Snapshots
Turns out, near death has nothing on shared laughter with a friend. Hermione returned to her dorm room that night with a spring in her step. McGonagall had given her a strict talking-to, but it did nothing to dampen the wide grin on her face or the bounce of her curls with each step she took.
While she had listened to McGonagall whinge and moan about Hermione’s bad foresight and immature decision-making outside the Fat Lady’s portrait, she had rocked back and forth on her heels, her mind for once not on the Authority Figure berating her. Her grin just grew wider with every second, much to McGonagall’s chagrin.
Upon release to her quarters with an exasperated sigh from McGonagall, Hermione almost skips up to her room. She passes through the Common Room tentatively, mostly empty save for a few older students waiting up for news on the troll. After a moment’s consideration for whether she should let them know it was all safe now, she shakes her head minutely and continues on. None of them would believe her, anyway.
Luckily she remembered the existence of her dormmates seconds before she flung the door open, instead gently coaxing it open with nary a creak. Lavender and Parvati were already asleep inside, soft snores coming from Lavender’s bed. She carefully creeps in, her footsteps muffled by the plush crimson rug carpeting the room.
Despite the close quarters and the addition of roommates, Hermione feels relatively comfortable in her new bedroom. It’s spacious, with plush seating by the windows that easily fill the room with light. The walls are decorated with landscape paintings depicting serene scenes of forest wonderlands and mountain trails. Each bedside has a little bookshelf, left empty for the occupants’ own design. Hermione’s mini shelf is already stocked with her textbooks and her current pleasure reading book, Emma, by Jane Austen. The other girls had filled theirs with trinkets from home, photos and keepsakes, though Lavender keeps a journal.
Peering around the curtain of Parvati’s bed to make sure she hadn’t woken her, (she hadn’t!), she heads to the bathroom to prepare for her own sleep.
Parvati had informed her their first night together that wizards and witches did not need to brush their teeth. Hermione decided that was ridiculous and not at all backed up by enough evidence to prove it.
The books she’d read on the wizarding world made no mention of experiments testing the magical bacterial immunity of wizards and witches compared to Muggles. Hence the well-stocked bathroom, with several spare toothbrushes and thirteen extra tubes of toothpaste. Her father had been quite firm on the necessity of having enough.
She smiles at herself in the mirror before squirting some of the peppermint-flavoured paste onto her current toothbrush, a yellow one with orange stripes. Water, paste, water, mouth. She hums the ABCs twice while she brushes, even though she thinks it’s childish. Doing so makes certain she’s brushed enough.
When she finishes, she rinses her mouth out and smiles again. Nice and clean. The smooth feeling of her teeth after brushing is rewarding, and she runs her tongue over them several times.
Next, she focuses on her bush of half-soaked, matted hair. She prods at the tangles with a finger for a while and watches herself in the mirror, not really sure what to do about it. Usually her mother does her hair for her, as they have similar hair types. She’s been lucky so far, only being a few weeks into school and not needing to wash her hair too often.
Eventually she decides to just take a shower and try her best with her fingers. Turning on the shower, she waits outside for a moment allowing it to heat up, before remembering the spells keeping the water at her perfect temperature. She shakes her head at her silliness and strips before stepping in.
Standing beneath the warm spray is delightful. At home, she’d feel warm in some places and cold in others, but these magical showers keep her warm all over, regardless of where she stands.
Letting her hair become drenched and heavy, she begins to carefully comb her fingers through it, attempting to detangle the strands. Pinpricks of weak pain tickle her head as she combs.
When her scalp is tingly all over and her fingers are wrapped in loose hairs, she finishes washing up and steps out. Facing the mirror, she tilts her head side to side. Her hair doesn’t look too bad, hanging in wet ringlets just below her shoulders. She doesn’t know any spells to dry or style it, so she wraps it in a towel for a few minutes to dry and calls it good.
Dressing in her favourite pajamas- loose baby pink pajama pants and a light grey oversized shirt- she steps out of the bathroom and climbs into bed. Her bed at home had soft grey sheets, fluffy pillows, and was piled with plushies.
