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Summary
Neck twisting over his shoulder with all the grace of a swan, Draco rebutted with all the clucking of one as well. “Nothing about you is pedestrian, Granger, I’m not sure it could be when so much of you is your hair.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Yes, and your hair being quite that shade of blond isn’t incestuous.” With a light laugh in response, Draco twisted to sit up in Hermione’s bed, head propped against her headboard, toeing off his boots so he could rest his legs across her bed. The hideous thing about that was the idea that Draco Malfoy had spent so many evenings bothering her, in her quarters, that he knew how to scratch her cat, knew not to prop his shoes on the bed, knew that Hermione would take no offence to his jesting, just so as long as she could do her own fair share back.
OR, after five years of teaching at Hogwarts together, Draco and Hermione finally realise how much they mean to one another.