CHAPTER SEVEN
Dinner that night passed by in a whirlwind of detached chatter and the clinking of dishes. Hermione picked at her food in silence, her mind too preoccupied with thoughts of the following day to pay much attention to the conversations around her. Her mood varied as much as the courses that appeared on the table, ranging from astonishment at being invited to bear witness to such a monumental experiment, to nervous excitement at the thought of spending time away from the school with Professor Snape, and then to near paralyzing anxiety at being in Lucius Malfoy's presence again.
At the moment, the last emotion was winning out. Snape had told her not to worry about the aristocrat's prejudices but it wasn't so easy to forget about the hatred she had been confronted with each and every time she had been face to face with Malfoy Senior. She also couldn't just gloss over what he had put her and her friends through in the bowels of the Ministry two years ago. Whenever she had nightmares of that night, it was Lucius' pale, pointed face and flaxen hair that was always in the foreground.
Hermione's brow creased as she speared a broccoli floret with her fork and took a bite. Now that she thought about it that had been the last time she had seen the elder Malfoy in person. It was a well-known fact that he had been one of the prisoners to escape during Azkaban's second mass break out the previous year but the blond had been conspicuously missing in the final battle. After the smoke had cleared and all the Death Eaters rounded up and carted away, Harry had commented on Malfoy's absence. The newly-confirmed hero had made the presumption that Lucius was either too cowardly to show his face at the final confrontation or that Voldemort had ordered him to stay behind and lead the second wave should the first be defeated. When no second wave arrived, the Aurors had no pressing reason to find or detain the pure-blood so his disappearance was filed under "Good riddance" and left at that.
As far as the Muggle-born witch knew, Lucius Malfoy had not been seen in public since. She had been leaning towards the theory that he'd fled the country until she had spotted Draco boarding the Hogwarts Express on September first. Surely, if the son was still in Great Britain then the father was as well.
In the grand scheme of things this year, the Malfoy family had been quite low on her list of priorities. If Dumbledore trusted them enough to allow Draco to finish his last year of school and award him with Head Boy status then he evidently knew something that she and her friends did not, which was pretty much a given when speaking of the headmaster. As long as Lucius wasn't off somewhere trying to bring the Dark Lord back to life — or worse yet, take up the position himself — his whereabouts hadn't really been any of her business.
When the former socialite's name had been uttered in the dungeon laboratory the previous week, however, his fate had been thrust foremost into Hermione's mind and had become seemingly intertwined with her present. If Malfoy was revealed as the same evil, egocentric, nepotistic bastard that he'd always been, Snape's continual friendship with him would give her serious qualms as to the Potions Master's character. She couldn't, in good conscience, continue to have feelings for a man that freely embraced the misguided notions of blood status or overlooked that quality in his comrades.
Hermione glanced up at the staff table and happened to meet the gaze of the man in question. She gave him a tentative smile and felt the butterflies in her stomach spring to life when he bestowed her with a tight-lipped nod in reply. Gods, she really hoped that he wouldn't let her down.
After the dinner dishes had disappeared, Hermione brushed off her concerned friends with a mumbled, "I'm fine, just need some air," and opted for a quiet stroll around the castle to clear her head. With no destination in mind, her feet instinctively led her down the well-beaten path to the library.
Thankfully, the inner sanctum appeared to be silent and deserted when she pushed through the heavy wooden doors. Even the ever-present Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen. Hermione loved the library this way. She had spent more time within these four walls than just about anywhere else within the castle and the times she cherished most were when there was no one around to disturb her thoughts.
As she walked aimlessly through the stacks, the Gryffindor ran her fingertips across the spines of the books on either side of her, letting the radiating magic and knowledge ebb her anxiety. She wound her way to the back of the library and was surprised to find one of her classmates sitting near the entrance to the Restricted Section in the highly-coveted overstuffed armchair that she had rightfully claimed as her own years ago. Though a book obscured the boy's face, there was no mistaking the arrogant pose, Slytherin robes, and white-blond hair of Draco Malfoy.
Despite her annoyance at finding the Head Boy in her beloved cubby, Hermione's conscience urged her in his direction. She had recently gained an insight of sorts into the wizard's psyche and her compassionate side was drawn to the suppressed anguish that she assumed he was battling. Bastard or not, she couldn't just leave him there to suffer when she had information that would ease his pain.