She had exhibited great restraint in only bringing one stuffie with her to Hogwarts, a small weighted otter she can hug at night. Nameless, because it didn’t feel right to give him a name. What if he already had one of his own? Then she’d of overwritten his identity. She’d told her mother as such when she’d gotten him as a younger child, and received an irritated eye-roll in response.
Her bed here is nice enough, with cream sheets and a red comforter embroidered with gold. It’s a four-poster, the columns made of spruce and sporting carved images of mythical creatures locked in an eternal fight. The pillows are a bit puffier than she prefers, but if she leaves a stack of books on one for a few hours, it’s usable by night provided the elves don't refluff it.
Hermione’s exhausted, but her mind doesn’t let her rest. Flashes of blonde hair and grey eyes cruelly distract her. She tosses and turns, laying on her stomach, then her right side, then her back, then right again, eventually trying her left- no, that’s not right either. She lets out a long-suffering groan and buries her head beneath her pillow to smother it.
She tries to fight the bubbly little thoughts- I’m busy trying to sleep! I’ve got class in the morning!- but they are determined to keep her awake. After almost a half hour of deep breathing exercises designed to help her sleep, she gives into the nagging feelings.
Her mind immediately bombards her with memories, emotions, and commentary.
First, lingering fear from the troll. Despite her bravado she presented in front of Malfoy, she had been terrified. She still remembers the panic she had felt the moment she turned to find a troll staring back at her. The creature was so tall! And the club- how primitive!
She shivers thinking of what could have happened, had the troll brought the club down on her. Though the fire racing along the club and nipping at the troll’s fingers had been a lovely sight, she’d rather have read about it than experienced it.
The fire reminds her of Malfoy. Malfoy? Or Draco? She isn’t sure how to think of him. She’d assumed they were friends now, at the very least, but he referred to her as ‘Granger’, even in a dangerous situation.
Is he drawing a line between them? ‘Here be the Boundary between Thine Friendship’? Perhaps she could call him Malfoy, but think of him as Draco. Then she won’t mess up, right?
Shifting positions and readjusting her pillow so that she’s laying on her side, she hugs her otter to her chest. Draco had been so talented and level-headed. He saw her in danger and just- acted, like it was easy for him or something. His spell, too- so wonderfully cast! A perfect incendio! She resolves to ask him about it when she sees him again.
How did he put so much power into his spell when the situation was so precarious? Did he normally have such raw talent at his fingertips? If Hermione had attempted a firemaking spell of that magnitude, she would have burnt herself rather than the troll. But Draco hadn’t done that, and he’d saved her. Had he been a second later, she would have been smashed to bits.
Draco had looked so dashing, too. His hair all messy, singe marks and burnt ends, soot on his skin, eyes alight like fireplace embers. Remarkable how much emotion he could show in eyes normally frozen in calm. Perfect juxtaposition, really, how he normally acted like ice, yet fought like fire. She almost giggles at her analogy, thinking her primary school teachers might have enjoyed it.
Would she ever again get to see him with the same unguarded determination, the momentary loss of control, the free look past the chilly exterior? The only memory of him she can compare it to was when he found out about Harry’s fortune in making the Quidditch team, but even that was no match for the Draco she saw fighting the troll.
With a blush, she remembers how she ran her fingers through his hair to hide the blackened ends. Why had she done that? Current Hermione severely laments the forwardness and lack of self control Past Hermione had shown. Where was awkward, stammering Hermione when she was around Draco?
That makes two separate occasions where she acted against her better judgement, without prior comparison of the positive and negative consequences possible from her action, due to Draco. What is with this kid? Is he some sort of magical conduit of impulsivity? Finally, her eyelids begin to grow heavy, and she tucks the thought away for further analysis later.
Settling into the sheets, she lets out a sigh and slips into a riveting dream.
-
At breakfast the next morning, Hermione is absentmindedly eating her yogurt (mixed with sliced strawberries, hemp seeds, and chia seeds- good for digestive health!) while reading Magical Theory when one Harry Potter and Ginger Ron approach her.
