Somebody Told Me
With the revelation of what had now become a problem for the duo, they agreed that until they found a solution, they would keep their proximity to the bare minimum. Fortunately, they shared all the classes where magic was actively required, so they decided that Hermione would try to sit with Theo whenever possible, while Malfoy would stay with Zabini. Hermione wasn’t too pleased with this arrangement—being away from her friends put her at a clear disadvantage—but there wasn’t much they could do. She needed her magic, and the closer she was to Malfoy, the better it would function. At least until the weekend, when they would have time for a proper joint investigation—one in which Ginny would also help, under the strict promise that she wouldn’t tell Harry or Ron.
The redhead had simply suggested asking Malfoy’s parents for help. After all, they were an influential family and surely wouldn’t want to see their son entangled with a witch like her. But the moment the three Slytherins exchanged glances, it was clear that wasn’t an option. The reason remained a mystery—one Hermione silently vowed to uncover.
When Theo proposed seeking McGonagall or Snape for guidance, Hermione and Draco flatly refused. They had no idea how their Heads of House would react, and they couldn’t risk jeopardizing their position as Head Boy and Head Girl—especially Hermione.
Professor Aurélie Dumont walked through the classroom with her signature elegance, observing her students with a faint smile.
“Today, we will be working on paired dueling. Two against two,” she announced, her French accent marking each word distinctly. “I want to see strategy, teamwork, and, of course, creativity.”
Draco glanced up at Aurélie, crossing his arms as he took the chance to admire her while he could—confident that he’d be paired with either Theodore or Zabini. But his arrogance evaporated the moment Aurélie continued reading the names.
“Malfoy and Granger.”
A murmur spread through the classroom. Hermione frowned. Draco shot her a look that said not in a thousand years. But Aurélie had already turned to assign the next pair.
Hermione approached with pursed lips.
“Don’t mess this up, Malfoy.”
“Please, Granger,” Draco muttered, adjusting the sleeves of his robe with practiced ease. “The only thing I plan to do is win.”
Hermione simply sighed and took her position beside him.
The duel began. Hermione and Draco, still struggling to coordinate, managed to hold their ground. But then, in a split second of perfect synchronization, Hermione cast Protego just as Draco fired Expelliarmus. The force of the spell not only disarmed their opponent—it sent Dean Thomas staggering backward several feet. More than twice the usual distance.
Aurélie raised her eyebrows, visibly impressed.
A sharp thrill of satisfaction coursed down Draco’s spine. Maybe Granger wasn’t so useless after all.
Hermione, on the other hand, was processing something entirely different. Her magic wasn’t that strong. And neither was Draco’s.
So why had they achieved that together?
They exchanged a look. Something was off.
Or perhaps... it wasn’t?
Hermione took a slow breath, eyes fixed on the Gryffindor still recovering across the room. The power behind that enhanced Expelliarmus had been unexpected, but she wasn’t about to waste time wondering why. Not when she had the perfect opportunity to test a theory.
“My turn,” she whispered, excitement lacing her voice.
“Granger, this isn’t a library,” Draco murmured, but his smirk remained.
Hermione ignored him. She raised her wand, now aiming at Seamus Finnigan, who was still armed. Her mind raced through possible spells—something more advanced, something that would make them look superior… and give her more insight into what was happening with their magic.
“Oppugno.”
The quills on the nearby desks trembled before rising into the air. Hermione had used the spell before—the quills were supposed to chase the opponent, nothing more than an annoyance.
This time, they didn’t.
For a moment, they hovered weightlessly. Then, suddenly, their edges sharpened into razor-like points before shooting forward with a force Hermione had never witnessed.
The Gryffindor duo barely had time to raise a Protego. The impact was so strong that the shield vibrated, as if holding back a relentless barrage of invisible darts.
A hushed murmur swept through the class. Hermione stood still, feeling the echo of magic still pulsing through her wand.
Something was wrong.
Or... not wrong. Different.
Draco let out a low, appreciative chuckle.
“Well, well, Granger. I had no idea you had so much pent-up aggression,” he mused, his smirk widening as his sharp gaze swept over her with newfound interest—like he had just discovered something fascinating. “And I have to say, it suits you rather well.”
Hermione frowned. She wasn’t aggressive. That wasn’t her nature.
Her housemates seemed unharmed—impressed, even. No one appeared upset or injured, thankfully.
But Draco? Draco was different. He had done things like this before. More times than he cared to admit. Like that time in third year when he nearly broke a Hufflepuff’s nose with Flipendo just for bumping into him in the corridors. Or in fifth year, when he sent a Ravenclaw straight to the hospital wing with an overpowered Expulso during a duel.
