Diamonds

5. Take Control

Draco whipped around as a bench scraped against the floor; Hermione, seated across the aisle beside Blaise Zabini, had actually gotten to her feet. He gaped openly at her, it not occurring to him to shut his mouth. What is she doing? Why doesn't he just ask her? "I don't know," Potter said, so timid it was a wonder he'd ever been made a lion, "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed as Snape whirled around, stalking back towards the front of the room. "Sit down," he barked at Hermione, and Draco winced at the tone. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfs bane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Hermione was, of course, and had been since the instant he had stopped asking questions and started talking. Draco picked up his eagle-feather quill as Snape docked a point from Gryffindor for what he dubbed Potter's 'cheek'. Everyone else thought it was quite impressive, apparently.

Things didn't improve as the lesson wore on: only Draco and Hermione managed a successful potion, working with Theodore Nott and Zabini respectively. Draco kept glancing towards her automatically, watching her hands as she worked. Considering she'd never been able to attempt any potion-making processes in the past, she had an impressive comprehension of techniques. After he made this observation, Neville's potion boiled over, Draco had to stop himself from stepping on the hem of Snape's coat when he insulted Hermione's almost flawless technique for the fifth time, and Potter lost more points for 'not cautioning Longbottom'. Even Draco thought that was unfair, though he would rather eat eye of newt than admit it.

"I've noticed we don't have any other classes together."

"You're wrong, actually."

"Excuse me?" She adjusted her hold on the stack of books, eyebrows furrowing. He could imagine how her mind must be churning, trying to explain that unlikely accusation.

"Flying lessons are on Thursday." Draco was absolutely beaming at her. Zabini and Nott snorted from just in front of them; evidently, they found his glee entertaining. "Gryffindor and Slytherin have the same class at three thirty."

Hermione groaned. "Perfect."

"Isn't it?" And then he started chattering about Quidditch again. He didn't notice when Hermione sighed, checking her watch for the time.

"At least there are no more classes I might miss today," she muttered to herself, and headed to the library to return the books she had lugged into class. Draco remained at her side the entire way.

✦

"Go away." Hermione turned the page in Quidditch Through the Ages, reading out another tip. Neville was eating it up, sitting close to her and turning his tiny wrapped package over in his fingers. Draco rolled his eyes, leaning over them and dropping a neatly wrapped package on the table.

Hermione looked over instantly. "What's that?"

"Your winnings."

Her and Neville both looked up at him now, surprised. "What did I win?"

"The bet about whether or not I'd make it so you weren't in a different house."

She frowned. "You took that seriously?"

"Well, yeah. Open your package. I need to know if it's a good choice, or if you'd prefer something else. Mother's note says it was the most expensive one there."