Hermione raised a loosely closed fist, preparing to knock on the heavy mahogany door before her, and then lowered it again. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood instead and sighed. He was inside, waiting for her, and she tried to push the contempt from her mind, but her thoughts invariably returned to the curl of his lip. Knowing what he wanted with her made her stomach lurch painfully.
She couldn't have known that it would come to this, this ridiculous, impossible impasse. She couldn't have known that any of this would be her reality, though in hindsight, she couldn't deny her hand in creating it. She remembered it, and the way she remembered it tugged hard at the sensible places in her mind that should have known better.
"What makes you the bloody expert, Granger?" he asked her, his lip curled.
"Why is it so difficult for you to admit that you might be wrong?" she countered acidly. Without looking up from the parchment before her, she shoved an open book across the table in his direction. "Look it up for yourself, then."
He snatched the book and rose from his chair, turning his back to her before leafing through it. "It's not here," he announced after a brief survey. "I told you it wasn't. You imagined it."
"Malfoy!" she shrieked, finally pulling her eyes away from her work. "I cannot work with you! This is completely ridiculous!"
"You don't have much of a choice," he answered her, smirking. "If you think I haven't tried to change McGonagall's mind about our working together in this project, you're thicker than you look. I couldn't care less about a bloody Transfiguration N.E.W.T.."
"We've spent six hours a day the past two weeks at this," Hermione snapped, "and you haven't done a thing except get in the way. Go back to the dungeon and play Death Eater with your little friends. I'll finish by myself and you'll get full credit."
He threw the book to the floor and leaned across the table, planting his hands on either side of her parchment, his gray eyes narrowed in fury. "You shut it about my father!" he warned her.
"I have no interest in insulting your family, Malfoy," she testily assured him, fighting her urge to shrink away from his angry face. "I was insulting you. Now are you going to help me or aren't you?"
He whirled away from her and crossed his arms. "Say it," he spat, his back to her. "You've been dying to say it since start of term."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it just as quickly as he turned to face her. His eyes were shining a bit too brightly.
"SAY IT!" he shouted at her. "Say my father bought his way out of Azkaban when the Dark Lord fell! You think I haven't heard what everyone else is saying about me? I won't have a filthy Mudblood talking about my family behind my back, so say it to my face, Granger!" His mouth twisted with rage and his eyes glittered with tears.
Hermione sighed. "Oh, Malfoy," she murmured sadly. As much as she disliked him, as much he'd tormented her, she didn't like to see anyone in that much pain. She pushed her chair back from the table and cautiously reached out a hand to touch his sleeve.
He batted her hand away and glared the floor. "Don't touch me," he muttered. "I don't need your sympathy."
"You need someone's sympathy, Malfoy," she argued gently. "I don't envy your position."
He continued to avoid her eyes, studying his shoes instead. "You don't know anything of my position," he barked thickly, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He mopped at it with his sleeve, clearly embarrassed.
Hermione felt tears sting her own eyes in answer, Draco's shame and humiliation burning into her. His existence had indeed been difficult this year. Lucius's incarceration and subsequent release had made the entire Malfoy family the subject of cruel gossip and wild speculation, which obviously had not escaped Draco's notice. He'd surely seen the stares, sometimes curious, sometimes accusatory, heard the whispered denunciations – but his impudent demeanor gave the impression that he'd not noticed, or if he had, that he was plainly above the judgement of those who might consider themselves his peers. Now, Hermione felt guilty that she'd assumed his façade was impenetrable. The mighty Draco Malfoy sniffled and studied his feet before her. He looked exhausted, pale, hardly an imposing foe. Before she'd given herself the chance to think better of it, she had thrown her arms around his neck, pulling him into a rough hug.
Draco drew a sharp breath and stiffened as she touched him, and she was immediately, painfully aware of her error. She dropped her arms as he pushed her away, more roughly than he had probably intended, both hands making contact with her chest and forcing her backward. Hermione's ankle caught in the leg of her chair and she toppled to the floor with a cry of surprise. He was over her almost immediately, cursing and dragging her by an arm to her feet as if he was angry that she'd had the audacity to fall. Hermione felt a bit like a rag doll, flailing to regain her disrupted center of balance and over-correcting, this time falling face first into Malfoy's chest, her nose rubbing roughly against the wool of his jumper. He grasped both of her arms firmly at the shoulders and stood her at arm's length as he spat out a mouthful of her hair. Her face flamed and her eyes welled again. This had gone all wrong. She only meant to offer him a little comfort and now she was bruised and embarrassed and being held up by her arms with Malfoy looking at her as though she might sprout horns at any moment. When he leaned forward and kissed her, she had no time to react.
