Two.
When the door opened to the Headmaster's office Draco was hit by a beam of sunlight pouring in from the windows at the far opposite wall where he stood. He fought not to scowl in the glare of the light; it warmed his face immediately to the point that it felt like he'd just suffered severe embarrassment.
Within seconds he was overheated, beginning to sweat inside his robes, and he hadn't even stepped foot inside yet.
"Ah, welcome, Draco. Please," Dumbledore, who was standing behind his desk, waved him in and then gestured to the chair before his desk, "sit."
Draco entered the room stiffly, no smile or expression of greeting on his face. He lowered himself into the chair and waited apprehensively for the Headmaster to explain why he had summoned him. He suspected he already knew, and wondered if he would be sent home that very day, although he wondered why the Headmaster could not have scheduled their meeting for the previous day.
Dumbledore sat back down into his chair as easily as if he were only twenty rather than however old he might really be. He looked at Draco rather seriously through his spectacles, his stare nonthreatening, but a little unsettling all the same.
"I trust you had an enjoyable journey yesterday morning," he said rather measuredly.
Draco had hardly spoken a word since the day before. The only other person he'd spoken to was Snape. Over the summer, he'd gone through days at a time where he hadn't said a word in between. He licked his lips and opened his mouth.
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent." The Headmaster nodded. "I expect you know why I summoned you, Draco?"
"I've got a good idea why."
Dumbledore paused to study Draco for a moment, his eyes never wavering.
"I had not the mind to allow you back into Hogwarts after the events of last term. I believe you are aware of that."
"Yes, sir."
The sunlight was still heavy on his face. Draco wanted to tell the Headmaster to close his damn curtains, for heaven's sake. He would be blind by the time the interview was over.
"Your father and mother pled your case very passionately," said Dumbledore. "They were insistent that you remain here at Hogwarts."
Draco nodded.
"However, I have heard nothing from you," the Headmaster said. "I would like to know your thoughts on this matter. Why should I allow you back into my school after attacking another student?"
You shouldn't, Draco thought.
When Draco took too long to reply, Dumbledore added, "You understand my hesitation, do you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You have a history of losing your temper, as evidenced from last term," Dumbledore said. "If you continue to be a danger to your peers, I cannot in good judgment allow you to remain here."
Draco opened his mouth to speak. The words felt stiff and forced on his tongue but he hoped that the Headmaster could tell that he actually meant them. "I understand, sir. I deeply regret my actions."
Dumbledore might have been surprised by his words, but it was difficult to tell. The only reason Draco suspected it was by the way he hesitated a moment too long to reply.
"That is welcome news, indeed."
Draco didn't smile back.
"I would like to know that you are being sincere." Dumbledore asked, and Draco shifted in his seat. "Is there any way you could think of that could prove it?"
Draco frowned. "I don't know, sir."
The Headmaster studied him through guarded eyes.
"Would you be willing to take some Veritaserum?" he asked.
Draco's mouth had gone dry. Uneasy anger bubbled inside him, and he had to tamp it down, reminding himself that obviously Dumbledore wouldn't have believed him straight away. Anyone who did otherwise was a fool. Given his record, it was no wonder he doubted him.
"If it's absolutely necessary, yes."
The Headmaster said nothing for a moment, and Draco stared back, wondering if he should have refused instead. It was probably not ethical for a Headmaster to ask that of a student, but he wasn't too concerned about legality when he wanted to be as far from his home as possible. If Dumbledore had asked him to jump through the eye of the needle, he'd have done it, never mind the fact that he had been ordered to kill the wizard not two months prior.
"I believe that won't be necessary at all," Dumbledore said at last, and Draco felt himself relax a little in relief. "It is actually illegal for me to ask you that, not that I ever had the intention of doing so, although I do appreciate your willingness to cooperate." He stood rather heavily from his chair, his long sleeves getting tangled in each other as he reached up to adjust his wizard's hat.
"You are granted permission to stay," he said, and Draco felt himself relax a little.
"…Thank you, sir," Draco said.
