Work Text:
"No."
"But—"
"No."
"Well why not?!" he practically screamed at her.
She didn't even bother looking up from her textbook.
"Because I don't like you."
Draco spent the rest of his day thinking about that.
Sure, he knew he could get on some people's nerves every so often. But he didn't think he had enemies. And the way Granger said it… It sounded like she regarded him in that way. He found it deeply bothersome.
He was a popular guy.
He had no clue what he could have done to make Granger not like him.
Okay, so maybe he made fun of her supposed best friends. (How could someone as brilliant as her be friends with those two dimwits anyway?) But that was all there was to it, really. A bit of harmless fun. Lots of people made fun of his best friends—he didn't resent anyone for that. Crabbe and Goyle were just easy blokes to pick on, just like Scarface and Weasel. She should understand that. She was the brightest witch of her age, after all.
And that was exactly why he needed her to pair up with him for potions that term. He had barely managed to keep his grade within “O” range last term after being paired up with the walking disaster that was Neville Longbottom.
Plus, as a Malfoy, he was used to the best. And Hermione Granger was the best. So he had to have her.
He began his wooing the way anyone with a half a brain cell would: compliments. He was going to shower Hermione Granger with the nicest compliments he could think of until she started liking him enough to consider being his potions partner. Now, because Granger had more brain cells than the average person, he had to tread carefully. She was someone who highly valued logic, which meant that she would easily see past all insincerity. He needed to be both honest and objective when it came to his compliments.
"Your hair is extra bushy today, Granger," he said as they brushed robes in the hallway. "You must take great care with it. The follicles must be incredibly healthy and—"
He reached out to stretch a coil flat. Sure enough, it sprung back into its original spiral as soon as he released it.
"Wow, look at that elasticity. Bye now."
He left her blinking on the spot.
Granger was an extraordinarily busy individual, always flitting from one class to the next to keep up with her packed schedule. He definitely didn't want to hold her up in between. He needed to be as efficient as possible. Being bothersome would get him nowhere and there was only a week left before they had to submit their partners.
Compliments alone wouldn't get him very far, though. He wasn't the only one vying for her attention. Intelligence was a hot commodity. He himself had been propositioned by a number of potential partners, but he refused to settle. His eyes were on the prize: an O in Fourth Year Potions that would set him up for success in his O.W.L.S. next year. Gifts were always a good way to woo, but again, he'd have to be strategic about it. He'd have to present her something with real value.
Books were something that she valued but it would be hard to pick one that she hadn't already read, or didn't already own. The same went for ink. Unlike her annoying counterparts, the quality of materials mattered to her. Granger only used sustainably-sourced squid ink for her notes. She probably wouldn't purchase eel blood ink even if a wand was pointing between her eyes, goody two-shoes that she was. Instead, she charmed her regular black ink to change colours when jotting down important points. He would have to think beyond basic stationery.
Unfortunately, he was short on time and out of ideas. So he settled on threatening various store owners in Hogsmeade to place her orders on his tab for the foreseeable future. Let them deal with her pride and stubbornness. He would claim the credit when she eventually realised how nice it was to not have to pay for new quills or robe accessories. As of right now, however, he would need to think of a way to impress her whilst avoiding her, because she already started arguing with him about it.
With only three days left, he needed to think outside of the box. He had seen the incredibly annoying Susan Bones chatting with her during the past two dinners. To his knowledge, they were not good friends so it could only mean that she was trying to woo her as well.
Truthfully speaking, the best way to solve the Susan problem was to get rid of her altogether. A slipping charm and sprained ankle would theoretically do the trick. But it was too great a risk to have Granger suspect him for the "accident." All his hard work would be flushed down the drain.
Salvation came in the form of Granger's cat-thing. (It did not look like a cat, but that is what she always introduced it as whenever it had gotten into some sort of trouble—which was frequently.) Luckily for him, he happened to catch a first year poking at it while it was sunning out by its usual alcove down the hall from Gryffindor tower. A sharp bite and loud wailing was all it took to get the gears in his head grinding together to form his brilliant plan.
"Malfoy, you won't!"
"But I will."
"This is Crookshank's third bite for the year! If McGonagall finds out she'll ship him back home."
"Sorry, Granger. I'm afraid I have to. One tattletale to another, you know how it is. There's just this urge for truth and honesty inside me that can't be ignored. I'm just as surprised as you are that my time in Slytherin hasn't killed the little Hufflepuff laying low deep down inside."
If the eye roll was any indication, this was perhaps too much. But what mattered was that she believed him.
"What will it take for you to not tell?"
And that was how Hermione Granger became his potions partner that September at the start of Fourth Year.
Unsurprisingly to him—though apparently it came as quite the shock to her—they worked well together. They were both intrinsically driven to be the best in the class. Even the equally unlikely pairing of Longbottom and Bones were far behind them in terms of skill. And whenever they weren't? Well, Draco was always willing to do whatever it took to make sure they had an edge. Likewise, Hermione was always willing to turn a blind eye to Draco's "extracurricular activities."
