Wickedly Yours, The Secret Keeper

Draco woke to the muffled sounds of loud talking and laughter through the thin walls. It was unmistakably Granger and She Weasley. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face before pushing himself up from the bed. The remnants of sleep clung to him, but something felt… different.

His body didn’t ache quite as much as usual. His mind wasn’t as sluggish as it typically was in the mornings. For once, his sleep had been deep, uninterrupted. His fingers drifted to his temple as he furrowed his brows. Seraph’s Balm—that blasted plant they had in dinner last night. 

A sharp burst of laughter from the next room sent a fresh wave of irritation through him. Enough.

Draco threw on his robe and strode to the door, rapping sharply against the wood. A few seconds later, it swung open to reveal Granger’s face, backlit by the dim light of the early morning.

For a fleeting second, Draco hesitated.

She looked… different.

The deep exhaustion that had been carved into her features since their return was less pronounced, the bruised shadows beneath her eyes faded to something softer. Her curls were less wild, the usual frizz tamed. There was color in her cheeks. It wasn’t much, but he noticed.

Seraph’s Balm. It must’ve worked wonders on her.

Weasley loomed behind her, arms folded, a teasing glint in her eye as she smirked past Granger at him.

Draco’s jaw tightened. “Enough with the noise,” he said coolly, his tone measured but edged with irritation. “I’m not trying to start my day listening to your endless chatter.”

Granger’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. “Perhaps if you had something better to do than hide in your room, Malfoy, you wouldn’t mind our conversation.”

Weasley let out a light laugh, turning her head. “You should’ve dosed him with double of the plant—what was it called again?”

“Seraph’s Balm,” Granger replied, her voice clipped.

“Yeah, that.” Weasley grinned, shifting her weight onto one foot. “Good morning—and goodbye, ferret.”

With finality, she stepped forward and promptly shut the door in his face.

Draco exhaled through his nose, staring at the wood for a long moment as the sound of giggles erupted behind it.

Huffing in annoyance, he turned back toward his room, fingers rubbing absently at his temple. He wasn’t sure if it was the lingering effect of a good night’s sleep or the sheer absurdity of his morning, but something about the entire encounter was almost… amusing.

Almost.

Draco let the thought dissipate as quickly as it came, schooling his expression back into one of mild irritation. He turned on his heel and strode to the room across from his own, rapping sharply on the Theo’s door with the back of his knuckles.

A beat. Then another.

The door creaked open, revealing a disheveled, half-dressed, and very clearly unimpressed Theo. His dark hair was mussed from sleep, and there was a single pillow indentation on his cheek. His narrowed eyes dragged over Draco with all the enthusiasm of someone being forced to wake up before noon.

“If this isn’t a life-threatening emergency, I swear to Merlin, Malfoy—”

Draco stepped past him without invitation, ignoring Theo’s grumbled protests as he let the door swing shut behind him.

“You’d think after everything we’ve been through,” Draco started, rubbing his temple, “we’d at least be spared from waking up to the sound of bloody Granger and Weasley cackling like witches at a full moon.”

Theo groaned and ran a hand down his face. “You woke me up because Granger and Weasley were being loud?”

Draco scowled. “It was incessant.”

Theo arched a brow, crossing his arms. “So let me get this straight. You were in your room, minding your own business, and instead of ignoring it like a sane person, you took the time to bang on their door just to tell them to be quiet—”

“They were unbearable,” Draco muttered, pacing the room.

Theo snorted, collapsing back onto his bed. “You know, for someone who claims to loathe her, you certainly spend a lot of time talking about her.”

Draco shot him a glare. “I don’t talk about her.”

Theo hummed, rolling onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. “Mm. Right. So, you’re in here talking about her because…?”

“Because she’s an insufferable menace.”

Theo smirked. “Or, and hear me out, you just like having something to complain about. Without her, you’d have to admit you’re actually bored out of your mind here.”

Draco exhaled sharply through his nose and ignored that. “She looked different,” he muttered, half to himself.

Theo’s smirk widened. “Noticing her looks now, are we?”

Draco scowled. “No, not like that. She just—she must have actually slept for once.” He paused, rolling his eyes at himself. “Probably because of that bloody plant she put in our food last night.”

Theo chuckled. “Seraph’s Balm? That explains why I actually slept like a corpse.” He yawned, stretching out on the bed. “You should be thanking her.”

