A twitch in his lips was the only sign she had to know he'd heard her.
He's far more composed than she anticipated. Truthfully, she wasn't sure what sort of state she'd find him in. Despite dawning the typical dreary and grey prisoner robes, he's improved in appearance since the day they spotted him in Hogwarts' courtyard. His prim and posh composure did well to disguise the lunatic she knew lay hidden beneath the surface. Behind the name, the poise and the copious amounts of galleons, there was a person who firmly believed the world should be rid of muggles. A man who likely still believed that to be true. Not to mention the endless list of crimes and years of being the Dark Lord's faithful servant. It would take a miracle to eradicate this man from his sentencing. So it was a good thing that wasn't the reason why she was here.
When she came to realize the terrorized attack was an act of revenge against his father despite the efforts to better himself, she knew she needed to intervene. How exactly, she was still trying to work out those details. But she's here now. And try as he might, Harry did his best to convince her to stay put. Especially after realizing her true intentions...
"Are you mad?" Harry asked while glaring hexes at her in an attempt to make his frustrations with her as evident as possible. "Tell me you're not actually going through with this."
Of course she knew how insane it all sounded. It wasn't like she hadn't already changed her mind twice in the last half hour but the last thing she needed was for Harry to be the tipping point.
"Kingsley already gave me his approval. I'm going, Harry. Whether you like it or not," she told him as she finished putting away the last of her school supplies.
He was rendered silent for a moment but she knew he was far from finished in fighting back.
"Is Malfoy blackmailing you?" His inquisition brought her to an abrupt stop in packing.
She supposed she should have expected that sort of assumption from him. A few months of auror training only seemed to intensify his desire to protect those close to him. Exactly from someone the likes of an ex-Death Eater.
Hermione had to hand it to him; he certainly picked the right profession.
"No, he isn't."
"Is he bribing you?"
"No."
"Imperius curse—?"
"Oh for Godric's sake," she gritted out, her hands firmly on her hips. "Malfoy's been unconscious since the incident, Harry."
He gnawed on his cheek, knowing she was right. He couldn't imperio her bedridden. "I've never imagined a day where you and Malfoy...I just wanted to be sure—"
"He isn't blackmailing me, Harry," her voice gradually softened. "Nor does he have me under any sort of curse," she continued packing, refusing to make eye contact. "I realize this is difficult to grasp but haven't been around. You can't understand—"
"Then help me understand, Hermione," he emphasized by lightly grabbing hold of her hands, forcing her to look up at him. "I trust you. I do, but I need to know what your motives are because if I let you do this, if I let you go to Azkaban of all places and something were to happen to you...I couldn't, I can't..." he struggled to voice his hesitations but it wasn't necessary.
"Hey," she reciprocated his hold on her, squeezing his hands back. Moments like this made her cherish the depth and validity of their friendship. How she wished she could say the same for another...
"Do you remember the last time we were on that clearing overlooking the lake? That spot I used to run away to?" He looked up from his hands to meet her eyes. "Do you remember what we talked about?"
"Yeah? So what? Put 'Death Eater daddy' back in prison, give him a pardon and all of a sudden, he's a saint?"
Hermione failed to stifle a laugh.
"Don't be silly, this is Malfoy we're talking about."
He laughed along with her, "Right. Think I'd be more concerned if he weren't."
"I don't have time to explain everything but he is different now...a good different. He's still an arse most of the time, believe me, but his intentions are true."
Harry gnawed at the inside of his cheek in hesitation."And you're absolutely certain—" she shook her head.
"I'm positive. I've spent enough time with him to know he didn't provoke anything. You know I'd never make this up in his favor."
Harry hummed. "Fair point."
"He just wants to finish his education properly. No childish pranks, no unnecessary conflict, no shortcuts. And it's not just him. Both teams played an honest game this morning if you can believe it."
"Almost as much as I believe you showing up to a Quidditch game voluntarily." His lips quirked as he side-eyed her. "Gryffindor wasn't even playing today."
She said nothing in response. Instead, she tied her bag closed, signaling the approaching end to their conversation.
"You really think talking to his father is going to change anything?" He tried as a last minute effort to change her mind.
If she was being honest with herself, probably not. "I want answers. In any case, I'll see to it that nothing like this happens again."
"What if he threatens you?" He blurted. "Or tries to hurt you?"
She shook her head, smiling wryly at him.
"Give me some credit, Harry. Who taught me how to properly defend myself our fifth year?" she sighed, able to tell he didn't feel any less unsettled. "He won't have a wand and the guards will be with us the whole time," she assured. "We also have a decent DADA professor this year if that makes you feel any better."
There was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes.
"I've heard about him. He left quite an impression at the Ministry. Ron and I actually share his old office." Hermione frowned.
"How is he?" She felt obligated to ask, despite the sharp pang in her gut telling her otherwise.
Harry cleared his throat. "He's doing well. Job's been chaotic for both of us."
"Is he happy?" She hoped she didn't have to clarify what she was referring to.
He rocked on his feet while stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking far more uncomfortable discussing this subject than he did Malfoy. So he definitely knew what she was referring to. "He is," he eventually answered, "It's been a while since I've seen him like this."
Suddenly, the feeling of helplessness she strove to avoid came crashing back into her reality. "Hermione?" She looked up to him, his eyes open and openly displaying his worry. She only caught a glimpse of it before she was pulled into a warm embrace. When she wrapped her arms around him tightly, he spoke into her shoulder, "I hope you know what you're doing."
"I had to look after the two of you all those years. How hard could this be?" Hermione managed a half smile as she pulled away and threw her bag over her shoulder. "Trust me."
He smiled weakly. "Be careful."
With a light nod, she scurried from the room before he could change his mind.
She knew her parting words would only ease his disinclinations minimally but it was enough for him to let her go. Except now she was stuck with him.
Now what was she supposed to say? It's not like she could implement her usual tactics. The moment she made the decision to come here, she made a solemn promise to leave old Hermione behind on school grounds. Cautious, sensible Hermione who would search for reason, for there was no reasoning with this man. So she prepared herself while on the journey here, conjuring every single outcome she could think of and what she would say like it was a test. Still, of all the other options she had to choose from, she went with 'Good evening Mister Malfoy.'
