Chapter 5
And Jagged Brazen Arrows Fall
Many would be surprised to learn that Draco Malfoy enjoyed teaching. Taking pleasure in giving orders was nothing new for a pureblood such as he, but what secretly delighted him was the triumph behind the eyes when instruction led to success. Whether it was a first year brewing his or her first potion correctly or an older student tackling a particularly difficult assignment, there was something undeniably pure about that fleeting moment which fueled him. The purity of that accomplishment, that pride, that often brief confidence – Draco could live a thousand years and never be tired of the flash as it lit someone up.
He was not agreeable in the way that some other professors were, but Draco was never cruel. He did not rave over the best students, but still acknowledged and complimented their efforts. Nor did he humiliate the worst students, but improved and encouraged as best he could. No one would call him their favorite teacher, but neither would they call him their least.
While he joined the rest of the castle for every meal, Draco did not venture out into the halls or the grounds in his unimpeded hours. Most of his time was spent in his quarters, the only company a rosewood piano and a glass of single malt scotch.
Draco had not ridden a broomstick since Harry Potter had flown them out of the Room of Requirement three years previously. Crabbe had been more of a follower than a friend, but seeing him burn to his death had still left a lasting impression.
Despite his reluctance to fly again himself, however, he could not quite bring himself to forego the first Quidditch match of the year.
/
On a crisp November morning, he threw on his cloak and headed out into the grounds with a flood of students and staff alike.
There was nothing quite like a Quidditch match at Hogwarts. An energy seemed to emanate from the pitch itself, drawing students up into the stands and filling them with a palpable excitement.
Draco glanced around for a good seat when he reached the Professor's box. A gloved hand caught his eye and he saw that it was attached to Killelea, the intrusive man he had encountered on the staircase several weeks earlier. The blonde raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Killelea continued to wave him over. It was only after making his way over and sitting down that Draco realized the seat on Killelea's other side was occupied by Hermione Granger.
"All right, old chap?" Killelea asked with a smile.
"Well enough," Draco replied.
"Brilliant," the dark-haired man said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You know my dear friend Hermione, yes?"
"I do," acknowledged Draco, giving her a curt nod.
"Hello, Professor," Granger greeted.
"Isn't this lovely?" Killelea gushed. "Old friends. New friends. How lovely we're all here together for such a lovely occasion."
"Yes, Fabian," agreed Granger in a slightly exasperated tone. "Lovely." She glanced up at Draco with a shrug and a slight roll of her eyes.
Initially, Draco had no idea how to interpret these gestures. But by the end of the match, he understood completely. Whereas Killelea had been somewhat brief and mysterious during their first meeting, he was now flamboyant bordering on inappropriate. The first time that Draco had addressed him as Professor, the other man heatedly objected.
"Come now, dear love, there's no need to be so formal! So terribly proper! You'll call me Fabian, of course, and I'll call you Draco, darling."
"Fabian, then," Draco amended.
"And how delicious it sounds when you say it. Oh look, Slytherin's just scored!"
As the game continued, Fabian's comments became more and more outrageous. He flirted shamelessly with both Draco and Granger, sometimes making them blush and other times forcing them to stifle laughter.
"Look at the bum on that Hufflepuff captain, Hermione," Fabian said, pointing. "What a wonderful thing Quidditch is."
"Indeed," she replied shortly, although Draco noticed that she couldn't quite keep herself from glancing at the aforementioned derriere.
"Still got your Quidditch pants, Draco?" Fabian asked with a smirk.
"I've no idea," he answered.
"What a pity," the dark-haired man responded with a disappointed sigh. "Do you fly much, Hermione?"
"Not if I can help it," she admitted. "I was always rubbish."
"Wouldn't exactly be fair to the rest of us if there wasn't one thing you were rubbish at, Granger," Draco pointed out.
"Perhaps," she agreed, smiling slightly.
"It is ridiculous how brilliant she is at everything, isn't it?" Fabian added. "Her revisions are coming along spectacularly. Such an improvement, Draco. You should have a look at some of them."
"I'm sure they are," he said, turning his eyes back to the match in time to see the Slytherin seeker snatch the snitch from the air amid whoops and cheers.
/
As was her custom, Hetty the house-elf brought a tray bearing Draco's afternoon tea at around two o'clock the next day. He put the quill he had been using to mark papers and reached for the kettle, but was halted by a knock on his office door. Looking up in surprise, Draco tried to imagine who would be calling. Reluctantly heaving himself from his comfortable armchair, he opened the door to reveal none other than Fabian.
"Tea time, isn't it?" Fabian beamed, pushing his way past Draco. "Thought you might like some company."
"Did you?" Draco said, closing the door. Fabian had already poured them both cups by the time his involuntary host sat back down.
"Been marking, have you?" Fabian asked, wrinkling his nose and not waiting for a response. "How droll."
"I can't say it's the highlight of my day, but someone has to do it," replied Draco.
"I suppose that's true. Good match yesterday, wasn't it? They were celebrating in the common room last night, I expect."
"They probably were. But there wasn't enough noise for me to notice."
"You Slytherins are all so serious. It looks exhausting."
"No more exhausting than being relentlessly cheerful, I'd say," Draco said with a pointed look.
"But so much less fun, don't you think?" Fabian responded, taking a sip of his tea. "You really must get out more. You're almost as bad as poor Hermione. Didn't leave the library for a bleeding month."
"Some of us prefer to be alone."
