Unexpected Habits
It started subtly. So subtly that Hermione didn’t even notice at first.
Draco found himself watching her in the hallways—not in the way he used to, with derision or a quick-witted insult at the ready, but with something else entirely. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to name.
The first time, it was accidental. He was walking out of the library when he caught sight of her ahead, her arms full of books, her brow furrowed in concentration. She didn't even notice him a few steps behind, her focus entirely on whatever text she was skimming as she walked. When she reached the heavy wooden door leading back into the corridor, she shifted her weight to push it open.
Before she could struggle, Draco stepped forward and pulled it open for her.
"Thanks," she said absently, still reading as she walked past.
He blinked. No sharp retort? No suspicious glare? Just thanks?
Huh.
Then there was the ink pot.
They had been working in the common room, Hermione scribbling away furiously as usual, when he noticed the faint, dry scratch of her quill against the parchment. Her ink bottle was nearly empty, the liquid barely coating the bottom. Without thinking, he flicked his wand and silently refilled it.
She paused mid-sentence, staring as the ink rose to the brim. Then, slowly, she glanced up at him.
"Did you just—?"
He shrugged. "Didn’t want to hear you complain when you ran out."
Her lips twitched, as if fighting a smile. "How thoughtful."
The final moment was almost ridiculous, even to him.
Hermione was muttering under her breath as she furiously tried to rub an ink smudge from her fingers, her other hand holding a quill that had clearly leaked more than it had written.
"Stupid thing," she huffed.
Draco, without a word, pulled out a handkerchief from his robe pocket—neatly pressed, charmed to repel stains. He held it out to her.
She hesitated before taking it, dabbing at the ink before glancing up at him, something unreadable in her expression. "This is… charmed."
He smirked. "I am a Slytherin, Granger. I don’t do messes."
For once, she didn’t argue. She simply finished wiping her hands, then carefully folded the handkerchief before tucking it into her pocket.
"Thanks," she said again, softer this time.
And for the first time, Draco felt something stir in his chest. A warmth he couldn’t quite explain.
Merlin help him.