Hermione paid careful attention as Malfoy explained the logistics of Occlumency as he'd learned them. At its most basic form, she would need to practise emptying herself of emotion, disciplining her mind to control stray thoughts and reactions. It was a useful method, if rudimentary; a Legilimens attempting to penetrate her mind would immediately recognise her strategy, and therefore know what she was attempting to do. For the purposes of both fending off and resisting the Imperius curse, it would do well enough, but Hermione had never found satisfaction in learning something only halfway. She motioned impatiently for him to continue.
Advanced Occlumency, on the other hand, consisted of a dreadfully more complex set of instructions. It involved learning not only to guard one's thoughts and emotions, but to conceal the fact that it was being used in the first place. Malfoy spoke at length about several different techniques for accomplishing this, from distractions in the form of carefully crafted thoughts and emotions, to visualisations, to hiding details within the actual memories themselves.
"For this to work, the point is to focus on something else, anything else, from the moment in question," Malfoy said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Let it consume the memory entirely until there is nothing else. You are still being truthful, and the Legilimens accessing your mind will not be able to differentiate between this truth and another. You'll have to conceal whatever it is that you don't want them to know behind layers of half-truths, or they will know that you're hiding something, even if they can't expose it immediately."
Hermione considered this, thinking of how she could apply it practically. Each of the more advanced applications seemed to require a great deal of quick thinking, at least if one was forced to Occlude unexpectedly. She wasn't immediately concerned by that — she'd certainly proven herself under pressure before.
Malfoy shifted back in his chair, absentmindedly tapping the ring on his right hand against the wooden trim. Hermione squinted, trying to pick out any sort of engraving, but it appeared to be a simple, if heavy, gold band. Honey met silver once more as he explained the last he knew of Snape's techniques.
Hermione couldn't recall ever hearing Malfoy speak at length before. He had a very precise manner of articulation, as though he caressed each vowel between his lips as it rolled out, giving him his characteristic drawl. Her eyes traced the curve of his mouth, watching in sort of a dazed fascination as it shaped meticulously around each syllable. What she'd once mistaken for a lazy sort of arrogance may have simply been his personal diction. Of course, she could be forgiven her assumption, considering his previous attitude towards her.
While he paused to consider his phrasing for some unheard explanation, Malfoy cast his gaze to the ceiling, allowing her ample time to study. He ran the tip of his tongue along his upper incisors before speaking again, sending a curious sensation prickling down her spine. She shivered, trying to banish it.
Suddenly, Malfoy was looking at her expectantly, as if awaiting an answer.
"Sorry, what?" she asked, mentally chiding herself for letting her attention wander.
He cocked his head slightly. "I asked, are you ready to give it a go?"
In her startlement, Hermione spoke more sharply than she'd intended. "Give it a go?"
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Well, yes… how else did you expect to practise?"
Hermione had no answer for that.
He seemed to sense her hesitancy. "I've not had much practice with Legilimency, if that helps. And I'll only be using it at surface level, so that you can get a feel for what it's like when someone is trying to gain access to your mind."
Perhaps she hadn't thought this plan all the way through. In her haste to keep Malfoy close, she'd neglected to consider exactly how he would teach her to use Occlumency.
"You don't… you don't think the theory will be sufficient?" she asked, mouth suddenly paper dry.
He watched her with a bemused expression. "Are you willing to bet on it the next time someone comes at you with an Imperius?"
She scrubbed her palms across the tops of her thighs, steeling herself. "No, you're right. I need to know I can do it."
Malfoy managed a single nod before she couldn't help adding, "You won't go any further than whatever thoughts or memories I'm offering up?"
He froze instantly, expression going blank except for the most infinitesimal twitch of his eye.
"Granger," he started, surprising her with the roughness in his voice, "we don't have to. If you're not comfortable with it, I mean. I wouldn't… I'd never… I just thought since you asked for my help and all…"
The raw edge to his words pierced her chest. Hermione shook her head, interjecting quickly. "I want to. It's only… well, as I'm sure you know, it's not a comfortable thought to have your mind invaded by magical means. But, I need this. And you're right, there's a reason I asked for your help. I trust you."
Malfoy's eyes widened fractionally at her admission. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again, repeating that manoeuvre twice more without saying anything at all.
Hermione offered him a tentative smile. "Maybe let's start with the basics, then? I'll try to resist by keeping an empty mind."
