A/N: For Lady O.
So this is about 1...2...3...4...5...SIX months late and I know you're thinking 'MY BIRTHDAY WAS IN SEPTEMBER IT'S ALMOST MARCH' but um...better late than never? And also, somehow this short, sweet birthday one-shot has turned into a smutty multi-chapter of over 12,000 words and counting and honestly I have no excuse.
O, you're the best best friend in the world and even though this is astronomically late and you're not even into Dramione anymore...here's your promised fic. I added in some Wolfstar for you, and yes, there will be more of them in later chapters. ;) xx
Title from prfct by Sabrina Carpenter.
I: if perfect was the kinda thing that worked for me
Friday, November 2nd, 7:00 PM
"Oh, dear, thank you so much for filling in for me for the next few weeks-oh, damn, I think I left my tarot cards in the wrong place-could you just adjust the wall hanging a quarter of an inch to the left? It disrupts the chi-"
"It's not a problem, Professor," Hermione says through a tight smile, using her shoulder to press her cell phone to her ear as she moves the wall hanging the desired distance-it was a frayed depiction of trolls in ice-skating outfits and she thinks its the ugliest thing she's ever seen. She doesn't tell that to Trelawney, though. Nor does she mention that it was already perfectly straight to begin with. In an office overflowing with as much clutter as this one, it hardly makes a difference.
"Yes, yes," the English professor says, voice popping and clicking through her cell. "I'm about to board my flight-you'll do fine, you are a TA and a senior so I should hope you know how to manage a freshman lit class-just stick to the syllabus-"
Hermione eyes the pile of papers and knickknacks and general chaos that positively threaten to make Trelawney's desk collapse and asks, "Professor, where exactly is the syllabus?"
The connection pops and crackles. "-in the-left drawer. Bottom left drawer-"
Hermione crouches down to look at the drawer in question, the waistband of her jeans digging into her stomach. "The drawer in your desk or in the bureau with the stuffed animals on it?"
"The desk, of course," Professor Trelawney says. "Now about the other-"
The line crackles and then cuts off.
"Hello?" Hermione presses the phone to her ear for a few seconds, then sighs and drops her arm.
"Of course," she mutters, glaring at the chaos around her. It's not like teaching a whole class is foreign to her-she's twenty two for God's sake-and she's TA'd for some wacky people before. But this was shaping out to be the worst of all.
"Ooh, I recognize that face. Trelawney done some crazy shit again?" A voice speaks from behind her and she twists to see Ginny leaning dramatically against the open door, a smirk on her face.
"Ha ha," Hermione responds dryly as she hauls herself to her feet. "Just trying to find the syllabus is all."
Ginny snorts, tossing back her red hair. She's wearing an Oxford Women's Basketball sweatshirt that is three sizes too large and a pair of strappy gold stilettos, and is somehow managing to pull it off. "Good luck in this mess."
Hermione rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her curly hair out of her face. "What are you even doing here, Gin? This is the faculty wing and I know you're not here to see a teacher because a. I am literally the only person here and b. you wouldn't be caught dead actually meeting with a higher authority."
"Mm, well maybe if it was for a hot shag in their office." Ginny considers. "But they'd have to be really, really hot. And have very skilled fingers. I'd don't get off for mediocre talent. Anyway, I'm here because you asked me earlier-and I quote- 'Ginny Weasley, light of my life, please pick up my boring arse at the equally boring faculty building at 7 o'clock this evening so we can go get totally hammered with the boys and make a bunch of bad decisions we will regret the next morning.'" She raises her eyebrows. "And will you look at that, miracle of miracles, it is indeed 7 o'clock. So let's get moving, loser."
Hermione gives her a look that clearly translates to 'fuck off' as she grabs her bag of the floor. "Fine," she sighs. "I'll have Mrs. Norris email the lesson plans to me when she finds them."
Ginny beams. "That's my girl. Make shifty old bags do the work for you."
Hermione fights the urge to roll her eyes again as she steps out into the hall and locks the door to Trelawney's office behind her.
She wasn't even supposed to be a TA this year-but she got back late from her summer abroad and she had to make up credits and somehow she got saddled with crazy Trelawney and Freshman Lit 102.
