Warmer Water
Draco hadn’t gone down to breakfast that morning, Blaise and Theo were finishing work at the Ministry of Magic before they came back to school, and Pansy had her own group of girlfriends. There was no use subjecting himself to painfully obvious whispers behind pumpkin juice.
He made it out of bed in time to arrive to potions just before Slughorn would’ve taken points from Slytherin, not that he would’ve given a shit. He scanned the room for an extra seat but all he saw were side profiles as most classmates avoided eye contact. Fucking cowards.
“Mr. Malfoy if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat sometime today”. Professor Slughorn mused so Draco had no choice but to make his way to the front row of desks. He blinked twice before realizing the neat mass of coils beside him was in fact Granger. He knew she was… pretty. Even when bucktoothed and frizzy haired he was aware that she wasn’t ugly. But her hair had always looked like it belonged to four different people at once, dry and greasy, short and long curls all pulled into a sloppy bun. This was different.
It was still curly and it was undoubtedly still big. But it was so very Granger. She had a few curly tendrils falling into her face, and two thick braids that seemed to be attached to her going horizontally from ear to ear and it was all collected at the back of her head with a silk burgundy bow. Wild and neat all at once.
“Your hair could do that the whole time?” He asked plopping himself down in the seat next to her.
Granger huffed in exasperation so hard her bangs flew up for a moment. “Are you ever going to say hello or good morning to me or is it just a rude comment every time?”
Fair, it wasn’t Granger’s fault that muggle parents don’t give a pixie’s ass how their children look when they go out into society. If anything, she was incredibly brave to have split ends from parental neglect all these years.
“I just mean it… you look nice.” Granger’s eyes widened and her complexion began to flush, yet another attempt at normal conversation had done nothing but put the discomfort between the two on display.
Slughorn began to describe the assignment of the day and the pair found themselves concentrating on potions more than they ever had.
Although she was a devout feminist, Hermione had no problem with acts of gentlemanliness. An overly confident sixth year boy offering to carry her books for her or an older gentleman holding the door open for her and Ginny walking into the bar at Hogsmeade. She’d spent the better part of her life saving two damsels (Ron and Harry) from distress (monsters, belligerent governments, and homework). She was more than happy to allow the men of this world to repay her via casual princess treatment.
But Malfoy was getting on her fucking nerves. The whole “nice” debacle was frustrating enough. She would be berating herself for weeks over acting like a first year over a man calling her “nice”. The lowest of compliments. She was radiant, graceful, angelic, nice was the lowest tier.
Malfoy kept grabbing the ingredients before she had the chance to rise, chopping and grinding and stirring so much she didn’t have to lift a manicured finger.
That was one drawback of “beautifying” herself over the summer. Once at a party at the Leaky Cauldron she’d been listening in on a conversation about- what else- Quidditch between Ron, Ginny and Cormack. She had mistakenly asked what would happen if a bludger caught the snitch and the three of them stared at her like she’d suggested vacationing in Azkaban.
“Are you sure there’s still a brain underneath all that shiny hair Granger?” Cormack commented. Cormack asking if she had a brain? The man who once licked a metal broomstick during winter was asking Hermione Granger, if she had a fucking brain? What was it about using lipgloss and concealer that just erased years of being top of her class? But it also seemed to erase memories of being a swot in her classmates eyes.
But she liked being a swot. She liked running a finger down a page to check the exact measurements before hearing the satisfying crunch of a root under her knife. Malfoy was ruining class for her. It was when he snatched the poultice out of her hands with an “I’ll take care of that for you.” that she felt the need to express her displeasure.
“I’m perfectly capable of grinding a poltice myself Malfoy.”
“But… I just want to do you a favor.” He began to explain.
“I never asked you to- and if you’re going to do a favor, do it right, you mix too slowly.” She grabbed the pestle from him and began to grind.
He rubbed his wrist sheepishly. “Apologies, I hurt my wrist a few months ago,”
“I didn’t ask but thank you.”
He bristled, hadn’t he played nice with her all fucking morning? “I just wanted you to know that I’m perfectly competent, I’m just injured.”
