I should drink more often, Hermione mused groggily, only half-joking as she roused from one of the best nights of sleep she'd had in a very long time.
For the first time in months, the anxiety that had haunted her like a specter during every moment of the day had dissipated into the background of her mind. And all it had taken was a few drinks with her housemates the night before. She knew the reprieve wouldn't last, but it was a relief that she still knew how to have fun.
As awkward as she'd felt attending Gryffindor's back to school party, she'd promised Ginny she would show up ready to have a good time. And even without her promise to Ginny, she would have forced herself to show up on principle.
Hermione knew self-isolation wasn't the answer to her troubles, much as it tempted her. Everyone who'd returned to school this year was struggling in their own way with the aftermath of a war that had taken up a good portion of their lives. Some just hid it better than others, but she didn't want to become one of them.
Stretching languidly beneath the covers, Hermione checked the time and considered what her plans were for the day. It was already 9 in the morning, but she still had a few hours to go before she needed to be presentable. Last night, she and a few of the other upperclassmen had decided they would grab brunch together at the Three Broomsticks today instead of eating breakfast in the Great Hall.
Now that the school's Hogsmeade restrictions had been loosened for 7th and 8th years, they were itching to take advantage of their visiting privileges. Hermione couldn't blame them. In the past week she'd had more flashbacks from the war than she could count on both hands.
She'd known it would be one of the potential side effects of returning to campus so soon after she'd fought there, but knowing so still hadn't prepared her for the visceral impact of her vivid recollections. It had become easier to handle throughout her first week back, but Hermione would have been lying if she said she wasn't ready to get out of the castle for a breath of fresh air, too.
In the meantime, there was homework to be done, and personal projects to work on. Hermione was looking forward to losing herself in the flow of productive work. It may only have been her first week back at Hogwarts, but her professors had certainly not held back. Hermione grinned, thinking of the grousing Harry and Ron would be doing right about now had they chosen to return to Hogwarts with her.
She spent the next two hours holed up in her room wearing her pajamas, finishing up an essay for Arithmancy, and doing some research for upcoming Transfiguration and Potions assignments. She considered writing to Harry and Ron, but decided to wait until after she'd returned from brunch. Once she was done with her schoolwork, she took a quick shower and dressed in warm pair of leggings and an oversized, knit jumper.
She tried not to look too closely at herself in the bathroom mirror as she brushed and plaited her hair into two braids, which she then wrapped and pinned over her head like a headband. She didn't quite recognize the gaunt face staring back at her, and didn't want to acknowledge the wisdom, loss and sadness reflected in her dark gaze. Sometimes it felt harder to look herself in the eyes than it did to look at the scars on her arm and chest.
When Hermione finally ventured out of her bedroom, she was met with an empty common room, which was just as well. Briefly, she wondered how Malfoy's night had gone, then decided she had no business wondering anything about Draco Malfoy if it wasn't in a purely professional context.
You sure weren't thinking professionally yesterday when you were admiring his assets, she reminded herself.
He really does have nice hands, though. And nice forearms. And those biceps... oh tosh! Enough is enough!
Shaking herself out of such a scandalous train of thought, she fed Crookshanks and changed his water, then made her way down to the school's entrance. She encountered few people on the way, and found her mind being drawn back to Malfoy the whole way there.
Hermione still found it hard to believe that he could have changed so much in such a short amount of time, but his behavior in the past week had been remarkably consistent so far. Only time would tell, she supposed. She hoped it lasted—she much preferred this improved version of him.
She didn't want to admit it, but some small part of her had begun to want to trust him. That was taking it a little too far, though. It would take a lot longer before Hermione Jean Granger could ever start to trust the likes of Draco Malfoy and his ilk. There was simply too much history between them.
Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Dean were waiting for her when she arrived at the school gates. They walked contentedly down the unkempt path to Hogsmeade, and proceeded to spend the next few hours stuffing themselves full of breakfast food and Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.
Of course, one of the first things her friends wanted to know once they'd settled at a table was what it was like to live with Malfoy. She was happy to be able to report that he'd been a downright gentleman thus far, despite the incredulity of her companions.
"You mean to tell me that Malfoy hasn't so much as insulted you since school started?" Dean asked disbelievingly, "Not even once?"
"I find it hard to believe myself," Hermione conceded, "But it's true."
"Good for him," Luna said with a tilt of her head as she licked a spot of syrup from her finger, "Everyone deserves a second chance."
