HERMIONE | Draco Malfoy

three ⌁ praeparatio

Though she had, admittedly, slept well that night, she refused to go back to Draco and ask for more. She didn't need his help. She didn't need anyone's help, in fact. She was Hermione Jean Granger, the smartest witch in her year. She could just brew the damned potion herself. He'd see. She was fine.

A few days went by before she could start brewing, her mail order not having arrived yet. When her friends asked her why she needed extra ingredients, she told them she wanted to practice some of the other potions in the syllabus, that they hadn't yet covered in class. She already had some flobberworm mucus anyway, so it wasn't completely obvious what she was making. But he knew. She could tell from the glances he gave her in potions, the looks he sent her way from across the hall. Sometimes she'd catch him watching her in the common room. Sometimes she'd watch back.

It was curious, really, for her to watch him without suspicion. For both of them. She thought she was being subtle, but years as a death eater had taught Draco how to know when someone was watching you. He'd clock her out of the corner of his eye, throwing glances at him whilst she practiced the gemino curse to try and duplicate a stack of books in the common room.

Draco debated cursing her cauldron so her potion wouldn't work, but by the state of her face, it didn't seem necessary. She looked exhausted, like she hadn't had a full night's rest in weeks. She'd probably chopped the valerian up too small, he thought. She tended to do that when she wasn't paying attention. He wasn't really sure why he was trying to help her, when she probably wanted nothing to do with him, but he really was sorry for what he'd done. He wanted to be friends with them, all of them, and she was probably the easiest way to do that.

One night he caught her in the common room, dozing on the settee, her hair sprawled across the back of the seat. It was late, and most of the other students had gone to bed, so he'd conjured up a blanket (green, of course, he wasn't about to abandon house pride for a Gryffindor) and slipped a sleeping draught in her pumpkin juice in case she woke up. She looked angelic, innocent when she lay there and for a moment he got caught up in his boyhood and forgot who she was, who he was. But she was awfully pretty, he couldn't deny it. She'd grown a lot since they'd first met, a bushy haired monster and a broken boy. He remembered seeing her for the first time, hoping she'd get sorted into Slytherin so they could be friends. Even though she was annoying, she was kind, and loyal, and that was something he'd always admired about her, even though he'd never say it to her face.

He decided to write her a short note, deciding that would be the best way to approach the situation-besides, he didn't want to wake her up and have her accuse him of watching her sleep. She made a light whining noise as he sat beside her, summoning a quill and a piece of parchment. He wasn't sure what to write, really, just knew that he wanted her to speak to him in person. Willingly. What could he offer that she wouldn't deny?

His Slytherin mind at work, he began to devise a plan. Perhaps he could get her friends to convince her. He could invite them all to...hang out or something. What did wizards and witches who genuinely like each other do for fun? He wasn't awfully sure. He'd only really done a couple of things with his friends besides from teasing Potter and regretting the day they'd been born. He watched as she furrowed her brows in frustration; she must be having a nightmare. She was awfully quiet. He tried to think of some kind of way to stop it without shoving a dreamless sleep potion down her throat and hoping she didn't gag it up.

One time he and Blaise had gotten drunk together and talked about stupid, irrelevant little things until they'd fallen asleep which was nice, though he couldn't quite remember what they'd discussed. He only hoped it wasn't anything too private, he'd seen what alcohol can do to your tongue. Only Theo had ever really spent any real time with him. Perhaps he could ask him,though they hadn't really spoken very much since the battle.