"He didn't make the team?" Hermione questioned as she walked down the third-floor corridor. As Hermione had missed breakfast, Ginny had been catching her up on all the latest Quidditch gossip.
"No, that's the thing," Ginny responded. "He did make the team – Selene made him Seeker but he turned it down."
"He turned it down?" Hermione echoed. "I wonder why…"
"She said he didn't give a reason," Ginny clarified. "Just said he wasn't interested anymore and walked off."
"That doesn't sound like Malfoy," Hermione thought aloud.
"That's what I said," Ginny agreed. "Selene was right mad though. Apparently, she was counting on him. There were no other Slytherin's that came anywhere near close to matching his skill."
"Well, all the better for Gryffindor then," Hermione added as they reached the entrance to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
"Malfoy or no Malfoy, my team is going to be unbeatable," Ginny replied confidently. Hermione responded with a small laugh and bid Ginny farewell.
Taking a deep breath to mentally prepare herself for her first meeting of the day, Hermione raised her hand and knocked three times on the entrance to the classroom. "Enter," she heard a voice from the other side.
Pushing the door open, she stepped into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Hermione quietly reflected on how unrecognisable it looked, having been transformed under its new steward. The air smelled faintly of parchment and lavender and the once-cramped shelves were newly arranged, with ancient tomes and peculiar trinkets arranged in a manner that rivalled Hermione's own meticulous organisation. Long, curved curtains of deep blue framed the tall, arched windows, casting a soft, muted light over the room. Along the walls, shadowy illustrations of magical creatures and curses shifted ever so slightly, as though alive under some enchantment.
At the front of the classroom stood Professor Brindlemore, her back to the door as she surveyed a towering cabinet brimming with glass jars of shimmering powders and writhing shadows. She wore a deep indigo cape with an intricate silver trim, its folds draping her slender frame in a cloak of mystery. Her voice, soft yet steely, reached Hermione's ears before she turned.
"Ah, Ms Granger," Professor Brindlemore said, spinning gracefully to face her. Hermione approached as Brindlemore drew the hood of her cape back allowing her onyx-coloured hair to fall neatly into place around her face. "Punctual, as expected." Hermione was about to reply when she met Brindlemore's violet eyes and held back a gasp. Her gaze followed a jagged scar that ran from her right temple down to her jawline. The raw purplish mark lay angrily against her otherwise smooth skin and seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, as if imbued with some lingering magic. It was oddly out of place on her otherwise youthful face. The new professor couldn't have been more than a decade Hermione's senior and had likely once been strikingly beautiful.
Professor Brindlemore coughed sharply, "it's not polite to stare, Ms Granger." Embarrassed, Hermione's gaze turned to the floor. "Shall we begin?" Brindlemore asked, her tone calm, but her presence commanding. Hermione nodded and took a seat in front of the professor's desk. "I'd like you to teach your first class on October fifth," Brindlemore began.
"October fifth?" Hermione repeated, unsure if she'd hear her correctly. "That's less than a month away!"
"Twenty-seven days," Brindlemore stated. "It will be a class of second years – a bright bunch given their unsettled start to their education here at Hogwarts."
"Okay," Hermione responded slowly. This was not at all what she expected. She had come to the meeting with extensive notes on potential curriculum enhancements and spell safety measures but now, she felt as if all her preparation had evaporated into the air. Her mind raced. Teach a class? This soon? And to second years?
"I see this is catching you off guard," Brindlemore said, leaning slightly forward, her scar catching the light. "But surely a witch of your calibre can manage… or, have I underestimated you–"
"No," Hermione interrupted, the faintest hint of a challenge in Brindlemore's tone ignited something in her. "I can manage it," she said, hardly recognising the confidence behind her voice.
Brindlemore's lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. "Good. I thought you might rise to the occasion."
Hermione, still trying to process the sudden responsibility thrust upon her, ventured cautiously, "is there a particular skill you would like me to focus on?"
Brindlemore shook her head, "the skill you choose to teach is be entirely up to you," she paused. "If you need guidance, my door is always open. But remember, Ms Granger, the best lessons are those that come from personal experience… I hear you have more of that than the average student."
Hermione swallowed nervously and nodded. "I'll take some time to think about it," she responded honestly.
"Of course," Brindlemore affirmed. "Let's meet again in a fortnights time to discuss. In the meantime, I would like you to attend the following lessons." Brindlemore slid a piece of parchment towards Hermione, who glanced at it carefully. "No need to prepare anything. I could just use the assistance."
