Strange Birds

Chapter 1

It's nonsensical how it happens. Her crush on Draco Malfoy.

A combined Seventh/Eighth Year Potions curriculum requires work in groups of four. They're a natural trio, and he's an outcast. Thus, Professor Slughorn gestures impatiently at their table when it's clear no one else will have him.

Ron rolls his eyes; Harry and Hermione offer nods and Malfoy returns them.

No one says anything for the first few classes besides: "I'm done slicing." "How many stirs?" "We're out of leeches, I'll grab some."

But during their fifth class Malfoy snaps. He sets down his knife sharply, almost a slam.

"That's enough, I cannot do this."

Hermione is expecting a tantrum about being forced to work with them, but Malfoy's fury is directed at Harry's hands.

"Potter, you are menacing those roots. It's an abomination! Hand them over, I cannot abide any more crimes of this magnitude."

Ron and Hermione watch slack-jawed as Harry dutifully slides his cutting board across the table and Malfoy deftly chops the roots. It's a precise concentration involving scrunched brows, pursed lips, and careful, yet quick fingers.

"Honestly, this is a First-Year skill. Weren't you some sort of Potions prodigy in Sixth Year?"

"Yep," says Harry with a shrug, "because I cheated."

The nonchalant confession reshapes Malfoy's fury.

"I—you—" Malfoy sputters before turning to Hermione. "I knew he couldn't beat you on his own."

Hermione blinks. Words fail her.

He's never complimented her before. Obviously. Unless one counts his lack of insults at the Yule Ball in Fourth Year as a compliment. She doesn't.

This is new.

Perhaps feeling the weight of three surprised sets of eyes, Malfoy blushes and returns to his silent task.

Plenty of things about Malfoy are new. The inconspicuous way he walks through corridors, slipping into classes at the last possible second. Sitting at the end of the Slytherin table with only Theodore Nott for company. He's full up on behaviors indicating he'd like to be left alone.

"You stare at Malfoy a lot," Ron observes one morning at breakfast.

"And?" she retorts. "You stare at Daphne Greengrass."

Ron mutters something sheepish and reddens to the tips of his ears. She knows the comment on Malfoy isn't born of jealousy (one kiss in the heat of war does not a successful romantic relationship make) but she hates the protective edge to it all the same.

She can look, or not look, at Malfoy all she likes. And Hermione finds she likes to look.

It's Harry, of course, who breaks the ice. Instead of suffocating under the silence while they wait for their potion to boil, Harry strikes up conversation with Ron.

At the first instance of "Quidditch" Hermione sees the minute signs of Malfoy's attention shift from reading the textbook in his lap to the boys' chatter. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth. He does this when he wants to say something but has since learned the art of holding his tongue. She knows that when his teeth eventually release it, the flesh will be almost red; artificially rosier than normal due to natural paleness.

Like her, Malfoy hunches when reading but Harry and Ron's sports talk straightens his spine. His grey eyes no longer slide back and forth to read, and Hermione sees them brighten in interest.