Scheming Students
The days following their tense conversation in Draco’s quarters seem to blur together. The two of them fell back into their normal routine. Hermione was relieved that the worst of the rumors seemed to be dying down—or at least, no new wild questions were popping up from her second-years. And, thankfully, she and Draco were back to their usual banter. It should have been a relief. It was a relief. Mostly.
"So, Granger, any catastrophic mistakes from your sixth-years yet?" Draco asked one afternoon as they left a staff meeting together. His voice had that trademark Malfoy drawl, but there was a lightness to it—a teasing edge that no longer felt quite so sharp.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I’d be more worried about your students. From what I’ve heard, half of them still think powdered moonstone is an acceptable substitute for a crushed bezoar."
He let out a soft laugh, one of those real, unguarded ones that Hermione had only recently started hearing from him. Annoyingly, she found herself noticing how warm it sounded. How different it was from the cold sneers she remembered from their own Hogwarts days.
"You wound me," Draco said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock devastation. "I’m a very patient teacher, Granger. I even managed to keep my temper when Miss Thorne melted her third cauldron last week."
"Impressive," she admitted, glancing sideways at him as they walked down the corridor. "Although, I suppose you can afford to be more patient when half your students are making heart eyes at you."
He shot her a pointed look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Jealous, Granger?"
Hermione snorted, willing herself to ignore the sudden heat in her face. She wasn’t jealous. Why would she be jealous?
As they rounded a corner, her eyes caught on the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing his sleek and toned forearms. She quickly looked away, mentally scolding herself. Since when did Malfoy’s forearms deserve any of her attention?
"Anyway," she said briskly, hoping to steer the conversation into safer waters, "I should probably start revising my third-years’ essays. Some of them are spending way too much time on the exposition and not enough on the actual factual information."
"And here I thought creativity was a cornerstone of Transfiguration," Draco said, his voice low and dry. He bumped his shoulder against hers, just slightly, as they reached the corridor outside their quarters. "Don’t work too hard, Granger. Wouldn’t want you burning out before the year’s halfway over."
Hermione rolled her eyes again, but when she pulled open the door to her own quarters and stepped inside, she caught herself glancing back at him. He was still leaning casually against the wall, watching her with that unreadable expression he’d perfected. And for some reason—one she refused to unpack—her stomach gave a strange little flip. It’s just Malfoy, she told herself firmly as she crossed the room and sat down at her desk to grade those essays. Everything’s back to normal.
—
Supervising study sessions was not exactly Hermione’s favorite way to spend an afternoon, but at least the students were relatively quiet. Most of them were absorbed in their essays, quills scratching across parchment while a clock ticked softly in the corner. Hermione scanned the room from her seat at the front, eyes sharp for any sign of mischief.
Draco, on the other hand, looked like he couldn’t be bothered to care. He was leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, twirling his wand lazily between his fingers. His relaxed posture irked her, mainly because it felt like he wasn’t taking anything seriously. Typical. "You know," he drawled, his voice low enough for only her to hear, "I could be doing far better things with my afternoon."
Hermione snorted softly. "Yes, Merlin forbid you contribute to shaping young minds."
"This is hardly shaping minds. All we are doing is sitting here and watching them while they work quietly," Draco quipped. He tilted his head toward her. "Besides, this is your fault."
"My fault?"
"You asked for a second supervisor. Surely you knew you’d be stuck with me." His smirk deepened. "Unless you requested me specifically, Granger."
She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort when two familiar figures—Alice O’Connor and Julian Patel, the school’s most dedicated gossip enthusiasts—sidled up to their table. Hermione immediately tensed. Nothing good ever came from these two collaborating.
"Professors," Alice said, her tone light and far too sweet, "we thought you might like a little treat while you’re stuck here helping us."
Before Hermione could respond, Julian placed two steaming mugs on the table, one in front of each of them. "Hot chocolate," he said proudly. "From the kitchens. Consider it a thank you for putting up with us."
Hermione arched a suspicious eyebrow. "That’s… surprisingly thoughtful."
"We are capable of kindness," Alice said with an innocent smile that Hermione didn’t trust for a second.
Draco, meanwhile, had already picked up his mug and taken a sip. "Hmm," he murmured approvingly. "At least you’re good for something."
Hermione shot him a glare before cautiously lifting her own mug. The rich scent of chocolate and spices wafted up to her. The cinnamon was so welcoming and inviting that it made her mouth water. It seemed harmless enough, and after the day she’d had, she wasn’t about to turn down free chocolate.
"Thank you," she said slowly, still suspicious as the two students returned to their seats.
For a while, nothing happened. The room settled back into the usual quiet hum of productivity, and the warmth of the hot chocolate softened some of Hermione’s tension. But then… something shifted.
It started subtly. She became acutely aware of Draco’s presence next to her—the way his fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee, the faint spicy scent of his cologne, the way his hair fell just slightly out of place when he leaned forward to examine a piece of parchment. This was not normal.
"So," Draco said suddenly, his voice breaking through her thoughts. "Hermione, please tell me—why do you keep looking at me like that?"
"I’m not looking at you," Hermione snapped a little too quickly, her cheeks warming.
"You are." He set his mug down with an infuriating amount of poise. "And not in your usual ‘I'd rather be hexed than talk to you’ way. Is there something you want to share?"
Hermione tried to focus on her papers, but her stomach was doing that strange, fluttery thing again that she couldn’t explain. Her frustration mounted. "I have no idea what you are on about." She snuck a glance at him, trying not to linger on those damn forearms.
"I’d believe you. Except," Draco murmured, tilting his head with that slow, deliberate charm, "you’re still staring."
