Disclaimer: 4 million book locked up in a vault Rowling. 0 e-story accessible to anyone with time on their hands me. I see no comparison, really. Rowling sold her Tales of Beedle the Bard for that much, and only the most elite can even glimpse the actual book, much less read it. My opinion (not that anyone's asked me) is that books are meant to be shared. Why write it if no one but a couple rich SOBs are reading it?
So, no, HP is not mine. But you can enjoy this story for free anytime, any day. No key necessary to access.
begin begin begin
When she'd worried herself into a frenzy over meeting Harry again, she'd thought of nothing else. But Hermione had just come face to face with Draco Malfoy, and she froze. Dear Merlin. All ye saints and prophets, I never thought what I'd do when I met Draco again! The moment's fusion of their eyes passed when Professor Snape began his instructions, but Hermione's heart continued to tap rapidly in her chest, and memories flooded her.
"Hermione! Hsst!"
"What, Draco? I'm trying to concentrate here!"
"I'm bored."
Hermione looked up from her scattered papers that were rudimentary drawings of the outside of Potter Palace and stared at the blond boy incredulously. "You're bored. And why should I be interested in this?"
"Entertain me!"
He looked every bit the perfect image of the whiny brat she'd left behind in her past, his lip pouting out slightly and his grey eyes glaring at her as if she were a dancing bear for his amusement.
"Merlin, Draco, you imbecilic child! You sound like your schoolboy-prat days, you know. 'I'm bored, entertain me'—go thwack the living hell out of one of the dummies in the other room, or take a nap, or read a book, or talk to Pansy about healing potions or something, and stop bugging me!"
"Granger, you've just impugned the Malfoy name by calling me an imbecile. A child I can live with. A prat, I will proudly claim. But Malfoys are not stupid! Prepare to die!"
Half-shrieking, Hermione dove for cover under the table just in time, and the impromptu sparring duel began. A half hour later, breathless and having involved the others and sorted into more or less two teams, Hermione smirked triumphantly at a winded Draco. "Do you concede, Malfoy?"
"Concede? Never!"
"Too bad. Sorry, Skye, say goodbye to your little lover here!" The remaining members still standing on Hermione team descended en masse on the sole survivor on the other side, one Draco Malfoy. On the sidelines, the 'dead' players watched with great interest, and Skye Corwin with no less amusement than the others, as her boyfriend pleaded for mercy in between helpless giggles from the expert tickling.
Class was uneventful, but Hermione felt as if she had been through yet another ordeal within the one period, trying to avoid looking up and staring at Dra-damn it, in this world he's just Malfoy!-Malfoy to see the differences between the one she had gotten to know and the one that existed here today.
She must have been successful, because Malfoy walked out as soon as class ended without a second glance back at her, and flanked by his usual bodyguards and various tag-a-longs. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, and allowed herself to be swept into the boys' conversation as they made their way to their next classs.
It stayed with her the rest of the day, though, and at dinner she couldn't help but give a fleeting glance down to the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy held court.
Or rather, didn't, today. Instead of the trademark smirk and nasty joviality she remembered from before, Malfoy was seated in his usual seat, but staring listlessly at his food. He seemed to pay no attention to the chatter flowing around him, instead staring at the plate in from of him as if it was the cause to all his troubles.
Now that Hermione thought about it, she really couldn't remember Dra- Malfoy acing his obnoxious self even before she'd embarked on her unusual field trip. And he'd been at Hogwarts for Christmas, she remembered him at the table during meals. Why would Malfoy stay in Hogwarts over Christmas? He taunted Harry several years back about not having a home to go back to over break. Come to think of it, there's really been nothing out of Malfoy for the entire year now, except for the odd sneer at Harry, Ron, and me. I don't ever see him skulking around anymore. In fact, I only see him at meals and in the classes that I have with him. I wonder what's going on with him?
Hermione couldn't recall anything that the Draco of the other world had particularly mentioned about his sixth year, so presumably it was something that was different in the two worlds.
Wait. Or perhaps not. Draco did mention off-handedly that in sixth year, he'd had the toughest decision of his life and he didn't regret what he chose but he wished it could have been different. I never asked. Maybe this is what's going on with this Malfoy. He has to make a decision between right and wrong. And there's no guarantee that this Malfoy will pick the right one. Shit.
