Bit of Nostalgia
Wednesday, 24 November, 2004
Of all the vices a person could have, being idle was not Hermione's. On the contrary, she had a horrible time trying to relax when she had even a minute of downtime. There was just so much to do, papers to grade, books to read, desks to organise. On her list of priorities, relaxing wouldn't even make it in the top fifty. But it felt silly to resent Severus for forcing her to do just that.
"Get some sun," he'd said, with a disapproving stare and nostrils full of her scent, a scent which had revealed just how little sunlight she received on a daily basis.
And if Hermione were to get what she truly wanted—that sharp sting, warm lips, the subtle tug as the blood was sucked from her flesh and flowed to his mouth where his delicious venom-soaked saliva seeped to her veins, travelling through the continents of her body where it caused a delightful, unexplainable rush of endorphins and overwhelming floating sensation as though her soul itself was escaping its mortal shell and finding heaven…
If she wanted that , she'd have to obey. But she wasn't very happy about it.
Lunch time seemed like as suitable a time as any. With the noontime sun's rays beaming brightly overhead, Hermione found a patch of open field discreetly tucked behind one of the Greenhouses and laid down on a thick blanket she'd conjured. It only took a few minutes before she felt the warmth covering her like a blanket, and a few minutes more for the usually invisible constellation of freckles on her arms to darken under the heavy embrace of the sun.
Hermione reached for the half-drunk bottle of Sustenance Potion near her hip. It wasn't food, but it did the trick when chewing was too cumbersome and she needed a quick pick-me-up between classes. She'd fortified the potion with an extra dose of bioavailable iron with the hopes that it would increase her chances of being bit by the rather persnickety vampire.
A small tower of recently borrowed library books teetered precariously near her feet while Hermione buried her face into Secret Societies in the Mag ical World. As she digested her lunch and the words on the page, Hermione questioned whether she even needed to read about secret societies when she'd already been in one—and written a book of her own about it!
Granted, even with the pressure of her agent breathing down her neck, tenaciously encouraging her to write the second edition of Phoenix: The True Story of the Boy Who Died and Lived , she'd barely read through the book since she'd written it. It was too painful to look at. It reminded her too much of the time she wrote it, during a Dark Night of the Soul period of her life as she desperately attempted to grapple with the insurmountable depression which had befallen her after the war.
With the Order of the Phoenix in tatters, plagued with death and tragedy, the Golden Trio had inevitably disbanded. It'd broken Hermione's heart. Everytime she, Harry, and Ron did come together, it became clear that the memory of their friendship was painted with blood and horror.
It did nothing but cause pain to surface as they repeatedly seemed to relive and rehash the nightmares of their childhood in an attempt to make sense of it all. Thus, the three went their separate ways. Instead of seeking what the muggles referred to as 'a shrink', Hermione decided to pour out her memories of the war into a journal that quickly, with the help of Harry's fame, became published and was disseminated widely across the wizarding world.
It was ironic that the book brought the three of them back together. Even more ironic that it was this book that brought Hermione fame and fortune!
It didn't matter that, in the years following the war, Hermione had obtained her mastery in Alchemy, or had written a manuscript about an alchemical reaction to Tinzure, an ultra-rare metal that rivalled even the Philosopher's Stone in its properties of promoting immortality. All of that had fallen by the wayside as she was quickly propelled to the shiny world of the magical elite, giving her a new name within the wizarding world.
She was no longer "that muggleborn that helped fight Voldemort," nor was she mistaken as "Harry Potter's girlfriend" despite him being openly married to Ginny. No, she was known as Hermione Granger, famous author, the woman that helped stop evil.
For a brief moment, Hermione was plagued by the notion that she'd been invited to join the Circle of the Sphinx due to her fame as an author. Though what did it matter? It wasn't her fault the popularity of the book had opened many doors for her. There was no way she could avoid that.
Still, sometimes she found herself wondering if she deserved any of it at all. If she was capable of rising to the fame that had found her. It felt nice to hide behind the walls of Hogwarts for that reason; students only gawked for the first week or so of classes, and then she'd fade into the same oblivion of being a teacher they had to assuage with half-completed work and even less-devoted effort.