She doesn’t notice at first, transfixed by a particular note the author, Adalbert Waffling, had left describing an experiment, when Ginger ‘ahems’ at her several times. She glances up, annoyed.
“Can I help you?” she asks primly, her spoon halfway to her mouth. She had not forgotten the boy’s rude words, the whole reason she was crying in the bathroom yesterday instead of heading to the safety of her dormitory. But then again, she wouldn’t have spoken to Draco without the interference. Consequences aren’t always negative.
Ginger shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, seemingly not wanting to be there. She waits patiently, lowering her spoon to rest on her bowl. When the boy still doesn’t speak, Hermione instead glances over at Harry with the amused realization that he’d been the one to initiate this, not Ginger. She arches a brow.
Harry huffs and kicks Ginger in the shin, which seems to do nothing, as Ginger doesn’t even flinch. Ginger lets out a long, annoyed sigh, clearly directed toward Harry, before finally speaking. “I wanted to… apologize… for my words yesterday… that you apparently heard, according to Harry, though I’m not sure how-” another kick from Harry, and he redirects “-but they might have hurt your feelings, so I am… sorry.” He looks at Harry for approval, and the other boy just rolls his eyes before looking expectantly at Hermione.
Belatedly, she realizes she’s been staring at Ginger in surprise and was supposed to respond. She blinks at him rapidly before inclining her head toward him slightly. “Er- sure. Thanks.”
Ginger’s face splits in a triumphant grin. Harry seems happy as well, and he smiles at her. “I'm really glad you're not mad at us. I overheard from Parvati that you missed History of Magic and dinner cause you were… erm, crying. In the bathroom. You didn't run into that troll, right?”
She briefly wonders if she should tell them how Draco saved her. How would they take it? The pale boy they both despise and have been bickering with for the past few weeks ended up saving her from their blunder. Well, really, her blunder, but it was caused by Ginger, so the blame could be evenly attributed.
“No, I didn't see it. Didn't even know until this morning, actually. Surprising for me, really, since I’m always on top of things. I mean, except for yesterday, you know, but that was truly out of the ordinary for me. It will certainly never happen again.” She gives a small nervous giggle, hoping her lie isn’t obvious. “Would you happen to know what kind of troll it was? It'd be an excellent example if I ever am assigned an essay on trolls.” They can’t tell I’m lying, right? They haven’t a reason to not believe me. It’s probably fine.
Ginger shakes his head, but Harry nods and Hermione internally sighs with relief. “Yeah, one of the Ravenclaw prefects said it was a mountain troll. They saw Professor Quirrel and Filch levitating it through the halls last night to dispose of it. Wonder where they put it…” he trails off, before giving Hermione a sheepish grin. “Lucky you didn't run into it, though. Would've felt real bad if you did.”
Hermione nods in response after a beat, and silence stretches between them. Her fruit is probably all soggy in her yogurt by now. How disappointing. She sighs and nudges the bowl away, resolving to eat extra at lunch later to make up for it. She’d really like to return to her book as well, but perhaps this is a chance to make more friends? “My hair- it’s only like this because I’m not sure how to take care of it yet.”
Both boys give her sympathetic looks, though Ginger’s is more of a ‘whoops, I was actually a jerk!’ face. His complexion had paled slightly, and his freckles stood out more, highlighted by the dappled morning sunlight from the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. I didn't know he had freckles. They're kinda cool. Like stars? Maybe he’s got a constellation hidden somewhere.
After a few more awkward seconds of silence, Ginger offers his hand, albeit reluctantly. “I know we met on the train, but… maybe we could start over? I'm Ron Weasley. Nice to meet you.” Ohhh, that's his name. I forgot.
Hermione offers a smile and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Ron. Don't make fun of me anymore, or we can't be friends,” she says seriously. Both boys give her baffled looks before they laugh and sit on either side of her on the bench.
They enjoy a lovely morning together, where Hermione attempts to discuss her theory book with them and they provide noncommittal answers before distracting her with questions about Magical History (which would have been answered had they listened to her discussion!).