By the end of that term, they had developed such a collaborative rapport that Granger offered to be his partner again in second term. This is when things began to take a turn for the worse.
That winter holiday, Draco felt like something was off. It was as though he had a phantom limb missing. And when he thought of what could possibly fill that ever-expanding void, only one person would come to mind: his potions partner, the one and only Hermione Granger.
It was an extremely perplexing condition. He and Granger were potions partners in the strictest sense. They only ever interacted during class, or when checking on an assignment, or studying for their exams. Outside of academia, they never spoke or spent time together. But suddenly this routine, which at the time made perfect sense, started to seem more and more nonsensical. He couldn't believe he had spent the entire term wasting time on people who weren't Hermione Granger. What exactly had the point of any of those interactions been? No one was as smart as her, no one was as intense, no one else challenged him like she did. But even so, it made little sense as to why he was missing her more and more each day.
He would think of her at breakfast—the perfectly golden colour of the honey he spooned into his tea was the exact shade of the flecks in her eyes. He would think of her when he was flying around the estate—she hated flying, but he was sure he could convince her to do it by explaining that it was the safest way to observe dugbogs at a relatively close distance. She once mentioned how similar to alligators she suspected they were but had never seen one in person. The pond at the southern end of their property was teeming with them. He wondered if she'd ever come over if he invited her.
His mother's garden also reminded him of her, though only because there wasn't a single flower in it that smelled like her. He tried to describe the fragrance to his mother, requesting whatever bloom might be closest but she had never heard of a flower with that sort of profile. In any case, she was very glad to have help with planning out the garden's extension and let him pick the plants that would grow there. Spring seemed too far away to wait for an answer though.
When school resumed that January, he made it his mission to uncover what her scent was. He thought of asking her dorm-mates but thought that might be weird. So he asked her point-blank instead. This was the point where things took an even worse turn. Granger refused to divulge any details about her perfume until he told her why he was so curious about it. This was one of her more frustrating traits, though these lesser qualities of hers did little to quell the crush he had developed on her. If anything, he had started defending these with increasingly bizarre justifications. In the end, he told her he liked how she smelled but quickly changed tune when she started blushing.
"I'm looking to purchase something similar for a girl I li— know. AgirlIknow. And like," was the line that then left his mouth.
For some reason this made her blush even harder which terrified him even more.
"It's not you!" he blurted.
"I know that!" she blurted back before gathering her things and rushing off.
They hadn't even finished discussing their Slug Club applications for next year.
For the following two weeks, there was minimal communication between them. Draco was still reeling from the near confession. He was embarrassed by the lie he told her and disappointed that he still hadn't figured out her scent. Things went back to being totally academic between them, which technically it always had been. It was a crushing reminder that he ruined his opportunity to progress their relationship into anything beyond books and brews.
It's not like he wanted much from her. He just wanted her to like him. It didn't even have to be in the same way that he liked her—which, quite frankly, was a frightening amount. He only wanted reassurance that she didn't not like him anymore.
He didn't know how to figure this out. He was second best in their year at arithmacy, but this particular calculation eluded him. There was no formula that could help him here, no numerological string, no chemical equation. It struck him that determining whether or not Hermione Granger liked him back would not be something he could tangibly prove. Rather, he might have to rely on something like hope or chance or fate—none of which had been particularly kind to him over the years.
He tried tea leaves first. It was an old blend that smelled somewhat familiar and was famed for its divulgence of fate. But for whatever reason the dried elderflower petals never settled to the bottom of his cup and were accidentally swallowed on his second gulp. Professor Trelawney told him that the flowers would encourage gut truth, advice which turned out to be somewhat right. Hours later, when he spotted Seamus Finnegan sitting awfully close to Granger at the lunch table, he promptly became so nauseous that he had to check himself into the hospital wing. This meant missing Potions class that day.
She didn't even pass by to check on him.
After recovering from that incident he decided to consult the stars. He wasn't taking Astronomy that year, but Padma Patil was. She was so ahead of the class she had started a side hustle doing astrological predictions for the girls that year. He was already heading up to the Tower for his appointment with her when an anonymous howler floated before him and started screaming at him about chasing girls and finding better ways to use his time and missing Potions class.
The event catapulted Draco into an even darker depression. He missed her terribly. He missed her when she was not around and he missed her even more in Potions class when she was silently pointing to ingredients and giving him one-word responses. The only time he didn't miss her was when he was dreaming. She starred in all of his nightmares, feeding him elderflower-flavoured pastries and reminding him that she didn't like him at all—not even a little. He missed her the most in those first few moments after waking up.
He began to lose all zeal for life. Even Potter and Weasley losing ten points each couldn't put the pep back into his step. He started relying more on Crabbe and Goyle for support. They didn't mind him moping about and never asked him questions. He used to mistake their silence for stupidity but it turned out to be a major boon. He grew so appreciative of their company that he hexed a Fifth Year for teasing them about how they looked. After all, it wasn't their fault they were so soft and pudgy all over. It was just genetics. And who hadn't been dealt a crumby hand in this miserable excuse for a fifth-dimensional experience? He certainly had.
