Chapter Text
Sometimes you wondered if someone up there had it in for you. At least it might explain why you always seem to end up in the most unfavourable situations, just as you had done before the winter break, and now you were staring up at the large oak doors to your next two weeks in paradise. It wasn't as if you'd done anything bad or hurt anyone. As far as you knew, anyway. You could be paying for a ruthless ancestors' sins, or maybe you were just far too kind to say no when professor Slughorn looked down at you with those big, pleading puppy eyes and said, "miss Y/L/N, I trust you will be Mr Malfoy's partner?"
Hermione laughed through her nose, as you, too, stared back with eyes as wide as dinner plates. Although to you this was a terrible turn of events, Hermione was thoroughly enjoying herself.
"Of course," you stuttered out, Malfoy's eyes burning into the back of your head three rows behind, then taking a big gulp you said, "I'd be happy to, sir."
"Excellent!" Slughorn exclaimed, shaking a finger as he leant in a little close to whisper, "I knew I could count on you, miss Y/L/N."
Hermione had given you a sort of sympathetic look after that, but not without the clear restraint of amusement. It was always you, wasn't it? The class was small, as not many of your seventh-year classmates had returned, but that just meant partner projects were even more unfortunate than before, especially since no one, not a single person in that entire room, wanted to be with Malfoy.
So, that's how you'd ended up in front of possibly the largest set of doors you'd ever seen, not to mention the house itself. It was no secret that the Malfoy family had money, it was evident in the way Draco carried himself during his school years. Safe to say he'd been knocked down a peg since the war ended, but even when you returned to repeat your seventh year, he was still as unfriendly without his little minions following him around. Perhaps he misses Pansy, you thought, staring up at the lock that was possibly bigger than your entire head, but who on earth would miss Pansy?
Then the door began to move, slowly from how ridiculously big it was, to reveal a small house elf that by sheer strength could have never opened it. Your eyes fell to him, dressed in a scraggily looking old shirt that had the pocket missing.
"Good day, miss," the elf squeaked, "master Malfoy is waiting in the drawing room."
"Which one?" you found yourself saying, still dumbfounded about the entire situation. The elf turned to walk back inside, to which you took as a sign to follow him.
You were pleased the elf had arrived when he did, it was practically baltic outside. Your fingers had begun numbing through the fabric, making it impossible to knock again. As you walked further into the building, you passed large paintings and dark coloured curtains, busts of wizards you'd never heard of and possibly the most depressing looking décor you'd ever witnessed. Little light spilled into the hallways, and the atmosphere was nothing short of melancholy. It was as if no one lived there, it was just a very large, dormant house with expensive furniture in it.
"Just in here," the elf said, waving his tiny hand to open another heavy door, "the fire is still burning. Would you like some tea, miss?"
Before you could answer the delightful question, Malfoy appeared at the door with his usual solemn expression, his unnaturally white hair being the only speck of colour in the entire room beyond him.
"She's fine," he grumbled.
"Well, actually-"
"Leave," Malfoy interrupted, shooing the elf away and motioning for you to come inside. You mouthed an apology to the little elf, who only smiled sadly back. The drawing room was much warmer than the rest of the house, the fire roaring and lightning up the dimly lit space. Malfoy took a seat on the couch, whilst you stood as close to the fire as possible, looking around the room and wondering how anyone could live in a place like this.
"Are you going to sit down or what?" he drawled, pulling your attention from the lined photos on the mantelpiece of all neatly dressed family members.
"Oh, yes, of course," you said, not noticing how his eyes rolled, "I bought my notes and some of the equipment that was on the list. Mother went to Diagon Alley, so she picked up-"
"I don't care for your mother's shopping habits," Malfoy said over you, "let's just discuss how we're going to do this without annoying one another."
You looked back at him in shock, the flicker of the fire defining only half of his face. He didn't seem too impressed with your delayed answer, so instead, pulled out his notes and agenda.
"We have to brew three potions of our choosing, yes?" he began, his tone still sharp, "so, do you have any ideas? And don't say anything stupid or easy, I want a good grade in this."
"Well, I was thinking that we could brew Amortentia?" you suggested, feeling like you were treading on eggshells just from speaking, "it's complex, and has disastrous complications if done incorrectly."
He was silent for a moment.
"Fine," he huffed, "the other two should be Felix Felicis and the Draught of the Living Dead."
"Are you telling me or asking me?"
His grey eyes slid up to meet yours, clearly not amused. He scoffed.
"I have a better grade than you already," Malfoy stated quite plainly, "I'd listen, if I were you."
