AN: And we're back! Thank you so much for your patience and continued encouragement! NaNo was a smashing success, and we cannot wait to share what we have for you all! As we continue to work diligently on our editing and writing, we've decided that our planned posting schedule is no longer feasible. Rest assured, we are dedicated to posting updates as quickly as possible, while we navigate our other priorities outside of this lovely fandom. We sincerely appreciate your interest in our story, and look forward to interacting with each of you here, and on Tumblr! As always, special thanks to our brilliant beta Irma66, without whom this story would still be in GDocs.
Chapter 4 Study Groups in the Time of...
Draco – November 24, 1996
When students of Hogwarts reach Third Year, the ability to leave the castle grounds for the day and frolic around Hogsmeade sparks an awakening of sorts within the dormitories. For the Slytherin boys in particular, the idea of escorting a girl to the village was another rite of passage; and participation was expected.
Naturally, Draco's father felt he was above all of that nonsense. Secure in the knowledge that any expectations were much further down the line, he'd been quite happy to bum around with Crabbe and Goyle, indulging in the firewhiskey they'd smuggled out of The Three Broomsticks.
At least that had been the plan, until Theo had somehow convinced him (after an absolutely ridiculous amount of firewhiskey) to accompany him to the village with Daphne Greengrass, whom the soft git had been mooning over all year. Draco had felt somewhat sorry for his friend, who hadn't outgrown his lanky, awkward phase yet, so allowed himself to be strung along as a third wheel while Theo worked up the nerve to ask Greengrass to accompany him to Honeydukes. As payback, Draco had teased him about it mercilessly for the rest of the year, making sure to bring it up to Daphne each time they'd all sat together during meals.
This moment now was absolutely nothing like that situation. In any way.
At. All.
"So, what you're telling me, Draco, is that somehow amidst all your current responsibilities, you've managed to capture the attention of the most famous Muggle-born in the last decade?"
Theo sat across from him at the table in the Slytherin common room, elbow crooked to rest his head against his hand. Draco wanted to hex the smug smirk right off his friend's face but opted to take the last bite of his apple instead.
Gods, what have I gotten myself into...
"Well, honestly, Theo, we can hardly say she's the most famous—"
"Most. Famous, Draco," Theo cut him off, dropping his arm and straightening. "And if I'm being honest, I was erring on the conservative side with the range. Nobby Leach was minister in the 1960s. So, there you have it, most famous Muggle-born since Nobby Leach!"
Merlin, Theo, was dramatic. Draco rolled his eyes, tutting at his theatrics. "Really, Theo? Nobby Leach? He was only famous for being the first Muggle-born Minister of Magic. He's hardly worth the line he gets in History of Magic."
Theo scoffed. "You would say that. You're such a snob," he teased. A beat passed before his face lit up and he said, "Didn't your grandfather poison him?"
Draco rubbed his temples. "Not that anyone could prove," he said, completely exasperated by his lifelong friend.
It never ceased to amaze him how the git managed to bring up his family's history of nefarious deeds. Had they not been friends since they'd both been in nappies, Draco would have thought he was more interested in the Malfoy line than he was in him.
Theo leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Do you think—"
Draco waved his hand, halting Theo's thought. He was running out of time and did not want to be late. "Back to Granger, at best, she is notorious at Hogwarts. I'd hardly call her famous outside of the castle." That was obviously a lie. With Potter's face splashed all over the Daily Prophet in every issue, Granger's name was bound to come up periodically. And with Rita Skeeter having made her a household name after her article of 'young love' during Fourth Year, learning she'd been at the Ministry the night Voldemort came back brought her status as 'the brightest witch of her age' roaring back with a vengeance.
"Oh really, Draco?" Theo's brow arched as he leaned back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his arms settling into the rests. "Because I heard about her dueling abilities from the Department of Mysteries... debacle. I'll give you notorious," he conceded, pointing a finger in his direction, "but only at Hogwarts? No, I think not." Theo shook his head.
Draco shuddered at the reminder of what else happened that night—the last day his father had still held a position of power within wizarding society, and just who caused his demise—but it changed nothing. He didn't have time for this; he'd told Granger he would meet her to revise, and he meant to follow through.
Even if he still wasn't ready to admit to himself why he cared about keeping his word.
"Theo, is it truly necessary that we go through all this?" he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "You'll banter at me inanely for the next twenty minutes. I'll become increasingly more agitated. And in the end, we'll be late to the library, and Herm—Granger, will be irritated with both of us for not being punctual." He immediately regretted opening his mouth. He should have known better than to argue with Theo in the first place.
Theo arched his brow at Draco's slip up. "Hermione, is it?" Theo asked, cocking his head, eyes entirely too focused on Draco.
"Slip of the tongue," he ground out through his teeth. Bloody hell!
Theo smirked. "Interesting turn of phrase, that…"
Draco chucked the remainder of his apple at Theo's head to shut him up. "For fucks sake, you tosser, will you desist and just come with me."
"Why?" Theo asked, hands raised in front of his face until he realized Draco had thrown his only source of ammo at him. Lowering them, he smoothed out the arms of his robes and straightened his tie. "Surely you don't need me as a buffer. I can hardly imagine what my presence adds." He shrugged and rocked his chair onto just the back two legs.
His demeanor may have resembled indifference, but Draco knew Theo well enough to recognize when he was fishing for secrets. And Draco had played right into his hand.
Nott was anything but stupid. Considering the nudges he'd been giving him in class whenever Granger passed by their desk, or looked in the direction of their table at mealtime, it was obvious that he knew they'd become...something. It was even more obvious that the smug fool was enjoying watching Draco squirm under the used to relish in the thrill of it when he watched Theo wear down some of the other students with his antics. It was always a game with him. Not so fun now, being at the opposite end of it.
