Two weeks slipped by in a strange blur of routine. The steady rhythms of Hogwarts – echoing footsteps in the corridors, the low hum of voices in the Great Hall, the crackling warmth of the common room fire – felt distant to Hermione. Malfoy had been confined to his room during that time. Theo had assured McGonagall, with his usual calm composure, that Malfoy was simply unwell and needed rest. With that, she had agreed to let Theo step into Malfoy's role as Head Boy until he recovered.
Hermione was unsure of Malfoy's state. She toyed with the notation of asking Theo for more details – how he was, whether she should be concerned. But something in Theo's guarded expression made her hesitate. Instead, she continued to watch the routine: Theo's soft knock at Malfoy's door, his murmured "got your notes for today," and the faint shuffle of papers exchanged inside.
That morning, Hermione awoke to the sharp rustle of wings and a faint breeze brushing her cheek as an owl landed on her windowsill. Its golden eyes blinked at her expectantly, and the parchment tied to its leg crinkled as she untied it. A familiar, faintly charred smell accompanied the letter and her fingers brushed against a small pot of burn salve tucked neatly into the package. She unfolded the letter and read Charlie's handwriting – rushed and slightly smudged with blotches of ink at the edges, as though he had written it in a hurry.
Dear Hermione,
I hope you're recovering well. Things are busy back at work! One of the new hatchlings nearly set my robes on fire the other day, but I'm fine. I figured you might need another pot of salve, just in case. Let me know if you need more.
All the best,
Charlie
Hermione gently uncapped the pot of salve, breathing in the subtle scent of eucalyptus and herbs. She had informed Charlie that the salve had made a big difference to her 'burn' and for once, that wasn't completely a lie. It had helped lessen the burning sensation – even if it was just a little.
Her mind drifted back to Charlie's departure, just days after their drunken kiss on the balcony. The memory flickered like the dim light of the torches that lined the stone walls of the castle – his warm breath brushing against her face, the salty tang of the breeze, the potent, spinning blur of firewhisky that had made her bold enough to lean in.
When the time had come for him to leave, Hermione had dreaded it. She had imagined a heavy silence, awkward words fumbling to fill it, knowing that she would inevitably have to address their stolen moment. Thankfully, it had gone better than she expected, with both parties agreeing that the moment had been spurred on by their drunken state and anything other than a friendship between them would be impractical. They promised to write to each other – even if it was just a few sentences scrawled on a page when one found a moment.
Hermione used the salve as a reminder to change the dressing on her arm. While the pain had become somewhat manageable, the wound continued to seep small droplets of blood from the letters that continues to split at inconvenient times. So, to be safe, she kept her arm bandaged between a layer of dittany on each letter and the burn salve on the surrounding skin and sufficiently concealed it with long sleeves.
It was ten o'clock when Hermione managed to pull herself to the library. It was October 3rd and she was supposed to be teaching her first Defence Against the Dark Arts class tomorrow. The only problem was that she still didn't have a plan. She had considered various options – a lesson on dark creature recognition or counter curses was well within her grasp but neither sparked the excitement she wanted to bring to the students. Hermione's early years at Hogwarts ignited so many happy memories. Memories that brought her immense comfort when she found herself in a dark place – something that was happening more and more frequently of late. She didn't want to let down the class of second years, or Professor Brindlemore for that matter. She was the great Hermione Granger – the Golden Girl. She had to impress.
Upon reaching the library, Hermione settled herself at a corner table, far from the hushed conversation that persisted at various locations throughout the space. She began scribbling down a list of potential topics, but each one seemed duller than the last. Her thoughts drifted until she remembered the tipsy conversation she had shared with Harry during her birthday. He had suggested the patronus charm in jest but the more Hermione thought about it, the more she found herself genuinely considering it.
Her heart quickened as the ideas took root. True, it was advanced magic, but even learning the basics of summoning an incorporeal patronus could be transformative for her students. It wasn't just a spell, it was a shield against despair, a manifestation of their happiest memories.
Hermione leaned hopefully over her notebook, scratching furiously across the parchment as she outlined her lesson. She would begin with the theory – explaining the connection between the caster's emotions and the charm's strength. Then, she'd guide them through finding their happiest memory, showing them how to channel it into magic. Even if they couldn't conjure a fully formed patronus, they'd leave the lesson with something tangible; the knowledge that light could always pierce through the dark.
Hermione spent over two hours fully fleshing out her lesson, a genuine excitement growing for the first time in what felt like forever. She suddenly remembered what it felt like to love school, to feel giddy at the prospect of attending class.
As Hermione came to the end of her planning, she was suddenly interrupted by a stack of books crashing on the desk in front of her. She jumped in her chair; the sound having jarred her from her thoughts. "Merlin, Theo," she cursed, looking up at the brunette Slytherin.
"I have books," he said excitedly, pulling out the chair opposite Hermione and sitting down.
"I can see that," Hermione responded.