Then again, it's not like the alternatives she came up with were any better:
Fancy weather we're having today, isn't it? Not that you would know considering you've been behind concrete walls for the past few months.
Or, in the off chance he had forgotten who she was;
Hi. I'm Hermione Granger. You may better remember me as the mudblood your son always complained about...
She scrapped that one very early on in the process.
Hermione was forcefully taken away from her thoughts when a noise sounded from her company.
He was...laughing.
She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, "Do you find something humorous, sir?"
He stopped, a wicked grin plastered across his considerable features, "Forgive me, I hadn't realized it was evening already." The elder spoke with such finesse and grace, she wouldn't believe this was a man who had spent the last few months in Azkaban amongst the wizarding world's most notorious criminals. "Time becomes such a fickle thing when you're in a wretched place like this," he added with a dramatic flair. "The guards here are terrible housekeepers and there's a distinct lack of windows," he added darkly. "Not terribly unlike a dungeon if you ask me."
Like correct answers to a test, the words escaped her before she could stop them, "So it should feel just like home to you."
His eyes flashed. "Quite the contrary," he spoke with mock-astonishment, "My personal dungeon is a luxury compared to this place. Such a pity you didn't get to experience it first hand," he expressed with feigned sympathy as his matted blond hair fell forward into his eyes.
"My sincerest apologies," she began with a harsh edge. "You should have told Bellatrix to let me witness this dungeon of yours first before carving into me like a bloody pumpkin."
Who hand-carves their pumpkins? She heard him scoff under his breath. "I suppose I could see it now that I know she's gone. I'm sure Narcissa wouldn't mind."
His cunning smirk fell at the mention of his wife.
"You...you've spoken to my Cissy...?" He exhaled in a breath of awe and relief. "How is she?"
Her brow furrowed. Not once did she ever expect to witness his compassionate side. Not that she was aware he had one to begin with. "She seemed fine—"
"Did she send for you? Seeing as my son is behaving like an insolent child—" he muttered the last bit under his breath but it didn't go unnoticed by Hermione.
"No, actually. I'm here because of him."
He rolled his eyes, "Salazar's sake, I thought I was done with this shit," he grumbled under his breath. "Why can't the two of you work out your own grievances for yourselves?"
Hermione blinked at him with wide eyes. "I-I beg your pardon?"
"Yes, yes, I know all about your quarrels," he said dismissively, rocking back on two legs of his chair as he crossed his arms in a stubborn manner. "Far more than a man should ever need to. Unfortunately, Draco didn't leave out any details about your rivalry in academia. 'She bested me in potions again, father.' 'You wouldn't believe what that Granger girl did today, father.' 'She actually lost house points for knowing bloody everything, father,'" he mimicked with disdain. "It was maddening."
She was at a loss for words. She was certain Malfoy spoke negatively about her to his parents but not to that extent. Certainly not to that frequency.
"Well go on then. Do make it quick, won't you? I mustn't be late for my evening wizard's chess match and one of the guards owes me quite a few galleons."
Hermione's jaw opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "You haven't heard the news, I take it." In an instant, his demeanor shifted. Only slightly.
"What news?" If Hermione wasn't mistaken, she would have guessed that was a hint of concern laced in his voice.
"There was an incident at Hogwarts earlier today. I felt that someone should tell you."
"What sort of 'incident'?" He narrowed his eyes at her. And suddenly, she felt like she was the one in the interrogation chair.
"There was a Quidditch match today with several members of the opposing team plotting an attack against Slytherin." Hermione paused under his calculating scrutiny. "It nearly succeeded."
"Nearly?" he repeated slowly.
Her breath hitched as a figure clad in green falling from the sky flashed across her eyes.
"Yes."
A tense silence passed between them. All things considered, he seemed strangely calm given the circumstances. Something she couldn't shake off was the way in which he was observing her. Like he was evaluating her.
"What sort of condition is he in?"
"A few fractured ribs and a broken wrist. Some of his bones will need to be grown back. He's also lost a fair amount of blood but they managed to stabilize him," she forced out, unwilling to imagine the permanent damage that would have been inflicted if she didn't cast the protection charm in time.
"Were there others injured?"
"There were a few in proximity to him, Blaise Zabini being the closest. He suffered a moderate concussion and a few others had superficial wounds."
Lucius took a moment to compose his thoughts as he stared at the empty space of table between them. "What happened, exactly?"
"Are you familiar with erumpent potions?"
He looked up briefly to meet her gaze. "What is this? A pop quiz?" She merely glared at him expectantly. To which he exhaled in a dramatic huff.
The similarities were so uncanny, she thought.
"The Dark Lord didn't want us utilizing them if that is what you're asking. He preferred more discreet methods of killing. Erumpent potions are commonly associated with loud noise and leave behind a mess to clean," he waved a cuffed hand in a dismissive manner. "We were taught about them as part of the regular curriculum in my days at Hogwarts. Highly reactive and very efficient when brewed and used correctly."
"One of the students from Ravenclaw laced the bludger with an erumpent potion. It was set to react with the quaffle such that if they were to collide—"
"—it would set off a massive, deadly explosion. Yes, I am aware of the mechanisms," he snarled. Again, thus proving how the similarities were clear and frightening. "What I want to know is how a student managed to obtain such a potion on school grounds?" he demanded.
"Actually, the students concocted it themselves."
His eyebrows jumped in surprise, "A student created the potion that nearly killed my son?"
"Several students, actually. It was a—erm—a collaborative effort." She swallowed the ever growing lump beginning to form in her throat while he leaned forward. Closer.
"Who?"
"The Cabbotts. I believe you were well acquainted with their parents."
He retracted back into his seat and hummed, considering her response. "I see." For the first time tonight, he actually seemed unsettled. "And you are under the suspicion this incident has something to do with me."
She eyed him carefully. "I don't 'suspect', Mr. Malfoy. I know this for a fact."