She supposed she could have just let it slide. It wasn't her life, after all. But two things forced her hand. One, that whatever Draco Malfoy was involved with might actually affect her and her world significantly. But more importantly, because the Draco that was in the other world had been her friend. And friends don't let friends get lost. Sure, technically this isn't my friend Draco. But he has the potential to one day be that honorable and courageous man with a sly and witty sense of humor and a sweet and very tender heart. And I will do my best to help this Malfoy become as admirable, or my name isn't Hermione Granger. That night, Hermione resolved, she'd tell Professor Snape about her observations and fears and the little she knew about Draco Malfoy.
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"Let me get this straight. In essence, Miss Granger, you've decided that I am now your- oh, what do the Muggles call it- your therapist, in whom you confide all your irrelevant thoughts and feelings? Is that the reason for your sudden verbal diarrhea?"
Undeterred, Hermione stifled an involuntary giggle rising up at Professor Snape's scathing use of Muggle terms. Verbal diarrhea? Therapist? You know something's wrong when you find Professor Snape's verbal attacks more funny than scary or infuriating. Oh dear. Don't laugh, Hermione that definitely wouldn't help my cause any.
"Well, Professor Snape, as I have explained many times, you are one of the few people I know who knows the full extent of my life, as well as knows the basics of the Muggle world. I also see you on a regular basis. Therefore it stands to reason I'd ask you to help me explain my theory to Professor McGonagall. I don't think I'd be able to explain it that well, I'm too entrenched in the Muggle world to know what to explain—it's all natural, it would be like Malfoy trying to explain how magic works to a Muggle. And in the other matter—" here, Hermione sobered, and looked up firmly into the man's eyes.
"I have seen a world where Draco Malfoy becomes a charming young man with an open heart and a firm code of beliefs in right and wrong. I knew him as a man of integrity who hasn't lost a whit of arrogant confidence and Slytherin cunning, but tempered with a real concern for his fellow beings. I don't want to face him—even if it's only in dreams, my head, or after I die—and tell him that his counterpart made several wrong choices and ended up mired in things too big for him to handle, and I could have stopped it but didn't. I owe it to my friend, Professor. And I know that you hold much influence over Dra- over Malfoy, no matter how much he tries to avoid it or shake it. He respects you. He wants your approval badly, any fool can see that. As one of the few important people in his life right now, you are the natural choice to confide my knowledge of the other Draco to, knowing that you can use that to help Malfoy. I can't exactly waltz up to Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy and tell them about an alter-world's version of their son-turned-good."
There was a silence, where Hermione caught her breath. She knew that she was being completely un-spy-like and un-subtle right now, staring in apprehension and hope at Professor Snape. She wondered if he would berate her for that—it was the cultivation of her spying, deception, and stealth that was the actual reason she was meeting with him tonight, after all. But after a long moment, he finally nodded slightly, and she breathed out in relief.
"Very well. I will continue to keep an eye on Draco. Your next lesson with Professor McGonagall is in two days, is it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"I shall invite myself to your lesson, but you will explain yourself to her, with me on-hand for anything you are unable to communicate."
It was the most concession she'd get from him, and Hermione smiled thankfully. "Thank you, Professor Snape. You have no idea what this means to me."
"Now that you have wasted half our time with your useless idle yammering, we will get started on the arts that Slytherins prize and cultivate. Your acting skills will only take you so far. How are your listening skills, Miss Granger?"
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I'm exhausted. Hermione flopped down onto her bed, mentally drained. She'd just been put through a mental blender by Professor Snape, and she was sure it was payback for springing her two requests on him at the start of the lesson. He'd quizzed her on the importance of memory.
"In the business of snooping, it isn't prudent to jot down everything of significance that you learn. Can you tell me why?"
"Um, sometimes I wouldn't have the time, if it happened to be when I'm rushing?"
"Correct, but you neglected to remember something just as important. Anything written is a liability. Remember that, Miss Granger. Anything you write has the potential to be used against you, or obtained by those who should not gain such information. Now, what is the solution to this obvious problem?"
"To…memorize things?"
"Inadequate. Memorize what, exactly? The color of a Ministry official's curtains?"
"The specific information that I am searching for, or the information that is especially pertinent to our world, sir."