Hermione stopped her grinding for a moment, “Why do you give a fuck what I think about you?” She didn’t need to say it so brashly but it was on her mind. Frankly she wanted to never speak to him again, but he kept giving her these nauseating half-smiles. Not so much a real smile as it was an awkward display of his guilt- she hated it. One of the points of fixing her hair and her teeth was to stop the half-smiles fans gave her after pushing her over trying to get Harry’s autograph.
“I-” he was taken aback. He could’ve simply told her she was wrong but that wasn’t accurate. He really did give a fuck what she thought about him. But explaining why was… more complex.
Draco loved school before Hogwarts, still did. But Granger changed things, all of a sudden he was actually studying instead of halfway paying attention in class to keep up with a muggle-born who found out about magic months ago. His parents were furious. Not just a girl from outside of their world but a mudblood at that. He’d been told mudbloods were ugly, stupid, boorish people. But from where he stood, Crabbe and Goyle seemed much more like mudbloods than Granger ever did. Of course ,he couldn’t- wouldn’t let her know how he felt. How he’d follow her from afar in the library, wait until she returned whatever text she had her nose in to check it out immediately. Sometimes he swore he could feel the warmth still on it from where she gripped the bindings.
He was still trying to put the past into words when Granger nodded curtly. “Alright then,” she began to move past him but knocked over the poultice in her haste. “Granger, wait!”
A poof of beet-scented smoke overtook the two of them, when they opened their eyes it was clear Hermione had taken the worst of the blast. Her legs were stained bright red while only Draco’s uniform pants suffered. They were fine, it was quite literally just beetroot powder, but Slughorn informed Hermione that she would likely be… erm… decorated for the rest of the day. Hushed giggles swept through the classroom like a breeze on a spring day and the tips of Draco’s ears were as red as Hermione’s calves.
They worked in silence for the remainder of the hour.
Draco finally broke the silence, “Could you check the book to see if we need fire or if a warming spell will work.” Hermione nodded wordlessly and flipped to the section of the textbook he required, her eyes floated around the page aimlessly. While speed was not equivalent to comprehension, Draco was well aware that Granger was a fast reader, so it didn’t make sense to take so long to find the answer. After a questionably long amount of time, she took her wand and slowly waved it over the area, then brought the glowing tip to her temple.
“A warming spell is fine,” she answered as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Why did you do that?” Draco asked.
Granger huffed, “Can’t you ever just take something at face value without questions?”
“Last time I followed orders without questions a blood war broke out so I’m trying to switch things up,”
Against her wishes Hermione bit her lip trying to hold in a smile. It was more than hypocritical for her of all people to ask Malfoy not to ask questions, but luckily class was over so she didn’t have to respond with much more than a curt nod before heading out the door.
“Did you get your period or something?” Ginny asked her, eyeing her ruby red legs.
“Does NO ONE say good morning anymore?” Hermione threw her hands up in exhaustion. Ginny had seen her all summer so she had no comments about her hair like Malfoy did, but still. Whatever happened to common courtesy?
Hermione was an only child and she’d often wished for a sister, but being best friends with Ginny was a lot like having a brother who happened to have breasts. Poor Molly Weasley tried at having a girl so many times to have her best quidditch player be none other than Ginerva.
She explained the unfortunate side effects of having Malfoy as a potions partner, much to Ginny’s amusement. So amusing in fact, she retold the story to whoever would listen in the Gryffindor common room that afternoon.
“I mean I’ve heard of girls getting caught up with a man and they stop their period, but I’ve never heard of a bloke so frustrating he makes a period start!” Ginny laughed so hard she fell off the sofa and kicked her feet on the carpet.
“Watch it Weasley” Seamus Finnegan said, narrowly missing being clipped by her Quidditch cleats. He looked over at Hermione, “Malfoy bothering you?”.
Hermione just rolled her eyes, “Malfoy wishes he could bother me,” which was a lie. It was incredibly easy for Malfoy to bother her, breathing, asking questions, seeing her in her hair bonnet which was essentially nudity.