With a minor flutter of panic, she remembers she missed History of Magic yesterday, and asks the boys to catch her up. They seem to enjoy knowing something she doesn't, so she doesn't inform them that she already knew about the Soap Blizzard (didn’t everyone?) and just wanted to know how far the class had gotten into it.
It's quite wonderful, really, having friends. She's been sitting by herself during every meal, reading for class or for pleasure in between meager bites, but today she laughs more than she has since she boarded the train. Discovering that both boys are hopelessly lost in school work, she happily offers to study with them in the evenings, which they both eagerly agree to.
When the boys get distracted by Seamus tragically blowing up yet another spell, Hermione takes a moment to sort out her feelings. Only yesterday, she was despairing and making plans to return home amidst sobbing in a chilly bathroom. Now, she has two new friends, totalling three friends, if Draco counts. And really, if she’s being optimistic, she could possibly label Parvati and Lavender as friends as well. Maybe just acquaintances.
Whatever the official count is, she has real friends, for the first time in her life. She couldn’t be happier, and it’s obvious based on the massive grin she’s been sporting all morning. Her housemates have given her a few strange looks down the table, not used to her exuding joy instead of Over-Prepared Anxious Swot.
A glance at her wristwatch reminds her of her impending morning class, and she gently begins to ease the boys’ attention back to her. The attempt takes almost 15 minutes, much longer than she expected, due to frequent distractions: another student snorting milk in laughter, Ron wanting yet another piece of toast, Harry asking incessant questions about Quidditch. It’s like taking care of toddlers! Praise and distract! Goodness.
When she finally succeeds in getting the boys up and ready, the trio laugh and joke all the way to their first period, and Hermione is so elated that she doesn't even notice the boy glaring a hole into the back of her skull as she leaves.
~
Why is she friends with Potter? Why is Potter friends with her?? Draco can't keep the scowl off his face as he watches Granger chat and giggle with Boy Wonder. Wouldn't even shake his hand, but easily sits next to Granger, their knees touching, without batting an eye. He’ll converse with Muggleborns, but not Draco? He glares at the back of Granger’s head furiously all through breakfast, barely even eating his own food.
It's nothing to do with Granger, really. He isn't quite mad at her, he's just furious in general. It's not her fault her bushy head of hair is the easiest landmark in sight to glare at. He wouldn't be caught dead glaring at Potter. That's unbecoming of a Malfoy heir. But Granger? If anyone asks, he can say it's because she's a Muggleborn.
Weasel is another thing. That absolute prat is shoveling an absurd amount of food in his face like he was raised in a barn with only scant rations for meals. Draco doubts he even breathes between bites- well, not really bites. It's more of an unending train of breakfast. How the git manages to hold a conversation as well is impossible to figure out.
Why is Granger putting up with those two? Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. She’s so much more competent than them. Her magic was obviously powerful, if he were to judge by the aguamenti she had cast yesterday evening. She shouldn't be associating with them at all!
Magic is difficult. Draco has had years to play with his, to understand the well of magic deep within him and cultivate the flames. Generations of knowledge within his family library at his fingertips, private tutors with several masteries in a variety of subjects, parental leniency, if not encouragement, all to improve his abilities. Of course, he wasn’t supposed to “do magic” until starting his formal education, but it’s not like anyone bats an eye when a pureblood heir is having a bit of fun.
But Granger- she’s gotten none of that. Somehow Muggleborns aren’t even informed of their magic until receiving their letter. She must be incredibly talented to have casted so well with such little instruction, and in a tense situation. Merlin, Draco’s hands had been shaking, yet hers were firm and assured. Like she had known failure was impossible for someone like her.
Really, Granger should come sit over here, where her talents can be appreciated and reciprocated. Why had she been sorted into Gryffindor? She had shown bravery against the troll, but surely it wasn’t her defining characteristic. Draco isn't even aware that he's clenched his fists around his silverware so hard that his fingertips are white until Blaise nudges him on the shoulder with a hiss.
“Draco, darling, just because you were named for a dragon doesn't mean you've got to act like one.”
