Chapter 11

Hermione agonized the whole weekend over what she would say to Draco Malfoy. Her initial instinct was to owl him payment for all of the books and refuse the generous gift. Not only was she paid a decent salary at the Ministry, she also had quite a sum left over from the reward given to her at the end of the war. Since she had very little to spend it on, it had mostly just sat around accumulating interest in her vault at Gringotts.

But as she prepared the note, she grew increasingly concerned that Malfoy would see her rejection of his gift as an insult. Hermione wouldn't go so far as to say that Malfoy never did anything nice for anyone, but the words 'rarely', 'infrequently' and 'irregularly' crossed her mind, and so she thought twice about an outright rejection.

Malfoy acted like he didn't care about what anyone else thought. He moved through life with the same casual indifference to others that had made his father so formidable. He didn't throw his money or his family name (or his blood status) around like he used to when they were younger, but he carried himself with an easy self-possession that the less perceptive might actually label self-importance.

Still, Hermione had sometimes seen something in his clear, silver eyes in unguarded moments that made her think there was a real, deep-feeling person inside; a person who took his job seriously, a person who felt the stigma from his past coloring his present, a person who could be sympathetic and kind when no one else was watching. And if this person bought her a preposterous amount of books as a gift, she couldn't bring herself to say no. She rather thought that, as inconceivable as it seemed, if she gave them back or insisted on paying for them herself, she would hurt his feelings.

She wasn't sure exactly when they had become friends. Her first thought was the Ministry dinner when he helped her fight through her very personal and very emotional demons. But no, it must have started much earlier than that. Somewhere in between the casual conversations, the polite arguments and the snarky comments, she had become friends with Draco Malfoy. She felt like she should be shocked, but actually, she felt a warmth rising inside her as she realized that she had a friend who was all her own, and it wasn't because she was friends with Harry Potter (in fact, it might be more despite that fact).

After coming to this reality-altering conclusion, she started to write a thank you-note several times. Only how do you thank someone for being your friend, which is really what it all came down to? With the amount of galleons Malfoy had he probably wouldn't even miss the paltry sum he had spent on her. And with those thoughts in mind, every draft she began was discarded partway through, as no words seemed adequate to describe her gratitude not just for the books, but for the sentiment behind them.

So on Monday morning, she nervously walked over to the Auror department and knocked on Draco's office door with a paper-wrapped package in her hands. He was sitting at his desk reviewing what looked like counterspells, but he looked up immediately when she entered. She rather thought he was pleased to see her, and when he slowly smiled at her in welcome, the nervousness in her stomach immediately dissipated and she grinned at him.

"I've brought you something," she announced without preamble, setting her rectangular gift on his desktop.

Eyeing it appraisingly, Draco said, "Let me guess, it's a book.

"No, actually, it's several hundred galleons worth of books. Surprise!" Suspicious, and alarmed, he looked questioningly at her, and she laughed at him. "No, I'm not returning the books. Really, you made the mistake of letting me keep them in my home, so they are certainly going to remain there. I've already alphabetized them. But I did get you a book."

She motioned at him to open it, and he did so, feeling giddy at the thought that she had brought him a gift and feeling silly for feeling giddy. Malfoys, as a rule, were never giddy. About anything. Ever.

Once the paper wrapping was off, he saw that it was a battered copy of a book called Pride and Prejudice. The binding was in need of repair and the pages were bent in several places, as if marked for later reading. Draco could only assume it was meant to be that way, since the brightest witch of the age certainly had the knowledge and the power to fix it.

"It's my favorite book," she said by way of explanation. "It's a Muggle book, but considered a classic. I'm not certain why it has always had a special place in my heart amongst all the other classics that I read, but something about Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennett always kept me enthralled."

At his questioning glance, she laughed and said, "They're the characters in the book. You'll see."

He slowly turned the book around, examining it curiously. "Why is the copy so dire-looking, Granger?"

"Because I've read it several times, Malfoy," she said exasperatedly. "I figured you could buy as many copies as you'd like. In fact, I have several other copies as well. But this is the one I always read, and you can't buy that."

He felt a slight tingle in his fingertips as he thought about her reading this book over and over again. It was imbued with her essence from the amount of times she'd held it in her hand. Hesitant, he asked,

"So is it on loan, then?"

She gave him a funny look. "No, Malfoy, I'm giving it to you. It's time to pass it on." She shrugged. "It's okay if you don't like it." She reached over the desk to take the book in her hands. "Look, you can just give it back if you want."

He held it above him and out of her reach. "No, I want it. I'll read it."

With a skeptical look she asked, "Are you sure? It's probably not the type of book you're used to reading."

He frowned at that. "I'm really not certain if I should feel insulted or not." Hermione just grinned at him. He added, "Besides, I think I've heard about this book. I've been meaning to read it sometime. I like books about zombies."

Confused, she said, "Zom—" before she cut herself off. Then she just shook her head and smiled and said, "Okay. Well, it's yours now."

He set it down carefully on the side of his desk, like he was unsure whether it was a dangerous artifact or a precious possession.

Her mission completed, Hermione set herself down in the chair in front of his desk and changed the subject. "So, are you playing in the Quidditch game tomorrow?" It was the annual game of the Auror Office versus the Hit Wizards. Hermione was not a big fan of Quidditch, but she did usually try to make it out to this one game. It was always highly entertaining as there was a curious rivalry between the two groups. Each department thought they outranked the other and were more formidable at their jobs, and somehow, in the manner of most Quidditch fans, they felt this question of superiority was always best decided on the Quidditch pitch. She wasn't sure why they bothered to continue playing as the Aurors had always won once Harry became their Seeker.