Sometimes being in Slytherin was exhausting. More and more, Draco found himself appreciating Hermione's forthrightness. He could admit that maybe he should have brought this up to Theo sooner than five minutes before she expected them. Rather than fight it further, he opted for a rare moment of plain honesty. "Well, for one thing, she specifically requested I bring you," Draco relented. "Something about Charms."
Theo perked up at that. "Oh really? Well, that does change things. I am quite adept—"
"Yes, yes, she said as much." It dawned on him that she had an odd amount of information on Theo for having only been paired with him on an assignment or two before. The slightest stab of jealousy hit in the pit of his stomach. He'd thought it significant that she'd known a lot about himself, but now he wondered how many other students she kept tabs on.
Does she make potions for them as well? Bloody hell, Draco, who even cares?
"But more importantly, because I asked." Draco shot Theo a pointed look.
As though he was being tasked with a considerable burden, Theo sighed dramatically and moaned, "All right, all right. No need to beg, Malfoy. It really is unbecoming. I'll come babysit you and Granger."
"Thank you, Theo," Draco said, rolling his wrist in a faux flourish of a bow.
"Save your thanks," he said, waving him off. "I mean, really, this is quite the coup."
Theo stood and gave an impatient wave of his hand like Draco was holding him up. Draco shook his head but rose and collected his bag, then followed Theo towards the portal out of the Slytherin common room.
Stepping aside for the students heading in, he considered what Theo had said. Agreeing to spend time with Granger was an impulsive decision. But a coup? That wasn't what this was. He had nothing else invested into this meeting besides revising. He certainly wasn't stealing her away from her other friends.
Once out in the hall, Draco asked, "How do you figure?"
Theo glanced down at him, confused. "Figure what? Merlin, context is important to normal conversation, you know that!" he scolded, clapping his hands together.
Draco sighed and said, "This coup, as you say, how do you figure a revision meeting with Granger as such?" He scowled when the git gave him an incredulous look. "Well?"
"Slytherins invited to revise with Hermione Granger, consummate Gryffindor and future Head Girl?" Theo laughed. "It's quite the honor, mate! She doesn't work with just anyone." He glanced back at him over his shoulder and smirked.
Draco frowned. What is he on about? "Potter and Weasley? They certainly don't deserve her help, and yet..."
They began the climb up the staircase leading out of the dungeons, sidestepping the gaggle of younger Slytherins coming from the opposite direction. Theo stopped and turned back towards Draco, leaning against the wall as the students continued to pass.
"Well, that's quite different," he continued. "They're her friends. We, on the other hand, are practically the enemy!" He threw his arm out dramatically only to smack a passing Tracey Davis in the back.
"Watch it, you fool!" she snapped, giving him a quick shove before continuing on toward the Slytherin entrance.
"And a good evening to you too, m'lady!" Theo called after her, pushing himself back off the wall she'd knocked him into. Draco could only roll his eyes at the theatrics.
Draco contemplated what Theo had said as they continued to make their way through the castle, deliberately choosing the shortest route to the library. He'd made some interesting observations so far, but this one stung. We're practically the enemy. Recalling their conversation in Myrtle's loo, he could almost feel the smoothness of her hand when she'd placed it on top of his. In the moment, it was awkward and unexpected, but thinking about it now, perhaps the gesture had meant more to him than he'd realized.
"She told me I wasn't her enemy," Draco said softly, making a point to keep his voice low.
"Well, that's not what I said, now is it?" Theo's voice sounded almost sad.
It wasn't, and that gave Draco pause. Their last real encounter had been Prefect rounds. He'd left her at the portal that evening, having enjoyed himself far more than he'd allowed in a long time. He'd been mulling over her words since then—You're not as bad as you seem. After grappling with the reality of his task and the downward emotional spiral it had evoked, having her of all people offer an olive branch was turning his world upside down. He'd sent her an owl the next morning agreeing to meet and had assured her that punctuality was a Malfoy family trait. Perhaps there was something more in it for him than just being amicable.
"I don't want to be her enemy, Theo," he stated. Of this, he was certain.
"Neither do I, Draco, but times being what they are…" Theo grimaced. "In any case, I'm willing to put it all aside because I happen to care about my education. Not to mention, I've worked with her before. She has a mind that rivals mine for thinking outside the box."
They fell into a comfortable silence as they moved in and out of the clusters of students. It would have been nice, had Draco not recognized the look on Theo's face. Smug bastard. Resigning to the inevitable disaster of the Pandora's Box he'd just opened with regards to Granger, he sighed.
"You're going to be impossible now, aren't you?" Draco whinged.
The stupid git grinned. "Almost certainly."
The library entrance came into view, and Theo held the door for Draco to pass through. Hermione had told him about a table she preferred at the back near the restricted section, where it tended to be quieter.
"Mate, you do realize that when Parks finds out about this little rendezvous of ours, she's going to fall arse over tit," Theo said quietly as they entered. Draco frowned.
"What you on about? Why in Merlin's name would she even care?"
Theo scoffed. "Don't be daft, Draco. She'd care because it's you, obviously."
He rolled his eyes. Any chance of a romantic relationship had gone out the window when he'd realized he wasn't too keen on his fortune being the main reason she was with him. Even so, they'd still managed to remain close friends; they'd known each other almost as long as he'd known Theo. Of course, she did bring up their past quite often—he'd briefly wondered if this was the reason none of the other Slytherin girls had ever approached him—but he never took her leers and suggestions seriously. Though he valued her advice and... most of her opinions, there was no reason for him to justify how he spent his time. Especially not to her.
"She has no reason to get upset. What I do or don't do is none of her business."
"I'm sure you're well aware that she's made everything you do her business. I'd wager a bit of groveling will be in order once she learns of your escapades." Theo chuckled, earning him a glare from Madam Pince behind the library desk. "Perhaps we can get Granger to unknowingly give us a bit of gossip on the Weaslette."
Draco smirked. "You go ahead and see how that works out for you."