"I've been doing some research," he added and Hermione allowed her gaze to travel down the spines of the books he had dropped in front of her. They were of varying sizes and colours, some new, some ancient. All of the books had titles with similar phrasing – including curses and cursed objects. Hermione let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair.
"Theo," she started, her voice low. "I told you. I don't need your help with this. I'm fine."
Theo rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you're stubborn." He pulled the first two books from the pile, handing one to Hermione and keeping one for himself. "Look, I did not just spend the last two weeks looking for every book on curses I could find in this place for you to tell me to go away." Hermione noticed that each book had several pages with folded corners. And despite her reluctance to indulge Theo in his research, she found herself feeling flattered that he had gone to so much effort.
"I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own," she tried once more.
"I know you are," Theo said calmly, flipping open his book and scanning the contents. "You're the most capable person I know, which is exactly why I want to help. You may be brilliant, but you're also human. You don't have to do everything alone."
Hermione stared at him for a moment. Though she would never admit it, he was right. She had spent the better part of four months ignoring this problem – allowing her arm to burn and break until she was a mess of tears on the bathroom floor.
It was about time she started researching what was wrong with her. Even if that did mean indulging Theodore Nott in anything other than pointless banter.
"What exactly are you hoping to find?" she asked, cautiously opening the book he had handed to her.
Theo smirked. "Ah, so you're curious now?"
"I'm indulging you," Hermione clarified, though her eyes betrayed her interest as they scanned the pages.
"So, the item you were cursed with belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, right?" Theo began.
"Yes," Hermione confirmed, shifting uncomfortably in her seat at the mention of Bellatrix's name. A familiar prickling sensation began to work its way through her forearm.
"I was looking for anything related to artifact curses, particularly the kind that might linger or adapt to new owners," Theo explained, his tone suddenly serious. "We know Bellatrix is dead. So, we need to understand how and why this magic has been able to last."
Hermione tilted her head, studying him. "You really are serious about this, aren't you?"
Theo met her gaze steadily. "I wouldn't have wasted my time hauling these books across the library if I wasn't."
For the first time since Theo had sat down, Hermione allowed herself a small smile. "Well," she started. "We have a lot of reading to do."
Theo grinned and turned his attention back to the book he was holding. Hermione did the same, flipping to the first dog-eared page. And as she did so, she found herself wondering if maybe – just maybe – having a little bit of help wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
The next day sped by like a gust of wind, leaving Hermione scarcely able to catch her breath. Despite the gnawing anxiety that had plagued her over the lesson she was set to teach, the reality unfolded like a well-rehearsed symphony. The second years hung onto her every word, their quills scratching eagerly across their parchment, their eyes wide with curiosity as they absorbed each concept she presented. As the final moments ticked by, Professor Brindlemore, perched in the corner like an ever-watchful hawk, gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod of approval.
Hermione finished her day with potions – a certain blonde haired Slytherin still noticeably absent from class. She was scheduled to meet with McGonagall an hour after lessons ended so she chose to pass the time by walking down to the Quidditch pitch with Ginny to watch the Gryffindor team practice.
"You seem to be getting awfully close with that Nott boy," Ginny observed as they walked. Hermione swallowed uncomfortably – she hadn't realised anyone had noticed her spending time with Theo.
"He's acting Head Boy," Hermione clarified quickly. "Malfoy's been sick."
"Hmm," Ginny responded dismissively. "Hadn't noticed."
Hermione forced a chuckle to end the conversation. Thankfully, the pair reached the Quidditch pitch, where the sound of shouting teammates and the whoosh of broomsticks cutting through the crisp afternoon sky greeted them. Ginny ran off to join her team, leaving Hermione with her thoughts.
Hermione arrived at McGonagall's office five minutes early. A fact that McGonagall herself commented on as she offered Hermione a biscuit. "You seem to be settling in a little better, my dear.
"Yes Professor," Hermione agreed, though not as wholeheartedly as McGonagall might have thought. The pair shared some customary small talk while they waited for Theo to arrive.
"Perhaps we should begin without him," McGonagall stated after fifteen minutes had passed with no sigh of the acting Head Boy.
As if on cue, footsteps were heard at the bottom of the staircase that led to the headmistress's office. Hermione relaxed into her chair, grateful that Theo had decided to turn up. But her relief was short lived as a voice came from the entrance. "Sorry I'm late Professor." It wasn't Theo. Hermione looked up and caught sight of Malfoy. His uniform lay haphazardly over his frame and his face was painfully pale.
"Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall greeted. "I was under the impression that you were still under the weather."
Malfoy released an unconvincing sniff as though his extra pale complexion didn't already convince the headmistress of the current state of his health. "I'm feeling a lot better," Malfoy clarified as he took a seat next to Hermione, who was unconvinced.
"Well, that's good news," McGonagall responded as she took her seat opposite the pair. She offered Malfoy a biscuit which he rejected. "Now, I called you both here today to discuss a matter of great importance."
"Of course, Professor," Hermione responded. She turned her gaze away from Malfoy, who had not caught her eye from the moment he'd entered the room.
