Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Knee Socks
Hermione leaned her chin against her palm, chocolate colored eyes scanning the opened tomb in front of her as the soft droning of Professor Binns did little to curb her mind from wandering. This time last year she had begun a rebellion that was sure to be written about in years to come in texts similar to the one open in front of her now. So much had changed in a single year. More than she had ever thought possible. And if you had asked her a year ago if she could find herself back at Hogwarts, finishing up her last year of her wizarding education while her two closest companions were off starting their careers with the newly reformed Ministry, she would have likely told you not be be daft. It was only when it became painfully apparent that the only thing she was qualified for was a entry level Ministry job or stepping into the Auror program with Harry and Ronald, she knew she needed to return.
It wasn't that she didn't find the profession admirable. Quite the contrary, she thought it ludicrously heroic that Harry and Ron wanted to help keep the new era of peace over the British Wizarding Ministry and the various Commonwealth. They had just spent the last six years fighting to keep Harry alive, in addition to themselves and half the bloody population. The idea of going back into the trenches, figuratively speaking, was not something high on her bucket list of things to accomplish before she perished.
So no, if you had asked Hermione a year ago if she would be a twenty-year-old seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she would have, without a doubt, unequivocally told you no. But fate did have a funny way of showing its hand in the most unconventional ways possible, this much she was certain of.
Hermione glanced up from her text when she heard her name followed by a rather loud throat-clearing from across the room. She sat upright immediately, the feeling of twenty sets of eyes burning into her skin as she straightening her spine until she sat rigid. "Uh.. I'm sorry, Professor. Could you repeat the question?"
"Miss Granger, being one of the most senior students in my class, I expect you to set an example for our younger students," the ghost scolded, peering at her over the ever present set of spectacles. "Perhaps Mr. Malfoy would care to enlighten us with the answer?"
Draco's decision to return to Hogwarts had been less of a choice, and more of a sentence, if you will. When facing the Wizengamot, Lucius used his only child's education as his last move on the ever rotating chessboard he had been playing. The Malfoy patriarch had chosen the losing side in the war, and this time around was unable to hide his associations. Even with Narcissa's blatant deceit to the Dark Lord, which helped Potter and company secure victory, her good deed was not enough to wash away the numerous sins her husband had committed.
Thus, death by Dementor in exchange for his son and wife's absolution was granted, under the condition that Draco devote 10 years to Ministry service post graduation from Hogwarts. The latter was a suggestion made by the curly-haired swot who sat precisely three rows up and one seat to the left of Draco. Always in the corner of his vision, swinging her legs as she listened to lectures like some fucking child. She had been present at all of the sentencing hearings of the Death Eaters and in particular, decided to speak out at the Malfoy family hearing.,offering the suggestion of forced servitude and education as a way for him to atone for his family's faults. Let Draco make right his father's mistakes, for he had committed no crime that could be sentenced beyond his family name.
Fucking cunt. She knew nothing of his sins. And she certainly knew nothing of the implications returning to school would have for him, especially considering she would still be here. Tainting him with her very presence, penetrating his mind, invading his bones.
"The Transylvanian Vampire Revolution began in the 1700's and concluded shortly before the 1800's. While being paramount for the rights of Vampires worldwide, it is often forgotten due to the Witch trails that were occuring." Gray eyes flashed to Hermione for the briefest of moments as the last few words of his answer were recited. It was brief enough that none of their fellow classmates might notice, but long enough for his eyes to flicker across her parted lips, his hand clenching in response to the primal feeling that it stirred inside him, and just as quickly as he glanced over, he looked away; back to the Professor just in time to catch the apparition's praise.
He hated himself for the bubblings of desire her felt for her, for many reasons, but the most of which being that she was everything he was taught to hate. And yet, despite years of attempting to force himself to do just that, he had come to covet her.
He waited until he was certain that she had looked away from him, Hermione's attention pulled back to the blackboard as she sought to redeem her fall from the Professor's good graces (although, it would not take much for her to sit back on that pedestal she so happily climbed each morning, now would it?) before he dared lift his eyes to her once more.
Class has been in session for nearly two months, and she showed no signs of discontent at her return. How could she fucking do this? Prance around in full regalia and pretend like everything was suddenly better because a few dark wizards were thrown in Azkaban, or executed? How could she wake up every morning, put on that bloody fucking uniform and act like everything was normal? Everyone knew that the aftermath of war was far worse than the battle. Once the bloodshed ceased, each side was finally forced to deal with their loss of loved ones, and worse, their humanity. His lips pulled back into a sneer and his quill stopped moving as his eyes ran across her.