It was that kind of thinking that had her quietly approaching his chair and clearing her throat to get his attention. "Malfoy?"
The blond looked up sharply from his book but his surprised expression melted into a sneer when he recognized the source of the interruption. "What do you want, Granger? I'm not finished with this book." His focus dropped back to the tome and he lazily waved his hand at the shelves around them. "There's bound to be one or two others in here that you haven't yet memorized."
Hermione's eyes narrowed but she mentally brushed off the barb. Being called a bookworm and a know-it-all too many times to count had built up her tolerance to such remarks, especially from this source. "May I sit down? I'd like to talk to you for a minute."
The wizard studied her from behind the leather-bound pages, suspicion and uncertainty evident in his pale eyes. When he apparently couldn't determine her motive, he shrugged indecisively, which she took as consent. With a small smile, she sat down across from the boy that had been her enemy for the better part of a decade.
The Head Girl wasn't altogether sure how to start such a discussion and when she didn't say anything right away, the Slytherin's curiosity turned into irritation.
"Well?" he snapped.
"I worked with Professor Snape today," she blurted out in one breath, jarred by his tone.
Draco scowled, wondering why he was being bothered with such nonsense. "I fail to see how your superfluous detentions in the dungeons lately should concern me. What did you do this time? Forget to dot an I on your last essay?"
Hermione smirked. So the Gryffindors hadn't been the only ones to notice the ridiculous antics of the Potions Master. That was good to know. "Actually, it wasn't a detention. I assisted him with brewing the Cruciatus cure he's been researching," she replied, carefully watching the boy's features for any signs of danger. Snape had warned her the previous week that the elder man's condition was a private matter and she didn't want to anger her classmate by bringing the subject up.
Realization dawned on his face and dark clouds swirled through his normally pale gray eyes. "I don't need your pity, Granger," he ground out, his tone lethally cold.
"I don't pity you, Draco," she replied quietly, using his given name to emphasize the olive branch she was attempting to offer.
"Then why the hell are you here? Come to rub it in my face? Wanted to tell me that my Death Eater father got exactly what he deserved?" he spat viciously. He expected as much coming from one of Potter's ilk and was surprised that this sort of confrontation hadn't happened yet.
She recoiled slightly at the anger in the boy's words and glanced around the library. The fact that Madam Pince hadn't materialized yet, brandishing her feather duster like a sword, didn't bode well for the librarian's health. Hermione pulled her wand from her sleeve and surrounded the two of them in a privacy spell, causing the Slytherin's eyes to widen ever-so-slightly.
Flashing him a placating smile, she primly laid her wand down on the table between them as a symbolic white flag. "I only found out about your father's condition recently and I would never use a person's illness as ridicule."
"Oh, that's right. I forgot. Gryffindors are too bloody noble for that," Draco replied snidely, his lip curling into a sneer again. "But that still doesn't explain why you're here pestering me. Are you spearheading some sort of Slytherin outreach program?"
Hermione sighed and silently reminded herself that slapping the little ferret again wasn't a solution to the situation, no matter how satisfying it would be. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about your father. I'm sure it hasn't been easy on you."
The blond shrugged coolly but wary eyes betrayed his true feelings. She had never realized how expressive his eyes were before, or perhaps she could only read them now because of her recent experience with deciphering the boy's Head of House's ambiguous expressions.
"I also thought you'd like to know that Professor Snape completed the potion today," she continued when he remained quiet. "He believes it will be successful."
Relief instantly softened the arrogant wizard's features, like air deflating from a balloon. "Really?" he asked unguarded, forgetting his aloof facade in light of the news. Knowing that his father was alone and suffering, near the brink of death, had plagued his every waking thought since returning to the school this year.
She smiled and nodded. "He's planning on administering it tomorrow."
Without replying, the pure-blood turned to stare out the window beside his chair, lost in thoughts that didn't pertain to the witch across from him. After several minutes of silence, Hermione cleared her throat to remind him of her presence. His eyes darted back to hers, and she was happy to see that his previous, cold expression had yet to fully return.
"Look, Draco," she said tentatively, "I'd really like it if we could try to put our differences aside and forget the past. All this House rivalry stuff seems a little childish in comparison to what we've all been through, doesn't it?"
He grinned maliciously, regaining his senses. "Don't worry, Granger. I have a whole myriad of reasons to dislike you besides the fact that you're a Gryffindor."
