Forget About It (Dramione)

20| Extra Lessons

Hermione found herself looking forward to her evenings. Days crawled by, but weeks flew, and suddenly she caught herself smiling at Malfoy in the hallways, or in Potions, much to Ron's horror. 

"I have to pretend to be friendly, Ron, otherwise he won't tell me anything," she'd hissed when he confronted her about it, and Harry had backed her up, but Ron had just glared at her and returned his arm to it's regular position around her waist. Whenever they were in the presence of Malfoy, or Slytherins in general, Ron was almost ridiculous with his level of public affection, giving her pecks in classes or huge hugs when he bumped into her around the castle. Mealtimes were the same; he'd try to feed her a bit of potato whilst eyeing the Slytherin table, which she always pushed away. It really was getting a bit over the top, and as much as she loved Harry as well, he wasn't any better to be around. The whole year he'd been obsessed with Ginny, and because for obvious reasons he felt uncomfortable telling Ron about it, Hermione had had the brunt of his woeful musings. This was all accompanied by the usual threat of Voldemort and the Half Blood Prince, so life in Gryffindor wasn't exactly simple. 

For these reasons, it did sort of make sense to her why she would begin to feel quietly excited when dinnertime came to a close, and when she could escape her best friends who she loved more than anything, to go and have a little light relief. She hated admitting it to anyone, including herself, but when Malfoy wasn't being an insufferable prick, he was quite entertaining. He reminded her a little of when Ron hadn't been so possessive and worried all the time, when she'd most enjoyed spending time with him, when he didn't want to be in constant physical contact with her and instead he'd brush off Harry's serious nature with a sarcastic comment that made all of them laugh. 

Hermione knew who her true friends were, sure. But she'd spent so many years with them, now a change was welcome. She'd always love Harry and Ron, but surely it was alright to enjoy someone else's company for a few weeks? And so what if that someone was Malfoy? She knew people could change, and in a short time too. She told herself it would be cruel to continue to be hideous to him when he wasn't warranting it.  

"Alright, Granger?" He'd mutter when she entered the room, looking up from their work-table to give her a small, uncommitted smile. 

"Hey," she'd answer, sitting down opposite, and leaning forward past his white hair to look at what he was reading or writing. Today it was Transfiguration, which Hermione enjoyed, but it wasn't her best subject. She'd be willing to bet that was why Malfoy wanted to study it all the time, to remind her that she wasn't a genius and that there were some subjects that he was nearly as smart as her in. 

He was intelligent, after all. Definitely more than Ron, and he was actually smarter than Harry too. Honestly, she expected Malfoy to be one of the best in his class at most things, especially when he applied himself and didn't slack off down to the Three Broomsticks with his friends. 

"Saw the Weasel trying to feed you again at lunch today," he smirked without looking up. Hermione rolled her eyes, preparing herself to make yet more excuses for Ron's awkward, embarrassing behaviour. 

"Ugh, I know. I'm not into that," she complained. It was true, after all. She wasn't the kind of person to parade her relationship around, and that was exactly what Ron wanted to do to stick Draco's nose in it. "You know he only does it when he knows you're watching or when he's around Slytherin people, and it's only because he still believes you and I have history." 

"We do have history," Malfoy sniggered, a smile twitching at his thin lips. 

Hermione rolled her eyes again. She did that a lot in his company, but funnily enough she didn't really mind it. "I know, but he thinks it's not true." 

Malfoy looked almost taken aback, his eyebrows raised above visibility, shooting up behind his flop of hair. "Seriously? He still doesn't know? Poor Weasel," he retorted. 

"He doesn't need to know. He'd be furious. He'd probably break up with me," Hermione justified it, although she failed to convince herself it was a valid excuse. 

Malfoy shrugged, going back to the book, his watery eyes poring over the words. "If you say so," he said snidely, but Hermione ignored him and they sat in silence, reading for a few moments. 

These silences never lasted that long, however, and she knew Malfoy would come out with another comment in a minute. Sometimes he'd ask about the work, sometimes about her, or sometimes, often in fact, he'd give her a bit of Hogwarts gossip. He seemed to know everything that was going on in the castle, at least everything with Slytherin. Hermione wasn't sure how, but she'd ended up going back to Harry and Ron with any news, instead of being the last person to hear about any drama which was how their system usually operated. She enjoyed having the inside scoop, although Merlin only knew how Draco managed to find out absolutely everything that was going on. Yesterday he'd told her all about some Ravenclaw fifth years, who she didn't know and whose names she'd forgotten, who had been caught making out by Peeves in a broom cupboard. They'd been put in detention for a week together, and on top of that, broken up because they'd had an argument about whose idea it was to go to the cupboard in the first place. Harry and Ron had been astonished when she'd come back to tell them, mainly surprised because she'd found out before they did. 

"I can't come here tomorrow evening," Malfoy spoke up again, not saying what Hermione had hoped for or expected. 

"Why not?" She asked innocently, praying she was successfully hiding her disappointment. 

"Crabbe's birthday. We're all sneaking out to Hogsmeade for the pub. I'd invite you along if I could, but I'm not sure you'd fit in," he told her blankly. She couldn't tell if he was taking the piss or if it were a genuine wish that she could come. 

Hermione nodded at him, understanding. "It's ok. I'll work with Harry and Ron. Or in the library," she mused. 

Now he was smirking at her again. "Do you ever have a night off?" He probed sarcastically. "It's like you're physically incapable of not being a nerd." 

Hermione's mouth opened indignantly like a goldfish but she closed it quickly to tut at him, shaking her head and pursing her lips together, trying to avoid his stony gaze because it was making her cheeks turn involuntarily pink. "Shut up. While you're breaking the rules and getting smashed, I'll be getting better marks than you."

Draco laughed. "Someone's jealous. I know how much you love getting smashed, I've seen it firsthand." 

She grinned at him widely, unable to stop herself, and they carried on reading and talking. The sky outside became darker and darker, stars beginning to appear, but Hermione didn't care how late it was becoming. This room was like her little safe space, away from the reality of hunting evil with Harry and Ron, a place where she was a normal schoolgirl whose biggest concerns were work, grades, and school gossip. It was liberating, the fact she could sit here with a boy she used to despise, laughing and talking. It made her feel mature and calm, but at the same time, giggly and free, how she expected normal teenagers to feel. Draco, she was sure, was not a Death Eater. He didn't have enough problems, he wasn't serious enough to be one, and if he was he was hiding it incredibly well when they spent time together. 

Harry and Ron didn't need to know that, though. In her opinion, as far as they could think, she was still suspicious, she still had good reason to keep coming. At least for now.