Chapter 3
The Dawn is Rising From the Sea
Draco had always been hesitant to call any place home. Malfoy Manor was impressive and imposing, with sumptuous furnishings and priceless heirlooms, but it was also somewhat lifeless and formal. Most of his fellow students had hated him on principle, as so many were taught that Slytherins were a lot not to be trusted. Quite right, in the end. But despite the presence of so many who disliked him, Draco had always simply enjoyed the novelty of being surrounded by people.
The manor had often been host to lavish parties when he was a boy, but he wasn't allowed to attend them. No one had been much in the mood for such things during the Dark Lord's return to power. And after the war, no one but his mother and the house-elves were there to alleviate the oppressive vastness of the manor's endless rooms and empty hallways.
As he roamed the corridors of Hogwarts, Draco was struck by how different it's emptiness felt compared to that of his childhood home. Where the manor was lit by elegant candles in gleaming silver candelabras, the castle was brightened by rustic torches crackling merrily in their brackets. Walking the halls of the manor alone had always made him feel cold and often scared. As Draco's footsteps echoed off the stone walls of Hogwarts, he felt calm and content. A movement caught his eye and he glanced over at a painting of a dark-haired woman in a corseted French gown. She fluttered her fan suggestively and winked at him. Draco gave her a lopsided smile before heading back to his quarters in the dungeons.
/
The day before classes began, Draco woke up feeling like a small hippogriff was clomping around inside his skull. He admitted to himself, and only to himself, that he was terrified. He had already rearranged the Potions classroom, restocked the ingredients cupboard, and planned his lessons for the next month. There was nothing for him to do but drown in a sea of his own trepidation.
Draco took his breakfast in his quarters, a cup of bitter black coffee alleviating the throbbing of his temples slightly. He dressed reluctantly and made his way through the labyrinth of dungeon corridors to his office with the intention of writing a letter to his mother. While he usually appreciated the privacy that his rooms afforded, being so far off the main dungeon that no one would ever find them unintentionally, Draco's mood only darkened during the five minute walk from his door to the Potions room.
While the room could certainly not be called cheerful, Draco had attempted to make it less foreboding than it had been during Professor Snape's tenure. He had been surprised to discover that Professor McGonagall had not had the office emptied until a few days earlier. Everything had been left exactly as it was until Draco required the space. The room was more brightly lit and the specimens that had once lined the walls were gone, except for a large jar above the fireplace that Draco had salvaged before it was stored away. It contained a large orange flower suspended in clear liquid – the label read Tiger Lily.
/
After descending the Owlery stairs, Draco made his way outside and aimlessly wandered the grounds. He circled around the lake and caught a glimpse of the squid gliding lazily back and forth, stopping for several moments at the foot of the white marble tomb. He passed the Quidditch pitch and the greenhouses, skirted the Forbidden Forest, and eventually found himself ambling up the main stairs and back into the castle.
Draco was mildly surprised not to have passed anyone the entire morning, but he supposed many of them were still preparing for the start of term. There was a staff meeting scheduled later that day, something he was looking forward to much as he would his own execution. While Professor McGonagall and Hagrid had treated him with kindness, he knew that the best he could hope for from the rest of his colleagues was indifference. Indeed, indifference would be preferable to the outright disgust he was expecting.
He made his way up to the library, where he finally made human contact. Madame Pince was flitting around with an armful of books, her feather duster in one hand. Her head shot up at the sound of an intruder, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Upon seeing him she simply arched her eyebrow before disappearing amongst the shelves.
To Draco's relief, the library had not changed. Some parts of the castle still bore unmistakable evidence of the Dark Lord's final defeat and the accompanying destruction. No doubt the library had sustained several toppled shelves and cracked windows, but nothing irreversible.
Meandering through the stacks and running his fingers over the weathered spines, he could almost imagine that none of it had actually happened. As he inhaled the musty, delicious smell of aged parchment and well-worn leather, Draco remembered many hours spent in the solitude of a hidden alcove near the Restricted Section. Surrounded by such an immense amount of knowledge as well as fantasy, he had been able to forget himself for a while.
His alcove was predictably empty, the large armchair and small wooden table probably untouched since the last time he had sat in it. The recess was barely noticeable at a glance and much too close to the Restricted Section for many to accidentally discover it.
Draco heard movement and turned around, glancing down the row to one of the study areas. One of the gigantic wooden tables was stacked high with volumes, amongst which he could barely make out the head of someone with brown hair. He didn't attempt to hide himself as he ventured down the adjacent shelves to get a better look, but he didn't make himself conspicuous either.
He certainly hadn't been expecting to see Hermione Granger, but coming upon her in the library somehow lessened the shock. She was arching her back against her chair, arms stretched out high above her as she yawned. Readjusting her position, she happened to glance up and make eye contact with him. Understandably, she started. Clutching a hand to her throat, she managed to arrest the strangled shriek that had begun to escape.
"Sweet Merlin!" Hermione gasped. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
"Just… browsing," Draco said.
"No, I mean here here. At Hogwarts."
"Oh, um. I work here."
"What?" she asked.
"I work here," he repeated.
"Doing what?"
"Teaching."
"Oh. No one mentioned."
"Who would have? I expect no one knows except the staff. Which you aren't, are you?" Draco demanded with a slight feeling of horror.
"Ha. Don't worry," she assured him. "No."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Research."
"I can see that," he responded sarcastically, looking pointedly at the mountains of books surrounding her.
