6.
Ms Granger-Weasley,
I regret to inform you that your daughter, Rose Weasley, was involved in an altercation today, together with Scorpius Malfoy. She hexed two students, and struck another enough hard enough to break his nose. This is the third such incident this term alone that Rose and Scorpius have been involved in, and as such we request your presence as soon as possible to discuss the issue. Please Owl immediately to let me know whether a 6 o'clock meeting today is possible, as I would prefer to settle this matter with all due haste.
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress, Hogwarts
"I'm so sorry I'm late," Hermione apologised, slightly out breath from hurrying up the staircase to the Headmistress's office. "I was held up at the Ministry." She noted her daughter, Scorpius, and his parents, all seated in front of McGonagall's desk, the two children turning their heads toward her as she spoke, Astoria looking up – beautiful and as blonde as her husband and son. Malfoy stood as Hermione crossed the room, smiling at her as though they had a secret, and holding out his hand.
"Hardly late, Granger. It's two past six, and we've only just arrived ourselves." She took his outstretched hand and he kissed the back of hers lightly like he had at the train station, as though she were a pureblood witch. "Congratulations on your victory yesterday."
"Thank you, Malfoy." It was shocking, how Malfoy managed to take control of an entire room, how he filled it with his dry, composed tones. Tall and still lean, in his perfectly tailored suits, and exuding an easy, natural confidence, he made himself a focal point within the room – unable to be ignored, for better or for worse. He was overwhelming, Hermione thought suddenly, as he let her fingers slide slowly out of his. Like a suave, charming onslaught.
"This is my wife, Astoria, Granger. Tori, darling," Malfoy said, his voice dripping with faux affection as he spoke to his wife: "This is Hermione Granger-Weasley."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Astoria said in a well-bred, supremely bored voice, as though she were a caricature of the stereotypical pureblood witch brought to life. Beautiful and cold, with warm honey-blonde hair and leaf-green eyes that tilted at the ends and gave her the appearance of a particularly haughty feline, plump lips shaping into a brief, polite smile. Hermione smiled in return as she moved toward the one free seat, by Rose, trying to make hers warmer and more genuine than Astoria's.
"A pleasure to meet you, Astoria. And Professor McGonagall, it's lovely to see you again – although perhaps not under these circumstances." Hermione shot a small, stern look at her daughter, who stared steadily back at her mother, firm chin up, and blue eyes bright and a little teary. Not the eyes of a child who thought she'd done something wrong. Hermione reached out and squeezed Rose's hand gently on impulse.
"And you, Hermione. It's been much too long," Professor McGonagall said fondly, and then with bright briskness: "But now then, as much as I could happily sit and reminisce, we had best attend to the matter at hand." She shuffled through various parchments on the expansive desk before her, arranging them in an orderly stack before cleared her throat. "Today, just after lunch, there was an incident in the third floor corridor outside the Charms classroom. Rose and Scorpius were involved in an altercation with three other students, all of whom are currently in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's care."
"Oh Merlin..." Hermione said involuntarily, casting a disappointed glance at Rose.
"Nothing major – they should be perfectly well by tomorrow, Ms Granger-Weasley, but all are covered in rather nasty boils, and one is also recovering from a broken nose."
"Who are they, if I may ask?" Malfoy spoke up coolly, lips smiling but eyes not. Professor McGonagall nodded calmly, and checked the parchments in front of her, squinting down at the pages.
"Er, let's see. Lucy Ludgrave of Slytherin House, and Thomas Stokes and Emma-Louise Tuttle, both of Gryffindor – all third years." Hermione was mildly ashamed to admit that she was surprised that two of the other children were Gryffindors. She clearly held a favourable bias toward them, but she had to remember that being a Gryffindor did not necessarily make one a good person.
"And what will be done with them, once they are discharged from the hospital wing?" Malfoy went on briskly, drawing the answers out of Professor McGonagall with a swift, cool precision.
"I have a meeting scheduled with their parents for tomorrow morning. They will be dealt with, Mr Malfoy, I can assure you."
"What happened?" Hermione interrupted, eager to get to the root of the issue and find out just how cross she should be with her daughter. McGonagall pulled a roll of parchment out of the pile with thin, elegant fingers and frowned down at it.
