Drabbles

How did the saying go? With friends like these, who needs enemies?

Draco dropped down into his seat as Professor Vector began gathering her materials to begin class. He’d been looking forward to today’s lesson on the Latibulum Coefficient and its application but given his current state of dishevelment, Draco was sure he wouldn’t absorb a single word. 

His former-friends had begun their apparent vendetta against him first thing that morning when he’d been in the shower. He’d been shampooing his hair when, rather than the usual notes of sandalwood and citrus, he’d been accosted by sickly-sweet spearmint. 

He’d checked the bottle but it was his usual brand and the correct label, so he’d known at once that mischief was afoot. 

Theo had practically announced his guilt for it when he’d ruffled Draco’s hair at breakfast, smelling the resulting minty air with an exaggerated ahhhh and earning himself a swift punch to the kidney.

The trouble had only continued when, while walking back to the castle from their morning Herbology lesson, Blaise had had the audacity to shoulder-check Draco so aggressively that he’d stumbled, catching himself on hands and knees and scuffing his nice grey trousers with mucky green grass stains. 

And then Pansy, the little traitor, had refused to help him remove the damage even though he knew she was a dab hand with fabric-cleansing charms, something he’d never seen the point of learning. He hadn’t had time to change, not with Arithmancy beginning in just a few minutes, so had given them all the finger and marched off ahead of them, ignoring their immature titters and calls of “C’mon Draco!”

And now here he was, an utter olfactory and sartorial disgrace. 

But at least he was in Arithmancy – his favorite class and his sanctuary from the fools he’d had the misfortune of previously loving like siblings. 

He heaved in a steadying breath and rooted around in his bag for quill and parchment, finding both and setting up his desk for a good, long, note-taking session. It was due entirely to his horrendous morning thus far that, when he rolled out the parchment only to find it hardly half a foot in length (and therefore absolutely useless for the depth and breadth of the upcoming lesson), instead of quietly getting more, he let out a hissed stream of choice words under his breath.

“Merlinfuckering little twat-buggering cunt!” 

He rummaged in his bag and was relieved to find a roll of fresh parchment, but when he unspooled it on his desk, found that it was several feet long and therefore untenable for classroom note-taking. Frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair and then let out a low growl of annoyance when the scent of spearmint blossomed anew. 

One desk up and over, he saw Granger lift her head and then, almost in slow motion, turn to look over her shoulder at him. 

Fucking hell.

He braced himself for a precise and efficient evisceration about either his absolutely abhorrent swearing, or how much noise he was making getting himself situated for class, or perhaps that he was even in a class with her at all, given he was a former Death Eater and therefore generally unworthy of sharing the same air as her let alone being allowed to complete his education.

But her face was devoid of irritation. She just…looked at him. 

He blinked, strangely captivated by her gaze and unable to do anything but look back. 

He’d seen her face countless times but in all the years growing up in parallel, their paths had never bisected in a way that had given him a chance to actually see her. And on the times they had faced off, it had never been without a sneer or eye-roll or sharp comment disfiguring her features.

She’d certainly never looked at him with such a clear, open expression before.

She was…

He couldn’t find the words. But he could feel them, in the way he was suddenly very aware of his body, his chest warm and his pulse quickening.

He shifted on his seat and the movement roused her, her eyelashes fluttering on two quick blinks. Her brows furrowed slightly but she still didn’t look away, so he did the only thing he could think of and gave her a small, tiny smile.

Her eyes widened and she spun back around to face the front. 

Draco felt his cheeks flame and dropped his eyes to the parchment, embarrassed and confused. What the fuck had just happened? 

He drew his wand and quickly sliced off thirty inches of parchment – plenty for notes – and rolled up the remaining length, stowing it back in his bag and then arranging his inkpot; anything to do to keep busy and to stop himself from looking over to her. 

But even though he diligently kept his eyes on the board or his notes, he couldn’t focus on the lesson. He’d spent a medium amount of time observing Granger (because she was the first Muggleborn he’d ever met and he was a curious person, no other reason of course) and so he could tell that she seemed to be having a hard time paying attention to Vector, too. 

When the lesson ended, she left her seat almost instantly and was standing beside his desk before he’d even capped his ink. He looked up, startled at her sudden proximity. 

“Hi?” he said, the words catching in his throat.

“Sorry,” she said, tone soft and curious. “I just…” 

She trailed off as he ran a hand over his hair again, the gesture a nervous tic, and her eyes flared at the minty scent. He tightened his jaw in aggravation at Theo. Leave it to him that the day Granger spoke to him in such a pleasant way, it would be the same day he was a complete mess.

Her eyes found his again, something quizzical in them. “You smell like mint. And grass.” She swallowed, glancing down at his hand where it rested on his notes. “And parchment.” 

He felt his brows knit together at the almost reverent way she’d delivered the unexpected comment. 

“I’ve been having a bad day,” he said slowly, brain feeling sluggish.

Inexplicably, her face broke into a wide smile and she laughed once, the sound bright and clear. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it, even though he still had no earthly idea what was going on. 

“Yeah,” she said, voice wry and amused. “That tracks.” She laughed again, this time low and incredulous, and shook her head at him. 

“Well,” she said, as if it had cinched something for her. “Come on then.”

He grappled for a single thread of coherency but she’d tugged them all out of his reach with her laughter and her smiling and those warm, kind, understanding eyes.

He managed a bleated, “Where?”

“The library,” she said, like it was obvious. “I didn’t follow a single word of that lesson and it’s your fault, so you’ll have to explain it to me.”

“My fault?” 

She ran her eyes over him for a moment and then inhaled deeply. The tops of her cheeks were pink but her eyes were sparkling when they met his again. “Entirely your fault. But I’m willing to let you make it up to me.” 

He didn’t dawdle, packing his things away and then standing as she came back with her own packed bag. Her eyes darted to the grass stains on his knees and he felt a flare of mortification again but the look she gave him was so radiant that it shifted his nerves straight from embarrassment to anticipation. 

He was certain his cheeks were bright red but he didn’t care. Walking to the library with Hermione Granger felt like something holy, like a rite of passage in his journey towards something great, and even knowing that he was about to disappoint her with his equal cluelessness about their Arithmancy lesson couldn’t snuff out the flicker of hope in his chest.

He’d only gleaned a few scattered concepts, but he’d try to understand it as quickly as he could. 

For her, he’d always try.