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Hermione listened with keen interest as Harry detailed his most recent meeting with Dumbledore to her and Ron as they made their way through the damp, misty grounds on their way to Herbology.
"I think it's fascinating," she said as they found their spot in the greenhouse. "It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?"
"So how was Slughorn's latest party?" Harry asked, clearly intent on changing the subject.
"It was better without Malfoy and Nott there," she shrugged, putting on protective goggles. "I mean, he droned on about his famous exploits a bit, as usual, and McLaggen never left me alone…"
I would've preferred Malfoy and Nott to McLaggen, Hermione thought, all but shoving her hands right through her gardening gloves at the memory of McLaggen's ceaselessly wandering eyes.
"…but I suppose it was interesting to meet Gwenog Jones."
"McLaggen?" Harry asked through narrowed eyes, as if she had not just mentioned the name of a famous Quidditch player.
"Who cares about that git— you met Gwenog Jones?" Interjected Ron, his eyes widening under his own goggles. "The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"
"But what did you say about McLaggen never leaving you alone—?" Harry's scowl deepened.
"Quite enough chat over here!" said Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over and looking stern. "You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville's already got his first pod!"
Hermione looked around; sure enough, there sat Neville with a bloody lip and several nasty scratches along the side of his face, but grinning as he examined an unpleasantly pulsating green object about the size of a grapefruit clutched in his fist.
Hermione noted that she felt as though she'd barely spoken to Neville all term, but she'd managed to spend enough time around Ginny to know that he was missing the D.A., but doing well. From their conversations, she also knew Ginny was spending more time with Neville— their friendship continued to grow even though the D.A. was no longer meeting, and Hermione was glad for it. She wondered if perhaps there was something more growing between them. Ginny and Dean were both wonderful people, but the frequency of their couples' spats was no secret to anyone.
"Okay, Professor, we're starting now!" said Ron, adding quietly, when she had turned away again, "Should've used Muffliato, Harry."
Hermione sighed, her thoughts of Neville and Ginny suddenly forgotten at the mention of one of the Prince's spells. "I won't deny it's a clever spell, but Harry, you promised…"
"I'm being more careful, Hermione. This spell had a description written right next to it— you saw it…"
"Come on you two," Ron sighed, eyeing Neville's bloody lip wearily. "We'd better get going..."
She gave the other two an apprehensive look; they all took deep breaths and then dived at the gnarled stump between them.
It sprang to life at once; long, prickly, bramble-like vines flew out of the top and whipped through the air. One tangled itself in her hair, and Ron beat it back with a pair of secateurs; Harry succeeded in trapping a couple of vines and knotting them together; a hole opened in the middle of all the tentacle-like branches; Hermione plunged her arm bravely into this hole, which closed like a trap around her elbow; Harry and Ron tugged and wrenched at the vines, forcing the hole to open again, and she snatched her arm free, clutching in her fingers a pod just like Neville's. At once, the prickly vines shot back inside, and the gnarled stump sat there looking like an innocently dead lump of wood.
She regarded the slimy pod with grim satisfaction.
"You know, I don't think I'll be having any of these in my garden when I've got my own place," said Ron, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and wiping sweat from his face.
The thought of her life after Hogwarts seemed like a farfetched dream… she'd certainly given it more thought when she'd been a bit younger, but after Voldemort's return, she found herself wondering less about things like what job she might have and where she might live— these things seemed almost inconsequential, unimportant now. These questions were replaced with new ones: would she have a life after Hogwarts— after the war? And if she did survive, what kind of life would it be, what kind of world? And who would still be there beside her?
She glanced at Harry. These were questions she did not like to dwell upon, and yet they remained.
"Pass me a bowl," she said, ignoring Ron and trying not to think too much about their gray, uncertain future, especially Harry's, a life that seemed inexplicably tied up with Voldemort's.
She wanted nothing more than to be done with the task at hand as she held the pulsating pod at arm's length. Thankfully, Harry handed over a bowl and she dropped the pod into it with disgust.
"Don't be squeamish, squeeze it out, they're best when they're fresh!" called Professor Sprout.
"Anyway," she said as though a lump of wood had not just attacked them and she had not just questioned the likelihood of her continued existence, "Slughorn's going to have a Christmas party, Harry, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come."
Harry groaned.
"'Slug Club,' it's pathetic," spat Ron. "Planning to hook up with McLaggen, Hermione? Then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—" Ron said with a sneer worthy of Malfoy as he attempted to burst the pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could.
He sighed with dramatic exasperation, and not because of the pod's stubbornness.
Hermione seethed, rather wishing she could squash Ron at the moment. If only he knew what I did to McLaggen… and for his benefit too.
"What the hell, Ron? McLaggen—?" Harry asked, looking enraged as he seized the bowl that contained the pod and began to try and open it by the most violent means he could think of.
"You wouldn't, Hermione…?" Harry asked, his voice suddenly unsure.
"Hand that over, Harry," she commanded hurriedly. "It says we're supposed to puncture them with something sharp… and McLaggen? Seriously?"
I'd rather go with Malfoy.
"Do you two even know me at all?"
