It was a cloudy Wednesday evening, and Draco was spending it in the library, the rain lashing against the lead panes of the nearby window his only company, head bent over his Transfiguration homework. To those who had seen her during the Battle of Hogwarts, it would come as no surprise that although she was Headmistress, Mcgonagall still had time to mark homework. It wasn't that he couldn't withstand the tense atmosphere in the common room, the pointed silence that was a palpable weight on his chest, or how no one wanted to be within a foot of him, he simply wanted to work, which he always did best alone. And think. Granger had asked him to head the Inter-House Committee with her, had told him that she wouldn't do it without him, Merlin knew why. In the past week and a half, she had not abandoned the camaraderie that had sprung up between them, as he had half expected she would when her real friends returned. When she noticed the looks, the stares, she took them all in stride or simply ignored them. Draco had to admit, it had felt nice the other day, sitting side by side, writing to his mother. It had felt natural, organic, as if they'd done it a thousand times. Maybe he should have asked her for help with this essay.
Like a genie appearing out of a bottle, Blaise Zabini came up behind Draco, unceremoniously dumping his bag on the chair opposite. He sat in a graceful swoop, fingers steepled, feet on the table.
"Madame Pince will have your head for that," Draco said by way of greeting.
"My head is too fabulous to be on some shelf between a cookbook and some archaic time on Pygmy puffs, gathering dust. Hello, Draco, it's good to see your pointy face."
"What do you want, Blaise?"
Blaise put his hand over his heart, gasping in mock-hurt. "What, no jovial greeting for your old pal, no offer of biscuits or to do my homework for me? My, my, I guess the rumours are true."
Malfoy set his quill down carefully. He knew what his old friend was referring to, yet couldn't bring himself to say the words. "What rumours would you be on about, Zabini."
"That you've become rather cost with the bushy Mud-"
Blaise didn't finish the word. He didn't finish it because he was currently in a headlock with Draco's wand at his throat.
"Don't you say that word, Blaise. Don't you say it or I swear that you'll wish that you'd been left with the Death Eaters."
He released him. Zabini wasn't even winded. He smiled, pointed and full of teeth and bitter satisfaction.
"I see. It's seems you've gone soft. But you are still a Malfoy, Draco. You still have responsibilities. Just because old Moldy Voldy is dead doesn't mean that anything's changed. What happens when one of us toes the line, huh? Who will be the first to die because some Order member has got a score to settle? We are not free, we never will, so what's the point in trying? Whatever you have with Granger won't last, you're just not built for it; you're just not built for her. Theo agrees with me. As does Pansy."
"Have you been having secret meetings regarding my welfare, then? Sitting in the common room drinking firewhiskey and coming up with dire predictions. Hermione is my friend, Blaise, the first proper friend I've had in a long time. No, don't scoff. It's true. We can make the future better, Zabini, with people like her. What's the crime of hanging out with her a few times a week? It's harmless."
"So it's not true, then, that she had some blow-out with Weasley and you came to her aid, her blond ferret in shining armor, brave as brave can be?"
"No."
"That means yes, then. Look, I'm not saying that you should go around kicking house elves and spouting blood purity like a broken tea pot, but don't forget where you come from. Have a drink with us at the weekend."
"I'm busy."
"You sure about that, Malfoy? Or do just not want to prove me right?"
Merlin's Beard, why did he have to make friends with such insufferable people?
"Fine."
"Capital. A weekend of debauchery it shall be."
"Blaise."
"Maybe just an hour and a half of debauchery, then."
It was a tranquil Thursday morning, the rain of the previous evening a distant memory. Hermione was seeted at the Gryffindor table, a small fortress of books surrounding her as she ate her toast, read, and engaged in conversation with Ginny and Neville, who were talking about Herbology. Although Quidditch was her true passion, she was always eager to learn about something new, which may have surprised those who did not know her well. Swapping her Potions text to Arithmancy, Hermione looked up at the Slytherin table. Draco sat slightly apart, book propped up by a pitcher of orange juice. She'd waved at him when she came in, and he had responded in mind, but there was something stiff and restrained about it. Although neither had brought up sitting at the others' table, she wanted to, yet felt like it may be too much. Their friendship was new, fragile and uncertain. She didn't want to overwhelm him, or her come over to him and get harassed by other students.
Hermione focused on her friends for another few minutes then left for Potions, thinking it was better to have such a complex lesson first thing in the morning, unlike those horrid double lessons in the afternoon of days past. She had just turned the corner when a Gryffindor she recognized but did not know the name of stepped into her path.
"Can I help you?" she asked blandly.
"What you're doing isn't right," the boy said, blond hair falling in his face.
"Excuse me?"
"Hanging around with Malfoy. You're a Gryffindor, a hero of the war. He thought for You Know Who. He's the enemy, Granger. This isn't how heroes behave. They don't play nice with the bad guy."
Hermione gritted her teeth. "With all due respect, you don't know about Malfoy's past or the reason for his actions. He is not my enemy and does not deserve to be called such. Accosting me in such a manner to make scathing remarks about my friend is unacceptable, and if I find out you've said this to him there will be serious repercussions. As for my own conduct, I can be around whoever I choose. Mr Malfoy deserves the benefit of the doubt, a second chance. He's here to complete his education, not to be harassed and judged as you see fit. Neither am I. As a Gryffindor, you should know better. What's your name?"