"Unfortunately, I have had multiple professors report incidences of inappropriate behaviour occurring between students," McGonagall started. "There have been numerous fights, students using derogatory language against one another and many students have been actively and purposefully isolated by their peers."
Hermione pressed her lips together. She was not completely unaware of the things McGonagall listed going on around Hogwarts. Ginny and Neville had told her several stories that indicated as such. She was particularly aware of the growing divide that was occurring between some of the younger students in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, against those in Slytherin. An unfounded threat of being from a death eater family was not uncommon.
McGonagall folded her hands neatly on the desk, her sharp eyes scanning both Hermione and Malfoy. "As Head Boy and Head Girl, it is your responsibility to set an example and to take the lead in addressing these issues. I would like you both to come up with an idea on how we might foster greater inter house unity." Hermione nodded, already beginning to brainstorm ways to bridge the divide.
"What about a dance?" Malfoy suggested before Hermione had fully formed an idea enough in her mind to make a suggestion of her own.
"A dance?" she echoed, taken aback by Malfoy's sudden willingness to contribute.
"Yes, a dance," Malfoy confirmed. "Remember the Yule Ball in fourth year? There were all sorts of rivalries between us and the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. After the ball, we were all mates." While the phrase 'we were all mates' might not have been entirely true, it was not entirely untrue either. Malfoy was right, the Yule Ball had created unity between the schools.
"We could encourage partnerships between students in different houses," Hermione suggested, feeling the need to participate in the conversation.
"Exactly," Draco nodded, still evading her eyes. "And Granger and I will go together to set a good example."
Hermione blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. She had barely begun to process the idea of planning an entire dance, let alone Malfoy's sudden declaration that the two of them should attend together. "Excuse me?" she asked, her tone sharper than she indented. McGonagall raised an eyebrow but did not interject.
Draco shifted in his seat. "What? It makes sense, doesn't it? If the Head Boy and Head Girl can't demonstrate unity between houses, how can we expect the rest of the school to?" Hermione crossed her arms, feeling her cheeks heat up on the realisation that Malfoy had a point.
McGonagall cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to her. "While I appreciate the thought behind this suggestion, I would ask you both to consider the logistics. Organising an event of this magnitude with require cooperation, planning and above all, a unified front. If the two of you are unable to work together, this initiative will fail before it even begins."
"We can manage, Professor," Malfoy confirmed, finally meeting Hermione's gaze. "Can't we, Granger?"
Hermione cleared her throat and straightened her posture. "Of course," she agreed, attempting to hide the er of hesitation that lay underneath the words.
McGonagall gave them both a pointed look before continuing. "Very well. You will draft a formal proposal outlining the event's objectives, activities, and timeline. I expect it on my desk by the end of the week. If approved, you will present it to the prefects and coordinate with the staff for additional support."
"Understood," Hermione said briskly, already formulating a mental checklist. Malfoy nodded but didn't say anything further, his still pale complexion portraying a hint of weariness.
McGonagall dismissed the pair and Hermione barely had time to begin collecting her belongings before Malfoy was out of the room. Hermione bid the headmistress farewell before leaving the office, hoping to catch the Slytherin. As she rounded the staircase, she saw his figure disappear around the corner. "Malfoy!" she called out, hoping to stop him. She began trailing after him, quickening her pace when she realised, he hadn't stopped.
Hermione called his name again but Malfoy made no effort to stop. By the time they reached the hallway to their dormitory, she managed to catch him stepping out onto the balcony outside their room. Hermione huffed and followed after him, pulling the glass door open and stepping out into the cool air. "I was calling you," she started, her tone clearly irritated.
"I heard," Malfoy admitted flippantly as he went to light a cigarette. He pocketed the packet and Hermione was relieved when he didn't offer her one. She had found no further relief in the drug since the last time she'd been on this balcony with Malfoy.
"What in Merlin's name was that?" she questioned frustratedly.
"What was what?" Malfoy responded indifferently, pressing the cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply.
"What about a dance?" she repeated his words back to him. "Granger and I will go together?" she crossed her arms in front of her.
"McGonagall wanted an idea; I gave her one. I don't see the problem," Malfoy retorted.
"You could have checked with me first, before making the suggestion," Hermione responded indignantly. Malfoy rolled his eyes and took another drag of his cigarette, allowing the evening breeze to carry the smoke into the air. Hermione waited for him to reply but when he made no move to provide her one, she let out an irritated sigh. "You are impossible," she stated, reaching for the door.
Hermione huffed in frustration, her grip tightening on the door handle as she turned away from him. The cool night air felt suffocating now, heavy with unspoken tension. Malfoy, leaning lazily against the railing, made no effort to stop her or acknowledge her irritation, the faint trail of smoke from his cigarette curling into the air as though dismissing her entirely. Her frustration bubbled over as she pushed the door open with more force than necessary, the glass rattling slightly as she stepped inside. She didn't look back, her thoughts racing as she marched down the hallway, her mind already forming a list of everything she'd need to do to make up for Malfoy's infuriating lack of coordination.