Chapter Text
''Not happening,'' Draco snorts. He was leaning back in one of the chairs in Dumbledore’s office as the headmaster sat in front of him.
''It’s an exclusive opportunity, Draco. I strongly advise you to take it,'' Dumbledore tries again.
''I’m not sure were either of you got the impression that there’s choices here. This is final. You will advance in your classes and score enough to classify for the Ministry of Magic,'' Lucius spits as he joins in.
But Draco is not having it. ''I absolutely refuse to be seen with her,'' he continues to state with a scrunched facial expression.
''Mr. Malfoy, Hermione Granger is our top student. A brilliant witch, unmatchable,'' Dumbledore declares in objection.
The heat in his body started to reach his ears - he's being cornered with fewer and fewer escapes. But he refused, completely and utterly refused. ''But father, I–''
''But you nothing. This is final. I expect results within two months, Headmaster,'' Lucius declares before he turns on his heels and strides out of the room.
Draco blinks after him. When his startled reaction slightly fades, he twists his head back to Dumbledore, throwing him a death glare.
''Put some effort into it and raise your grades, Draco. Perhaps then you don’t have to endure our beloved Hermione for too long... as you so courteously expressed it.'' A hint of irritation laid in Dumbledore’s voice, however he held his spotless reputation intact.
Walking down the hallway, frustrated, he fumbles with the knot of his tie to loosen it up. Him, Draco Malfoy – tutored by Hermione fucking Granger. They could just as well send him to Azkaban!
~
Draco wasn’t failing all his classes. In fact, there were only three; Potions, History of Magic, and Herbology. But the Ministry of Magic had strict rules - all classes had to be completed and passed for a place at one of their governing departments.
To join the Ministry wasn’t even a dream of his, it was his father’s. Draco didn’t know what he wanted to do after graduation, but at least something that didn’t involve a desk and four walls... he wanted to be powerful and independent... that’s about how far he had come regarding that matter.
''Oy, Draco! Keep your distance, she’ll probably try to hug you or something,'' Theodore Nott laughs. Blaise, Lorenzo, and Theo had taunted him all morning about the fact that he had to spend four hours a week with her. Four! Each Wednesday.
And today was Wednesday.
''Shut your fucking mouth, Nott, before I do it for you,'' Draco hisses, clenching his jaw in anger. To no ones surprise, the echo of Theo's laugh continues down the hallway.
Standing with a clutched fist, he looks at the doors to the classroom of Defense Against the Dark Arts. This was where they were supposed to study. Resentfully, he enters.
Her head leaves the book just as he opens the door, and the golden curls that had fallen forward while she read now dangled in front of her eyes.
''Hello, Draco. You’re late,'' she lets out with a soft voice.
The clock on the wall shows 13:06. Their sessions were scheduled from 13:00 to 17:00.
''Right,'' he presses out before taking a seat, choosing the desk placed furthest from her. Leaning back in his chair, he relaxes his posture to a rather limp one.
It takes a moment while she just observes him, before she suddenly rises from her seat and starts to make her way towards him.
Watching her decide to approach, he tenses instantly and with a quick flick of his wand, he enchants the chairs around him to stay in place. That way, she couldn’t sit near him.
His quick thinking makes him smirk proudly.
It doesn't take her long to understand what his movement had done. Still, she continuing to approach him.
The smirk on his face fades gradually, and when she at last stands next to him, he goes still. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t move an inch. However, she doesn’t try to reach for a chair, knowing they wouldn’t budge anyway. And then, surprising even the dead, she places one hand on the table and jumps lightly onto it, now sitting with her legs dangling down over the edge.
Whatever he thought she would do – that was not it.
''So, Potions,'' her voice echoes just before her legs begins to swing playfully beside him.
Lifting his gaze to look at her, he's met by the image of her browsing through her book that she’s holding between her hands. And across her face, she has a... smile.
He curses.