Seamus shook his head, “Someone outta teach him a lesson,”
Ginny sat up on her elbow pads, “I imagine the Dementors from Azakaban already did that,”. Ginny was also far from friendly with Malfoy, but after being possessed by Tom Riddle, she was generally apathetic to anyone who encountered dark spirits.
Ginny and Seamus went back and forth for a bit before waving goodbye to Hermione as they headed out to the Quidditch Pitch, she hadn’t given her conversation with Seamus much thought until she went to the prefect bathroom that night.
She had returned from grabbing a lotion from her bedside, when the sound of moving water caught her attention. She turned to see none other than Malfoy, porcelain chest peaking out of a plush green robe.
“Malfoy, you’re naked!” She gave an unladylike yelp and turned around.
“I’m wearing shorts Granger calm down.” He answered, voice uncharacteristically gruff.
Slowly, Hermione peaked over she shoulder to see him gingerly untying the robe to reveal an unexpectedly muscular torso, so muscular she didn’t initially notice the bruises up his side.
“You’re hurt.” she stated.
He started to laugh but winced, “Yeah your Gryffindor lackeys made sure of that. No worries, it’ll take more than two overexcited beaters to take out the sole hier of the Malfoy name.”. He tried to lower himself into the water but something in his back seemed to spasm before he could reach the first steps.
“Let me help you,” she started forward, putting a foot into the water before jumping out as though it shocked her.
“Why is the water so fucking cold” She hopped around grabbing her foot and massaging it as if to get her frozen blood pumping again.
Mlafoy let out another tight laugh. “It’s good for the muscles,”
“But it’s bad for the soul, you don’t know what you’re doing, let me take care of this.”
Hermione stomped over to her bag and threw a bathbomb into the water, lit a few candles and casted a warming spell.
Despite his bruised ribs protesting, Draco took a deep inhale of the steamy air, jasmine and eucalyptus wafted into his nostrils and a little bit of his muscle’s ache melted away. He tossed his robe to the side and gently lowered himself into the water, almost too tired to notice Granger running up behind him when he began teetering. He sat on the lowest step before the bath grew deep and Hermione sat on the water’s edge with him in between her legs.
He let out a cartoonish “ahhh” and the steam of the room almost made him his namesake, Hermione held in a giggle to the best of her abilities. She could never let him know he reminded her of a Dragon.
“What?” He looked up at her with a smile, gray-green eyes flashing in a way that made her breath catch against her will.
She quickly looked the other way, “This Muggle author Sylvia Plath once said ‘I am sure there are things that can’t be cured by a good bath, but I can’t think of one,’”
Draco rolled his tight shoulders, his muscles flexing. “She seems very wise, did she live a good life?”
Hermione laughed darkly, “She committed suicide by putting her head in an oven.”.
Draco turned sharply, “You’re a sick puppy Granger,”. The laughs filled the air, the warmth of the candles setting a cozy atmosphere to the bathroom that had seemed so dark and dank for some time.
“Why’d you use your wand in Potions today?” Draco asked.
A beat of silence sobered them up, he turned around to see her not angry as he expected, but solem. She noticed him looking at her and straightened before reaching out to grab his shoulders.
“Ouch Granger - what part of sore muscles do you not understand?” The young man straightened as her thumbs dug into the tense muscles around his neck.
“You’ll recover so much faster if you worked out your muscles and drank anything other than Firewhiskey,” she ignored his protests of her massage. Initially she’d done this to shut him up, but of all her stupid plans at Hogwarts this one was turning on her the fastest.
She’d noticed his muscles but how was she supposed to know Malloy had all this beef underneath his robe? He’d always been a pale, wirey young man but now in his place there were muscles that looked like they’d survive a hard day of work. She slowed her ministrations over a particularly hard knot that allowed her to appreciate the craftsmanship of hard Quidditch training. The soapy water droplets curved beautifully over his deltoids, which had a few stray scratches from Merlin knows what.
“Granger I’m not that easily distracted,” Draco teasingly sing songed, a lie if one was ever told. He was very distracted by the hands running over his back. Yes he was groaning from his poor muscles being abused, but he worried that Granger could tell there was something more if his groans. The sound of her breathing felt so close to his ears, the steam of the room and the thought of being in between her legs, even with his back facing her was enough to set him off. He never expected to be grateful for such a gratuitous amount of bubbles in a bath.