Draco rounds on him, planning on kicking him so hard he can't walk, but instead he just sneers before he fixes his expression into calm indifference. Just because he's annoyed doesn't mean he doesn't have a sense of decorum.
“Don't call me that!” he snaps. “I'm not acting like a dragon. I'm doing nothing. You hush up.”
Blaise rolls his eyes. “Exactly, mate. You aren't doing anything except glaring at the Gryffindors. Eat your breakfast, moron!”
Draco snorts but doesn't retort, not in the mood. This is why he doesn't associate with his best friends in public very often- they're much too observant for their own good, and they know him too well. Maybe he should stop eating meals with Blaise and Theo.
Pansy’s already found a little clique of girls to dine with, so she’s out of his pristine hair. Vincent and Gregory wouldn't notice a giant if it walked up and stepped on them. Draco would be able to eat and sulk without interruption. Much better goon material, really, when they haven't got a brain.
Thinking of the two idiots, he glances down the table at them, and they seem to be attempting to rival Weasel’s food intake. Between the two of them, they might make a dent, but Draco doubts it. Seriously, those boys haven't a brain cell between them, Draco thinks with an internal scoff.
With a great effort that he expertly disguises with general life annoyance, he tears his gaze from the trio of Gryffindors to finish his breakfast. Blaise is grumbling to Pansy about the Quidditch game tomorrow, disappointed he wasn't accepted onto the Slytherin team. Draco wasn't taken either, dramatically increasing his ire toward Potter, who hadn't even tried out and still made the team. Different House, but still.
To top it off, Harry was gifted a top of the line broom by a “mysterious benefactor”, who was obviously Professor McGonagall, and it pissed Draco off to no end. Stupid Boy Wonder and his stupid privileges.
At first, Draco hadn’t realized Professor McGonagall had been the gifter, and he thought Potter had brought in contraband. He’d been so gleeful, planning on getting Potter suspended for a time, until Professor Flitwick came and ruined everything. Really, what’s the point of rules if all the professors ignore them for little Prince Potter?
On top of that atrocity, Weasley’d had the audacity to insult him. Potter’s new broom was just a smidgen nicer than the one Draco had back home. Draco had been so shocked that poverty-stricken, impoverished Weasley had dared imply Potter had something better than Draco that his tongue had slipped and he’d shot right back. What would you know about it, Weasley? I bet you couldn’t afford half the handle, he’d said. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.
He snickers at the memory. It’d been a good comeback, but he had felt a tad bit guilty. It hadn’t really been his fault, though, since he’d only said it after Weasley had pushed him. If the git had kept his mouth shut, Draco wouldn’t of gotten flustered and forced into hostility. But Malfoy heirs don’t get flustered, Draco.
He really needed to learn to hold his tongue. He couldn’t let the peasants get to him.
Anyway, Potter was obviously favored by the whole school. Professor McGonagall was clearly bewitched or corrupted to be so taken with the knobbly boy.
It would be less of a sore spot if Snape showed the Slytherins a bit of favoritism from time to time too, but their Head of House seemed to share equal dislike for every student. Totally unfair.
Though he wasn’t going to admit it, he was looking forward to attending the Slytherin v.s Gryffindor Quidditch match just so he could watch Potter play. The two Houses shared flying classes together, and Potter didn’t seem half bad for never having touched a broom before last week. Theo seemed to share the sentiment, as the wiry boy was watching Potter with unbridled curiosity, to which Draco pokes him with his fork to stop his staring.
Draco was a little worried about Theo, really. His overbearing father now miles away and unable to touch him until winter break, the bookworm was acting more carefree than before, and less like the perfect pureblood heir image the rest of his friends upheld.
He'd noticed Theo slouching more often, sleeping in later on weekends, eating more. Although Draco disapproves, he does appreciate that Theo looks happier and healthier, despite his looser habits. He hopes that Theo doesn’t have any trouble readjusting when he has to return to his father for Christmas.
Draco himself wasn’t too keen on returning home for Christmas. Yes, neither of his parents were violent and aggressive like Theo’s father, but it wasn’t like they paid him much attention, either.
