It has been nearly five years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and perhaps Hermione would not have even recollected this particular event yet again if a certain Malfoy hadn't just walked into her office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, slumping into the chair across from her desk with the sort of smug expression that seems to characterize his whole family.

"Pleasant to see you, Granger," he says, not even bothering to mask the inherent sarcasm coloring his words. "You're looking quite..." He lets his words ebb off, an insult implied even in his silence.

Hermione does her best to ignore the fire spreading across her face, a blush intensified by the irritation only his presence in a room can bring on in her.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she spits out, feeling defensive about this invasion of her private space by the only bully that still intimidates her. "Come to complain about how unfair it is to give Muggle-borns equal rights? Or the vote? Perhaps air?

"Oh no, Granger," Draco responds, the sneer on his face growing into a suspicious looking grin as he leans back, stretching his arms out before lacing them behind his head, "I've come to aid them."


Very few of the Hogwarts students in Hermione's year return to the school after the war ends, but Hermione has always loved learning, and she refuses to leave the castle, no matter the shape it is in, with less than a full education. She finds herself spending much of her time conversing with the professors, especially McGonagall, who invites her up for tea in her office at least twice a week. Returning members of Gryffindor are sparse, and though Hermione has always encouraged and enjoyed inter-house friendships and relations, she still finds herself feeling lonely.

That winter proves to be the coldest she spends at Hogwarts, and Hermione finds it more isolating than sleeping in a tent on the run. At times, she considers moving into the library because, most nights, she only falls asleep while reading in its quietest nooks. It's the one form of relaxation she can stand.

The tranquility of her bookish evenings abruptly halts some time in early March. During one particularly nasty snowstorm, Hermione sits curled into a chair, feet tucked under her as she absorbs a history of wand making. She has just begun a passage on the qualities of ash wood wands when she senses someone else's presence.

"Really, Granger, could you be any more of a complete bore?" Draco asks, glancing over his shoulder to sneer at her from his position just a few bookshelves away. "Surely, even you, in all your backwards Muggle raising, realize that one need only know what one's wand is for and, hopefully, how to use it."

Hermione sits in confused silence; normally, this would be the time for a biting retort, but despite the fact that she and Malfoy are two of only seven returning students from their class, he hasn't spoken to her for the entire last term, nor before now during this one. She wonders if he's found some new student to torment, but Hermione suspects that, truly, Draco Malfoy is avoiding her as if a reminder of his one kind moment might be fatal to his health.

"Do shut up, Malfoy; I'm sorry your brain cannot apparently contain more than idiotic insults and racist remarks, but other people do enjoy learning." Hermione turns back to her book, ready to delve into more information on every material used for wand making, when Draco walks just behind her seat and comes to a stop, glancing at the page she's attempting to read.

"Perhaps, Granger, you should quit learning about wands and remember, when the time comes, to use yours," he says before sliding out of the room.

Hermione sits in stunned silence for quite a while before going back to Gryffindor tower. She doesn't visit the library after class hours again for the rest of the year.