Chapter Text
“Hiding, Granger?”
It was the cool, amused taunt, not so much the question itself that managed to catch Hermione’s attention, breaking her concentration. Looking up from her essay, inked quill paused mid stroke, she took an extra half second to process the wizard standing there on the opposite side of her table.
Draco Malfoy stared across at her, his head cocked slightly to the left as his lips curved into an all too familiar smirk. His signature grey eyes, sharp and ever discerning, rested wholly on her—encircled by the predictable stacked books and strewn parchment.
She blinked as she took him in in his entirety.
He was dressed still—surprisingly—in his quidditch kit, she noted absently, the emerald and silver of his uniform complementing his 'cultured' pale coloring. His platinum blonde hair, grown out from the crisp short cut he’d sported on the first day of their 7th year, was—Hermione assessed with practiced detachment—attractively tousled. Artfully swept back from the wind, a few loose pieces fell against his temples as he continued to peer down at her.
Even from a far she could smell him—a rich blend of leathers, freshly mowed grass and something else. Something warm and entirely him.
The tips of his ears—slightly pink from the outside cold, along with his already removed protective guards—suggested the Slytherin vs Gryffindor game had just ended.
Hermione’s brows furrowed in consternation at that observation. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought he came straight here to the library after his match.
Placing her quill down, Hermione tilted her head just as he had, a loose curl coming to rest similarly on her temple as she mirrored his stance.
Malfoy’s smirk shifted into almost a grin.
“Working on my Ancient Runes assignment in the very public school library would hardly count as ‘hiding away,’” she unabashedly responded.
She would have shifted her attention back to her parchment at that point, but something instinctual told her that her co-head—unfortunately—had no plans to leave her alone anytime soon.
Which—she wasn't quite sure how she felt about—that she’d spent so much time in Malfoy's presence this year that she had developed instincts about him.
Like knowing instinctively when his silver eyes were trained on her, the small hairs on the back of her neck rising in acute awareness despite her back being turned. Or knowing instinctively when his mind wandered during conversations with his friends despite her being at the opposite end of the courtyard.
It was honestly… Hermione didn't yet have an accurate enough word for her feelings on the topic. She’d been filing away the complicated observations into the back of her mind with the plan to sort through them eventually on a different day.
Because priorities or whatnot.
Without invitation, Malfoy reached down to take hold of a chair and slid it out.
Even as he lowered himself—settling so that he was reclined in the seat with an elbow casually resting on the chair’s back—he exuded a palpable arrogance. As if he'd been born into a life of privilege (he had), never having been told ‘no’ a day in his life (he hadn't), and with it came all the expected behaviors and mannerisms that defined someone as such (because obviously).
Only—and Hermione was loath to admit this—there might have been something of substance behind the aforementioned arrogance—a competence that, if given enough time and contact, revealed itself as something closer to earned confidence rather than blind pride.
And having been forced to spend an involuntary amount of time together this past year as both Head Boy and Head Girl, Hermione could confirm (begrudgingly) that there was credence behind Malfoy’s haughtiness.
The posh accomplished prat.
Malfoy arched a brow as if he could hear her last thought. Eyes shining, he tutted as if disappointed, shaking his head minutely in mock reproach.
Hermione involuntarily swallowed wrong.
“We’ll have to work on your lying if you want to be able to fool a Slytherin. Come now, Granger— You casted at least two different notice-me-not charms and are sequestered away in the most tucked back, obscure alcove of the ‘oh so public’ library,” he drawled, languidly picking apart her denial. “In the least frequented, most mind-numbing section about magical bureaucracy and regulation that no one even knows exists.”
Hermione couldn't help the wrinkling of her nose as he continued his monologue. He obviously knew it existed.
Glancing down with half interest, he picked up a book off the table and flipped it over to read its cover in passing.
“Either you're purposely hiding,” Malfoy sent her a quick astute look, the corner of his mouth twitching—probably suppressing some sort of mocking smile Hermione thought with an agitated huff, “or you're waiting to meet a paramour. At which point,” Malfoy continued before Hermione could open her mouth in protest, his smile now a full (suspicious) grin, “looks like I found you first.”
Drat—unable to control the shade of pink her cheeks became, Hermione chewed on her bottom lip—
Maybe Malfoy had developed instincts about her as well.
“Stop teasing,” she chided, cognizant of the volume of her voice as she lowered it. “So I'm hiding. What of it?” She leaned forward as she spoke, reaching to swipe the book back and placing it sternly onto the table with a muted thud.