"According to Rose and Scorpius, the three other students accosted them in the corridor on the way to class. They began harassing Scorpius, and –"
"Harassing how?" Malfoy broke in, face darkening, Astoria sitting silent and disinterested beside him, as though being here for her son were an unwelcome imposition. Hermione already didn't like the witch.
"Er..."
"The cowards came up behind us, and pushed Scorp and called him a faggot, and asked if he was sucking Death Eater c–" Rose began, white faced and furious, her voice shaking and hitching and her freckles standing out stark against her skin.
"Rose!" Hermione interrupted before she could finish, as she caught sight of the shrinking shame that coloured Scorpius's cheeks, and the distaste twisting Astoria's features. She glanced at Malfoy's face, and could read nothing; he was blank and still, like stone, expressionless and emotionless. She decided silently that that degree of control was a tell in itself, and felt sympathy for him. She didn't know how she would feel in his situation – cruelty brought upon her children not only for who they were, but for what she had done. It must be awful for him.
"Well they did!" Rose argued, and Hermione felt her heart wrench for her eldest, all fired up with righteous fury at the behaviour of the other students, and spilling over with empathy for her friend. But it was important, Hermione knew from hard-learned experience, not to let one's desire to see justice done compound the harm inflicted upon the victim.
"I know, darling, but I think perhaps it's up to Scorpius as to whether he wants the details of the insults shared." Rose looked aghast and apologetic, and mumbled a sincere sorry to Scorpius that he accepted with a smile and a squeeze of Rose's hand, a murmured: 'It's alright, Rose.'
"Yes, well," Professor McGonagall tried to continue, looking most uncomfortable. "Rose and Scorpius both attested that insults were directed at Scorpius after he was pushed by Thomas Stokes. Scorpius and Rose say they ignored the insults and tried to walk away, and Lucy Ludgrave tripped Scorpius. That was when Rose admits she hexed Lucy. Thomas apparently tried to hex Rose, who managed to hex him first, at the same time as Scorpius did." Professor McGonagall frowned, fingers tracing along the scrawled words. "And then Emma-Louise Tuttle attempted to hex Rose, missed and struck Lucy, and then before she could attempt to hex Rose or Scorpius again, Rose admits she struck Emma-Louise in the face with a closed fist, knocking Emma-Louise down and breaking her nose." Hermione tried to hide a proud smile behind a cough, covering her mouth with her hand.
"I shan't apologise, mum," Rose said firmly. "People are always teasing Scorpius, and it's not fair. The teachers can't stop them before they do it, only take away House points, and we can't stop them without getting in trouble. It's unjust."
"Rose," Hermione said quellingly. Now was not the time, even if she did agree with Rose whole-heartedly. "What will be done about the teasing, Professor McGonagall?"
"There is, unfortunately, little that we are capable of doing, Ms Granger-Weasley."
"Wrong answer," Malfoy said coldly, eyes icy and flat, body wound taut with tension despite his attempt to look casually relaxed on the chair.
"We will be giving young Scorpius a token that he may activate whenever he is harassed, calling a member of staff to attend the incident, ensuring none of the offenders get away with bullying him," Professor McGonagall added, and Malfoy accepted that answer with a minute nod. "And we will be punishing Lucy, Thomas, and Emma-Louise severely. They will be suspended for a week, banned from extra-curricular activities for the rest of the term, and required to attend detention with Mister Filch three evenings a week for the next three weeks. It will be made clear that any further harassment of Scorpius will result in the same banning from extra-curricular activities – including visits to Hogsmeade where applicable – and detention with Mister Filch."
"That sounds...acceptable, Professor McGonagall," Malfoy said slowly after a moment's silence. "If it works to dissuade the offenders, that is." Professor McGonagall looked greatly relieved at that, and some of the accumulated tension in the office drained out of the air. The remainder of the meeting was spent deciding upon a suitable punishment for Rose and Scorpius – Malfoy thought no punishment should be given to either of them, Hermione was in favour of an extremely mild punishment for Rose even if she did agree with Rose's actions, and Professor McGonagall insisted that they both needed to be disciplined for disobeying school rules for the third time this term.