Seeming to collect himself, Malfoy shook several strands of pale hairs out of his eyes.
"Alright," he said, still somewhat gruffly. He cleared his throat quietly and drew his wand out of an inner pocket.
As instructed, Hermione hurriedly rifled through her memories for a few rather innocuous ones to keep near the forefront of her mind. These would serve as offerings if her defences failed, and Malfoy promised yet again that he would release her at the first sign of those defences weakening.
Hermione was still trying to wrap her mind around willingly putting herself at the end of Draco Malfoy's wand when he lifted it in her direction. He raised a questioning eyebrow.
Hermione released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Clearing her mind of everything except sheer determination, she nodded once in return, holding his gaze.
"Legilimens," Malfoy whispered.
Immediately, Hermione felt the soft touch of something brush her mind. The memories she'd selected earlier leapt forward, eagerly battering against the barrier of nothingness she'd created, which began to feel flimsier by the second. She fought to keep them out, pushing back in both directions against the cold strangeness from the front and the surging memories from behind. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips as the barrier collapsed.
Malfoy lowered his wand and the alien touch vanished immediately. He watched her warily, saying nothing.
"Did you… did you see anything?" she gasped out, rubbing a hand across her forehead. "How did I do?"
Relaxing his shoulders, he offered her a tiny smirk. "Just flashes of things. You were in the owlery, I think? And some sort of horrible orange throw pillow? But you did well. Really well. You fought me off for a time, even without knowing what you were up against."
She flushed under his praise. He'd seen parts of two memories, then; she'd sent off a letter to Arabella yesterday afternoon, and she'd brushed Crookshanks just this morning.
Hermione straightened up, impatiently brushing the hair out of her eyes. "Again," she said. Malfoy raised his wand.
Knowing what to expect this time did not help her fend off his attack more easily — in fact, there was a tattered edge to her barrier now, as if her mind were too tired to cooperate. He broke through much more quickly.
"Was that blood?" he asked.
Hermione rubbed her temples. "Yes, Ron got a nasty cut from a bowtruckle this morning. Is this supposed to hurt?"
Malfoy grimaced. "Unfortunately. It's going to be especially taxing at first, but as your defences strengthen, it won't drain you as much."
Hermione urged him to put her through the paces twice more, but her attempts only grew weaker, allowing Malfoy to see entire memories instead of flashes and fragments. She huffed in frustration.
"Again," she insisted. She wanted to repel him entirely just one time tonight.
Malfoy hesitated, looking a little exhausted himself. "Granger… maybe we should stop for tonight. Give us both a rest. We can meet again next week — and as many times as you'd like — until you get it down. I can already tell you're going to be decent at this."
Indignation tore the word out of her throat. "Decent?" she nearly shrieked, before muttering under her breath about what Malfoy could do with his own decency. He had the audacity to smile.
Incensed by her failures, Hermione tried not to grind her teeth. Her parents would be displeased... or, they would have been, had they still been practising dentists.
"Just once more. Please," she bit out, crossing her arms stubbornly across her jumper. Malfoy gave her a long look, then acquiesced with a bow of his head.
Hermione closed her eyes, envisioning a sort of underground reservoir. Malfoy had briefly mentioned visualisation during his lesson, and the setting felt appropriate for her. She poured all thoughts and emotions into the inky water of the reservoir, then let it slowly drain away until there was only blackness. She placed her consciousness in the middle, surrounded by age old stone and earth, and opened her eyes.
She saw Malfoy's lips move but heard nothing as the now-familiar touch brushed against the perimeter of her mind. She felt it sliding across her defences, seeking any crack or crevice by which to break through. Her memories stayed firmly in place this time, buried beneath a sense of absolute calm. Suddenly, the pressure was gone.
Malfoy was nodding his approval. "Nothing," he said, a lazy smile tugging the corners of his mouth. She grinned at him in triumph. "Next time," he continued, "we'll see if you can actually force me out of your mind. That's your best bet at resisting the Imperius."
Hermione checked her watch, pleased to see that it was only half-past eight. She stood, stretching her arms above her head, when a wave of dizziness hit her. She brought her fingers to her temple, blinking as her vision returned. Malfoy stood, too, noticing her attentions.
"Here," he said, digging in the pocket of his robes. He tossed her a small vial. "Calming Draught. In small doses, it has anti-inflammatory properties."
