A/N: We were talking about this idea in a couple of Facebook groups-Strictly Dramione & Beyond the Book FF Nook. A few people wanted to take the idea on and more people wanted to read a Joker/Harley take on Dramione, myself included! Here's my take on it, I hope you enjoy!
Also- It's really tough to write a Hermione like this when she is so intelligent and strong! It's also a little challenging to write Draco the way he is in this story. That being said, the characters may be slightly OOC, but I tried to justify their actions and make it as believable as possible!
Beta Love to: SlytherinPrincessNurse1994 & Sandra-Sempra
Disclaimer: All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing.
Please let me know what you think! XxX
~*OoOoO*~
She really shouldn't have pushed for the case.
As much as she wanted the notoriety, the distinguishment that came with cracking such an impossible patient—she couldn't fully suppress the flickering feeling of doom that swelled up inside of her chest, before she roughly shoved it aside.
Instinct.
She should probably trust her instinct. It screamed caution, and rarely was it wrong—if ever. Even so, the last thing she wanted to do was rein back her ambition. Her inner lioness roared against the notion as if it were unthinkable—blasphemous even! Why should she squander the opportunity for success? Especially a success of this magnitude! She simply couldn't. It didn't matter what funny feeling was circulating in her gut, the promise of glory among her peers far outshadowed it.
Prudence and rationality.
Her best friends.
She always let those feelings guide her, let them rule her. But now, it was time to exercise a little spontaneity, some recklessness. One did not go about making the impossible possible by any sort of logical method—there was simply no room for it. If she were to tackle this particular case it was mandatory she employ a bit of creativity.
That's all.
Use her imagination.
It was not a muscle she was often given reason to flex. She had chosen her career as a Healer with her sights set on Head Psychological Healer simply for the opportunity to continue learning. Next to Unspeakables, Healers had the highest security clearance when it came to the material they were permitted to obtain.
Regulated material.
Books, tomes, and scrolls that would have been restricted to her before. As a Healer, it was necessary to study all branches of magic—light or dark—to ascertain what sort of dark curses and jinxes their patient could present with. She selected a field that would never go stagnant or bore her. There was always a cure to be found, a riddle to unravel. St. Mungos stood on the forefront of magical breakthroughs.
And her residency?
Psychological Healers were denied nothing.
No one at the Ministry batted an eye when a certain book was requested or information was needed. Her thirst for knowledge was in no risk of being limited. It really was all she hoped for in a career, post Hogwarts.
She simply had to tackle the next case, and the next, before being one step closer to finishing her residency. Had a Resident Psychological Healer ever been permitted such a high security level patient? Probably not, but that only served to flare her ego. It helped being a hero of the wizarding world, member of the Golden Trio, and Harry Potter's best friend. Coupled with the fact that the certified Healers had already tried, and failed, with the case, it had actually been ridiculously easy.
But, a voice, highly unwanted, nagged inside her head, it is Draco Malfoy. Merlin, but he tortured you in school. Do you really think he'll talk to you when he won't to anyone else?
She swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat.
That didn't matter.
A mere bump in the road and that was all. Who cares if he'd muttered obscenities at her? Called her a filthy mudblood. They were children then—it had been years. Six, precisely. And what had he been doing? Rotting in St Mungo's ward for the criminally insane? Denied visitors and basically anything resembling comfort? Even a haughty Pureblood like him couldn't be too picky.
He will talk to me—I'll get him to.
Failure was simply not an option, not for Hermione Granger, nee Weasley.
A pang of sadness flitted across her mind at the thought of her all-too recent divorce. It was fine—obviously it wasn't her fault. Obviously it was for the better. Ron had always despised the way she'd thrown herself into school, why should work have been any different? Really, it wasn't even fair to him. He wanted a wife that wanted to settle down and have children—loads of them. He could certainly do that, only not with her. She was not done in her pursuit of knowledge by half. Being a teenage war hero would not be the crowning point in her life. There were other successes she need only reach for, unhindered. It was for the best, and she held no animosity for her marriage however fleeting it turned out to be.
Fueled by adrenaline thrumming at her temples, she continued down the white hall, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She pushed the negative thoughts aside, and clutched her briefcase to her chest, setting her mind to focus on the task ahead.
I will crack the impossible.
~*OoOoO*~
Draco pressed his head against the cold wall, angling it to see through the opening and down the hall with the limited space afforded him.
It was a small opening.
Large enough to stick his hand through if the act wouldn't cause him a tremendous amount pain.
