Chapter Text
Divination Class – Professor Trelawney – Hogwarts
The scent of incense was so thick it could be chewed. The windows were shut, the lamps draped with purple scarves, and Professor Trelawney floated—quite literally—from one corner of the room to another, her turban askew and her many necklaces jingling with every step.
Hermione sighed deeply, resting her forehead on the palm of her hand as she pretended to take notes.
Her quill had run dry.
So had her patience.
“…and if you gently place your fingers on the orb’s surface,” intoned the professor in her breathy, dramatic voice, “you may begin to see echoes from beyond. The future, my dear students… destiny itself.”
“And what if all I see is Weasley stuffing biscuits into his mouth?” Draco muttered from the back of the classroom, loud enough for half the room to hear.
A ripple of laughter passed through the class. Hermione turned her head with exasperation.
“Could you stop talking for five minutes? Some of us actually want to learn,” she whispered, not bothering to look at him.
“Learn what? How to spot shapes in crystal balls? I already see your brilliant future, Granger. Ten years from now, still marking essays that smell like mold,” he replied, leaning lazily in his chair.
Hermione pressed her lips together.
“I’d rather that than living off old money and an inflated ego,” she snapped, this time looking at him.
“Enough!” Professor Trelawney’s voice boomed like thunder muffled by incense and despair. “The vibrations in this room are being terribly disturbed by your negativity! You’re scaring the spirits away!”
Hermione sat up straight immediately.
“Professor, I was just—”
“No, no, no! Silence, Granger! I foresaw this. This disruption was written in the threads of fate. I see… I see a shared punishment,” she said, spinning around as if the words came to her from the ether. “A special project. A cosmic collaboration.”
“A what?” Draco growled, folding his arms.
“A joint assignment,” said Trelawney, clearly delighted with her own idea. “The two of you. Together. A comparative reading of each other’s futures. Using cross-oracle techniques. You’ll need to hold private sessions for the next three weeks and present your findings to the class.”
Hermione turned crimson with indignation. Draco, pale with disgust.
“Private? Three weeks?” they said in unison, equally horrified.
“Exactly! I’ve decided!” Trelawney twirled dramatically and added with glee, “Fate has spoken. And one does not argue with fate.”
Draco slumped back in his chair, glaring at Hermione. She glared back. But under the table, her foot trembled with frustration… or perhaps, deep down, with a reluctant curiosity.
Because if there was anything worse than doing a Divination assignment, it was doing it with Draco Malfoy.
And if there was anything worse than that… it was not knowing what the future might reveal.
The grimoires Professor Trelawney had handed them were bound in basilisk hide and smelled of damp and ancient dust. It weighed as much as a fat cat and creaked every time Draco turned a page with maddeningly slow fingers.
Hermione sat across from him, arms crossed, frowning.
“Are you going to read something, or are you just going to caress the book until it absorbs you?”
“Relax, Granger. Unlike you, I don’t need the words to scream at me to understand them,” Draco replied, flipping another page with studied nonchalance.
Hermione huffed.
“This is Advanced Divination. It’s archaic, symbolic magic. The grimoire doesn’t give literal answers, it must be interpreted.”
“Oh, thank you for the lesson. What would I ever do without your condescending tone and encyclopedic voice?”
“Maybe you’d pass your exams without bribing half of Slytherin,” she muttered without looking up.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
“Please. As if I’d ever need to bribe anyone. My existence is enough.”
She shot him that look—a mix of exasperation and disbelief—that he seemed to collect like trophies.
“Are you done admiring yourself or can I start working?”
“Go ahead. Enlighten me, oracle of logic,” he said theatrically, pushing the book toward her.
Hermione opened the grimoire with care, as if it pained her to touch something so archaic and unscientific. Her fingers traced the runes, faded ink across brittle parchment. The chapter Trelawney had assigned dealt with “The Interconnection of Destined Souls: Reading Through the Latent Bond.”
“This is absurd,” Hermione muttered. “‘The inner mirror shall reveal the path of two souls bound by the echo of their past choices…’ This sounds more like a bad romance novel than a real spell.”
Draco, however, wasn’t smirking anymore. He leaned in, his expression shadowed by a flicker of genuine interest.
“What does that part say about the latent bond?” he asked, more serious than Hermione expected.
She swallowed. She read aloud, softly:
“Only those whose souls have been intertwined through chaos or redemption shall glimpse beyond the veil of time. The grimoire shall reveal shared images, fragments of destiny… if a true connection exists between them.”
Draco looked at her silently.
“You don’t believe in any of this,” he finally said.
Hermione closed the book gently, as if afraid the sound might trigger something they didn’t yet understand.
“No. But… I can’t completely ignore it either.”
Draco moved closer, just a few inches. Enough for Hermione to feel the heat of his presence. The tension was real. Palpable.
“What if it works?” he whispered.
“Are you afraid of what we might see?” Hermione whispered back.
“No. I’m afraid of what you might see,” he said bluntly.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but heavy. As if the grimoire, closed between them, still breathed. Still waited to be used.
Hermione looked away, cleared her throat, and spoke quickly:
“We need two black candles, a bowl of enchanted water, and an old mirror. The instructions are in the appendix. Tomorrow night. Room of Requirement.”
“Romantic for an academic date,” said Draco sarcastically. “Should I bring flowers?”
“Only if you plan to bury them,” Hermione shot back, already gathering her things. “This isn’t a game, Malfoy.”
“I’m not playing, Granger,” he said seriously, watching her walk away through the corridors of the library with the determination of someone fleeing from herself.
And once alone, he opened the grimoire again to the exact page Hermione had just read minutes ago.
There, drawn by hand in the corner, a rune glowed faintly.
As if it had already been waiting for them.