Chapter Text
September, 1998
Draco was staring dejectedly over his potion. It was only their first week back after the war, and he was already second guessing his decision to come back for his 8th year. His family’s extremely public fall from grace ensured that Draco himself, despite being vouched for by the golden boy himself, was now a social pariah, even within his own house. Sure he had a few friends left, but it was… awkward. To say the least.
Slughorn was rambling on about the importance of timing in the growth potion they were brewing, and Draco found himself missing Severus. He’d been a right pain in the ass, but he was a phenomenal potions master, and Draco had quite liked his Head of House, his preference to Slytherin house aside. Hogwarts wasn’t the same without him sweeping around dramatically, scaring the piss out of first years. Part of him still expected the man to slam a door open, calling someone a dunderhead.
The door opened with a bang, bouncing back off the stone wall, and Draco’s breath caught. The girl in the door had looked surprised, her eyes wide, and had barely caught the door as it swung back towards her. The brunette girl in student robes was decidedly not Severus.
“Ah Miss Hollingsworth. Come in, take your seat.” Slughorn indicated the last open seat. The one next to Draco. He expected her to look uncomfortable or to shy away from him, but she just shut the door, sat down, and pulled open her bag to retrieve her copy of Advanced Potion Making.
Draco kept his eyes trained on the potion base, a clear liquid that swirled lazily in the cauldron. He kept his hands folded on top of the desk in plain sight. He was determined to keep his head down, and just get through the year.
“Alright. Pair up, and get to know your cauldron mate, this is who you’ll be brewing with for the rest of the term! Get started, you have 2 hours.”
Again, Draco expected a sigh or uncomfortable shift from the girl, and again, nothing came. He chanced a look at her, holding his breath. Ravenclaw, but he didn’t recognize her. Her long brown hair was pulled into a braid, draped over her right shoulder and tied with a white ribbon.
“Okay. How do you want to do this?” She flicked her eyes up at him. Her American accent was the first thing he noticed, followed by her complete lack of fear she showed him. That was unusual. She was looking at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, and he realized he was staring.
“Are you new?” Is all he managed.
She narrowed her eyes. “Obviously. Is that okay with you, or do I need a new partner?”
“I just don’t think you want to be my partner.” He shifted his eyes back down to his book.
“Do you suck at potions?” She sounded incredulous.
“No, I get top marks.” He chanced a look back up at her.
“Are you going to tell me you’re a murderer or something?” She was looking decidedly unimpressed.
Draco flinched, noting Granger looking around with wide eyes. “No, I just—“
“Barring those two things, the second being negotiable, I really don’t care. If you have a problem with having an American partner, fine. If you think I won’t like you, you’re right. You’re all too uptight, but I’m here because I have to be. So either tell me now so I can get another partner, or shut up so we can get to work.”
His pride burned at that. “I don’t care if you’re American. Do you know who I am?”
She looked back up from the book. “Nope. You could be the king of England and I wouldn’t care.” She pointed across the room to the storage cupboard. Are you going to keep acting like a jerk or can I get our ingredients?”
He just blinked at her, and she rolled her eyes and stood, crossing the room. Who the hell was this girl?
She came back with the necessary ingredients, and they got to work, silently chopping, crushing, and juicing. Her cuts were perfect, and he couldn’t even critique her form. She rivaled even him and Granger; that was also unexpected. By the end of class, they had the only perfectly brewed potion, impressing Slughorn enough to award each of their houses ten points. Even Granger, who was paired with Longbottom hadn’t achieved that.
She helped Draco clean up, and then looked him up and down. “I suppose you’ll do. But you need to work on your methodology for stirs.”
Draco bristled at that. “My methodology is fine.” This American witch was irritating; even more irritating than Granger.
She shrugged. “Whatever. Like I said. You’ll do.” She turned on her heel and marched out of the dungeon before he could reply.
Draco was still fuming over her criticism when he sat down in the back corner of greenhouse four, preparing for Professor Sprout’s NEWT herbology lecture. When someone slid into the seat next to him, he looked around, surprised, and then annoyed when he saw the brown braid of the American witch.
“Must you?”
“It’s the only seat left. At least you don’t talk.”
He begrudgingly gave her that one. She didn’t make small talk either, which was fine with him. She took notes through the lecture, answered a few of Professor Sprout’s questions on soil preparation, and by the end of the class he was wondering if this girl was going to overtake Granger for teachers pet. She gathered her things, and was the first one out the door again.
Draco heaved a sigh when he realized that he only had to endure dinner before he could find a deserted classroom to hide for the rest of the evening.