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Hermione couldn’t remember the first time she did his homework, but it had certainly become a habit.
Last year? Perhaps only last term. Months ago. Ages ago. Regardless, she wasn’t planning on stopping. That was the thing about routine, right? It starts as a one-time thing, a simple request, but if it’s repeated two, three, four times…it becomes a thing. A thing that she does instinctually. A thing that ends up on the daily to-do list. And then eventually, a thing that she can’t sleep without doing. A necessary part of her day, something that she obsesses over. Something that she looks forward to.
It started something like this.
She was running through the castle, hair streaming behind her, books clutched to her chest, lungs heaving. She was late. Very late. Incredibly late. Inescapably late. Namely, she had gotten so distracted in the library that she’d missed the Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch match. Bloody hell, her friends were going to kill her. She pumped her arms even faster.
She flew out the entrance doorway and hurried toward the quidditch pitch. Maybe she could make it–maybe she’d catch the tail end of the match. Then she could slip in, say she simply sat somewhere else–
Hermione reached the pitch and grabbed her side. Her hopes died. It was empty, the stands long deserted.
“Shit,” she said under her breath. Ron was going to lose it.
A thought struck her. The changing rooms! Maybe her friends were still there and she could apologize now. In her opinion, it was always best to get the apology over as quickly as possible. Resolved, she ran over to the small building where all of the teams congregated to…store their brooms or something. Truthfully, she’d never been there before.
Hermione burst through the doors. “Harry! I’m sorry–”
Thud. Something large hit the floor, and a soft oof filled the room. With horror, Hermione realized she’d hit someone with the heavy door.
“Oh my goodness,” she scrambled to the ground, “I am so sorry. Let me help you.”
It was very clearly a boy, and he was sporting only a towel around his waist as he lay sprawled uncomfortably. She reached for his shoulder and carefully helped him sit up. When he looked up at her, both of their eyes widened and she scrambled backward.
“Malfoy!”
“ Granger ,” he hissed.
“I’m so sorry!”
“You broke my nose, you idiot–”
“I really didn’t mean–”
“Like I’d believe that for a second– ”
“But I didn’t! Really!”
His grey eyes narrowed as he gingerly reached for his face. When his fingers made contact with the skin, he winced. Hermione grimaced.
“I really didn’t mean to,” she said again. “Here, let me help you.”
Malfoy scooted out of her reach.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, calm your tits. I’m only trying to help. I’m not going to attack you.”
“I’d like to point out that you already have .”
“Sod off,” she said lightly, moving toward him again. She tried not to look at his bare chest, tried not to notice the water droplets lingering on his shoulders. Hermione kept her eyes on that gruesome nose. She really did feel badly, and had no intention of leaving him in this state before heading off to find her friends.
“Get your hands away from me, Granger.”
“I will do no such thing. I hurt you, and I intend to fix it. Now stay still. ” Hermione used her best Molly Weasley voice, and it seemed to stun the boy so much that he obeyed. He practically froze in place, eyes widened comically.
“Good boy.”
His eyes widened further.
Hermione huffed out a laugh and raised her wand. “ Episkey. ” The bone cracked into place, straightening the nasty angle that had been there previously. With an additional flick of her wrist, the blood vanished off of his chin.
“There. Handsome once more.” As the words left her mouth, she winced internally. Handsome once more? Godric. What an embarrassment. Not that it was necessarily untrue…her eyes flicked over him again. Yep. Still hot as hell. Malfoy was lean, his athletic build screaming to be noticed. He had rings on every one of his fingers and delicate, unholy wrists. And those cheekbones…Merlin help her. They were weapons of war. She barely contained a giggle. The fact that she had ended up on the floor of the quidditch changing rooms with a half-naked Draco Malfoy…the other girls would be outrageously jealous.
“Enjoying the view, Granger?” Malfoy asked primly.