Her pulse quickened in a way that had nothing to do with anger, and that was when it hit her. Something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be noticing how sharp his jawline was or how his voice sent shivers down her spine.
"What—what did those two give us?" she asked sharply, setting her mug aside like it was covered in bubotuber pus.
Draco blinked at her, his amusement dimming slightly. "Hot chocolate?"
Hermione stood abruptly, scanning the room until she spotted Alice and Julian watching them far too eagerly. Her stomach dropped. "They did something," she hissed.
Draco followed her gaze, his recognition dawning on his face. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
Before Hermione could march over to interrogate the culprits, Alice bounced up to their table, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "Everything okay, Professors?"
Hermione folded her arms tightly across her chest. "What. Did. You. Do?"
Julian, who had joined them, feigned offense. "We just thought you two might enjoy a little refreshment."
"Cut the act," Draco drawled, eyes narrowing, his patience visibly snapped. "If I find out you dosed us with—"
"Okay, okay!" Alice held up her hands in surrender. "It was just a tiny bit of a clarity potion. Nothing dangerous!"
Hermione’s breath caught. "A what?"
"It’s like a mild Amortentia," Julian explained, as if this were perfectly reasonable. "It’s supposed to help people realize feelings they’re suppressing—"
"You dosed us with a love potion," Draco said flatly, his voice dangerously quiet.
Alice winced. "Technically, it’s more like an emotional enhancer. And besides," she added with a sly grin, "it only works if there’s something already there. We didn’t violate any of the school rules."
Hermione’s face burned hotter than a dragon’s breath. "You cannot brew love potions and sneak them into your professors' drinks!"
"But it’s harmless," Julian insisted. "And, I mean… it’s not like we’re imagining things. You two definitely have a vibe."
Draco let out a sharp breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Get. Back. To your seats. Now."
Alice and Julian scurried off, leaving an intensely awkward silence behind. Hermione finally turned back to Draco, mortified. "We need to—"
"—pretend this never happened?" Draco suggested, his voice strained but steady.
"I mean yes, but… I feel like we need to report this to McGonagall," Hermione said, still trying to steady her pulse.
Draco let out a low, incredulous laugh. "And risk explaining to her why this happened in the first place?" He arched a brow at her. "I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear that her staff has become the target of a student matchmaking scheme."
Hermione groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I can already hear the lecture. Something about ‘maintaining professional boundaries’ and ‘setting an example.’"
"Right," Draco drawled, smirking. "Because clearly, we’re the unprofessional ones here—not the kids slipping love potions into our drinks."
“Well, I suppose that is true. It really isn’t our fault this happened. Well, not my fault, at least,” Hermione said, folding her arms across her chest.
Draco scoffed. “Granger, are you somehow trying to blame me for this happening?”
“I mean, you are their Potions teacher and you are the one that keeps fanning the flames that we are together. You practically invited this chaos.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Oh, sure. Because clearly, my flippant responses in a moment of weakness have driven them to NEWT level potioneering.”
“I’m just saying,” Hermione huffed, trying to suppress the flush creeping up her neck. “if you hadn’t been so you about the whole thing, they probably wouldn’t have resorted to drugging us.”
Draco let out a dry laugh. “Merlin forbid I keep things interesting. Besides, if you were less uptight, maybe they wouldn’t think you needed my charming influence to loosen up.”
“Charming is a strong word,” Hermione shot back, though her heart was still racing faster than she cared to admit.
“You didn’t seem to mind a few minutes ago,” he murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly.
Hermione gaped at him, torn between indignation and the memory of just how not terrible it had felt being near him. “That was the potion talking.”
His smirk deepened. “If you say so.”
She threw her hands up, exasperated. “Unbelievable. You know what? Next time a student slips us an illegal potion, you can explain it to McGonagall. I’ll sit back and enjoy the show.”
Draco chuckled, pushing off the desk. “Deal. But don’t pretend you’re not a little curious about what she’d say.” His voice dropped into a teasing lilt. “Maybe she’s rooting for us, too.”
Hermione shook her head, muttering under her breath. “You really are impossible.”
“And yet, here you are,” he said, flashing her a maddeningly smug smile. Why was that once infuriating smile now so intriguing?
Hermione found it incredibly difficult to focus for the rest of the study session. The students had been more than self-sufficient leaving Hermione time to observe Draco. The way it was so easy for him to help out a student with any subject, not just Potions. And even though he claimed to be bored, she could tell he enjoyed being there for the kids. She couldn’t seem to get rid of the fluttering in her stomach no matter how hard she tried. It seemed as if every time she so much as glanced at him, her thoughts would wander to completely unacceptable places.
She couldn’t deal with this becoming an everyday thing. She needed to sort it out right now. By the time the last student had left the classroom, she whipped around to Draco. "We’re going to the hospital wing," she snapped, shoving her quill into her bag. "Right now."
Draco, to his credit, didn’t argue. But as he stood, he leaned in just a little—enough to make her skin tingle—and drawled, "You have to admit, Granger, for their first attempt, it’s pretty impressive."
Hermione glared up at him, refusing to acknowledge the heat creeping up her neck. "I’m going to kill them."
"Come on, the fact that they were able to achieve the results they did on the first try is pretty extraordinary. I figured you would want to congratulate them and let them know that their brew was quite successful," he murmured, his lips curving into an infuriating smirk.
She rolled her eyes and marched toward the door, determined not to let her pulse, or the strange fluttering in her stomach, distract her from the fact that her students were absolutely out of control.
And yet, as they walked up Hermione couldn’t help but consider Malfoy’s words. Their potion had been quite successful. Why had it been so successful?