It took a few minutes of weaving through the stacks to find Hermione's table, only to realize no one was there. Draco looked around, wondering if he'd misunderstood her, but then he spotted her bag. So, she had been there. While he'd been looking around, Theo had set himself up at the table and was pulling out several textbooks and rolls of parchment. He looked up at Draco expectantly.
"Were you planning to sit?" Theo asked.
"Obviously," Draco mocked dryly, still trying to spot her, as he sat down. By the time he had pulled out his potions notes, including an extra text on healing potions he had thought Hermione would like, he felt her. It started as little fingers of warmth tingling along his hands and arms and then bigger waves that seemed to fill him. His breath caught at the intensity.
She appeared around the end of the stacks. Draco couldn't quite place it, she looked fine, but her magic felt upset, possibly angry.
He hastily rose from his chair, shoving the table back slightly, instantly annoyed that his etiquette lessons over road his common sense in this particular instance. It was only Granger. He knew Theo had seen his blunder and tried his damndest to not glance over at him.
"Oh, Drake. You are so fucked," he snickered.
"Fuck off," Draco mumbled under his breath. He could feel his cheeks heat as he slowly sank back down into the chair. You're such a fucking fool, Malfoy.
He was never going to live this day down.
Just as she approached the table, Draco spotted a Seventh Year Gryffindor, Mc– something, coming around the end of the same stack as Hermione. Confused, he glanced at Theo, who only raised a brow and smirked.
"Thanks for the recommendation, Granger," the other Gryffindor said, holding up a book. "I'll be seeing you soon." He gave her a look that spoke volumes to Draco, whose brows rose to his hairline at the audacity of it. By the way Hermione was standing in front of them, shoulders tense and arms wrapped around her waist, he was sure she'd picked up on the arsehole's lascivious intentions. He immediately decided to find out everything he could about this little shit.
For...reasons.
"Happy to help." Her voice sounded a bit tight, but only just. Once he'd strolled away, she turned back to Draco and her lips almost curved into a smile. "Oh good, you came," she said, and her voice was neutral enough now, but he kept getting hit with spikes of heat rather than the usual warm waves. Even without feeling the difference in her magic, her body language spoke volumes, she was uncomfortable. The question was why? Most of the girls Draco knew liked male attention. Pansy would have been eating up the attention. But Granger wasn't like most of the girls of his acquaintance. It made him wonder if Potter and the Weasel were aware that their fellow housemate was making advances.
Determined to not let his awareness of the sensations of her magic or her current emotional state show, he shrugged with an air of nonchalance. "Said I would, didn't I?" Best to keep it neutral. It wouldn't do to give into the urge to reach for her hair and tuck it behind her ear.
She hesitated for a moment before nodding. "You did." He rolled his eyes. A Malfoy's word is worth its weight in gold. Doesn't everyone know that?
"You'll find, Granger, I always keep my word."
"What is it Lucius always used to say, something about your word and gold? Your word can be bought with gold?"
Draco pushed his hair back, tugging to relieve the desire to snap at Theo. "That would be 'worth its weight in gold.'"
Hermione snickered, recapturing his attention. "Does that word come complete with loopholes and codicils?" she asked, a broad smile brightening her face. Her magic felt soft and warm again and Draco had to fight the grin pulling at his lips.
"Slytherin," Draco shrugged. "And as requested—in case you hadn't noticed his presence—I brought this tosser, though I suppose he's competent enough." He nodded in Theo's direction, who had already dipped his quill in its inkwell and had begun taking notes on his own. Show off.
She turned, and the smallest of smiles appeared. "Excellent. Thank you for coming as well, Nott."
"Please, call me Theo. And invited to study with the Gryffindor Princess? As if I could pass up such an opportunity." He smirked, giving her an exaggerated wink.
Draco gave him a swift kick against his shin for the stunt.
"Ugh, please do not call me that," she said, slumping down into a chair at the table.
"Is everything all right, Granger?" Draco asked.
Hermione looked up, startled. "Of course, why wouldn't it be?"
Draco turned his head and looked in the direction the other Gryffindor had headed. "Was he bothering you?"
"Cormac? No, of course not."
He caught Theo mouthing 'Cormac' and shooting him another look that he interpreted as 'First name basis then?' which he could admit had also caught him off guard.
Schooling his features, Draco nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced about any of it. Best to change the subject. "Mmmhmm, okay, so where did you want to start?"
The sight of her eyes lighting up at the mention of their schoolwork made his insides feel funny. He could feel her magic swell in its warmth and surround their table. "Well, as we have that essay due in Charms before the winter hols, I suggest there."
"Capital," Theo cheered, clapping his hands loudly, earning him a shush from the other side of the shelves. "I've already outlined mine, though—" he turned to look at Draco "—I don't believe this one has even selected a topic."
Draco felt his cheeks pinken. He had not, but he didn't want Hermione to know that. He'd been making an effort to focus back on his courses but was still woefully behind. He shot Theo a deadly glare. Bloody arsehole.
Hermione waved Theo off. "Oh, honestly. Not everyone uses an outline," she chastised. Theo raised a brow at her retort and Draco smothered a snort. "It's okay, Draco," she reassured him with a smile. His stomach flipped again, and he wanted to chase the feeling further. "Maybe we can help you select a topic. What's of interest to you?"
Not dying.
Could it really be this simple? Could he gather two people to his assistance without ever showing his hand? He knew he shouldn't, but to be able to discuss his problem, he couldn't resist.
"As it happens," he began, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in the chair. "I'm especially interested in charms for vanishing."
Hermione – November 24, 1996
Hermione slipped through the portal into the Gryffindor common room from completing the after-supper rounds with Padma Patil. Originally, she'd been assigned Ronald as her partner, but according to Padma, Parvati, speaking on behalf of Lavender, had asked her to swap. The levels of immaturity knew no bounds, apparently. Had they learned nothing from Fourth Year? She'd been so sure she'd made her stance on that nonsense quite clear when she'd been stuck in the middle of Harry and Ron's row back then.