He huffed under his breath, "What exactly was it you were hoping to achieve by coming here, Miss Granger? Did you think you can waltz in here and play hero? Try to save Draco from his disgraced family? Redeem him?" To which, he barked an obnoxious laugh, "I'll never understand you Gryffindors and your hopeless, grandeur acts of integrity."
"He doesn't deserve this."
"Well for once, we're in agreement," he countered, exasperated. She could tell his patience was wearing thin. Though unfortunately for him, so was hers. Hermione's chair screeched across the floor as she stood abruptly from her seat, fully prepared to lay it out for him. The elder's eyes widened slightly in surprise but otherwise, did not flinch.
"And while you sit here in the safety of your prison cell, he's out there trying to make things better for himself but is unable to do so because of you."
"Watch your tone—"
"I'm not your child," she cautioned darkly. "Nor would I ever want to be given the way you constantly put yours in harm's way with the choices you've made. Makes one think if you ever cared about him in the first place."
For a moment, her words stunned him into silence. Then his demeanor completely shifted. She had hoped to get a reaction out of him and appeared successful given by the malicious glint in his eyes.
"How dare you—" he spat viciously, positively angered before he seemed to catch himself.
"Feel free to prove me wrong," she challenged.
With a calculating smirk, he sat back in his chair, reverting back to his passive apathy. It infuriated her to no end. "It's all friendly, I'm sure. It's a competitive sport," he said evenly.
Was...was he serious? How demented was he?
"He almost lost his life today, Mr. Malfoy," she said slowly, as if she were explaining something to an infant. "I wouldn't exactly call that 'friendly' behavior."
The blond wizard waved his hand in a dismissive manner, "Merely rough housing. Salazar knows he could use some toughening up." He appeared to relish at the rage rising in her eyes.
"Do you even understand the depths of his devotion to you? For a boy who was raised to be incapable of feeling compassion, it astounds me how family means so much to him. Everything he did in the war, he did for his family. All the decisions that ruined his life, he did because of you."
The elder shrugged his shoulders, "The boy knows his place."
"Such a pity he put his trust in the wrong person," she mimicked, adopting his tone from earlier.
"Trust?" He pressed, rooting her in place. "And what? You think he should trust you?"
A pause.
"I never said that."
"If I may, Miss Granger?" he implored, suddenly grinning much too widely for her comfort. "Why did no one think to prevent this horrible scheme before it happened?"
"No one had any reason to suspect there was a malicious plot being executed," she answered effortlessly.
"Then why did you?" he drawled. She remained stiff with his eyes glinting like he had finally caught his prey.
Along with the mannerisms, it was rather unsettling how similar they were in appearance. The stone cold front. The silver, steel eyes with depths comparable to trenches within oceans. The clenched, tight jaw that always occurred when they were visibly angry. Somehow, it made her miss the pair that used to glare at the back of her head on a daily basis. Though nowadays, they acquired more of a neutral tone. Every now and then, she had even seen glimpses of something...different.
"You know what I'm asking, Miss Granger." He raised a brow. "I know what they call you. The 'brightest witch of your age', am I right? I'm sure you're tired of it by now but you've earned that title," he teased, seemingly aware of how he was putting her at unease. "You're the only one to have bested my son in nearly every single class," he smirked, lacing his fingers together with utmost poise. "Regardless of the circumstances, it's an ingenious plot. No one would suspect a thing. But I know if that were the case, we would be having an entirely different conversation. So I'll ask again, Miss Granger; why did you?"
She remained silent for a moment but she knew there was no escape. Instead of conjuring a fiery response, she felt compelled to answer him with her lingering guilt carrying the way. "A few weeks after we were given our assignment, Cabbott — Layla — approached me. She wanted...advice."
"Do elaborate. Please." He added shortly after his demand.
"I told her how to optimize the reactivity of their potion and what would happen to their derivative if she didn't. I never anticipated the alternative being the result she was truly after," she admitted quietly.
He hummed, eyeing her with the slightest hint of satisfaction. How she wanted to curse him. "So it would appear our Golden Girl isn't so innocent after all. Did you ever wonder, perhaps you came here as a way to clear that guilty conscience of yours? To lessen the burden knowing that you took part in his near-miss with death? Or maybe that's what you wanted all along—"
"I didn't know they were going to use it to kill him—"
"—and you want to discuss trust?" he hissed dangerously. "Tell me Miss Granger, does anyone else know you are here right now? Better yet—" He leaned further onto the table. Despite his tattered robes and the magic cuffs, Hermione couldn't help but feel like she was the one being interrogated. "Is Draco aware of your developing affection towards him?"
"Would you stop trying to change the subject? I didn't come here to discuss our relationship."
"Ah," his eyebrows rose, "So you acknowledge that there is one?"
She retracted, "One what?"
"A relationship," he held a hand up to silence her arguments, "Despite your hesitation towards me, I am still his father, Miss Granger. I have a right to know."
"He and I have come to an understanding. He is just a friend. That's all," she stated with finality. He raised a brow at that.
"You do this for all your friends, then? Pester their parents with your belligerent accusations?"
Her eyes hardened, "I stand beside those who have been wronged and your son easily qualifies as one."
He chuckled darkly, "What? You think I wanted him to become a Death Eater? Forced him to take the mark against his own will?"
"You might as well have."
"Curious that you would come all this way to blame the already proven guilty." His eyes narrowed into slits. "Your parents must be proud."
Her eyes flashed.
"Ah. Struck a nerve, I see." He looked so proud of himself. "How are mummy and daddy doing? Still doing that nasty muggle business of tending to other's teeth?"
Her jaw clenched tightly. "Don't talk about my parents."
"So defensive all of a sudden, Miss Granger? Seems hypocritical of you while you're here meddling with others' lives you have no business in."
"You have no idea what I have done for my family."
"Unfortunately for you, I do." He grinned. "How innovative of you to modify their memories. It was brilliant. Truly."
"I said stop talking," she warned, her fists shaking.