Hermione turned slightly and saw him standing too close, their energies still crackling in the air between them.
That was when she understood.
Their magic didn’t just grow stronger when they were together.
They influenced each other.
And if that was true…
A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine—at first from fear, then shifting into something else. Something strange. Something dangerous.
Something dark.
And the worst part? She didn’t hate it.
Beside her, Draco smiled with the arrogance of someone who had just discovered a secret weapon. The potential of their newfound advantage was exhilarating.
He turned slightly, catching Hermione’s gaze already on him. There was something in her expression—the curve of her lips, the feverish gleam in her eyes—that made him think of danger. Of power.
Of desire.
His smirk deepened, almost lascivious. And to his surprise, Hermione didn’t look away. There was complicity in that gaze—a shared triumph that only the two of them understood. No one else had noticed.
Or so Draco thought.
“Five points to Gryffindor and five more to Slytherin,” Aurélie announced, her tone carefully neutral. But Draco wasn’t fooled.
When he glanced at the professor, he noticed the way her jaw tensed ever so slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
She wasn’t angry. But…
Jealous?
The thought amused him. A wicked pleasure curled in his chest at the possibility.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
As soon as she finished her meal—during which Hermione didn’t miss the chance to apologize to Dean and Seamus for her "aggressive" performance—they were quick to assure her that they were more impressed than offended. That brought her some relief, though the unease soon crept back in. She headed to the library with determination.
There was something about the whole thing that, while it had made her feel powerful for a moment, she couldn’t afford to ignore. It wasn’t right.
She made her way to the Charms section and pulled several volumes on advanced magic, magical connections, and theories on wizarding synergy. A good starting point. She had been engrossed in her reading for about thirty minutes when she felt someone behind her.
Draco let his gaze roam over the pile of books on the table, briefly stopping at each title: Arcane Bonds: Theory and Practice of Shared Magic, Magical Resonance and Its Influence on Charms, Twin and Symbiotic Spells: When Magic Intertwines, Blood Magic and Ancestral Pacts… However, the only book he deliberately ignored was the one Hermione was holding in her hands.
Hermione, noticing his scrutiny, snapped the book shut, attempting to cover the title with her arm.
Dark Magic and Its Allure.
Draco arched an eyebrow before dropping into the chair beside her, a smirk of evident amusement on his face.
“I don’t blame you, Granger. My family’s reputation precedes me,” he remarked with feigned indifference, lazily crossing one leg over the other. Without asking for permission, he picked up the quill Hermione had been using to take notes, twirling it idly between his fingers.
“What you did with those quills was impressive, truly. I can’t even imagine what else you might be capable of…” His smirk deepened, voice laced with smug satisfaction. “As long as you’re by my side, of course.”
With exasperating ease, he grabbed a book at random and pulled it toward himself with an air of nonchalance.
“It’s a shame you’re so eager to undo it.”
Hermione pressed her lips together.
“I have no desire to be tied to you in any way, Malfoy. And you shouldn’t underestimate me. It’s clear you don’t want any kind of connection with me either.”
Draco placed a hand over his chest in mock distress.
“And what about our alliance, Granger? I thought we shared our sorrows…” He pulled a theatrically exaggerated frown. “You’ve broken my heart.”
Hermione scoffed in frustration.
“It’s quite impossible to break something that doesn’t exist, Malfoy.”
For a brief second, Draco’s expression tightened, but he recovered quickly. Leaning back in his chair, he arched an eyebrow.
“I have to admit, I like you better this way, Granger—when you’re on the defensive. You turn it into a duel…” He smirked. “Always fun.”
Hermione crossed her arms, exasperated.
“If you’re not going to help, Malfoy, at least don’t interrupt my efforts to get us out of this mess.”
Draco continued twirling the quill between his fingers, as if considering something.
“I wouldn’t call it a mess, Granger. Don’t tell me you’re not even a little curious about how far we could take this…” He made a small motion with the quill, pointing to the space between them.
A sudden heat crept up Hermione’s face, and she cursed inwardly.
Draco clicked his tongue in amusement.
“Watch your manners, Granger. A good girl like you shouldn’t be cursing.”
Hermione frowned. She was sure she hadn’t said anything aloud. Or at least, she thought so.
“Where’s your academic curiosity?” Draco challenged again, his tone taunting.
Hermione gestured to the books spread out before her.
“What do you think I’m doing, Malfoy? Do you think I’m exploring a future career as a librarian, sorting texts?”