Hermione scowled and snatched her wand from the table, feeling like a prized fool for even thinking that things could be different. "I was hoping that you had matured a little but obviously, I was mistaken." She stood up from her chair and straightened her robes. "I'll be sure to tell your father hello for you."
"Wait!" Draco called, halting her steps as she began to stalk away. "You're going to the manor?"
Hermione turned to him with narrowed eyes. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Is that a problem? Are you worried that I'll taint your precious pure-blood home?"
The Slytherin ignored the anger radiating off the witch. "Why are you going?"
"Because Professor Snape asked me to," she snapped, turning away from him again. As she set off down the aisle, she heard the wizard's book hit the ground.
"Damn it, Granger!" he growled. "Stop walking away!"
Hermione spun back around, her wand in her hand, to find the tall blond only a few steps away. Draco's eyes darted to the wand aimed at his chest then back up before chuckling derisively. "Who's being childish now?"
This time she seriously contemplated hexing the bastard and leaving the mess for Filch to find. It would serve them both right. Suppressing that impulse, if only out of fear of how Snape would react, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "What do you want, Malfoy? I told you what I came here to say and now I've got better things to do than sit around and be insulted."
Draco studied the girl for a moment, noticing the way her bushy curls virtually crackled with hostility. He idly wondered if she'd try to hit him again. That hadn't been an altogether pleasant experience the first time and he had no desire to relive it. Perhaps a different tactic was in order. "Alright," he said calmly. "Put the wand away, come sit back down, and I'll try to keep my opinions to myself."
Hermione glared at him, trying to ascertain his sincerity, before conceding with a terse nod. Draco released the breath he had been holding and led her back to the armchairs.
"So, how did you end up helping my godfather with his potion?" the pure-blood asked once they were seated again. He kept his face impassive and his tone neutral, despite the heavy animosity in the air. "No one, not even me, has ever been allowed in his private laboratory."
"Snape is your godfather?" she asked in surprise. How had she never known that? No wonder the Slytherin Prince was the man's favorite.
"Obviously or else I wouldn't have just called him that."
"Right," she replied, filing that interesting tidbit away for later contemplation. "Well, he needed an assistant and I suppose I was just in the right place at the right time."
Draco gave her a look that clearly said he didn't believe her vague excuse. "How convenient," he drawled. "What the hell's going on between the two of you?"
Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch before she resumed control over her facilities. This was not a conversation that she wanted to have. "Nothing," she replied with false innocence. "All I did was take notes while he brewed."
"And the detentions?"
She shrugged and gave him the carefully edited truth that she had been telling her friends for weeks. "I grade essays and he ignores me."
The Head Boy barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His godfather had given him basically the same story when he'd questioned him about the witch's detentions the week before. Snape's exact answer had been something along the lines of: "My punishment of miscreant students doesn't concern you, Draco. If you must know, Miss Granger's propensity for bludgeoning everyone with her intelligence seems to have elevated this year and I'm hoping to dissuade it. If I happen to get some of my more tedious essays graded in the process then so be it."
The Malfoy heir had seriously doubted the veracity of the man's explanation. As far as he had seen, his Head of House had been the protagonist in each of his confrontations with the bushy-haired Gryffindor, who didn't appear to be any more bothersome than she'd always been. In fact, after the events of the previous year, she seemed to have finally grown content with letting her intelligence speak for itself rather than constantly thrusting it in everyone's face.
While Draco had silently approved of the change, if for nothing more than the desire to never hear the irritating witch quote Hogwarts, A History ever again, it still begged the question: What were Severus' true motives behind punishing the girl for crimes that didn't really exist?
At the time, he hadn't really believed that his taciturn godfather would intentionally saddle himself with Granger just to have a reprieve from paperwork, especially after overhearing the girl lie to the Lovegood bint the previous weekend, but maybe it was the truth. Maybe the man really had found a way to use the Muggle-born's overactive gray matter to his advantage and right under everyone's noses, Potty and Weasel included. Draco smirked. How very Slytherin.
"So tell me about the potion," he said, settling back against the cushions for what was sure to be a long-winded recital.
