Time never passed as slowly as it did in the moments leading up to 9 o'clock that evening.
After supper, Hermione had joined her friends in the Gryffindor common room. The after-school ritual calmed Hermione from the stress of the day. The room was full of chatter and laughter and whispers of gossip and secrets. They discussed their classes and completed homework, all under the warm ambient lighting of the fireplace and scattered candlelight.
As per usual, Hermione was ahead on all her coursework. Instead, she opted to pick up a supplementary read for their History of Magic course. While she appeared calm and collected on the outside, the inside was anything but.
When the conversation drifted to the subject of school, Hermione set the groundwork for her deception. She casually mentioned that she was helping McGonagall by taking on some additional duties as Prefect and that she would be gone almost every night for the foreseeable future. Fortunately, the announcement didn't pique much concern or even stir any interest among her friends.
Ron simply stated, "Better you than me." Which was enough to make Hermione's shoulders release their tension and fall back down into place.
Around 8 o'clock, Ron made up some excuse to leave the dormitory which likely meant trouble. Hermione had no business adding another thing to her plate so she simply kept to herself and allowed him to leave without interrogation for possibly the first time in their whole friendship.
As she watched Ron leave, Hermione gathered up the courage herself to depart. She needed a moment alone to prepare for what was to come. With a quivering breath, Hermione announced that she was off to get ready for her meeting. While no one said a thing beyond "have a nice night," she could have sworn that Harry watched her a little too intently as she headed up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.
Hermione despised lying to her friends. It wasn't like her to keep secrets from them, even the life-threatening kind that one typically kept to themselves. Whatever there was a problem, the three of them worked together to overcome it. Ever since they befriended each other in their first year, Harry, Ron, and her made up a team. She could hardly remember a time before them.
Now, here she was, embarking on a journey of her own for the first time. Perhaps in any other circumstance, she might felt excited about the opportunity to step out on her own. However, seeing as this newfound independence led her straight to Draco Malfoy, she could hardly muster up any feeling aside from nausea.
In her last thirty minutes of freedom, Hermione exhausted all the activities she could think of that would distract her from focusing on her increasing anxiety. She brushed her teeth and hair. She folded her clothes for the next day. One thing she was sure to do was change out of her school robes and into a Muggle outfit. The light blue denim jeans and navy jumper felt familiar, like home. The jumper even smelled of her mum's laundry detergent. The outfit gave her the sort of comfort and confidence that she required in order to get through the evening.
After she changed, Hermione read a few more passages from her textbook, scribbled out a paragraph of an assignment due next month, and rearranged her books by the colour of the spine.
Once she grew tired of wasting time, Hermione took a final glance at her wristwatch. Though she was still a few minutes early, she decided it was time to head down to the library. If she was going to go through with this, she might as well do it properly—for her, that meant arriving promptly.
She slid herself off her bed as her roommates changed into their sleepwear, preparing to tuck themselves into bed.
"Well, I'm off," Hermione stated casually, affixing her Prefect badge to her jumper. She wasn't sure who benefitted from her announcement and the words hung lamely in the air. In an attempt to appear inconspicuous, she feared that she was doing far more harm than good.
Despite their strange glances and the certain fact that they would whisper gossip about her the moment she exited the room, Hermione faced no interrogation from her roommates. They simply wished her a goodnight and went about their business. Praying that someone might say something that would stop her from leaving, Hermione lingered for a moment. When nothing came, she finally, and defeatedly, accepted her fate and made her way down to the common room.
The cozy Gryffindor common room was completely empty when Hermione descended the staircase. Even the students who typically straggled behind the rest had already gone to bed. Hermione felt the nearly unavoidable urge to plop down onto the sofa before the crackling fire and forgot about the entire evening.
Just as she was losing herself to her imagination, the entrance of the Gryffindor Tower thundered and began to slide open. Hermione froze on the spot. She lowered her wand from its concealed position in the arm of her jumper and grasped it tightly in her fist, prepared to fight off the intruder if necessary. Her heart thudded noisily as she watched a figure emerge from the shadows.
"Hello?" Hermione held her breath, waiting for a response.
"Hermione?" The voice replied.
The knot in between Hermione's shoulders relaxed. The silhouette emerged into the dim lighting and Hermione immediately recognized the familiar shaggy red hair. "Ron," she exhaled, pressing a palm to her chest. "You nearly scared me to death."
"Oh, er… Sorry." Ron smiled back at her but his smile was strange. It didn't reach his eyes and it felt guarded, uncomfortable.
"What are you doing out so late?" Hermione raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Not getting into trouble, I hope."