"Why, Miss Granger...are you going to hex me in my lonely prison cell? I do recall it was against the rules to do such a thi—" He could barely get the sentence out before her wand was out and pointed at his throat.
"Do not tempt me, Mr. Malfoy," she warned in a dangerous, low tone.
"Where did you—how? The guards—ah—" he attempted before the tip of her wand nudged threateningly at his Adam's apple.
"I silenced the room the second I walked through the door," she informed diligently, silently taking pride in the sheer horror in his eyes and thrilled to finally feel in control of the situation.
"Draco—" she pressed the end in slightly, causing him to grunt at the mild discomfort,
"It's true, your son and I have looked past our differences. I'll even go as far to admit that I mildly enjoy his company. As a result, I preemptively aimed to try my hardest to not inflict harm to you despite my inclination to do so for his sake. However," he winced when she pressed harder, "—should you find yourself continuing spewing nonsense about my family, I'll happily suppress that willpower and walk out of here without a single drop of your precious pure blood on me," she hissed venomously.
Initially, he merely watched her with an unrecognizable gleam in his eye. Then a smile began to creep its way onto his face. Not one of malice. No...this time, it was a happy smile. Had he gone mad?
"What are you so smug about?" She asked, feeling mildly unsettled despite her being armed and him being cuffed.
"You forget, my dear. You are accustomed to those who have pure intentions and redeeming qualities. But now, you are dealing with a family consisting entirely of Slytherin." His eyes flashed. She thought she saw a bit of...pride? "Not bad, Miss Granger. Fortunately for Draco, you catch on quick. I think you will do quite nicely—"
Stepping down, she ran through her mind for the possibilities of the reasoning behind his implications. She came up empty. "What are you talking abou—" he held his hand up, stopping her.
"It's alright, Miss Granger," she had never heard or seen this softer version of him before. "This is a conversation for another time. You should hurry along. I suspect he will be waking up any moment now."
"Waking up?" She echoed. "I never told you—" she trailed off, fully comprehending the situation and advantage he had on her the entire time. "You've known all along."
He scoffed, "Surely you didn't expect me not to keep tabs on my only son?" He eyed her pointedly. "I heard about the incident minutes after it happened," he informed her with a snark in his tone, a smirk crawling its way on his face. "I do have eyes outside of these walls, Miss Granger."
Her eyes widened. Did that mean he knew what she had done for him? A sensation of lightheadedness overtook her as she felt like she could faint from sheer exhaustion and confusion. He had known this whole time. So what was his plan? Was he testing her? Or was he simply wasting her time?
"You should hurry along back to Hogwarts," he continued passively. "I anticipate he will be expecting you when he wakes up." His voice no longer held the menacing tone it had earlier. The glare had diminished. The person in front of her was no longer a scornful madman. In his place was a father who had seen the days of prison and remained hopeful for his family on the other side.
Her impending thoughts were interrupted when a knock sounded. A guard.
"Miss Granger? Time's up."
As if on autopilot, she slowly stood from her seat but when she motioned to leave, he grabbed hold of her arm with his cuffed hands. Startled, she turned and tilted her head down to look at him. While his gaze was focused on the table, she could practically feel the gratification he gave off. "You should know," he began earnestly, "when Draco has his mind set on something, he tends to follow through to the very end." Finally, he looked up to meet her stare.
Befuddled, she shook her head at him, "I don't understand."
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards for a moment,. "You will. In due time." Then, he released her.
In the midst of her confusion, Hermione found herself walking towards the door, unable to offer any sort of response to his strange behavior.
She didn't dare look back even when the door closed between them.
November 15, 1998
.
.
.
She winced when she got up from the floor, rubbing her sore bottom as she took in her surroundings. They were different. And significantly so.
Gone were the portraits of the Black family. Gone was the burning from the heat she felt earlier. Gone was the bone chilling cold that nearly numbed her fingertips.
Looking in front of her, she saw the door she had run into. Nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed to be a simple, black door.
Then she felt the pulling sensation once again. Tugging her towards the door.
Come.
Get closer.
Despite this place not having any recognizable qualities, something about it seemed familiar to her.
It felt...comforting.
As if in a trance, she slowly opened the door in front of her and stepped through. The room was dark and lit with only the barest hint of moonlight. This wasn't a room she recalled being in.
Somehow, someway, she knew this was a place she had been before.
As she stood in the middle of the room, she was aware she wasn't alone.
She took another step forward though this time she felt no fear.
Only determination.
.
.
.
Hermione lay in bed as she relayed the entirety of the dream in her head for the fifth time that evening. The visuals kept her wide awake with no chance of falling back asleep. What did they all mean? Between the odd dreams and the strange encounter with the elder Malfoy yesterday, there didn't seem to be a chance of peace for her.
"Psst! Hermione? Are you up?"
The curly haired witch sat up from her covers to see a familiar redhead rummaging through her trunk.
"Good morning, Gin—hey!" She yelped in surprise when Ginny began to launch clothes backwards in her direction.
"No time for that! Get dressed, will you? Hurry up!" Hermione stared at her incredulously before she flickered her attention down to the clothes that actually landed in her hands. A simple jumper and jeans. At least they matched.
"What's the rush?"
Ginny only beamed at her.
"He's awake."
It took a minute for her words to process in her sleep deprived head. But when they did, she leaped from the bed and quickly dawned the outfit Ginny provided.
"When?" It came out slightly muffled as she pulled the jumper over her head.
"Not long ago. McGonagall came by to tell us we have some time before Madam Pomfrey starts working on realigning his minor fractures. Now come on!" She had just finished fastening her belt when Ginny took hold of her arm and tugged her through and out of the common room. Other students became blurs of color as they raced down the seemingly never-ending corridors. "I should warn you," Ginny panted out. "McGonagall said his little missus is furious."
"Astoria's with him?" Hermione was extremely hesitant at the prospect of having to face an irate Astoria. Especially after their last encounter. "What if she's still there? Shouldn't we respect their privacy?" She hissed as they approached the entrance to the hospital wing.
Ginny went to respond but was cut off by a shrill voice up ahead.
