Disclaimer: The Harry Potter stories, world, characters, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. I only manipulate them to suit my preferences.
A/N: This story is non-compliant with the Deathly Hallows epilogue. There may be other small discrepancies with canonical lore.
Three years had passed since the battle of Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy had applied to be an Auror, and had even been accepted as one, but quit after only a year. Being surrounded by people he'd fought against and for whom his actions could have resulted in death didn't sit well with him, and they made it known that he was unwanted. He worked at a shop in Knockturn Alley for a while, until word came to him that his old school was once again without a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Draco contacted Headmistress McGonnagal who was, for lack of a better word, baffled by his interest in the position. He would be the youngest professor they'd ever employed, but he was easily as qualified as any of the other applicants, and the Headmistress pitied the young man enough to allow him this opportunity at redemption.
After a year of working at the castle, Draco felt like he'd finally found somewhere he belonged. A lot of the other professors still treated him more like a student than a colleague, but he found that he didn't mind because they at least weren't treating him like a criminal.
Before the start of the fall term three years after the battle, the Muggle Studies professor retired, leaving the position needing to be filled. The Headmistress struggled to find a viable candidate, until another of Hogwarts' recently-graduated students returned seeking employment. Unbeknownst to him, Hermione Granger applied for and was given the position of professor.
The Sorting was about to start. Draco was normally never late, but he'd gotten so distracted by his book that he'd lost track of time. His quarters were behind his office on the third floor, so he didn't have far to go if the staircases cooperated. Unfortunately, with the ghost of Fred Weasley roaming the halls, the staircases didn't often cooperate for Draco.
He ran a slender hand through his fine blonde hair and donned his robes. It was customary on the first night of term for professors to be formally dressed. Technically they were always supposed to be formally dressed, but robes were heavy and uncomfortable and were often disregarded after the first week.
Draco hurried down the stairs. The first flight was fine. Halfway down the second flight of stairs, Fred caught sight of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The freckled ghost swooped down directly in front of Draco, effectively blocking his path.
"Oi, Malfoy, seem to be in a bit of a rush tonight," Fred mused with a mischievous grin. "Would be a shame if you were late to the Sorting. Bet McGonnagal would rip you a new one for that, eh?"
Draco sighed. He knew arguing with Fred was pointless; while the rest of Hogwarts had mostly forgiven him, this Weasley twin had all of eternity to hold his grudge, even though Draco wasn't the one who killed him in the first place. "I've really got to get going, Weasley," he told him. "I don't have time for your games this evening."
Fred leapt into the air with a whooping laugh. Draco took advantage of the moment and continued his descent. He'd almost reached the main floor when Fred reappeared in front of him. "Now, now, Malfoy," he condescended, "I can't just let you go in there without having any sort of fun."
"Look, Weasley," Draco said, "you can give me shit later. We both know you will anyway. Just let me get to dinner before Poppy trots the kids in and tells McGonnagal you've been harassing teachers again."
Fred grimaced. Even in death, he still didn't fancy having a row with McGonnagal, who would get the other ghosts to punish him if he stepped too far out of line. He didn't want to let Malfoy go unscathed, though, so he leapt up into the air, then flew past Draco with such force that the blonde's hair was blown every which way.
Draco was surprised that his empty threat had worked. He knew that by this point, the first-years had already been brought into the Great Hall. Nobody would have happened upon the two of them anyway, but fortunately, ghosts' perception of time seemed to be more than a bit off. Furiously trying to smooth his hair down, he hurried down the rest of the stairs and took the back entrance into the hall. He slid into his seat at the far end of the staff table, and only a few seconds later, McGonnagal began her speech:
"Welcome, students, to another term at Hogwarts. The feast will commence shortly, following the Sorting of our newest members. First, though, I'd like to take a moment to introduce our new Muggle Studies professor. She's a Hogwarts graduate, and some of you may remember her as the brightest witch of her age. A big round of applause to welcome back Ms. Hermione Granger!"
Draco's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't had to face any of his former classmates since the battle, and he thought Hermione was working at the Ministry anyway. In fact, he was almost certain she'd been working there, and her boyfriend, the Weasel, was working with Potter in the Auror division. So what the hell was she doing here?
He glanced down the table and saw her standing, a bashful smile on her face. She looked uncomfortable to be given this kind of attention, but she handled it gracefully. Her hair, brown, bushy as ever, hung around her face. Her personal style hadn't seemed to change since her school days, Draco noticed. Practical dress: knee-length skirt, pullover sweater, and teachers' robes. The blonde studied her face, and noted the dark bags under her eyes. She looked exhausted.