Sodding St. Mungos and their penchant for restriction wards.
It was sometimes fun to stick his hand through it anyway, different, and anything different was good. It reminded him that he was alive—that he wasn't merely an apparition barely on the cusp of existence. It was...one of very few pleasures afforded to him.
But he didn't feel like doing that right now.
He sensed something. More than just the powerful wards buzzing and thrumming underneath the surface of his prison walls. It was a stirring—something distinctly unique that indicated a presence other than his own shared the space of the vacant hall, a hallway all his own where he was segregated from the other patients. Really, Azkaban would have been loads better. He'd take dementors over solitude any day. He was supposed to be in Azkaban, yet he'd been punished in the worse way by being banished here instead.
He almost regretted biting into that poor sod's neck. Wiggins, was it?
Perhaps he should have played the game instead of watching the wizard's blood spill over Draco's bare feet, relishing the coppery flavor so different from the meals he was usually provided through a tube.
He'd not had a visitor since. There was no need for anyone to call on him when magic would suffice.
It all could have been avoided if he would have said the right things, coaxed the words out of his throat and been done with it. But he couldn't manage it. Nothing was worse than swallowing his pride—that was the one thing they hadn't been successful in ripping from him. He'd be damned if he gave the onslaught of witches and wizards the Ministry had sent him anything of real value.
So he wallowed in misery.
Alone with nothing but his mad thoughts to entertain him, growing even madder still as the days went on.
Except for today.
Today he sensed the disturbance, and it wasn't long before he heard the footsteps echoing, getting ever louder. There was only one room to draw to on this Salazar-forsaken hall.
His.
He smirked evilly at the realization, thinking that this was better than Yule, complete with towers of presents waiting for him to unwrap.
No.
This was much better.
Because the person who approached was a female. His nostrils flared at the distinctly feminine scent. His ears perked at the sound of heels, not mere trainers, clicking ever closer to him.
They'd sent him a witch—were they mad? Perhaps they should occupy the ward right along with him.
His stomach gave a hopeful leap. He drew away from the opening, pressing his back against the wall of his confinements.
This held the promise for...entertainment.
~*OoOoO*~
Hermione's nerves were in a frenzy by the time she'd reached the end of the hall. She gripped her wand, taking comfort in the familiar smooth touch of the vine wood.
It wouldn't do to stop.
He would hear her come to a halt.
He had to know she was there even now. One's senses were heightened when they were deprived as his were.
Clenching her jaw, she cut her wand through the air, forcing a doorway to appear between the invisible wards and blank walls.
Her eyes drew to him immediately.
His orange hospital suit stood out against the whiteness of the room.
She didn't meet his eyes, instead she stepped confidently inside and swished her wand again, using the distraction of appearing the table and two chairs as a means to get her thoughts in order. Even so, she still felt his gaze on her, carefully following her every movement.
Finally, she took a seat, facing where he still sat flush up against the wall.
"Malfoy." She was immensely pleased she was able to suppress the tremor from her voice. "Won't you please take a seat?"
She gestured to the chair she had conjured, but he merely stayed motionless. It was a bit daunting to be skewered with that silver stare of his, but she'd been prepared for it. She erected a mask of indifference in the face of his silent appraisal, not displaying in the least just how jarred she was by it.
"Malfoy," she repeated, absently straightening the wrinkles that had formed on her skirt. "I won't ask you again." She lifted her brows and pointed back again at the chair, making it clear in her eyes she would not wait patiently forever.
She was worried he wouldn't obey once more, and she was having trouble enough not giving into the urge to stand and flee. The man was unnerving, and Merlin but how he'd changed! She hardly recognized him. Gone were the gaunt, pointy angles she'd remembered since the last time she'd seen him. He was much more filled out. She steeled herself against a flinch when she noticed the markings and scars present on his bared forearms and neck. Still, he looked a sight better than he had since being apprehended by Aurors. All but his eyes. Empty. Hollow. Slightly unhinged. She pushed away the inclination to bite her lip as her nerves surfaced once more.
His voice, when he spoke, was gravelly from disuse. "Have you come to hurt me too, Granger?"
Whatever she'd been prepared to say shriveled up and died on her tongue. "What?" she sputtered. "I wouldn't...that is...I'm a Healer. Well, a Healer-in-training. Psychological division, obviously—." Oh dear Merlin. Was she rambling? Yes she was rambling! Of all the possible turns she would have anticipated this conversation to take, she never would have expected that answer.
But he had answered her.
