Chapter 8
Draco
A faint scent of lavender lingers in the air around him—her perfume, the one she had worn since the day she arrived. His eyes fluttered open as he stared at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. His arms were wrapped in tight bandages, one secured around his neck. With a quiet sigh, he sat up and quickly got dressed.
He glanced over at Theo, who had just woken up and was already beginning to fuss. With a long sigh and a shake of his head, he tried to push his thoughts aside.
Over the past two years, Theo and Granger had grown close, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. He longed for the same level of closeness Theo shared with Granger—or that Granger had once shared with Potter and Weasley. If only Weasley hadn’t gotten into Potter’s head, perhaps he and Potter could have been friends. Or maybe, if Weasley and Potter hadn’t— well, it doesn't matter anyway. It was unlikely. His family’s reputation demanded careful consideration, and, more importantly, Granger would probably never forgive him with the taunting he's been doing to her.
On the morning of September nineteenth, he presented a small gift, delicately wrapped in silver and Slytherin green, across the table. "Happy Birthday—Nott," He coolly said, without looking at Theo.
On the morning of September nineteenth, he slid a small gift, delicately wrapped in silver and Slytherin green, across the table. “Happy birthday, Nott,” he said coolly, without meeting Theo’s eyes. His attention remained on Granger until Pansy began gently stroking his casted arm. His gaze lingered on Granger until Pansy’s hand brushed softly against his casted arm.
"Does it hurt Drakey?" Pansy's soft cooing made him inwardly cringe.
"Honestly, if Madam Pomfrey hadn't mend it right away, I could've uh—lost my arm." He shrugged off Pansy's cooing, his gaze remaining fixed on Herm— Granger, tracking her every move.
"Shall I walk to potions with you Drakey?" Pansy gently soothed his broken arm, asking in a flirtatious tone
"I'd rather walk myself to class, Pans." He shrugged off Pansy’s hand as it trailed up and down his arm.
⋆˙⟡
"Silence—”
At the sound of the potions master's voice, the classroom fell still, the hushed murmurs of students fading instantly. He strode in, his dark robes billowing behind him, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room like a predator surveying its prey. “Today,” he continued, his tone crisp and deliberate, “you will all be brewing the Antidote to Common Poisons.”
A faint tension settled over the room as students straightened in their seats, some already reaching for their textbooks while others exchanged wary glances.
Draco’s lips curled into a faint smirk. He figured this was the perfect opportunity to assert himself, barking orders at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.
"Professor, I can't properly juice my Shrivelfigs because of my arm!" he complained, his tone edged with frustration.
Snape’s eyes flicked toward Weasley. “Weasley,” he drawled, his tone sharp, “juice Mr. Malfoy’s Shrivelfigs, will you?”
"You’ve got to be joking!" Weasley groaned, his face twisting in disbelief.
“Ten points from Gryffindor—for your selfishness, Weasley,” Snape said coldly.
Weasley let out an exasperated sigh before reluctantly gathering the ingredients and a bowl for the juices. His eyes skimmed over the potion-making steps, frustration simmering beneath the surface. There was one more step he couldn’t manage alone—at least not without help.
"Sir, I’m unable to chop the daisy roots," he informed his professor, his voice carrying just the right amount of irritation. As he spoke, he quickly shot a pointed look toward Potter, silently daring him to protest.
“Potter!” the professor barked, his sharp tone cutting through the tense silence. Potter’s head snapped up, glasses slipping down his nose.
“Cut Mr. Malfoy’s daisy roots,” Snape instructed, his expression as unreadable as ever. Potter’s mouth fell open in disbelief, but under Snape’s piercing gaze, he had little choice but to comply.
“Shut your mouth, Potter, or you’ll swallow flies,” the potions master drawled, his dark eyes glinting with disdain.
He carefully followed the final steps, adding a precise splash of cowbane before stirring slowly and deliberately. Once satisfied with the consistency, he set the cauldron over higher heat and cast the Shrinking Charm with practiced ease, watching with quiet satisfaction as the potion settled into perfection.
"Now, for your special project." A collective groan echoed through the classroom—even from Draco. It was barely the start of the month, and already, another special project loomed over them.
"Quiet," Snape warned, his tone edged with impatience. "Or I’ll start deducting points from each of you." At once, the room fell silent, the only sound remaining is the soft crackle of firewood burning in the hearth.
“You will be tasked with brewing, researching, and documenting the potion you will be recreating,” Snape explained, his tone sharp and measured. “You will be put into groups of three and will be given two weeks to complete the potion of your choosing.”
He unfurled a long piece of parchment and began reading out the pairings. “Zabini, you’re with Macmillan and Boot.” Blaise’s expression tightened slightly, but he said nothing.
“Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode.” Crabbe and Goyle exchanged glances, clearly pleased to have been group together.
“Potter,” Snape continued, “you’re with Parkinson and Greengrass.” Potter’s jaw visibly clenched at the announcement.
“Weasley,” Snape added, glancing over the rim of his parchment, “you’re with Davis and Brown.” A heavy silence settled over the room as the students processed their fates.
“Nott… Malfoy—” It was, admittedly, a strong pairing. Theo was skilled at Potions, and Draco knew their chances of success were promising. It all depended on who the third member would be. “And Granger,” Snape finished.
Draco’s breath hitched. He sat frozen in his seat, his mind stumbling over the words. Of all people, Granger was the last person he expected. His eyes darted toward her, searching for a reaction, but she remained composed, her face impassive as if this were any other assignment.
Draco, however, wasn’t so sure.
Ever since the day Granger was petrified, Draco had begun to see things differently—questioning everything his father had taught him, everything he had once accepted without hesitation. The shift started after the beating he’d taken from Theo—his best friend. That day, in a moment of anger and confusion, he had wished Granger were dead. The thought haunted him afterward, forcing him to confront whether he had truly meant it—or if it was simply the weight of expectations pressing down on him.
That night, when he slipped into the Hospital Wing, something within him shifted irrevocably. Seeing her lying there—still and pale, her chest barely rising with breath—sent a sharp ache through his chest. She looked so fragile, so lifeless. The sight of her like that awakened something cold and twisting in his gut. He never wanted to see her like that again—never wanted to feel that hollow, sinking fear clawing at his insides.
He was surprisingly elated to have agreed to help Theo search for the chamber’s monster, even if it had been Potter who ultimately slew the Basilisk. Still, he felt a quiet sense of pride, knowing that, in some small way, he had helped Granger. It wasn’t the grand victory Potter had claimed, but it was enough to know he had done something that mattered.
Theo and Granger approached him, Theo casually handing Granger a few Galleons.
“You’re crawling into Theo’s vault now, are you, Granger?” Draco sneered, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.
Fuck. Why in Salazar’s name couldn’t he say something decent to her for once? Really, Draco? Crawling into Theo’s vault—that’s what you went with? He mentally cursed himself.
Even his insults toward Granger had been getting sloppier—and it was entirely her fault. She had thrown him off balance without even trying.
“Getting sloppier with your insults, Malfoy?” Her arms were crossed over her chest, a single eyebrow arched in quiet amusement. Draco’s gaze flicked to her wrist, where a delicate gold bracelet adorned with a ruby book charm caught the light. His lips twitched—just barely—but he quickly suppressed the smile before it could betray him.
“You look awful, mate. Are you unwell?” Theo asked, one of his eyebrows raised as he looked sternly at him.
Fuck. Was he making a stupid face right in front of them? FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. He forced himself to steady his breathing, schooling his expression before answering. “No, I’m perfectly fine, Theo,” he said, his tone clipped and deliberate.
"Anyway, when are you all free to discuss this project?" Granger changed the subject.
"Well, since my arm is broken—" He stated emphatically that his arm remains broken due to an attack by a bloody chicken. "I'm free tomorrow, I guess. No quidditch practice for me, yet." Granger nodded before responding. "Alright then, tomorrow after lunch?" Granger suggested.
"Sounds alright to me, Draco?" Theo nudge him to answer Granger.
"Yeah, it's fine." He agrees.
"I'll see you both tomorrow then," She retrieved her book bag from Theo and left them both alone.
"Why were you handing Granger galleons?" Draco asked as soon as Granger was out of sight.
"I lost a bet." Theo stated simply. A quiet hush fell as they walked down the corridors to their next class, until Draco spoke."You gave it to her," That was all he said as they continued their walk down the school's long corridors.
"The Gryffindor colors don't seem quite right for me, do they? The box you gave me this morning is actually for he isn't it?" Draco stopped his tracks, had he been too obvious for Theo to notice things?
"She is already yours, Nott." His voice was low; he couldn't look Theo directly in the eyes as he uttered those words. Theo laughed as he repeatedly slammed his hand on Draco's shoulder. "She's not mate, oh gods no—I swear in Salazar's grave she is not." Theo looked disgusted and raised his hands defensively.
He finally looked up and made eye contact with Nott. "What do you mean she's not?" His face looked bewildered as he tries to put the pieces together.
"You'll find out soon enough." Theo said patting him on the back. "If you stop being a dick to her."
Theo added a comment before entering the room for their next class. "You could be nicer to her, you know?"
⋆˙⟡
"Have you all decided on which potion we will do?" Granger asked.