In the end, they were both given two nights detention with Hagrid – something that Hermione, Professor McGonagall, and the children, knew very well was a punishment in name only. Scorpius's parents both seemed rather horrified at the thought, however. And then it was time for the children to go down to dinner, and Professor McGonagall bade them all goodbye. At the gargoyle entrance, down in the corridor, Rose hugged Hermione tightly, and promised she would write to her mother that evening to give her all the details of what had happened, and Hermione promised she would owl back as soon as she got the letter. Meanwhile, Scorpius exchanged a stiff hug with his mother, before Draco – it seemed strange and a little confusing to keep thinking of him as Malfoy when two other Malfoys were present – hugged his son close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
The children rushed off to dinner then, walking in stride with their heads close together, exchanging surreptitious conversation, and Hermione watched them go with a smile. Their obvious bond reminded her of the familial closeness between her, Harry, and Ron at the same age. And then she heard hissed, angry tones from Astoria and Draco who lingered at the other side of the gargoyle, and arched an eyebrow. Rather than leave, Hermione turned away, hidden slightly by a tapestry, and began to dig through her handbag as though searching for something, feeling a little guilty – but evidently not guilty enough to refrain from eavesdropping.
"– don't know why you dragged me away from a perfectly lovely holiday in Spain to come here. Surely you could have handled this!"
"You're his mother, Tori. You're supposed to care. It's not supposed to be an imposition!" Draco said in a quiet, icily furious voice. Hermione found an ancient wrapped courtesy peppermint in her bag, and idly unwrapped it. "He needs you, Tori! He needs us, his father and his mother, to support him. To show him that we don't care if he's gay."
"Well there's the problem," said Astoria, faux bright and shot beneath with a bitter anger, her tone harsh enough to cut glass. "I do care. I care a great deal that the only child I ever managed to birth alive is a dud. Unable – no, unwilling to carry on the bloodline. Unwilling to marry into a good family and create an alliance, to strengthen our position in the wizarding world, to ensure that the Greengrass and Malfoy lines continue. I fucking well care, Draco." Hermione flinched, feeling cold and shocked as the venom spilt from Astoria's mouth, bound up in grief and shame that Hermione couldn't hope to decipher from the little she knew. Only she thought birthed alive and her heart wrenched and ached with sympathy for Astoria, even if the woman was apparently a hateful bigot who had all but disowned her son.
"You care about all the wrong things, Astoria. You always have. Money, power, status. Didn't you learn from how things went with Voldemort that that doesn't amount to shit?" Draco asked, his voice taut as violin strings, strained and desperate in the Hogwarts' corridor, empty but for the three of them. Hermione shuffled a bit further away, moving right back behind the cover of the tapestry she'd been using for shelter. Not just playing at being inconspicuous, but hiding now. "He loves you, Tori. And you loved him, until... Why can't you accept it? Why can't you accept him?" He was begging her. Malfoy was begging, raw and pleading, and Hermione scrunched the peppermint wrapper up in one hand and pictured how he must look. She leant forward, wanting to see as he and Astoria continued their back and forth, feeling like a peeping Tom.
Draco stood close to his wife, and his face was naked, vulnerable. Peeled back and flayed raw, grey eyes dark and begging, hand pushing through his short hair and leaving it in wild spikes, shifting and nearly turning away on the spot as though he wanted to pace. To get away. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, and Hermione added: to grab Astoria and shake her. To make her accept their son. His sleeves were folded unevenly up to just below his elbows, and Hermione could see the faded remnants of the Dark Mark on the pale flesh of his inner forearm. She could see the tendons draw taut in his neck, and the vein twist and jump at his temple as he kept his voice low and steady when it seemed like he wanted to shout, to roar at Astoria in sheer fury.
"Go back to Spain then, you bitch. And fucking well stay there."
"That was my intention, Draco," Astoria said with a tired calm – Hermione felt for a brief moment as though she saw herself in Astoria then, in the way she dismissed her husband as though she simply no longer had the energy to care. The calm of the detached, and Hermione felt like she was looking in a mirror. And then Astoria turned and walked away, leaving Draco standing in the corridor, to bury his face in his hands for a moment and huff a pained, exhausted groan. When Draco looked up again, from the glimpse Hermione saw of his face, he looked defeated, broken, and Hermione popped her peppermint in her mouth and shoved the wrapper back in her bag, wishing fervently that she hadn't stayed and heard that. That she hadn't seen Draco Malfoy like that, broken open and vulnerable, appallingly – appealingly? – exposed.