"What a bunch of bollocks. No one likes it all the time, darling. Everyone likes to loosen up a bit. Let their hair down. I know you're not used to it, what with having been a hermit or whatever these past few years. But we really must get over that, don't you think?" Fabian told him with no apparent concern for whether Draco took offense or not.
Since he had arrived at Hogwarts, no one had said anything to him about the fact that he had barely been seen in public for the last three years. Yet Fabian felt no inclination to tiptoe around the subject, despite not knowing how Draco would react.
Oddly enough, Draco wasn't the slightest bit bothered by Fabian's seemingly tactless approach to life. He couldn't remember the last time someone had just told him exactly what they thought without caring one way or the other about the consequences.
"You're just so… American, aren't you?" Draco accused with an arched eyebrow and a teasing tone in his voice.
"Oh, don't say that, love," Fabian answered with a displeased expression. "I know it's true, but it's just so vulgar to point it out."
/
Watching the Quidditch match had made Draco remember how much he had loved flying. The past few years had kept him focused on his own experiments, never seeing or hearing about anything that would bring it into his thoughts. But the crowd, the air, the electricity – Draco realized that he missed how far away and uncomplicated everything seemed when you were souring above it.
He woke up early on Monday morning, retrieved his Firebolt from the back of a cupboard, and quietly made his way out of the cold, silent castle.
Unlike most people, there was something Draco loved about this particular time of the day. The sun was just rising over the Forbidden Forest, rays of light still breaking through the tops of the trees. The lake was perfectly still and dark, not the slightest wave or ripple disturbing its surface. The grass was damp and made a wonderful crunching sound beneath Draco's feet as he made his way down to the pitch.
As he stepped onto the slightly greener lawn that the stands enclosed, Draco marveled that no one would guess that everything around him had been reduced to rubble and charred wood only a few years before. He kicked off lightly from the dew-drenched ground, the cold air burning his cheeks and whipping through his hair.
Draco flew around the pitch in large, lazy circles, adjusting himself to the sensation of being on a broom again. He then began crisscrossing across the sky, increasing his speed and making sharp turns that made his skin hum with exhilaration.
Maneuvering his broom almost completely vertical, Draco shot up into the air before curving to the right and soaring towards the forest. He laid flat against his broom handle and skimmed his fingertips along the treetops, the rays of the morning sun like a warm caress against his face. He wasn't sure how long he spent gliding high above the grounds, circling around the tower turrets and watching light bounce off the glass of the greenhouses.
As he landed back on the springy grass of the pitch, Draco's legs protested from the shock and he almost stumbled. Taking a moment to gather his footing, he felt the sudden change in the air pressure as the sky slowly darkened. Casting a spell to avoid getting drenched only entered his mind for a moment, as Draco had always rather liked the rain. He threw his Firebolt over his shoulder and took off for a castle at a leisurely pace. When the rain began to pour, he did nothing to defend himself from the cold, refreshing downfall.
He almost didn't see the other figure hurrying towards the castle steps, the water droplets magically repelling off her skin.
Wiping water from his eyes and pushing his hair out of his face, he looked up to see Hermione Granger. She was looking at him rather oddly, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy from having sprinted from, he assumed, the front gate. She blinked and looked away from him, reaching into her robes. Pulling out her wand, Hermione removed the shield from around her body and before casting a drying spell on Draco.
"Thanks," he said.
"Quite early, isn't it?" she asked, looking curiously at the broom he was carrying.
"Didn't really want to be bothered," Draco explained. She nodded, glancing around the hall.
"Do you fly much?"
"No," he answered. "Not since-"
"Yes."
"Going up to the library?"
"Yes."
"Well, I've got to get ready for classes."
"All right. Bye, then."
"Goodbye."
/
Later that day, a seventh year girl named Renette Tovey dropped a Dungbomb into another student's cauldron. The victim of Renette's malice had been her best friend, Julie Sands. Draco was at a loss as to why Renette had ruined her friend's potion and even more confused at the fact that Julie didn't seem the slightest bit upset about it.
He had given Renette detention that evening, expecting to have her harvest the eyes from a large bowl of black beetles. When she arrived, Renette looked positively smug for no reason Draco could figure out. She was a girl of average height, with long brown hair and a face most would describe as pretty. When Draco told her what she was to do, she smiled at him lopsidedly and headed to the table he had prepared.
"Would you mind showing me the correct way to do it, Professor?" Renette asked sweetly, gesturing towards the pile of dead insects. Draco stared for a moment before rising from his desk and sweeping over to her.
He picked up a beetle and miniscule spoon, extracted one of its eyes with ease, and then dropped it into a small jar.
"I think you can handle that," Draco said shortly.
"Could you just do it one more time?" She requested from beneath her lashes, leaning closer to him. From this angle, Draco had no choice but to notice that she was only wearing a button-down underneath her robes. And very few of those buttons were currently performing any practical function. Glaring at her, he scooped out the other eye and put it in the jar. She reached up and plucked the spoon from him before he had a chance to put it down, her fingers stroking suggestively over the back of his hand. "Thank you, sir," Renette murmured softly, pressing her leg against his.
"Miss Tovey," Draco whispered dangerously, stepping well away from her, "I don't know what in Merlin's name you think you are doing, but let me assure you that I am not only thoroughly uninterested, but unbelievably embarrassed on your behalf. If you are quite finished, I suggest that you focus your attention on completing your detention and getting the hell out of my classroom." She had the good grace to blush and attempt to stutter something out, but Draco simply gave her a final thunderous look and strode into his office, slamming the door behind him.