Draco shot him a disgusted look. “Absolutely not.”

Theo laughed, throwing an arm over his eyes. “This is highly entertaining for me, just so you know.”

“Well, I’m thrilled you’re getting something out of it,” Draco deadpanned.

Theo waved a lazy hand. “Listen, Malfoy, either accept that Granger exists and stop letting her get under your skin, or keep winding yourself up over every little thing she does and let me continue enjoying the show. Personally, I’m fine with either.”

Draco exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Brilliant. I came here for sympathy, and instead, I get—”

“Free entertainment?”

Draco gave him a flat look. “Remind me why I’m friends with you?”

Theo grinned. “Because I’m the only one who tells you the truth. And because, deep down, you love it.”

Draco groaned, “I hate it here.”

“See?” Theo called. “This is exactly what I mean. You’d be lost without something to complain about.”

The door to Theo’s room swung open without a knock, and in strolled Pansy, looking effortlessly put together despite the early hour. Daphne followed behind her, her expression as unreadable as ever, while Blaise trailed after them with an amused smirk, hands in his pockets.

They all stopped short when they spotted Draco, still lingering in Theo’s room like he actually belonged there.

Pansy blinked, then placed a hand over her chest in mock surprise. “Draco? In Theo’s room? Before noon?” Her eyes flicked toward Theo. “Did I miss some catastrophic event, or did hell just freeze over?”

Draco scowled. “Yes, very funny.”

Theo stretched out on his bed, looking utterly unbothered. “Oh, you’ll love this,” he told the newcomers. “Malfoy came in to complain about Granger.”

That immediately piqued Pansy’s interest. She perched herself on Theo’s desk, legs crossed. “And what, pray tell, did our dear, sweet Granger do to earn such a passionate reaction so early in the morning?”

Draco sighed heavily. “She and Weasley were being insufferable. Loud as hell first thing in the morning. I told them to keep it down, and then she had the nerve to tell me to get a life.”

Blaise chuckled. “She’s got a point.”

Draco shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

Daphne, ever observant, tilted her head slightly. “So you knocked on her door and argued with her?”

Theo smirked. “Exactly. And then he came in here to rant about how ‘different’ she looked this morning.”

Three pairs of eyebrows rose in unison.

Pansy let out a delighted gasp. “You noticed how she looked?”

Draco huffed. “Not like that.”

Blaise let out a low whistle. “So you are paying attention to her.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “You all are impossible.”

Pansy grinned. “We just call it like we see it, darling.”

Daphne, always the pragmatic one, leaned against the wall and mused, “You know, she’s a lot more tolerable when Weasley isn’t constantly attached to her side.”

Theo snapped his fingers. “Exactly. She was actually decent company last night when I was cooking with her.”

Pansy’s brows lifted. “You? Cooking with Granger? Merlin, how did I miss this?”

“Oh, you’d have loved it,” Theo said with a smirk. “She was actually relaxed. She didn’t launch into a lecture about kitchen safety or start organizing the spice rack. She just… talked. Joked, even.”

Daphne nodded. “She was different at the table, too. Less tense. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s still Granger, but she was… funny.”

Pansy considered this. “You know, now that you mention it, she was pretty quick with the jabs last night.” She turned to Draco. “Didn’t she say something about the world collapsing if you ever actually contributed something useful?”

Theo grinned. “Oh, she did. And it was brilliant.”

Blaise snorted. “Damn. That’s a good one.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, we’re all so entertained at my expense.”

Daphne, looking thoughtful, added, “Maybe if she wasn’t always stuck in the middle of Weasley’s drama, she’d be more like that all the time.”

Pansy hummed. “So what you’re saying is… Weasley is the problem.”

Theo smirked. “When is he not the problem?”

Blaise leaned against the desk beside Pansy, grinning. “It does make sense. Granger’s smart, quick-witted, and even halfway enjoyable when she’s not weighed down by his presence.”

“Exactly!” Theo said, pointing at him. “She was actually bearable last night because Weasley wasn’t hovering.”

Draco sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Wonderful. I’m so glad we’re all dissecting Granger’s social habits this morning.”

Theo smirked. “Oh, come on, Malfoy. You have to admit, it’d be far more interesting if she actually started spending time with people who aren’t Weasley.”

Daphne nodded. “She might even stop treating everything like a battle if she’s not constantly stuck in his orbit.”