"Yes. Obviously," Hermione replied. There was an awkward pause while they both looked at each other, then at something else, then back at each other. "So… how are you?" she finally asked.
"Brilliant," Draco answered flatly, his jaw tightening.
"Good."
"And you, Granger?"
"Good, yeah. Great. Sorry, what are you teaching?"
"Potions."
"Of course. What else?" she said, laughing uneasily.
"And what are you researching?"
"I've been hired to revise Hogwarts: A History."
"What else?" he replied with a smirk.
"Quite," she agreed.
"Nearly done, are you?"
"No, I've only just started."
"Ah. So you're going to be here," Draco asked.
"Yes. For this term, at least. Probably more," Hermione said, looking rather apologetic.
"Brilliant," he said. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you then, won't I?" Draco turned to leave.
"Look, I-" she started, prompting him to turn back to her. "It's alright, isn't it? We're adults and there's not a war on, is there? Everything is different now. We don't hate each other anything."
"No," he agreed. "I suppose we don't. What the point anymore?" She nodded and gave him a small smile before returning to the book in front of her.
/
The staff meeting was shockingly uneventful. He had assumed correctly that everyone had been warned of his arrival, as his introduction was met with nothing but a few narrowed eyes and subtle glances. Professor McGonagall also announced Granger, informing them of her extended stay and advising them to provide her with anything she might require for her research. The only person Draco did not recognize was a dark-haired man in navy robes who looked terribly bored. He assumed that this was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, as it was the only post he couldn't account for from those in the room.
After they had been dismissed, Draco caught up with Filch.
"Mr. Filch," he called. The shriveled caretaker turned around, looking at him suspiciously.
"Professor."
"I was wondering if you might help me locate something for my rooms."
"And what would that be?"
"Perhaps you could just tell me where spare furniture and things of that sort are kept," Draco asked, hoping he would receive a simple answer and end this conversation.
"There are a many storage rooms in this castle," Filch drawled impatiently. "What exactly were you looking for?"
"A piano," he answered. The caretaker looked at him rather strangely before replying.
"I'll have one brought down to you after dinner."
"I'd rather handle it myself."
"Very well… there's a closet with the red door in the Music room corridor. Fifth floor."
"Thank you," Draco said briskly, hurrying away before Filch could inquire further.
/
Later that evening, the young professor crept out of his secluded dungeon quarters and up to the fifth floor. He located the red door that Filch had mentioned and unlocked it with the spell that Professor McGonagall had shown him upon his arrival at Hogwarts. Draco had always wondered why ordinary locking spells did not work on many of the castle doors when he was a student. As he whispered the words, Draco experienced a momentary thrill at the knowledge that he could obtain entry to almost any room in the school.
He held his wand aloft as he entered, the light issuing from its tip casting a beam across the floor of the large storeroom. Draco poked around for at least twenty minutes, examining craftsmanship and lightly tapping keys. Eventually, he chose an ornately carved Victorian upright with a dark wood finish he would identify later.
After maneuvering it through the maze of other instruments and equipment strewn about the room, Draco levitated the piano out the door. Spelling the closet closed behind him, he began to lead his newly acquired prize down the corridor.
He had just reached stepped off the stairs onto the second floor when he heard footsteps. Glancing around, he saw the unknown professor from the staff meeting descending the stairs behind him.
"Well," the other man said, his voice giving away a barely noticeable Irish inflection. "I don't quite know what to make of this."
"I suppose not," Draco replied.
"But who am I to tell a man what he can or cannot levitate around the castle in the dead of night? I myself have been caught in the midst of many a suspicious activity."
"I just don't prefer to draw attention to myself."
"To be sure, Mr. Malfoy. You've had quite enough of that for a lifetime, I daresay," he declared.
Under ordinary circumstances, Draco would have found the immediate familiarity with which this complete stranger was addressing him to be inappropriate and irritating. But there was something about the lack of judgment in his tone and expression that drew him in rather than repelled him.
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Draco said, moving his wand to his left hand in order to extend his right.
"Fabian Killelea," the dark-haired man replied, accepting Draco's handshake.
"How long have you been here?"
"Since the end of the War."
"I don't recognize you. You can't be much older."
"I doubt I am. I went to school in America," Fabian explained. Draco just nodded, drumming his fingers on the top of the floating piano.
"I'd best be off," he said, gesturing towards the instrument.
"Yes. Best of luck with your… creeping."
"I'm not creeping," Draco insisted haughtily. "I'm just… being subtle."
"Of course," Fabian agreed with a smirk. He turned and headed off down the corridor, leaving Draco and his piano to continue their journey unobstructed.
/
The first week of classes was not nearly as horrible as Draco expected. The younger students were positively terrified of him, which made for what he considered a quiet and pleasant work environment. The older students were slightly harder to read, but could basically be separated into three main categories.
Many of them were also terrified of him, albeit less blatantly than the first and second years. There was a lot of wincing and avoidance of eye contact from this lot. The majority of them, to Draco's relief, were entirely unaffected by the entire affair. They simply answered when called on, followed directions, and didn't blow anything up.
The most bizarre group were those who seemed to exhibit something alarmingly like attraction in his presence, though they were thankfully a minority. This ranged from blushing and stammering to inappropriate glances from some seventh years girls and a sixth year boy. Draco resolutely ignored all of this, determined not to fall prey to the advances of an underage witch (or wizard) regardless of how long it had been since he had received so much as a saucy wink.