“Hardly,” she said lightly. Hermione pushed herself to her feet and stowed her wand in her jumper pocket. Clearly, the Gryffindor team was no longer present, which meant she had to search elsewhere and come up with an appropriate apology. “See you, Malfoy.”
He stood as well, straightening his towel. “Where do you think you’re going? You…you assaulted me. I could…report it or something.”
She rolled her eyes. “Really? I just fixed your face.”
“That you broke.”
“Potato, potato.”
“Excuse me?”
Hermione grinned. “Muggle expression. I’ll be going now.” She turned for the door.
“What if I tell Professor Snape you attacked me? He hates you. He’ll be sure to take off points. Might even give a detention.” Malfoy crossed his arms smugly.
She sighed. Honestly. What. A. Child. But the fact was, she didn’t have time for a detention these days, and she actually had hit him in the face with the door. Perhaps some sort of retribution was in order. “Alright. What do you want?”
Malfoy reached for his wand and flicked his wrist. A piece of parchment flew out of his bag across the room and landed in Hermione’s hands.
“What is this?” She asked.
“Homework. My Charms essay.”
“Right, I can read. But why is it in my hands?”
“Because you’re going to finish it for me,” he said arrogantly.
“I will do no such thing.”
“You will.”
“Will not!”
“Will too.”
“I’ll have you know, I only do my friends’ homework. And even then, it is only occasionally .”
“Well, now you get the lovely chance to do mine. I’m sure I’m much more interesting.”
“We are not friends.”
“Never said we were.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Then I’ll tell Snape.”
“You’re vile!”
“Overused line, Granger.”
“I’ll make you fail it on purpose.”
“Not if you want me to keep your attacking another student a secret.”
“Oh for Godric’s sake, it was an accident !”
“Didn’t look like it to me. Everyone in the school knows Potter hates me. It wouldn’t be such a stretch to see him asking his best friend to attack. He is known for his bullying.”
“Oh, grow up!”
“I will.”
“Thank you!”
“Once you finish my essay.”
“URGH!” Hermione shrieked. But she stuffed the parchment into her pocket angrily. She raised her wand as a threat. “Fine. Fine, fine! But only this once.”
Malfoy was pulling on a shirt. “Whatever, Granger.” And then he was striding past her, out of the changing rooms without another word.
When he was out of sight, Hermione screeched in frustration. He was the worst. She didn’t even have to fix his nose! She was just being nice!
Hermione gave herself five minutes to cool off before stomping back to the Gryffindor common room. She still needed to find her friends, and then, apparently , she had two essays to write that night. Bloody brilliant.
That was the beginning.
She spent hours on that stupid Charms essay. Not because she really cared, but she did love Charms, and she did break his nose, however brief it was. Anyway, Hermione enjoyed the challenge of creating two entirely different essays and altering the handwriting so that Professor Flitwick would never know she’d penned both. She also modified the tone, assuming an air of cocky intelligence that Malfoy typically showed in his conversations; she doubted he’d be able to conceal that in an essay. By the time she finished, she was grinning. Looking between the two, there was no way anyone would be able to tell she’d done both. It was like an entirely separate assignment.
Satisfied, Hermione cornered Malfoy in the halls the next day. Without preamble, she handed him the essay. She expected him to open it up, check her spelling, or otherwise insult her intelligence or something, but he just nodded and stuffed it into his bag. Hermione gaped at him.
“Thanks for the Charms.” And then he sauntered down the hallway.
It was both the most infuriated and the most intrigued Hermione had ever been in her life. Something itched in the back of her mind as she watched him meet up with his friends before ducking into class. She…she almost wanted it to happen again. Just to see if it would be any different. Just to see if he’d give her tips on how to write in his persona more accurately. She wanted his opinion on the style–she’d had to work off of memory alone. She wanted his thoughts on the content–she’d tried so hard to make points that he would have made in class.