Hermione smiled brightly and congratulated herself on her ever-improving tactics of deception before launching a detailed description of everything that she had witnessed in Snape's laboratory, enthusiasm clinging to every word. She had been dying to talk to somebody, anybody, about the potion since the moment she had learned about it. As the discussion progressed, the blond became more and more involved, asking leading questions and making intelligent comments. Hermione was surprised by his sincere interest in the topic, which didn't seem solely due to his father being the intended recipient. Being friends with Harry and Ron, she'd never experienced an intellectual conversation with someone her own age who actually paid attention and understood what she was talking about. For the first time, the Head Girl found herself wondering if she and the conceited Slytherin could actually become friends. Given her current feelings for the boy's godfather, it certainly wasn't the craziest notion she'd ever had.
After nearly an hour of regaling Malfoy with her story, she ended with a brief explanation of her negligible involvement with the final ingredient. When she was finished, she sat back and waited for the pure-blood's reaction, expecting a swarthy insult but hoping for the tiniest inkling of approval.
To put it mildly, Draco Malfoy was impressed. It was a well-known fact that the Gryffindor know-it-all was, well, a know-it-all, but he had never considered her smarter than himself — she simply had entirely too much free time on her hands which she used to memorize every written word she could get her hands on — but even he had to admit that her suggestion of Monkshood oil was completely brilliant. He never would've considered the use of the poisonous substance a possibility in a medicinal elixir.
Now, normally, he'd rather snog a Dementor than give a Gryffindor a compliment, especially this Gryffindor, even if it was deserved, but seeing as she had aided in something that was meant to heal his father, Draco figured that he should try to say something nice. "Wow, Granger. That wasn't nearly as dense as I've come to expect from your House."
Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes at his backhanded attempt at a compliment. Apparently that inability was a Slytherin trait. "One would think that you'd remember the fact that my House scored higher than yours on the O.W.L.S."
The blond smirked but his retort was cut off by the harried arrival of Madam Pince, who promptly shooed the head students out of the now-closed library. With a shared desire to avoid her patented lecture on obeying school rules, they bid the stern woman good night and made their way out of the stacks to the fourth-floor corridor.
"Draco?" Hermione called before they parted ways at the stairs. He turned to her questioningly and arched his eyebrow when she resolutely stuck out her hand. "Friends?"
"Don't be daft, Granger," he replied, eyeing her outstretched fingers with unquestionable disdain. "You and I could never be friends."
She dropped her arm back to her side. Perhaps friendship was too much to ask from the boy that had always thought of her as nothing more than a Mudblood. "Then can we at least cease being enemies?"
Draco gave her a calculating look, reminiscent of the other Slytherin on her mind, before conceding. "I suppose I could handle that."
"I wouldn't want you to strain yourself."
He smirked cockily. "It is a lot to ask."
"Good night, Malfoy," she said in exasperation, knowing that she really couldn't expect any better.
He gave her a casual nod and set off down the staircase without further preamble. "Later, Granger."
She smiled and headed in the opposite direction, marveling at the interesting turn of events. The Gryffindor know-it-all and the Slytherin Prince on more or less amicable terms — who would've ever guessed? Despite the fact that her friends would be positively livid at the news, the more fickle recesses of her mind had to wonder if the dark inhabitant of the dungeons would be pleased with the progression.
The common room was crowded and noisy, as per usual for a Saturday night, when the Head Girl entered and she had absolutely no patience for it with the prospect of the following day looming over her head. Throwing a wave in Harry and Ron's direction, she made a beeline for the dormitory steps before they could beckon her over. She was almost to the top floor when a red blur came bounding around the corner, oblivious to her presence.
"Ginny!" she screeched.
The younger witch looked up and yelped as she grabbed the handrail to stop herself from colliding with the brunette. "Holy crickets, Hermione! I didn't see you."
"That much was obvious. Why were you running down the stairs like a maniac in the first place?"
Ginny grinned, slightly panting. "Momentum, I guess. It's quite a trek from your room."
Hermione's brow creased. "What were you doing up there?"
"Looking for you, dummy." The Chaser pulled a slightly crumpled, wax-sealed scroll from the pocket of her robes and held it out to the older girl. "Luna and I were just coming in from feeding the Thestrals when Snape stopped us in the Entrance Hall. He gave me this and asked me to get it to you.
Everything else flew out her head, forgotten as Hermione quickly grabbed the scroll and popped open the seal. Ignoring the nervous butterflies that were waging war in her stomach, she unrolled the parchment and scanned the contents.
Miss Granger,
The headmaster has given his consent for you to accompany me to Malfoy Manor tomorrow. Lucius will be anticipating our arrival at nine in the morning. I'll expect you twenty minutes beforehand in the Entrance Hall and we'll proceed from there.
