Chapter 4

Like a White Lady From Her Bed

Hermione ventured out very little during her first few weeks at Hogwarts. Once students had begun to infiltrate the library, Madame Pince provided Hermione with a private room in which to continue her research. She had developed a daily routine which allowed her the maximum amount of time to delve into the many mysteries of the castle.

She woke up at six o'clock, showered and breakfasted in her small flat, then headed up to the school. By half past seven, she was buried behind stacks of tomes and texts. One of the house-elves brought her lunch, requiring her to leave her work only to retrieve another source or satisfy bodily functions. Dinner was had in The Three Broomsticks around six in the evening while she looked over her notes for the day.

By seven she was back in her flat, where she kept herself busy with reading, writing letters, and keeping in contact with her friends and family via the fireplace. She was in bed by ten.

After a month of this monotonous but effective schedule, Hermione had made significant progress on the additions and updates she planned to make to the revised Hogwarts: A History.

The first week of October found Hermione still hidden away behind dozens of books of varying sizes, as well as a warming charm she had placed on the room that morning. She had just put down her quill to stretch when she heard a tapping on the window behind her. Turning around, she saw tawny owl perched on the ledge outside. She took the letter from its beak quickly, shutting the window against the cold autumn air.

Dear Hermione,

I've been waiting for you to pay me a visit, but I can't wait any longer. I am telling you to come have a cup of tea with me around two this afternoon. We'll be glad to hear what you've been up to.

Hagrid

Hermione couldn't believe that it hadn't occurred to her to go and see Hagrid. Then again, she had barely spoken to anyone since she arrived. Knowing that she would eventually get around to talking to everyone about various subjects for her book, she had neglected to pay any social calls.

At that moment Hetty, the house-elf who brought Hermione's lunch, appeared out of thin air with a tray. Hermione thanked her before tucking in to her chicken sandwich, looking forward to seeing Hagrid in a mere two hours.

/

"Good ter see you, Hermione." Hagrid beamed as he stepped aside to let Hermione enter his cabin.

"Hello, Hagrid," she replied. "Sorry I haven't come before. I've just been so caught up since I got here."

"I imagine yer enjoyin' buryin' yerself in the library," he said knowingly, moving to pour them some tea.

"Of course, but your note made me realize that I should try to enjoy being back at Hogwarts as well. Who knows if I'll ever be back after I finish."

"O' course you'll be back! I'm 'ere, aren' I?"

"You know what I mean, Hagrid," Hermione laughed.

"I 'spose I do," he nodded, setting a cup in front of her. "So how are ye gettin' along with yer research?"

"Very well, thank you. I'll probably start interviewing some of the staff soon."

"Are yer goin' to interview me?"

"I'm putting in a whole new section about the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione informed him. "And you were actually there the first time it was opened, so you will be a very important source."

"I can' wait." Hagrid grinned, taking gulp from his enormous mug.

"How are you getting on, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.

"Oh fine, fine. Finally got everythin' back the way I like it," he said as he glanced around. "Even better than me old hut, I'd say."

"Everything looks brilliant," she agreed, starting slightly when Fang appeared suddenly to drape his head across her lap.

"So 'ave you seen much of anyone around the castle?" Hagrid asked her.

"Not really, no," she admitted sheepishly, scratching behind Fang's ears. "I've only really spoken to Professor McGonagall and Madame Pince. And Draco Malfoy the day before term started."

"Malfoy, eh?" he asked lightly.

"Yes. In the library," Hermione told him. "I was a bit shocked, obviously. No one told me he was here." Hagrid had the good grace to look slightly abashed.

"Ah, well. I 'spose Professor McGonagall didn' think it'd matter much to ye," Hagrid said. "She though' he deserved a second chance, Hermione."

"She's not often wrong."

"Now, if you were Ron or Harry, that'd be another story," he chuckled.

"Yes, I daresay it would," she agreed.

"But you always were the cleverest one, Hermione," Hagrid said pointedly. "Clever enough to know tha' the war changed people."

She smiled and opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a knock on Hagrid's door.

"Wonder who that'll be," Hagrid thought aloud as he went to investigate. Hermione followed him with her eyes, peering around him to see a tall man with dark hair standing on the stoop.

"Good afternoon, Hagrid," the man said cheerfully.

"Why 'lo there, Professor," Hagrid replied. "Come in and 'ave some tea." The man was already inside before noticing Hermione.

"Apologies, apologies. I didn't realize you had company, my good fellow," he gushed.

"Not to worry, Fabian. The more the merrier an' all tha'," the giant responded.

"Fabian Killelea, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts," Professor Killelea explained, taking Hermione's hand and kissing her knuckles.

"Hermione Granger," she returned, determined not to react impolitely to his flamboyant behavior.

"Was just having a walk, you know, and thought I'd drop in on you," he told Hagrid.

"Well, very pleased you did," Hagrid said, turning to prepare the newcomer a cup of tea.

"Hagrid told me all about your business here, of course," Killelea informed her. "Fascinating project, I must say."

"Yes, I'm enjoying it very much."

"Not getting out much, I daresay. I haven't seen you at all."

"I've spent all my time in the library the last several weeks."

"Of course, of course. Except to visit your old friend Hagrid, I see."

"He quite had to force me out," Hermione confessed.

"Well, how lucky for me he did," Killelea continued, taking his cup and saucer from Hagrid's outstretched hand. "Not many young people to have a decent chat with around here, you know. Everyone is wonderful, no question about that, but one does enjoy having a companion who is closer to his own age. No offense to you, of course, Hagrid. Young at heart, that's the important bit. We'll all be great friends, I know."

"I'm flattered, Professor."