With an eyebrow raised, Draco asked, "Granger, have you ever seen me play in the Auror games?"

Come to think of it, she hadn't. Perhaps she had never noticed, as her attention was usually between Ron as Keeper and Harry as Seeker. "I thought you loved Quidditch, Malfoy?"

"I do, Granger. But I'm a Seeker. And the Aurors don't need a Seeker." This was an understatement, as not only didn't they need another Seeker, but they would probably violently protest the idea of having another one.

"And you couldn't play another position?" The solution seemed logical to Hermione.

With a noticeably neutral look on his face, Draco quietly said, "The other positions all require teamwork, Granger. Have you ever noticed that the other Aurors aren't too keen on thinking of me as a team member?"

It took her a moment to grasp what he was getting at. "But that's awful!" she exclaimed, once she understood. "They won't let you play?"

He grimaced at her description, as if the other toddlers weren't sharing their toys with him. "It's not that they won't let me play, Granger. They just aren't all too fond of the idea." Her mouth remained open and he rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, well, it's not far different from my views of working with them, so I really can't blame them."

"You don't mean that." She tilted her head, considering his words, feeling confident that she knew better.

"That I don't like working with them? Yes, I really do mean it."

"No," Hermione said, seriously, "that you wouldn't accept them as teammates."

With a sigh, Draco ran one hand through his hair. The platinum locks hovered in place for a moment before falling back over his face. "Granger, there are all kinds of teams. And in this case, it's just not worth the fuss to insist I be on this one." He shrugged again, trying to convey his lack of concern without words.

"Well, I understand they need a new Keeper this year," she jokingly suggested.

He shuddered in mock horror. "The day anyone calls me the replacement for Ron Weasley is the day I stop glamouring away my freckles."

"You have...? Oh, you!" And she laughed. Because the vision of Malfoy with freckles was so absurd that she just had to laugh. His complexion was far too flawless, his alabaster skin too perfect, to suffer the indignity of a single freckle, let alone the blasphemy of a whole cluster of them.

She watched him as he was struggling to keep the small grin off of his face because of his little joke, and she laughed again. Malfoy was generally rude and disrespectful, but she rather thought he was funny in a harmless sort of way. And he seemed less guarded around her—more willing to say things she didn't think he shared with anyone else.

So the invitation popped out of her mouth before she could second-guess herself. "You should come watch the game at least, even if you won't be playing in it. You can sit with Ginny and I."

He turned his clear, silver gaze on her and blinked slowly. She didn't know what to make of the expression on his face, as he had suddenly gone very still. Surely he wasn't that opposed to cheering on his own department in a public setting? Or maybe it was being seen with her—again—in a public setting? She felt a need to fill the silence, so she airily dismissed the tension that suddenly filled the room. "Ginny loves Quidditch and doesn't like to be interrupted from the game, but I can usually be depended on to have a conversation outside of the action."

When he still didn't respond, she grinned at him and said, "You can hold Baby Jamie, if you like. I'm his godmother, so I can distract Ginny long enough to put him in your arms."

The disgusted look came unbidden to his face, as Hermione had expected, and she just laughed at the reaction her suggestion had provoked.

"Thank you, Hermione," he drawled sarcastically, "But I do believe I will decline the offer of holding The Baby Who Lived to Eat, Poop and Burp up Unmentionable Substances."

"Ooh," she exclaimed, "a new title for him! Although quite descriptive, it seems a little unwieldy." She frowned in mock concentration, causing him to finally, finally relax and smile at her. His whole face changed when he smiled—he didn't seem to be trying so hard to hide himself from the rest of the world. She didn't realize her own smile changed in response, to something softer and warmer.

Slowly, he shook his head, like he couldn't believe what he was about to say. He looked up at her, his grey eyes catching her brown ones. "Okay, I'll go."

She was unsurprised when he held up his finger and added, "But I'm not holding the baby, I'm not cheering anyone on and I reserve the right to read my new book if things get boring or the company grows intolerable."

She just laughed at him again as she walked out the door, with an easy, "See you tomorrow, then, Malfoy."

But before she was out of earshot, he called out her name. Her first name. And though she'd heard it before, it was usually accompanied with a heavy dose of sarcasm or a sardonic tone. This time, it was just a question, and startled, she turned back and paused in the door. "Yes?"

He just looked at her for a moment, and then he said, "I think if I'm going to be suffering through whatever Muggle classic you've just unloaded on me, you can stop calling me by my family name. It's not like we're still in school."

She hadn't really given it much thought. Surely she didn't always call him by his last name, did she? Shrugging, she agreed, "Okay, Malfoy." Then, she quickly corrected herself. "I mean, Draco." And it might have been her imagination coupled with a sudden feeling of self-consciousness, but she was almost sure she saw a glint in his eyes. A shiver ran down her spine.

As she walked out, she mouthed his name several times to herself. Draco, Draco, Draco. It felt odd. Almost too familiar. But there was no good reason for her to be calling him Malfoy all the time, so she resolved to remember to call him by his first name, as if they were really friends. Which, she guessed, they must be now. Draco, Draco, Draco. She got another shiver down her spine. Definitely odd.