"Upset?! Of course I'm upset, Draco. Do you realize how this looks?!"
Hermione's jaw dropped slightly and Ginny smirked at her.
"I don't think that will be a problem. Wait here," she urged, gesturing to an area closer to the door. "I doubt he'll want her to stay much longer. Good luck," she winked before turning around and taking her leave.
As Hermione stood alone, she contemplated the best course of action. While the moral part of her felt guilty eavesdropping on their conversation, the majority of her was intrigued. It wasn't like Astoria was bordering on yelling and practically handing the opportunity for her on a silver platter. So she let her curiosity win.
"Why do I bother? You don't even seem to care."
As she crept closer, she could finally make out another person adopting a calmer, albeit fatigued, tone. When she pressed her ear against the door, she finally heard him.
"You're blowing this entirely out of proportion."
Unexpectedly, Hermione felt a wave of relief flood her. In their week apart, she hadn't realized how much she had gotten used to hearing his voice.
"I want you to stop seeing her."
Hermione furrowed her brow. She wasn't aware of Malfoy seeing someone else. Not when all of his free time was spent with...oh.
"Astoria, don't be ridiculous—"
"I mean it, Draco. I want this to work but it won't with her constantly being around."
"Even if we weren't partners for this assignment, I still have classes with her. What, were you going to try and get her expelled?"
"..."
"Don't even think about it." Her eyes widened at the dark undertones his voice took on all of a sudden. "This is not up for negotiation. We need each other to pass this class."
"Who gives a damn what she needs? Can't you just do it on your own?"
She withheld a knowing smile when she heard him huff out of frustration, "We've been through this. We're too far along to stop halfway. Slughorn could fail us."
Then silence. Just when she thought Malfoy won the argument, Astoria's voice came through again.
"Madame Beaudoux won't be pleased, you know."
"Ask if I give a shit."
Hermione covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Astoria clearly wasn't as amused.
"Draco!"
Nope, not amused in the slightest.
"Don't 'Draco' me, I'm still fucking recovering and my head feels like it's about to explode. What do you want from me?"
"What about our meeting?"
"...you're joking."
"They're mandatory."
She wasn't joking.
"...then it looks like you'll be attending it alone because there's not a chance in hell I'm letting that wench in here—"
"But—"
"—and feel free to tell her you're upset about me working on a project with a classmate rather than getting blown up in front of the entire school...regardless how much that woman detests me, even she can't deny how dimwitted that is."
"You know that's not it."
"Do I?" Hermione frowned. "Ever since the start of the year, that's all you ever bring up. Every meeting we have, you talk about her and I fail to see how she's the problem." A pause. "Unless there's something you're not telling me." Another pause. "Astoria?"
"N-nothing. There's nothing. I'm sorry," Hermione narrowed her eyes. Curious. "Really, I'm just...I've been so worried and I should not be relaying my frustrations towards you."
Interested in his response, she subconsciously leaned further into the door.
"It's fine." He sounded defeated. "I think the sleeping draught Madam Pomfrey gave me is starting to kick in."
Sleeping draught? Hermione thought back to when Ginny told her Madam Pomfrey was going to be working on his fractures. Typically, the patients were awake for this part so they were able to provide feedback if anything felt out of place after the repairs. At least, that was what she gathered from Harry and Ron's frequent visits. Though Astoria didn't seem any the wiser and accepted his words to be true.
"Very well. I'll check on you later, then."
Hermione let out a light gasp when the next sound that came through was approaching footsteps as Astoria proceeded to leave. Instinctively, she backed away from the door and hastily cast a disillusionment charm on herself with only seconds to spare. Hermione kept a firm watch on the slim brunette as she stepped through the doorway and pressed back to close the door. Though something peculiar stood out to her. The second the door clicked closed behind her, the troubled expression Astoria dawned gradually morphed into a slight, knowing grin. Then, she pushed herself off and continued to stride through the short corridor without noticing the other occupant.
How odd, she thought. Though she was moderately suspicious, Hermione made a mental note to address it at a later time.
Once Astoria turned the corner and her footsteps receded completely, she removed the charm and waited with bated breath as she prepared to head inside. Suddenly, a hole began to develop in the pit of her gut as she realized this would be the first time she would interact with him since that night in Hogsmeade. Then again, maybe he was too tired to conversate. But before she could stop herself, she turned the knob to let herself in. With any luck, he wouldn't have his wand at his bedside. The last thing she needed was to be hexed by a drugged and enraged Malfoy.
As quietly and stealthily as she could manage, she cracked the door open just enough to slip through and gently closed it behind her. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she finally turned to face him.
The first thing she noticed was the lack of blood rags and empty potion bottles. The second was all of the other cots were empty except for one. The third cot from the door was where he sat, knees up and head first in a novel. She recognized the cover once she got close enough, recalling it to be a captivating read during some of her more restless nights in the past year. From what all she's gathered about him so far, she could tell he had an exceptional taste in books. Once she stepped closer to his bedside, she cleared her throat softly and he groaned in exasperation.
"I thought I told you to—" he broke off when he lowered the book to his lap, coming to realize the person standing in front of him was not who he thought.
Similarly to the elder Malfoy, she wasn't sure what sort of state she would find him in. The cuts and bandages she saw last time were gone. He looked...normal. Even here, wearing simple evening attire after being blasted off his broom and having fallen hundreds of meters from the sky yesterday, well, long story short, Hermione couldn't find it in herself to be disappointed with the view. Not that she'd ever admit it.
"Granger," he muttered with disbelief. Like he couldn't believe she was standing in front of him.
She couldn't help but smirk at his dumbfounded expression, even as she shuffled her feet. "Eloquent as ever, Malfoy."
"What are you," he began, struggling to come to terms with her presence, "Why are you here?"
Her smirk fell.
"I didn't realize it was frowned upon to check on a fellow classmate after seeing them nearly die in front of you," she quipped, already beginning to turn around. "I can leave—"
"Wait, that's not—" she stopped, tilting her head towards him. A guilty expression took over his features. "I just, I wasn't expecting you."
