Chapter six: Plans of Attack
Draco frowned up at the clock.
He'd been sitting in the little grey room for fifteen minutes and this time, it was Granger who was late. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have been worried, but it was Granger, for Merlin's sake, who'd gotten a Time-Turner (as the lore held) so that she could be on time for more classes.
Something was not quite right.
At twenty minutes past the hour, he started to pace.
At twenty-seven minutes past the hour, Hermione burst in, hair wild, wearing two different shoes and looking completely frazzled. Draco's heart stopped threatening to jump out of its mouth, the uncomfortable feeling replaced with irritation.
"Where have you been?" he demanded.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry," she panted out. "I was just at the Ministry, trying to stop them from tearing down Ollivanders. Honestly, the level of bureaucracy that you have to chisel through-"
She caught sight of Draco's expression and flushed. "I shouldn't have been late," she acknowledged. The acid in the back of his throat started to dissipate at her apology. "Was there anything you wanted to discuss with me?"
Well, the Ministry has detained my house-elves, Draco wanted to start. I don't know if my mother's ever coming back from Spain, I'm treated like a leper when I go out in public, and I have to come to these meetings with you.
However, Draco was also a responsible, mature adult, so he bit back the flow of angry words that her lateness and his life had sparked, and started to talk about the bookstore.
Hermione went along with him for a few sentences, then sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I know that's not what you really want to talk about."
He didn't say a word, and she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, slamming her chair back down onto four legs.
"Obviously, I'm never going to make it as a counselor," she said dryly. "None of you will open up to me. But if you're not going to vent to me, vent to someone you actually like. And if you can't do that, at least take some of the ugly heirloom furniture that I'm sure is in your attic and chuck it around. It's not healthy to carry all the weight you're carrying."
Draco met her eyes, but didn't say a word, considering the idea.
"And besides," Hermione added, "It's easy to clean up, when you've got a Vanishing charm."
He did give a little chuckle, at that. Hermione smiled.
After ridding herself of the goody-two-shoes burden to talk about his feelings, Hermione simply moved on to other topics of conversation for the rest of their meeting. They discussed a paper she was writing on a modified Calming Draught, the newcomers to the Ballycastle Bats, and whether the type of wand you received indicated something about your personality. Which, of course, led to discussing why she was late.
"… they're really tearing down Ollivanders?" Draco asked, curious.
Hermione's mouth thinned into a line. "The property is valuable."
"Of course it is," Draco muttered darkly. "But you're going to fight for it, right?"
She blinked at him. "Yes, I am."
"As it should be," Draco said absently, the beginnings of an idea starting to form in his mind. It would take some work, but… "I should be off." Hermione acquiesced, and they stood, shook hands, and Draco made his way to the door. On the way out, though, he paused.
Turning, he met Hermione's eyes briefly. "And, by the way," he said, "I don't dislike you. Just so you know."
Hermione gave him a little half smile, and he turned to go once more.
…
As soon as Draco left the room, Hermione let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.
"Today must have been a calm day," she said to the room, and then sat back in her chair, slouching into the seat.
It'd been a train wreck of a morning. First, she'd been notified that her Potions Master was going on vacation for a week, and she had to submit her work to a crotchety, elitist old windbag who made her do everything two times over. Then, Harry had owled her about the Ollivander situation, and on her way out the door, Molly had floo-called her to ask (read: harass) her about the Summer Solstice party at the Weasleys. All of these things had combined to make her late, something that rarely happened to Hermione Granger.
Thankfully, Malfoy had been forgiving.
After a few more minutes of boneless lolling, Hermione straightened up and pulled a notebook and pen out of her bag. (Quills were great, but Hermione still liked using Muggle stationary). Flipping to a new page, she titled it Slytherin Rehab Program, and made three headings: Malfoy, Parkinson, and Pucey.
She smiled. She did love being organized.
Hermione started with Pucey, who was going to have to be coaxed out of his shell. He was a surprisingly gentle soul, and Hermione had been struggling to come up with community service for him.
However, on her way to meet Malfoy, she'd run through the courtyard of a high school, and noticed the poster: "STRESSED ABOUT EXAMS? PET THERAPY IN MUSIC ROOM THREE EVERY FRIDAY LUNCH".
Animal Shelter Volunteer, she wrote under Pucey, along with Start meeting somewhere else – somewhere without bad memories or the impression of a principal's office.
Satisfied, she moved onto Parkinson. They'd been dueling continuously, but that was just a release valve. And, if she had to admit it, it was also just as therapeutic for Hermione herself.
Pansy had been planting trees, which was something that Hermione had not expected her to choose, but seemed to suit her well. Now if only she could get her to talk. Hermione wanted to know what she would have to say.
Then an idea blossomed. Hermione stood up, kicked off her mismatched shoes, and poked her head out of the tiny room. "Luna?"
"Yeah?" she heard a voice call back.
"Where was Neville when you saw him last? And is he still studying Herbology?"
Parkinson – Try to start dialogue by talking about something she's passionate about.
Those two done – Harry had been onto something with this making notes idea – Hermione sat back and considered her final Slytherin.
Malfoy.
Malfoy was a puzzle. He'd ended up working in a bookstore, but she didn't get the sense that it was a calling – more of a safe haven. He was perfectly polite to her – but also enjoyed pulling her pigtails, even now. The only thing she knew for certain is that there were a lot of emotions, thoughts, and worries whipping around his brain.
So Hermione started to brainstorm.
Under Malfoy she wrote lost, proud, resilient, intelligent, angry, along with loyal, maturing, and bitter. She wrote a solid page of adjectives and tiny details, like used to spend more time on his hair and likes sugar in his tea. (She blamed Harry and his obsessing in 6th year for the knowledge of these details).
And at the end of it all, she was beginning to come up with a plan.
…
A/N:
And look at that, I actually managed to update. /throws confetti/
Thank you again for being patient with me. I know that the romance, which will happen eventually, is very slow-building, but it'll get there, I promise – Hermione's going to start to figure things out soon.
Thanks for reading!
-Isefyr