She shook her head to clear it. What the hell? What was wrong with her? But still, a part of her longed for a repeat of the events in the quidditch changing rooms. What if it had gone differently? What if she hadn’t hit him with that door? What if she did it again?
Luckily, she would get her chance. Except this time, it was in the Owlery.
Hermione had a letter, neatly penned, ready to send off to her parents. She was humming as she took the stairs, carefully avoiding any damp spots. Her shoes were new, and she hadn’t remembered to charm them to be water-resistant yet. She reached the top of the stair.
“Malfoy?” She said in surprise. Hermione had really assumed she’d be the only one up here. It was right smack in the middle of dinner. Everyone else should be eating.
Malfoy jolted in place where he’d been tying a small bit of parchment to an owl’s leg. The bird startled, flew upward angrily, and bit his ear as it flapped away. Malfoy yelped in surprise before reaching for the side of his face. When his fingers came away bloody, he whirled to face her.
“Will you stop doing that?” He spat.
Hermione snorted. “I did nothing. Stop being a baby.”
“You keep attacking my face!”
“It was a bird, idiot.” She calmly walked to the side of the owlery and chose a small barn owl. This one would do. She pulled out a pink ribbon and tied up the parchment. Her mother adored pink. With a cluck, the bird flew out of one of the many open windows. Hermione turned to face Malfoy and sighed when she saw his face. “Oh, honestly.”
“I will hex you, witch.”
“Oh dear me. I’m shaking,” she said sarcastically. She flicked her wrist, sending a pile of feathers into his face.
“Stop that!” He sputtered.
Hermione shrugged and casually walked toward the stairway. She heard him spitting out a loose feather, and she barely held back a giggle. Merlin, this was entertaining.
A hand wrapped around her shoulder, ripping her backward.
What she did next was purely instinctual. She couldn’t help it–it was her body’s natural response to being yanked. In her speed to right herself, she planted her feet and pushed her attacker away. She just wanted to get his hand off of her shoulder and regain her balance, that was all.
It’s not like it was her fault she accidentally pushed Malfoy down the stairs.
It also was not her fault that Malfoy had a proclivity for falling dramatically.
He’d already slid down seven steps before Hermione had even begun to move, and by the time she did get her feet to go forward, he was nearing the bottom. He hit the floor with a groan.
Hermione raced the rest of the way.
Malfoy’s pale eyes rested on her crouching form. “I hate you.”
“Just shut up and let me heal you.” Hermione waved her wand, sealing up the few cuts and bruises, and was happy to see that his face was untouched this time. Just because she was feeling generous, she went ahead and healed the bite on his ear too. He didn’t even complain this time. “There,” she said, “all better.”
Malfoy grumbled his way to his feet and glared at her. “You owe me another essay. Potions, this time.”
Hermione’s eyes glistened. This was her chance. She flashed him a wicked smile. “You betcha.”
That was the second time.
She did things differently this time. Instead of purely going off of memory, Hermione snuck into Professor McGonagall’s classroom and borrowed one of Draco’s previous essays. It was the wrong subject matter, of course, but at least she’d get closer to the correct handwriting. This essay needed to be perfect–it was going to be turned into Professor Snape. The man had a personal vendetta against mischief and cheats, and he dutifully looked over every assignment to make sure it was the student’s own work.
It was a wonderful challenge.
First things first, Hermione wrote her own essay to get it out of the way. Then, she picked a different stance for Malfoy’s. Truthfully, it made the most sense for his opinion to be directly opposed to hers. They bickered so much in class that this was the only plausible option. Halfway through the introduction, Hermione realized she’d made a stupid mistake on the last essay–she’d made them the same length. She had been so pleased with the forgery that she’d forgotten her own habit of writing far more than required. There was no way Malfoy did that; surely, he did the bare minimum while also perfectly completing all requirements.
Hermione grinned. Yes, this trial would be much better.
In the end, her essay reached a total of sixty-one inches, whilst Malfoy’s was the precise requirement of thirty-six.