Draco narrowed his eyes, something mischievous glinting behind them. Almost immediately, an image crept into his mind: Hermione in a library, wearing a fitted uniform and a skirt far too short, climbing a ladder to reach a book on the highest shelf…
He had to shake his head and clear his throat, banishing the fantasy before it became too vivid.
“It’s good that you’re researching, Granger. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. But consider this… No, scratch that—you’ll have to, because this involves me too. Whatever you decide to do about it, you’ll consult me first.”
Hermione sighed in exasperation.
“Contrary to what you think, Draco, I acknowledge that this”—she gestured between them irritably—“involves you. And your warning, which you so uselessly tried to pass off as a request, is unnecessary. Obviously, I’ll let you know if I find anything. Though I can manage just fine on my own, it would be nice if you also put some effort into finding answers.”
Draco scoffed.
“Of course. I just need to clear some mental gaps so I can focus and not waste my time…” He cast a disdainful glance at the sea of books before him. “Though, in the spirit of this lovely bond this little emergency has created, I have a request.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
“It must be something you really need, Draco. There’s no way you’d call anything that connects us ‘lovely.’”
Draco raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk laced with fake innocence.
“Guilty. For today’s match… could you be as close to the field as possible?”
Hermione stared at him, incredulous.
“What are you suggesting, Malfoy? That you’re going to carry me on your shoulders for the entire match?”
Draco rolled his eyes.
“For Merlin’s sake, no. That would cost me agility, and the rules don’t allow it. I’m just saying that if you positioned yourself in a central spot, I could move with more confidence.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“I won’t do it. You seem to forget that my loyalties lie far from Slytherin.”
Draco let out a theatrical sigh.
“I’m appealing to your goodwill.”
Hermione offered him a cold smile.
“Goodwill is given to those who are willing to extend it in return. I don’t recall any such courtesy from you toward me. In fact, I don’t recall you showing goodwill to anyone since I’ve known you, Malfoy.”
Draco regarded her intently.
“What do you want, Granger?”
Hermione opened her mouth to answer but hesitated.
“There’s nothing I could possibly want from you,” she said firmly.
But in the back of her mind, a flicker of doubt struck.
Or was there?
Draco smirked, his expression turning dangerously shrewd.
“Meet me at the tunnel entrance before the match starts. I’m sure your clever little mind will find something I can provide.”
He stood up with his usual poise and disappeared down the aisle with steady steps.
Hermione watched him go. Still irritated, yet unable to shake the persistent feeling that, despite everything, there was something about Draco Malfoy that…
No. She wasn’t finishing that thought.
Shaking her head, she returned most of the books and selected four to take for the weekend. Before leaving, she headed toward the Quidditch section.
Not because she needed anything from Draco Malfoy… but it never hurt to be prepared.
During dinner, Hermione flipped through a scroll summarizing her afternoon research on Quidditch tactics, though she wasn’t particularly interested. Her gaze discreetly drifted toward the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was deep in conversation with his team.
She was surprised to realize that, at some point, she had apparently decided to help Malfoy. There was only one problem—how could she make sure she was close enough for it to work? A central position would be enough. If so, how could she reach a spot reserved only for professors? Even as Head Girl, she wouldn’t dare. The answer was sitting right in front of her in the form of her best friend.
“Ginny,” Hermione said casually, “I need to sit at the barrier between Ravenclaw and Slytherin during the match.”
The redhead stopped mid-bite, frowning at her.
“Excuse me?”
“For academic purposes,” Hermione added quickly. “I’m studying game strategies for my essay on the impact of Quidditch on decision-making under pressure.”
Ginny blinked, clearly skeptical.
“Can’t you just ask Oliver Wood about that?”
“Oliver Wood isn’t here.”
Hermione sighed, crossing her arms.
“Alright, what do you want in return?”
Ginny smirked.
“I want you to convince McGonagall to let me book extra hours on the pitch for practice.”
Hermione hesitated. If there was one thing she could accomplish, it was that.
“Deal.”
She excused herself before climbing to the central position in the stands, as Ginny had instructed. It was directly in front of where the professors sat and accessible only to the team’s substitute players. A third-year Ravenclaw named Alice McMillan was already there, but there was enough space for both of them. Ginny had handed her a small ball, similar to a Bludger, which would allow her access to the spot.
She made her way toward the tunnel entrance, noticing that both teams were already lined up on the field—except for Slytherin’s captain. Peeking inside, she tried to stay out of sight. Assuming Draco was already on the pitch and out of reach, she turned to leave—only to collide with something as solid as a wall.