"Better, but not enough."
"I don't know what you're trying to get at, sir!"
"Will wonders never cease, the know-it-all has admitted defeat to a little questioning session. You'd never make it in any sort of interrogation, unless you kept your trap shut the entire time. The correct answer, Miss Granger, is this: that a spy who wants to keep from getting caught and be successful must memorize three simple things. One, the exact order and placement physically of the place you are snooping around in. It wouldn't do for the owner of said place to return and find papers mysteriously in a different position. Two, you must have a pre-memorized list of significant common words related to what you are set to spy for. Those words are the trigger words for you to listen more closely and to memorize anything that may be said or written. And thirdly, a good spy must remember first and foremost the persona they are, as if it were themselves. For all intents and purposes you are the person you are pretending to be, whether it is by Polyjuice Potion or simply a nasty version of yourself. Are you catching any of this, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, sir." Hermione scribbled frantically, writing in shorthand to keep up with his lecture.
"Put down the pen, Miss Granger. This is your first exercise with memory, to take away the main points of this lecture and only skim the rest of the babble that goes with the explanations, and to remember them for next lesson."
"But-"
"Who is the professor here, Miss Granger?"
"You, sir."
"I'll thank you to remember that."
"Yes, sir." Hermione struggled to keep from frowning and her brow furrowed as she tried to focus on memorizing what Professor Snape said as he continued his lecture, moving on to various techniques on how to listen well, memorization devices, and how to maintain an act far past just acting and well into forcing the self to be the person she needed to be for the entire time she needed to be that person.
Hermione hadn't known how absolutely tiring being a spy was. Even if she wasn't going to be an actual spy for a while, except for within the school among her classmates, she would need to be alert for anything relevant, 24/7. It must be so much worse for Professor Snape, their only real spy within the Death Eaters, who had to constantly be someone he wasn't on so many different levels that she doubted that even Professor Snape really knew who exactly he himself was if he wasn't pretending, at least on some level.
Her assignment was to remember all the main points of the lesson to recite back to Professor Snape, as well as practice noticing minute changes in the same setting, like a pen being moved from one end of her desk to the other. She wasn't looking forward to the next lesson, especially as Professor Snape had hinted at a thorough lecture on memorizing a chunk of speech or text verbatim to the point of being able to recite it back, after only having heard or read something once. How I'll do that, I have no idea. It seems impossible. But if Muggle waiters and waitresses at high class restaurants can memorize the entire menu for their customers, and then also their orders, then it may be possible. Just difficult. Like I need any more difficult in my life…
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I'm exhausted. Should have known straight off that teaching that brain would be hard work, with the surprises she sprung on me right at the start. Although her theory about Elemental magic and Muggle atoms is quite ingenious and creative, I must admit. And I am still slightly shocked at her concern for my godson. Draco worried him, more than he had let on to Miss Granger. Severus hadn't gotten any further in getting the boy to confide anything, and continued to remain distanced and sullen. He didn't appear to be eating well either. If what Miss Granger had willingly expressed about the other Draco's character was anything like this Draco Malfoy, Severus hoped that his enlightenment to the man Draco could become as well as the ambiguous references to sixth year would help somehow in his quest to really get to Draco. The boy deserved better than his lot, paying somehow for the crimes of his father in more ways than one. If it had to be Miss Granger who helped Severus to guide Draco, then so be it. He'd endure the chit if it meant saving his godson.
Oh, stuff it, Severus, you know you'd work with her willingly any day, and not just for your own gain.
Huffing at his own traitorous thoughts, Severus growled the commandment to kill the lights, and tried to ignore his wandering mind's examination of the extraordinarily intelligent witch. And if it felt hotter in his room than was justified by the dungeons in winter, well, he must have cast extra-strong warming spells on his blankets this evening. It certainly had nothing to do with how he had always had a weakness for intelligent and outspoken witches.
A.N.: Any thoughts? Questions? Suggestions? Let me know in a review. I love those. Thanks to all who have already reviewed, whether anonymous (I can't respond, but I hope you know that I really appreciate it nonetheless) and those that are signed as well. You guys are awesome. Thanks also to those who have either put my story on alert, or on their favorites, and those who have put me on their author list, it makes me happy. :)