Ron froze on the spot. He reminded Hermione of those old cartoons where a character runs on a cliff and suspends in mid-air before falling into the Grand Canyon. His eyes were as wide as two Galleons. "You caught me!" He chuckled loudly, a bit too loud, and pretended to wipe invisible sweat from his brow. "Actually, I just lost track of time. Very boring story."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He was the worst liar she had ever come across. The tale he told didn't fit the image in front of her. He appeared completely disheveled. The hair on his head was a mess and the tie around his shirt collar was loose and crooked. His cheeks were a bright shade of tomato red, although Hermione supposed that wasn't entirely unusual for him.
"You look as though you've run a marathon," Hermione remarked. "What exactly have you been doing?"
Ron stared at her blankly. For a moment, it seemed as though he lost the ability to speak. When he did speak, his words came out in a tumble. "I was studying in the library."
"You were studying in the library?" Hermione repeated. She nearly laughed aloud. If he was trying to be discreet, he blew it. She couldn't remember the last time Ron voluntarily went to the library or the last time he studied without her constant nagging him to do so. He was hiding something from Hermione, there was no doubt about it.
Hermione vowed to get to the bottom of his lie. But this particular issue would have to wait for now. "Right. Well, I have to go."
Ron spun around, watching Hermione move towards the exit. "Where are you going?" His tone was accusatory which was bold given that he had just been caught sneaking in after curfew and then proceeded to lie straight to Hermione's face about it.
With trembling hands, Hermione took a deep breath and put on the performance of a lifetime. "I'm meeting with McGonagall. Remember, Ronald?"
"Oh, right," Ron responded with a hearty laugh. "You are such a goody-goody, Mione."
You have no idea.
With that, the pair said their goodnights and went their separate ways—Ron with his secret and Hermione with hers. As Hermione watched the Gryffindor entrance seal itself behind her, she wondered about the price of her lie.
"Lumos," Hermione whispered, holding out her wand a few inches before her. The end illuminated, brightening the corridor ahead of her. As she began to make her way to the library, she made sure to keep her wand low so as not to disturb any of the portraits hanging on the walls.
Whatever Ron was keeping from her, she prayed it wasn't dangerous. Now was no time to be putting himself at risk. They had to focus on the task at hand—Voldemort's return and inevitable attack.
Then again, was she not endangering herself now by walking through the quiet, empty corridors to meet with a boy her own best friend suspected to be a Death Eater? Hermione could only hope that if any harm should come from this, it would fall squarely on her shoulders and her shoulders alone.
Hogwarts had an eerie presence at night, Hermione noted as she trudged towards the library. Throughout the day, the corridors were never empty but instead perpetually filled with students, professors, and even the odd ghost. Even the paintings lived to give one company.
As an only child, Hermione spent most of her early years alone. Even more so when her classmates began to ostracize her for being "different". The very first time she entered the Great Hall, however, that loneliness disappeared. She felt like a part of something for the first time in her life. With Harry and Ron by her side, Hermione felt invincible. The constant sounds of the castle became a comfort to her. The sound of silence, in turn, made her uneasy.
Of course, this wasn't the first time Hermione snuck out of bed after curfew. She had done so with Harry and Ron before. Many times. You don't become lifelong friends with Harry Potter without signing yourself up for an unhealthy dose of mischief-making and rule-breaking. In her experience, that primarily involved sneaking around Hogwarts in the dead of the night. But in those cases, she was never alone. She was among friends.
God only knew what they would make of her if they could see her now.
The library, a refuge for the bookish Gryffindor, loomed ahead at the end of the corridor. The flicker at the end of Hermione's wand appeared to shiver in anticipation. In all of Harry's delirium, Hermione was the voice of reason to combat his paranoia about Draco's alleged activities with the Death Eaters. She was the one who reminded Harry that Draco was no more dangerous than the average school bully. He was only sixteen, for crying out loud. What kind of Dark Wizard would enlist a child's help in a war?
In spite of her better judgement, however, Hermione wondered if Harry's suspicions weren't so far-fetched. What if he was right about Draco being a Death Eater? Perhaps agreeing to this arrangement wasn't the brightest idea Hermione ever had.
Placing apprehensions firmly behind her, Hermione entered the library, inhaling the scent of the ancient texts and burnt candle wax. Slowly, she passed through aisles of overflowing bookcases and even those weren't able to put her at ease.
As she rounded the corner towards the rows of long rectangular study tables, her pulse quickened.
The way that Draco sat at the farthest table reminded Hermione of the way that prisoners waited for their lawyers in the visitation room on TV shows. Draco's back was stiff and his palms were pressed down on the table, as though he were preparing to bounce. His fingertips tapped dully against the wood, an irritated energy surrounding him.
Strangely, Draco's wand lay on the table but it was just out of reach. Hermione didn't know what to make of it, but she was glad for the separation nonetheless.