He'd actually broke his silence and spoke to her! That was loads further than anyone else had managed.
Fueled by triumph, she regained her composure in an effort to better address him. "What I mean to say, Malfoy, is I'm a Healer-in-training in the final year of my residency, and I've been assigned your case." She beamed at him, half expecting him to be impressed, but his face was unreadable. "I can assure you; my credentials are top notch."
"I thought the Ministry was through sending anyone to me."
Yes! He is still speaking to me. This was going so much better than she'd initially expected it to. "The Ministry believes you have information that might help with an...issue that's arisen as of late. I've been authorized to appeal on your behalf, should you present with entail that is helpful to us."
"Appeal on my behalf." He drew up from the floor and Hermione was struck by how tall he was. Had he been that height the last time she'd seen him? "Appeal for things like...the right to eat as any normal person does, without liquid food just appearing into my stomach?"
She suppressed a grimace. "Well, yes. You do recall that you don't have the most excellent track record with guards, orderlies, and Healers. There are consequences for your actions."
Malfoy gracefully walked towards the chair before sitting down on it. "I haven't shared another's company for several years. I haven't felt the sun on my face for longer, still. Are these the type of privileges you've been permitted to allow me?"
"Well, I'm not sure about all that." She wrinkled her nose at the impossible suggestion. "But I can always ask for things on your behalf—so long as it's reasonable—so long as you cooperate."
"Narc, you mean," he deadpanned.
Hermione bristled in her seat. "No, that's not what I mean at all. You mustn't look at it that way."
He sat quietly observing her, and she got that disturbing feeling of unease again in her gut. He was quite off putting, and she preferred it when he spoke to her. When he did break the silence, she was once more, taken by surprise. "You're friends would really allow you to meet with a Death Eater, all by your lonesome?"
He genuinely did seem shocked by the notion, which made her all the more defensive. "Your concern is appreciated, but I'm hardly a helpless witch."
His eyes gleamed as a smirk tugged on his lips. "If school were any indication, I would imagine you've grown to be a rather capable witch."
She knew she should not allow herself to feel smug by the blatant compliment, but she was hardpressed to ignore the flicker of pride that shot through her. "I can hold my own," she confirmed.
He shook his head sadly. "What a waste—you'd have made a fantastic dark witch."
Hermione felt her temper flare hotly. "Too bad I happened to be born of Muggles, then," she scorned cruelly.
"That was never what it was about."
"Oh?" Within an instant, her curiosity was peaked and her ire forgotten. "Then what, pray tell, was it about?"
She hoped her eyes did not give away how hungry she was for the answer. By the gleam in his depthless grey orbs, she doubted she had managed to conceal it completely.
"Power," he answered simply.
It was a very anti-climatic answer, yet she still felt a shiver shoot down her spine.
"At any rate," she said, determined to steer the conversation back in the direction she wanted it to go. "We aren't here to talk about me." She narrowed her eyes pointedly.
"We're here for you to extract any secrets the Aurors with their truth serums and torture methods failed to extract?"
Her lip curled at the brass allegation. "Torture methods—."
"What makes you think I'd divulge anything to you I've refused to reveal thus far?"
Hermione swallowed discreetly, internally preparing her appeal. "You've been down here for a long time, Malfoy. Whatever your reasons were for not revealing all you knew before could have shifted after so much time spent in solitude. What's more, I want to help you. I care about your health, first and foremost, and I don't believe anyone is beyond saving—you included."
"You're here to help me?" He lifted his brows in disbelief.
"That's right. If you'd only work with me, I think you would have a much better time of it. I may not be able to get you all the things you want, but I certainly would be able to manage proper meals and reading material—I know how much your studies meant to you."
"What a seductive offer."
Hermione felt her skin prickle at his words, but brushed the odd feeling aside. "Face it, Malfoy—you need me on your side—I can help you get better."
Malfoy's smirk made her decidedly uneasy. "Or rather, you need me."
"What?" She leaned forward on the table, furrowing her brows in confusion.
"It's obvious the only reason you're here is because the Ministry needs me—desperately. I imagine there's been Death Eater activity."
"I didn't say tha—."
"And the Aurors wonder if there's anything buried deep inside this shell of a mad men that may have been grazed over before, despite your allegation you're only here to help."
"Your state of being is my top priority."
She flinched as he lurched forward quickly, purging the scant distance between them with his hand, but it stopped mid-air, colliding with the previously invisible ward she'd erected, that now shimmered a glittery silver hue.