She inspected the contents, even popping off the stopper to sniff the liquid inside. "Is it indicated for magical-related headaches?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I imagine. Snape gave some to us after the first couple of sessions. And I'd take it if I were you, otherwise you'll end up with a nasty migraine the rest of the evening. Trust me."
She shot him a half-smile. "I do," she replied blithely, taking pleasure in startling him again as she raised the vial to her lips and downed it in one go. It tasted bitter on her tongue, and she couldn't help but make a face.
"Ugh. Did Snape add an infusion of Gurdyroot just to make it as foul-tasting as possible?"
Malfoy snorted softly. "Actually, I made that. Might have over-stewed it a little at the end, but I didn't have time to make another batch on such short notice. I tested it, though — it's still perfectly safe and effective."
Pink suffused her cheeks — that seemed to happen a lot around Malfoy — but before she could open her mouth to apologise, he asked, "What's Gurdyroot?"
Hermione shrugged lightly. "Some type of onion, I suspect. Just something Luna had me try, once."
Judging by his puzzled expression, Malfoy clearly didn't know what she was on about.
"Anyway, thank you," she said earnestly, offering up a genuine smile. "I appreciate that you went to the effort to make this. My head is feeling better already."
Malfoy inclined his head just slightly. "It was no trouble."
Hermione waved her wand twice, sending each of the mismatched chairs back to sit by their pile with a Banishing Charm. Malfoy raised his brows at her display of nonverbal magic, but said nothing.
As they lingered by the door, Hermione remembered something she'd been meaning to ask.
"Malfoy…" she began slowly, arms folded tightly around her middle as she twisted to face him, "have you heard anything about Hagrid recently?"
His lip curled. "Why are you asking me?"
"Earlier today, Crabbe was… insinuating something. About where Hagrid is right now? I thought perhaps you knew." She repeated what Crabbe had said before Care of Magical Creatures, leaving out the nastier bits.
"Oh. I don't…" he trailed off, mouth twisting as he thought. Malfoy suddenly looked torn. Or perhaps wary. "I don't know for sure, but… Father may have let slip mention of a covert operation, one that ran into some unexpected trouble. It involved Giants holed up in the mountains out east. I'd wager your friend is somehow involved, given his… let's say lineage, yeah? That's all I know."
Hermione hid her shock. Malfoy seemed to be growing more and more cautious every time certain subjects were breached, and she didn't want to discourage him from sharing anything important in the future. Was he worried about the potential ramifications for passing her inside information? More importantly, was he worried about those ramifications because he supported the Death Eaters and their cause? Surely he wouldn't even risk speaking with her if he did, but… stranger things had happened.
She settled for biting her lip, letting a sliver of concern leak through to her features. "Oh. I do hope Hagrid's alright — wherever he is."
Surprisingly, Malfoy vaguely nodded along in agreement, but she quickly realised there was a far-off look in his eyes.
"Thank you, again — for tonight," she said with a small smile. His eyes snapped back to hers. "I only wish I could return the favour somehow."
Malfoy hooked a finger under his tie, looking thoughtful. "Actually… I wondered if you might show me how to cast a Patronus? Rumour has it you can produce a full-bodied one."
Did Malfoy just wink at her?
She blinked several times, wondering if she had just imagined the last five seconds. "Um… sure. Yes. When do you want to meet?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. We can meet again next week at the same time, if you want. I've got a… thing… coming up this week."
She raised an eyebrow at him, but decided not to press her luck. "Okay."
They said little else before retreating to their separate dormitories. To her curiosity (disappointment?), Malfoy was once again careful to maintain his distance as they parted.
Harry seemed to be in an even worse state than herself when she returned to the common room.
"Didn't Snape give you a Calming Draught?" she asked, looking him up and down. He was frightfully pale and his hair clung wetly to his forehead as he splayed out in one of the armchairs.
Harry didn't even open his eyes. "What?" he mumbled, one hand clapped to his scar. "No. I swear, Snape's just making everything worse."
Hermione frowned. She resolved to brew a batch of Calming Draught for the both of them as soon as possible.
Hermione practised emptying her mind the way Malfoy had taught her that night and every night following. She was sure she could put on a much better performance now that she had an idea of what to expect during his lessons. She'd also need to find a spare moment to be certain she could still actually produce her Patronus — she'd only managed it once after all. What if it had been a fluke? She hadn't even thought to question Malfoy about why he was interested in learning it.