"Sorry," Harry and Ron mumbled in unison.
"So we'll go together right, Harry?" She added hopefully, wishing to avoid any more mention of McLaggen.
Maybe going with Harry will keep McLaggen away for good, she considered hopefully. Then she remembered the disgusting, hungry look in his deplorable expression the last time she'd been in the same room with him.
Probably not.
"You want to go— together?" Harry asked in surprise, and Hermione noticed he didn't meet her eye.
Ron sighed heavily, his expression one of utter exasperation. "Look, I'm all for you two going together, but would you please just tell me what in Merlin is going on between you two?"
Your guess is as good as mine, Hermione thought, her brows furrowing.
Harry sputtered.
"Unbelievable," Ron muttered. "Give Hermione the pod, mate," Ron added in defeat.
Without muttering a word, Harry passed her the pod in the bowl as instructed, and then Ron proceeded to nudge him forcefully in the ribs, successfully reorienting Harry with a jolt.
She returned her own attentions to the pod they had yet to burst.
Despite her discomfort at the topic (and the task) at hand, Hermione smiled at Harry's reaction before he and Ron both snapped their goggles back over their eyes and dived, once more, for the stump.
She knew Ron was right, there was something going on between her and Harry, but she wasn't sure what, and she sure as Merlin didn't want to talk about it as they battled a raging stump… or ever, for that matter.
Hermione felt she was facing the changes in her life head on, or at the very least, she was managing to stay on her own two feet… but she wasn't sure she was prepared for any shift in the dynamic of her relationship with her two best friends.
She wondered where it would lead them, and where it might leave Ron if something…. more— was to develop between her and Harry. Only now did she allow herself to consider this particular question.
She shook her head— it seemed… wrong.
"Gotcha!" yelled Ron, pulling a second pod from the stump just as she managed to burst the first one open, so that the bowl was full of tubers wriggling like pale green worms. She tried not to look too close.
"So you'll come to Slughorn's party with me, Harry?" Hermione asked again as they made their way back toward the castle after class, glad to leave stumps and pods behind them.
Whatever awkwardness they'd experienced in class was nothing compared to the dread of facing McLaggen without backup.
Ron shot Harry a pointed look, which Harry missed, but was not lost on Hermione.
"Course, Hermione," Harry replied easily this time, grinning broadly. "Er— and thanks for asking me."
Ron threw his hands up with a grunt of exasperation and marched his way into the Great Hall for lunch, Harry and Hermione trailing behind, both grinning at Ron's consternation.
/
From the time they were young children, Andromeda's older sister, Bellatrix, had always been a loose cannon, not unlike their mother— impulsive, reckless, and emotional. She'd always worn her feelings, as sudden and changeable as they were, on her sleeve.
Andromeda had been quite the opposite— bookish, rational to a fault, and measured— perhaps in part because Bellatrix had wielded her power— and her personality— so unforgivingly, and, more accurately, cruelly. Andromeda had learned very quickly to hide her emotions and opinions, whether agreeable or otherwise, lest Bellatrix or their own mother prey on them.
Narcissa, the youngest of the three, their mother's favorite, had always been the most reserved and the most fair, in both appearance and personality; looking back, Andromeda could now see these traits had certainly contributed to the relative cooperation she supposed she and Bellatrix continued to share, the cooperation Andromeda herself had failed to achieve.
In many ways, Andromeda had inadvertently taught herself Occlumency as a child, then honed her skill as an adolescent, eventually learning all she could about both Occlumency and Legilimency during her time at Hogwarts. She'd taught Narcissa Occlumency too, for a time… but by the time Narcissa entered Hogwarts, Andromeda had already forged her own path, one that did not include the most ancient and noble house of Black.
Andromeda knew that she and Bellatrix had essentially forced Narcissa to choose between them, and even then Andomeda recognized it had left the young Narcissa conflicted… she too did not deny her own conflict that still remained after all these years, a conflict which had resurfaced with a vengeance the day Snape had given her Narcissa's letter.
Draco was very much a Malfoy in physical appearance, but as their Occlumency lessons progressed, Andromeda saw he was more like his mother than she'd ever expected. A natural aptitude for Occlumency had revealed itself immediately, much like it had with Narcissa so long ago, and Andromeda soon recognized Draco's own conflict… along with a stubbornness she felt was matched only by her own.
"You're doing well, Draco," Andromeda said, unsure when she had begun referring to her nephew by his first name.
"Let's keep going," Draco replied, rubbing his eyes in a poor attempt to hide his exhaustion.
"I can begin delving deeper, and non-verbally… but you should rest—"
"No— I mean— I'm fine, professor. I want to continue."
Andromeda couldn't help but feel oddly proud.
"Prepare yourself," she commanded quietly.
Draco nodded.
She breathed deeply; she would not go easy on him, it would do him no favors, not in Voldemort's presence.
'Legilimens' she thought, and she felt the power of her mind pierce the barrier surrounding Draco's thoughts.
Images flashed in rapid succession, but all was pain and fear.