"Well, I was thinking of a wide-eye potion, also known as the awakening potion; I came across that while skimming through the textbook." Theo suggested.
"However, it does require some brewing time." Granger pointed out.
"How about Winggenweld potion?" Granger suggested. "It has been revised over the years; we could research why potioneers had to revise the previous ones."
"That sounds like a feasible plan, Draco; what are your thoughts?" Draco nodded in agreement, confirming that they would be preparing the winggenweld potion for their class project.
"Perhaps we could divide the paperwork?" Granger added, "Since it's ninety inches long, I suggest we do thirty inches each. What do you all say?"
"That sounds good to me." Theo agrees.
"Yeah, same." Draco nodded as a hush fell over the room.
⋆˙⟡
He rummaged through his book bag, reaching for his DADA book while settling down beside Theo, who looked like he hadn't slept much. Theo used to have nightmares, especially when he was younger. It seems likely that those nightmares have returned.
"Good afternoon class!" The professor, who appeared somewhat disheveled, greeted them. "Please return all your books to your bags. We will have a practical lesson today; only wands will be needed."
A few curious students—mostly Gryffindors—stared at each other, looking utterly clueless. They still hadn’t had a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—at least, not yet. Last year, that Lockhart lot had been a complete fraud.
Where in Merlin’s name does Dumbledore even find these gits?
"Now then," Professor Lupin remarked, standing near an old, rattling wardrobe in the far corner of the room. The students, sensing something ominous, instinctively took a step back from the dusty piece of furniture.
"There’s nothing to worry about," he assured them, his calm demeanor doing little to ease their nerves. "Inside this wardrobe is a boggart. Now, who can tell me what a boggart is?"
Predictably, Granger—the insufferable know-it-all—immediately shot her hand into the air.
"It’s a shape-shifter," she began. "It takes the form of whatever a person fears most."
"Excellent! Five points to Gryffindor." Lupin clapped his hands, clearly pleased.
Draco rolled his eyes. Of course she knew the answer.
"Now, the charm that repels a boggart works best with laughter!" Lupin continued. "I want everyone to repeat after me—Riddikulus!"
The class chanted the spell in unison, some more confidently than others.
Draco scoffed. "This class is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath.
"Good!" Lupin said, ignoring him. "Now, let’s have a volunteer."
Lupin’s gaze swept across the room before settling on a particular student.
"Right, Neville," he said. "What scares you the most?"
Longbottom visibly paled, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape—or perhaps someone to rescue him from this humiliation. After a long pause, he mumbled, barely louder than a whisper, "P-Professor S-Snape."
A wave of laughter rippled through the class. Neville ducked his head, his face burning with embarrassment.
"What a sodding loser," Draco muttered to his group, smirking. Vince and Greg snorted in agreement, their shoulders shaking.
But then, to everyone’s surprise, Longbottom actually managed to cast the spell.
The boggart twisted and morphed, its dark robes shifting into something utterly absurd—Snape, now draped in a lacy old-fashioned dress, complete with a towering vulture-topped hat and a ridiculous handbag to match. The class erupted into laughter.
"Well done, Neville!" Lupin praised, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now, I want everyone to form a single line."
The students shuffled into place, anticipation thick in the air. The boggart had more fears to expose.
Parvati… Finnegan… Crabbe… Weasley… Each had taken their turn. Now, it was Granger’s. With a sharp crack, the boggart shifted. A spider tumbled from nowhere, but before it even hit the ground, it twisted and morphed—becoming something far more horrifying. A body, sprawled in a pool of blood. Motionless. Almost too real. Granger stood frozen, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Draco, curious about what had shaken her so badly, stepped forward. His eyes landed on the figure, and his breath caught in his throat.
Theo.
Lifeless. Drenched in crimson.
His mind reeled. Why would Granger’s boggart be a dead Theo?
The boggart twisted again, shifting into a glowing full moon just as Professor Lupin swiftly stepped in, shielding the others from witnessing Granger’s deepest fear. Theo wasted no time. Without hesitation, he rushed to the front of the classroom, his concern evident. With Lupin’s permission, he gently guided Herm— Granger out of the room, offering quiet reassurances as they left. Draco, however, couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that gripped him. His body moved on its own, as if compelled by something beyond his control. Before he knew it, he found himself striding toward the Hospital Wing.
There, he saw them.
Theo sat beside Granger, his presence steady and unwavering. But Granger—she looked shaken, her hands trembling, her breath still uneven. Panic lingered in her wide eyes, as if the scene from the classroom was playing over and over in her mind. Draco clenched his jaw. He had seen fear before, but never on her. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, it unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Madam Pomfrey bustled over to Granger, her sharp eyes filled with concern.
