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They were meant to be enemies. Wicked lies of her tainted heritage and blood status were pounded into his psyche by his father’s bigotry for years, but Draco couldn’t find the hatred in his heart that was expected of him. Instead of animosity, he found a quiet affection for the witch.
They were meant to be adversaries. House rivals, vying for top marks in their final year of classes at Hogwarts. But Hermione watched the wizard grow from a young noble prat to a kind and genuine friend. His hard exterior had softened to reveal who he was truly meant to be.
They thought the opportunity to be more, anything close to friendship, let alone love, were dreams gone amiss.
But it started inconspicuously – she noticed how sunlight glinted off his blonde hair during History of Magic, while he watched her thin fingers turn the pages of a book. It was how bright blue eyes met deep brown from across the Great Hall, garnering shy smiles over breakfast. How she started taking her peppermint tea with extra honey, how he started to prefer pumpkin pasties after dinner. How the smell of her lilac perfume lingered near her chair in the library, where he never had the courage to approach before she was gone for the night.
They hadn’t spoken a word to one another until that fateful fall day. “Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall called their names. “You’ll be partnered for your Transfiguration essays.”
“What?!” Ron burst out, causing Harry to look around in embarrassment. “Professor, we always get to choose our own partners!”
“Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said tersely, narrowing her eyes. “Not this time. Now, please sit. Mr. Longbottom–”
“Sorry, Ron,” Hermione whispered before moving her things to Draco’s table.
“Hello,” she said softly, adrenaline pumping through her veins.
“Hello,” he replied, butterflies raging in his stomach.
They sat silently for the remainder of the class, all too aware of one another’s presence. Without realizing, their breathing matched pace, hitching only when their elbows bumped while taking copious notes. After the fourth or fifth collision, Draco rested his elbow on the table, lightly pressing into hers, and Hermione could barely focus on anything else as Professor McGonagall ended the lesson.
“Are you free this evening?” Hermione asked, biting her lip.
“I’ll meet you in the library after dinner. Back corner, right?” Draco responded, nervously tugging at his fingers under the table.
“Right,” she smiled shyly, quickly packing up the last of her things. Hermione caught up with Harry and Ron, ignoring the fact that he already knew her favorite spot.
Their Transfiguration essay was a doorway to their future as study partners. Much to Ron’s dismay and slightly declining grades, Hermione enjoyed collaborating with her Slytherin counterpart. They spent most evenings in the library, revising notes and studying for their N.E.W.T.S.
A few days before Ron’s eighteenth birthday, Hermione entered the Gryffindor Common Room after another late night in the library to find Ron glaring at her from an overstuffed armchair.
“Is something wrong?” She asked, feeling hair rise on the back of her neck in anticipation for an argument.
“Yeah, ‘Mione, something’s wrong. You’ve been spending too much with Malfoy,” Ron hissed in annoyance.
“I don’t think you have a say in who I spend my time with, Ronald. We work well together,” she argued, blaming her heated cheeks on the crackling fire.
“A little too well, I’d say,” Ron mumbled angrily.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione fought back, questioning her friend’s accusation.
“Ron, that’s enough,” Harry said quietly, not wanting to sow discourse amongst them.
“It’s just that you and Malfoy seem awfully chummy as of late,” he sputtered hastily.
“We’re–” she really didn’t know how to finish that sentence.
Harry tried, again, to ease the tension. “I think what Ron is trying and failing to say is that we miss you, ‘Mione. We don’t see you much anymore. We don’t just miss you as our study partner, we miss you as our friend.”
“Oh,” she softened. “That’s…well, you could have just said that.”
“Sorry, ‘Mione, you’re right. I should have said something before I let myself get so worked up,” Ron added, abashed.
“I suppose I could take a break from studying this weekend. Let’s visit Hogsmeade, yeah?” Hermione supplied, hoping to cheer everyone up, and ignore the lingering disappointment she felt.
With a quick note to Draco, courtesy of Hedwig, Hermione went to sleep that night with a bit of sadness she didn’t quite understand. She felt sick – a feeling her mother would call ‘lovesick’, but that was simply preposterous. She wasn’t in love, was she?
Over the next two months, Hermione tried to balance quality time with her friends with her heavy course load and grueling study schedule. She met with Draco on Thursday nights to study, and the days between their meetings in the library dragged unceremoniously. She missed him, everyday. She missed the sound of his quill scratching on parchment, his soft sighs after reading a long chapter, his silent sips of tea before the cup clinked on the saucer.
Draco missed the scent of her lilac perfume mixed with notes of peppermint tea and old parchment. He missed her companionship when he studied in the Slytherin Common Room or didn’t make it to the Great Hall early enough on Saturdays. He missed her.
In late May, Hermione finally cracked under pressure. “Why do I miss someone who was never mine?” She whispered, turning away with tears in her eyes.
Draco sat quietly, before rounding the table and pulling her into a tight embrace. She sighed deeply, sinking closer to his chest as his hand threaded into her curls. He leaned back, pressing a whisper of a kiss to her forehead.
“I’ll be yours, if you’ll have me.”