He didn't think salvation would ever come. By the end of second term his heart was a crushed up thing, vaguely resembling a sopophorous bean that had been fully juiced. He didn't even care about Potions class any more. What was the point of getting into the Slug Club if Granger refused to look at him for more than a second? Say he did get in next year—who would he chat with? So what if he got top marks? The end result no longer mattered to him after realising what a profound difference her company made on the journey.
That term, LongBones and Co. ended up besting the class.
Draco felt like he had reached the lowest point in his life. He was generally okay with coming second in class, but only if he was bested by Hermione Granger. His crush. The one who had no idea. Who didn't even like him as a friend. Whose scent was still a mystery.
It seemed a shame to leave for break without knowing the answer to that. If he were lucky, some of the new flowers in the garden's extension would have started to bloom. Maybe then he would be able to figure it out. Luck did not seem to be on his side though. Out of the fifty new varieties he had ordered for the garden, what were the odds of one of them being the scent that Hermione wore? It was probably better if he didn't find it. If he did, he was likely to stare at it all day, grieving and forlorn over the more-than-potions-partners they could have been.
At that point it had been two full weeks since he had last seen her. He had missed their last Potions class, hadn't met up with her to study and had been in such a rut that he missed their final exam. If it wasn't for their Professor letting him retake it, he would have flunked the class altogether.
The train ride home was quiet, save for the rumbling of the engine. Crabbe and Goyle were both fast asleep as Draco stared out at the foggy evening landscape. He had taken this journey so many times he learnt to time it by the number of streams they passed by. He counted five so far, which meant that about an hour had passed. His stop would be in about two more. Most of his friends would go straight down to London. Granger would too.
He saw her reflection in the window before she could knock on the compartment door.
"Hi," she whispered, poking her head in. "Can I have a minute?"
They stood together in the shaky corridor staring at each other's feet. There were so many words in the silence between them, but he didn't know which ones to say.
He watched as she reached into her small, beaded bag and pulled out a round, glass bottle which she offered to him.
"What—"
"It's the fragrance I use. I got one for your—for the girl you like," she said, "And I'm sorry about the howler. I feel awful—"
"You sent that howler?" he asked in disbelief.
Her face went beet red. "It was stupid I know. I don't know what came over me but also—"
She paused to draw in breath, looking at him with such sudden fierceness that he knew whatever she was about to say would emotionally eviscerate him.
He braced himself for the worst.
"Also," she started again, hands moving to her hips, "You were so distracted by her, whoever she is, all term long and you became so distant during class. You stopped making any effort and even though I should have stepped it up, well—never mind that! What else was I supposed to do? And you even had the audacity to miss our last class together, which for me was the last straw, but then you don't even show up to our test?! What grade did you even get? Are you going to throw your dream of being a Potions Master away for some teenage crush who you'll be bored with by next year?"
Draco could only blink at her throughout her little monologue. The information she was spewing at him was threatening to break his brain.
Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he was absolutely losing it. Maybe he was holding on to hope by a delicate thread of delusion.
Or maybe—just maybe—Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was jealous.
Of herself.
"Fine, don't answer me. But there you go. You can give her that and live happily ever after. I don't care."
She turned to leave, but of course he didn't let her. Because Hermione Granger did, in fact, care. He may not have seen it before, but he saw it now. Very clearly. He saw it in the way her honey-flecked eyes looked down at where he had grabbed her hand. He saw it in his memory of her mirrored behaviour throughout the term. He saw it in the gift she had unknowingly gotten for herself.
He smelled it too. In the elderflower perfume that filled the corridor. The same one he would smell if he were to open the bottle in his hands. But not the same one he would smell if someone else were to wear it. Not even the same one he would smell from the elderflower bushes he asked for last winter.
Hermione Granger smelled like elderflower and unanswerable questions. Questions that were beyond wizarding comprehension. Questions that no branch of alchemy or arithmacy or divination could ever possibly answer. There was an ancient magic about her. The kind that demanded to be reckoned with; the type of magic that made things fall into place.
"I don't think I'd be bored of you by next year," he told her.
"What are you talking abou—wait... What?."
She saw it clearly then too. Or at least she began to.
"Yes."
"But you said that—"
"I panicked. But yes," he confirmed. "It's you. It's been you this whole time."
She didn't speak for about a full minute.
"Well then," she finally said. She was still biting her lip, looking just as excited as he felt. "What now?"
What now, indeed.
"We could..."
There were so many things they could do. There were so many things he wanted to do.
He cleared his throat.
"Fancy seeing some dugbogs? I know a place. It's only a few hours away. It could be like a—like a study date. Except without the studying. But we could study them if you're interested in that too. Actually that would be the whole point of seeing them really to—"
She shut him up with a kiss. Or at least tried to. The decisive peck landed on the centre of his chin, which was apparently as far as she could reach even on her tippy toes. But it still worked as intended. And whether she agreed to it or not, one thing was now undoubtedly certain...
Hermione Granger liked him.