Coping Mechanisms

19. Hermione

Hermione wiped the back of her sleeve across her damp brow, a small sigh escaping her lips. The boy next to her seemed equally as affected by the heat, his normally pale cheeks a shocking pink. The Potion's classroom was noticeably warmer in temperature, almost uncomfortably, thanks to the half dozen cauldrons bubbling atop the desks. Her and Theo's cauldron was boiling furiously, its iridescent steam rising halfway to the ceiling. A handful of pearls sat helplessly in the cauldron's depths, a necessary step in sanitizing them. It wouldn't be long until they could be cooled and milled into a fine powder for potion making; pearl powder was the key to giving Amortentia it's telltale mother-of-pearl sheen. Not much else could be done while they were stewing though, so Hermione took the time to finish up the notes she'd missed. Theo had been more than happy to let her borrow his, and she'd found the whole interaction quite strange; Hermione had never copied someone else's notes in her life. Her potion's partner took notes even more extensive than her own though, and she was simultaneously grateful and impressed. His handwriting was quite neat, the ink even against the parchment. It was a shocking comparison to Ron's, or even Harry's, both of whom would smudge their ink at the slightest chance.

Theo just kept surprising her.

He'd been exceptionally happy to find her in the classroom that afternoon, immediately expressing that the class was nowhere near as interesting without her. She'd laughed and rolled her eyes, earning her one of his signature smiles. But even then, Hermione's attention had wandered elsewhere; it always seemed to be drawn to the silver haired Slytherin one table over. He'd been purposefully avoiding her, and it bothered Hermione more than she cared to admit. Even now, she found her eyes lured from her parchment to study his side profile. Draco seemed as indifferent as ever, oblivious to both her presence and the heat of the room.

It made her all the more flustered.

Neither of them had spoken since Saturday in Hermione's dorm. That had been three days ago. The only interaction they'd had since had been during their Dark Arts lesson the day before. She'd found her gaze pulled to him, and Draco had met her eyes mere milliseconds later. Hermione had watched his perfect mouth, the patronus spell on his lips as he'd continued their eye contact. And then the tip of his wand had flared an icy blue, so quick she'd thought it'd been a trick of the light. But the look on Draco's face had told her he'd seen it too.

She was still slightly in shock.

Hermione didn't doubt Malfoy's magical capabilities; he'd always been top of the class behind her. But the number of Death Eater's able to conure patronuses could be counted on one hand. The icy spark of Draco's wand said more about him then he probably realized, and Hermione had no words. She would never condone the awful things Draco had done, but maybe she'd misjudged him. Maybe they all had. Hermione had always compared Malfoy to his father, but the likenesses to his mother were blatant.

Goodness could come from anywhere.

"Not to interrupt your staring, but I think the pearls are ready." Theo's voice chuckled beside her, and Hermione jumped, her cheeks growing impossibly warmer.

"S-sorry," she stammered, ducking her head to hide her embarrassment.

"You two crack me up," he laughed, palming a pair of tongs. Hermione scrambled to ready the mortar and pestle, and the ice bath. The pearls would be much easier to crack once they'd been shocked.

"Us... two?" she asked, eyeing Theo from the corner of her eye. The smile didn't fade from his lips as he pulled each pearl one by one from the cauldron. They clinked softly together amongst the ice, sizzling slightly at the immediate temperature change.

"You and Malfoy," he clarified, plopping the last pearl into the cold bath. Hermione watched it slowly sink.

"I don't know what you're referring to," she said, extinguishing the fire beneath the cauldron. She shot Theo a dubious look, only to find he was watching her closely. She nearly flinched under the weight of his stare.