"Clearly," she retorted in what she hoped came across as a joking manner. "How are you feeling?"
Brought back to forefront of reality, he huffed in annoyance and fell back onto his pillow, "Like I've been trampled on by a hippogriff."
"Did Madam Pomfrey run out of pain medication?"
He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in thought, "The pain isn't exclusively physical."
"You could tell Astoria to put on lighter shoes," she smiled sympathetically.
With his eyes remaining closed, his lips quirked, humming a scoff, "How much did you hear?"
"Enough," she confessed easily. "She's not exactly what I would call 'soft-spoken.'"
"She's been like this more so the past few weeks," he sighed, already tiring of discussing her. "She'll get over it, eventually."
She nodded silently, pondering what she should discuss next to take his mind off of the sore subject. They hadn't talked in over a week so it wasn't like they'd run out of topics. There was the night in Hogsmeade and her being at the forefront of these meetings he had with Astoria and the events from yesterday he likely didn't know many details about...
Thinking back to the game, she realized she hadn't taken the time to appreciate the skill he displayed on the field. It wasn't like she hadn't seen him play when Gryffindor was pinned against Slytherin in previous years. Though now she knew he was actually quite skilled with a broom whereas Harry always had a natural born talent. Perhaps that was what drove his dislike for Harry. Then maybe, Ginny was right about him all along.
"About what?"
Her thoughts came to a halt and she looked up to meet his inquiring gaze.
"Sorry?"
"You said Red was right about something."
Her face flushed a beet red. Did she say that out loud?
"Oh...she said you were good...at Quidditch, I mean," she paused, making a face as she stumbled over her words. "I regret to say I hadn't paid all that much attention before but...you're very good."
It was almost comical how he looked with his jaw dropped so low. Not that she could blame him. She couldn't believe she had said that, either.
"I must have gone down harder than I thought," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," he blurted, earning a strange look from her. "Thanks, I suppose, for—" he faltered, uncertain how to process that information.
"Don't mention it," she cut in, permitting him the luxury of not having to say it aloud. "Ironic, isn't it? I feel as though I should be the one thanking you. For Saturday," she added when he cast a confused glance her way. Followed by the sudden dawning of recognition. Then the look of extreme displeasure.
"It was only so I didn't have to keep hearing about your lack of a social life," he grimaced. "It was quite depressing."
"No, not the potion. Well, also that, but I meant what happened at Hogsmeade," she clarified.
"Ah. That. Look, we don't have to bring it up," he added brusquely, still grimacing. "It wasn't exactly a pleasant evening for either of us," he trailed off.
"Malfoy, I had a rough night because of my own foolish antics. You had nothing to do with it," she insisted, incidentally placing herself closer to him. Not that either of them noticed. "In any case, that night made me realize how wrong I've been about you," she added. "And for that, I'm, well I'd like to apologize," she finished lamely, allowing silence to take over until he barked an incredulous laugh.
Followed by another. And another. Then he just didn't stop.
Despite her confusion, she couldn't help but smile at his infectious cackling. "What's so funny?"
"Took you long enough, eh Granger?" He managed through bouts of laughter. "Here I was thinking, what more do I have to do to convince you?"
"You could have just told me like any normal person would," she muttered.
He broke his laughing spree with a scoff. "Right. Because you're the easiest person to have a conversation with," he drawled, rolling his eyes at her.
"Well, you're not exactly painless to deal with, either," she deadpanned, glaring at him.
"Oh for fuck's sake," he grumbled, "are we really doing this now?"
"It's not my fault we argue all the time," she retorted, scowling at him. "I was the one who was misled—"
"—and who's fault is it for believing in your own misconceptions?"
"You're the one behaving mysteriously and tossing around notes instead of being direct with me," she acknowledged and his eyes unexpectedly darkened.
"Fine. You want me to be direct?" he asked aggressively, his demeanor suddenly shifting. "What would you like to know?" He shifted closer to her, like he was preparing to divulge his deepest, darkest secrets. Though much to Hermione's horror, he had maneuvered himself so that his upper body was no longer being supported by the bed. And she knew for a fact he still had injuries being tended to.
"Malfoy don't," she struggled to avoid touching his chest while getting him—yet, actively failing—to lay back down, "you're going to hurt yourself—" she yelped in surprise when he grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling her closer.
Then he leaned in, glaring dangerously. Somehow, she could tell his hostility was not directed at her, but at himself.
She wasn't sure which she should be more frightened of.
"I have a bloody target hovering over my head so you'd think it best to ask me before someone else has a go at killing me," he snarled lowly. She winced, more so at his words than the firm grip he had on her. Maybe his meds are wearing off, she thought. "How about Astoria?" he prompted angrily. "Surely you must have some interest in that after hearing our conversation earlier—"
There was that pang of guilt again. "Malfoy, you don't have to—" she insisted but as expected, he ignored her.
"—my family's name is in complete shambles and the only suggestion I had to restore it was to find a potential wife. Now, I'm in the middle of this arrangement with her because she's the only witch in the wizarding world who won't look at me in disgust for being a disgraced ex-death eater and a blood traitor. All to mend the damage my father inflicted," he hissed.
"Blood traitor," she echoed softly as she glanced down to their joined hands.
When did he start holding her hands? Better yet, when did he transition to maintaining such a gentle grasp? And how did they get so close? Her mind became flooded with many questions with their faces inches away from each other. But she couldn't be bothered to answer them. Not when his rage was allowing him to display a level of vulnerability he had a habit of baring in front of her.
"Yes Granger. Me, a blood traitor," he spat distastefully. "Or, to put it in more direct terms for you; I stopped giving a shit about blood purity a long time ago."
Hermione couldn't help but stare at him in shock. His eyes were, too, open and clear as he used them to search for something in hers. She, herself, caught a glimmer. A crack. But she lost sight of it when rapid, impeding footsteps increased in volume and proximity, shattering their bubble.
"OhmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod!—" came from the other side of the door.