Draco was standing there, one brow raised, a smirk of amusement spreading across his face.
Ginny was right—the arrogant bastard did look unfairly good in his Quidditch uniform.
“Knew I’d find you here, Granger. I assume we have a deal,” he said, extending his hand.
“I’ll do my best, but I have to say, I had to research on my own. I don’t know why you thought my position alone would be enough. Don’t you study Quidditch tactics?”
Draco extended his arm fully, closing the space between them, gently pushing her back against the tunnel wall.
“I know plenty of tactics, Granger. And not just for Quidditch.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Too close. Too much electricity in the air.
Then, a voice cleared its throat, breaking the tension.
“Miss Granger, what are you doing in the players’ tunnels?”
Hermione blinked and turned. Charlie stood there, arms crossed, his expression stern.
“I believe they’re waiting for you on the field, Mr. Malfoy,” he added, fixing Draco with a pointed, protective look that made Hermione smile. She took a moment to assess the situation. Charlie sounded irritated. Jealous, perhaps?
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Hermione leaned in ever so slightly toward Draco, resting her hand theatrically against his chest.
“Relax, Professor,” she said with a feline smile. “I was just having a friendly chat with the opposing team’s captain. Simple courtesy.”
Charlie narrowed his eyes, but Draco, catching on immediately, didn’t miss a beat.
“Exactly. We were merely discussing… tactics.” His voice dripped with smug amusement.
Hermione savored every second of it—until Draco grabbed his broom and strode onto the pitch.
The last thing she heard before heading to her seat was the eruption of cheers as Draco must have soared into the air—and Charlie clenching his jaw as he walked past her.
From her spot in the stands, Hermione bit her lip. There were cracks in the plan. Draco, flying at full speed, was drifting too far, and her magic wasn’t responding the same way. She could see him turning his head toward her, frustrated.
Malfoy’s losing focus, she thought.
And then she saw it—a Bludger heading straight for him.
Hermione gripped the railing. She couldn’t cast a spell in the middle of everyone, but she could try without a wand.
She focused on the feeling of Draco near her, on the pull of their magic.
She barely had time to breathe before Draco twisted sharply on his broom, regaining control with the ease of someone born to fly. The Bludger shot past him, slamming into one of the stadium’s goalposts with a dull thud.
Hermione smiled.
But he had no time for celebrations.
Cho was already moving.
The Ravenclaw Seeker leaned forward on her broom, a blur of fire and determination as she accelerated. Hermione didn’t need to see the Snitch to know she had spotted it.
Draco cursed. He dove.
The entire stadium held its breath as both Seekers plunged at an impossible angle, the wind howling around them.
“COME ON, CHANG!” roared the Ravenclaw stands.
“FASTER, MALFOY!” Theo shouted, standing on his seat.
Hermione could barely sit still. This wasn’t part of the plan. Draco was too far from her, and her magic wasn’t responding with the same strength. But she could still try.
She closed her eyes, reaching for the connection. For the pull of Draco’s magic, his sheer, unrelenting drive to win.
Across the pitch, Draco felt the faint tug in his chest. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Granger.
That familiar spark of magic ignited.
And then, he moved.
A sudden burst of speed propelled him forward. His Nimbus roared beneath him, every fiber of his being alive with energy.
Cho felt it. She pushed her broom to the limit, stretching out her hand.
Draco’s fingers brushed against something small and golden.
The entire stadium held its breath.
And then—his fist closed around the Snitch.
For a moment, there was absolute silence.
Then, an explosion of cheers from the Slytherin stands.
Draco lifted the Snitch high above his head, his chest rising and falling with adrenaline. His smirk was pure arrogance, pure triumph.
From the stands, Hermione let out a slow breath, a tingle running down her spine.
He looked for her.
She was already watching him.
And this time, it was Draco who smiled.
After the commotion of the Slytherin common room celebration, and as soon as Draco managed to slip free from Pansy's cloying grasp, he made his way to the Quidditch pitch through the tunnel stretching from the dungeons.
To his surprise—or perhaps not, because it seemed the connection he shared with Hermione was guiding his steps without him even realizing it—she was already there, sitting in the very spot reserved only for team substitutes.
She didn’t have a Bludgerkey. She shouldn’t be able to access that space, yet there she was.
Draco stopped at the center of the pitch and whistled.
Hermione lifted her head and, after a brief moment of hesitation, stood up. She didn’t run toward him, but she didn’t turn away either. She walked with the same determination she had when stepping into a duel, and within seconds, they were standing face to face beneath the flickering torchlight that still illuminated the empty stadium.