Sure, teaching young minds about potion craft was, in theory, a "meaningful" job. But the same feeling of self-doubt had plagued her even in the classroom. Were students so disinterested in learning when she was a student at Hogwarts? Or was it her teaching that caused their eyes to glaze over?
And, yes, while taking care of Severus had its benefits—the vampire had all but taken her under his wing and taught her everything he knew in the art of potion making, but even that made her feel like his perpetual pupil, which was an odd feeling when she thought about it. She was his caretaker, lover, and student all at once. Sometimes she couldn't help but question whether she'd made an impact on his life, or if he just enjoyed having a warm body to feed from and hold at night.
Perhaps joining the Circle of the Sphinx was exactly what she needed. Perhaps it was an opportunity for her to separate her very public identity with one that actually mattered. Perhaps she could prove to herself that her days of defeating hatred and bigotry weren't behind her, after all, and that she had purpose again.
Perhaps, finally, she could do something to combat the evil that was Puritas. Finally, she could pursue justice for those that attacked and nearly murdered Severus.
Yes, she could see herself joining the Circle.
A little spark of excitement burst in her chest at the prospect. Her, Hermione Granger, fighting evil. Hermione Granger, spy. Hermione Granger, member of a secret society.
Hermione grinned and bit the inside of her cheek as she precariously dangled her next book of choice, Applied Theoretical Knowledge of Magical Ingredients, over her head. This text came directly from Severus' personal library and she'd barely made it through Chapter 4 before the dense language had started to give her a headache. She squinted against the page. It grew increasingly harder to see as the space around her grew dark and the warmth of the sun was stolen away.
Hermione twisted her head to glance at the source of the sudden shade.
"Granger," said a voice overhead.
She could see the silhouette of a man hovering over her, but she could barely make out who it was; their entire form was dark against the bright outline of the sun beaming behind.
"Er, yes? Can I help you?" Hermione asked, shielding her eyes from the searing white light of his outline.
"Were you obliviated? It's me, Granger. Stand up, for Salazar's sake; I'm not going to talk to you while you're napping."
Hermione fought the urge to sigh. She was so damn comfortable, and was just getting to the unintelligible parts Severus had warned her about.
With a soft grumble, she rose to her feet and, despite her eyes being temporarily blind from the bright light, could make out the man a bit more clearly.
He held himself stiffly, with an air of importance that Hermione noticed immediately; it was something she'd learned to imitate at social gatherings of the rich and famous. She didn't know if it was the trick of the light, but his hair almost shimmered under the sun, and the sharp line of his jaw distracted her from seeing his whole face.
"Goodness me, I knew Hogwarts was suffering, but I didn't know it was this bad. Does McGonnagall pay all her Professors to sleep on the lawn?"
Her stomach sank and she instantly took a step back as she recognized that face, that expression, that rude, obnoxious voice.
"Wha— Malfoy ?"
"Pleased to see me?"
She hadn't encountered him since the war had ended about seven years prior. It was beyond jarring to find him at Hogwarts, of all places.
His hands were casually tucked in the pockets of his sleek, black trousers. His hair was tossed to the side. All the boyishness of his youth had been stripped and chiselled into sharp, serious, pointed features.
"I thought you're in Belgium," she said.
"Despite what all the gossip magazines say, no, I am obviously not in Belgium. You read that rubbish?"
The smirk that appeared on Malfoy's lips made Hermione scoff. His previous sprite-like childhood arrogance had matured into an aristocratic haughtiness that his parents had undoubtedly moulded into him. After everything that had happened to the Malfoys, she'd imagined he'd lost some of that pompousness.
Apparently not.
"No—"
"Or the Prophet , perhaps?"
Malfoy raised an arched-brow, though his eyes had already left her face and trailed over the ground, flitting from one book to the other. Hermione's jaw tensed and she folded her hands across her chest, side-stepping to shield his gaze from her items. She didn't need Draco Malfoy meddling in her business.