It wasn't a rough kiss, angry or brash like she would have expected if she could have ever expected such a thing; it was tentative, testing the waters as though she might hit him had he not still had her arms pinned firmly to her sides to keep her on her feet. She did not hit him. Instead she did nothing, waiting until he pulled away from her to first take a breath and then take a step backward, shaking free of the hands still grasping her arms. Malfoy's cheeks flushed pink and he began to stammer an apology, a scowl twisting his face back to something Hermione recognized. She held up a hand to stop him.
"It must be awful, living under the burden of expectations that you can never hope to meet," Hermione murmured softly.
Draco's hands hung limply at his sides, and he would not meet her eyes. "You don't know anything about expectations," he insisted again, but the venom was gone from his voice. In his face, Hermione could see the shadow of the boy that she'd met six years prior, the sworn enemy of her best friend, the malicious git that had never shown her an ounce of kindness, and her stomach twisted with the realization that the tables had been fully turned for him. She wondered if her first instinct had been the correct one, and reached out again to touch his sleeve. This time he did not shy away from her touch, and so she moved a step closer, closing the gap between them. When she put her arms around his neck to hug him, he sagged against her, his face buried in her hair. She could feel his breath, hot and ragged, on her neck, and when he clumsily brushed her hair away to kiss her again, this time she let him.
From that point things had gotten, in Hermione's estimation, completely out of control. That the two had finished the project on schedule was a small wonder given the amount of time that they spent on other endeavors, progressing from snogging to undressing one another relatively quickly given the rest of their shared history. The animosity between them wasn't entirely wiped out, but they found that they were both more satisfied fucking than fighting - Hermione's appetites were voracious and had never been satisfied so unabashedly in her rather short scope of experience. Draco's tendencies ran toward the reckless, and this kept her breathless and excited. She never knew when he'd want her, and when he summoned, she went willingly, even eagerly, and he knew it. He began to revel in the things he could make her do for him, slipping a note into her Advanced Potions book with an invitation to meet him under the Quidditch stands, and lingering at the top of the Astronomy tower after a midnight class, where she would quickly, quietly give him all of the things she knew to give, and a few new things he knew enough to ask for. There was no love in the pairing, and not much respect, either, upon reflection, and Hermione was certain that if either had an inkling of what sort of trouble they could get themselves into, they would have never been as careless as they were.
But as things stood, they were too young and too engrossed in their nascent and firey needs for good sense, and so it was that Draco's unfortunate taste for danger that ultimately changed the course of their futures. That night could jump easily to the front of her mind without invitation; she recalled that it began as it usually did, Draco teasing her about her cowardice, his Malfoy sneer making her despise him and sending a now-familiar thrill down her spine all at once as he covertly slipped a hand under her skirt to playfully pinch her arse. He reminded her that it was two o'clock in the morning. He asked who she possibly thought would catch them out at this hour. She had nervously resisted him at first, as she always did, but gave in when his mouth found the spot between her neck and her shoulder that made her shiver and clutch at him, allowing him to undress her completely and pose her invitingly across the table that she still shared with Harry and Ron in Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom. Perhaps it was the ever-lengthening platinum hair falling about his face, or the fact that Hermione was moaning "Malfoy!" repeatedly and quite clearly, but when Professor McGonagall opened the door of her classroom, there was no doubt that she had identified one of the young culprits on sight.
"Mr. Malfoy!" she shrieked. "Stop that this instant! You have gone too far this..." But she fell silent mid-sentence, her mouth still moving but no sound coming out, as Draco pulled his lips away from the neck of the girl pinned beneath him. Professor McGonagall got her first view of Hermione Granger and the silence in the wake of her robbed speech seemed to drag on forever. After taking a deep breath, she regained her voice and murmured, "Get dressed, both of you."
Hermione's hands shook as she hastily pulled her nightgown over her head, realizing too late that it might be inside-out and deciding against fixing it, instead cinching her housecoat more tightly around her waist as Professor McGonagall sent a house-elf to fetch Professor Snape. She couldn't bring herself to meet Draco's eyes and retreated to the safety of her regular chair behind the polished wood of the table. When she'd amassed the courage to look up from her tightly laced fingers, Professor McGonagall was behind her desk resolutely studying something that looked to be a blank parchment on her desktop, while Draco slumped in his assigned seat across the aisle from her. Hermione's thoughts were racing. The two of them would undoubtedly be expelled. She glanced at Draco with sidelong animosity for talking her into such reckless behavior but found no relief in being furious with him - his normally pale face had taken on a new level of pallor and he looked painfully aware of their situation. She knew that his expulsion from Hogwarts would be the nail in his family's social coffin, especially when his father's cronies caught wind of her Muggle parents.