After a few minutes, the Hall quieted down, and the Sorting began. Draco's old House got a few fair recruits, all of whom had well-connected families. With Slughorn as the Head of House, Slytherin had calmed down a bit, the students focusing on their studies and on developing a decent Quidditch team again instead of terrorizing their peers. There were still some bad apples, most of whom in the upper grades, but Draco knew them, and punished them harshly.
Food appeared in front of him, and he realized the feast had started. Before he'd arrived, he'd been famished, but upon learning of Hermione's arrival, Draco's appetite disappeared. He picked at a baked potato, staying only long enough to fulfill his teacherly duties. As soon as McGonnagal dismissed the students, Draco quickly made his way to the doors of the Hall. He was halfway up the first flight of stairs when he heard the students burst forth from the Hall, their voices carrying over the banisters and echoing off the stone walls.
"Now, now, Gryffindors, follow me, please," a voice called out loudly. Draco knew it would be a prefect, and he wouldn't have listened further, but the next sentence caught his attention. "Please, leave Ms. Granger alone. You'll have time to ask her questions if you take her class. Let the professor pass, she's surely tired."
Draco paused for half a second and turned his head to see Hermione slowly pushing her way through the throng of people toward the stairs. If he didn't start moving again, she'd end up right beside him. His feet carried him up the stairs before his brain realized what was going on, but the crowd of students surged forward and halted his progress. He didn't want to talk to Hermione if he could help it; she probably still hated him anyway, and she'd only report her findings back to Potter and Weasley. Draco grimaced and tried to clear a path between the students, but he was effectively stuck.
"Malfoy?" a voice shouted above the crowd. "Draco Malfoy, is that you?" Several heads turned, none of which were Draco's. He knew it was Hermione calling for him, and he hoped that maybe if he pretended he couldn't hear her, she wouldn't pursue the conversation.
No luck. In a few seconds, she stood next to him. "I didn't realize you were working here," she commented, her eyebrows furrowed.
Draco glanced over at her. "Longer than you anyway," he replied coolly. He pushed forward, hoping to get away from her, but to his dismay, she stayed right in step with him.
"When I heard you'd left the Ministry, I didn't think you'd come back here," she said. It didn't sound accusatory, but Draco still felt like he had to defend himself.
"Not many places take in former Death Eaters," he told her quickly. He saw several students' heads turn toward him, but he refused to acknowledge them. They reached the third floor, and Draco forced a smile. "Well, this is my floor, so I guess I'll be seeing you." He turned to walk away, when she grabbed his arm.
"Look," she said after he turned back around, "couldn't we catch up? It's been a while since…" she let her sentence hang.
Draco narrowed his eyes. He couldn't tell if she was being serious or if she was just jerking him around, but he also wanted to believe her. He didn't know why, but he wanted to believe that she actually cared about what happened to him. "I'm going back to my quarters," he told her finally. "You're welcome to join me, but I need to get away from all of these students, preferably before Weasley's ghost finds me."
Hermione's face screwed up in confusion. "Ghost?" she repeated. "Fred's ghost is here?" Of course that was what she'd heard, of everything he'd just said.
"Yes," Draco replied with a roll of his eyes, "and he's not exactly my biggest fan, so if you don't mind…"
"Oh, right," Hermione exclaimed, "yes, okay, let's go. I'll follow you."
Draco shrugged his arm out of her grip and continued down the hall. Neither of them spoke until Draco unlocked the door to his quarters. He took off his robes, hung them on the coat-rack by the door, and ran his hand through his hair. Hermione stood in the doorway, uncertain of where to sit. His quarters were immaculate, not a thing out of place, and she was afraid to mess anything up.
"Do you want some wine?" he asked her as he moved toward the kitchenette area.
"Yeah, that'd be nice," she replied. While he messed around in the kitchen for glasses and a bottle of whatever, she started to walk around. She found his book, the one that'd distracted him earlier, the one that almost made him miss the Sorting altogether. She picked it up, thumbed the spine. It was a fantasy novel, one she'd read before. It was about a poor boy who'd grown up in a kingdom ruled by a tyrant. The boy had no friends, no prospects, and no parents. He lived on the streets, off the kindness of strangers (which, as it happened, meant he barely survived). Eventually, the boy dies, and is reincarnated as a dragon. Draco hadn't gotten to that point in the story yet.
Hermione flipped open the book. In the margins, Draco had scrawled little notes about the story. She studied the slight curl to his letters and traced her fingertip over the notes he'd scratched out furiously. He seemed to be trying to predict the ending, and crossed out his predictions as he got farther and farther along.
"Have you read that?" he asked, appearing in front of her. He didn't really care if she had, but he felt insecure about her looking through his belongings.