"None of that, now, please. Fabian."

"Fabian." Hermione smiled, very close to laughing.

"We should all go out tonight, don't you think?" he proposed. "Have dinner at The Three Broomsticks."

"If you like," Hermione replied.

"Hagrid?" Fabian asked, turning to him.

"Sure, sure," Hagrid agreed.

"Jolly good," Fabian announced with a smile.

/

"Really?" Hermione demanded. "I've always been so curious about other wizarding schools. There's just no getting a sense of what it's really like out of a book."

"Well I'll have plenty of time to tell you absolutely everything, my love" Fabian promised, slicing into his steak.

"Why did you go to school in America?"

"Da got offered a job at their Ministry just before I was to start school," he explained. "I don't think he was too keen to take it, but Ma convinced him on account of her sister living in Boston."

"Is there quite a large wizarding community there?"

"Oh, aye. The trials weren't all bollocks, after all. Takes a certain kind of witch or wizard to deal with actually living in Salem, though. Have to be willing to have a laugh about it all, so much tourism and the like."

"Did you only come back to England to teach at Hogwarts?"

"More or less. Always wanted to come back, of course. This just gave me a reason. Owed it to the motherland, I suppose. Hogwarts was in terrible shape after the war."

"How long have you been friends with Hagrid?" Hermione asked, taking a bite of her haddock.

"Pretty much since I got here. We got on right away, both being so morbidly fascinated with dark creatures. Always good to swap a story or two with."

"Yes, I imagine so. It's a shame Hagrid had to go into the forest tonight."

"Well I don't suppose there's much point arguing with Madame Pomfrey when she says she needs silverweed right away."

"I certainly wouldn't recommend it," Hermione replied, sipping her goblet of elderflower wine.

"So Hagrid said you haven't been out much, if I recall?"

"No, I've been terribly antisocial I'm afraid. I haven't done much but pass people in the hallway."

"You know, I was out walking the other night and I ran into the new Potions professor levitating a piano down a flight of stairs. Can you imagine?"

"What, Malfoy?"

"That's the one," Fabian confirmed.

"Levitating a piano?"

"Indeed."

"What for?"

"No idea, but he didn't seem very pleased to have been caught in the act."

"Odd," Hermione said. "I saw him the library before term started."

"Bloody gorgeous, though, even if he does sneak around the castle with floating furniture," he said thoughtfully, eating a forkful of mashed potato. Hermione snorted around the chip she had just put in her mouth. Fabian looked at her expectantly.

"Well, we were at school together," Hermione elaborated. "I never really gave it much thought."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." She laughed. "He was a right little git, so I wasn't to notice."

"Fair enough," he nodded. "But is he still a git?"

"I've no idea. He's different."

"Different like… really shaggable?"

"Oh, shut up."

"All right, all right. Not like there's exactly a lot to look at around here," he pointed out.

"I hear Professor Flitwick was quite the ladies' man in his day," Hermione said with a laugh. Fabian squinted into the distance thoughtfully before replying.

"I could see that."

/

With the coaxing of Hagrid and Fabian, Hermione found time to enjoy being back at Hogwarts.

While the majority of her time was still spent in the library, she found more time for socializing in the weeks that followed her tea with Hagrid.

She sometimes took lunch with Fabian in his office, where he regaled her with tales of his schooling in America. He had just finished telling her about a classmate whose boggart had inexplicably turned into a giant teapot when an owl flew through the open window and landed on his desk. Fabian took the letter and skimmed its contents.

"Fancy walking down to the pitch with Hagrid tomorrow?" he asked.

"What for?" Hermione replied. He look at her incredulously.

"You really must get out more, darling," Fabian chastised. "First Quidditch match of the season."

"I've never been particularly interested, I confess. But it has been quite some time."

"Brilliant," he returned, scribbling a quick response on the same piece of parchment and sending the owl off with it.

"Who's playing?"

"Slytherin and Hufflepuff."

"Is Malfoy Head of Slytherin now?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"Aye," Fabian nodded. "Did he play when he was at school?"

"He was a pretty good seeker. Unfortunately, Harry was always better."

"I was always rubbish at sports. Dated one of the Fitchburg chasers when I was still at school though – his arse looked bloody magnificent in those pants."

"Do try not to ogle any of the students tomorrow," Hermione laughed.

"Ogling is a time-honored Quidditch past time, I'll have you know."

"Oh, I didn't realize."

"Oh, didn't you? Your two best friends were Quidditch players at school. As if you never appreciated the view."

"It is truly amazing how you manage to turn practically anything into a sexual diversion of some kind."

"It's a gift," Fabian agreed. Hermione shook her head as she set her cup of tea on his desk and rose from her chair.

"Well, I've got plenty to be getting on with and as I recall, you have first years."

"Ugh, don't remind me," he said to her departing back.

She gave Madam Pince an acknowledging smile as she entered the library, heading straight for her reserved room on the far side.

As she neared the Restricted Section, something bright caught the edge of her vision. When Hermione glanced over, she saw Malfoy curled up in a large chair. He was seemingly lost in whatever he was reading, not noticing her peering at him through the break in the shelves.

In her attempt to glimpse the title of the book in his lap, Hermione's eyes hitched on the few inches of exposed skin beneath Malfoy's shirt cuff. On someone less pale, she doubted that the contrast between flesh and the slightly raised scar would have been noticeable. Had she not known what she was looking at already, Hermione doubted she would have given it a second thought. But against the alabaster clearness of Malfoy's arm, the writhing serpent's head was all too apparent.

Feeling ashamed, as if she had seen something far too intimate, Hermione hurried quietly down the stacks to her destination.