"I thought senior year of university was supposed to be fun," Hermione grumbles as they walk through the lobby of the stone building. She crabbily begins to braid back her frizzy hair. "Not extra classes and grad school and student loans coming due." She looks at her friend. "Be glad you don't have to deal with it yet."
"Oh, trust me I am," Ginny says, flashing her a grin as she pushes open the double doors to the common. The night air is fresh and cool, and only a few late night students are walking across the lawn. Ginny continues, "Gives me so much more time to have fun being a wild sophomore. Uni's supposed to be a good experience, not for actual learning, Hermione."
Hermione snorts, hefting her bag higher on her shoulder and smiles at her friend. "I'm sure your Mum is delighted. Now come on, I'll call us a cabbie."
Monday, November 5th
The doorbell is ringing and Hermione is seriously considering murder.
"Monday mornings can go to hell," Hermione grumbles to herself, eyes half-closed as she plods down the hallway of her flat. Her vision is blurry and her head in pounding from a combination of lack of sleep and a few more shots of tequila than she should've indulged in. "For fuck's sake, I'm coming-"
The door wrenches open and Harry, fist halfway through another pound, blinks blearily at her. "I woke up in the garbage bin outside Ron's building," he says, his hair sticking up in the back, glasses crooked and usual array of colorful scarves layered haphazardly around his neck.
Hermione grits her teeth. "It is six in the fucking morning," she hisses, her brain trying to pound its way right out of her skull. "Six. In. The. Morning. And I know you have a key to my flat so why in hell's name are you banging on my door?"
Harry blinks at her. "I have a key to your flat? Why don't I remember that?" He blanches and groans. "Ow, migraine, head pounding-too much movement. Shouldn't have skateboarded here."
"You skateboarded here? You don't even own a skateboard!"
"Bought one last night. It matches my new tattoo." Harry gags. "May I please go throw up in your toilet?"
Hermione closes her eyes. Sighs. "Go ahead."
Without another word Harry barrels past her and for a moment Hermione just stands there, looking out at the empty corridor with its fluorescent lighting and worn down grey carpets.
Mondays.
And drinking. Not a good combination.
Hermione groans quietly and turns around, shutting the door behind her as she blearily shuffles back down the hallway-newly painted a robins egg blue that she'd originally hated, but was beginning to grow begrudgingly fond of.
Harry's sitting on a barstool, head resting against her kitchen counter. He doesn't look up at her approach, but his muffled voice filters through in a plaintive wail. "I feel like shit."
"Well, that generally happens when you drink seven beers and three whiskey sours," Hermione replies, dragging out the other stool-she winces at the screech-and slumping into it. "I'm not much better."
Harry cracks open an eye and peers up at her. "Right. Forgot about that. How're you?"
"Hellish," is her reply. A groan. "And I have a 9:30 class."
Harry blinks a few times, tired brain trying to keep up. He yawns. "So? This early in the quarter, all the teachers are doing is lecturing. Just get a seat in the back, put on some sunglasses and fall asleep behind your mountain of books. Hey, do you have any Fruit Loops?" He reaches blindly across the counter, almost knocking over her coffee maker.
The weak morning sunlight coming in through her living room windows knifes straight into her brain. "No, I'm not taking the class." She rubs her forehead and yawns. Harry's a bad influence on her. "I got roped into TA-ing for Trelawney for this quarter," she grumbles, "and she's on vacation in Venezuala until December 1st, so I have to cover for her for the next few weeks. Mrs. Norris just sent me the syllabus-" she gropes around for her bag, which she left underneath this very stool last night when she stumbled in at 3 A.M. Which means she's gotten only three hours of sleep. Fuck.
After a few seconds of blind fumbling, she grabs the file and opens it. She blinks blearily. "It's...handwritten. Does that say..." she wrinkles her brow. "Have students roleplay murder scenes from...Macbeth?"
Harry squints at her with one eye open. "Sounds messy." He yawns. "And legally suspect. This is why I don't TA." He perks up a bit. "Hey, I don't have any classes until afternoon. Can I make use of your strategically empty bed?"
Hermione hauls herself upright with a groan. "Just so long as you and Ginny don't use it for any of your weird sex games."