She expected him to scream with the pain of pressing against the ward and snatch his hand away quickly, but he dragged it back lazily, all the while watching her with the sharp eyes of a predator.
"I guess you're protected after all."
"There were some changes made after last time," she begrudgingly informed him.
He nodded, awareness crystallizing in his grey eyes. "Suppose, Granger, that there is no more information hidden within me, and that the Auror's hopes that there are is merely a pipedream."
Hermione sighed, making a valiant attempt to regain her composure. "As I told you, I want to help you."
"If that's true," he said with a look that could only be described as challenging. "Come back tomorrow, and I'll let you know what I decide."
She straightened from her seat, grabbing her briefcase and clenching her wand for good measure. That was good, better than him outright refusing at least. What was more, this whole thing was rather intense and she could use the time to reconvene.
"Alright, Malfoy. Sleep on it."
~*OoOoO*~
Hermione wasn't sure why she'd agreed to join her friends in Muggle London. She'd much rather have spent the evening in her flat, curled up by the fire with a large book in hand. She'd only agreed because Pansy had Owl'd her that she'd be bringing Marcus.
It was an odd thing to go to drinks with your ex husband and his new girlfriend.
Cho had told her she must be a saint to tolerate it, but strangely enough, Ron and Pansy together didn't bother her in the slightest. However much she deplored the former Slytherin at school, Pansy was actually the easiest to talk to out of all of them.
It was Ginny that made her want to feign sickness and leave.
The fiery red-head hadn't stopped staring daggers at her since Hermione's divorce the year before. She couldn't understand it, especially when it was abundantly clear Ron had moved on.
"When will Marcus be arriving?" she asked to no one in particular, as she absently sipped the coppery liquid in her tankard.
"He won't be making it," Ginny was quick to inform her, placing a possessive hand on Harry's forearm. "Mandatory Quidditch practice."
Hermione wondered if she was simply imagining the look of malice that passed over Ginny's face.
"Sorry, Hermione," Pansy was quick to inject, looking truly remorseful. "It was last minute. We'll try to plan things better next time?"
She attempted to conceal her shock at the notion she would even care in the first place. "It's alright, really. I was just wondering because you had said he was coming. I don't especially want to have drinks with him."
Ginny shot her a scornful look.
"Don't be rude, 'Mione," Ron told her, and she grimaced against the blatant order she had at one time been used to.
"She isn't being rude," Pansy interjected. "She just isn't actively looking for someone right now. Isn't that right, Hermione?"
She gripped the hem of her cocktail dress harshly. "Can we please talk about something else?"
"She isn't looking for anyone," Ron said, openly ignoring her request. "All that, job comes first, and what-not."
Pansy drew up from her seat, tugging Ron with her. "Come on, darling. Let's go and get a refill."
"I'll go with you," Ginny said getting up quickly. Then she looked pointedly to Harry. "Aren't you coming?"
"Our drinks are still full," Harry stated the obvious, pointing to his and Hermione's drinks.
If looks could kill, Hermione and Harry would be done for.
The trio walked off and Hermione felt like she could breath again. "What was that about?"
"Oh, it's just Ginny," Harry answered absently. "She's been bad lately."
"Still sore over Ron and I's breakup, all these months later?"
"That, and…" Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Spit it out, Harry."
His cheeks flamed crimson as he rushed the words out. "She thinks the real reason you two ended things was because you had your eye on someone else."
Hermione, ever the sharp one, sat back angrily. "Had my eye on you, you mean?"
Harry swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Well, yes. I suppose it's a theory her and Ron came up with."
"They think I'm pining after a married man with a child?"
"I know it sounds silly." But then his green eyes looked up, and bored into hers. "It is silly, right?"
Oh dear Merlin! Hermione was hard-pressed to find her breath. Was that hope...or smugness that had flitted through his gaze? She could not deal with this now. She was already the monster that broke up one half of the-Golden-Couple, she didn't need anymore hits to her already wrecked reputation. The Prophet had already taken Ron's side in the scandal. The only thing that really mattered was her work, and cutting a path for herself that no one else had before. She needed this about as much as she needed a bludger to her head.
"Erm...Harry." She quickly pulled away and got up from her seat. "So sorry, but I need to be going now. I simply can't do this."
"Hermione, wait—."
She refused to turn back. "Tell the others goodbye for me." She rushed out the door before anything else soured the night, and hurried down the street until she was a safe ways away to Apparate.
~*OoOoO*~
She had thought her second meeting would be less nerve-wracking, that she would have been used to the awkwardness of the situation.