There was so much pain… Draco was very young, and there was the burning ache of the strike of Lucius' cane upon his back after he'd failed to perform a the killing curse on a wild ferret in the garden… the image changed and Draco was a little older, and Lucius too, a favorite broom cast aflame with the flick of his father's wand…
'Come on, Draco,' Andromeda projected encouragingly, but then Voldemort's wand was outstretched, searing a Dark Mark into Draco's arm, burning and bloody… the scene changed again and Draco's ashen face was reflected in a mirror, raw fear coursing through his veins… the images transformed as Andromeda heard an icy command of 'Crucio!' and Narcissa was screaming, laid to waste on a stone floor…
Finally, Andromeda could feel Draco successfully pushing back; she wasn't sure the last time she'd felt so relieved.
She pulled away, bracing herself against her desk and saw that Draco had fallen to his knees.
All these weeks, she'd made sure never to question what she saw inside Draco's mind, despite her desire to do so. Her Healer training was kicking in again now; she wanted to talk to Draco, to help him unpack his own memories and emotion and pain… but as she outstretched her hand to help him up— as she would her own daughter— she understood her desire to help him was much deeper than a mere side-effect of her profession.
The student, Katie Bell, was still at St. Mungo's— stable, but unconscious. She rather suspected Draco had something to do with the girl's curse, but she would never say so, particularly not directly to Draco.
Andromeda knew she had to make sure he could trust her; as Snape had informed her, it was the only way to help him… to help Narcissa.
"Again—" he panted, shaking his head at the sight of her outstretched hand.
"No."
Draco looked up, his light gray eyes fierce and willful. He was her sister's son— he was her nephew.
"I can do it."
'Legilimens' she thought again, this time, without warning.
Draco and a young Theodore Nott were running through a hedge maze, roaring with laughter… then Narcissa's smile flooded into view, her arms wrapped firmly around a very young Draco, as she read from the Tales of Beedle the Bard…
Andromeda could feel Draco's effort's weaken, but she considered perhaps she was unwittingly urging forward with increased strength at the sight of her sister's smile.
The image shifted, and there was a large cabinet in a shop, and a girl— Andromeda recognized her student, Hermione Granger— and Draco was placing jewelry around her neck… She felt Draco's conflict, his surprise at his own desire, and the scene transformed again as Miss Granger reappeared in Slughorn's office, a scar near her collarbone swimming into view… Andromeda felt Draco pushing back at last— but she would not relent so quickly this time.
She had to push him to his limits… he had to be prepared.
Another image materialized… a smooth metal ring with an inscription on the inside… there was Draco's desire and fear again— but this time, it was fear for someone else… and there was surely something more, so much more, but it was getting increasingly difficult for Andromeda to continue as Draco worked more forcefully to clear his mind.
But continue she did, as Voldemort surely would.
The scene transformed yet again and she saw her own classroom; Draco listening to Miss Granger saying softly, '"Try imagining what it will look like after it's been healed,"' and then there were brown eyes staring back at Draco as she felt her nephew give a final push.
"Well done," Andromeda said after retreating, breathing heavily from the prolonged effort. It had been many years since she'd used her powers so forcefully.
Draco had fallen on all fours, his body shaking violently.
Andromeda had noticed tension between Draco and Hermione in her class, but she'd chalked it up to nothing more than a rivalry between a pureblood and a Muggle-born, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. When she had paired them in her class, she never imagined the depths of their tension, nor the complications of their relationship. She wondered how much of this Draco realized himself.
She did not pity Draco, still on the floor of her office, but only wished she could help him. It would be naive to think that Occlumency alone would be enough to protect him from harm.
He's so young… and war always seems to damage the young most of all.
"Well— done—?" he panted, his voice shaking. "But you saw— everything—" He didn't look up, but Andromeda could tell his face was streaked with the tears he'd failed to hold back.
"Yes, Draco. You did well. You were exhausted, but you didn't give in."
She motioned to help him to his feet, and he reluctantly obliged at last. As he stood weakly, leaning against her desk for support, unable to meet her gaze, Andromeda examined his gaunt, ashen face more closely. He looked like he hadn't slept or eaten in a week.
"Let me give you some Sleeping Draught—"
"No!" He shouted, and she staggered backwards in alarm. His eyes were wide for a moment, but then softened as he realized how he'd reacted.
"You need—"
"No— no thank you, professor," he interrupted haggardly.
She felt every urge to argue, but Severus' warnings echoed through her mind. Draco needed their help, and this was the only way.
She nodded silently.
"Same time tomorrow?" Andromeda asked, and Draco nodded, hastily wiping at his eyes and face, his defenses already rebuilding themselves.
He turned to leave, but Andromeda needed to know.
"Your mother— is she—?"
Draco turned to face her and she recognized surprise on his face, even through the stony expression he'd managed to reinvigorate. She wondered if her expression betrayed her own fear and concern.
"She's alive," he said simply.
Andromeda nodded resolutely. He's learning too quickly.
"And Draco—" she said as he turned to leave again. "I meant what I said before. I don't deny the importance of family, but there is something to be said for forging your own path… and for following your own heart."
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A/N: Thank you for reading!