Whether he realized it or not, Neville was staring at Luna with a thinly veiled look of dreamy adoration, and Hermione struggled to contain her giggle. Last night and today had done more to restore her sense of normalcy than all the soul searching she'd agonized over during the weeks before school had started. She was happy to see the beginnings of such affection growing amongst her friends, and was happy to be present enough in the moment to notice it.
It's good to be back, she thought while taking a sip of her drink. Hermione wanted to protect this bubble of contentment, to cup it close to her chest and preserve its fragile contents before the harsh realities of the world could intrude and ruin what it held.
After their meal, the group of friends wandered around Hogsmeade and picked up a few school supplies and snacks to take back with them. On the walk up to the castle, Hermione and Ginny hung back from the rest of the group, engaged in more personal topics of conversation.
"You seem to be in good spirits today. I'm glad last night's shindig wasn't too much," Ginny said as they walked side by side.
"I was worried it would be," Hermione admitted sheepishly, "But turns out it was just what I needed. Same with brunch today. They were both wonderful ideas, Gin. Thank you."
Ginny beamed at her, "Of course! Someone's gotta make sure we all let loose and have a good time this year! It's hard work but I'm glad to do it," she finished cheekily.
Hermione chuckled, thankful for their friendship and glad they would have more of an opportunity to strengthen it this year. She was proud of the strength Ginny had shown since the last battle, and she suspected it was her unique way of grieving for Fred. The group of friends parted ways in front of the Great Hall, bidding each other a good afternoon and promising to see each other later that evening at dinner.
The Heads' common room was still empty and undisturbed when Hermione returned mid-afternoon. She took a seat at one of the desks by the fireplace, summoned her writing supplies and spent the next half hour writing to Harry and Ron about her first week back at school. She tried to include as many details as possible because she knew they'd complain if she glossed over anything—they were nosy like that.
When she was done writing, she took the long way up to the Owlery, finding that she was in no particular hurry to accomplish the rest of her tasks for the day. Brunch had left her feeling too satiated to rush on such a relaxing and mellow Saturday evening.
On her way back to her dormitory after mailing both letters, she admired the beautiful, dusky landscape surrounding the castle—something she hadn't taken the time to notice in over a year.
Has it been that long since I was able to really see beauty in the world? she wondered sadly to herself.
This time when Hermione returned to the Heads' common room, a fire was roaring in the hearth and there were other clear signs of human activity, although Malfoy was still nowhere to be found. Shrugging, she slipped off her shoes, and decided to work on her latest personal project—learning the art of wandless magic.
Hermione had been practicing wandless magic on and off throughout the past few weeks, both because she was immensely intrigued by it, but also because she needed something to take her mind off things. It was extremely difficult work, and often left her feeling exhausted if she overdid it, but it was one of the most gratifying pursuits she'd taken on in recent memory. And best of all—it consumed all of her attention and concentration while she was doing it.
She grabbed a small trinket she'd been using for practice lately, and sat crosslegged on the rug in front of the fire to warm up. After setting the small ivory figurine of a griffin onto the floor in front of her, she settled into a comfortable position with her back against the foot of the couch. She reached up to begin unpinning and unbraiding her hair, all while staring at the figurine with an intense look of concentration and determination.
Quite frankly, the trinket sitting before her had been a huge pain in her ass as of late. She'd started with wandless magic a few months ago by learning how to move and then levitate a small leaf. From there she'd worked her way up to a feather, then a sheet of parchment, then a key, then a piece of candy, and then any combination of those objects. Now she was stuck on this stupid trinket. No matter how hard she'd tried over the summer, it would do little more than budge, but otherwise it remained stubbornly still.
She suspected it had to do with the material of the object or its irregular shape, as some of her admittedly spotty research had revealed. Frowning, Hermione concentrated on it, reaching out with her mind and her magic to greet the inert and stolid creature carved delicately in white.
For a few minutes, there was no movement in the common room besides the dancing and crackling of the fire as Hermione stared intently at the object with total concentration, all the while whispering Wingardium Leviosa every few seconds under her breath.
After what seemed like no time, the griffin began to tremble before lifting gently a foot into the air. Delighted, Hermione let out a whoop, which broke her concentration and caused the figurine to topple back to the carpet. Undeterred, Hermione grinned and used her wand to right the griffin before attempting to replicate her feat. This was her first time practicing wandless magic at Hogwarts, and she wondered at how much easier it felt to do it within the confines of the castle walls.