"Maybe I would if you were a little nicer about it," you defended, heart pounding when he shifted in his seat to look directly at you through narrowed eyes, "we're partners," you went on hastily, "we should try to get along for these two weeks."
"Who said I wasn't trying to get along?" he said sarcastically, smirking a little at the look on your face.
If you were honest, Malfoy was not someone you particularly cared for, even before the war. Being a half-blood Ravenclaw only meant you were bait for him, like a giant chocolate cream cake dangling in front of his face. Many times, had you felt the wrath of his displeasure toward witches and wizards like you. Malfoy, like he did with many others, loved to drag your name through metaphorical mud because your father was a muggle. You didn't like him, and neither did anyone else, and that's why you were sitting opposite him right at this very moment. Far too nice for your own good. Clearing your throat, you adjusted your sitting position and placed your potions book on your lap, flickering through the pages and trying to understand how someone could be so rude to a guest in their own home.
"We should start by making a list of ingredients we need to buy for our potions." You say, and to your surprise, Malfoy picked up his quill and appeared to be listening.
"First thing for Amortentia is Ashwinder eggs," you began, looking at him scribbling from the corner of your eye, "rose thorns, peppermint, powdered moonstone, pearl dust, and rose petals."
"Do we even have money for this?"
You sure do, you thought.
"We have an allowance," you state, taking a brown envelope from your bag and showing it to him, "don't you listen? Each pair has enough to buy any ingredients they may need."
Malfoy sighed irritably.
"Just read off the other ingredients."
"Felix Felicis requires Ashwinder eggs once more," you continued, turning to the correct page, "a squill bulb, murtlap tentacles, tincture of thyme and an Occamy eggshell."
"We could've just taken this from Slughorn, the crazy old bat," Malfoy muttered, not looking up to meet your piercing glare.
"As for Draught of the Living Dead (which I'd like to give to you), we need standard potioning water, powdered root of Asphodel, infusion of Wormwoods, Valerian root, a Sopophorus bean, Sloth brain, moondew and flowerheads."
Closing your book, you saw how Malfoy frantically scrawled down the last few ingredients.
"Is that everything?" he said sarcastically, "seems like we're starting up a potion shop."
"Just keep that list safe," you retort, shoving your potions book back into your bag, "we'll need to arrange a day to go and collect it all."
Malfoy looked across at you in confusion, and then laughed breathlessly.
"I am not shopping with you."
"And why not?" you snap back, folding your arms across your stomach, "you don't seriously expect me to do it all, do you? I'll break my back carrying everything."
"You're a witch," he said matter of fact, "just use a spell to carry it? or is that not how your muggle father does things?"
You had perhaps been in his company for approximately twenty minutes, and already has he mentioned your father. Maybe you were naive to think the war had changed him slightly.
"I'll be here, tomorrow, ten o'clock sharp. Capiche?"
"Can't tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Plans."
"What plans?"
"Just plans."
Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. It wasn't exactly ladylike to explode in someone else's house on your first visit there. You also knew that if you were to lose your temper, he'd tease you endlessly for it.
"The day after, then?"
"Plans."
"Look," you said, a little sterner to try and reinforce your feelings, "I don't want to be in a pair with you just as much as you don't want to be in a pair with me, but Slughorn asked me nicely, so I agreed out of the kindness of my heart as I can guarantee you'd be doing this alone otherwise."
Malfoy watched you, with a neutral, bored expression plastered across his pale, sharp face.
"Owl me when you want to behave like an adult," you tell him, grabbing your coat furiously, "then we can start collecting the ingredients."
You left the room only to realise that you had no idea where to go. The door to the drawing room reopened, and Malfoy's voice sounded from behind you.
"Need walking out?" he asked but started to walk away without an answer. You took the opportunity, following back the way the elf had bought you, passing the same dreary paintings and uncomfortable looking furniture. It was quiet the whole way, just the sound of your heels against the wooden floor and the patter of Malfoy's socked feet, until the cold of the entrance hall began nipping at your skin again. You pulled your coat on, getting your wand from your pocket in preparation to apparate. Malfoy pointed his wand toward the unbelievably large doors and wordlessly opened it. Sharing a thin, emotionless smile, you made way for the exit.
"I'll be ready tomorrow," he said suddenly, causing you to turn back. He was looking elsewhere, "and thanks for pairing up with me, I guess."
His sudden change in behaviour was both odd and appreciated. This time you shared a slightly more genuine smile with him.
"Ten o'clock," you repeat, "don't sleep in."