Truthfully, Hermione was thrilled. Exceptionally pleased with herself, she levitated the finished product over to Malfoy’s seat in the great hall as she headed over to the Gryffindor table the next morning. No one else seemed to notice, but when he reached for the floating paper, his eyes met hers across the room. With a smirk, he returned to his breakfast.
Hermione gaped at him. That was all? One measly smirk? He…he didn’t even look over it! She stomped the rest of the way to where her friends were sitting and scowled into her breakfast. Harry and Ron knew her well enough not to intervene. Her jaw cracked as she chewed. What an insolent, unappreciative brat! By the time the students were dismissed for classes, she could hold it in no longer.
Hermione ambushed Malfoy in the hallway. “Seriously, ferret?”
Malfoy slowed and raised a brow. “Why are you speaking to me?”
“You didn’t even look at it!”
His lips twitched. “What exactly do you want me to say?”
They were blocking the center of the corridor, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when she was so irritated. “I want you to compare and contrast, I want you to analyze . I want you to get your head out of your own arse and appreciate how good I am at forgery!”
He cocked his head. “Thanks for the Potions, Granger.” And then he walked away.
Hermione stomped her foot in frustration. What an idiot .
“‘Mione! Hurry up!” Ron called from ahead. Her friends hadn’t seemed to notice their little altercation in the hall.
Hermione groaned and pushed herself to catch up. She didn’t have time to dwell on it. If Malfoy didn’t truly appreciate her efforts, it was a waste of time. She simply wouldn’t do it again, even if she mortally wounded him. She’d pay him back some other way.
And still, a thought nagged at the back of her head. What would it take for him to read it?
No. Absolutely, not. She was not doing this again, not putting herself in this position again. If she was going to work her butt off to complete the boy’s homework, payment or not, he would look at it.
What would it take?
With a growl at her own stupidity, Hermione ran to catch up with her friends.
A few weeks passed, and Hermione simply could not let it go. It had gotten to the point where a quick glance at Malfoy had her gripping her quill hard enough to snap, crinkling the parchment of her notes until it ripped. Why hadn’t he said anything? And why did she care? It wasn’t like she hadn’t put a lot of effort into something without anyone noticing before . This shouldn’t be a big deal. So why couldn’t she stop seething about it?
Ron and Harry were treating her as if she were fragile, which…okay, fair. Her moods were volatile, and heaven forbid any of her friends ask her to do their homework. Hermione wouldn’t be completing anyone’s homework except her own. And Malfoy’s, evidently.
Gah! She was losing her mind. She needed him to look at it, needed him to tell her what he thought. It was ridiculous, it was embarrassing, and it was obsessive. But she could not stop. And that was it.
She needed to plan another injury. Which is how she ended up tracking down the Weasley twins.
“I need your help planning a trap for Malfoy. Preferably one that involves mild to medium maiming.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Fred nodded, spinning his wand around his knuckles.
“Would you like to be present, or make it anonymous?” George asked.
“Present,” Hermione said. They’d assume it was to laugh at Malfoy’s misfortune, which was well enough. She didn’t want to explain her growing mania to complete the boy’s homework for the third time. Even in her head, it sounded crazy.
“What’s the target? Face—“ George started.
“Not his face,” she interjected.
George shrugged. “How about fingers? Easy with—“
“—a wand,” Fred finished. “Right. George—“
“Oh yes,” George agreed, “I know just what you’re going to say—“
“Boys, seriously?”
“Shush,” George pressed a finger to her lips, “the geniuses are plotting.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and slumped to the floor. “Whatever. Just tell me when it’s ready.”
It took a few more hours of planning, but then the twins sent Hermione off to track down Malfoy. She stole the map from Harry, watched it until Malfoy appeared alone, and set off through the castle. The map showed the boy sitting in an alcove on the fourth floor. Hermione grinned. This was going to be fun.