"I trust you will be on your best possible behavior, however," Dumbledore said, looking at Draco from above his spectacles, perched precariously as they were on his crooked nose. "If I find you have lied to me, or are repeating your actions from last term, I will not hesitate to expel you, and you will have to find someplace else to continue your education. Have I made myself clear?"
"Of course."
As he left the office, Draco found himself feeling grateful towards the Headmaster. He ignored the feeling at once and focused on the trek back to the Slytherin dormitories.
He could not afford to feel anything besides apathy towards him. Anything less and anything more than that would spell trouble.
"How much time have we got left?" Ron asked from behind her. Hermione, who'd been totally engrossed in a book, jumped. Harry was sitting on the opposite side of the tree, quiet as he'd been since the end of last term.
Hermione sighed, looked at her wristwatch. "Ten minutes. We should leave now, actually."
"Now? It's ten whole minutes!"
"Yes, and it's ten minutes to get back inside the castle, get our things, and get to the fourth floor before the bell."
Ron crossed his arms. His wrinkled tie hung loose around his neck. "Harry and I usually manage it without all the worrying."
Hermione was already standing, straightening her robes. "That's also why you have so many detentions." She picked a piece of a leaf off of her sleeve and gave her hand to Harry, whose leg had gone numb. She hoisted him up and he stumbled as he tried to stand, wincing.
Ron was still scowling by the time they got to class. Hermione paid him no mind and sat down in her seat, brought out her text and some parchment.
Happy consequence of their rushing in early was they were the earliest in the room-a rare occurrence for Harry and Ron. The latter gave her a sour look, displeased to have ended his lunch hour so soon. Hermione smiled and tapped her fingers on her desk gently, eager to start.
As everyone else began trickling in, red faced and winded from the climb, she rifled through her older notes, just to make sure she was on track. That day's particular topic was already written on the board in the front of the room in McGonagall's stiff hand, and just because she had nothing else to do she began to copy it all down. The Professor entered just as she started, and Hermione straightened in her seat, just as Neville came in and sat down in front of her, wheezing.
Most of the Slytherins came in right as the bell rang, sliding into their seats quickly. Hermione caught glimpse of familiar blond head and looked back down to her notes, suddenly too aware of how tightly she held onto her quill. When she finally looked back up she could discern without looking in his general direction that he'd sat in the farthest side of the room from her. The pale blond of his hair was barely visible in her peripheral vision, and as the time passed he never once looked anywhere else than the front of the room, and Hermione allowed herself to relax.
The lesson passed quickly. At the end of it, Hermione packed her things and waited for Harry and Ron by the door. Pansy met her there, looking grim.
"Dreadful lesson, wasn't it?"
Hermione laughed. "Hush, you. Did you pay attention at all?"
"Yes, and that's how I know it was dreadful." Pansy's deadpan tone broke away as she laughed. "But Transfiguration has always been my worst subject, so I ought to study rather than complain."
Hermione tucked her wand away inside her robes. "I'll help, if you like."
Harry and Ron had caught up, they greeted Pansy awkwardly.
"I think you'll have to, unless you want your poor friend failing this class," Pansy said. "Right then. I'm off. I know we're due for dinner in an hour but I'm starving. I'll be in the kitchens if anyone needs me." She waved and left.
Harry, Ron and Hermione began their walk to the dungeons for their next class.
"Bit of an odd one, her," Ron said.
"How so?"
Ron made a face. "She always looked so cold to me. Haughty, you know? It's strange seeing her like this now."
Hermione laughed. "Is that all? Some people can't help the neutral expression of their face. Either that or she was in a foul mood whenever you happened to see her."
It was clear by his expression this was something he'd never considered before. "Hm."
Harry was busy rifling through his battered secondhand copy of Advanced Potions.
"This thing's all marked up to hell," he muttered. "All the margins are full of notes. I can barely read any of it with my glasses on."
"That's a good thing, usually. The margins thing, that is," Hermione replied. "They could be useful."
"Yeah, or maybe they're full of shit notes and bad drawings," Ron said, and shaking his head, Harry closed the book.