So he needed the distraction of whatever Granger’s big secret was. Draco didn’t know if he was happy or sad when Granger finally dropped her hands, leaning back on them before she sighed.
Draco turned in the water and waded backward a bit to get a better look at her. “You practicing some nerdy black magic I should know about?”
Hermione rolled her eyes at him for what could’ve been the hundredth time today. No one outside of the Saint Mungo’s Professionals knew about this. But it was Malfoy, If he told anyone she’d vehemently deny it and sick another Quidditch team on his sorry ass.
“I… can’t read,” she looked down at her feet, making out her chipped pink toenails through the bubbles.
He scoffed, “Yes and I’m part Hippogriff on my mother’s side, be real with me,”
Hermione rolled her neck, suddenly becoming very interested in the architecture of the ceiling. “I actually can’t read,”
Malfoy flared out his nostrils and gestured for her to continue.
“I read a-fuck-ton during the war, ways to break unbreakable curses, ways to disaperate a horcrux… how to obliviate someone so no one could tell they’ve ever been obliviated…”
Malfoy’s swallow let Hermione know he’d rumors of what she did last summer.
“There were a few talismans Fred and George were working on, to help you read incredibly fast to catch up before a test,” Hemione scoffed, she knew the risk she was taking accepting a prototype from the two. She’d taken the pair of glasses from them during her role as head girl and had simply never taken them out of her bag. And they worked. Hermione assumed the migraines were just stress from war or reading by candlelight. She’d consumed thousands of books, the words eventually grew blurry before her eyes, the letters looking backward, upside down even. Until she couldn’t read for very long without a dizzying headache. As per usual Hermione ruined a pure thing, reading, with her hubris, her hunger for more.
So she learned how to imitate the old scanner at her parent’s home, then her wand dictated the book excerpt in her ear.
Hermione finished explaining to Malfoy while he slowly treaded water listening to her. He didn’t say a thing. “You can laugh if you want”
“Goodness Granger do you think I’d take such a cheap shot?”
The two shared a knowing look before laughing melting some of the tension. In a flash Malfoy grabbed her ankle and pulled her into the soapy water.
The warm suds permeated Hermione’s curls, water running down her face as she burst above the water and began slapping at Draco’s bare chest.
“You absolute bastard! You got my hair wet, do you have any idea what bubbles will do to my curls?” Hermione managed to stay angry despite being chest to naked chest with Malfoy as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close in the water.
“I’ll laugh at your hair all I want Granger, but losing your ability to do your favorite thing to find one more way to win the war isn’t hubris. It’s fucking valorous.”
Hermione counted the droplets of humidity on his face (nine) before looking in his eyes. The bags were still there, but not quite so severe as they were a year ago. His eyes still steely, but there was something behind them that wasn’t there before, or maybe Hermione had never really looked.
“T-thank you, any particular reason you needed to pull me against you to tell me that?”
In all honestly, Malfoy was not completely sure why he had done that, but seeing her legs dripping with water while listening to her talk about her war traumas was giving his brain two very intense opposite emotions so he had to end one. And he chose to put Granger’s muscular wet legs out of sight to be the easiest decision. But he still meant what he said.
“Because I need you to believe me when I tell you how I feel about you,”
Hermione’s breath caught, had the gods not given her enough trials? Now she had to have her former tormentor turn into a beautiful bruised boy who casually spouted poetic words AND had tree trunk thighs despite surviving on prison food for the past few months.
She broke away from his grasp. “Are you falling for me, Malfoy? " she chuckled, hoping he didn’t notice her voice shaking.
He effortlessly began floating on his back, “War heroes aren’t really my type, but don’t worry. I’m a gentleman. I won’t tell anyone how you ogled and felt up my poor bruised body.”
“Mmm,” Hermione gave him a once over. “And I won’t tell anyone how I saw your hard-on while you stupidly floated on your back.” She wished him goodnight and walked out of the bathroom, too exhausted from the encounter to remember to do her hair.
Malfoy wished her goodnight before turning facedown in the bubbles and screaming.