The only consolation she'd found in it was that, unlike her twin sister, Padma was more than tolerable company. They shared nearly the same timetable of classes. Thanks to the unexpected rounds, Hermione had been able to make plans to work with Padma on their ancient runes projects together. Padma was an excellent revision partner, but now that Draco had agreed to study with her, she'd found herself slightly disappointed to make a commitment to Padma, as he was also in that N.E.W.T. level class.
Maybe we could form a larger revision group?
Hermione looked around the common room, hoping not to see Ron and Lavender in a compromising position. The struggle to reconcile Ron, her friend, with the person he had become, or perhaps, the part of himself that was revealed when he was with Lavender, was all too real. It bothered her less, or rather, she was no longer jealous and hurt, which was its own sort of relief, but it didn't change the feeling of loss.
Luckily, they appeared to be off somewhere else in the castle; it was before curfew, after all. Another glance revealed a messy head of dark hair sitting in one of the oversized armchairs by the bank of windows that looked out at the quidditch pitch.
Her heart leapt a little. She hadn't gotten to spend as much time with Harry as she liked—as she was used to—but he was being insane about quidditch practice. Better that, than over Draco, though. Being named captain seemed to have been the distraction he needed from his grief, which he would barely speak about. Hermione was genuinely concerned he wasn't dealing with Sirius' death, just ignoring it instead. She tried not to judge since she had her own set of avoidance issues.
Stepping into the small sitting space the two chairs created under the windows, Hermione asked, "Fancy some company?"
Harry looked up, startled, and then a smile spread across his lips. "Only if that company is you, 'Mione."
She really did love Harry. There weren't many other people who could make her feel like he did. Wanted, cared for, valuable. Her best friend. The brother she'd never had.
Who are you kidding, Hermione? Harry is the only person who makes you feel that way these days. Though maybe...
She shook her head releasing a little laugh. "Oh, no, sorry, I was planning to go grab Romilda," she teased, acting as though she were stepping away.
His face blanched. "'Mione, you wouldn't." She snorted and shook her head.
"No, I wouldn't." She took a seat in the chair opposite him. "How are you, Harry?" It really had been far too long since she'd asked that. She pondered when the last time was that she'd been asked that by anyone...other than Draco.
He rubbed his scar and frowned. "Worried." She could tell by his voice that it was more than just that.
"Are you seeing his thoughts again?" she asked, scooting to the edge of her chair.
"Why? Are you going to lecture me if I am?" he snapped.
Hermione balked, collapsing back into the chair at the undercurrent of venom in his voice. "No, Harry, I wasn't," she admonished, blinking twice as she watched him roll his eyes. "There's no need to be rude. I know you can't control it. Occlumency didn't seem to help—"
"More like made it worse," he said, his voice sounding defeated. "But to answer your question, no, it's not that I'm seeing his thoughts. I just…" He pressed his palms to his eyes and let out a long sigh. "I just feel terrible. All the time. Like I can feel something building, something coming."
Hermione nodded. Since their ill-fated night at the Department of Mysteries, the sense of foreboding had become a tangible thing. She felt a twinge at her lower ribs, where the purple mark stained her skin and, if she moved just wrong, caused the muscles between her ribs to pull and strain in odd cramps even all these months later. "I feel it too, Harry."
"You do?" His hands fell to his lap, and he shook his head. "Yes, of course you do. I know I act like I'm—"
Hermione shook her head as she took Harry's hand in her own. "There is nothing wrong with wanting to try to enjoy being back here at Hogwarts."
He gripped her hand back. "But it feels wrong." He looked around and lowered his voice. "My lessons with Dumbledore—they're more confusing than enlightening. I don't see how knowing about Voldemort's childhood is going to help me defeat him. But I get the feeling Dumbledore is building to something. I just haven't a clue what."
Considering Harry's assessment, Hermione offered, "Well, he's never been particularly transparent, has he?"
"No. And then there's Malfoy—"
Hermione groaned, letting her head fall against the back of the chair. "Oh, Harry, what about Malfoy now?"
"I just know he's up to something; I can feel it," he said, having scooted to the edge of his seat, his voice still low.
"What? What do you feel?" she asked, curious.
"It's like he's wrong. Everything we saw at Borgin & Burkes. He skulks around the castle, barely attends classes, though I guess that's changed the last couple of weeks."
Hermione sighed, preparing herself for the unpleasant point she was about to make. She knew Harry wouldn't like it, but she did have an inside track to Malfoy these days. Even if he shared very little with her, she'd had plenty of opportunities to observe him.
"Did it ever occur to you, Harry, that his behavior can be explained by the stress he's under? His father is in Azkaban, and his mother is at the manor alone while her sister and actual Death Eaters are on the loose?"
Harry scoffed. "Narcissa Malfoy, innocent Pureblood wife? Come off it, Hermione. She's one of them too. Don't you remember what she said in Madam Malkins?"
Hermione felt her heart sink. Narcissa Malfoy had insinuated that Harry would die before she'd be reunited with her husband. It had been a terrible encounter, wands drawn, and was the first step setting Harry on this campaign of his about Malfoy being a Death Eater.
Harry didn't understand that what to him had appeared to be arrogance and confidence was not. Hermione had spent enough time with Draco now to recognize the difference. She also knew enough from her recent research into Pureblood culture that a woman like Narcissa Malfoy would never show emotion at all unless there were extenuating circumstances. That she'd had an outburst like that in public was a significant indicator of the sort of stress they must be under. She also couldn't help but wonder if some of it might have been for show.
"I do remember, Harry, and I don't see how you come to that conclusion. I saw the same thing as you did in Knockturn Alley. I thought they looked tense and frightened. Without proof, I don't think it's a good idea to let this distract you"
"No, I know what I saw," Harry insisted.