Hermione nodded and forced a smile. She was not unhappy about the extra work as she still appreciated a busy schedule but she was still somewhat thrown by how this meeting had panned out. Hermione had hoped to come across a lot more capable and prepared. Instead, she felt nervous and unsettled. "Thank you, Professor Brindlemore. I will see you then."
Brindlemore smiled, her face softening somewhat. She put her hand out in front of her, indicating that Hermione was free to leave. As she stepped out of the classroom, her mind was swimming with thoughts of her new responsibilities and she sighed frustratedly as she realised that she couldn't think of a single thing she wanted to teach to that class of second years.
Hermione was late to her meeting with Professor McGonagall. She had gotten caught up speaking with Professor Flitwick about the complexities of advanced charm theory and had almost forgotten about it. When she reached the headmistresses office, she was out of breath – having ran swiftly down many a corridor to try and compensate for lost time.
"Ms Granger," McGonagall greeted. "Nice of you to finally join us."
Hermione uttered a frantic apology and took a seat in the chair next to Malfoy, who was smirking. Hermione supposed he was rather satisfied by her lateness and was revelling in his own punctual behaviour.
"Now, Ms Granger, Mr Malfoy" McGonagall began, getting right into things. "It has come to my attention, that despite being Head Girl and Head Boy," she glanced between Hermione and Malfoy as she spoke. "The two of you have hardly said a word to each other this past week."
Hermione gulped and glanced briefly towards Malfoy whose eyes were directed away from both women. "Sorry Professor," Hermione replied. "It's just… Everything has been so busy and we just haven't had the chance to–"
McGonagall put her hand out to indicate that Hermione should stop talking. "You are not in trouble, my dear," she clarified. "The year has only just begun and we have already placed a lot of responsibility on you. I am merely concerned that there seems to have been no attempt made at any kind of civil conversation between you and Mr Malfoy." Hermione sat back in her chair and fiddled with the sleeve of her robes, silently hoping that this meeting would not go on for too long and trigger the familiar stinging in her forearm. "I know the two of you have a difficult past," McGonagall continued. Hermione thought difficult was an understatement. "But, as Head Boy and Head Girl, I need the two of you to work together. Cooperation between the two of you is vital for maintaining order among the students – you are expected to set an example."
"Of course, Professor," Hermione responded, hoping she sounded genuine.
McGonagall's sharp gaze shifted to Malfoy, who finally met the Professors eye. "Of course, Professor," he copied. "I'll do my part."
Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Malfoy's casual indifference made her stomach twist with irritation. She didn't have the patience for his arrogant attitude, especially after the previous years of conflict. "Good," McGonagall interrupted Hermione's thoughts. She continued on, explaining her expectations of the pair. They were to hold regular meetings to coordinate their duties, ensure prefects were fulfilling their roles and act as intermediaries between students and staff. McGonagall emphasised the importance of their collaboration, her tone leaving no room for debate.
By the time the meeting finally ended and McGonagall had dismissed the pair, it was nearly six o'clock. Hermione walked swiftly to her dormitory, pretending not to notice as Malfoy walked straight past the door and out onto the balcony. She wanted to change out of her uniform before meeting Harry and given the fact that Celeste had not allowed Hermione to respond to Harry's letter from earlier in the day, she did not want to arrive late and have Harry thinking that she would not be joining him.
Meeting Harry outside the Leaky Cauldron was the most normal Hermione had felt since her return to school. She fell comfortably into his embrace as her greeted her, expressing how happy she was to see him. They exchanged comfortable pleasantries about school and work as they made their way inside.
"Is Ron not with you," Hermione asked genuinely, having assumed that he would be joining them.
"Uh, no," Harry said evasively as they took their seats at a corner booth away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the pub. "He doesn't know I'm here," Harry added guiltily, avoiding her eyes.
"Why not?" Hermione questioned.
"I haven't told him about Malfoy," Harry admitted. "He's aware that Malfoy's back at Hogwarts but I haven't told him about the whole Head Boy to your Head Girl thing yet."
"I see," Hermione replied, unsure of how to feel. A waitress placed two glasses of butterbeer in front of the pair who briefly turned their attention to her in thanks. Hermione stirred the frothy drink, watching the foam swirl as she thought of what to say next. She wasn't necessarily surprised that Ron didn't know – his temper, especially where Malfoy was concerned, was notorious. But the omission still stung, a reminder of how complicated their dynamic had become since the war ended.
Harry shifted uncomfortably across from her, running his hand through his hair. "I just… I don't think he'd take it well," he admitted. "You know how he gets when it comes to Malfoy. I just didn't want to make things harder for you." Hermione nodded in understanding, remembering how irate Ron had been when he'd discovered Harry's intention to testify in defence of both Malfoy's after the war.