Wednesday evening after dinner, Hermione walked with Dean up to the fifth floor, not wanting to arrive alone to their mysterious, impromptu lesson. Even more surprising was the collection of students that appeared to be heading in the same direction; students of all ages, and at least three separate Houses, were meandering towards the classroom. Colin and Dennis Creevey were just up ahead, walking next to another second-year girl from Gryffindor. There was a tiny Hufflepuff first year. A scowling Ravenclaw seventh year she thought was called Roger. All in all, there were only a handful of students, none seeming to have any connection whatsoever apart from the Creevey brothers, and judging by the amount of whispering going on, everyone else was just as confused as she.
It wasn't until Justin Finch-Fletchley met them at the door to the classroom that it hit her. But that would be utterly ridiculous. Of course, it would explain the lack of Slytherin students, but… the other teachers wouldn't allow it. Surely not.
Hermione froze upon entering the classroom. Scrawled in huge letters across the blackboard, the question of the mysterious initials had finally been solved.
Assimilation and Theoretical Inquiries Initiative for Muggleborns
"You've got to be joking," came Dean's voice from behind her. "They're wanting to bring us up to speed now? A few years late, don't you think?"
Justin shrugged, moving forward to find a seat. Hermione mechanically followed Dean and Justin, shrugging her bag off as she slid behind a desk.
Perhaps Dean was right, and this class was simply to fill in the educational gaps around the knowledge that other witches and wizards were privy to since birth. Perhaps. But something about the way they'd ended up here did not sit right with Hermione. The lack of explanations from the start, the secrecy about their schedules, and now a course that had "anti-" and "Muggleborns" separated by two measly words? She fervently hoped that acronym was a mere coincidence.
There wasn't time to dwell on it further before the door opened once more, and a huge, broad-shouldered man entered the classroom. Garbed in crisp black robes and carrying a thick briefcase, he swept towards the desk up front, not even pausing to look around at the students assembled before him. Half of the room, Hermione included, jumped when he tossed the case on the desk with a huge thud.
Everyone watched in silence as he paused at the desk, clicked open his case, and pulled out a stack of parchment. He finally looked up.
Stroking a neatly-trimmed black beard with one hand, he used the other to point to the tiny Hufflepuff girl in the front row. "You. Up." At his booming voice, the girl gave a start and scrambled out of her chair. He tapped the stack of paper with an overlarge finger. "Hand these out." She jumped to comply.
Straight-backed and with a flinty look in his eye, the man proceeded to introduce himself.
Albert Runcorn turned out to be one of those close, personal acquaintances that Umbridge had talked about. Lips pursed as she listened, Hermione figured that that fact alone didn't inspire a great deal of confidence in his agreeability. He was the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, and had been personally requested by Headmistress Umbridge to help begin this initiative, of which they should all feel honoured to be a part. Hermione's eyes were beginning to feel twitchy from all of the suppressed rolling.
According to Runcorn, the magical community had gathered very little knowledge about the existence of Muggleborns since their inception (his words), which explained the extraordinary lack of resources for managing them (again, his words). The purpose of this initiative was to begin filling those gaps, while also gathering feedback to better understand the Muggleborn experience.
In theory, it sounded wonderful that Muggleborns and their needs were finally being acknowledged, but as Runcorn spoke, Hermione was growing more and more certain that there was some other underlying purpose. After all, Harry had grown up the same way as everyone else in this class, but he wasn't being required to participate.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked down at the piece of parchment that had been placed on her desk. They were being asked to fill out a family tree, as far back as five entire generations at minimum and any more would be counted as extra credit. An all too familiar sensation of outrage simmered beneath her skin. How in Merlin's name was this supposed to help them integrate into the magical community?
When Hermione lifted her head, she was surprised to find herself meeting Runcorn's eyes.
"And who might you be?" he asked, his face an expressionless mask.
Hermione hadn't realised she'd spoken her question aloud. The entire class was watching her. Well, she certainly wasn't going to let herself be cowed this time.
She lifted her chin and spoke in a clear voice. "Hermione Granger."
Runcorn noted her defiance with a tightening of his mouth. With slow, deliberate steps, he made his way through the rows of desks, coming to a stop only when he towered over her. "And do you presume, Miss Granger, that you have the authority to question that of myself, Headmistress Umbridge, and the entire Ministry of Magic?"