When Professor Snape, dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe, threw open the door with a crash that echoed through the large room, Draco's pallor listed slightly green. Professor McGonagall rose to meet him near the door and they spoke in hushed tones, heads pressed together in unusual conspiracy. Hermione heard Snape mutter, "Minerva, the boy's been through enough," and she glanced over at Draco, who met her eyes with sick desperation. A few moments later, she watched Professor McGonagall bustle through the classroom door and into the hall, and Professor Snape walked to where they sat and stood between the tables, glowering.
"Mr. Malfoy, Professor McGonagall is summoning your father at my behest," Snape informed him, leveling a dark glare at the Draco's wilting form.
He didn't look up, but murmured, "Thank you, sir."
It dawned on Hermione that for Draco, this was the largest of favors - while his father's anger was unavoidable, he would certainly rather learn of his son's expulsion before it became fodder for the society columns, which had been less than forgiving to the Malfoys of late, than after it was too late. Snape shifted his gaze from one guilty face to the other, shame-induced blooms of color rising in Hermione's cheeks under his gaze. She was momentarily relieved when he turned his attention back to Draco, but again surprised by a sharp pang of guilt for her part in the situation as the professor's words bit into Draco exactly where he was most vulnerable.
"Your family hardly needs another stain on its reputation, Mr. Malfoy," he muttered in an undertone. "Your father will be hard-pressed to buy a way out of this particular dilemma for you." Draco winced at the words.
Professor McGonagall returned to the room with an entrance more understated than Snape's and the four of them sat in a heavy silence for what seemed like an eternity. After some time, the stillness was punctuated by sharp, determined footfalls echoing against the stone floor of the corridor, which made Hermione's gut clench painfully and drew a fresh, ragged sigh from Draco. Professor Snape jumped to his feet and met Lucius Malfoy at the door, pulling it shut before the rest of them could catch a glimpse of the elder Malfoy. In the stillness, they could hear the echo of Professor Snape's deep voice resonating in the hallway. Although they could not make out the words, the information being conveyed was evident. There was a pause, silence, and then Lucius Malfoy roared, his rage apparent. She heard Draco moan softly, "Oh, Merlin," and watched him try, unsuccessfully, to sink into his chair. Again, the rumble of Snape's voice reached them, his words coming fast and smooth and there was momentary silence before the door opened with a creak. Lucius Malfoy strode into the classroom, Professor Snape at his heels. In contrast to the rest of them, he looked impeccable - well-tailored robes, his traveling cloak lined in burgundy silk, boots impossibly shined, hair queued back neatly. Hermione idly wondered if he ever slept or if he simply always went about that well heeled. As he brushed past her, she caught his scent - the dry, slightly heady aroma she'd associated with fear and loathing for as long as she could remember, and it freshened her awareness of the gravity of the situation. He turned to face them, his heels snapping sharply together, his lip drawn up in a snarl, and his gaze fell to her. Unhurried, his eyes crawled over her and she felt her cheeks reddening again, though she tried to meet his gaze defiantly. Then his appraisal fell to his son, who had managed to square his shoulders in as dignified a manner as possible, though dread wafted off of him in waves.
"Really, Draco," he spat through clenched teeth. "What exactly were you thinking?" But when he turned to address the two professors, his tone was surprisingly relaxed. "Given the unfortunate events of the previous year," he began, " I thought it best to wait until the end of the term to make a formal announcement. The children, however, seem to have forced my hand a bit." Lucius shot an acerbic glare over his shoulder at Draco, who winced again. "Severus, Minerva, you shall be the first to know." He paused as he turned his back to them and faced Draco and Hermione again, a contemptuous smile turning the corners of his mouth, his eyes flitting from one to the other. "Narcissa and I are pleased to announce that Draco and Miss Granger are engaged to be married."
Draco turned a shocking new hue of pale and closed his eyes unsteadily, but Hermione scarcely noticed. She felt as though she'd been hit in the stomach. She opened her mouth to protest, but Lucius's narrowed eyes fell upon her, daring her to speak, and she closed it again.
Satisfied with their reactions, he returned his attention to the professors, both of whom wore their shock across their faces unhidden. He continued. "The wedding is being planned to coincide with the conclusion of the spring term. Rest assured, professors, that my son and his fiancée will keep their activities a bit more… shall we say… discreet? You won't be troubled with this matter again. Now," he briskly rapped the end of his cane against the stone floor, "when the two of you have imposed much-deserved sanctions, I'd like a moment alone with the children. I'd very much like to impose a sanction or two of my own."