"How about non-wierd ones?"
Hermione doesn't even dignify that with an answer. "I'm going to take a shower," she says, stretching as she stands. She winces at the pop her bones make. "Do whatever. There's Fruit Loops in the cabinet."
Harry's face splits into a wide smile. "You're the best."
Hermione doesn't stick around to watch her best friend devour his (disgusting) favorite food, and fifteen minutes later she's stepping out of the shower, head pounding a little less and stomach growling.
Her phone is sitting on the sink and as she pulls on her jeans it dings with an incoming text message.
She picks it up and glances down.
Ginny: real fun last night. Good luck for the poor souls who have classes today. #playinghooky
Ron: *green looking emoji* fuck you
Ron: ughhh
Ginny: if the frosh lit students sass you, H, let me know. i'll kick their asses xoxo
Ginny: now everyone bugger off so I can sleepppp
Hermione's lips twitch and she types back:
Hermione: Thanks. Just so you know, I've got Harry. Off to class. Pray for me.
"Hey, I think I'm going to head out now actually," Hermione calls out as she steps out of the bathroom, toweling off her hair. "I need coffee before my class. Do you want me to get you anything?"
There's a groan from the direction of her couch-apparently Harry couldn't even make it to the bed-and a flailing arm waved in her direction.
Hermione sighs, head still aching, and grabs her bag and the syllabus-useless though it is-and walks towards the door. "Sleep," she says. "It'll do you good."
Another groan.
Hermione pulls on her coat and steps out into the hall, shivering at the draft as she locks the door behind her.
Her flat is on the second floor of a slightly worn down building in downtown Oxfordshire and the majority of the residents are broke university students and a few old women who enjoy judging Hermione's clothes and visitors far too much.
It's a gray, rainy day and the cold droplets splatter her face as she walks briskly down the sidewalk, cursing the fact that her car is in the shop again and she is far too hungover to be walking, much less teaching a class.
Her favorite coffee shop is open, thankfully, and as Hermione waits for her coffee-tall, extremely strong, a dash of milk-she looks over Trelawney's syllabus again.
Dramatic Lit, 102. Freshman.
Fuck, freshman were always so pretentious in the morning. Or all the time really.
"Hermy-nin-nee." the Bulgarian barista calls out, completely butchering her name.
Hermione shoves the laminated sheet of paper back into her bag and reaches for the cup. "Thanks," she says. "And it's Hermione. Her-my-own-knee."
"Herm-innin-ee." He smiles. "We have dates today?"
"No, it's-nevermind," Hermione sighs. "And I have class today, Viktor, as I told you when you asked me yesterday. Have a good day."
They have this conversation every time she comes in, and she isn't entirely sure if Viktor is actually oblivious to her less than romantic inclinations to him, or he just enjoys using the word dates as much as possible.
Stone buildings and people hurrying across rain-slicked pavement greets her outside and Hermione checks the time on her phone as she blows gently on the steaming coffee.
9:17 A.M.
She's only ten minutes from campus thankfully, and she took a second Advil in the coffee shop, so her head has almost stopped pounding, and Hermione's almost feeling like a human being by the time she enters the St. Cross Building.
For a classic lit class, its in a surprisingly modern building, and only a few people are milling in the corridor. Only freshman and sophomores really take the introductory English classes, so Hermione doesn't recognize any of the students, but a few of the Professors smile at her.
Hermione waves at her old History of Literature teacher, then takes a deep breath as she comes up towards the double doors that lead to Trelawney's classroom. It's still five minutes till class starts and the doors are still shut, so she leans against the wall and examines the syllabus again while she waits.
It's almost impossible to read the cramped handwriting and Hermione feels a stab of irritation as she squints at it. Apparently they were supposed to be doing a Shakespeare block and today was-of course-Romeo and Juliet.
Hermione's heard the same story and theories and diagnosis of themes spun over and over by teachers and TA's over her last three years of uni and it was never any more original than the last.
She sighs. This is going to be fun.
Hermione finishes off her coffee and walks a few feet away to throw it away in the rubbish bin, then pauses.
Muffled voices echo faintly from behind the doors and her brow furrows.