She still wore her Gryffindor uniform every day like some haughty Prefect or Head Girl. (News Flash: Neither of them were eligible for the rank due to their age. McGonagall made sure as shit to pull them both aside to explain the absence of the ostentatious badges with their letters.) She wore same fucking jumper that hugged her breasts just a little too tightly, because she was far from being a gangly teen. The same pleated gray skirt that ended just a little too high up her thigh now and the same bloody fucking socks. Knee socks. Dark gray, with little patterns woven into the fabric. Fucking-knee-socks... What twenty year old woman in her right mind would wake up and roll a pair of thick gray knee socks on each morning before class? She had to be nineteen-twenty years old? Surely she had other hosiery options by now!
Draco had refused to even pack his uniform when he left the Manor for Hogwarts. He might be forced to come back to this reformatory for the criminally depraved (himself) and socially awkward (Granger), but he would be damned if he was going to spend another day in a uniform that looked like a god damned House Elf designed it. His eyes lingered on her legs, watching the way the pleats in the gray skirt parted over thighs, showing just a glimpse of supple skin that he knew he should not long to caress, but he was unable to look away.
Hermione could feel him staring. She always knew when he was because her skin on the back of her neck prickled in response. At first she thought it was her imagination, but over the past several weeks she had glanced across the room in response to the feeling only to find a pair of steely gray eyes burning holes into her. Lifting her hand, she brushed her curls from her neck before clamping her hand around it, fingertips pressing into the skin to soothe the ache. She knew her body's response to Malfoy's gawking was involuntary, but truth be told it did pique her curiosity.
There were only a small handful of pupils from her year that returned to Hogwarts after the war, and due to the nature of their suddenly much smaller class size the Headmistress had arranged sleeping quarters for what the school was calling 'Eighth Year' returns. Under normal circumstances Hermione would have liked the idea of being given a separate dorm so she might be able to focus on her studies further, but suddenly she was forced to share a common room with a mix from all houses, including a rather surly group of Slytherins. With Ron and Harry's absence in the new dormitory, there was no one around to ease the crushing isolation.
When class was dismissed, Hermione turned to slip her parchment and quill away in her book bag, chancing a glance up in Draco's direction, and for a second their eyes connected. The prickling feeling at the back of her neck intensified, causing her breath to pause and for the short-lived moment it almost seemed as if he was going to say something to her.
But just as quickly as it came, it went away. Draco looked away as he made a hasty escape from the classroom.
Hermione sat there a moment, watching the heavy wooden door swing shut at his less than gracious exit and her brow furrowed. They had obviously been far from friends during their previous school years, but surely things could be different now, couldn't they? She helped testify for him, and there were only a small handful of students in their year left.
Rising from her seat, she hoisted the heavy book bag over her shoulder before beginning her exit. It was nearly 2pm and History of Magic was her last class for the day. The prospect of returning to the common room seemed less than ideal, for no studying would get done, which meant she could either head to the library, or the newly remodeled Central Tower which held a particularly quiet nook that overlooked the castle grounds. Pursing her lips at the internal debate, out of the corner of her eye she noticed a soft glinting coming from Malfoy's desk.
She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one would be held up by her investigation, then Hermione moved up the aisle that separated her row from Malfoy's and to his desk. There, in the center of the wooden seat sat a thick silver ring. She might not have noticed it if it was not for the bright orange glow that poured in through the upper windows of the classroom.
Reaching out, she picked up the ring, twisting it until the face of the jewelry could be seen. She would have known who it belonged to even she had not seen who had been sitting in this particular desk, for it far to gaudy to belong to any student other than him. Although the silver was polish, it showed it's age; it was well worn, marred with scratches too deep into the precious metal for any cleaning (Magical or Muggle) to fix; a family heirloom if she had to guess. On the face of the ring a flat black stone, onyx, and embedded into the gemstone was a large M.
As she ran her index finger across the smooth surface of the stone, the corner of her bottom lip was bitten as she debated if she should return it to its owner or leave it on the desk for someone else to find. It wasn't until the sound of the heavy door opened and a particularly noisy group of second years began filtering in that she decided on the first option.
She fisted the ring in her hand as she made a hasty exit, letting her eyes drop to the floor as she passed the students who, upon realizing the Hermione Granger was in the room, ceased their boisterous conversation and began to whisper with each other.