She had thought wrong.
When Hermione returned the next day, her heart was hammering in her chest, and she worked desperately to calm her frantic nerves. What if her potential patient declined her request to be seen? The dread surging in her chest was difficult to ignore.
She wasn't sure why it meant to much to her.
The urge for fame and notoriety that came with tackling such a difficult case was still there, but surprisingly muted. If she were being honest with herself, she would have to admit that what she craved more than anything was to be Malfoy's Healer. It was hardly about the accolades she would surely receive if she were successful, it more had to do with Malfoy himself.
He'd pushed everyone else away so far. Suppose she was the one that wasn't pushed away? Suppose he opened up to her! The desire for him to say yes was on the forefront of her mind. Malfoy was a brilliant man—of that she was sure. Psychotic, but also brilliant.
Sure she'd bested him in school, and the both of them greedily soaked up most if not all Hogwarts had to offer, but he went on and furthered his education post school. The fact that the education was fostered by Death Eaters was a moot point. It was something she didn't know. He'd hinted heavily at it. Why should that go to waste? It would be sacrilege.
Besides, Malfoy deserved another chance.
She wasn't sure anyone deserved to live in such a pitiful state, even him, and if there was a hope she could make life better for him, that would become her purpose.
When she'd entered the cell, fist tightly enclosed around her wand, she carefully performed the necessary spells, dispelling her excitement and shoving it aside. It was time to be professional. Malfoy would be watching her with that calculating gaze of his, and it was important she kept the upper hand.
She turned to face the invisible barrier, surprised when she saw Malfoy move automatically to the chair she had appeared. He sat down robotically, listlessly, even, and a muscle twitched by her eye. Did this mean he would deny her? She had not evaluated him long enough to determine what his behavior meant.
"Malfoy," she greeted, injecting pleasantness in her tone. "Good afternoon. Have you thought about my proposal."
He inclined his head ever so slightly. "I have."
She could barely sit still in her chair, and it took an immense amount of effort to conceal her excitement. "And," she hedged.
"I have some concerns."
"Oh." Her stomach dropped slightly as she pondered what his concerns could possibly be.
"I thought about what you said, and I can't help but wonder, will Clemmens be making an impromptu visit?"
"Well, he is the Head Healer, it's possible—."
"I don't want Clemmens anywhere near me," he said with such finality, Hermione's lips parted in shock. "I'm better off with him forgetting I'm here."
"Why's that?" The question spilled from her lips before she could stop it.
"Before, he visited me frequently." His tone was abruptly gentle and she was surprised by the shift. "He's rather fond of practicing the trifecta on me, sans the Avada."
Dear God.
Surprise flooded her features. "You couldn't possibly mean…"
Malfoy's features were open and vulnerable. He meant exactly what he's said.
"If that's true, Malfoy, Clemmens could lose his position."
He shook his head. "No one would believe him over me, I'm nutters, remember?"
She swallowed audibly, flicking a renegade curl that had come loose from her bun back behind her ear. She didn't believe him of course, he was only trying to get a rise out of her. "I'll try to keep Clemmens off of the case."
"His favorite curse is the Imperius. He likes to put me under the spell and have me stick my hands through the wards, gets a kick out of it."
Wait.
That sounded far too detailed to be a lie. Could it be possible he was telling the truth? And if he was, what could she do? Start an investigation? Get Clemmens wand checked for dark arts? Perhaps she could, but Merlin, she was only a resident! She had very little clout in the department.
"If you're telling the truth, these are serious allegations."
"I don't want you to do anything with them." He paused before leaning his elbows on the table. "I just want you to know. It's nothing I can't take. A little Crucio is good for you—keeps you on your toes."
"But you said—."
"I don't want him stealing your thunder, Granger. If I allow you to see me, if there's any help you're able to offer me, I want you to get all the credit."
Well...that was mutually beneficial.
"I can assure you it's not about that."
"Do we have a deal?"
"Yes," she replied quickly. There was no way she was going to defend Clemmen. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep him away from you."
Malfoy smiled widely. "Good."
"Was there anything else?"
He paused for a moment, flexing his fingers in a contemplative gesture. "You said we can only talk about me, but I don't like that. If I ask you something, I'd appreciate an honest answer. It's only fair."
"Malfoy, that's highly—."
"Within reason," he amended.
"All right," she agreed. "Within reason."
"Then my answer is yes."
Outwardly, Hermione only smiled politely. Inwardly, she preened in delight.
~*OoOoO*~