Hermione inched towards the table as quiet as can be, savouring the last few moments before he noticed her standing there. Upon her final step towards him, Draco's head snapped around and his grey eyes fell upon her. A wicked grin pulled his pale skin across his angular face. He extended his arms out on either side of his body.
"Welcome to the show!" His hands dropped to the table with an audible thud, his smile falling in unison. "You're late."
Hermione heard the hatred dripping from his words. She tried to match the loathing in her own tone. "Only a few minutes. You couldn't have missed me that much."
"Bitch," Draco sneered. Hermione tried not to cringe. His vocabulary certainly had expanded over the summer. With each word he spat, Hermione became increasingly nervous. She had a whole new weapon to shield herself against this term.
Draco said nothing as Hermione walked to the opposite side of the table and carefully set down her books. It was then that she realized Draco had brought neither books nor parchment and quill with him. Typical, she thought. She wondered if he had even bothered to buy any books this term. If he had, they had yet to make an appearance here or in their share classrooms. Luckily, Hermione anticipated as much and brought her own books from which to instruct.
Like Hermione, Draco opted to change before their meeting that evening. He was in a casual charcoal gray jumper adorned by his own Slytherin Prefect badge. His white-blond hair was tousled, a stark contrast to the perfectly coiffed style he usually wore.
As she took a seat in the chair across from Draco, Hermione gestured to his wand, unable to contain her curiosity. "What's that doing over there?"
"Snape put it there. Conveniently just out of reach. But not before charming me to the fucking floor." For added emphasis, Draco grabbed his thighs and tried to yank his legs upward. It was no use. His feet were as good as glued to the ground. "It would appear that I am not trusted around you."
Hermione stared at him for a moment with a slack jaw, processing his words. Then, a giggle bubbled within her. She pressed a palm to her lips to conceal her smile. She didn't care for Snape one bit. But she did have to give credit where credit was due. "A Sticking Charm. Very clever."
"Yeah, piss off."
Clearly, Draco was not the sort of guy who was able to take a joke. And he was in no rush to start loosening up that night. That was just fine by Hermione. Lord knew she wasn't there to be his friend. She was there to do a job and then go back to her normal life as soon as heavenly possible.
"Alright." Hermione lay out her books before her, ready to begin. "Which subject are you having the most trouble with?"
Draco simply blinked in response. Very useful, Hermione scoffed internally. This was going to much worse than she anticipated, if that were even possible.
As she rearranged her books on the table, pretending to weigh their options, she stole a peek at her wristwatch. She had only been there for five minutes and yet it already felt like an eternity.
With a sigh, Hermione dragged a large leather-bound book towards her. "I suppose we could start with the History of Magic." She didn't expect a response from Draco so when she didn't receive on, she continued. "I'm not really sure how much you've missed this term. I've barely seen you around, so I'm just going to assume that you've missed a lot."
"Is that any of your business?" Draco barked defensively.
Hermione's eyes shot up at him. "Well, it's quite literally the only reason I'm here. So, yes. It is my business."
Draco scoffed, running his hand through his hair. "What are you even doing here?"
"Don't be simple, Malfoy." Hermione was already tired of playing teacher. She was tired of trying to hide her disdain and be civil. In fact, she was impressed with herself for lasting this long without whacking him across the head with her thickest book. "I'm helping you study. You know, teaching you the things you couldn't be bothered to learn the first time."
"No. I mean, why are you here?"
The question startled her. It should have been an easy enough answer. She should have been able to come up with at least one good reason. How did she come to be there? Sure, she couldn't tell him that she was there to spy on him and pry any morsel of information out of him to report back to the Order. But there were few excuses remaining. Professor McGonagall asked her to help Draco and she said yes. But the more complicated question was, why? Was it due to her insatiable need for praise, and more embarrassingly, reassurance? Was it something deeper, something more haunting? All that Hermione knew was that it was a door to herself she was not willing to open just yet.
"Professor McGonagall asked me to help you. I didn't want to but she was desparate. So, I did her a favour. End of story. Now, let's talk about history, shall we?"
"History. An interesting subject," Draco pondered aloud. Hermione rubbed her temples with her thumbs. Maybe she needed to whack herself across the head with a book. Draco leaned back in his chair, a smirk growing on his lips. "You and me have a whole lot of history, haven't we, Granger? I relish these shared memories of ours. Like that first time I ever called you a Mudblood."
He was baiting her, Hermione realized. Evidently, he planned to taunt her into submission. It was his goal to have her running out of the library in tears so that she would quit and he would get out of the lessons. What Draco failed to consider was that Hermione wasn't eleven years old anymore. She wasn't going to broken down so easily.
"You know, we have had some good times. I think my favourite memory was the time I punched you in the nose."