"Who've we got Potions with today?" he asked.
"Hufflepuff."
"Oh, good," Ron said as they came in view of the doors. "Ernie Macmillan owes me five sickles."
"For what?" Hermione asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"We bet on a game of Wizard's chess. Cormac McLaggen vs Padma Patil."
"And who won?"
"Padma, of course. Ernie's been avoiding me since."
The moment they entered the classroom Ron spotted Ernie and made a beeline for him, and managed to steal back to his seat just in time, pockets clinking, as the Potions Professor entered the room.
This class passed more slowly than the others. Hermione hated it in the dungeons, and she hated Potions class too, no matter how well she did in it. Professor Snape had a special gift for making others feel uncomfortable, and it was for that reason the room was almost always silent during his lessons. It was as if he wanted everyone to be as miserable as possible-which wasn't too wild a guess when Snape was the subject.
The dungeons were always the coldest parts of the castle-if it weren't for the prepared cauldrons already warming up the rooms, she would have been able to see her own breath. She wondered how Snape could tolerate spending most of his time in such conditions, but as she didn't care much for the Professor, the thought was forgotten instantly and replaced by something more important.
They were to work on a Pepperup potion, as Madame Pomfrey was running low on stock and had asked him for more. The recipe was easy enough to her so the work came smoothly and she had time for idle thought as it brewed.
So strange-he could still feel the sharp, cold air from that night, pricking at her lungs. She remembered how his hands had felt, pressing into her back, occasionally slipping a little lower by accident when she'd stumbled or slowed. There were nights that she'd wake from some blank dream, clutching at her hand, where the scars stung as if they'd just been cut fresh into her flesh while she'd been asleep.
Much as she wanted to put all that behind her, she'd realized unhappily that it was quite impossible.
After she'd abandoned Malfoy in the Forbidden Forest that night she'd rushed into the castle and found Harry. He'd told her what had happened to Umbridge, how she'd insulted the centaurs and how they'd carried her off somewhere deep inside the forest. She'd felt sick at first, thinking of what she'd done and if she'd be in trouble, but then her hand had inexplicably begun to sting and she'd looked down on it and remembered how she'd got it, and why. The feelings of guilt had gone at once.
I'm glad, she'd thought, distantly horrified with herself.
It was frightening how that part of herself had been so fully revealed in one night; that dark, angry part of herself that she rarely paid attention to, much less knew that existed inside her. There'd been times it'd made a brief appearance-she thought of Rita Skeeter as a beetle, trapped inside her jar- but never to this degree.
That whole year felt like a fabricated memory, but none so much as that moment when Malfoy had kissed her. It resurfaced sometimes, the memory, and she still wasn't sure what to think of it.
He'd denied it, but she was positive of his attraction to her. How hadn't she noticed it before? It was almost comical how blind she'd been to it. The few encounters where it'd been almost glaringly obvious-when he'd scared her in that very storeroom that was only a few feet away from where she stood now, the way he'd looked at her while he'd had her cornered by the Room of Requirement. The way he'd looked at her after the kiss, his eyes half closed, tongue darting out to lick his lips as if still wanting to taste her there. She shivered.
It shouldn't have surprised her, it really shouldn't have. She should have known, should have seen it coming. But fear had blinded her. That and the silly notion that such a thing was impossible. Well, she'd been proved wrong. And now what?
He had kept his part of the deal so far. She saw him frequently every day, in between classes, during meals, even outside on the grounds while they had their free periods. Sometimes she'd see him moving through the library whilst studying. But he never once looked at her or came near her, and so she was content.
When the news had broken out that his father had been arrested at the Ministry, she'd immediately wondered what his reaction had been. More rage? Or the stone-cold silence that he was sometimes prone to?