She sighed, smoothing a finger across her brow. "Okay, then think on this. What if the feeling you have about Malfoy is coming from how you feel about his father?" She gave him a pointed look. "Or could it possibly be that you feel guilty about being responsible for him losing one of his parents?" Trying to keep her voice low and neutral, Hermione pressed, "None of us know what we saw. This is all conjecture. Have you considered just asking him?"
Incredulous, Harry laughed. "Have you?"
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, then paused and snapped it shut. She had asked Draco what was going on with him during one of their early encounters in Myrtle's lavatory, but of course, he hadn't answered. She tilted her head, running through the logic. They'd come a long way from him wanting to send flowers to whomever gave her a black eye, but she didn't think Draco would be any more forthright about what was going on with his mother now than he had been then. Which was to say not at all. It certainly was something to consider later though. Perhaps after they'd build more trust.
Never thought trust was something I'd be working toward with Draco Malfoy!
Even considering all of that, it left her with a rather obvious dilemma. She could share her thoughts with Harry, but then he would know she'd been spending time with Malfoy. But if she kept it to herself, she would not have the means to justify her thoughts on the matter.
Deciding to table the discussion, she refocused on Harry. "Honestly, I would just like to talk about something else. Like, how have you been?"
"Worrying about Malfoy," he said dryly.
Hermione dropped her head into her hands and said through clenched teeth, "I meant about everything else, anything else? Anything at all?"
"Oh erm…" he stumbled, scratching his head. "Have you accepted the invitation to Slughorn's party?"
Surprised at the topic choice, she hesitated for a moment, considering how much she didn't want to talk about that particular event. He couldn't have asked to copy my homework? "I have, yes. Though I'm beginning to regret it. Have you?"
"I don't think I'm allowed to not." He chuckled. "Dumbledore still wants me to get close to him."
She considered this. "Well, I suppose inebriation could help...though it is a bit tactless."
A beat passed between them before they both burst into giggles. The last SlugClub dinner had their Professor rambling on in drunken, incoherent sentences about the time he'd mentored Ludo Bagman on the superior potions he'd concocted for his specific Quidditch injury. It had been the most fun she'd had at one of his get-togethers, if only for the hours of laughter it provided when Harry retold the tale later, including a very poor vocal imitation of Slughorn.
Their giggles tapering off, Hermione sighed contently. "I wonder if Ginny is going?" she pondered.
Harry cleared his throat. "She is." He slouched further into his chair and began picking at a string on his pants. "I...I'd actually thought about inviting Ginny, but I just saw her leave for her date, so..."
Dating—another topic she'd prefer to avoid. "Well, she's pretty and popular. What do you expect?" She shrugged.
"You're pretty and popular, but not going out with a different bloke each week."
Hermione felt her cheeks heat. "Thank you, I think. But if that were true, I'm pretty sure I'd have had some offers besides Ernie Macmillan."
"What you on about?"
"I'd be dating, Harry. It's certainly not because I don't want to," she said, crossing her arms a bit more defensively than she'd intended.
"Really?"
"You're so surprised?"
"Well, yeah, I guess." Harry pushed his glasses back into place. "That is, I just thought—"
"Just because I care about grades doesn't mean I can't also care about things like relationships."
Harry looked at her strangely for a moment. "I guess I just figured you were above that sort of stuff. You always seem so disinterested. You know, except for—"
"Let's not mention it, okay. Suffice it to say, I think that ship has sailed."
"Really? I mean, yeah, I get it. The Lavender and Won-Won show is nauseating but—"
Hermione cut him off. "I don't think it's even about that. It's more how he's treated me since."
Harry nodded, releasing a heavy breath. "I'll admit, he's been a git but it's not just you that he's ignoring. He really only spends time with me on the pitch."
"What I'm trying to say is that I've realized we just don't have much in common beyond you."
Harry's eyes widened. "Me?"
"Yes, think about it. What do Ron and I talk about?"
A small line appeared between Harry's brows, and he looked off into space. After a few moments, he shook his head. "I can't think of anything, except maybe homework?"
"That hardly counts. Ronald doesn't discuss it with me; he only asks for answers." She shook her head in disgust. She really was tired of being so taken for granted by someone she'd counted among those she cared for the most.
"True," Harry acquiesced. "But what about you and I? What else do we talk about?"
Hermione smiled. "Hey, Harry, I read that you can use a Patronus to send short messages."
"Oh!" Harry sat up abruptly, leaning forward onto his knee. "Yes, Lupin discussed that with me over the summer hols. He sent me an owl just this week. It's quite tricky, even beyond the standard casting...oh, I see your point," he said, relaxing back.
"It's okay, Harry. I'm just realizing that while I care for Ron—he is my friend—he's not the best friend I thought he was. I don't think I can see him as a romantic partner anymore."
"I think I get it," Harry said, nodding solemnly. "But, Hermione, you aren't just interested in defense and dueling. Who do you talk with about those other crazy subjects you take?"
She bristled. "Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are far from crazy. I'll have you know that I have people I revise with from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and—"
"Slytherin?"
"Well, yes." She nodded slowly. "And Slytherin. There aren't any other Gryffindors in Arithmancy. While I do enjoy working with Neville, his interest in runes is barely more than superficial. More in line with being able to do basic translations of herbology texts."
Harry started rubbing his scar again. "Wow, you have more in common with Neville than Ron, huh?"
She shrugged. "I didn't think so previously, but yes. And I'll say this for Neville; he's never once called me a nightmare."
"And what about 'Mudblood'?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hermione gripped the arm of the chair, her fingers digging painfully into the upholstery. "Excuse me?"
Harry's shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his feet. "Would you spend time with people who call you that?"