His arrival on Hogwarts grounds was not something Hermione considered ideal, particularly with the recent pressures the Ministry had placed on McGonagall to adhere to their curriculum and send regular reports to ensure cooperation. Not to mention that he had been in the Prophet at least a dozen or so times in the past two years, rubbing shoulders with the Minister of Magic himself.
Hermione had intentionally avoided the issues of Witch Weekly or Brooms 'n' Brews that featured him on the cover, but the Malfoy heir had made quite a name for himself. At first, she'd barely recognized the man who appeared so stoic and still that he seemed to have lost all the youthful exuberance of an obnoxious bully.
"Say, isn't that where you slapped me in third year?"
Malfoy pointed an animated finger toward the path behind her. His digits gleamed with an array of metallic rings, silver and black, forever flashing on his gesticulating hands.
"What I'd give for a Time Turner right about now. It'd be so fun to see your face all scrunched up and angry—yes, sort of like that." He threw his head back and laughed. It was odd to see. "Gods, Granger, I'm pretty sure you loosened a tooth with that blow—do you remember?"
"Of course I remember," Hermione said, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "It may have been the best moment of my life."
Hermione did not like the way his brow lifted like that. She didn't mean to flatter him or insinuate anything by her statement. The way she shifted her weight from foot to foot seemed to indicate her discomfort which only broadened his grin.
"While it's quite a fond memory, Malfoy, why don't you go ahead and tell me why you're here?"
Even that seemed to amuse Malfoy as his eyes lingered on her face.
"What if I just wanted to say hello to an old schoolmate?"
"That doesn't sound like you."
"You're right, it doesn't, does it?" He responded, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "I need something from you."
"I figured that," Hermione said under her breath. She turned to gather her books, the appeal of laying down all but gone with her unwanted guest's arrival. "Nice to know nothing's changed."
Malfoy's features grew pointed as he frowned.
"Nothing has, has it? You're still as humourless as you've always been."
Hermione froze at his words which struck an insecurity in her she didn't even know she had. Suddenly, the weight of a book she'd been cradling lifted as Malfoy snatched it from her hands.
"Hey!"
"Listen, Granger," Malfoy said, flipping through the pages of The Illuminati and other Magical Societies . "It's still Granger, isn't it?"
"Wha—? Yes, it's Granger—give that back!"
"I thought it would be Weasley by now, or Longbottom, or Creevey, even."
"It's not. Give me my book!"
"Well don't say it like it's obvious. I wouldn't put it past you to marry some unambitious bore just to have something to keep you warm at night. But I suppose you always preferred the written words of dead men. Sort of a weird preference, if you ask me, but c'est la vie ."
Heat rose up her torso as though Hell itself had opened and its flames crawled up her skin.
"You're one to talk, Malfoy. Do your ambitions know no bounds that you feel the need to marry royalty to feel validated? Daddy must be so proud."
His eyes widened, and Hermione knew she'd struck a nerve.
"Don't—" He stopped himself from saying more.
The tension between them was palpable and Hermione almost felt guilty for having brought up Lucius. Both of the elder Malfoys had gone missing following Lucius' premature release from Azkaban.
Whatever pain or anger Malfoy had felt evaporated from his features in a brief moment. Instead, his lips lifted into a sneer as his eyes flew left to right, washing over the text.
"Please give me back my book," Hermione said, her hand outstretched and tense as she averted her gaze.
He ignored her. It wasn't the first time that day she felt the urge to hex him. Whatever guilt she'd felt for the low blow quickly dissipated.
"What is this rubbish?"
"It's none of your concern!"
She tried to grab the text, which he, with impressive speed, lifted out of her reach and held it far above her head. He was tall enough that she, at five foot four, had to stand on her tip-toes and bounce if she had any chance of snagging it from him.
"Trying to join a cult, are you?" Malfoy said, his eyes twinkling as he glanced down at her.
Hermione's ears grew hot and her heart pounded in her chest.
"I was just reading about—Puritas! Give it!" She hopped up to try and yank it, but her fingers just barely grazed the spine.