When he first arrived at school he had thought he would miss his parents, but he quickly realized his mother’s letters provided an almost equal amount of socialization he had before. The only absence was the morning tea session, which he despised anyway and did not miss.
Really, Draco felt less alone than he ever had. He got to see his best friends every day, even if they pissed him off and prattled on about mundane things. He engaged in verbal sparring with Potter and the Weasel almost daily, which he enjoyed despite their dismal proficiency. It was pathetic, and felt more like kicking an already downed opponent, but it was stimulating regardless.
He tunes back into the conversation to hear Blaise still whining on about Potter playing Quidditch, insulting his abilities and pointing out the obvious nepotism, since Potter’s father was a decorated seeker as well. And, well, his father did die, so maybe he deserves a bit of special treatment, but Draco would never say that out loud. Those thoughts can shrivel in the back of his cold, cruel mind, because he does have that. Maybe.
He can practically feel his sneer returning, his gaze slowly trailing back to glare at Potter, when he notices the trio is standing. With interest, he watches the three head out of the Great Hall. That’s a new development, his mind comments idly. It's one thing to sit together at breakfast, but quite another to walk to class together. Had they been getting closer over time, and Draco hadn't noticed? How peculiar.
Weasel has his arm thrown over Hermione’s shoulder, laughing loudly, while Potter is a step behind with an annoying little smirk. It would remind Draco of himself and his own friends, but he would never be so touchy-feely or loud.
Fortunately, the Slytherin first years do not have classes with the Gryffindors today. As Granger disappears out of the Great Hall with the two buffoons, it’s the last glimpse he’ll have of her until dinner. Draco is not at all disappointed by that.
-
He did not spend the whole day looking forward to dinner. He did not want to see if Granger, Potter, and Weasel were still attached at the hip. His stomach did not flutter when he noticed a bushy head of hair buried in a book at the library earlier, before the time he expected to see Her. Really, he was annoyed that she could not stick to a schedule.
He did, however, pay attention in class. He took notes dutifully, he participated by answering questions and laughing at students who answered incorrectly, and he completed his in-class assignments and noted homework for later. Entirely contrary to Theo, who did not take any notes, did not participate, and ignored his assignments, instead mooching off Draco.
Draco would be annoyed, but he knows Theo’s behaviour will likely wear off. He’s enjoying his freedom, but he’s normally a dedicated worker. Draco will indulge him for now, and if it gets much worse, he’ll wean him off and force him to do his own work.
Pansy does not share the sentiment. She harps on Draco all day, saying he’s “enabling” Theo, and hurting him in the long run. Secretly Draco agrees, but he’s not about to tell Pans that, so he snaps right back whenever she opens her mouth and privately resolves to let Theo float for a little longer, just to annoy her. Besides, Pans is always talking about strange concepts he doesn’t understand, so he usually just tunes her out.
Theo will be fine. He’s got Draco and Pansy watching out for him, and Blaise checks in every once and a while when he’s not busy watching the Slytherin Quidditch practices. He’s intelligent and he’ll fix himself up in a week or so once he realizes his grades are slipping. Theo isn’t one to fall behind.
After his final class of the day, (Herbology, ick) Draco heads to dinner once he’s finished scrubbing his hands of all the dirt and grime. He’s a little late, but not by much. He’d gotten distracted watching Potter pick his way down the hills to Hagrid’s house.
It had been quite strange. The ginger git had followed Potter, stumbling down the hill and tripping over every possible little pebble. Draco hadn’t laughed, since he had been alone, and it would have given away that he was watching. Sometimes it’s better to observe than intervene, even if it would have given him the opportunity to take some cheap shots at the two. He could think of a few right off the bat.
The two had been chattering like squirrels, drastically increasing the amount of times they tripped and wearing on Draco’s resolve to not laugh. They were so loud that occasionally Draco could catch snippets of their conversation, mundane comments about Muggles and something or other. Useless twaddle.