Quicker than a snitch, they jolted apart from one another just as the door suddenly burst open, allowing a frantic Theo to run through.
"Draco! Draco, oh my God I'm so SO sorry," Malfoy's groan of pain from Theo wrapping his arms around his torso was overshadowed by his rampant stream of apologies. "I swear didn't know, I should have known she was fucking mad for wanting to get this project done before the match and Slughorn warned me and I still went with it and I just oh my God, I'm so fucking SORRY—" Theo shouted hysterically, growing louder and desperate by the second.
"Ouch, Theo, hey—THEO, I'm fine, stop getting your bloody tears on my shirt, this is all I'm allowed to wear in here—!"
"YOU COULD HAVE FUCKING DIED," he wailed, continuing to bury his face into Malfoy's shoulder with Hermione awkwardly patting his back. The blond looked over his shoulder to her and she had to refrain from laughing at the obvious discomfort he displayed.
"Ease off Nott, let the man breathe," came a drawl from behind. Theo reluctantly let go of their companion as Blaise sauntered over and acknowledged the fourth person in the room. "Morning Princess," he gave her a curt nod before turning to Malfoy. "Welcome back to the living, Drake." Hermione found herself grimacing at the nickname. Apparently, Malfoy didn't find it pleasing either.
"I told you to never call me that," Malfoy snapped effortlessly.
Blaise was far too satisfied by his response.
"And he's back, ladies and gents," he said jokingly though his tone instantly shifted into one of appreciation. "Glad to see you're alright, mate. Pomfrey said you should make a full recovery."
He nodded in agreement as he rubbed his still sore rib cage. "A week, give or take and I'll be roaming about is what she told me." A quizzical expression took its place. "I still don't know what happened, exactly. Madam Pomfrey wasn't at the pitch so she couldn't give me any details."
"Do you remember anything from the game?" Blaise asked.
"Not much. I remember waiting for the snitch, like usual." Malfoy furrowed his brow as he contemplated. "Did Prince actually score?"
"He did. Several times actually. Fell second in line as far as unforeseen events of the game went."
"What about right before you were hit?" Theo prompted.
His eyes flickered to hers. Her breath hitched.
"No...not really."
"Well, you were knocked off of your broom by an erumpent potion," Theo began.
"Yes, I've gathered that much," Malfoy interjected sarcastically. "Maybe start with how an erumpent potion managed to even get onto the field?"
The corner of Blaise's lips twitched, "Apparently, one of the bludgers had been tampered with Theo's potion. Was set to react when it came in contact with the leather of the quaffle."
Malfoy hummed. "Lovely. Obviously, given Theo's behavior just now, I take it he had no involvement in this elaborate scheme," he noted and Theo deflated, grinning gratefully at him. "Cabbott then. Is she—?"
"Both her and her brother have been expelled and will be standing trial next week," Theo answered. "But we're pretty sure they'll get sentenced to Azkaban."
"And we are sure of this because—?"
"Potter told us. Escorted them himself," Blaise remarked with a knowing grin. "We had a lovely chat while you were out." Malfoy's expression turned sour.
"Ah. Wonderful," he muttered with disdain. Saved by the Boy Who Lived even when he's not here to remind me of his perfect ways." For a moment, it gave Hermione relief to see a glimpse of his old self again.
"But Draco, it wasn't Potter who saved you. It was—ow." Theo rubbed his arm from where Blaise elbowed him.
Not now, he mouthed. She didn't question their strange behavior. Instead, she was fixated on the blond before her who appeared haunted.
"Malfoy?" She pondered, curious where his mind was.
"You know the reputation those potions uphold," he began.
They all exchanged skeptical glances.
"How am I still alive?"
Theo patted his lap in sympathy. "Well, Slughorn did tell us about a few ways to counter it them—"
"Nott…" Blaise said lowly, watching him warningly. This caught both of their attention.
Instantly, he went tight lipped.
"Erm, that is—" he trailed off when Madam Pomfrey entered the wing with a few bottles and a wand in hand.
"Away from the cot, the lot of you. I need to fix up Mister Malfoy's fractures now that he's finally back with us."
He cursed under his breath. "Couldn't you have done that when I was unconscious?"
"You know it's highly advised against. After all those years of Quidditch, I would think you'd be used to it," the healer said in a slightly amused tone.
"Still hurts like hell," he grumbled stubbornly as he threw his head back against the pillow in protest.
"We should get going, then," Blaise offered, preparing to leave as he patted Malfoy's shoulder. "We'll check on you later, mate." Theo took his place as he made his way over to Hermione. "Be sure to keep us updated, eh?" Blaise said aloud, wrapping an arm around her in the form of an innocent side hug. Then he leaned closer.
"Tell him," he muttered. When he pulled away with a smirk gracing his features, Hermione glared at him.
"Later, Draco. See you, Granger!" Theo hollered back. Hermione managed a weak wave as they exited.
"Alright Mister Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey prepared some washcloths with a colorless fluid. "You know this won't be pleasant so bear with me."
Hermione had to bite back a grin when he grumbled, "Let's get it over with."
"I should leave as well," she cut in, "I don't want to get in your way—"
"Actually Miss Granger, it wouldn't hurt to distract him while I do this. He does have more fractures than he's used to having," Madam Pomfrey said as she prepared to take aim at his left arm. Avoiding eye contact, Hermione nodded hesitantly, taking her place at the other side of his cot while he let out a sound of frustration.
"How do you expect her to distract me when I know exactly what's going to—AH!" Hermione refrained from wincing at the resounding crack.
"Shh, it'll be over soon," Hermione attempted, "there's only...how many more are there?" She asked in the form of a whisper to the working healer.
"Six," she whispered back.
Malfoy let out a dramatic huff. "That isn't helping. Can't you—ouch—can't you crack a joke or something?"
Hermione pondered for a moment. "I did all of your homework for the week."
He looked at her incredulously. "Did you really?"
"No, of course not. It was a joke." She had to refrain from laughing at the look of sheer disbelief he gave her.
"That wasn't even remotely funny—ow!" His collarbone was the next one. "How are there still mor—OW." Right arm that time. And it sounded worse than the first.