Still gripping the chair arms, Hermione considered the question. This was something she'd been grappling with. Leave it to Harry to be so perceptive. After a few deep breaths, Hermione said, "I guess it would depend on the situation. Certainly not to my face, but you know I do rounds with Malfoy and Parkinson. Who both have most definitely called me that, though not since the start of term."
"Huh. Just that, then? Rounds? The occasional revision?" he asked.
Hermione took in his expression, narrowed eyes gone almost flat with what she'd call anger. She'd so rarely seen it directed at her that it felt wrong, impossible even. "Gods, Harry! What's with the inquisition?"
"You tell me, do I have a reason to be questioning you, Hermione?"
"For goodness' sake," she said, frustrated at his odd behavior. "If you consider studying with intelligent, if morally dubious classmates, a reason, then I suppose you have. If it makes you feel better, I've partnered with Blaise Zabini, Tracey Davis, and Theodore Nott in classes I have with them. Which you very well know about, Harry James Potter. So, I ask again, what is with the inquisition?"
"I just worry about you, that's all," he said, reaching for her hand.
Hermione accepted the olive branch and entwined their fingers. "If anything, you've given me far more to be concerned about than I have you."
"I suppose I have," he said, finally smiling and releasing her hand. "If you're not too tired, I actually would like to talk more about the Patronus messaging thing."
"I'm not too tired to talk about that. Did Lupin recommend any reading?"
Harry let out a genuine laugh at that and reached into his pocket, extracting a scrap of parchment. "This was in his latest owl. He clearly sent it for you. Knows better than to recommend reading to me."
"Well, then, a trip to the library tomorrow, and then maybe we can take some time this week to start practicing?"
"I'd really like that. And until then, I'll tell you about what all Lupin said."
Satisfied, Hermione settled back into the chair. She listened as Harry took her through the more practical aspects of Patronus communication. And if she was disappointed that it had taken him this long to bring up the topic, she let it go, along with thoughts of house prejudices, interrogations, and Draco Malfoy. It all faded into the background as she finally relaxed, content to just enjoy spending an evening with her friend.
Draco – November 25, 1996
"And I'll tell you, Draco, if Ginny Weasley, that unbelievable tart of a girl, thinks she can pull one over on me, she's got another think coming," Pansy seethed, as they rounded the corner of The Great Hall. "It won't be long now before she and the rest of her blood traitor family will learn their place." It was all Draco could do not to cast a silencing charm on his Prefect partner for the evening.
She. Hasn't. Stopped. Talking.
As Pansy's displeasure grew so, too, did the shrillness of her voice. How was I ever attracted to this harpy? It left him longing for the feel of Granger's magic. Maybe not just her magic.
He'd have much preferred it be Granger he was patrolling with. Though it was true that Pansy Parkinson was one of his oldest and closest friends, there was only so much of her complaining he could stand to be subjected to. Especially considering his own situation this year.
Bottom of the barrel, Malfoy. Pathetic.
"I'm sure they'll all be withering in their robes at your presence soon enough, Pans," he soothed, hoping to end the conversation. Thankfully, his tactic worked; her intrusive voice returned to a more bearable background buzzing.
They made their way throughout the castle, docking points as they went, paying special attention to issuing harsh deductions to the non-Slytherins. Draco could almost hear Granger's voice expressing her disdain for their actions in his head. "For Merlin's sake, Malfoy! You're a Prefect! It's your responsibility to be fair to all students." She would scold, much like how she'd done earlier that day over his lack of preparedness when it came to spare parchment in arithmancy.
He was pleased to note that their time spent with Theo in the library during a free period they all shared had been quite productive. It had been a bit awkward at first—her insistence of exchanging pleasantries this time as though they hadn't just met the day before had been like pulling teeth—but once they'd focused on their work, it was amicable. Theo had expressed an interest in establishing a regular schedule and Draco had been thrilled when she agreed wholeheartedly. He'd also been able to gain some valuable insight that he could put to good use on that bloody cabinet later that evening.
The unexpected sounds of Pansy gagging pulled him from his thoughts.
"What vomitus display is this, Weasley? The least you could do is make yourselves scarce. Must you insist on devouring each other's faces like a pair of rabid feral pigs," Pansy snapped at the ginger tool and Lavender Brown, who had jumped apart at the sound of her retch. "Salazar, Brown. I realize your choices are naturally limited considering you're...well...you, but couldn't you have found a more suitable git to kiss?"
He didn't bother trying to hide the snort he let out at the reddening of both their faces, Lavender for her embarrassment, and the Weasel for his offense at the insinuation.
"Fair point, Pans. Come now, Brown. You really should at least choose someone worth losing house points for. Ten points, to be specific, for being out past curfew."
He smirked at the absolute hatred that crossed Weasley's face. "Come off it, Malfoy. You really think anyone is going to believe that we were doing anything worth taking points away? As if McGonagall would take your word over mine. I am a Prefect too, you know."
"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But I can assure you that Granger would." His smirk became a full-blown grin at the rage he could see turning the sodding git an unbecoming shade of maroon.
"The hell you on about? What does 'Mione have to do with this?" he snapped. Lavender looked very put out over his reaction at the mention of Hermione. He also noticed the confused look Pansy shot his way. He'd have to deal with that later.
"Ah, but she has everything to do with this." The look on the idiot's face was priceless. "Yes, Weaselbee. Unlike you, she and I have managed to...come to an understanding, if you will, in regards to our Prefect duties," he drawled, stretching the torture out as much as he could. He couldn't have asked for a better scenario. "I show up, and she backs up my authority."
"Excuse me, Draco, but am I correct in that I just heard you say you're friendly with the school swot?" Pansy squeaked.
"Come on, Won-won. Let's just go," Lavender whispered into Weasley's ear, pulling on his arm in an attempt to get him to walk away. He seemed to have other ideas.
"Listen here, you plonker! You stay away from her! You may have her fooled, but not me. I know you're up to something, Malfoy. And when Hermione figures it out, she'll do worse than a punch to the face!" he roared. Lavender dropped his arm and gave him a hard shove.