She deflected the question, craning her neck to continue meeting his eyes. Runcorn seemed like a man used to getting his way, but she'd be cursed before letting his obvious intimidation tactics succeed.
"I simply do not understand, sir, why the Ministry believes it will be helpful for us to focus on trivial things like genealogy instead of actually learning what it means to be a citizen of the Wizarding World."
The corner of Runcorn's mouth lifted as he leaned back on his heels, clasping his hands behind his back. The expression was utterly patronising. The familiar thrum of magic mixed with adrenaline began pounding through her veins.
Runcorn opened his mouth. "I am inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt, Miss Granger. Madam Umbridge has already informed me that you are an exceptionally singular student—" Hermione blinked — Umbridge had what? "—and that you and a handful of others may find some of the necessary changes difficult to understand—"
"What's difficult to understand?" Hermione blurted out, unable to stop herself against the roaring in her ears. "The Ministry doesn't want any of us to be able to defend ourselves against Voldemort—" several other students gasped, "—and the Ministry is now launching a small but secretive inquiry into the existence of Muggleborns under the guise of offering assistance."
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, shocked at her own recklessness, but it was too late. Runcorn's smile was frozen, but his gaze was scorching. He leaned forward, placing his palms flat on the desk between them.
He spoke softly now, and something about his tone sent a chill coursing through her veins where nothing else had before.
"Perhaps it was acceptable to speak out of turn under the feeble administration of Albus Dumbledore, but our esteemed Headmistress is very keen to maintain proper order. If you do not plan to cooperate of your own volition, I'm afraid I must request that you pay her a visit and tell her everything that transpired here. Be certain I will know if you do not. You may go now. It seems best that we get this under control pre-emptively, don't you agree?"
Not waiting for her response, he straightened, raising his voice so that the entire class could hear.
"Miss Granger apologises for the delay of our first lesson together…" and Runcorn prattled on, ignoring Hermione as if she'd already left the room.
The smouldering ember of anger that nestled inside of her kindled to white-hot flame. Hands shaking, Hermione snatched up her quill and parchment and stuffed them into her bag, then scraped her chair loudly across the dusty floor as she stood. A swift look around the room showed that almost all of the other students had their heads bent studiously over their parchment, as if looking up might condemn them to her fate. Next to her, Dean was frowning, but his eyes were glued to the blackboard where the course heading was scrawled. The Hufflepuff first-year alone watched Hermione with wide, fearful eyes.
Hermione stomped heavily down the corridor towards the Headmaster's office, rage still consuming her from the inside out. What right did the likes of Umbridge and Runcorn have to come in and destroy Hogwarts? Why were the other teachers complacent to let them single out Muggleborn students for some shoddy experimental research initiative? But mostly, how could Dumbledore have abandoned them at a time like this?
Hermione rounded the final corner, coming to a stop in front of the stone gargoyle and quickly realising that she didn't know this year's password.
"Um… Cockroach Cluster?" she tried.
The gargoyle didn't move.
She tried several more types of sweets before the gargoyle decided to be helpful.
"She's not here," it said in a gravelly voice. "You'll want the Defence Against the Dark Arts office."
It was unmoving once more.
Perturbed, Hermione set off for the aforementioned office. Why hadn't Umbridge taken up residence in the Headmaster's office?
As Hermione walked, her anger slowly melted away, only to be replaced by cold, muted fear. She'd had detention before, true, but this felt different. Now she was going to be one on one with Umbridge, a woman who she had the distinct feeling would be out for blood.
Hermione took several deep breaths, calling on her new set of Occlumency measures to calm herself. She fumbled, losing her grasp, and her emotions returned in full force, anger spiking hideously above the rest.
What was the matter with her? Since when had she become so easily provoked? If she were being honest, Hermione would have expected something like this from Harry, or even Ron, but never herself. She never acted rashly. She was the embodiment of cool logic.
Hermione pushed through the door of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom to find several other students already inside, appearing to have just exited through the office door on the opposite side of the room. They were all fifth years and above, and nearly all Slytherins. She shouldn't have been so surprised to see Malfoy among them.
He looked just as surprised to see her. Malfoy sent Crabbe and Goyle ahead with a few curt words, then slowed his steps until he was behind almost everyone else.
Pansy sauntered past with a smug expression, eyes briefly lighting on Hermione and lips curving up in a vicious smile at the sight of her. In a very un-Pansy-like manner, however, she brushed past Hermione without uttering a single word, exiting the room behind Warrington.