She grabs her bag and turns the handle, pushing the door open-
Fifty students sitting in rows in the bleachers turn to look up at her and a man with blonde hair is standing by the lectern, mid-speech. His eyes slowly travel up towards her.
Hermione's breath whooshes out of her and she can feel her cheeks burn. She's at the very top of the bleachers and it feels like there's a spotlight shining directly on her.
The blonde man's brows flick up and after a moment he speaks. "Well, well, a late student. What a true novelty." His voice is an arrogant drawl that immediately sets Hermione on edge.
She clenches her fingers around the strap of her bag and speaks up. "No, actually—I'm not a student. Well, I am, but I'm a senior and I used to take classes here-this class actually, back when Professor McGonagall taught it-but I don't…well, I don't take any classes here anymore—" she realizes she's rambling and shuts her mouth. The blonde man's expression of disdain hasn't changed and she feels a little like dying. "My name is Hermione Granger," she says carefully, with as much composure as she can muster. "I'm Professor Trelawney's TA. She asked me to cover the class for her while she's on vacation."
The students murmur.
The blonde man raises an eyebrow and leans back against the lectern, crossing one ankle over the other. "Really." His posh London accent paired with what looks like a 100% silk shirt screams snob. "That's quite odd-Granger, did you say your name was?-because Professor Trelawney also asked me to cover this class." He smiles thinly. "You see, I'm her research assistant for her Physics class and, as you can see, I've already begun teaching."
Hermione's jaw clenches. "I see." She begins to walk down the steps. "Well, clearly this is all just a big misunderstanding, Mr-?" She pauses.
His lip curls. "Malfoy."
"Right, Malfoy." She raises a brow at him. "As I said, a misunderstanding. I'm sure Professor Trelawney just got her signals crossed. And since I'm the TA for her lit class and I'm sure you have much better things to do, I can take it from here."
"Unnecessary," Malfoy says, words clipped, but low enough that only she can hear.
Hermione sets her bag down and crosses her arm, very aware of the students watching their every word. "I assure you it is. However, if you're so set on teaching the freshman intro to literature, be my guest. We can co-teach." Her smile freezes. "For today, at least."
Before he can protest she turns to face the class. "Hello everyone, sorry for that little interruption," she says, smiling at them. "I'm Hermione Granger, and I'll be co-teaching with Mr. Malfoy for now."
Malfoy seems to recover and he moves to stand just slightly in front of her. "Yes, it'll be...interesting," he says, side-eyeing her with obvious hostility. "Now, to get back to the learning that all of you so obviously need-"
A ripple of laughter and Hermione scowls.
"Open your textbooks to page 27," Malfoy continues. "You'll see that the author drew a comparison between Oscar Wilde and the modern-"
"Wait, hold on a minute," Hermione says, raising her hand. She looks at Malfoy. "We're supposed to be doing Romeo and Juliet today. It's a Shakespeare block for the next three weeks."
Malfoy sneers at her. "Shakespeare is overdone. Every single lit class in the world covers Shakespeare. If they got into Oxford, I would assume they have some knowledge of the subject from high school. Oscar Wilde is much more interesting to learn about."
Hermione stares at him. "But it's not on Trelawney's syllabus," she says. "She put me in charge and I won't let you-"
"Hey, we don't really care," a student in the front row says. Her short hair is braided in cornrows and her eyes are bright blue. She smiles somewhat sheepishly. "And I did ace my Shakespeare final in secondary school, so..."
Hermione's jaw clenches and she turns to the rest of the class. "Is this how all of you feel?"
There's some murmurs and a few nods and she can practically feel Malfoy's smugness.
He gives her a little smirk, and goes over to the lectern. "As I was saying, before Miss Granger interrupted me..."
7:02 P.M.
"He is the worst human being on this entire planet!" Hermione snarls, throwing another skirt off to the side. "He just-ugh!"
Ginny snorts, sprawled on Hermione's bed. "Sounds like you've got your hands full in that class." She examines her chipped gold nails. "This is why I don't TA."