Just as she reached the door, the hand not hold holding the ring reaching for the handle, she heard one of the second years behind her.
"Um… Excuse me?"
Glancing over her shoulder, a forced half-smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Yes?"
"Are you Hermione Granger?" Clearly having been the one to draw the short end of the stick, a small raven haired Hufflepuff girl stepped forward.
"Um...Yes," Hermione replied, "at least, last time I checked I was."
The Hufflepuff girl laughed, despite Hermione's failed attempt at humor. "I thought so! My friends were too shy to ask," she explained, glancing over her shoulder to the group of girls behind her who were watching the interaction with baited breath.
Hermione nodded, glancing between the group of girls and the brave tribute who stepped forward. "Alright...well… I probably ought to get going. Professor Binns will be back to start your class soon." She lifted her hand from the door handle to give them an awkward sort of goodbye.
"Wait! We-uh.. I have a question!" the Hufflepuff said quickly as she was shoved in the back by a blonde Ravenclaw. "Um... I read in the Prophet you were dating Ron Weasley…I was just curious if he and Harry Potter will be coming to visit you?"
Oh… of course. They weren't interested in knowing she was here. They wanted to know about the boys. Her boys. The same boys everyone looked over, and no one gave the time of day until after they were all War Heros. Glancing down at her hand, her knuckles whited for a moment on the handle and a soft chuckle was let loose from her throat. "Um… Yeah. I supposed they might pop on by this year," Hermione replied before biting her bottom lip, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
"Oh, brilliant!" the girl replied before turning to her friends, who were suddenly falling into fits of giggles between hurried whispers.
Yanking open the door, Hermione moved to make a quick escape. Her cheeks flushed as moved down the hall quickly, shouldering past groups of second years that were making their way to their last class of the day, and as she rounded the corner to make her retreat up towards the library she careened face first into someone.
The impact sent her reeling back, stumbling over her own feet until she landed ass over tea kettle onto the stone floor, her bookbag opening and its contents scattering across the corridor. Her ink pot, thankfully, did not crush upon the impact, but the set of new quills she had purchased last week at Hogsmeade were snapped in two. "Oh shit. I'm sorry. I was in a hurry. I wasn't looking-"
"That much is obvious, Granger. I'm nearly surprised you weren't nose first in a book, per usual," came and all too familiar drawl. Theodore Nott. The polished brunette stood to her left, looking down at her with a smirk pulling at the right corner of his lips. "You alright? Or should I fetch Pomfrey to check your backside? If you're open to untrained professionals, I would offer my services, but I think Malfoy here might be first in line."
If Theo was there to her side, that meant that the only logical person she could have run into could only been one person.
"Shut up, Theo," Draco hissed, turning around to look down at the witch still sitting haphazardly in the middle of the corridor floor. He hesitated a moment, glancing up and down the hallway as if to make sure no one was watching, before his left hand was extended to Hermione.
She gulped, eyes wide as she looked at the pale hand extended to her. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she struggled to find something to say in response to his gesture. Yes, it was completely normal to help up someone who fell, but this was Draco Malfoy. The boy who had spent years practically disinfecting every surface she had touched before him. "Uh...What are you doing?" she blurted out.
Theo, clearly finding far more humor in this situation than the rest of them, tipped his head back in laughter, his hand coming up so he could dab the corner of his eye with his fingertips exaggeratedly.
"Trying to help you up, but if you'd rather make home in the middle of the corridor, by all means. " Draco lifted a single manicured brow as he leaned forward just a hair further, gesturing his palm towards her expectantly. He watched her eyes flick to his hand, debating if she should just accept his offer of help. Just as he was about to pull away, not wanting to be made the fool by someone, let alone her, Hermione reached out and placed her smaller hand in his. The response was instant; he could feel it roll across his skin like a hot summer's breeze, the source of the heat generating from where their hands curled together.
"Thank you?" Hermione replied uncertainty. "I was actually coming to find you, Malfoy." Hermione's right hand smoothed across her skirt, making sure it was flat against her thighs as she moved to collect her fallen book bag that lay at Draco's feet.
"His wet dreams have finally come true, Praise the old gods!" Theo lifted both hands towards the ceiling. "Circe, if you're listening. Please also grant his wish for a bigger prick. I'm afraid the one he came equipped with is far too small to please anyone."
Draco, having been well-practiced in ignoring Theo's antics, simply shook his head. "Ignore him. Theo's always had a bit of flare for the dramatics," he tried to explain.