Theo, the last person behind Malfoy, averted his eyes and walked quickly around the both of them, disappearing just on Pansy's heels. Hermione didn't try to stop him — it had taken a few days to be certain, but she knew that he was avoiding her. It didn't make sense, but she hadn't the time to sort it right now. What could she have possibly done?
"What are you doing here?" Malfoy hissed, planting himself in front of her.
Instead of answering, Hermione's attention was caught by something residing at eye-level; a tiny silver 'I' was pinned to the front of Malfoy's robes, just beneath his prefect's badge.
"What's that?" she asked in a harsh whisper, pointing to the second badge.
Malfoy flushed. "It's… it's too much to explain right now. Why are you meeting with Umbridge?"
Hermione was feeling rather uncharitable in her current state. "It's too much to explain right now," she practically snarled.
Malfoy raised his brows haughtily. "What's got your knick—"
"Not now," she snapped, cutting him off before he could give her the opportunity to verbally eviscerate him for finishing that sentence. "I've got to go. I'll explain later, okay?"
Malfoy searched her eyes once, then nodded slowly. His gaze travelled briefly over her flushed cheeks and messy curls, finally landing on the hand curled into a fist at her side. "Okay... remember the lessons, yeah? Empty your mind?"
"Yes," she growled in agreement, knowing full-well she was unable to concentrate on anything at all.
Malfoy rightly didn't look convinced, but let her move past him without further comment. Hermione didn't look back as she strode up to the office and knocked firmly on the door.
"Come in," Umbridge called in a sing-song voice.
Hermione was immediately greeted by the sight of an inordinate amount of pink. The office that had previously belonged to one Barty Crouch Junior (né Alastor Moody) had been transformed into a frilly, frothy sea of lace and florals that could easily have passed as an extension of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. Even the stone walls had been stained a rose colour.
Her eyes finally settled on Umbridge, whose choice of attire blended in exceedingly well with her office décor.
Umbridge smiled sweetly. "Miss Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Shoving down her residual anger, Hermione relayed a summarised version of events from this evening. Umbridge did not invite her to sit.
"Professor Runcorn, dear," Umbridge chided as Hermione neared the end.
She gritted her teeth. "Yes, and then Professor Runcorn asked me to see you."
Umbridge folded her hands primly on the desk, surveying Hermione with pursed lips. "Well. I can see that I was correct to worry about your present temperament."
Hermione hung her head, afraid that Umbridge would read the fury in her eyes. She hoped the woman mistook it for obeisance.
Umbridge tutted quietly. "And a prefect at that. I need no further confirmation that I was right to develop more stringent measures against our current authority structure. Now, about your actions this evening. Tell me, do you make a habit of spreading the lies that Mister Potter has fabricated?"
Hermione looked up sharply. "Harry hasn't told any lies."
"Yes, as I suspected," Umbridge said, nodding and smiling to herself. "If you wish to keep that badge, Miss Granger, I suggest you take a closer look at your priorities, the foremost of which should be your education. It is why you are here, after all, is it not?"
Staring into Umbridge's cold eyes, Hermione weighed her options. It was with burning shame that she acceded this battle to Umbridge. Hermione tried her best to look thoroughly abashed. It was easier than she cared to admit.
"Yes, Headmistress."
"That's right," Umbridge said with a sanctimonious little nod. "Now, I do not tolerate unruly children, and I especially will not make exceptions for students who have, for one reason or another, been placed in a position of authority above the rest. As to the small matter of your punishment—"
Umbridge cut off as three sharp raps came at her office door. She frowned. "Come in."
The door opened to reveal Malfoy, who looked rather dishevelled for some reason. He strode in without waiting for permission. Hermione quickly closed her gaping mouth before Umbridge noticed.
"Headmistress," he began in an unctuous tone reminiscent of his father, "I apologise for the intrusion, but I've had a thought regarding decree number twenty-eight, and I simply couldn't wait to inform you. What if instead of inspecting each piece of owl post by hand, we—"
Umbridge cut in with a simper for Malfoy. "Ah, excellent Mister Malfoy, I shall be most delighted to hear your suggestions in just a moment. I knew I could count on you to take the initiative." She gave a tinkling laugh. "Regrettably, I must first devise a suitable discipline for Miss Granger, here."