Once in the right corridor, Hermione folded up the map. Malfloy was essentially in the dark, lounging on a stone bench. She pressed herself against the adjacent wall, out of his line of vision, and raised her wand. “ Origino lamina.”
Immediately, the spell latched onto Malfoy’s extended hand, which just so happened to be casually holding his wand. The wood in the wand shuttered, split into four, and began wrapping itself around his fingers. He yelped, shaking his arm wildly. It was no use, though. By then, the wood had already traveled past his wrist. The wand was becoming part of him.
Hermione hid her smile and strolled into view. When she stumbled upon the boy, who was now breathing heavily and in a proper panic, Hermione feigned surprise. “Oh! Oh, my. What do we have here?”
Malfoy’s head whipped around to look up at her. He continued jiggling his arm while the other pointed at her menacingly. “ You. I knew it.”
“Me?” Hermione brought a hand to her heart. “How dare you? I just happened to pass down this way. You’re just lucky someone found you.”
“I know,” he yelped, “it was you! It’s always you!” He stopped talking then, probably due to a severe increase in terror. The wood had reached his shoulder, and he was quickly realizing it was too close to his neck for comfort.
Hermione grinned and pulled out her wand. “Oh, alright, pull my leg. It was me. But don’t worry, I know the counter-spell.”
“ Do it,” he panted, eyes wide.
“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, then waved her wand just as the wood reached the tip of his collarbone. The wood halted and slowly began retracting itself.
Malfoy sighed in relief and sagged back into the bench. Within seconds, his wand completely separated from the skin and returned to its usual shape. As expected, he pointed the wand at Hermione’s face.
She smiled sweetly. “You’re welcome.”
“What the hell, Granger?”
Hermione held out her hand. “Oh, dear. You’re right. That was very rude of me. Looks like I’ll have to pay you back.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“I disagree. You’ve taken a hobby of injuring me that I cannot condone. One of these days you’re going to kill me.”
“I won’t.”
“And why should I believe that?”
Hermione shrugged. “I just won’t.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, you owe me.”
“I figured.”
“My Arithmancy for a week. At least.”
Hermione grinned. “Whatever you say, Malfoy.” And before he could take it back, Hermione hurried away from him, not slowing until she made it to the Gryffindor common room. Mission Ambush Malfoy in the Corridor had been a success, and now she had five more attempts to get him to look at the essays. Well, five if they ended up having homework every day of the week. Bloody hell, she could hardly contain her excitement.
That was the third time.
She placed a note on the front of the assignment detailing each and every interesting thing she’d done in the essay. Stuck to the front like that, Malfoy had to notice it. Even he didn’t have the power to ignore a hot pink sticky note. When she passed it off to him in the courtyard during break, he merely glanced at the pink note, ripped it off, incinerated it, and smirked at her.
“Thanks for the Arithmancy, Granger.”
And then he was gone.
To say she was infuriated was an understatement. Thankfully, she had all week to remedy this issue. On the next day, she charmed the paper to appear blank unless given a double-take. Hermione thought herself quite clever for that, really. No student in their right mind would accept a blank homework assignment without checking twice, not when their grade depended on it.
To her dismay, Malfoy didn’t even look once . Instead, he folded up the parchment neatly and dropped it into his bag like it was a grocery list or something. “Thanks for the Arithmancy, Granger.”
Hermione bit her tongue so hard it bled.
That was the fourth time.
On the fifth time, she did manage to get him to look at it, thanks to a modified jelly-legs jinx. He quickly realized that he wouldn’t stabilize enough to walk until he looked at the paper. Unfortunately, Hermione hadn’t had the ability to make sure he really read the thing, only that he glanced at it. After that initial glance, his legs regained their strength and he strode away with a crude gesture in her direction. Hermione cursed under her breath.
The next day, there was no homework in Arithmancy no matter how much Hermione begged for extra credit. Thankfully, on Friday, they had a weekend research essay. This time–he would notice. This time, he would care. He would look at it and appreciate how clever she was. She’d even placed a sticking charm to make sure of it.