Wearing only a pencil skirt and a black bra, Hermione twists around. "Hey, why does everyone keeps saying that to me?" she asks. "Anyway, I don't know how I can last another month of this. You know he barely let me talk the entire class? Once I stopped fuming about him changing the syllabus-"
"God forbid," Ginny snorts.
"-I do actually know quite a lot about Oscar Wilde and there was a ton of things I could teach them about it, but he just changed the subject every time I tried to speak, or gave the students a worksheet to do, or just sneered and said, 'Granger'. Granger." She fumes. "As if we're in high school or something."
"Well, with a name like Malfoy, I'm sure the kid grew up with something of a complex," Ginny says and sits up with a groan. "Ugh, basketball is murder on my lower back. You know we're going to Nationals this year?"
"Yeah, Luna told me. Congratulations by the way. But can we focus, please?"
Ginny grins unrepentantly. "Sorry. Why don't you just call Trelawney and ask her to kick the arse to the curb?"
"I would," Hermione grumbles, turning back to her closet. "But she's doing a retreat in Venezuela for the next two weeks, so I can't reach her until then. And as soon as class ended, Malfoy was gone, before I could even talk to him or talk about our game plan for the next class, which is in two days."
"Hm," Ginny says. "Well, you'll see him tonight, won't you? Big teacher party, with weak alcohol and all the drunk, creepy, misogynistic professors we had our freshman year?"
"If he even shows up," Hermione scoffs.
"It's a 50/50 shot," Ginny shrugs. "Hey, you know if he's still an arse tonight you can make yourself an even bigger pain than he is to you. Beat him at his own game." She smirks. "I can help."
Hermione shoots her a look. "No sabotage, Ginny. I'm an adult, and so is he. We will be taking the high road."
Ginny didn't look convinced, but she didn't say anything else on the subject, instead crossing her legs and raising her eyebrows. "So, is he hot?"
"Ginny."
"What, it's an honest question!" Ginny defends herself. "I want to know how badly I can hate him."
"Will my answer change your opinion?" Hermione asks.
"Definitely."
"You're so shallow, Ginny," she says, then sighs at her friend's expectant look. "Fine, yes, he's hot." She scowls. "Unfortunately."
"Muscles?"
"Yep."
Ginny grins. "Hmm," is all she says.
Hermione holds up two shirts. "Okay, now that you're done being thoroughly creepy, tell me which one I should wear."
Ginny squints. "You're wearing the red heels, right?"
"Only because Crookshanks peed on my flats and they're the only pair I own, but yes."
"Okay." Ginny hops up off the bed and grabs both shirts. "Right, ditch the shirts and pencil skirt, you'll look like a partner at a law firm-you want to look good next to Mr. Hot-and-Hostile-and go with that red off the shoulder dress you bought last year for Cho's wedding."
Hermione frowns. "Ginny, all my teachers are going to be there, and that dress is skin tight-"
"Exactly," Ginny says smugly. "You'll look great. And the red is dark enough not to be too eye-catching, so you don't have to worry. Hair down, stud earrings and a black jacket. No tights. If you're self-conscious you can keep the jacket on."
Hermione purses her lips, begrudgingly considering her option. She sighs. "You have a point with the skirt-and-shirt combo, but I'm not wearing the dress. It's a staff party, not a club."
Ginny rolls her eyes. "Ugh, fine. Wear the dark blue dress and add that dark brown belt and I just went shoe shopping, so you can borrow my black heels. Thank God we're the same size."
Hermione sighs in relief. "Thanks, Ginny."
The red head eyes her. "Uhuh. Now get dressed, bitch. I have a quiz tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep."
8:00 P.M.
Despite her earlier frustrations, Hermione is determined to be mature about the situation.
The staff party is something she doesn't necessarily enjoy going to, but since her mother used to be a professor at Oxford the teachers always invited her and this year some of the senior TA's were invited. Since she and Malfoy are Trelawney's replacements it is required that they be there.
They are hosting it in the dining hall of one of the sophomore dorms that Hermione vaguely recognizes as the place where Luna used to live last year and the cold bites into her through her coat. making her shiver as she climbs the stairs. The low heels Ginny loaned her click on the stone.
Voices filter through the doors and Hermione braces herself as she pushes them open.
