----
"If you don't step out of your comfort zone, you'll never know about all the big things you're destined for."
----

"Good morning Mr. Blak," Hermione said as she pushed the door open with her shoulder. The box full of Exstimulus was held carefully in her arms. 

Mr. Blak grunted his greeting. 

"Finally here, are you?" Draco drawled from the back, throwing her a triumphant look when he came to a stop beside her. 

"Assignment?" Mr. Blak lifted his head from his registry, and his eyes fell upon the crate full of Exstimulo, "Merlin's beard!"

He picked a flask out and flipped the cap open. Taking a sniff, he pulled an impressed expression, and then surveyed the color after fixing his monocle over his eye.

"Perfect in every aspect." Mr. Blak said, contented, sounding proud, "But what in the blazes am I supposed to do with all this potion?"

Hermione laughed sheepishly, "I thought you could offer it to the Ministry."

"And how exactly will you explain to them about where we got Re'em blood?" Draco feigned wonder. 

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, and closed her eyes. Forced out a breath, wanting to kick herself. Or better, Draco. 

"Where did you get Re'em blood?" Mr. Blak asked, sliding the flask back into its place. He looked awed by how flawless the potion was.

"Draco's old friend," Hermione said instantly, earning a glare from Draco, "He has a splendid place full dar-"

"Daring merchandise!" Draco interrupted hastily, clapping a hand over Hermione's mouth so that she couldn't speak further. 

Hermione was so shocked that at first, she forgot to react. She contemplated biting his finger, but held back.

When she reclaimed her senses, she stomped on his foot with all her might.

Draco yelped, and let go of her. 

"Keep your filthy hands to yourse-"

"Right, that's enough, now get to work," Mr. Blak said gruffly, waving them off. He picked the box up and placed it under the counter.

Muttering darkly under his breath, Draco stomped to the back. Hermione followed with her nose in the air. How dare he lay a hand on her? 

"Have you no manners?" Hermione asked the instant she got within whisper-shouting distance. 

"Have you no sense to shut up about people?" Draco hissed back over his shoulder. 

"Be thankful I'm not informing the Ministry about Finlay Willis and his illegal trade!" Hermione was beside herself. She was as cross as two sticks.

"Why I should I thank you for a lapse of your morals?" 

Hermione's mouth fell open. 

Oh, that sly, cunning, maddening, stupid, arrogant git!

"Score one for me," Draco said with a victorious air. 

"Too bad you're only stuck at one," Hermione said, not really realising what she was saying as she tied her hair up and pulled her apron over her head, "I was under the impression you'd never begin to catch up."

"What are you wearing?"

Hermione instinctively looked down at herself to see what she was wearing. When she finished surveying her bottle green sweater and her over-long skirt that was by no means flattering to her figure, she could not for the life of her find anything wrong with it. 

"Why?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms and leaving back against the desk with her chin lifted high. 

"You look like a grandmother," Draco laughed. 

"You are the worst person I have ever met!" Hermione huffed petulantly. She didn't need fashion advice from him.

"The feeling is mutual," Draco shot back gleefully, throwing her words of the previous day back at her. 

"Speaking of clothes," Hermione's attention was drawn to the black woollen scarf laying at the bottom of her bag, "You really should be more carefull about where you keep your things."

She fished the scarf out and ignored the blast of vanilla that hit her in the face. The scarf was tossed at Draco with a haste that was suggestive of how much of a distraction Hermione considered it as. Draco caught it with a surprised look on his face. 

"I was wondering where this went," Draco said, folding the scarf up and placing it on top of his messenger bag. 

"Honestly, you don't have a shred of mindfulness," Hermione rambled on, "Ron saw that when he came over yesterday and he thought- things! Preposterous things! Not to mention that one piece of clothing made my entire apartment reek of vanilla, and I had to cast several air freshening charms to get rid of it. It's a miracle Crookshanks hadn't decided to rip it to pieces."

Instantly mortified at the words that had escaped, Hermione sealed her mouth shut and tried very hard to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. 

"So, Weasley and you are still together then?" Draco had either not heard the rest of everything she had said, or hd chosen to pretend she hadn't said any of it, "Not surprising. I can't see many others trying to have you to themselves."

Did he just imply that she was ugly? 

"I'll have you know that I take no pleasure in having admirers swooning all over me," Hermione said acidly over her shoulder. She was still too embarrassed to think properly, "And Ronald and I aren't together."

"Considering the fact that your face is the color of beetroot, I'll have to disagree," Draco said teasingly, "I didn't know Weasley had it in him to make anyone this smitten."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. It was true that Ron didn't seem the charming or dazzling kind. But he had his own kind of friendly charm.

