The Inspectorate for Elfish Labour Conditions
Chapter 3: Regarding Proportionate Working Hours
Music: Lily's Theme, Alexandre Desplat (Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows Pt. II)
"The house-elves' bedrooms are located in the attic. I expect the inspectors to remember that this is a private home as we cross the corridors to reach them."
Before the broad staircase in the entrance hall, Malfoy turned around and looked at Hermione with a sombre expression on his face. Ignoring the inspectors hastily assuring him of their discretion, he held Hermione's gaze and she froze under his intense look. And she suddenly realised that Malfoy understood. Like Harry, he understood why she'd come to Malfoy Manor. She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as he silently pleaded with her to reconsider.
The sound of light footsteps broke the heavy silence, and Hermione felt relieved when Malfoy averted his eyes. Following his gaze upstairs, Hermione noticed the stately blonde woman who had appeared there. She was looking down on the inspectors with cool blue eyes. For a moment their gazes met, but if Narcissa Malfoy recognised Hermione, her reserved features betrayed nothing.
"It's only the inspectors from the Ministry, Mother. I'm seeing them to the house-elves' dorms now," Malfoy drawled, subtly dismissing Mrs. Malfoy.
"Very well. I leave you to it then," Narcissa responded tonelessly.
Malfoy went up the stairs with fast steps and Hermione, along with her inspectors, followed reluctantly. She'd been alarmed by his gaze more than she cared to admit, and suddenly her heart pounded in her chest as she ascended the marble steps. Hermione didn't notice when Narcissa took her ringed hand from the banister and disappeared.
With all students gone during the days between Christmas and New Years Eve, a wonderful peace and quiet descended upon the grounds of Hogwarts. On her first day back, Hermione did some studying and wandered about the high bookcases in the library, looking for new accessions. It felt nice having Hogwarts almost completely to herself, and the quiet corridors provided her with new room to think. Sitting by the cackling fire in the Gryffindor Common Room with a book had become a bliss, too, as she was suddenly able to nestle on one of the shapeless sofas without anyone disturbing her.
The next evening, Hermione went on a nighttime stroll through the castle. As an eighth year student, she wasn't bound to the bedtime curfew for younger students, and the idea of wandering through the dimly lit corridors at the sound of her own footsteps appealed to her.
Having no particular route in mind, she walked through the maze of corridors, merely following where her feet were taking her. Her unhurried footsteps echoed through the grand corridors as the flickering flames of the torches distorted her shadow on the walls. Outside, the stars were obscured by another snow flurry, and Hermione rounded a corner, giving way to a broad staircase which would ultimately lead her to the Ravenclaw Tower, when a silhouette unexpectedly appeared from the shadows.
She let out a startled gasp. "Malfoy!"
Across from her, the person she'd run into came to sudden halt and, mumbling something under his breath, the Slytherin bent down to pick up the towel he'd dropped on the floor.
Hermione let out a long breath to calm herself, following Malfoy's movements as he straightened up again, towel in hand. He looked different, somehow. His hair was moist and messy, and he was wearing only a pair of trousers and a white oxford with the collar buttons left undone, accenting his lean figure. No tie, no jumper, no robes. A small drop of water fell from a strand of his blond hair, from where it ran down his pale neck until it disappeared below his neckline. Something fluttered in her stomach at the sight, but before Hermione could acknowledge what it was, it occurred to her that the Prefects' Bathroom wasn't far from where they'd run into each other.
Straightening fully, Malfoy stole a quick glance at Hermione and his face darkened when he saw her staring at him. "Are you on patrol, Granger?" he asked sharply. He clearly felt caught by the Gryffindor.
Hermione blinked and immediately lowered her gaze. "No, I am not. I was just...taking a walk. Enjoying the silence..." She didn't know why she included the last words, but to her surprise Malfoy gave an understanding nod. Perhaps this was why he'd been out here tonight, too.
Her eyes were drawn back to the informal state of his hair. Somehow it suited him, she found, until she realised her train of thoughts and hastily averted them someplace safer. "Do you still use the Prefects' Bathroom?"
Malfoy's gaze trailed from his towel to Hermione. Hadn't that been obvious? "As a matter of fact, I do," he said slowly. "Since technically I still am a Prefect…"
After some hesitation, he added in a rare moment of candour, "I'm not allowed to give and take points and impose punishments, though."