Hermione finished Malfoy’s essay early on Sunday morning and used the map to watch him for the rest of the day. In the evening, he was finally alone, sitting at a secluded table in the library. Probably working on some other assignment. She didn’t care, as long as she could corner him. She bolted down the steps, yelling excuses to her friends over her shoulder, and burst through the library doors. Madam Pince shushed her dramatically, but Hermione simply waved and ran towards the restricted section.
There he was. Feet on the table, book in his delicate fingers. He was casual and relaxed, not at all how he usually seemed in class. She almost didn’t want to disturb him. Almost.
“Malfoy.”
He straightened instantly, eyes narrowing to take her in. Hermione reckoned she looked a bit crazed; she hadn’t thought to brush her hair or anything today.
“What?” He snapped.
Hermione held out the roll of parchment. “Last assignment.”
He glared at her suspiciously but then reached for the essay. As expected, the paper immediately stuck to his fingers. Instead of cursing at her like he usually did, the boy merely sighed and slumped into the seat. With his other hand, he grabbed his wand and waved it, releasing the sticking spell.
Hermione gaped at him. She’d modified that spell! It should’ve taken him at least a few minutes to undo it. And now, he was standing, stuffing the paper into his back pocket, preparing to leave her wondering again –
“Wait, Malfoy. Please,” she gasped.
The boy froze mid-stride. He raised a brow. “What?”
“I…” she trailed off, suddenly feeling horrendously idiotic.
“Spit it out, Granger.”
“I just…” she took a deep breath, “I just wanted you to look at it. All these times. Please…just look at it.” Heat spread across her cheeks, and Hermione clenched her jaw. Look, worst case scenario, he’d laugh and go tell the entire school she’d done his homework. What was the harm in that? Everyone already knew she did it for other students sometimes…she could figure it out.
Malfoy cocked his head. “You want me to…look at it?”
“Yes,” she said simply. Gods, kill her now. She was going to die from humiliation. She didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her–perhaps some chemical imbalance. She should have let it go after the first time. Why hadn’t she let it go after the first time?
He blinked. “But why? I won’t believe you if you say you’re worried it isn’t done well enough. You wouldn’t give me something less than perfect. You can’t help it.” His lips twisted.
“Please. Just look at it.”
He sighed dramatically but pulled the parchment out. His expression was the pinnacle of boredom, but he did look at it. Hermione watched his eyes, at first moving slowly, uninterested, and then picking up speed, racing across the page. A minute passed. His eyebrows pinched together, lips opening slightly. Another minute passed. He clicked his tongue at something, and unrolled the remaining parchment to continue reading. Hermione held her breath.
He got to the end and looked up her, something like fascination in his eyes. It took him a few seconds to form the words, but when he did, Hermione could have shouted in elation. “Granger…I don’t even know what to say. This is…how did you…it’s like I was hungover and can’t remember actually writing this myself the night before.”
A satisfied grin slowly spread across her lips, and Hermione crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “See? Told you that you should have looked at them.”
He ran a hand through his hair; a surprised chuckle fell out of his mouth. “Salazar. This type of forgery…it’s bloody impressive.” As soon as the words left his lips, he clamped a hand over his lips in horror.
Hermione laughed. “Thank you for the compliment.”
“I didn’t–”
“You did,” she said smugly. He did. He complimented her. Something was happening in her chest–that bundle of stress and irritation was unraveling as she stared at Draco Malfoy. The look of genuine surprise still graced his slender jaw, and Hermione’s eyes kept snagging on it. He was so different right now; no friends, no teachers, no father to impress. Just Malfoy–still arrogant and snarky, but a boy who finally, finally read her essay and appreciated it. She could tell he did. It was all over his posture, and for some reason, Hermione couldn’t look away.
“What are you looking at?” He finally asked.