Not that she cared, because they were just friends. 

Mr. Blak instructed them to work together on extracting the juice of Sopophorous Beans. The extract needed to be sent to St Mungo's before nightfall.

Hermione was looking forward to laughing at Draco when he would struggle with the task, for she had learnt from Harry (begrudgingly, might she add) that it was better to crush the bean with the blade of the silver knife and not cut it. 

So it was to her dismay that she found Draco perfectly capable of crushing the beans. 

"Surprised I know this?" Draco smirked, catching sight of her confused expression. 

Hermione self consciously cleared her throat, "I admit that I was looking forward to laughing at you."

"Too bad," he said, sounding extremely proud of himself. He squished one of the beans over the jar. The break squelched miserably.

"Did you learn it from a book?" Hermione asked casually as she crushed another bean and squeezed the juice out into the jar, which was on the desk in between herself and Draco.

"No, Snape taught me," Draco said with a shake of his head, "He was my Godfather, you know. And he knew how naturally skilled I am at Potions, so he gave me extra lessons."

Hermione was nonplussed by the sudden release of such personal information. Even Draco was suddenly stiffer, as if he had just realised how openly he had spoken to her. 

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling like a response was in order. 

He didn't say anything in answer to that.

Hermione watched him as he schooled his expression back into its state of indifference. She also realised that he stowed his wand behind his ear sometimes while he worked and didn't need it. How had she not noticed this before? 

Realising that she was staring, Hermione quickly looked away. She continued to think as she worked. 

The only reasonable explanation she could come up with for his unusual burst of openness was that he didn't talk about things like this very often, even though he would like to. Maybe he talked with Astoria and his other friends. But, just maybe, he needed someone else to talk to as well. 

Hermione's kind heart would not allow her to be cold to him when that happened. She knew all too well about how it felt to not talk about things openly to people, and she knew what it felt like to think that nobody would want to listen.

"No wonder Professor Snape was always partial to you," Hermione said quietly, observing his reaction. 

His stiff posture loosened slightly, and he cracked a small smile, "He was slightly partial."

Draco sniffled once and swiped the back of his hand across his face, avoiding Hermione's eye. 

Hermione had never imagined Snape as someone's brother, or relative, or a Godfather. To her he had just been a misunderstood professor who was one of the bravest people she knew, and she respected him as such. To see Snape in this new light made the late professor more human, and somehow more relatable to others.

Conversation flowed easily after that. They talked about eighth year, and for once it actually felt nice to speak with him without having to snap or insult. 

Draco turned out to be almost as studious as Hermione herself. He had great knowledge about the magical past, much more than they had learned in History of Magic classes. He sounded glad to be able to speak freely about anything, because Hermione, for once, didn't judge. 

By the time Mr. Blak called break at half past noon as always, Draco and Hermione had filled up two jars full of Sopophorous juice, and were laughing about an incident in Charms class in eighth year when Neville had turned his bunch of pins into a hive of angry bees. 

Hermione was about to set out for lunch, but Draco stopped her. 

"Why don't you bring your own lunch?" He asked, beginning to unwrap his sandwich. 

"I don't get time to prepare it in the morning," Hermione shrugged, "Besides, I can always buy it here."

"It's cold outside," Draco said, uncaring. 

"Are you asking me to stay here?" Hermione's eyebrows raised as she framed the question. 

"We are yet to compare our N.E.W.T scores," he said, glancing up at her, "And you are yet to explain to me why muggles murder turkeys for a festival."

Hermione may have imagined it, but she was almost hundred percent sure that Mr. Blak had chuckled. 

So that was how Hermione ended up having half of Draco's lunch and telling him about Thanksgiving. His only reaction to the Thanksgiving explanations was "That's sick." to which Hermione couldn't help but laugh. 

"Thanks for the food," Hermione said when Mr. Blak reminded them that break was through. 

Draco let out a short, bark-like laugh, "Get your own from tomorrow, because I won't share again. I only shared today because I had to bribe you into telling me your N.E.W.T scores."

"But the big, bad Slytherin did share, so I think it's safe to assume that you're not all stone hearted." Hermione said slyly. 

"Oh no, I am stone hearted," Draco said solemnly, "I feel nothing and show no feelings and-"

"I get it," Hermione said, giving him a look that asked him to shut up. 

"And just because I tolerated you for some time doesn't mean-"

"Doesn't mean we're friends," Hermione completed cheekily, "Yes, I know that as well."

When they resumed work, Hermione couldn't help but think of the black scarf as a sort of twice-used peace offering.