"Oscar," the boy said, eyes alight with defiance.
"Well, Oscar, if you come near me again ..."
Suddenly Oscar was gripping her arm, face inches from hers. "What, Granger, what will you do?"
"I don't think you should concern yourself with what she'll do, mate," Draco drawled as he goes the boy by his tie, glowering an almighty flower that could have melted Antarctica, "you should be concerned with what I'll do if you come anywhere near Miss Granger again. Understood?"
Weakly, Oscar nodded.
"Excellent. We understand each other. Now, be a good boy and run along."
"This isn't over, Malfoy. You're a traitor, and you'll get what's coming to you."
"I expect I will. But not today, and certainly not from you."
The Gryffindor stormed off, robes billowing out behind him like a cartoonist villain.
"My, my, and hear I thought Gryffindor's looked after their own. Are you alright, Hermione?" Draco asked.
"I seem to be making a habit of this, aren't I? Merlin, he was out of line," she said, indignant.
"I find that I have been sufficiently compensated, but that's beside the point. Are you hurt?" Draco persisted.
"A little, but mainly rattled and flamingly furious."
He smiled at her, one if those rare innocent smiles he only ever gave her. "You can plan your route to justice later, but first, do you want me to have a look at your arm?"
Hermione nodded.
Gingerly, he rolled up the sleeve of her left robe, unbuttoning her cuff and revealing a red angry splotch in the shape of a hand-print.
Draco cursed.
"Is it that bad?" she asked clinically.
"Not in a minute, but that swine may be in worse condition once I've had my way."
Hermione gave him a look. "I know you don't mean that. Besides, I don't need you to exact justice for me, or fight my battles for me. I'm quite capable fighting my own."
"And everyone else's," he quipped. "I know, Granger. But you don't have to. This friendship, it's new, and complicated, and people may not agree with it, but that's there problem, not yours. And if it's too risky, if this is going to be a regular thing, I'll keep my distance, if you so wish. But now is not the time for that."
After muttering a few healing spells the redness began to fade. In doing so, the concealment charm on her scar disappeared, revealing the word beneath.
"Hermione, I..." he began.
"No wound heals if you prod it, Draco," she remarked.
"True," he conceded, "but sounds do not heal if you simply pretend they are not there. But it is not my place to pry. Now, since it appears that your arm won't be falling off anytime soon, shall I escort you to Potions? Or are you worried that it will somehow besmirch your grand dignity?"
"No," Hermione grumbled, pulling down her sleeve and calming her mind.
"Excellent. I have some ideas for the Committee, if I accept, of course."
The week seemed to have gone by in a blur; if this was a movie, pages would be flying off a calendar in an overly dramatic fashion. From book discussions with Malfoy that went long into the night to dinners with Luna and Ginny and Neville, to homework and writing a letter to both Harry and Mrs Malfoy, Hermione was glad that she had the weekend to take a breath. She slept in late on Saturday morning, organizing her work for the weekend and making lists of texts she wanted from the library. Satisfied to leave academics behind, she pulled on a light purple-pink jumper and made her way to the kitchen, were the house elves wee more than happy to procure her a late breakfast. After a pleasant conversation about scones and jam, Hermione returned to the common room. She was just about to say the password when something jumped on her from behind.
"Surprise!" Luna said, giving Hermione a proper hug.
"Luna!" she exclaimed, returning the embrace. "I thought you were busy today."
"I was, but Ginny wanted to make a big deal out of our visit so I wanted to make the effort. The Quibbler can wait a few hours. When I come back, maybe a Muffler will have finished it for me, one can hope."
"Indeed."
Seconds past and Ginny flew at the two, wrapping her arms around their shoulders. "Hello, hello! Are you ready to have lots of fun?" she asked.
"Yes!"
"Good. I expect to be plied with sweets, clothes, and good gossip, and at least one Quidditch discussion, however brief. Agreeable terms?"
They nodded.
"Right. Now, where did I put my coat?"
As it turns out, by three o'clock that afternoon, all of Ginny's standards for the trip had been met. Full on Butterbeer, pastries, salad and a very detailed and captivating discussion about magical water fowl, Hermione was happy to be out in the brisk afternoon. She'd never really had days like this with Harry and Ron, days where she felt entirely involved, connected. Most of their conversation topics had not been about subjects she liked, or knew much about. They were her closest friends, yet it was different with Ginny and Luna. She felt like she didn't have to censor what she said, make sure it was appropriate conversation. She felt the same around Draco.
Which is why, when she turned the corner, about to ask why Wrackspurts were invisible, she was so surprised to see Draco, at the head of a huddle of Slytherins, like in years past, glaring at a first year boy, pointing his wand at him.
Author's Note: Hello, and welcome back! I'm so sorry for the late update, but it was my birthday and then I was really poorly. This is in honour of the late Helen McCrory. Without her excellent portrayal of Narcissa Malfoy, this fic would not be possible.
Until next time,
Love, Temperance Cain.