Sure enough-
"Mis Granger! Oh, how lovely to see a former student again."
Hermione puts on a tight smile. "Hello, Professor Slughorn."
It truly is an unfortunate name, that belongs to an equally unfortunate man-her old Biology professor, who 'never forgot a face'.
At least not the famous ones.
The portly man chuckles at her, the dim lighting of the dining hall and the milling teachers everywhere not diminishing the brightness of his lime green jacket. "Hello, indeed. Yes, I never forget a face that I've taught-no sir! Say, how's our friend Harry doing these days? Any plans for life after graduation? Because I would be happy to set up some interviews with a few of my old connections-and for you as well, of course, Miss Granger. In fact, I'm throwing a party with some of my best alumni next week. I'm inviting my most promising students, and the two of you would naturally be invited."
Hermione restrains herself from rolling her eyes with difficulty. "Harry is fine. Studying hard. I'm not totally sure what his plans for after graduation are, but I think he's considering going into the police academy." She doesn't address his party invitation, as its one of many she's gotten over the course of her university career.
Slughorn's eyebrows raise. "Oho! Well, many of my former students went on to join that same fine institution. Why, just yesterday I got a postcard from-"
"Horace, there's a situation in the dorms that require your immediate attention."
Hermione's face splits into a smile and she twists around to look at Professor McGonagall, whose usual disproving expression is aimed right at Slughorn.
Slughorn sputtered. "A situation? Surely one of the other teachers..."
McGonagall's lips thinned. "Last I checked, Professor, the sophomore students were your responsibility, were they not?"
Slughorn's expression turns sulky. "Well, yes, I suppose they are...just one moment, Miss Granger, I'll be back in a jiffy-"
McGonagall watches him go off with a blank expression, then turns to Hermione. "I'm glad to see you here this evening, Miss Granger." Her expression seems to turn shrewd. "I thought perhaps you simply sent Mr. Malfoy in your stead."
So he was here. Great.
Hermione smiles tightly. "Of course not. I'd never shirk responsibility like that."
McGonagall's expression seems approving. "Of course not, from one of my best students. Speaking of academics, I hear congratulations are in order. Harvard will be lucky to have you."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione says, hiding the way she stiffens at the name. She quickly steers the conversation in another direction. "I actually had a question for you. It's about Malfoy. You see I wasn't aware that there was a second TA for the class, and I'd prepared to teach it by myself and I'm sure Mr. Malfoy has much better things to do with his time, being a research assistant for the Physics department and everything."
McGonagall frowns. "It is unusual, I suppose, but goodness knows I can't claim to understand anything Sybil does. And I'm sure she had her reasons." Her expression is knowing. "And it's only the first class, so I'm sure things will smooth out soon enough. But I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."
"But-"
"Please excuse me," the professor says, looking over her shoulder. "I think Severus and Pomona are about to get into it over the punch bowl."
Hermione watches her go, then a voice speaks from behind her.
"Trying to get rid of me. How original." Malfoy strolls over to her side, looking immaculate in a white button down shirt-silk again-and a pair of black slacks. His blond hair and grey eyes gleam under the lights. "Believe me, Granger, I am less than thrilled to be working with you as well."
Hermione glares. "What is that supposed to mean, Malfoy?"
He gives her a slow once-over, then meets her eyes. The cold in them startles her. "Listen to me right now, Granger. I'm a medical student in a top university, I have goals in life. Teaching a class with a snippy, by-the-book English major is the last thing I want to waste my time doing. But unfortunately it's a requirement for pre-med students in their first year and Trelawney's lit class was the only thing left. I will not back down here because you have a certain idea about how things should be run. So you might as well give up now."
Hermione's eyes narrow, blood starting to boil in her veins. "Well, you listen to me," she seethes, keeping her voice as low as possible. "I may be an English major but I can push just as hard as you can shove. So don't expect me to give up anytime soon."
Malfoy's expression doesn't change. "We'll see about that."
Before she can retaliate he's turning and disappears off into the crowds.
Hermione stands there, glaring after him.
She doesn't hate many people. But Malfoy might make the list.
Take the high road, my arse.
Maybe Ginny did have a few good ideas after all.
He's messing with the wrong person.