Hermione's face flushed at having been caught. "I have, actually," she said quickly, setting the book down. "It's very interesting."
Draco nodded silently and poured the two of them a glass of red wine. He handed her the glass and leaned against the wall of his living area, taking a sip of his own. She was sitting on his sofa, but he didn't want to sit next to her yet.
"So uh, how long have you been working here?" she asked, taking a long swig from her glass.
Draco smirked. She was as uncomfortable as he was. "A couple of years now," he replied. "They needed a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I needed a job. It seemed appropriate."
Hermione furrowed her brow. "McGonnagal put you in charge of Defense Against the Dark Arts?" she asked. She didn't elaborate, but her point was clear: she couldn't believe that the Headmistress would employ a former Death Eater as a professor, let alone a professor whose job it was to teach students how to defend themselves against the dark arts.
"She did," Draco replied coolly. He understood her confusion, but it still grated on his nerves. "I guess she figured that with my… history, I knew more about the dark arts and how to defend against them than any of the other applicants." He paused and finished the wine in his glass. "And then there's also the fact that she probably pitied me greatly."
Hermione watched him pour himself another glass of wine. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't qualified."
"Yes, you did," Draco replied. "And I don't blame you. Former Death Eaters don't usually make for good teachers." He swallowed a large gulp of alcohol. His head was beginning to feel fuzzy, and he knew he needed to slow down on the drinking.
Hermione stared at him for a minute before she took a sip of her wine. "Do you like it here? I'd have thought that being back would be a bit… odd for you." She was tripping over her words, trying to find a balance between sating her curiosity and not offending her former classmate.
To her surprise, Draco replied with a laugh. "Oh, it's more than a bit odd," he said. "A lot of the students still remember me as a student. The ones who don't are surprised at how young I am, though I suppose anyone would look young compared to good old Professor Binns." He paused when Hermione giggled. "I do like it here, though, honestly," he continued, more seriously. "Even though some people would rather I was somewhere else, I feel like I got a chance at a new start when I came back."
Hermione studied him. He looked similar to his school days; He was still tall, pale, and dressed mostly in dark clothing, though he'd stopped gelling his hair, and let it grow out. He looked better though, healthier. "I missed it here," she replied, unsure of how to respond to what he'd said. "I helped them to repair the castle for a while after the Battle. We all did, really, though Harry and Ron left for the Ministry long before I did. I didn't want to leave until I knew the castle was fixed."
Draco nodded. He hadn't helped with the repairs, mostly because he was dealing with the Ministry deciding whether or not to throw him in Azkaban for his part in the war. Most Death Eaters went into hiding, including his parents, but Draco refused to do so. "You did end up at the Ministry eventually though, if I recall correctly," he commented.
Hermione looked away. "I did, and I enjoyed my job," she told him. "I liked dealing with Muggles and incidents with Muggles, for obvious reasons."
"What made you leave then?" he pressed. He could tell the topic made her uncomfortable, but he was as curious as she, and besides, she was the one who insisted on spending time together and reminiscing.
Hermione sighed. "Ron and I… had a falling out," she said quietly. She finished off her wine, and Draco crossed the room to refill her glass. "I didn't like seeing him every day, and then I ran into Poppy one day, and she told me that McGonnagal was having a hard time finding someone to fill the position for Muggle Studies, and I figured I could come back and sort of… start over."
Draco nodded. He understood that notion completely. His curiosity about her relationship surprised him, but he couldn't contain himself. "What happened to make you and Weasley break up?" he asked innocuously. "Had to be something pretty bad. You two always were inseparable."
Her face flushed bright red, and she refused to look at him. Draco could tell she was deciding how much information she should give him, but the alcohol was working through her brain and limiting her inhibitions. "He asked me to marry him," she blurted.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Normally when someone asks another person to marry him, he does so with the expectation that she'll say yes," he stated. Hermione glared at him. "Obviously, he was mistaken. I can't help but wonder why you wouldn't want to marry him, though."
She sighed deeply. "I always liked Ron," she said. "All through school, I'd always hoped he'd figure that out someday and we could be together. It was all very idealistic." She paused to take a drink from her glass. "Then the war happened. I didn't know whether or not we'd survive, let alone whether or not we would win. When it was all over, he finally kissed me, and I'd wanted that for so long that I got caught up in the moment." She took a deep breath and stared up at Draco. "It was good, for a while. We were happy. But he became an Auror, and started working long, arduous hours. I barely saw him most nights because his department was busy rounding up all the Death Eaters they could."
"So you felt neglected?" Draco interjected. He found that he was far more interested in her confession than he'd ever anticipated being. He was eager to learn the ending to the story though; what made her leave?