He’d watched until they disappeared into the hut, and then resumed walking back to the castle. Strolling slowly, his now clean hands in his pockets, he did some Thinking. If Granger was so chummy with Weasley and Potter now, why had they gone off to Hagrid’s without her? Seemed quite rude of them.
See, if it’d been Draco, (which it wouldn’t have been because he wouldn’t be caught dead walking to Hagrid’s willingly) he’d of brought Granger. You never know when you need an impromptu tsunami, and she seemed good with those. Well, good enough to summon one, but not to control it. I couldn’t control my flames, either. What does it matter?
He was trying not to judge her so harshly, really, he was, but it was just so difficult. Half his mind hated Granger, but he couldn’t understand why. Was it because she was different, because she was new and powerful and not at all different to him? Or because he was told to? Did he really hate her, or did he just think he had to?
The other half couldn’t help but like her. Just a teeny, tiny, miniscule little bit, but enough that he noticed the insubordinate thought. But he couldn’t understand why he liked her, either. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated her kindness and felt indebted to her, or if he truly, actually liked her. Draco felt like it couldn’t be the former, because if he felt indebted to her, there would absolutely be some negative feelings attached and he didn’t feel any of those.
Regardless of how Draco felt, it seemed Weasley and Potter didn’t appreciate her enough. He’d have to have a little chat with them about it, just to see where they stood. Not because he was jealous or anything, because he wasn’t. At all.
He reached the Great Hall much faster than expected. Taking his seat next to Theo, (he forgot his earlier decision to sit somewhere else) his eyes magically found Granger over at the Gryffindor table. Potter and Weasel were on either side of her again.
He was quiet throughout dinner. Theo was the only one who noticed, since he was quiet as well.
After dinner, he quickly excused himself and followed after the trio, slipping into the shadows whenever they might have noticed him. The three were arguing, but Draco wasn’t paying attention, too focused on keeping his footsteps light and his robes from whooshing. Something about Snape being injured, from what he gathered.
They wandered aimlessly for ages down dark, damp corridors, their footsteps echoing down the halls, magnifying into distant calls. Paintings grumbled and moaned when they passed, and Draco glared at them in a silent plea for them to not give him away.
Draco followed them until they split with Granger, who decided to go to the library for evening study. Swot.
He waited a moment before turning and quickly taking a different route happening to coincide with Potter’s, startling several paintings and one third year girl he passed. Once he finally heard their footsteps, he slowed to a leisurely strut. He smirks as he hears the twin gasps of ‘Malfoy’, and slows to a stop before looking imperiously down on his quarry.
Weasley is immediately on the offensive. “Malfoy- of course we’d find you here, slinking about. It’s just like an oily little snake like you to be out and about near curfew.”
Draco bristles, as he is not at all oily. He responds late, busy thinking about his hair and if he should start washing it twice a day. “What about you two? Preying on little know-it-all girls in the dark?”
Both boys look at him in shock, and he realizes he’s made a mistake. He’d accidentally revealed he’d seen them walking before the trio had split, and it wouldn’t be difficult to conclude he was following them and orchestrated their meeting. Luckily, Potter and Weasley are dumber than rocks and don’t realize.
“What’s that s’posed to mean? You been watching Hermione or somethin’?” Weasley asks, fluffed up in self-righteous anger. Potter looks equally upset, which surprises Draco. They’d only become friends that morning, right? How are they so quick to jump at even a whiff of anti-Granger?
Draco sneers. “I didn’t say that. You brought her up yourself,” he says. Weasley looks distraught, like he hadn’t meant to immediately assume Draco had been talking about Granger. Potter is unexpectedly angry as well, for how mellow the boy usually is.
“Cut it out, Malfoy. Don’t act like you don’t hate Hermione,” Potter says pointedly. Weasley recovers and spits seconds later, “You said know-it-all! It’s a natural assumption!”
Draco pauses, uncertain of what to say next. It wouldn’t be wise to disagree (‘oh, no, I don’t hate Granger, I actually find her quite amiable’) for obvious reasons. However, he can’t in good conscience agree with them. Him, agreeing with Potter? Or the Weasel- horrendous! He hesitates a bit too long, but Weasley’s too busy recovering his pride to notice, and Potter already seems distracted again.