Hermione's eyebrows raised in surprise, and her reaction almost instantly made a shadow pass over his features. Biting his lip in regret, he decided he'd already said too much, nodded curtly, and continued on his way. With slight disappointment, Hermione watched him go, smelling the scent of soap from the Prefects' Bathroom on him as he brushed past her. Bowing his head to watch his step, his blond hair lit up in the silver moonlight when he suddenly stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"So…a Patronus, huh?" His gruff voice held a hint of admiration and something else she couldn't pinpoint.
Hermione's face lit up. Apparently, her Christmas greeting had meant more to him than she'd thought. "Yes…if done correctly, they can deliver messages from the caster." She shifted her weight. "A Patronus is unique to the witch or wizard conjuring it and isn't hindered by physical obstacles. It's the perfect form of trustworthy communication."
Malfoy nodded thoughtfully at this. "It's an otter," he established.
Hermione tilted her head. "My favourite animal."
For a moment, they held each other's gazes. Only the sound of a drop of water falling into a puddle somewhere broke the silence between them.
"I wonder..." Malfoy then mumbled, seemingly to himself, but the moment the words had left his lips, he shook his head dismissively. "Never mind."
He turned to leave and Hermione bit her lip. Somehow she wasn't prepared to let him leave just yet. "I wonder what your Patronus would look like." Her clear voice suddenly echoed through the quiet corridor, and the Slytherin froze in his steps.
"Leave it, Granger," he snarled, but it didn't sound convincing. He hesitated, still not moving from his spot as he subconsciously clenched his towel.
And Hermione knew she'd struck the right chord. The Malfoy standing before her was different from the one she'd known for the past seven years. Over a few coincidental collaborations at Potions class, Hermione had come to know him as a calm, reserved young man who seemed to have renounced his old ways, sobered from the beliefs he'd grown up with. He wasn't asking for it, but still he sought another chance. A chance she felt he deserved. He still hadn't left, held back by something stronger than his will to push on.
Finally, he opened his mouth. "What do you think?"
It was the first civil question he'd ever asked her, and his gaze was tense as his grey eyes held hers. It was the longest he'd ever looked at her. Despite himself, he obviously cared for her answer.
A smile ghosted over Hermione's lips as she thought his question over. "A dragon."
A scoff involuntarily escaped him. "A dragon," he repeated sarcastically. Who did she think he was? Some hero like Potter? "And why is that?"
Hermione shrugged. "Because of your name, I guess," she responded mechanically and Malfoy nodded bitterly. Of course. His name.
"Does it have to be that way?" He gave Hermione a searching look, which again made something flutter in her stomach.
"No. The animal form mostly depends on your own preferences or characteristics. They can even shift shape with dramatic changes in the owner's life." She lowered her gaze, thinking about Tonks and Lupin, and her heart wrenched.
Malfoy's voice snapped her from her thoughts. He sounded tentative and hesitant, but his question made her heart skip a beat.
"Can you teach me?"
Though she had been there before, Hermione couldn't help but admire the elegance of Malfoy Manor's stately corridors. Crystal chandeliers hanging from high ceilings decorated with elaborate stucco work guided them on their way as their feet sunk deeply into expensive Persian rugs that covered the gleaming parquet. Just like in the other estates, in Malfoy Manor paintings were missing from the walls, too. In this case, though, it seemed to have more to do with closing chapters than financial misfortune.
As the Ministry officials quietly followed Malfoy to the attic, each new floor lost in grandeur what it gained in simplicity, until finally the blond young man opened a plain wooden door at the end of the dimly lit corridor. It revealed a spiral staircase to what Hermione suspected to be one of the manor's characteristic six towers. Without ceremony, Malfoy went ahead, and the three inspectors followed on the narrow, rough-wooden stairs. Just when Hermione grew dizzy at the endless winding, Malfoy's muffled voice sounded.
"We're here."
After the long climb up the narrow staircase, Hermione and the inspectors were surprised to discover they'd entered a spacious attic. Wooden pillars divided the attic like a honeycomb, lit by the fading light coming in through a few small dormers. A few strategically placed skylights provided a beautiful view on the intricate structure of roof-beams carrying the pointed roof.
Hermione was the first to notice the two small doors in the far end of the attic. She nodded to the inspectors and, with a slightly stiff wave, Malfoy invited them to check upon them. The inspectors wandered off, leaving Hermione and Malfoy alone at the stair gate. As their quiet voices died away in the distance, Hermione took a peek at Malfoy, trying to read his gaze.