She had not seen it happen. Lucius Malfoy had attacked them at the Ministry for a brief moment before a larger group of Death Eaters rushed in, and she hadn't seen him at all after. Bellatrix Lestrange had been there too, so she'd been informed, but she hadn't seen her at all. Or perhaps she had, she didn't know. There'd been too many faces there and too much going on to concentrate on each one, and she'd been half blind from the sparks and curses and hexes flying around the rooms they'd fought in. She remembered running without thought, deeper and deeper into the Ministry. The sounds of so many footsteps behind her, and not always knowing if the source was from friend or foe, everyone kept getting split up. Harry ran ahead too quickly, tangled in a duel with Lucius Malfoy for the Orb, and she'd thought it had ended at last when she saw him with Lupin, stunned and shouting something, until she'd looked closer and saw the grief in their faces. Ron joined her moments later, and whatever he'd started to say died at once in his throat.
And Sirius...she glanced at Harry, who was reading his textbook and stirring his cauldron. The pain he must feel, even months later. The way he'd been screaming...it still hurt to think about. Their summer had been so tense and at times, hostile. It was awful to see what grief turned people into, especially when it was your best friend. He'd been so angry for so long, had kept to himself for long periods of time, snapping at her and Ron even when they knew he never meant to. She remembered his outbursts and wished she still had her Time Turner, that she could go back and somehow prevent him all this pain. The only problem was she'd given up her Time Turner long ago, and all the remaining ones had been accidentally destroyed before her eyes that very night.
He's coping, though, she thought, staring at him from the corner of her eye. He's getting better.
She hoped she was right.
At the end of class Snape walked around the class, judging everyone's potions. Neville had been working in secret with Parvati Patil, and had managed not to make a mess of anything. Snape looked into their cauldrons and left without saying a word. Neville let out a squeak of an exhale and Parvati grinned.
Lavender Brown's potion received a disdainful sniff, and Ron's was ignored completely once he caught sight of the ominous trail of smoke coming from it. He paused beside Hermione, gave the faintest roll of his eyes, and then went to Harry. The class went still, as it usually did when they awaited a confrontation between the two. Hermione turned carefully, not knowing what to expect.
Snape was looking into Harry's cauldron. There was a pause, so brief but then he moved away.
"Passable," he said coldly. "Barely."
Harry looked shocked. The rest of the class stared blankly. Hermione shot him a grin and turned to face the front.
"That was a bloody miracle, mate," Ron said after class as they climbed through the entrance to the common room.
"I don't think I've ever gotten such praise from Snape," Harry said jokingly.
"The way he looked, you'd think Neville had just become the Professor!" Ron said, laughing.
"Well you're getting better at Potions," Hermione said, putting her schoolbag down on the floor. "It was bound to happen! He can't fail you for that."
Harry had a funny look on his face but he nodded. Hermione didn't notice, she was rubbing her shoulder where the strap to her bag had dug in.
"Dinner?"
Ron dumped his bag beside hers. A pot of ink rolled out and with his foot he kicked it back in.
"Lead the way."
Dinner was the usual noisy affair. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan recounted what had happened during Potions to the others, who were just as surprised as everyone else. Harry received some congratulations uncomfortably, and insisted it had all been a fluke.
After she finished eating Hermione pulled out a small book from her robes and tried to read to pass away the time but couldn't. She tried again to absorb the words she was looking at but her attention kept wandering so she closed the book and put it away.
"You ok?" Ron asked her.
"I'm fine," she said, standing. "Just tired, I think. I'm going to the common room."
"Alright."
She rose and began to move, but looked over her shoulder to bid them goodnight. Without meaning to, her gaze locked onto Malfoy, who was sitting farther on down the room. Something about his appearance gave her pause and she frowned. As if he sensed her stare, he looked up, and she quickly averted her eyes, fighting her guilty blush. Harry and Ron hadn't noticed.
"See you in the morning?" They nodded and she left.
What the hell was that?
An accident, she told herself. I didn't mean to stare. I don't even know why I did.
At the very least, she'd been the one who'd been staring at him, not the other way around. She'd instigated it. He hadn't broken the rule.
Draco watched her leave and went back to staring out the window.