Professor McGonagall, wearing an expression that fell somewhere between horror and dismay, seemed relieved to be able to wash her hands of the whole situation. Fixing her eyes on Professor Snape, she sighed, "Fifty points from Gryffindor, and fifty from Slytherin, if you agree, and I shall leave the situation in Mr. Malfoy's hands. His sanctions are clearly more creative than I could hope to accomplish." Professor Snape nodded curtly and she rose to her feet, passing between Hermione and Draco and muttering, "Congratulations to the both of you," nearly inaudibly.
Snape rose to leave as well, his eyes sweeping from Hermione to Draco and back again. "I should hope," he advised them, scowling, "that in the future the two of you might choose your extracurricular activities based upon what does not involve dragging the sleeping from their beds at unspeakable hours." As he passed close to Lucius, he paused for the briefest moment to place a bony hand on his shoulder, and then he was gone, closing the classroom door behind him.
Draco had hardly heard the click of the latch before he cried, "Father, what are you playing at?"
Lucius raised an eyebrow. His mouth curled up in the corners smugly, and he looked quite satisfied with himself. "My dear boy," he drawled, "I have just saved your skin and the reputation of your family. A simple word of thanks will suffice."
"You can't expect me to marry her! A Mudblood!" Draco fumed defiantly and Lucius's eyes flashed cold, gray steel, any hint of a smile gone.
"You, Draco," he spat, his tone punctuated and biting, "forget yourself. You are my son, and you will do what I say. Miss Granger seemed sufficient to you for trysting, and she's certainly a worthy match for you, save her unfortunate lineage. Your use of such language to describe your betrothed will not be tolerated." Lucius paused, taking notice that Hermione's hands had curled into tight fists on her desk. A smile crept back over his face, one that might have been amused but looked slightly predatory. "Besides," he murmured to Draco but kept his eyes on Hermione, "there is nothing that will return us to good graces with the Ministry as quickly as welcoming a Muggle-born to our family with open arms."
No one had addressed Hermione directly yet, and for that she was grateful, but Lucius was not about to let her slip through the cracks. He turned toward her and now there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in his eye for amusement.
"So, Miss Granger," he drawled deceptively softly, "this is indeed a fortuitous turn of events for you, is it not?" He tracked her, studying, watching for any hint of reaction.
She was careful not to allow her fingers to curl into fists again, and she took a great, gulping breath, considering her answer carefully. Draco Malfoy had always been a malicious git, but his father was downright dangerous. Lucius took a step toward her, and her breath caught in her throat, cutting off the response she'd been calculating. Her eyes were locked on his, and her heart pounded wildly. Despite her determination to not be intimidated, she squeezed her eyes shut, absently rubbing at her temple with her fingertips, and when she opened them again, she could not meet his gaze.
Draco saved the moment by choosing to resort to a posture she hadn't seen him adopt since their second year at Hogwarts. He crossed his arms, slouched in his chair, and muttered, "Filthy little Mudblood."
Lucius rounded on his son so quickly Hermione almost didn't see him move. In a blur of black robes, he was standing over Draco, who shrank away from him in true terror. "My patience with you, Draco," Lucius hissed, "wears thin. Because you lacked either the restraint or the good judgment to simply toss off before bedtime like the rest of your classmates, we find ourselves in our present predicament."
"Father," Draco whined quietly, "you've told me a hundred times that I am a Malfoy, and as a Malfoy..."
"You are entitled to take what you want," Lucius cut him off. "But what you have clearly failed to glean from my lectures is that there is a price to be paid for everything. Your complacency made you stupid, and your stupidity led to this. Had you been anyone else, both you and Miss Granger would have been on the first train home, with your reputations and your futures jeopardized by your expulsion. Your name still grants you certain considerations, but you must pay that price, now more than ever. You will respect Miss Granger and her new position in our family, you will do as I say, and you will thank me for interrupting my rest to come here and clean up your mess."
Draco was silent for a moment, and then mumbled resignedly, "Thank you, Father." He was still scowling, but the combativeness had gone from his posture.
That matter settled to his satisfaction, Lucius again gave his attention to Hermione. "Now, Miss Granger," he continued, "I will take the liberty of informing your parents of the happy news."
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tightly, the wood beneath her forehead now warm from her contact. He had summoned her, she remembered. She should not keep him waiting. She could almost feel his presence behind the door. Once again raising her hand again, she rapped softly, turned the knob, and pushed the heavy door open without waiting for a response.