Downstairs he'd caught her off guard by his silent warning. And as she'd followed him through more corridors than she could count, her senses dulled by a familiar aching in her chest, Harry's words to her had repeated themselves over and over again. 'Do you know what you're asking from them, from him? Are you prepared to bear responsibility for that, too?'
It had not been reproach, though, which Hermione had seen in Malfoy's sharp gaze, only anxiety and pain, before Narcissa Malfoy's appearance had broken the spell. Perhaps she'd done it on purpose. The former Slytherin hadn't looked at Hermione since, and now they found themselves alone in a dusky attic doing their best to avoid each other's gazes.
"So," Hermione finally broke the silence. "How have you been?"
There was a certain melancholic quality to her words, which seemed to make him lower his guard a bit. "It's been…manageable."
He sounded infinitely weary, but when Hermione stole a glance at his sharp profile, his expression betrayed nothing. A surge of sympathy went through her as Hermione tried to picture his life. Stuck between the world that didn't know how to treat these Death Eaters involuntarily turned good, and an embittered family who had yet to accept their role in the end of the Second Wizarding War.
"I see that you've realised your dream," Malfoy changed the subject, feeling Hermione's scrutiny. "How does Weasley feel about it?"
He didn't entirely succeed in keeping his habitual disdain for Ron from his voice. And perhaps there was something else Hermione couldn't pinpoint, but by then it was overpowered by prickly indignation. It was clear that Malfoy hadn't been completely oblivious about the dynamics between the three Gryffindors during their Hogwarts days. He had noticed that Ron hadn't been all that enthusiastic about the SPEW and it stung.
"He feels that I should have taken Aurors with me on these compliance visits," she replied rather sharply, and he instantly withdrew into himself, being put in his place. The place of the untrustworthy Death Eater. Disappointment flashed across his face before the mask of impassiveness returned and he lowered his gaze.
Hermione immediately cursed her sharp tongue as soon her words died away. After all, it wasn't Malfoy's fault that she and Ron always seemed to be disagreeing with one another these days. She suddenly felt not one jot better than their classmates during their repeated final year at Hogwarts.
"I'm sorry," she apologised. Her gaze dejectedly followed the small dust particles dancing in the last daylight. "He doesn't understand… Harry does, though. He's worried about me." She turned her head to hide the tears that suddenly pricked behind her eyes.
"Granger..."
Hermione looked up and, for the first time since they had arrived in the attic, Malfoy's grey eyes turned to meet hers.
The cold, disappointed look from before was replaced by something akin to sadness. "I can't say I disagree with Potter," he said quietly.
During the holidays, dinner was even more of feast at Hogwarts. The Great Hall shimmered with the lights of the many ornately decorated Christmas trees as Malfoy sat down across from Hermione at the single House Table. Their gazes crossed fleetingly over the grilled chicken, but none of the other students saw the acknowledgement hidden in their cursory looks. After finishing desert, Hermione naturally left the Great Hall, and Malfoy followed at a short distance. No one but Professor McGonagall noticed something odd about the eighth years retreating at such an early hour as she watched them go with a thoughtful look in her eyes. She had no time to dwell on it, though, as Professor Slughorn distracted her with a doting elaboration on the combined values of his two most talented students.
Malfoy obviously wasn't pleased to find himself in the dusky Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom after a long, silent walk through the castle's deserted corridors. His grey eyes had darkened when he'd understood that this was where Hermione was taking him, but the Gryffindor had ignored it as she sat down atop one of the school desks at the front. She was dressed in snug Muggle jeans and a colourful knitted jumper with a large H on the front surrounded by books. Malfoy was still in his school robes.
Malfoy reluctantly followed the Gryffindor to the front. He hadn't been in this classroom since he'd dropped the subject in his sixth year, and the look on his face betrayed that it brought back memories of a past lifetime, one he was loathe to be reminded of.
"Patrolling isn't really necessary during holidays, you know," he drawled sarcastically as he leaned against another desk to conceal his uneasiness. They had just spent a good part of the last hour crossing empty corridors to reach the classroom that was located farthest away from the Great Hall.
But Hermione only shook her head dismissively. "This classroom is the most suitable place for practice."
Malfoy shifted his weight, and she cast him a gauging look. "You don't like it here, don't you?"
His gaze darkened. Why did she have to be so observant? "No," he admitted curtly.
"Good."
This wasn't exactly the reply he'd expected, and involuntarily he raised an eyebrow.
"It will make things even more realistic," Hermione explained patiently. "Now, what do you know about the subject?"