"Excuse me. It is called having an affinity for theatrical endeavors," Theo corrected, his hands dropping to his sides unceremoniously as he rolled his eyes at his friend. Reaching into the breast pocket of his blazer, he withdrew his wand and with a careful swish and flick of his wrist, the spilled contents from Hermione's bag began to lift off the stone flooring and float towards her.
"Like I said...dramatics." Draco's hand curled around the strap on his own book bag. Why hadn't he thought of helping her pick up her belongings? "What did you need me for? Help studying, since clearly you have not been paying attention in class? I don't really do study partners, but I suppose I can make an exception since you're usually my only competition for top of class. It's been a bit boring with you off your usual mark."
Hermione's cheeks crimsoned as she looked away from Draco, busying herself with snatching the floating ink pots and broken quills from the air to shove them inside her bookbag. "I was actually just trying to return your ring," she explained, thrusting out her hand that was still curled around the jewelry and uncurling her fingers.
"Oh.." Gray eyes dropped to the ring that sat in her palm and he reached out, careful to pick it up without touching her. He twisted it between his fingers for a moment, watching the black stone glint in the torch lit hallway before he slipped it onto his ring finger.
Theo lifted his hand, smothering his smile as he watched them like a spectator to Quidditch, except this time he was just waiting for Draco to open his mouth and say the next idiotic thing to his long-time crush.
"You left it in your chair. I figured you might want it back," Hermione explained, pulling her extended hand back to rub her palm against her hip. As they all stood there in awkward silence for half a minute, Draco's eyes fixed on the ring, Theo looking between the two of them, and Hermione awaiting some sort of gratitude from Malfoy, she realised how utterly stupid it was to expect a thank you. "I should go. Better get to studying since I'm clearly, how did you put it, off my mark?"
Draco winced at her words, and when she slipped between the small opening between Theo and himself, he didn't move to look at her.
"See you around, Granger," Theo called in a singsong after the retreating witch, his fingertips drumming a playful beat against his chin as he craned his neck to watch her disappear down the corridor, before he glanced over to Draco who was standing like a statue next to him. "Study partners?" he questioned, raising his brows.
"Shut up…"
"What? No it was real smooth." Theo laughed, beginning to double-step after Draco who had decided to make his own retreat from the encounter in the opposite direction of Hermione's. "I mean….what witch doesn't love a backhanded compliment? Especially one delivered by her best friend's adversary." As he reached Draco, his arm went out to drape over the blonde's shoulder. "I mean it: real great attempt. Bra-fucking-vo."
Hermione took the stairs two at a time, her heart thundering beneath her chest from the pace in which she was climbing the tower. Off her mark? Is that really what he thought? Sure she had been a bit distracted, but certainly not off her mark! Hermione' cheeks tinted a further shade of crimson at the thought and as she made it to her favored nook in the tower, she dropped her bookbag on the window seat before she moved onto her tiptoes, pulling herself up onto the deep ledge.
The outside of her left thigh pressed against the cold glass as she leaned back on the window frame, straightening her spine as her palms ran over her face as she replayed the conversation in her mind. She and Malfoy had not spoken in months, not since before his trial, and it was not exactly like they were friends before that, but the insult hurt worse than it should. Partially because she knew it was true; she was not giving her classes her full attention. She felt lost, slightly alone and like she was delaying starting her life post-Hogwarts because she had not a fucking clue who she was. But it also hurt because part of her did not want him to be the one to say it. Because somewhere, deep down inside, the feelings she had for Draco, the same feelings that she had forced away for years, began to bubble.
Leaning forward, she opened her bookbag, pushing past the broken quills and spilled papers. She withdrew her History of Magic textbook and pulled it into her lap. She'd show him. She was far from off her mark. And as she sat there, thighs pressed together, knees bent to hold up the book, her fingers played idly with her gray socks, letting the smooth fabric run underneath her fingertips as she did everything in her power to forget the feeling of Draco's eyes on her, and how when he helped her up from the floor, only moments ago, the same same feeling had rippled across her skin.
Author's Note:
Well this was never supposed to happen, but I stumbled across an AMAZING Poet who inspired this fic from her beautiful work. (See Nikita Gill and devour her work like I have done). The title for the fic is actually a collection of poems she has written that I am drawing the most inspiration from. This is probably going to be an every other week schedule while I finish up Right the First Time. I hope you enjoyed the first (short) chapter and come back to see what else I have in store for you.
As always, I love you Islandgurl777. She is more than just an amazing beta. She is my kindred spirit.