of the student leaderboard, along with Theodore Nott, another dark horse. 

“Granger, take a look at this!” The excited tone of Malfoy’s voice had her rushing over to stand by his side in seconds.

The potion glowed a gentle shade of lavender purple, the vapors surrounding them in a sweet aroma.

“I think this is the best color we’ve seen yet at this stage. I have a really good feeling about this one, Draco!”

The instant his name left her lips, she wanted to take it back. The grin that had filled his face had transformed to a look of shock she was afraid to analyze too closely.

Despite their truce and these several weeks, pleasant as she might dare to describe them, she had never once referred to him by his given name.

Except in her dreams.

“We should stop here and continue next time,” she squeaked out, refusing to look at him and stuffing her bag with her belongings as quickly as she could move. Hermione vaguely registered him casting a stasis charm over their cauldron, but ignored his calling of her name as she sprinted for the doorway.

“Granger, wait!”

His shouts cut off with the slam of the door, and she continued her fast trek up the stairs. Why did the dungeon have to be so far away from everything else?

By the time she’d made it to her private quarters, a courtesy of appointment as Head Girl, she was breathless and sweaty. She dropped her bag with a loud thunk on the entry table, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed in a heap in the sitting room.

She deserved the rest of the day off.

Knock, knock, knock.

Hermione lay frozen in disbelief. Surely he hadn’t followed her to her room. Maybe if she didn’t answer, he’d think she went somewhere else.

Knock, knock.

“I know you’re in there, Granger.”

“I’m not!” Her response bounced off the doorway and had her wincing at her own immaturity. Really? That was the best she could do?

“Hermione. Talk to me.”

Within seconds, she stood at the door and cracked it open. “That’s not fair, using my name like that.”

“You started it.”

He was smirking down at her in a way she’d only ever daydreamed about, silver glinting in his gaze as he waited for her to let him in.

“I didn’t mean to. Can we just forget about it?”

“I liked it.”

That had her gaping in disbelief, while his smirk only grew wider.

“Are you going to let me in or not?”

Her mouth slammed shut and she narrowed her eyes at him in consideration. Letting him in meant he’d likely be staying for longer than a doorway chat.  It also meant privacy from nosy students who sometimes wandered down her corridor.

Opening the door wide enough for him to enter, she turned around without a word and headed into the kitchen to start a pot of tea.

“Thanks.”

She waved a hand over her shoulder in reply and continued preparing snacks. If he was staying, she might as well feed them both.

“Take off your shoes and have a seat—” Her voice died away once she turned around and realized he had already made himself at home on her couch, legs stretched out across the cushions and arms braced behind his head.

“Nice room, though it’s a bit too scarlet for my taste.” He surveyed his surroundings with interest, taking in the wall of books, windows overlooking the grounds, and her bedroom door, slightly ajar.

“What would you prefer, green?”

Again, he leveled her with a look straight out of her fantasy playbook. “One can only hope.”

She hoped to Godric her face wasn’t as red as it felt. Balancing her tray of sandwiches on one hand and levitating a couple of teacups behind her with the other, she carefully made her way into the room to place them down like a peace offering on the coffee table. She then took her own seat in the armchair on the opposite side.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” She nibbled on her ham and cress sandwich.

“Us.”

The tiny bit of bread and meat caught in her throat as she coughed in surprise. She hastily took a sip of her tea to clear the offending item, all while glaring at the smug Slytherin.

“There is no us.” She finally bit out.

She wasn’t sure of the expression that briefly flashed across his face, but she might have thought it disappointment. That couldn’t be right, could it?

“Well, we’re partners in Potions and bloody fine ones at that.”

“Okay…”

“And we’re easily the best students in our year—”

“I don’t see how that means anything—”

“—but we could do even better if we worked together. Not just in Potions, but in all our subjects.”

He arched one eyebrow in expectation. Hermione wasn’t sure what to say, but there was one thing she knew for certain.

She missed having someone next to her as she did her assignments. Sure, Harry and Ron were more distracting than anything else, but they’d always been there. On the rare occasion, they’d offer up some surprising insight. More often, they saved her from overworking herself, reminding her to eat and sleep when she would have otherwise studied through the night.

Potions with Malfoy had easily become her favorite subject this term, something she never, ever thought she’d say. He challenged her assumptions, pushed her to look outside her carefully-constructed boundaries, and noticed the effort she put forth where others only saw talent. Hermione appreciated his mind even more than his absurdly good looks.

Circe, strike her down right now.

“Say I entertain this idea—”

“You won’t regret it.”

“—what makes you think we won’t end up killing each other sooner rather than later? Getting along in one class is fine, but hanging out outside of the dungeon?”

He nodded in understanding as he finished off one, then two, of her sandwiches. It wasn’t until he placed his cup silently down onto its saucer that he finally answered her.

“Well, I have this bet with Theo—”

“You what?”

“Oh, calm down. It’s nothing nefarious. I also respect you too much to kill you. We’ll disagree, fight even, but I’d sooner pet a hippogriff than muck this up with you.”

He held her gaze, all humor gone from his face, and Hermione realized he was serious. He meant every word he said. She’d squeeze the information out about this so-called bet with Theo later, but right now she cared more about repaying his respect with some of her own.

“You’ve got yourself a study buddy, Malfoy.”

“Draco,” he reminded her.

“…Draco.”

His whoop of joy almost had her spilling her tea right as she was about to set it down.

She might come to regret this decision, but, right here, right now, Hermione thought the future never looked brighter. Or perhaps that was just the added effect of his blinding grin and white-gold hair. He positively glowed. And Hermione? Well, she couldn’t help but grin right back at him. Hogwarts’ most insufferable duo had just been born, and there wasn’t a single thing anyone could do to stop their inevitable conquest.

This short ended up running longer than expected, and took a far more innocent tone than I had originally planned. The romantic pairing here is more implied than anything else, but I hope you still enjoy!

DHRMonth prompt: Week 1 - Hogwarts, September 4 - Class Partners

WC 2415

Cross posted on AO3