Malfoy relaxed somewhat as he'd given her a short recap of what he'd found in the library, and Hermione was pleased, glad that he had taken some time to prepare himself. He really was serious about this.
"Very good. Then you also know that finding your happy memory will be the most difficult part," she instructed him as she went to stand before him. "It has to be a very strong one, one that touches you to the very core of your being. Memories of winning the Quidditch Cup won't be enough," she added meaningfully.
Malfoy's face fell, but Hermione ignored his dismay as she drew her wand.
"I will show you how to perform the spell once, then you'll have to do it yourself." She sounded eerily like Professor McGonagall. Without ceremony Hermione turned around, slid into a stance and called, "Expecto Patronum!"
A sparkling otter jumped from her wand and began to swim around the astonished Malfoy. It looked like a flowing silver ribbon taking on the form of a river animal as it lovingly curled itself around Hermione before dissolving into a glittering mist. Suddenly, only cold and darkness were left behind. A small smile ghosted over Hermione's lips when she saw Malfoy's expression. He was deeply impressed.
She slid out of stance. "All right." Hermione positioned herself before him again. "First, we need you to find a happy memory."
She looked up at him encouragingly. "Close your eyes," she told him, but instead of doing so, he glanced nervously at her wand as he subconsciously clenched his own.
Growing rigid, he struggled not to step back. Hermione frowned in confusion until it sank in that the athletic man towering over her smaller form was afraid of her. Despite himself and despite his wish to learn the Patronus spell from her, the close proximity of an armed member of the Golden Trio apparently still unnerved him. Hermione's face darkened. The very idea that someone, even Malfoy, could be scared of her, revolted her.
"Close your eyes," she snapped at him, and he flinched in response.
However, he still obeyed, his senses obviously piquing. Hermione looked at the Slytherin. His eyelids were trembling as the knuckles of the fingers clenching his wand turned white. He managed to keep his eyes closed, though, and Hermione's anger made way for regret. She realised she demanded a great deal of trust from someone who never had any reason to trust anyone besides his parents, especially not Harry Potter and his friends.
Hermione tentatively placed her hand on Malfoy's forearm and said in a more gentle tone, "Please, Malfoy. Relax. It will help. I promise."
Upon feeling her light touch he stiffened, but after a while he allowed his tight muscles to slacken as she still had done nothing to hurt him. He involuntarily let out a vulnerable sigh.
It was a strange realisation for Hermione that this was the first time she had touched Malfoy of her own free will, without punching him in the face. The situation of them standing there in the dark and empty classroom seemed so surreal that she didn't notice that her hand was still resting on Malfoy's arm until she felt his muscles relaxing through his jumper. Something unnerving stirred in her stomach at the intimate feeling and she hastily withdrew her hand. His eyes remained closed, giving him an oddly serene expression.
"You're doing great," she warmly praised him, and the last of his wariness seemed to ebb away. "Now, find a happy memory. A good one."
This time Hermione waited patiently, giving Malfoy the time he needed. She watched as he lowered his guard and allowed himself to search through his most valuable memories. Which were probably childhood memories. Memories too precious to share with any of his harsh, ruthless friends. Malfoy eventually nodded, and Hermione went to stand behind him, lightly touching his arms and legs to correct his stance until it was perfect. She was relieved that he let her without tensing up. She smiled and tried not to pay attention to the fresh scent of soap from the Prefects' Bathroom reaching her nose, evoking distracting memories of seeing him leaving that very bathroom.
"All right," she said as she stepped back from him. "Now hold on to that memory, open your eyes and raise your wand. Then say the words. Loudly."
At his first try, a hesitant trail of light shot from his wand which floated in the air for a second before it disappeared in the darkness. Clearly disappointed with himself, Malfoy frowned and slid out of stance, when he noticed the expression on Hermione's face. She was practically beaming at him with shining caramel eyes.
"That was marvellous! Especially for the first time."
Baffled, he looked at his wand. That the small puff of light could cause this kind of enthusiasm was beyond his comprehension.
"I think you've chosen a good memory." She shot him a brilliant smile, to which he bit his lip self-consciously. "Now try again!"
Obviously grateful that she didn't pry about his memory, Malfoy slid into a stance again and called, "Expecto Patronum!"