"Why do you still care what Hermione Granger does, Ronald?" she demanded.
"Morgana, help us. This is such an exhausting waste of my time," Pansy groaned into her palm.
Ignoring the girls, Draco gave Ron a gallic shrug, continuing his taunt. "I can assure you, you cretinous moron, considering I spend more time with her than you do these days, seeing as you're—" he glanced at Lavender, whose arms were crossed, scowling. "—otherwise engaged, I'd say it's a safe bet that Granger would be more inclined to believe someone that's bothered to give a fuck rather than the sorry excuse for a friend you're supposed to be!"
He was breathing hard, his temper on the brink of explosion. He wasn't sure how it happened, but his taunt had turned into an actual outburst at the gobsmacked ginger in front of him. The last time he'd felt this way was when a Fifth Year Gryffindork had insulted his mother.
What in Circe's name? I have better control than this.
Draco decided to contemplate what that meant later. He ran a hand through his hair before straightening to his full height, only just surpassing Weasley as he stepped into his face.
"If I were you, I'd accept that fact and get back to your dormitory before I report you," he fumed, his voice dropping an octave. He could feel his own magic rippling with dark intent.
Not moving, his eyes followed Weasley as he grabbed his girlfriend's hand and dragged her away without a word or a glance back.
"Right then, Draco. What on earth is wrong with you? Getting upset over Hermione Granger? Since when have you bothered to do anything other than antagonize Gryffindors?" Pansy said, elbowing him in his ribs to resume their rounds.
Draco stumbled a bit, as he began to walk down the hall. He tried to use the moment to gather his thoughts, but had no idea how to answer. Unfortunately, he knew she would keep pestering him until he did.
"Don't be absurd. I just said it to get a rise out of that red-haired muppet," he scoffed, attempting to play it off. Sadly, when one spends years of their youth by another's side, it's difficult to achieve. Pansy wasn't buying it.
Isn't that just bloody brilliant.
She shook her head, giving him a pointed look. "Please, Drakey. Don't forget, I know you, in more ways than anyone. I can always tell when you're hiding something. And you are. Hiding something."
"Then you should know better than to ask questions with answers you're not privy to, Parkinson," he growled, picking up his pace.
He really wanted to just blow the entire night off. His time spent in the library with Theo and Granger made the weekend seem potentially solid, but was now ruined by his latest interaction. Pansy's incessant need to know every minute detail of his life wasn't helping either. As if he'd ever confide in her about what had been happening with the Muggle-born.
Pansy's hair whipped around her face when she turned to glare at him. "Honestly, Draco, you're not a very good liar," she chided. "Obviously, I know that there are things happening out there. I've heard the whispers, and I know that change is coming. But my father—"
"Yes, let's discuss your father. Where was he when they were called to the Department of Mysteries? Oh, that's right, your father sat back and hid behind his money and position within the Ministry. Abstained from voting at my father's hearing. Now my father pays the ultimate price while yours sits comfortably in your family manor!" he seethed. She gasped at his accusation, but he was far too angry to care. How dare she imply that she understood anything about what was going on? About what he was going through. Oh, how he longed to be back in the library with Nott and Granger doing nothing but worrying over his Charms essay and frivolous hormones!
"Stop speaking of things you know nothing about, Pans, and just drop it. My business is my own, and—"
"Give it up, Malfoy! I know why you're here!"
The pair of them abruptly stopped as they reached the top of the staircase on the second floor. There waiting, with his wand drawn, was The Boy Who Lived himself. Draco could just make out Potter shoving a piece of parchment into his back pocket.
"What on earth is this, the Golden Trio's evening out? Will I be subjected to Granger next?" Pansy groaned, hand landing on her hip in annoyance. "It's past curfew, Potter. Get to bed. I've much better things to do than scold a bunch of Gryffindors."
Ignoring her, Potter took a step towards Draco, his eyes narrowed. "Thought you'd bring her as backup this time then?" he accused, nodding in Pansy's direction. Draco was thoroughly confused. "If you try and do anything to Hermione, you won't get away with it!"
It dawned on him then that Potter had seen them at some point, probably earlier in the library. Had they really been that obvious? He'd thought they'd been discreet. It worried him that if the pillock knew he'd been spending time with his friend, he may be more inclined to follow him throughout the day. Potter would surely love to accuse him of a nefarious agenda. Which, ironically, Draco actually had. And if there had been one irrevocable instruction this year, it was not to catch the attention of fucking Potter.
He decided to rile the wanker up instead. At least he'd get some pleasure out of this cock-up of a night.
"Jealous are we, Potter?" he drawled, quirking his eyebrow at the boy's scoff. "I imagine it must be hard, having her attention on someone other than you. Merlin knows you can't even breathe without her help."
"You stay away from her, you smug-faced slimeball," Potter threatened.
"Who says I'm the one seeking her out?" he mocked, licking his lips. "After all, I am quite the catch. And we both know I can offer a witch much more than you could even comprehend."
Pansy gasped as Harry lunged at Draco, grasping for his robe before being hauled back by an arm that shot out from the shadows behind him. "Assaulting a Prefect is worthy of two nights detention, Mr. Potter."
Draco stepped back, bumping into Pansy in his surprise at the sudden intervention by Professor Snape.
"Professor, you don't understand. Malfoy is up to something! I've—"
"Mr. Malfoy is a Prefect, something which we are well aware you are not." The look of amusement on Pansy's face mirrored what he was feeling, listening to Snape put the stupid idiot in his place. He still had the git by the scruff of his robes.
Potter's fists clenched. "If I could just speak with Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore, sir. I can prove it if you take us to him!" he argued, his face flushing with irritation.
"As it happens," Snape drawled, without emotion. "Professor McGonagall is busy with detentions, and the Headmaster is not here." He gave Draco a pointed look; it made his stomach drop, understanding the undertone behind it.