He didn't look at her. Well, yes he had, but he'd caught himself just in time before meeting her eyes so his gaze had stopped abruptly at the lower half of her face. And then she'd turned away. He wondered if she considered that violating her rule. Would she be delivering on her threat now? He wasn't sure. Why had she blushed? She had no reason to, if she thought he was guilty. Over the comforting calamity of the background sound that was dinner hour, he heard the heavy doors close at her exit. He resisted the urge to follow her, and turned back to his meal.
"I still can't believe they let that git back in," Ron muttered, kicking at a bit of rubbish on the floor. "Dumbledore should have expelled him the second he set foot off the train. It would've been amazing to see the look on Malfoy's face when he realized he'd have to take the train all that way back again."
"Apparently his parents were very persuasive in getting Dumbledore to reconsider," Hermione said drily.
"That, and they pulled a few hundred strings, too," Ron added. "And everyone knows they've got all the right ones."
"It's bloody ridiculous," Harry said, shaking his head. "I really didn't think Dumbledore would have let him come back. He's got to have some reason why."
"He probably doesn't want to get smoked out of the school again and forced into hiding by Lucius Malfoy and all the other important idiots he's got up his sleeves," Hermione said. "From what you told us, he's been extremely busy this summer, and I don't think he wants to be set back any longer."
They reached the Fat Lady's portrait. She was not there. Ron sighed heavily and sat on the floor. Harry leaned against the wall beside him, and they began to wait.
"We could always push him out a window," Harry said, and Ron burst into laughter.
Hermione fought back a smile. "I'd rather you didn't."
There was a drip somewhere in the corridor. It was so faint, but it echoed around them. Ron reached up from the floor to knock on the portrait in vain, knowing nobody could hear him through the other side. Harry cleaned his glasses.
"Off the Astronomy Tower, then?" Ron offered. "Or his broomstick?"
"He deserves worse than that, I think," she replied, "but I'd rather not focus on him anymore."
Harry and Ron traded a look between themselves.
"What if he comes after you again?" Harry asked.
"Oh, he won't," Hermione said with the barest of smiles.
"Now how are you so sure?" Ron asked, crossing his arms.
"I just do. I don't have to worry about him, thankfully, so I can focus on more important things."
"If you're sure," Ron said a little dubiously. He took out a roll from a pocket in his robes and bit into it, then offered some to Harry and Hermione. They both declined.
The Fat Lady stumbled suddenly into her portrait, breathing heavily. In her hands she clutched a new bottle of wine and sported several stains on her dress that suggested it would not last long.
"About time," Ron said, standing quickly.
"Yes," the Fat Lady slurred. "'About time!' But none for a 'how are you?' or 'good evening,' as always!" She hiccuped, and sat down into her chair looking quite cross. "You would get bored too, and always be going off for a look around if you had no place else to be but here!"
Ron had turned bright red. "Er-sorry."
"How are you?" Harry asked quickly.
The Fat Lady smiled graciously, her cheeks pink covered in powder. "Very well, my dear, thank you."
She reached out to place her new bottle of wine on the small table beside her, and missed. It fell to the painted floor and smashed into pieces. The Fat Lady looked at it in shock for three whole seconds before she slumped backwards into her chair, one palm covering her eyes. They heard her whisper an obscenity.
"May we go in?" Hermione asked after a moment of silence.
The portrait swung open without their even having given the password, but not being ones to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry, Ron, and Hermione scrambled inside without another word, Ron stifling laughter all the while.
A/N:
Please, if you're so inclined, be a darling and leave a review. Thank you for all the favorites and follows-I know slow updates aren't everyone's cup of tea but I want to make sure this story is at its best for you all. Not much action so far but I promise it'll pick up. I'm just really excited about this.
EDIT: Whoops. I totally forgot Snape was teaching DADA instead of potions at this time. And that Lee Jordan would have graduated already. I've gone and fixed that last part. Thanks to April for kindly pointing that out! I don't want to go and rewrite a good chunk of this first chapter, so I'll address the Snape and Slughorn thing in the next chapter. Let's just pretend Dumbledore didn't take Harry on that trip to hire Slughorn over the summer, and somehow inconveniently waited until school started.