She lost track of the next two hours in that way, not giving herself a break in between each successful attempt, forcing herself to hold the figurine in the air for longer and longer periods of time, until she could make it zip around in front of her like a marionette.
By that time she was so tired that it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She hadn't planned to tax herself quite this much, and had let herself get carried away with the excitement of finally mastering her hardest wandless hurdle yet.
With the hint of a genuine smile peeking from the corner of her mouth, Hermione's head drifted to the side to rest on the sofa as she fell into an exhausted slumber, all while cradling the white figure in her small hand. I'll just close my eyes for a moment.
Hermione woke to the wonderful feeling of fingers running through her hair and massaging her scalp. She was so out of it that for the first few moments she thought it might be part of a dream, but as the glorious sensations continued to drag her further and further into the realm of consciousness, a slow sense of confusion and alarm began to dawn on her.
Mum? Her mum was the only person who'd ever played with her hair like this, but she was—
Like a bolt of lightning, reality came crashing down on Hermione all at once. Her eyes snapped open and her body tensed as the disorientation from her exhaustion and awakening were chased into panic and instant awareness.
Who the bloody hell is playing with my hair?!
Without looking, she quickly reached for the last place she'd left her wand on the floor next to her, but she was immediately stopped short when the hand in her hair tightened so painfully it caused tears to collect at the corners of her eyes.
"Don't ruin the moment, Granger. I was having so much fun," Malfoy drawled from behind her, his large hand roughly jerking her head to lay back on the cushion in its original position despite her struggling. Although she couldn't see him, she could tell that he was lounging on the couch she was leaning against, using just the one hand to casually control her movements.
"Wha—Malfoy?! Let go!" Hermione demanded shrilly, still scrambling to reach for her wand, but it wasn't there. She was at Malfoy's mercy, and she hated it.
Confusion and betrayal were swirling up within her, mixing with her panicked desperation to create an unproductive and distracting cocktail of emotions. Adrenaline had begun pumping through her veins, helping to clear the last vestiges of sleep from her mind. She prepared to swing an elbow behind her despite the pain in her scalp and awkward positioning of her neck in the hopes of catching him unawares.
"Hmm, I don't think I will," he responded with condescension and smug satisfaction, "In fact, now that I know you're awake, I'll do you one better."
He quickly cast an Immobulus and a Silencio on her vulnerable form, then relaxed back into the couch with his long fingers still tangled in her messy curls, stroking them absentmindedly. Hermione knew nothing good would come of this.
What's his endgame?!
"As you may have noticed, I want to hear myself talk right now, Granger. And I want you to listen for once," Malfoy continued casually as his hand resumed gently playing with her hair, suddenly as relaxed as if they were two friends having a conversation in the hallway between classes.
"You see, I've had a change of heart. I'd originally wanted to do this nice and slow—I would have buttered you up and gained your trust to get you on my side. You're a good ally to have, you know, despite your deplorable blood status. But circumstances have changed, and we don't quite have time for that anymore, love. I'm afraid your options have narrowed down to just the one, now."
His hand tightened painfully in her hair once more. Tears of frustration had begun to trail down Hermione's frozen face as she fully registered the dire position she was in. Malfoy was clearly unhinged, and right now he had the advantage. Had this been his plan all along? Where could this possibly lead?
She scrambled to concentrate on a way out of this mess before it escalated any further, but was drawing a blank given her state of paralysis. Even wandless magic was useless right now if she couldn't vocalize the spells—she wasn't that good yet.
Her breath caught in her throat when he continued speaking, this time so close behind her she could feel his warm breath on her skin as he murmured softly into her ear, "Unlike the last time you were captured, this time the only thing you'll need to give us is proof of your pain, mudblood."
Upon hearing his words, Hermione's blood ran cold. It was perhaps an inconsequential thing to notice at a time like this, but this was the first time he'd called her that since before the war had ended. Perhaps more importantly, the clinical part of her mind noticed Malfoy had said "us," which didn't bode well for her at all. Whatever was going on, it was larger than the two of them.
You deceitful git, she exploded inwardly. What have you done now you conniving little sna–
Draco's other hand entered her line of vision, and his thumb landed on her frozen lips, her furious eyes sweeping down to focus on the gesture. The single digit began sweeping back and forth along her bottom lip, smearing the tears that had landed there while his left hand disappeared from her scalp. She couldn't see the expression on his face, but the tone of his next words shifted.
"All in due time, of course," he murmured softly from behind her, "Stupefy."
Instantly, Hermione's world went dark.