“You,” she replied honestly. “You’re being much more pleasant than usual.”
He scowled.
“Aw, now you’ve ruined it.”
His scowl deepened.
Hermione laughed and pushed past him. As she made her way through the rows, she called over her shoulder, “Thanks for the homework, Malfoy. It’s been a pleasure.” The boy simply gaped at her like he couldn’t quite believe they’d just had their first civil conversation ever.
On Tuesday, Malfoy knocked her down the stairs. She ended up with skinned knees, a bruised hip, and a small gash through her cheek. After waving his wand to heal her, he whispered, “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t take this as a challenge? Give me your Potions assignment.”
And so the game began.
It was push and pull–sometimes literally. They would take turns injuring each other, then pay each other back by completing their homework assignments. Hermione couldn’t deny that he was a quick study; after doing four of her assignments, he really picked up her personal syntax. They never got caught once.
If her friends were astonished by her strange behavior–running off to the library at odd hours, coming back to the common room with singed skin and a grin on her face–they made no comment. Truly, she didn’t care either way. This was the most fun she’d had in ages.
On a Thursday, she dumped a bucket of flobberworms on Malfoy’s head after Care of Magical Creatures. From his position in the dirt, he simply ripped out his Arithmancy homework from his pocket and threw it at her, followed by a stream of curses.
The following Saturday, Malfoy located her in the Astronomy tower, transfigured her feet into dish towels, and smirked when she fell over backward, knocking over an expensive telescope. Hermione growled at him and tossed her half-finished Astronomy essay in his stupid face.
On Monday, she hexed his eyebrows off. On Wednesday, he pushed her through a vanishing step. Hermione punched him square in the jaw, once, and Malfoy reciprocated by setting her robes on fire. Then levitating her into the Black Lake.
Word got around, and bets were made. So far, no one seemed to understand why Granger and Malfoy were constantly assaulting each other; it appeared that the homework detail hadn’t gotten out. But there were rumors ranging from mildly probable to astoundingly absurd, and they did nothing to squash them. That would ruin half the fun, wouldn’t it?
It became an everyday thing, and at some point Hermione was doing far more of Malfoy’s homework than her own. None of the teachers had caught on, and their grades weren’t suffering. After all, the two of them had been the top of their class for so long that most professors wouldn’t even read the entire assignment before giving it high marks.
One day, Hermione laughed as Malfoy doused her in ink. “Here,” she handed him her work.
“Thank you very much, Granger,” he responded primly, dusting off his hands dramatically.
Hermione flicked her wrist to siphon off the ink. “Don’t you think we’ve mastered each other’s format by now? I daresay I could forge your documents for the rest of my life. We could probably call it quits.”
Malfoy raised a brow. “Are you tiring of me, Granger?”
She looked down at her robes with a grin. Bloody hell. There was still ink on them. Hermione waved her wand. “How could I ever, Malfoy?”
When she looked up again, she found him staring at her oddly. Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What is it? Is there ink on my face? Oh,” she reached into her pockets, “sorry. Here’s the Transfiguration.”
Malfoy reached for it instinctively. How many times had they done this? It had been months and months of this game, after all.
He was still staring at her.
Hermione shifted nervously. “Okay, seriously. Do I still have ink on me?”
He frowned. “Are you tiring of me?”
She blinked. That was…why was…how did that have anything to do with this? He wasn’t following the script at all . They were supposed to assault, take the homework, finish the assignment, pass it off, and repeat. She hadn’t the slightest idea where to fit in…this.
Malfoy took a step closer, dropping her Transfiguration assignment to the floor. “Why did you do my homework that first time, Granger?”
Hermione swallowed. “You know why. I broke your nose, you idiot. Hey, what are you–”
“Hush.” He moved even closer, now only inches away. From this position, she had to crane her neck a bit to see his face; his eyes were flashing. “So you felt bad for me?”
“Well,” Hermione sucked in a breath, “I suppose so. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. That time,” she added, the beginnings of a grin tugging on her lips.