"Shh it's alright, dear," Madam Pomfrey reassured. "The explosion left you in quite a state of disrepair so we've made remarkable progress. There's only one more left."
"See Malfoy? Just one more left," she repeated in a less sincere manner.
"Piss off, Grang—AH!" He grimaced as she aimed along his chest where a rib no longer lay fragmented. "FOR THE LOVE OF FU—"
"Shush!" Hermione silenced him with an authoritative tone. "You will not be making a fool of yourself like in third year."
He groaned in agony as Madam Pomfrey handed Hermione the damp cloth, instructing her to apply the salve to the treated areas. "Fuck, that hurt like hell," he breathed out, his chest still heaving. At least he was finally able to sit himself up comfortably. "Also, I'll have you know, I wasn't overreacting. That bloody chicken was a menace."
"Takes one to know one, I suppose," Hermione fired back while applying the washcloth to his left arm first.
"Fine, I suppose I was trying for some attention," he rolled his eyes at her. "But you have to admit, I was a damn good actor back then."
"No you weren't. Anyone could tell you weren't actually hurt."
"As I recall it, you were the one in hysterics telling Hagrid that I needed to get to the hospital."
She could practically see him revel when her cheeks turned pink. How had he remembered that? "Oh shut up. I was concerned for you as—"
"—a fellow classmate?" He finished earnestly. Her eyes flew to his. Gone was the usual condescending smirk. This one was without malice. She felt her shoulders slump as she took in his disheveled appearance. Somehow even after enduring a painful medical procedure, he was still an exquisite figure to look at.
Bloody tosser.
Blushing, she looked away from him. She didn't notice when Madam Pomfrey left, leaving the pair alone once again.
He chucked. Hermione felt a heat at the darkness in the sound. A sound she was glad to hear again. "I'm sorry, by the way," he offered quietly.
She moved the rag to his collarbone, "For what?"
"The Weasel—I mean...Weasley," he corrected himself firmly. "I'm...sorry to hear it didn't work out for you."
She stared at him. "You're being awfully kind. Should I be concerned?"
He gave her a quick once over. "You dress like a homeless person and you have an awful fixation for overtly done romance novels," he retorted effortlessly. "Better?"
"Much," she laughed lightly, shifting over to his other arm. "I appreciate your condolences. He seems to be doing well for himself."
"So he's found someone, then."
She blinked at him. "How did you know that?"
"You told me," he said pointedly.
"I did, didn't I?" She mumbled.
"You don't know who it is."
She shook her head.
"And that bothers you," he pressed.
"Only a little," she shrugged, trying not to ponder on it. "But he's happy."
"And yourself?" he prompted after a while.
She chortled, "Right. As if I could manage a relationship when juggling between classes and our assignment."
He eyed her carefully, like he was considering telling her something before he eventually nodded.
Despite the obvious lingering tension, there was a strange comfort she got from sitting with him. Not that it wasn't there before but now that he's been more explicit with her, she felt like this weight hovering over them had been lifted. Like this heavy fog was starting to dissipate, allowing them to see clearer. Which reminded her, he openly confessed something to her. Albeit, in a strange and twisted way. But it was still a confession. In any case, she felt that she should do the same.
She took a breath, letting her bravery take over for the time being.
"Cabbott came to me weeks ago about their potion. She was...adamant it was finished before the game. Truthfully, I didn't think anything of it until I noticed their plays weren't making any sense and, I put the pieces together. I went down to try and warn you but, I was too late. There was nothing else I could do—" she trailed off.
"Shield charm," he concluded.
Hermione nodded slowly. "Strongest one I've ever cast, I think. Felt a little lightheaded afterwards, but yeah, that...that's how you survived," she finished stiffly.
They sat in silence, unsure of what to say next. Desperate to break the awkwardness, she held the cloth out for him to take. "Your rib is next," she answered.
He raised a brow at her. "And?"
"What do you mean 'and'?" she asked, reddening. "I'm not touching you there!"
"I don't bite, Granger," he taunted, donning a handsome grin.
"Oh, shove off," she sputtered, tossing the rag at him. "I liked you better when you were unconscious."
"I doubt that." His grey eyes glinted as he finally took the rag and placed it under his shirt. "You'd grow tired of bickering with yourself."
She spent several gaping seconds trying to gauge whether or not he'd actually heard her yesterday. "Perhaps you're right." She muttered with uncertainty while checking the time. "I should go." She stood up straight from her hunched over position. "I need to check on our potion and get started on Greeves' essay."
"Shit, I forgot about that essay," he groaned. "I'm going to get so far behind after this week."
"Did you forget we have the same classes? I can request for an extra copy of homework and bring it, along with my notes, to you."
He stared at her blankly. Clearly, he hadn't considered that being an option. "I..I don't know what to say."
"A 'thank you' should suffice," she quipped smartly. "Though I should warn you that I will not be bribed in any shape or form to do your work for you."
That took him out of his dumbfounded trance. "What about other tasks?" He implored.
"Such as?"
"Well, considering I'm injured—" he trailed off.
She grimaced. "Gross, Malfoy."
At first, he furrowed his brow. But only seconds later, a smirk grew.
"Don't be such a prude, Granger. It's all part of a bloke's normal schedule," he supplied in a feigned snobbish tone. Meanwhile, Hermione made all efforts to keep particular thoughts of Malfoy from populating in her mind. "I was going to suggest you attend Quidditch practice for me."
"Right. Because that wouldn't end disastrously." Hermione let out a huff of a laugh. "With that terrible idea, I think you should probably get some rest."
"Why are you doing this?" He asked suspiciously, still in disbelief.
Instead of responding with her usual answer relating to morals, she decided to implement a different tactic.
"Consider it a friendly gesture," she extended, preparing to exit.
"So what? Does this make us friends, now?" She could have sworn she picked up a subtle hint of hope in his voice.
"That's entirely too embellished," Hermione stood in place, turning slightly and allowing a light smile to grace her features. "I would say acquaintances at best."