Choosing the lesser of two evils, he rolls his eyes with a scowl. “Of course I hate her- little brat got stuck in the Slytherin bathrooms with a troll. I had to save her, and she just about ruined my robes with her atrocious spellwork.”
Both boys freeze with wide, guilty looks. Draco files that away for later- had they something to do with Granger being in the Slytherin dungeons in the first place?
“Hermione was in the dungeons…” Potter starts slowly, and Weasley interrupts, “You saved her? Bloody bollocks!”
Smirking, Draco crosses his arms. “Not. I saved the little muggle girl. Isn’t that your job, Gryffindor?” He knows this one will hurt, as he’s noticed some strong feelings from the Weasel when Draco insults his bravery or worth, and Draco is not one to miss out on a good hit. Exactly as predicted, Weasley has a fit.
“E-excuse me??” Weasley splutters, his face red. “How was I supposed to- Hermione’s not a muggle! She’s a real witch! Just- shut up, Malfoy!!” And then a second later, the rat pulls out his wand. Of course, Draco immediately reciprocates, pointing his own wand at Weasley’s throat.
Potter, however, quickly steps between them. He seems much more level-headed than Weasley, despite that guilty look he had earlier. “Jeez, you two, back off!” Although Weasley drew first, Potter turns toward Draco with narrowed eyes. “You get out of here. I don’t know why you feel like antagonizing us all the time, but it isn’t funny.”
I didn’t antagonize you, Draco huffs internally with much annoyance. Weasley responds first, his anger surprisingly aimed toward Potter. “This slimy git’s insulted me! And Hermione,” he adds hurriedly. Potter furrows his brow and looks back at Draco, as if considering.
Draco rolls his eyes again. “Oh no, I’ve insulted your honor. How devastating. Perhaps we should duel over it,” he drawls. He’d been kidding, but barely a second later Weasley attaches to the idea and is practically vibrating with excitement.
“Bloody hell, Harry, you could duel Malfoy!” Weasley exclaims. Potter glances at him questionably, and Draco frowns. He doesn’t want to duel either of them, but Weasley seemed to think Draco was challenging Potter. Did he not understand sarcasm?
But then he thinks it through- it could be funny, actually. As the challenger, (though he hadn’t meant it) he can suggest the date and time. If he chooses tonight, Potter and Weasley might still be pumped with adrenaline and actually show up before someone else could talk them out of it. Draco could stay nice and warm in his bed while Boy Wonder stomps around the castle, searching for an opponent, and unknowingly walking right into his trap. He suppresses a grin as he imagines the two sitting in detention all day tomorrow.
“I doubt Potter even knows what a Wizard duel is, Weasel,” Draco replies smoothly, a last ditch attempt to get out of it before setting his plan in motion.
“Of course he does. I'll be his second. Who's yours?” Weasley replies with a far too excited smile.
Who would be his second? He can't drag Theo or Blaise into this, since he's not planning on showing up and both of them have good records so far. If Weasley or Potter tattles, Draco doesn't want to get his best friends in trouble.
“Goyle,” he grits out. He wouldn't have to say anything to the boy if it went well, and if it did go wrong, well, he could convince Gregory that Draco had included him and he’d just forgotten.
Weasley nods with a triumphant smirk. “Easy enough. We could get up earlier tomorrow morning, before breakfast-”
“No,” Draco interrupts quickly. “I'll only do it tonight.” He wracks his brain for a location before giving up, deciding to be mysterious instead. “You pick where. I'll be able to find you regardless with how loud you are.”
Weasley opens his mouth to argue, but Potter nods. “Alright. See you then, Malfoy.”
Draco grins, pleased at their acquiesce and that he pulled off his prank. They’ll be hell to pay if he's found out, of course, but that's for Future Draco to worry about.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he practically skips back to his dorm to tell Blaise the good news- after taking a pit stop at Filch’s office to hint about a certain rule-breaking Gryffindor duo possibly planning to violate curfew tonight.