"Where is he?" Potter's demand was ignored, the Professor shifting him out of the way before roughly releasing his uniform.
"Might—I—suggest concerning yourself with your own predicament. Out, after curfew. Alone. Accusing the first student you see in order to disguise your own...objectives."
"But—"
"Twenty points from Gryffindor for ignoring curfew." Pansy snorted behind the hand that covered her mouth; Draco let out a low laugh at the shocked look on Potter's face. Snape continued to appear impassive, his voice the only source of any emotion. "And you will report to the dungeons for detention for the rest of the week, Mr. Potter, for speaking back to a—superior—student and teacher."
Clearly livid, Harry righted his robes before facing the three Slytherins. "Yes. Sir," he seethed through his teeth before shooting Draco a scathing glare and storming off.
Snape turned back to the pair of them, giving them a once over, his eyes lingering on his left arm, before gliding away. "Hurry up, the both of you," he called over his shoulder before once again disappearing into the shadows.
They still had two floors left to check before they could head back down to the dungeons. Without conversation, they resumed their patrol, walking in uncomfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Draco knew he'd still need to spend time in the Room of Requirement later that night, though he'd much rather go to bed. It was a struggle to fall asleep as it was, even though he felt constantly drained in every possible way.
Snape had insinuated that he'd caught on that Draco had been neglecting his task. It wasn't surprising, considering their occlumency lessons, but it made his blood boil, knowing the Professor thought he wasn't taking it seriously. Life or death is not bloody serious enough?
Draco was pulled from his own frustration when Pansy unexpectedly tugged him behind one of the statues in the corridor. For a brief moment, he'd forgotten she was still with him.
"Right then, Draco Malfoy. Time for a chat," she demanded. He was at a complete loss for what she expected him to say, but he had no intention of prolonging this damn patrol any longer.
He sighed. "Before you start, can we please just wait until—"
"That was the second time tonight that someone has brought up that ugly swot," she continued, speaking over him. He didn't much like that she'd called her ugly. "At first, I just assumed that Weasley was being stupid, with you going along with it for a laugh. But then Potter brings her up—" Her eyes narrowed. "—and implies that the two of you have been spending time together?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but she brought her hand up to his face to stop him. "You know, just yesterday, I told Daphne that she was mad for thinking it could have been the two of you she saw looking...amicable whilst on patrol." She sniffed arrogantly. "Now, I fear I may owe her an apology."
"What on earth are you on about, Pans?" The last thing he needed was her prying into who he'd been spending his afternoons with. "My time has never been freely given to those deemed unworthy. Swot or not, she is still the brightest student in this school and has knowledge I need in order to fulfill my own needs."
She lowered her hand and reached for his tie, grasping it firmly and stepping into his space. "You know, Draco," she cooed, "I realize it was never going to work between us. Both expecting to be the one that held the power in the relationship would have been a constant battle. That aside, I believe it's obvious that I'll never find anyone better suited for my...needs...than you are, nor me for you." He frowned, already not pleased with where this was headed.
"You must admit, we were quite exceptional in that department." She gave him a coy smile, running her free hand down his chest, her other giving his tie a slight tug. "And though it would be good for a few laughs, I would hate for you to feel desperate enough to stoop as low as a filthy Mudblood for a plaything."
Before she could blink, he'd twisted out of her grasp and jumped back with a snarl. Whatever had come over him earlier when Weasley had brought up Granger came roaring back in full force. This time with the full weight of all his frustrations and anger behind it.
"How dare you suggest that I would ever be desperate about anything in this life" he hissed. "I am the heir apparent of the Malfoy line and the Noble House of Black. There has never been anything unattainable that I might desire. People will crawl all over each other to serve at my family's pleasure, and I can assure you, that includes the trollops of all bloodlines."
He was completely done. Finished with the lot of them. He'd had enough of this night, this year, and the assumptions people made about him and his life. No one would ever understand the pressure he was under, and his absolute fear of what would happen when, not if, he failed. And apparently, other than the constant obsession over who he spoke with, where he spent his time, or who the hell he was fucking, no one bothered to give a damn.
Except for Granger.
It dawned on him that even though they weren't friends, nor enemies—he wasn't quite sure what the fuck they were—she'd noticed when he wasn't eating. She was the one who had seen that he was falling behind in his coursework, that he wasn't sleeping properly, and had attempted to offer help. Hermione Granger, whose magical aura he could sense on such an intense level. He craved the feeling of it, of her. And now, one of his closest and oldest friends had just insulted her honor.
Draco found he couldn't let that stand.
"On the topic of Granger. She keeps all of those sodding Gryffindors safe from themselves." He paused to take a breath. "She makes surpassing us all with cleverness, and with that scholarly, brilliant brain of hers, look like child's play. No, Pansy, I have no doubt that Hermione Granger would never allow herself to become anyone's plaything." He ground the words out through clenched teeth.
She gasped, her eyes wide. "Draco, I—"
He loudly cleared his throat, running both hands through his hair. He'd probably just taken a giant, unforgivable step over the line by speaking to her that way. He couldn't bring himself to regret it at all—it had needed to be said. He'd just have to grovel back into her good graces, again, before the end of the week to avoid any further damage to their friendship.
"Just...finish without me, Pansy," he sighed. He felt so exhausted. His near constant anxiety was taking a toll. He needed to figure out how to advance with the cabinet. "I've got more important things to do than worry about upholding school rules."
He retreated back towards the staircase without glancing back, though he could feel her eyes burning a hole in his back. He couldn't expect Pansy to understand his reasoning for spending time with Hermione. He wasn't even sure.
The only thing he was sure of at that moment, was that his task was still incomplete. Snape was aware of it, and there was a very real possibility that The Dark Lord would be informed of that fact soon enough. In other words, he was well and truly fucked.