Pansy tapped a manicured finger against her chin. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Imagine what Granger would be like without the Gryffindor baggage.”

Theo grinned. “Well, she is living next to Malfoy. Maybe he should make sure she broadens her social circle.”

Draco scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

Blaise smirked. “Oh, but imagine the chaos.”

Pansy’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I am imagining it. And I love it.”

Draco groaned, rubbing his temples. “I hate all of you.”

Theo grinned. “No, you don’t. You’d be lost without us.”

Draco glared at him.

The only response was laughter.

The dungeon was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and simmering potions, the steady bubbling of cauldrons filling the air as Professor Slughorn bustled around, positively beaming at the class.

“Ah, yes! A return to an old favorite,” he declared, rubbing his hands together as he surveyed the room. “Felix Felicis, my dear students! Now, now—I expect you all to remember the delicate nature of this brew. It is not to be rushed, nor taken lightly.”

Draco exhaled sharply, already regretting everything about this class. Potions used to be a sanctuary—his best subject, the one place where his talent was undeniable. But now, with all the changes in their so-called eighth-year experience, things were anything but predictable.

And worst of all?

He was seated directly across from Hermione bloody Granger.

Draco had barely sat down before he noticed her at the next station, partnered with Finnigan of all people. A bloody hazard waiting to happen.

He flicked a glance at Theo, who smirked knowingly.

“Gonna be a good class,” Theo murmured, flipping open his textbook.

Draco rolled his eyes, already predicting catastrophe.

Across the way, Granger adjusted her ingredients with practiced ease, carefully measuring out powdered horseradish with the precision of someone who actually knew what they were doing.

“Seamus, I swear, if you mess this up, I will hex you,” she warned, not even looking up as she stirred the liquid in her cauldron.

Finnigan grinned, clearly unfazed by the very real threat. “Relax, Granger. I got this.”

Draco snorted under his breath.

No, he absolutely did not.

Draco turned his attention back to his own cauldron. He was paired with Daphne, who, thankfully, was competent enough to follow instructions without setting anything on fire.

Daphne Greengrass was many things—levelheaded, pragmatic, and, most importantly, competent enough to follow instructions without turning their potion into a Hogsmeade fire hazard. She wasn’t prone to dramatics, unlike a certain someone currently bickering with her partner across the room.

As he stirred their potion precisely three times clockwise, he glanced over to see Daphne tilting a pinch of powdered moonstone into the bubbling mixture, watching as the color shifted to a perfect molten gold.

Draco gave a single approving nod. “For once, I don’t have to waste half the class correcting my partner’s mistakes.”

Daphne smirked, not looking up from her steady hand. “High praise from you, Malfoy.”

“You want a medal, Greengrass?”

She snorted. “No, just recognition that I’m sparing you from actual disaster.”

She inclined her head toward Theo, who was staring deeply into his cauldron with the skepticism of a man who had just realized Blaise had definitely put in the wrong ingredient.

Draco exhaled. “There’s no saving me from that disaster.”

“You mean Granger and Finnigan?” Daphne teased.

Draco scowled. “No, I meant—”

A loud clatter interrupted him.

His head snapped toward Granger’s workstation.

He didn’t even have to see what was happening to know it was going to be a disaster.

Granger’s expression was a mix of thinly veiled panic and growing frustration as Finnigan enthusiastically stirred their potion—too fast, too forceful, and with zero regard for the way the liquid at the edges was beginning to fizz violently.

Draco’s grip on the stirring rod tightened.

“This is going to be a bloody catastrophe,” he muttered.

Pansy, seated beside Blaise, perked up from across the table. “Oh? Is the Golden Girl struggling?”

Daphne, far too sweet at her core to be outright cruel, simply giggled. “I mean… it is Finnigan.”

Draco exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “She should’ve known better than to let him touch anything.”

“Oh, please,” Pansy said, smirking. “If we’re being fair, Granger probably gave him a five-minute lecture about how not to ruin their potion, and he just ignored it.”

Daphne sighed. “She did look very stressed.”

“I wonder why,” Pansy said dryly. “It’s almost like she’s sharing a cauldron with an arsonist.”

Draco wasn’t even listening anymore.

His eyes were locked on Granger as she caught exactly what Finnigan had just done—

A completely incorrect pinch of dried thyme, tossed in like he hadn’t just ruined the delicate balance of ingredients.