The incident left an unsettled feeling worming under her skin, writhing there the rest of the day, lingering in the corners of her mind. Draco Malfoy vulnerable was entirely too...intriguing. Even just the thought of him like that felt dangerous, and Hermione tried to lock it away, to stomp on it, to crush it into nothing. But still it itched at her, the memory of him, and made her feel sympathy, and a vague desire to see him look like that again, the feelings mingling strange and uneasy.
Hermione saw Malfoy next in the Ministry corridors four days later, on her way to a hearing. She never used to see him in the Ministry so often, and for a moment she wondered if he was deliberately engineering these little encounters. Except that would be ridiculous. "You're looking radiant, Granger," Malfoy said in that slow, drawling way of his, as he turned onto the corridor from out of the lift and fell in stride with her, and she harrumphed. She was draped in her unflattering Interrogator's robes, with her hair all fluffing out from its bun, and no amount of glamour charms would hide the dark circles beneath her eyes from sleepless nights fretting over what to do about her marriage.
"Sarcasm does not become you, Malfoy," she shot back, wondering exactly what his game was. She glanced up at him briefly, enough to see him raise an eyebrow, mouth curved in the faintest of – somehow bemused – smirks.
"I would dispute that," he said mildly. "But as it happens I wasn't being sarcastic." Hermione looked at him, disbelief printed deep in her features, both eyebrows rising up her forehead.
"Really. Really. I look radiant on four hours sleep, in this hideous, billowing robe, and with my hair doing Merlin knows what on top of my head?" she asked, and Malfoy gave a small laugh.
"Oddly enough, sarcasm does become you, Granger; extraordinarily well, in fact." She snorted and rolled her eyes, and Malfoy grinned at her; a conspiratorial sort of expression, as his long legs easily kept up with her brisk, hurried steps. "But yes. You do look radiant. Well-coiffed and fashionable? Mm...not precisely. But radiant? Yes; I stand by that." His grin was infectious and what he said was so ridiculous and yet charming, that Hermione couldn't help grinning back, and laughing.
"You must have a different definition of 'radiant' than I do then, Malfoy," she retorted without pause, and his grin broadened.
"That must be the case. Perhaps we should discuss the different definitions over lunch tomorrow. I'd be happy to help explain the correct usage to you." Hermione's steps stuttered to a halt as she froze, processing Malfoy's words. Did Draco Malfoy just ask her out on a date? No. It couldn't be. Obviously she was mistaken.
"I'm sorry. What?"
"Lunch. Tomorrow. You and I, and a reservation at The Veela's Folly," Malfoy said smoothly, naming an extremely exclusive and expensive wizarding restaurant. "I thought that – seeing as our children appear to be partners in crime – we should perhaps be getting to know one another better." He smiled charmingly, but his words struck an irritating chord in Hermione and made her bridle beneath them.
"I already know you, Malfoy." She felt numb suddenly, as she remembered. Remembering was never easy. At least he'd clarified that it wasn't a date. "I – I went to see you in –"
"Azkaban. I remember," he cut in smoothly, as if he didn't have nightmares about the War – and maybe he didn't. Lucky him, she thought idly, if that were the case. "But that was over twenty years ago, Granger. Neither of us is the same person we were then. I was a disgusting, cowardly little bigot and you..." He paused and Hermione found herself waiting for him to go on.
"Me?" she prompted impatiently at last as they traversed the corridors, annoyed at him having provoked a show of interest from her.
"Well, no, actually you were exactly the same now that I think about it. Bossy, snippy, terrible hair, brilliant, and utterly radiant, in an odd sort of way." Malfoy was still smiling that controlled, smug little smirk as he rattled off the list of back-handed compliments that left Hermione reeling, and then he took a deep breath and let it out again, as if satisfied with a job well done. "Right, Granger. Lunch then. Tomorrow. I'll pick you up from your office at noon."
"But – but Malfoy, I didn't–!" say yes, Hermione finished silently as Malfoy side-stepped neatly onto one of the crowded lifts they were passing, and disappeared a moment later – whipped upwards by the lift, still smirking. The bastard. And then Hermione realised with a silent curse that she was going to be late for her next hearing if she didn't run, and all thoughts of Malfoy flew from her head.