"Why? Trying to join? I think you'd need to be a litttttle more qualified to be considered. Oh, no, wait! Now I get it. Are they looking for a librarian?"
Gods, the man really was a bully to his core.
"My book—"
"As I was saying, I need something from you. Conall wants me to join the Board of Governors at Hogwarts."
Conall ? Draco Sodding Malfoy was on first-name-basis with the Minister for fucking Magic ?
"And I'll need you to vote in favour of my joining."
"I couldn't care less, Malfoy. Give me back my book !" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and stomped her foot on the ground.
At the sight of her, Malfoy's features softened to something that almost resembled—pity? It made her want to smack him again, for old times' sake. He stilled his taunting movements before finally tossing the heavy book towards her. Hermione caught it in her hands. She could already feel the bruises forming in her forearms where it had landed as she stowed it into her bookbag.
"So, you'll do it, yes?" He asked. "There may be a significant token of gratitude in it for you. I doubt you get paid much more than the House Elves as a professor at Hogwarts, especially nowadays, so perhaps you'd enjoy seeing a galleon or two for your loyalty to the Ministry."
She slowly rose, dropping her book bag to her feet.
"You want to pay me to vote for you to get on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts ? Are you mad?"
"Of course not. I merely want to send you a little 'thank you' gift come Christmas, when I'm in the festive, generous spirit, if I get your vote. What's so wrong with that?"
Incredulity was painted on her face with broad strokes.
"I wasn't planning on helping you before—"
"But…" Malfoy said with a sly smile.
"But now I'd like to go out of my way to make absolutely sure you don't get on the Board! Also , I'm looking forward to reporting you to the Ministry for trying to bribe a Hogwarts employee. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a class to teach."
She gave Malfoy one last look of disapproval before turning on her heel, striding with purpose toward the castle entrance.
"Figures," he scoffed. "You always were an obstinate ox."
Hermione's pace slowed to a crawl. She couldn't believe her ears, which were ringing with a level of rage she hadn't felt since… well, likely third year.
She turned slowly.
"Obstinate ox?" she repeated, taking one step, then another towards him.
"Am I wrong?"
"I'm not sure. Why don't you say that again—with a few teeth missing?"
Without another thought, Hermione swung her elbow back, then thrust her fist forward, aiming straight for his stupid, pretty face. She expected to hear bones crunch, or to feel his jaw against her tight knuckles.
Instead, she felt the tight grip of his fingers as he caught her by the wrist mid-air, preventing the satisfying feeling of punching Draco sodding Malfoy in the face.
"You're apparently a lot slower than you were, too."
Hermione frowned, ego and mood deflating in an instant. Though he was nearly a foot taller than her, Hermione felt as though they were eye-to-eye. She could almost feel him against her, hatred and rage buzzing between them like a fire that consumed them both.
She could feel his breath against her forehead. She could see how detached his eyes were from the fake little smile that played on his lips. He was intimidating her, or trying to, by holding her so close, eliciting a sort of discomfort that made her want to run far away from him. It was that proximity that alerted Hermione to her next action, one that Draco Malfoy clearly did not see coming.
In a swift and effortless move, Hermione brought her knee up with perfect precision to strike between his legs. His eyes widened and the air left his lungs. His grip immediately loosened and dropped protectively to his groin, to clutch the spot Hermione had just kicked. He doubled over and fell onto his knees with a loud groan.
"Better an ox than a worm," Hermione said, watching Draco Malfoy writhe on the floor, clutching his manhood through his trousers.
"Grange—" he hissed.
Without giving him another chance to irritate her, Hermione turned to sweep up the rest of her books and blanket, threw everything into her enchanted book bag and made a beeline toward Hogwarts castle.
"Granger, wait—"
Hermione couldn't help the sadistic little laugh as she stomped toward Hogwarts with her chest held high. What an annoying sodding weasel. He'd surely learned to mess with her.
"I said wait!"
Her ego deflated like a pinpricked balloon at the voice that seemed far too close for comfort.
How the hell had Malfoy risen so quickly and managed to follow her? Wasn't that supposed to be the most painful thing to happen to a man?