"Here, drink this calming draught and lie down, Ms. Nott— er, Ms. Granger," she instructed, pressing a small vial into Granger's trembling hands. Without protest, Granger brought the potion to her lips and drank. The effects were almost immediate—a soothing warmth spread through her, steadying her breath, quieting the frantic thrum of her heartbeat. The panic that had gripped her moments ago slowly began to fade, replaced by a sense of calm. She exhaled shakily and sank back against the pillows, her composure gradually returning.
"Why are you here, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice steadier now as she regained her composure.
"I, uh—" He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. He had come here out of concern—though he'd never admit it outright—but instead of expressing that, he blurted out the question that had been nagging at him. "Why is Theo being dead your boggart?"
Hermione’s expression hardened instantly. "That’s none of your concern, Malfoy," she snapped.
Draco frowned. No need to get so defensive, he thought. It did concern him—Theo was his best mate, after all.
"Look," he began, carefully choosing his words. "Theo’s my best mate. I just don’t want him getting hurt—especially by you."
"By me?" she repeated incredulously before letting out a scoff. Then, as if amused by some private joke, a small smile curled at the corner of her lips. "Do tell, Draco—why on earth would I ever hurt my own dear brother?"
Draco froze. Brother?
Draco stared at them both, his mind racing. Now that he was looking at them properly—Granger… Nott?Fuck. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before. The resemblance was uncanny. His thoughts scrambled, recalling every interaction between Theo and Granger, piecing together moments that now made a disturbing amount of sense.
"Theo? She's your sister?" He could barely wrap his head around it. Hermione Granger—of all people—was Theo Nott’s sister?
"Older brother, if I may say so," Theo chimed in with a smug grin.
"By only five minutes!" Hermione snapped, glaring at him.
Theo simply shrugged before turning back to Draco, his smirk widening. "Well then, Malfoy—welcome to the Association of Secret Siblings, an exclusive organization founded by yours truly and dear Hermione."
Draco blinked. "Ass?"
Theo’s grin only grew. "It’s A.S.S., Draco," he corrected, his tone dripping with mock sophistication.
"That's actually an awful acronym, Theo," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes.
Draco, meanwhile, was still struggling to process the revelation. Granger and Theo… siblings? Twins? The idea seemed ridiculous, yet the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.
"Who else knows about this?" he asked, wondering if he should start referring to them as the twins.
Theo hummed, lazily rubbing Hermione’s back in comfort. "Mm—Aunt Cissa knows."
Draco stiffened. "Mother knows? And no one bothered telling me?" He leaned against Hermione’s bed, disbelief settling in. His own mother and his best friend had kept this from him.
"It wasn’t safe for you," Hermione muttered, gripping the blanket tightly.
Draco frowned. "Oh, please, Granger," he scoffed. "Try me."
Her eyes darkened, her expression unreadable.
"He’ll come after you!" she snapped, her voice tight with anger barely held in check.
"Who? Nott Sr.?" Draco let out a short, humorless laugh. "Father won’t have any of it."
Silence followed. The only sound was the wind whistling outside the Hospital Wing.
Theo finally stood, patting Draco’s shoulder as he passed. "Well, mate. Meet Hermione—my sister. I think it’s best you get on her good side." A smirk tugged at his lips.
Draco exhaled sharply as he watched Theo walk toward the exit.
"Try not to hex each other while I’m gone!" Theo called over his shoulder before disappearing into the corridor.
Now, it was just the two of them.
Draco shifted uncomfortably. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure where to begin. For the first time, he felt the weight of his past words and actions pressing down on him. He had been cruel to her for years—not just out of rivalry, but out of cowardice. And now? Now, he wanted to change.
He sighed, relieved that the calming draught had taken effect and Hermione seemed much better.
"Granger—"
"Malfoy—"
They spoke at the same time, pausing in surprise.
"Oh, sorry, you go first," Hermione insisted, offering him a small smile.
Draco hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Look, Granger… I wanted to apologize. I know I’ve been a complete and total prat for the last two years, and I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness." He ran a hand through his hair, feeling strangely vulnerable.
When he glanced at her, he found her smiling—at him.
He sighed again, this time with something like determination. "I—I want to start over," he admitted.
Hermione studied him for a moment before offering her hand. "I’m Hermione Granger," she said, as if introducing herself for the first time.
Draco felt a slow smile tug at his lips. He clasped her hand in his.
"Well, Hermione, I’m Draco Malfoy."
Her smile widened. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Draco."
And just like that, something shifted between them. A chapter closed, and a new one began—one that neither of them had ever expected.