Honestly, the sooner she could be rid of him, the sooner she could go back to ignoring any questionable thoughts and feelings he had been conjuring in her as of late.
She slapped his thieving fingers away when they crept closer to the book again.
“Stop that,” she griped.
Malfoy’s lips pursed into an insincere pout before acquiescing. He sat back while making a dramatic show of rubbing his barely injured hands.
Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.
That was until she realized something. Brows pinched in a perplexed expression, she shot him a dubious look.
“How did you manage to find me?”
As he correctly pointed out, she had cast two high level notice-me-not charms. And barely anyone came to this part of the library. So how was it that he was here?
“Secret.” He picked off a piece of imaginary dirt from his sleeve without offering any further elaboration.
“That is not an answer.” Hermione crossed her arms, annoyed at being denied an explanation. She made a mental note to research obscure locator spells to see if she could determine this ‘secret’.
“It is for any Slytherin.”
The look she sent his way told him she didn't believe him in the slightest.
“Well seeing as I'm not a Slytherin, I don't very much care for that kind of ambiguous reply.”
“Care to share with the class what it is that you're hiding from then, Granger?”
Malfoy had stood back up to meander closer, the tips of his fingers skimming along the top of her table as he did so.
“It’s none of your business,” Hermione sniffed, swiveling in her seat to meet him face to face, lifting her chin for a better angle as she met his enigmatic grey eyes with her own challenging ones.
“Oh—” Malfoy's smooth, honeyed voice was wicked as he leaned down much too close, his right hand anchored on the desktop next to them.
Hermione tensed, breath caught as he hovered, nearly at eye level. She felt the weight of his consideration, as though he were basking in her defiance.
Slowly, he smiled at her, the whites of his teeth flashing.
“—I would sincerely disagree.”
She hated that her cheeks heated even if there was no nuanced implication to his words. She tried, and failed, for coherency.
“You—”
With her words caught in her throat, Malfoy shamelessly took the opportunity to reach up and tug on the end of a loose curl.
“Who knew Gryffindor's princess was such a coward?” He lightly mocked.
The shock spoke first.
“You take that back.”
Malfoy unfurled back up to his full height, moving past her. It felt as if he might be laughing. “See I would,” he lilted, “except… that would make me a liar—”
She barely registered the mocking wink as he disappeared around a bookcase. It was only after her brain started actually processing information again—happy to be rid of him—that she realized a crucial missed detail.
He had sauntered off—
With a book.
Her book.
The sneak!
Hermione scrambled up after him.
“Malfoy!” She hissed.
He had made it past five stacks of shelves before she managed to catch up to him, dashing around to cut him off and herd him back down a random aisle—Malfoy complying much too easily for someone of his size.
“I am not a coward!” Hermione vehemently protested while scowling at him. “And give me back my book!” She moved as if to grab it.
Malfoy lifted the book high and out of her reach, towering over her while looking much too pleased at having successfully secured her undivided attention by riling her up.
Undeterred, she stubbornly stepped closer till they were almost touching, trying to reach for the book again with extended fingers, mouth pressed into a flat line. She teetered dangerously close to falling into him.
Was he leaning closer to her?
“Brave witches don't miss quidditch games—”
Hermione stomped out the irrational rising twinge of guilt like it was a blast-ended skrewt.
“It couldn't be helped.” Her statement held a hint of petulance.
So what if she missed a game he happened to be playing in? It wasn't like it was a crime. And as Head Boy, Malfoy had plenty of people cheering for him. A venerable posse even. It was presumptuous to assume her being there made any sort of difference.
Malfoy's tone shifted to purposeful disappointment. “Now what kind of role model is our esteemed Head Girl if she misses all school unifying activities?” He lowered his arm down to tap her book lightly against his chin, feigning contemplation. “Sets a rather bad example, wouldn't you say?”
Hermione stilled, before slowly dropping back onto the heels of her feet.
She looked up at her co-head from under half-lidded eyes, expression one that easily expressed how his days of peace were numbered. Malfoy hid the shape of his mouth behind her book, but there was no mistaking the delight dancing in his eyes.
She let out an irritated sigh and placed her hands on her hips as she glared, soft lips twisting with unhindered annoyance.
Annoyance directed at Cormac McLaggen, not Draco Malfoy.