Again, a silver string of light left the wand, but Hermione expected as much. A lot of the members of the DA had tried much longer before creating even the slightest puff of light. Malfoy, however, was indeed been a very talented wizard. His will to excel was still there, but it was tempered by a newfound patience which provided him with a calm focus on the task ahead. Glowing with pride, Hermione let him continue practicing until the silver light only emerged as vapour. And when they left the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, there was an unusual peacefulness in Malfoy's expression. For the first in a long time, he had accomplished something of his own.
The inspectors were simply thrilled with the house-elves' dorms, and they insisted Hermione should see them as well. With a surprised look at Malfoy, she followed the young witch and wizard to the back of the attic. Behind the two low doors she'd seen from afar, she discovered two simple but clean rooms, each containing two small beds neatly made with spotless linen and warm woollen blankets. In between the beds were dormers, which could be opened for fresh air. The stunned expression on Hermione's face drew a rare smile to Malfoy's lips. As the inspectors unrolled twenty-four inches of form, he only had eyes for his former classmate, looking around in silent disbelief.
"I hope this meets your approval," he mumbled and got the full blast of Hermione's brilliant smile.
"Are you pulling my leg? It looks like you've actually read the requirements."
Taken aback by her enthusiasm, Malfoy quickly averted his gaze. "Well, it took me enough to persuade those elves to leave the kitchen-sink," he muttered under his breath, and Hermione's smile turned into an amused smirk. But she decided not to comment on it; instead, she gave the modest room another appreciative glance.
"I think these rooms are at least on par with those at Hogwarts." Contently, she ran her hand over a blanket as the inspectors wrapped up their work and declared they'd seen enough. One of them continued to announce that they needed to speak with the house-elves to conclude the inspection. That conversation would have to take place in the absence of Mr. Malfoy.
Malfoy nodded coolly. "If you'll return to the kitchen, the house-elves will still be there," he informed the inspectors. "I'll tell my parents not to enter during the remainder of your visit."
The inspectors searched Hermione's gaze, and she nodded encouragingly. "Go ahead. I trust you'll do just fine." She smiled weakly and the inspectors began on the long way back to the kitchen.
"You do?" Malfoy asked sarcastically when the inspectors were out of ear shot.
But Hermione only looked to the ground, avoiding his sharp gaze. "As a matter of fact, I do," she countered his doubtful words. "The last couple of times they had this conversation with house-elves, everything went well."
Malfoy gave her a hard stare but then turned to leave as well. He had to inform his parents.
Hermione quietly followed him through the attic, the room darkening at the evening's approach. "So, since you asked about Ron before…" she began, pushing the conversation into a safer direction, "how's Pansy doing?"
Malfoy shot her a look. "I wasn't asking about him, Granger," he almost snapped, "but to answer your question - I wouldn't know. I haven't seen her in a while."
Hermione's eyebrows raised in honest surprise. Pansy Parkinson had been his girlfriend for most of their years at Hogwarts. And although Hermione had never understood what the reasonably handsome and popular Draco Malfoy had seen in the pug-faced girl, she had been convinced that the two would eventually get married. Just like she and Ron would. Her face fell when she thought about that. Life apparently didn't always agree with one's expectations.
"What happened?"
Malfoy didn't answer right away. A shadow passed over his face. "Our views on…life didn't necessarily correspond with one another anymore," he then replied diplomatically.
Hermione only nodded. She thought she understood. Pansy had never, not once, shown any sign of having changed her views after the defeat of Voldemort, while the course of events during the war had sobered Malfoy to the extent that they were now standing here, in a dusky attic, having a normal conversation. It was something that pleased her more than she wanted to admit to herself.
Malfoy caught her gaze. "I'm seeing Astoria Greengrass now," he added casually.
The wind was knocked out of Hermione. She blanched and it was only with an utmost display of willpower that she regained her composure. When she finally repeated the name, her voice only betrayed proper confusion.
"Daphne's younger sister," he helped her remember as Hermione nodded vaguely, careful to avoid his searching gaze.
"Oh, right."
Of course Draco Malfoy wouldn't have stayed single for long, Hermione acknowledged with cold logic that masked a fierce bitterness underneath. And what she remembered of Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin girl from their year, she imagined that her sister would be perfect for him; a fairly intelligent and nice-looking girl from an old Pureblood family that had refrained from siding with the Dark Lord overmuch. Silence descended on them as they stood across from each other in the attic. They had completely forgotten about their intention to leave the attic while the light continued to fade around them.
Hermione was pulled from her thoughts when Malfoy casually reached out and took a slip of her Ministry scarf between his fingers. It was an intimate gesture, but Hermione felt that she didn't mind. With an unreadable look in his eyes, he scrutinised the heavily-embroidered bronze emblem on the knitted wool and then let go.