After a long pause, Harry finally continued. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay," she said genuinely.
Hermione smiled and reached across the table to grasp his hand comfortingly. "I'm just fine," she lied.
By the time Hermione made it back to her dormitory, it was almost midnight. She had gotten caught up in conversation with Harry, wanting to hear every detail about his Auror training. In turn, Hermione had told him about her meeting with Professor Brindlemore and Harry confidently assured her that she would have plenty to teach them about Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Upon her return to the castle, Hermione had snuck through the empty halls carefully, hoping to go unnoticed by any roaming Hogwarts professors. As legal adults, the eighth years had been granted more freedom than the average Hogwarts students but Hermione wasn't sure if returning to school so late in the night would go over well with McGonagall, had she been caught.
After a quick shower, Hermione brushed her teeth and braided her hair – hoping that the repetitive action of weaving each piece of hair would settle her brain enough to allow her to go to bed.
The quiet of the night was then broken by a muffled cry. Hermione's head darted towards the bathroom door and she froze. Another pained cry came from the direction of Malfoy's room. Hermione held her breath as she waited a few moments. When she didn't hear another sound, she exited the bathroom and began walking towards her bedroom, wondering if she had imagined it.
"Get away from me!" another cry came from the room opposite her own. Hermione's heartbeat quickened and her mind raced as she questioned what to do. A part of her told her to ignore it – he wasn't her problem. But another part of her, the one that had always been inclined towards compassion, couldn't let it go.
Pulling her robe comfortingly tighter around herself, she quietly padded towards his door and pressed her ear against it. The sounds were clearer now – sharp gasps and broken whispers laced with fear and anger emanated from the room.
Hermione's heart clenched as she hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. It would be crossing a line, surely, but the pain in his voice pulled at her. With a deep breath, she gently pushed the door open. The room was dark except for the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the small gap in the curtains. Malfoy was thrashing on his bed, his face contorted in anguish and his fists clenched at the sheets as if they were holding him down.
"Malfoy?" Hermione tried; her voice soft, unsure of how firm she needed to be to get his attention. He continued to thrash violently in his bed, pleading with an invisible figure to let him go. Hermione moved carefully closer to the side of the bed. "Malfoy?" she tried again, gently holding her hand out to touch his shoulder. But her hand was stopped in its tracks as she felt his hand violently clasp around her wrist.
Malfoy's eyes shot open and glared directly into Hermione's. She caught his eyes in the moonlight and his pupils were so large, she could hardly see the grey that surrounded them. "Get away from me," he spat, through gritted teeth, squeeing her wrist tighter, making her skin seer with pain.
"Malfoy, it's me," she pleaded, try to rip her hand was from his tight grasp.
Malfoy ignored her pleas and thrust his arm back, jolting Hermione towards him. With her balance thrown, she fell towards him, landing heavily on his chest. And before she had the chance to comprehend what was happening, Malfoy swiftly turned his entire body over so he was on top of her. Her robe twisted around her body, exposing her bare shoulders and revealing her underwear. In completing this action, he had briefly let go of her arm but his hands were now around her neck, pressing her forcefully into the mattress.
"Malfoy," she choked out through vanishing air. He looked hysterical, clutching terrifyingly at her throat as his hand tightened around her further. Her legs kicked pointlessly as she attempted to escape his grasp and she felt her eyes begin to blur. "D-Draco," she tried, using the last bit of air she could access.
Hermione felt his grip falter and his wild, unfocused gaze shifted as he woke from his terror. She saw his eyes soften briefly before widening in panic as he realised where he was and who he was holding on to. "Granger?" he rasped, his voice barely audible. His hands immediately loosened their grip, trembling as he drew them away quickly. He stumbled back, horrified.
Hermione's own hands found her neck and she clutched it gently as she allowed air to flow back into her lungs. She could hear Malfoy muttering to himself in horror as he paced the length of the room. Hermione pushed herself up on her elbows, watching him warily. Seeing her rise, he stopped, glaring at her with eyes full of terror. "Granger," he breathed. "I- I'm…"
"It's okay," Hermione interrupted, her voice crackling as she recovered. Pulling herself to her feet, she carefully took a step forward, fearfully testing his response. When he didn't move, she paced the remained of the way to the door, clutching the handle desperately and fleeing the room.
She ran to her bedroom and locked the door behind her, clutching her mouth as a heaving sob found its way to her throat…