It was unfortunate, but she had become the latest recipient of the older wizard’s unwanted attention—the baton recently passed from a sympathetic but immensely relieved Daphne Greengrass.
Much of Cormac's amorous attention in prior years had been previously directed at students in his class year or above, but now that he was repeating his seventh year—having failed a ridiculous number of his NEWTS (Hermione felt faint at the thought), this year's 7th year class became the unfortunate recipient of the 8th year’s flirtations.
So far he had tried wooing Fay Dunbar, Mandy Brocklehurst, Susan Bones, and Daphne Greengrass.
Hermione was hoping that by avoiding him and anything he was remotely involved with (i.e. quidditch), he would lose interest faster than the standard month and a half he had been allocating for each witch. After all, when dealing with a leech it was better to avoid the places they lurked in the first place (though she would take a real leech over the sandy blonde haired wizard any day).
She definitely didn't want to feed into his delusions that she was secretly in love with him just because she attended a Gryffindor match. (Delusions which were unfortunately easily encouraged—probably due to him having taken too many bludgers to the head.)
Avoidance was the practical, most logical course of action to rebuff him.
So to say she was a coward? When she was anything but?
“Fine,” Hermione tersely growled, hands still on her hips as she made her decision (she'd deal with any regrets later). “No more missing games.”
The next game was meant to be Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw. She'd have to just suck it up and suffer Cormac's misconceptions till he moved on naturally in a few more weeks. Or find a way to quash his delusions earlier if at all possible.
Either way, she'd make Draco Malfoy eat his words.
“I don't know, Granger. I think the other students’ faith has already been shaken that maybe the Head Girl doesn't support interhouse unity as she so claims.”
This time Hermione did roll her eyes. Now he was just milking it.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I support interhouse unity.” She snatched her book out of his lax grip.
He surrendered it without a fight. “And if our illustrious student body assumes you're there just to cheer for your own house?”
“Well, they’d be right….” She ignored Malfoy's mocking gasp. “But... I suppose I could wear a color from the other team's house....” Her brows furrowed as she considered her idea. “Actually yes. That should be good. I think Luna has something blue I can borrow for the next game.”
Pleased with her maneuverings for showcasing interhouse unity and proving Malfoy wrong, she shot him a victorious smile.
“There, all solved.”
She unfortunately failed to notice the sly, satisfied glint in Malfoy's grey eyes.
His hum gave the impression he was impressed and appeased. Malfoy leaned his shoulder against the shelves next to them, folding his arms across his chest in a cocksure stance.
“I’m still surprised as to why you didn't attempt to solve your little problem earlier.”
Oh, she knew the prat knew exactly why she had missed the game.
She shot him a pointed glare conveying as much before wrapping both arms around her book. “I doubt anything besides what I was doing could’ve made a difference.”
“Too proud to ask for help, Granger?”
Hermione scoffed at that, “Please, point me in the direction of someone who could and I wouldn't even hesitate.”
She'd tried. Harry and Ron had been useless, nary a good idea between the two of them. Their best suggestion had been to transfigure Cormac into a toad.
As far as she knew, the only thing that had curtailed Cormac’s interest early was when Susan began dating Ron.
Panicked when Corman began pursuing her, Ron had all but shouted a confession in the middle of Potions. He'd earned a detention and a smack to the back of the head from Snape for his efforts, but Susan had said yes and Cormac had immediately switched attention to Daphne.
She didn't expect the same circumstances to befall her as it did Susan so Hermione had focused her energy on a succinct, by the book retreat.
Idly reminded of why she'd chased after Malfoy in the first place, Hermione shifted her arms just enough to see which book it was that Malfoy had tried to abscond with before promptly choking at the title.
A Witches Guide to Matrimonial Law.
How in Merlin's good green Avalon had this gotten mixed up in her textbooks?!
Slowly and with as little movement as possible, Hermione pressed the book back to her chest like she hadn’t just seen the book’s title. Primly, she cleared her throat, finding a particular stitching pattern on Malfoy's uniform especially interesting as she ignored his laughing expression—
“Hermione?”
—Before practically crashing into him in a mild panic.
Grabbing Malfoy, she whirled them so that their positions were switched before brazenly tucking herself into his side, using his larger form to shield her from view.
Malfoy started vibrating with suppressed laughter.
“Not a coward, was it?”
She didn't even grace him with a dirty look.
“I will hex you.”
“Hermione?” The new male voice was unfortunately indelibly moving closer.