Her mouth parted, her hands twitched, as if she wanted to physically stop him—

But she was too late.

“Oh, bollocks,” Finnigan muttered.

And then—

BOOM.

A massive explosion of shimmering gold erupted from their cauldron, bursting upwards and outward in a rain of liquid luck.

Draco barely had time to react before the Felix Felicis showered down on the class, splattering across desks, chairs, and several unfortunate souls sitting nearby.

The entire room gasped.

Granger barely had time to react before she was drenched in liquid gold, the Felix Felicis soaking into her clothes and dripping from her curls like molten sunlight.

Drenched from head to toe in gold.

She stood completely still, her mouth parted in stunned silence as the Felix Felicis dripped from her curls and soaked into her clothes.

Finnigan , also covered in gold, blinked rapidly and then—

He giggled.

Finnigan , blinking gold from his eyelashes, took one look at Granger and giggled like a boy who had just discovered firewhiskey. “Oh shite, Hermione—” He broke off, snickering, his eyes darting down before he slapped a hand over his mouth. “Merlin’s saggy—sorry, but—you—”

Draco furrowed his brows, already annoyed before he even knew why.

Then he saw it.

The reason Finnigan was laughing.

The reason a few other students had started murmuring and—Merlin help him—whistling.

Granger’s white button-up—soaked straight through, clinging to her skin. And beneath it, clear as bloody day—

A lacy black bra.

Draco felt something sharp coil in his stomach.

The sound of laughter and low murmurs spread through the room, a mix of impressed and teasing reactions from their classmates.

“Finnigan, mate—ten points for this one.”

“Damn, Granger, didn’t peg you for lace.”

“Blimey, Hermione, if you ever get tired of books—”

Granger’s face turned an alarming shade of pink as she crossed her arms over her chest, clearly mortified.

Draco didn’t think before standing, his stool scraping against the dungeon floor as he moved instinctively. His voice cut through the laughter like a blade.

“Put your robe back on, Granger.”

The amusement in the room stuttered.

Granger blinked at him, startled. “What?”

Draco scowled, gesturing vaguely at her soaked state, his tone sharp, edged with something even he didn’t recognize. “Go. Get cleaned up. Or at the very least—cover up.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Theo nudged him.

Hard.

“Mate,” he muttered under his breath, smirking. “That was weird.”

Draco ignored him, his jaw tightening as Granger stared at him, her brows furrowing like she couldn’t quite figure out what had just happened.

Her gaze flickered down at herself, then back up at him.

And then, lips pressing into a very thin line, she huffed, grabbed her robe, and stormed out of the classroom, Felix Felicis still dripping from her curls.

Silence.

Then—

Blaise, who had been watching the entire thing with poorly concealed amusement, exhaled a slow breath and muttered, “Well. That was something.”

Theo grinned, clearly thriving in the moment. “Never thought I’d see the day Draco Malfoy told a girl to put on clothes.”

Daphne let out a quiet laugh beside him, tapping her quill against the edge of the table. “Truly, history is being made.”

Pansy, who had been watching the spectacle with a perfectly arched brow, smirked. “That was quite the reaction, darling.”

Draco scowled, turning back to his potion.

He wasn’t going to think about why that had annoyed him so much.

He wasn’t going to acknowledge the way something had twisted in his gut when Finnigan started laughing like a schoolboy.

And he definitely wasn’t going to let the image of Granger—gold-drenched, scowling, lace peeking through her shirt—sear itself into his brain.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

The Great Hall was a mess of chaotic energy, far louder than usual for a midday meal. Students from every house were shifting seats, huddling together in ways that would normally be unheard of—Ravenclaws squeezed in next to Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs leaned over Ravenclaws, all of them passing around parchment like it held the secrets of the universe.

But the Slytherins?

Not a single one had it.

And worse?

Not a single one had been invited to see it.

None of them would admit it, of course. They sat at their own table, as composed as ever, pretending not to care, pretending they didn’t notice the rest of the eighth years clustering together in hushed conversation, eyes darting toward the same sheets of parchment.

But none of them moved to ask.

Because no one wanted to be the one to get laughed off a table for trying.

Draco strode into the hall, late from Care of Magical Creatures, hungry, and already annoyed at whatever fresh idiocy was unfolding.

Draco slowed his steps, scowling as he approached the slytherin table. 