-Professor S. Snape
The redhead watched her friend's reaction curiously and was a bit confused by her pleased expression. "Another detention summons?" she asked, already suspecting that it wasn't.
"Not exactly," Hermione replied absently as she read through the spiky missive a second time, a smile blooming unbidden across her features. She rolled the parchment back up before meeting the girl's questioning gaze, wondering how much she could safely divulge.
Ginny was her closest female friend, infinitely more open-minded than the boys, and completely trustworthy. She had confessed some of her most intimate and embarrassing secrets to the youngest Weasley, who had never once betrayed her. But the situation with Snape was vastly more sordid than some light snogging with an international Quidditch star. It was... Well, to be honest, Hermione had no idea what it was but until she understood it herself, it was probably best not to try and explain it to anyone else, even Ginny.
Deciding to simply put a different spin on the truth instead of another outright lie, she flashed the witch her best innocent smile. "It's nothing really. Professor Snape wants me to assist him with some research tomorrow."
Ginny's pale eyebrows shot up. "Research? What sort of research?"
"I'm not entirely sure," she fibbed. "Something to do with a potion he's working on."
"Why would he want your help?
The Head Girl shrugged. "I don't know. I guess if he has to have an assistant, then I'd be the likely choice. He already entrusts me with his essays and I do have the highest grade in his class."
"Well, just tell him no," Ginny suggested, incorrectly assuming that her friend would want to get out of such a predicament. "If it's not a detention then he has no right to force you to help him."
Hermione smiled again. "I don't want to tell him no, Ginny. How many people can say that they've assisted one of the top Potions Masters in the country?"
"But it's Snape!" she exclaimed in disbelief. "You know he's just going to give you some revolting, tedious task that he doesn't want to do himself."
The older girl giggled. "Probably, but I'm willing to do it. Even if I have to wade around in troll dung, it's still an amazing opportunity. Plus, I've been working with him so often lately that his caustic attitude doesn't really faze me anymore. No doubt he'll just ignore me like he normally does."
Ginny shook her head. No matter how much time she spent with the curly-haired witch, she didn't think that she'd ever fully understand her. Who in their right mind would willingly hang out with Snape? "Alright, Hermione. It's your funeral. But Harry's gonna throw a fit."
"I know," she replied with a sigh. "I think I'll wait until breakfast to tell him. These things always go better with the diversion of food."
The redhead snorted. "With Ron maybe, but Harry's not so easy to distract."
"Yeah, we really need to find that boy a girlfriend," she said pointedly. Hermione knew that Harry and Ginny had always behaved like siblings but occasionally she got the impression that the scar-headed brunet could easily be persuaded into a different sort of relationship with the ginger-haired Chaser.
Ginny held up her hands. "Don't look at me! You know I don't fancy him like that, not anymore."
Hermione smirked. That was indeed the fatal flaw in the plan. Somewhere over the years, the girl had outgrown her worshiping crush on the boy-hero and moved on to systematically work her way through the rest of their male classmates.
"I might be able to be bribed into distracting them both with something slightly less depraved, though. Quidditch, maybe."
"Bribed?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.
The taller witch grinned mischievously. "Yes, bribed. Snape set us a horrid essay on Ashwinder blood and I could really use some pointers on it."
Hermione grinned again and wondered — not for the first time either — if the Sorting Hat hadn't made a judgment error in regards to the girl. Her entire family might be Gryffindors but the youngest clan member definitely possessed some Slytherin characteristics. Of course, then again, so did she when she needed to.
"I'll see what I can do."
Ginny winked and said, "See you tomorrow, then," before taking off down the stone steps once again.
The Head Girl watched her friend's fiery tresses disappear around the curved stairwell before continuing up to her room. After slipping into her pajamas, she climbed onto her bed and scratched the sleeping cat behind his ears. Crookshanks purred against her hand for a moment before meowing, turning away, and ignoring her. She huffed at the ungrateful beast, settled against the pillows, and reread the scroll Ginny had delivered.
It wasn't a sonnet of undying devotion but it was definitely a step in the right direction. Snape wouldn't have invited her to join him if he truly despised her, regardless of the Monkshood suggestion. No, Hermione was almost certain that the dour man now had at least an inkling of respect for her and she'd take respect over loathing any day.