Malfoy looked over at her then, as if just noticing Hermione's presence. His mouth twisted into a vicious sneer. "Oh, of course. I didn't realise you had other… business… at the moment."
Hermione bristled. He punctuated his words by looking her up and down with open disdain.
Looking between them, Umbridge's smile widened. "Not to worry, Mister Malfoy." She gestured to a nearby chair. "If you would like to make yourself comfortable, I will deal with this and then we can discuss your proposals."
Malfoy's eyes flicked briefly to Hermione. "Actually, Headmistress, if I may suggest…?" Umbridge inclined her head in assent and Malfoy threw her an ingratiating grin before continuing. "Professor Snape is requesting a thorough scrubbing of all the school cauldrons. Peeves apparently spent the summer coating them in molasses. I had planned to alert Mr. Filch after speaking with you, but if you need a job for Granger, here…" He trailed off, flashing Hermione a cruel smirk. She didn't have to feign her horror and outrage as she looked back at him.
Umbridge paused, appearing to think that over. "An excellent suggestion, Mister Malfoy. Argus would be most grateful, and perhaps Severus will be more amenable to some of our other suggestions if we take this little problem off of his hands. If only we could find a reliable means to oust that accursed poltergeist…" She looked wistful before her gaze landed on Hermione. "No matter. Miss Granger, please report to Professor Snape's office tomorrow evening after dinner, and every evening after until the job is finished. I sincerely hope that this will be enough of a reminder as to your expected conduct in the future."
Umbridge's words were a clear dismissal, and Hermione didn't wait to find out if there would be anything further. She spared only a single glare for Malfoy, who had a sneer plastered on his face, then tore her gaze away and raced for the exit. Feeling Malfoy's eyes still on her, she barely resisted slamming the door shut on her way out.
Hermione paced furiously in the corridor outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, waiting for Malfoy to be done with whatever farce he was putting on for Umbridge. Finally, he emerged. Pausing mid-stride, she rounded on him.
"What was that for?" she hissed. "Were you listening at the door? Why did you interrupt?"
Malfoy's face darkened. "I was helping you, Granger—"
She cut him off. "I didn't need your help, I had myself under control—"
"It didn't look that way to me—"
"—and I didn't need you to intervene!" she spat. "What were you thinking? Now I have to spend the next however many evenings in the dungeons scrubbing cauldrons, by hand, I'm certain—"
Malfoy growled in frustration. "You have no idea what she was going to do to you!"
"—and I simply don't have that kind of time to spare in the first place! And—" She drew up short as the implication of Malfoy's words caught up with her.
"What?" she asked, brows drawing together. "What do you mean?"
Malfoy's expression was thunderous, but he spoke calmly. "Umbridge has all kinds of new ideas for punishing rule-breakers. She laid it out for us just this evening. Trust me, whatever she was going to come up with would have been much worse than scrubbing a few rusty cauldrons."
"Like what?" Hermione couldn't refrain from asking.
"Like Filch being allowed to use whips, for one. Or setting you lines with a cursed quill that uses your blood instead of ink…"
Hermione's mouth fell open. "That's barbaric."
Malfoy shoved a hand roughly through his hair. "That's why I stopped her! I told you, I told you to keep your head down, to not draw any attention to yourself, and you've gone and landed yourself in her office not even a full week after term started—"
"I didn't know," she replied in a tiny voice, unable to meet his eyes. "Merlin, how could I have anticipated this."
Malfoy dropped his hand to his side with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. It's more than I expected."
Before she could overthink it, Hermione reached out to wrap her fingers around his.
"Thank you," she said, giving his hand a light squeeze. Warmth trickled up from where their fingers met. "I'm sorry that I got upset with you for helping, and I'm grateful that you intervened when you did."
Malfoy's hand twitched but he didn't pull away. Clear grey eyes met her own. "You're welcome. Unfortunately, Umbridge will now be able to go through the morning post without having to do it all herself." He offered a slightly apologetic smile.
She scoffed. "Invasive, that. But, seeing as she was going to do it anyway…" Hermione shrugged, sending a small smile back up at him.
Malfoy held her gaze like that for several more moments before clearing his throat. "We should go. The old bag isn't going to stay in there forever." He jerked his head towards the classroom door.
Hermione nodded once. "You're right. I'll see you in Arithmancy tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," he agreed.
Later, Hermione would swear that just before she pulled her hand out of his, Malfoy's fingers squeezed hers gently in return.