Perhaps next time, she'd kick harder.
"Wait, woman!"
"Leave me alone, you're wasting your time."
She bristled at the sound of his lighthearted chuckle, which was followed by a pained wheeze. The man had the audacity to laugh!
"Come on, I was just having a bit of fun for old times' sake, you know. It's just a bit of nostalgia—"
Hermione froze and slowly turned. She was fuming.
"You think bullying me is nostalgic? Go back to the Ministry where they pay you for being a prat."
With that, she strode toward the castle again, heat rising so far up her body that it felt like she could combust from anger.
"Why do you have to be so serious? Listen—"
" No ."
"It would behoove you to stop and listen to me," his previously playful tone dropped and she could hear the threatening edge as he spoke the words.
She cursed the distance between herself and the castle as she moved as fast as her short legs could carry her. Malfoy, however, seemed to have no problem keeping up just a foot behind her. Ugh, she could scream.
"Do you have any idea who I am, woman?"
Hermione threw her head back and let out a bitter laugh.
"Granger!"
Suddenly, Hermione felt heat on her arm, pressure against her biceps, and a quick yank that prevented her from moving forward as Malfoy grabbed her. She swallowed the rage as his fingers did not release her until she stopped moving and finally turned around to face him.
Malfoy's pristine hair had come undone from the physical exertion and she was pleased to see that dirt had smeared his previously spotless suit. He lifted his hand to rake his fingers through his hair, the perfectly polished Malfoy suddenly a bit scruffed.
"It's in your best interest to cooperate," he said after a long exhale.
She could tell he was trying to compose himself, but his cheeks had grown a bit pink and his jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared down at her.
"Why's that? Because you're the Minister's right hand puppet? Or—apologies, is it because you're engaged to become an Belgian prince?" Hermione pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, and let out a sarcastic wistful sigh. "I'm so overwhelmingly impressed."
The sneer was now deeply set in the crease of Malfoy's lips. All playfulness had washed away from his features, leaving his cold eyes and stiff form.
"I don't give a damn who you are, and I would never vote for you to join the Board of Governors. You don't even care about Hogwarts–you just want to add the title to feed your need for power and glory." Hermione pointed her finger at him, emphasising her words with forceful jabs. "Leave Hogwarts and me alone."
If her words had any effect on him, it would be hard to tell as he held a tight rein on his emotions. He released her. His spine straightened and he lifted his chin, looking down his nose at her.
"Not bad, but that wasn't the answer I was looking for. You know who I am, Granger? I'm Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures ."
Malfoy lifted a brow, just enough to indicate some kind of knowledge that made Hermione's stomach tighten. She swallowed the feeling and steeled her nerves.
"Lovely." Though she tried to steady her nerves, her words still came out with a tremble that she hoped wasn't audible to his ears. "Would you like a medal for your accomplishments?"
Malfoy scoffed at that. It was as though he couldn't be bothered to be irritated by her, while she openly fumed in front of him.
"You know what I'm referring to, Professor Granger. " He glanced down at his hands, coolly rolling the silver ring on his index finger. "It would be an awful thing for Hogwarts, and in particular the Headmistress, if it was discovered that a—" His eyes flitted to hers. "— magical being resided within the walls of the school."
A rush of clammy shivers washed over her. She felt as if she could be sick.
Merlin, how? How the hell did he know about Severus?
"You are aware of the new law that's in effect, yes? It would be bad for everyone, don't you think? Anyway—"
Malfoy waved his hand dismissively before reaching into his suit jacket. He slipped a thin metal card from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. Her muscles were frozen in place, too dazed by his words to process what he was doing.
"If you so choose to cooperate, you know I'd be greatly appreciative. If you have any difficulty with the decision, please don't hesitate to Floo." He tapped on the card. "My secretary will notify me of your outreach. I know you'll make the right decision."
With a practised smile that didn't reach his eyes, Malfoy withdrew and turned on his heel, leaving her there, reeling by the implications of his words and with an overwhelming desire to chuck her heavy book at his stupid blond head.