"Why have you come back, Granger?" he then asked quietly, his cool voice subdued in the quiet atmosphere.
Oddly enough, he repeated the first civil question she had asked him more than six years ago, as his eyes rested on her searchingly. There was a hint of melancholy to his voice, and Hermione felt that he was still seeking for her to abandon her resolution. He was worried about her. Hermione looked away.
"You know why," she responded softly. She didn't see the pained expressing passing over his face as he looked down on her gleaming curls.
"Potter is right, you know?" he whispered, and it almost sounded as if he was teasing her.
Hermione swallowed. "I heard you say so."
"Then why won't you listen to us?" Never before had Hermione heard Draco Malfoy refer to himself and Harry Potter as 'us.' The world really had changed.
"Because…" she stammered, her voice breaking, "because I need this. I need to see that room again. I…I need to see it at daytime. So, I can finally put my nightmares to rest…"
Malfoy flinched and took a step back. A look of absolute guilt suddenly descended on his features.
"Please." Hermione's voice trembled. "I won't force you to show me that drawing room. After all, it's your house and this must be hard for you, too. All I can do is ask."
Their eyes locked in mutual pain as memories that should have been forgotten washed over them with brutal force.
"You're right. This is hard for me, too," Malfoy said hoarsely. "I have to live with the fact that I was there when she…used that curse on you and I did nothing."
A single tear rolled down Hermione's cheek as she kept looking at him with glistening eyes.
Draco clenched his fists. Then, he abruptly turned around.
"I trust the inspectors will be busy for a while interrogating my house-elves," he said coldly, and his reserved voice sounded almost rough in a desperate attempt to control his emotions. "In the meantime, I'll show you the drawing room."
It was a wonderful experience for Hermione to spend the day before the cackling fire in the Gryffindor Tower, snuggled up on the worn sofa, her feet tucked underneath her as she was reading a book nearly her own body weight. She was only startled out of her bliss once, when Dennis Creevey took a picture of the girl his brother had adored the most. Blinking blindly against the pages, Hermione concluded he must have picked up photography as a hobby after his brother's death. And as the still small boy took off happily with his camera, she was secretly glad she wouldn't meet with Malfoy until after Dennis Creevey's bed time curfew.
Later that night, Hermione had already been waiting for Malfoy for quite some time, seated on her regular school desk, when the sound of hasty footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, and Malfoy finally entered the classroom, drawing his wand while walking down the aisle with long strides. The wand pointed to the ground as he approached the Gryffindor, his silhouette casting long shadows on the cabinets filled with grimy artefacts. His face showed he was clearly upset about something.
"The first year needed some attendance," Malfoy curtly explained the reason he was late.
Hermione had already noticed his absence at dinner that evening and then she remembered the first year Slytherin boy who was the only one of his year to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. Her gaze darkened. The Slytherin first year had come from a family of fanatical Death Eaters who had all died in the war or ended up in Azkaban. She had already been wondering how much hatred was already instilled in him after rumours had spread about his behaviour in class.
Hermione studied Malfoy's drawn face. Something about the boy's situation seemed to have touched him personally.
"Did he miss them?" she asked softly and met with a blank look.
"Who?"
"His family."
The Slytherin dismissively shook his head. He had never been one to divulge himself to others, especially not to Gryffindors.
"Among other things," he endorsed.
"How is he now?" Hermione caught his tired gaze.
Despite himself Malfoy sighed. "He's asleep. There's no one else staying behind over Christmas who can look after him. I just hope…" He abruptly cut himself off and looked away.
"I'm sure you did all right, Malfoy."
Hermione slid off her desk and went to stand before him. When he heard her voice, the minute expressions in his face told her he was surprised at her close proximity as she looked up at him, replying to what he'd left unsaid. For a moment, he held her gaze, and Hermione felt herself being drawn in by his grey eyes, which rarely displayed any emotions but now showed a raging storm of feelings. She involuntarily lifted her hand to comfort him, but when he felt her touch on his arm, he stepped back.
"It's late," Malfoy said with a small edge to his voice. "We'd better get started."
By the end of the lesson, Malfoy succeeded in solidifying the string of light.
A/N: I'd like to thank all of you who have faved, alerted and reviewed the previous chapters. I sincerely hope that you all like this chapter as much as the other ones. Thank you very much for reading!