His eyes flickered down, catching the movement. “Are you positive?”
“I–Of course, I am.”
“You’re sure it had nothing to do with my state of…undress?”
“Malfoy!”
“Or lack thereof?” He asked innocently.
Bloody hell. How had the conversation turned here…and now she was seeing the scene play out in her mind. Her, bursting into the quidditch changing rooms. Him, injured on the floor in only a towel. The water droplets sticking to his bare skin. The way his hair fell when wet, so different to when it was styled during the day. Her heartbeat quickened.
“No,” she cleared her throat, “I just felt bad. I was trying to be nice, that’s all.”
“Oh, alright,” he allowed, reaching up to tug harshly on one of her loose curls.
She winced slightly.
“And what of the second time, hmm?”
“What?” She breathed, glancing along the line of his chin. When had he gotten so close? Was it…warm in here? That didn’t make any sense. They were far back in the library towards the restricted section, and Madam Pince kept it arctic to protect the books.
“Why did you do my homework the second time, Granger?”
“I wanted to improve my methods, of course.”
“I see. And the third?”
“I…I wanted you to look at it. You were being a right prat about it.”
“And the fourth?”
“The same–you still wouldn’t even glance at it, even though I could have written all sorts of rubbish that would have gotten you into trouble–”
“You wouldn’t have.”
“I could have!”
“You wouldn’t. You can’t help but be perfect.”
“I,” Hermione scoffed, not even sure what they were arguing about but suddenly feeling quite irritated, “I am not !”
“You are.”
“I’m not , see you never do anything the way I want you to, you are so bloody infuriating–”
“You are. Perfect, that is.”
“I’m–” Hermione cut off, suddenly out of breath. His face hovered over hers, familiar smirk still in place. She scowled at him. “You are undoubtedly the most horrible boy I have ever met, and I bloody enjoy tripping you every week.”
Malfoy chuckled. “And I have no greater happiness than when I’m hexing you to tears. So there. We’re even.”
“Good,” Hermione said crisply.
“Good,” he repeated. His eyes remained firmly on hers.
“So…good. You’ll do my assignment tonight.”
“Don’t I always?”
“And I’ll push you down the stairs or something and do yours tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Excellent.”
“Superb.”
“All is right in the world.”
“I disagree,” he counted.
“What–”
Malfoy reached around her neck faster than she could process and smashed his lips against hers. Hermione gasped in surprise at the sudden intrusion, something that he took advantage of. His fingers slid into her curls, the other hand falling to her waist to hold her steady. Merlin’s flaming beard…this was…
This was proper snogging. Hermione’s arms looped around his neck of their own accord and she tugged at his hair. He let out a low groan; she did it again.
How had she missed it? How had she not seen how… intimate this game had become? At what point had the silly injuries and stupid forgeries become something she couldn’t live without? Because she was ravenous. And she was realizing she had been for a while now. For months, Hermione felt like she couldn’t breathe until she had her daily interaction with Malfoy. It didn’t matter if she was cursing his teeth to fall out or tripping him in the halls, it didn’t matter if it was Transfiguration or Charms or Arithmancy or Potions or any other class they could be taking. She just needed to be there to laugh at him or to curse at him when he hexed her right back.
“Malfoy,” Hermione leaned back to whisper, absolutely melting when he worked his way down to suck at her jaw. “Malfoy, has it ever been about the homework?”
He pressed a kiss to her blazing skin. “Don’t be an idiot, Granger.”
“But I really thought you were competing with me or some–”
“Do my homework forever, or never do it again, I don’t care. But if you don’t shut the fuck up and kiss me again I’m going to feed you to the giant squid.”
Hermione laughed and tugged him forward with a grin. “I’ll give you a new assignment. Snog me until Madam Pince personally kicks us out for indecency.”
Malfoy nipped at her lip. “Now that’s some homework I’d do for free.”