Hermione shook her head. "No, I didn't feel neglected," she said. "Even though he wasn't around a lot, Ron was always good at making sure I knew he loved me. Took me on dates, carved out time to spend for me, everything he could to make sure I never felt neglected."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Then what went wrong?" he asked. "Something had to make you leave him. Something had to happen."
"That's just it," Hermione told him with a sad smile, "nothing happened. He didn't do anything wrong. When he asked me to marry him, I froze. Here was the guy that I'd had a crush on since I was eleven asking to spend the rest of his life with me, and I couldn't give him a response. I thought of everything we'd been through, and I realized that I wanted more."
At that, Draco gave an uncharacteristic laugh that he would later attribute to the wine. "More?" he repeated. "You wanted more than total devotion?"
"I know it sounds ridiculous," Hermione snapped, "but I did. Everything was too easy with Ron. We never fought anymore; he was always so eager to agree with me. We were in such a rut, and he was happy to be there. He didn't want to challenge me anymore. He was content, complacent."
"Ah," Draco breathed, "now that I can understand. Nobody wants complacency in their relationship. What's fun about that?" He'd had at least three full glasses of wine by that point, and standing had become more effort than he was willing to expend. He brought out a second bottle and sat down next to her.
"Exactly!" she exclaimed, turning her body toward his. "It's not just about the fun, of course, but our relationship had stagnated. There was no reason to think our marriage wouldn't suffer the same fate."
Draco poured the two of them another glass. "So you said no to his proposal?" he asked.
Hermione shook her head while she took a big sip. "Not exactly," she replied. "I said I needed time, to think, and he didn't really like that answer. We got into a huge row, and he told me that if I wasn't sure I wanted to marry him, then maybe I wasn't sure I wanted to be with him at all." She finished her glass. "Imagine his surprise when I agreed with him."
Draco opened the next bottle. "Oh, I can imagine that he wasn't very happy," he commented as he refilled her glass. His words were starting to slur into each other, and the small part of his rational mind that was still intact warned him to stop drinking.
"You would be correct," Hermione replied with a smile. On the word "correct," she poked the tip of his nose with her index finger. "I wrote McGonnagal and accepted the position, and I was on a train here the next day."
Draco smiled, and drank half of the wine in his glass. He didn't know how much he'd had at that point, nor could he seem to remember how much she'd had. What really surprised him was how little he seemed to care. "When I heard McGonnagal introduce you tonight, I thought I'd have to spend the rest of the year avoiding you," he admitted. "I thought you'd want nothing to do with me."
Hermione shrugged and leaned toward him slightly. Her wine splashed onto her hand, but she didn't seem to notice. "I didn't know you were working here," she told him, "but when I saw you on the staircase, I felt like I needed to say something. I didn't want you to go the whole term thinking that I hated you."
Draco felt his body leaning toward hers. "Don't you, though?" he asked quietly. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. A lot of people hate me, none of whom have as much reason to as you." He knew what response he hoped for, and he scolded himself for hoping for it.
She smiled at him. "I did hate you, when we were in school," she confided. "But after the war, I realized that there wasn't a reason to hate you. You tried to help us, in whatever way you could. You were in an impossible situation, and I couldn't hate you for that." She paused and set her glass down on his coffee table. "And then when I saw you here tonight sitting at the staff table, saw that you'd come back, I knew that forgiving you was the right decision. And I knew that I wanted to get to know you again."
Draco felt his heart racing, though he wasn't sure why. He'd always admired Hermione, though he'd never admitted it to anyone. Before he realized what was happening, he'd leaned forward and closed the distance between the two of them. He felt himself brush his lips against hers, then press himself into a kiss. She responded in kind, and the two of them sat on that couch, lips interlocked, kissing furiously until reality slapped them out of their delusion.
Hermione pulled away from him quickly and stood, breathless. Her face had flushed, and her eyes were wide with surprise. "M-Malfoy, I…" she couldn't talk, couldn't process what just happened. There was no way she'd just kissed Draco Malfoy.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, jumping to his feet. "I-I didn't mean to…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Kissing her hadn't been his intention, but he didn't regret it either. He ran a slender hand through his hair and concentrated on breathing.
She turned toward the door. "I think I should go," she said slowly. She twisted the knob open and, in the doorway, turned back to face him. "I uh, I'll see you around, I guess."
Draco watched the door close. He traced the outline of his lips with the tip of his finger and absent-mindedly padded into his bedroom. He collapsed into his bed without undressing, too drunk to process what had just happened, too happy to care. He didn't know what this meant, if it meant anything, but for now, all Draco wanted to do was sleep, wake up in the morning, and know it hadn't all been a dream.