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, sliding into his usual seat among the Slytherins.

Theo turned to him, grinning. “Draco. Finally decided to grace us with your presence?”

Draco ignored him, glancing around the hall with narrowed eyes. “Why is everyone scrambling to switch seats like lunatics?”

Blaise leaned back, arms crossed. “Another Wickedly Yours blast hit.”

Draco’s stomach tensed for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to remain impassive.

“So?” he drawled. “It happens. Why the madness?”

Pansy smirked, propping her chin on her hand. “Because some people weren’t smart enough to keep the first one. And now they need someone who still has it, since the new message is appearing on the same parchment.”

Draco’s lips parted slightly before he immediately schooled his expression.

Oh.

So that was why.

People were scrambling to track down the first blast—because they hadn’t thought to hold onto it.

Draco, however, had.

Not that he would ever admit why.

Blaise, ever observant, caught something in his expression and smirked. “Wait a second—”

Theo’s brows lifted in surprise. “You still have the first one, don’t you?”

Draco scoffed, reaching for his goblet of water. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You do.” Pansy gasped in delight. “Malfoy, you kept it.”

Draco placed his goblet down, fixing them with a sharp glare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Theo grinned. “You do. Oh, this is golden.”

“I didn’t keep it. I simply—” Draco exhaled through his nose. “It’s in my bag. That’s not the same thing.”

Blaise let out a low whistle. “Could’ve tossed it. But you didn’t.”

Pansy smirked, her eyes glinting. “Wouldn’t happen to be because that first blast was about you and Granger, would it?”

Draco’s glare turned deadly.

Theo laughed, shoving at his arm. “Oh, you are so obvious, mate.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “Do you want to read the bloody blast or not?”

That shut them up.

Because yes, they did want to read it.

Blaise cleared his throat. “Right, yes, let’s not waste time.”

Draco reached into his bag and pulled out the parchment, placing it flat on the table.

Immediately, the Slytherins leaned in.

Draco exhaled sharply, scanning the fresh ink appearing on the page.

Liquid Luck… or Liquid Humiliation?

Felix Felicis may bring luck, but for some, it only brings embarrassment.

In yesterday’s Potions lesson, Hermione Granger—Gryffindor’s Golden Girl, the brains behind the trio, the one who never puts a toe out of line—found herself on the wrong end of a potion gone wrong. A minor mistake? Hardly. Try an entire cauldron exploding into a shimmering mess, leaving Granger absolutely drenched in liquid gold.

And, as fate would have it, a perfectly white button-up stood no chance against it.

Seamus Finnigan—known for setting fire to just about everything he touches—was the culprit behind the disaster, and let’s just say, he’s never giggled harder in his life. Wolf whistles and lingering stares followed, making it painfully clear that Granger’s accidental new look had not gone unnoticed.

But the real twist?

Draco Malfoy.

While others laughed, while Finnigan wheeze-laughed himself into a fit, Malfoy—who normally wouldn’t spare Granger a second glance—was far too quick to demand she put her robe back on.

Possessive, are we?

What was it, Malfoy? Concern? Dignity? Or something a little more… interesting?

One thing’s for certain—Granger might have been soaked in gold, but Malfoy’s reaction? That was priceless.

Stay watchful, my darlings. Things are starting to get interesting.

Wickedly Yours,

The Secret Keeper

Pansy howled with laughter, practically falling onto Daphne as she clutched her stomach. “Oh—oh my gods—Draco, this is so much worse than the last one.”

Theo was grinning like Christmas had come early. “Possessive, are we? Oh, mate—this is brilliant.”

Blaise simply leaned back, smirking. “Well. This just made lunch infinitely more interesting.”

Draco exhaled sharply, already feeling his blood pressure rise.

“Shut. Up.” he said pointedly, rubbing his temple.

“Oh no,” Pansy said gleefully, wiping at the corner of her eye. “We’re talking about this.”

Daphne, ever the voice of reason, was biting her lip like she was desperately trying not to laugh. “I mean,” she started delicately, “it was a little suspicious how fast you reacted, Draco.”

Draco’s scowl deepened. “She was half-dressed in the middle of class. Forgive me for thinking she should fix that.”

Theo grinned. “Funny how no one else was in a rush to help her.”

Draco shot him a deadly look. “Funny how you all still breathe.”

