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She doesn’t know what possessed her to get a roommate, or, to be more specific, what possessed her to choose him to be her roommate. In hindsight, she needed someone to pay half of the rent, and she really was attached to this apartment (thanks, Ginny, hope moving in with Harry is treating you well). And Hermione Granger was practical — she didn’t want just anyone sharing an apartment with her. A complete stranger could straight up murder her in her sleep, and she wasn’t willing to take that chance. So she asked around her friends. Harry and Ginny were out of the question; Ron flat-out refused, going as far as moving back in with his mother when he and Harry sold their shared flat; Neville had hurriedly made an excuse of how much he loves living in his home, despite the fact that he was complaining about it only a mere week ago; Luna had told her that she couldn’t afford half of the pricey rent. She means — yeah, all right, so Hermione’s not the best person to live with, and she’ll nag at you if there are socks lying around the floor, and she sucks at cooking, fine. But she’s not the worst.
It’s Theodore Nott who recommends him. She’d gone to high school with Theodore, and they weren’t best friends, not by a long shot. During their school days, he’d mostly kept to himself, head down and got good enough marks that it rivalled hers. It’s how they first interacted, really, when Hermione checks marks against other people in their class, and she feels threatened. And then, they got paired together for an assignment, which led to a weird friendship that none of her friends really seemed to understand. She quite likes him, actually; he’s someone who she can talk about books with, and he’s quiet, and his muttered sarcasm could leave her in stitches. They don’t meet often nowadays, but they still talk and text each other, if somewhat rarely.
Her phone gives her the notification when she’s closing up the bookshop she owns for the day. It’s a text from Theodore saying that he’s heard she’s looking for a roommate, and she calls him up right away.
“You’re looking for a place?” she asks hopefully, after the small obligatory pleasantries.
“Not me,” he replies, and there’s a spark of disappointment in her. Theodore’s not her first choice of a roommate, but he wouldn’t be that bad. “I’ve got a friend who’s looking.”
Her interest piques again and she hastens to question, “Who? Anyone I know?”
“Well, not really.” There’s a pause on his end. “Uh, you know Draco? Draco Malfoy?”
“The prat from your birthday a few years ago?” A scowl embeds itself on her face at the thought. Draco is Theodore’s friend from childhood, he had told her, and she doesn’t really know what she had been expected, but it certainly wasn’t the unpleasant man she met at the time. At first, she doesn’t really see how Theodore could end up such close friends with him, but, after seeing them interact, she realises that they’re actually quite similar. Still, she’s not sure about the rudeness Draco so blatantly displays (that Theodore doesn’t), and how he managed to pick a fight with her in the first five minutes she speaks to him.
She thinks she can actually hear the wince from the other end of the phone. “Yeah. But he’s looking for somewhere to live, and he’s not that bad. Like, not entirely. I mean, you’ve only met him once, and I’ve known him my whole life, trust my judgement, won’t you?”
Another prolonged pause stretches out, before she sighs. “You don’t understand how hard I’m looking for a roommate. I’ll meet up with him to discuss it, but I’m not promising anything. Give me his number.”
She hears a relieved thank you, which she rolls her eyes at, and accepts the number.
And, fine, it’s not as bad as she thought. He’s not as bad as she thought. He’s not as rude as she remembered him to be, even if he remained stoic and almost painfully polite throughout the whole meeting. He can certainly afford his half of the rent — she knew that Theodore was loaded, and their families had been old friends so he must be too, but she doesn’t ask because, Christ, talking about other people’s money seemed tacky to bring up. As in, she’s not exactly lower class, with both her parents being dentists, and it just made her uncomfortable when people asked her about it. He agreed to all of her conditions and set rules she introduced, and he’s stuck to them. He’s not untidy, and he washes up after himself, and he doesn’t mess with her things. To be honest, he mostly keeps to himself, which she’s fine with. And the best part is, he can actually cook. Before Ginny had moved out, she had relied heavily on the younger girl to cook or they’d get takeouts more often than not. She knows it’s a life skill to learn but, well. She’s been busy.
So, yeah. He’s not a bad roommate, not really. But, right now, he’s turning around and facing her with colour rising in his cheeks and a furrow in his eyebrows, and she knows that this isn’t going to be fun at all.
“Granger,” he says curtly.
“Malfoy,” she mimics, putting down her book slowly. “Yes?”
“Your stray red item turned my whites pink.”
“What?” she says, not sure if she’s hearing correctly, but he’s already lifting his basket of laundry up to show her. As if to emphasise his point, he picks up a shirt and throws it at her. His aim seems to be accurate, and it hits her full-on the face, still wet, before sliding into a crumpled heap in her lap. It’s the colour of candy floss, and the image of him in it makes her clamp her lips together in an effort to stop laughing. She looks up, but he’s fishing through the basket. In a split second, her smirk is cut off with another mouthful of fabric, red this time. When she peels it away from her face, she realises it’s actually her underwear, and she lets out a small squeak.
He seems mildly amused at her reaction, but it’s quickly gone as he seems to remember he’s got a whole basketful of pink clothing.
Her cheeks are flaming red, causing her to sputter out, “How did that end up in there?”
“Hell if I know,” he says with an edge to his voice. “I don’t care about your underwear. What am I supposed to do with all of this? Wear it to work?”
“I don’t see why not,” she tells him, if only out of spite. She stuffs her underwear out of sight, before turning back to face him. The corner of her lips twitch again. She slaps a hand to her mouth a second too late, and a snort breaks out before she erupts into laughter again. “Embrace your masculinity.”
“I don’t wear pink,” he says, staring at her as if she’s grown another head. He seems indignant at her laughter. “Granger!”
“Sorry, sorry!” she spits out. She leans forward to pick up one of the shirts, holding the fabric against his skin. “It doesn’t look that bad.”
He gives her another look.
“Well, fine, then. Just go buy some more, white shirts aren’t that hard to find.” She rolls her eyes and rubs the fabric between her fingers. “Actually, these are quite soft. If you’re going to throw them away, I’ll keep them to wear.”
“You’ll… Keep them to wear,” he repeats in an odd voice and she looks up.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” She stands up and holds out her arms so he can pass her the basket. He does so, slightly dumbfounded. “Have fun getting new shirts. Though, you really should branch out more colour-wise, it’ll be interesting.” Another little laugh slips out of her as she turns on her heel, retreating back to her own room.
He glowers at her back as she leaves and adds, not wanting to let her have the last word, “Watch where you’re leaving your knickers lying around.”
There’s a huff noise as her door slams closed, and he’s smirking.