"Looks like you found something I could give you in return," Draco murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line. She refused to admit that the scene with Charlie had been her motivation, even though, in truth, she had already decided to help Malfoy before that.
"A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, Malfoy," she said, lifting her chin. "Besides, you still owe me."
Draco let out a dry chuckle. His hair was still damp from the shower, and the adrenaline from the match was still humming in his veins. He couldn’t deny that Hermione had played a crucial role in his performance, though he would never admit it out loud.
"Do you realize what we accomplished today?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms. "If we perfect this, we could be unstoppable."
"You mean the magic or Weasley’s jealousy?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"I’d swear Professor Dumont was also quite pleased with your ‘performance’ in her class, Malfoy."
They held each other’s gaze, neither willing to back down. There was something in the tension between them, a spark simmering beneath the surface, threatening to ignite every time they clashed.
Then, Draco stepped forward.
Hermione didn’t move.
The air thickened.
Draco raised a hand, and with deliberate slowness, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers barely brushing her skin.
Hermione felt it again—the same electric current she had experienced during the match.
Draco tilted his head slightly, his breath warm against her cheek.
"Tell me, Granger," he whispered, his voice a low murmur, "did you feel that too?"
Once upon a time, Draco might have recoiled from being this close to her. But no matter what had changed, he didn’t want to step away.
Hermione didn’t answer. Or maybe she couldn’t. Because the moment Draco spoke, the same force that had crackled between them on the pitch surged again, surrounding them in an invisible pulse, as if their magic was syncing to a rhythm only they could hear.
Draco let his hand drop, but this time, Hermione was the one to close the distance. Not because she wanted to be closer to him—but because she needed to confirm what her body already knew.
With the tip of her fingers, she brushed his wrist.
The air seemed to hum with energy.
Draco held his breath. The connection between them vibrated, bringing back flashes of that night when they’d had too much to drink.
Some memories were vivid: the challenge in their gazes, the whispered words in the dim light, the feeling of being tangled in something they didn’t fully understand—yet made them stronger together.
Hermione yanked her hand back as if burned.
"This… isn’t normal," she murmured.
"What is, in the wizarding world?" Draco countered, watching her intently. "But we could use it to our advantage."
Hermione lifted her gaze, wary.
"How?"
Draco’s smirk returned, that insufferable confidence that always got under her skin.
"Think, Granger. If we’re always together, we could refine this without raising suspicion. And there’s only one way to justify that in everyone’s eyes."
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"Are you suggesting that…?"
"That we pretend to be together," he finished smoothly. "A relationship would explain why we’re constantly around each other. It would give us the freedom to practice without interference."
Hermione scoffed.
"Oh, right. Because no one would find it odd that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy—after six years of insults and hexes—suddenly become the couple of the year."
"They’ll believe what we want them to believe," Draco said lightly. "Besides…"
He leaned in just enough that his nose barely brushed hers—a touch so fleeting it could have been accidental. But it wasn’t.
Hermione froze.
"There would be other benefits too," Draco continued, his voice casual, though each word was a challenge. "Dumont wouldn’t mind seeing her star student with her favorite pupil. And Charlie Weasley… well, let’s just say he didn’t seem entirely indifferent when he saw us together."
A sharp pang of frustration struck Hermione. The worst part was that he was right. Charlie had looked at her differently—like she was a possibility rather than just his best friend’s little sister. And Dumont, despite her composure, had reacted too.
"This is insane," she whispered, though she was already calculating the advantages in her head.
Draco smirked, knowing he had her.
"So?" he murmured, not moving away.
Hermione closed her eyes for a second.
She was overwhelmed by the sensation of standing so close to him, the way their magic surged like a living force between them—powerful, uncontrollable. Dangerous, yes, but also intoxicating.
Maybe, after all, she was more than just the clever girl with all the right answers and neatly stacked books. Maybe, for the first time, she didn’t want to be just the exemplary student, the reliable friend, the brilliant witch everyone respected but no one really saw.
Maybe she wanted to be seen.
And if making a deal with the devil of Slytherin was the way to do it, so be it.
She knew she was about to make a reckless decision.
"Fine," she said at last. "But let’s be clear—this is a strategic agreement."
"Of course," Draco agreed, amused. "Strictly business, Granger."
And though those words sealed what was already an unspoken agreement, they both knew that whatever had just happened between them—the magic, the tension, the charged energy—had very little to do with strategy.
And nothing at all to do with safety.