Pansy waved a hand, still beaming. “This is priceless,” she sighed. “Honestly, I thought the first blast was good, but this?” She tapped the parchment, grinning. “This is gossip gold.”

Draco clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

Theo, still laughing under his breath, tilted his head. “Wonder if Granger’s seen it yet.”

Draco didn’t care.

He didn’t.

…But he did scan the hall, eyes flickering to the Gryffindor table before he even realized what he was doing.

And when he found her—

Hermione Granger, hunched over her plate, red creeping up her neck as Ginny Weasley waved her own copy of the blast in front of her—

Draco exhaled through his nose.

This was going to be a long year.

Draco had spent the rest of lunch enduring endless teasing from his so-called friends before escaping to his afternoon classes, willing the day to end already.

But of course—of course—his last class of the day had to be Herbology.

By the time they were wrapping up, he was already half-tuned out, idly brushing dirt from his gloves as Professor Sprout bustled around, handing out plants to students with barely concealed amusement.

When she reached his station, she hesitated.

Then, with a thoughtful hum, she plucked a small potted plant from her cart and set it in front of him.

Draco arched a brow. "What’s this for?"

Professor Sprout gave him a knowing look, eyes twinkling with something far too pleased.

"Seraph’s Balm, dear boy," she said, almost casually. "You could use it."

Draco’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t need it."

She hummed—the same way McGonagall hummed before obliterating someone’s soul with a well-placed remark. "Well, someone else looked a great deal better today after using it," she said, mostly to herself, before adding, "Might do you some good."

Draco stiffened.

His fingers twitched slightly before he forced himself to not react.

With a curt nod, he took the damn plant and left.

Draco stared at the plant sitting on his desk.

It was small, unassuming, its delicate leaves barely rustling in the dim candlelight.

And it was not staying in his bloody room.

With a sharp inhale, he snatched it up and strode toward his door.

The hallway was quiet—most of the eighth-years already retired for the night. Draco stopped in front of her door, his grip tightening around the plant before he knocked, once.

Silence.

Then, slow footsteps.

The door cracked open, revealing Granger, wrapped in an oversized jumper, hair pulled back messily, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure he was real.

Draco exhaled through his nose and held up the plant. “Here.”

Granger’s brows knit together. “What—?”

“Seraph’s Balm,” he muttered impatiently, shoving it toward her.

She didn’t take it immediately, eyeing him with suspicion. “Why are you giving me this?”

Draco clenched his jaw, shifting on his feet. “Because every other day you’ve looked like shit,” he said bluntly. “And today, you didn’t.”

Her lips parted slightly, an unreadable expression flickering across her face before her mouth twitched. “Was that… a compliment?”

Draco scowled, pushing the plant into her hands. “No. Shut up.”

Her fingers curled around the pot just as he dropped it into them.

And then—without waiting for a response—he turned on his heel and strode back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

He stood in the center of his room, hands braced on his desk, glowering at nothing in particular.

What. The. Fuck.

Since when did he do things like that? Since when did he knock on Hermione Granger’s door? Since when did he give her things?

His grip on the desk tightened as he exhaled sharply through his nose. He needed to get a grip. He needed to—fuck, what was wrong with him?

He pushed off the desk and paced, jaw tight.

Where the hell had his nerve gone?

He was Draco Malfoy. He did not give plants to Granger. He did not care if she looked well-rest or exhausted, if she was having a good day or a shit one.

And yet.

Yet he had stood there, outside her door, like some idiot, and handed her a plant like it meant something.

Like he wasn’t still supposed to hate her.

And he did—he definitely did.

Everyone knew it.

She was annoying, self-righteous, bitchy. Always acting like she knew everything, always in everyone’s business.

But she had been in a good mood the past day, and—fuck, maybe that had thrown him off.

Or maybe it was the fact that he had seen her in a basically transparent shirt, standing in the middle of class, soaked in gold. Maybe that had short-circuited his fucking brain.

He scoffed to himself, rubbing a hand over his face.

Yeah. That was it.

She confused him. That was all. It wasn’t anything else.

He still hated her.

But he was still a boy.

So.

That explained everything.

Draco exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair before rolling his shoulders back.

Right.

Tomorrow, he was going to make damn sure this little lapse was corrected.

If he had to be the biggest prat imaginable to reestablish order, then so be it.

Because he was not doing this shit again.