Hermione began irrationally blaming Malfoy for her current predicament and for drawing her so far away from her desk and the shelter of her casted concealment charms. Now she was here, out in the open, unprotected. A sitting duck, with only a sly ferret for protection.
At least she wasn't alone.
“You sure you don't have a paramour, Granger?”
Thoughts interrupted, she looked up at the blonde, her chin practically propped on his chest as she narrowed her eyes in reproach for his terrible joke, offended and absolutely willing to show it.
“Don't be ridiculous. As if I would even consider a dolt who failed—”
“Hermione—”
Footsteps practically upon them, a small squeak escaped her as she tugged on Malfoy's jersey urgently.
“Hide me!” Shushing him like it had been him speaking last.
Eyes closed as if to collect himself, Malfoy bit the inside of his cheek before obediently obeying her command. Picking up the edge of his quidditch robe, he draped it over the top of her head to better conceal her and her recognizable hair before shifting her closer to the shelves so that he and his robe blocked her from view.
She grabbed the fabric, holding it secure over her as she shimmied closer.
Desperate times and all that.
Malfoy leaned down slightly, the movement causing Hermione to lift her head automatically in response. Faces next to each other, his voice brushed past the shell of her ear. “Seems you can ask for help,” he said, his words encased by something almost like approval.
Hermione fought to keep a neutral expression but the hard thrum of her pulse attempted to sabotage her. Her fingers flexed into the soft fabric of his jersey as her skin buzzed.
“I—”
“Hermione—”
She slammed her mouth shut while Malfoy casually straightened.
“Are you here? Ah, Nope—”
Hermione could hear, rather than see, the moment Cormac stumbled upon them.
“Malfoy,” Cormac greeted.
With a practiced ease (that Hermione didn't find the least bit impressive), Malfoy let disdain creep into his voice.
“Looking for someone, McLaggen?”
The sound of shuffling of robes pre-empted Cormac's unremarkable response. “Actually… you wouldn't have seen Hermione around by chance?”
Malfoy's expression morphed into one he might’ve worn if speaking to a flobberworm, his voice mocking. “If your eyesight has failed to notice, I'm currently preoccupied. So no, I can't say that I have.”
Cormac's tone shifted when he finally noticed that there was a second smaller body being obscured behind the Slytherin.
“Ah, excuse me.” Hermione could all but imagine Cormac's cringe-worthy grin. “Don't let me interrupt.”
Hermione felt the inexplicable urge to punch the curly-haired wizard in the face.
Despite what he had said, Cormac made no efforts to leave right away. “Too bad about the game though, huh?”
Slumped in dejection because her housemate hadn't yet left, Hermione’s ears couldn't help but perk up at that curious statement.
“Scotland fog is a bitch to play in. You can never see the bludgers.”
Hermione was now staring up at Malfoy while the wizard did his best to keep a straight face— pretending to not notice her narrowing, suspicious gaze.
“Of course,” Cormac continued in a smug tone, completely unaware of the silent exchange occuring in front of him, “don’t cry too badly when we beat you next Saturday.”
It was impressive that Malfoy was able to speak evenly under the weight of her stare. “Please do try," he drawled, unimpressed. "I could use the entertainment."
Cormac’s deep seated ego barely registered the jeer.
“Well, if you see Hermione, send her my way yeah? Cheers.”
Hermione listened for the sound of Cormac's retreating footsteps to fully disappear before waiting an additional fifteen seconds to move. With Draco's robe still wrapped around her head, she peered around him to ensure they were truly alone. Once certain, she shifted her attention, letting the fabric fall to the side to reveal her in all her righteous fury.
“You conniving, devious, little snake—”
“Aw, Granger, are you flirting with me?”
Hermione swatted his chest with a free hand, before smacking him with her book in the other.
“No! Gah, you’re impossible,” horrified that he almost drew a laugh out of her before latching back onto her indignation. “You deliberately didn't mention anything about today’s match being rescheduled. On purpose!” She doubly accused.
“Well, if you had attended…,” he trailed off loftily.
Hermione considered whacking him a third time.
Exasperation radiated off of her. “You are the absolute worst—” she said crossly.
And to think she felt bad for one second about having missed the game—now apparently rescheduled game.
It looked as if Malfoy wanted to grin but refrained from doing so, instead watching for the exact moment Hermione reconciled the 'changed situation' with her 'promise'. There was no dimming his pleased purr when her eyes met his in realization. His slow smile was damning.
“I hope you have something green, Granger.”