Draco's face flushed. The look in his eyes was practically murderous. Hermione wanted to remember this moment for as long as she breathed.
Unfortunately, her triumph was short-lived.
"Was it so liberating to succumb to the fact that no matter how smart you are, your intelligence will never make up for your dirty blood?"
The words must have felt like fire coming from Draco's throat judging by the way they scorched Hermione's skin. Somehow, Draco always knew exactly how to get under her skin. He uncovered every vulnerability and would prod at each until Hermione collapsed. She watched herself fall before him time and time again. This time was different. It had to be different.
"Listen to me, Malfoy," Hermione began, her voice was an unwavering rumble. She leaned forward and tried to keep her face neutral but menacing. "I'm not going to bend to your will or cower before you like everyone else at this school. You've met your match."
"I'm here to do a job and I intend to follow through with it," she continued. "If you don't feel like cooperating, that's fine by me. I'll be sitting here patiently, every single night, until you're ready to learn. Until then, we can sit in silence, if that's what you'd prefer. I'm not afraid of you and I never will be. Got it?"
Draco and Hermione kept their eyes locked on each other in a death stare, both of them waiting for the other to falter. Only then did Hermione realize she had stood from her seat and was leaning across the table, her hands planted against the tabletop and her nose inches from his face.
Finally, Draco looked away. Before Hermione could celebrate her victory, she registered his gaze zoning in on his wand on the table. A knot grew in her stomach. A terrifying thought crept into her mind. Draco Malfoy wants me dead.
Hermione turned her gaze away, trying not to react to him. She set aside her school books and retrieved from the stack one of her favourite Muggle books. Pride and Prejudice. A year ago, she decided to start reading through all the classics. The Brontës, Dickens, Wilde, and the like. While these lessons may not be successful in their mission, they would at least give her an opportunity to catch up on her reading list. In times of peril, she found comfort in her beloved Austen collection.
Hermione Granger was not a romantic. But maybe for Mr. Darcy, she could be.
She leaned back into her chair, attempting to get comfortable before cracking open the book to the page she last read. As badly as she wanted to immerse herself in Jane Austen's world, Hermione felt Draco's eyes honing in on her. They were like daggers piercing through the cover of the book. She tried her best to ignore it, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. After ten minutes, she realized she had read the same page five times over.
"You're not seriously going to sit there and pretend I'm not here, are you?" Draco interjected after thirty minutes of silence.
Hermione glanced up from the page she was pretending to read, blinking as though she forgot he was even there. She shrugged her shoulders with minimal effort. "Oh, sorry. I was so enthralled in my book. Is someone getting a little bored?"
"You're an idiot, you know," Draco informed Hermione. "This isn't going to go your way. I plan on making every minute of these lessons your own personal hell."
"Can't wait." Hermione glanced down at her wristwatch, noting that it was nearly 10 o'clock. A wave of relief washed over her. "Ah, it looks like we're nearly done for the day. I think I'll wrap up a few minutes early tonight, if that's alright with you. We've got plenty of time to make up for it, seeing as we'll be spending every night together."
"Yeah, we'll see about that," Draco scoffed.
Unwilling to entertain Draco's pity party of one, Hermione gathered her belongings and stood from her chair. As she held out her wand at Draco, she revelled in the terrified look that flashed in his eyes in the split second before he realized she was undoing the charm. The moment that it was lifted, Draco jumped from his seat and snatched his watch, clutching it protectively to his chest.
In anticipation, Hermione kept her wand gripped in her hand, pretending to be unfazed while also maintaining a watchful eye on Draco in case he got any ideas about his newfound freedom. Luckily, he seemed monetarily distracted from inflicting any harm on Hermione. That was her cue to leave.
Hermione tucked her books under her arm. She headed towards the exit of the library but not before turning back to look at Draco. "You know, I feel sorry for you."
"You feel sorry… for me?" Draco chortled. "That's hilarious. I've got a Gringotts bank account full to the brim and I come from one of the most respected wizarding families. Yet a Muggleborn feels sorry for me."
"You might have money, fame, and 'pure' blood," Hermione said, making air quotations with her two fingers around the word pure. "But what a sad like you must lead if your sole happiness comes from mocking everyone else until they feel as miserable as you do. You attend one of the best schools for magic in the world and yet you waste every opportunity you are given. So, yes, I do feel sorry for you. Worse even, I pity you, Malfoy."
Hermione braced herself for the blow. It didn't come. Draco remained silent. The blank expression on his face was as much of a response as Hermione was going to get. Before he could reply—or whip out his wand—Hermione paraded out of the library.
As she walked through the corridor towards the Gryffindor Tower, a smile spread across Hermione's face. She may not have won the war, but she sure as hell just won the battle.
