Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began with a knock.

A simple, three-beat knock that was almost too soft to attract attention. It was unmissable, though, cutting through the delicate splash of hot water as it poured into her oversized mug, the herbal teabag swirling lazily as tendrils of steam wafted into the air.

Her head snapped up at the unexpected sound, fingers twitching towards her pocket as her body instinctively assumed danger was near. A byproduct of the war, she knew, but logic didn’t prevent her fight or flight instinct from leaping into action at the slightest provocation nowadays.

Harry was the same. Ron just chuckled and called them both ‘twitchy’.

She felt her eyes roll at the thought.

Curling her hand lightly around her wand, she sucked in a calming breath as she approached the mahogany front door. She wasn’t expecting anyone; the muggle postman had long been past, and any friends would Floo in through the magically extended fireplace. Uneasiness shifted uncomfortably in her gut as the decorative glass panels embedded in the top section of the door allowed her to see a single, blurred form on the other side.

Internally berating herself for her reaction to a simple knock on the door, she steeled her spine and wrenched the door open.

Grey eyes, almost silver in their coldness, caught hers as all attempts at breathing were sucked from her lungs. Her skin pulled taut over her knuckles as she gripped her wand tighter, her arm tense and readying to defend her as fear washed down her spine in an icy wave.

His gaze flicked down to her wand, a small frown denting his brow for a fleeting moment before his expression smoothed over and he took a marked step backwards.

“Granger,” he nodded, his tone gruff but polite.

She knew he was waiting for some kind of acknowledgement; knew that the normal thing to do at this point would be to reply, but nothing came. She simply stared at the blond man at her door. On the front path of her muggle parents’ house.

No, her house now.

Batting away that thought, she took in the beautifully cut suit that had once made him look like a pretentious child but now did nothing of the sort. He had grown taller, broader, his hair longer than she had ever seen it and styled into an artful, platinum mess. He had lost the gaunt look of pain and exhaustion that had haunted them all over the past years, his jaw now strong rather than pointed, his skin dusted with a slight tan. He looked… healthy.

She squeezed her eyes shut, all fear and panic suddenly squashed under the rising tidal wave of rage that threatened to choke her.

She was barely holding herself together, struggling through every day, and the audacity of him to not only be coping, but to turn up at her home and shove it in her face, was almost too much. Too unfair.

Guilt followed then, in a great flood that helped to douse the flames of anger. He had suffered too. Had lost everything, from what she had heard. He was a victim as much as she was. He deserved to get past this, and she should be happy for him if he was managing to move on with his life.

God, she was a horrible person.

“I apologise for the intrusion,” he said, the wariness in his voice breaking into her internal tailspin.

She dragged her eyes open, forcing herself to breathe deeply, and attempted to plaster a calm mask onto her face. The sight of him standing before her was still jarring, the look on his face suggesting that her attempt at neutralising her expression had failed miserably. His eyes caught the twitch of her wrist as the temptation to slam the door in his face rose, and a familiar smirk played at his lips.

“Please tell me that isn’t your best attempt at indifference?”

She huffed, offended, though the sudden familiarity of his teasing made something inside her relax slightly. “Did you want something, Malfoy?”

His expression flattened again, the moment lost as he gave a curt nod and reached into the inner pocket of his robes. Pulling out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle, he held it out towards her, an almost imperceptible tremor in his hand. “I wanted… I didn’t…”

She frowned slightly as he stuttered and trailed off, not moving to take the offering. “What is it?”

She saw his throat bob as he swallowed before carefully unwrapping the bundle on his open palm. “I thought you should have this.”

Her pulse jumped as she recognised the item and the delicately constructed cage that she held around her memories violently shattered.

Vinewood and dragon heartstring, she would recognise her old wand anywhere, but with the recognition and flare of warmth in her chest came the awareness that the last time she had seen it was on the worst day of her life.

She felt her hands begin to shake, tremors travelling across her body and her breath stuttering as she tried to cling to the door frame without drawing his attention. She needed him to leave, and quickly, before she succumbed to the inevitable crash she could feel coming.

She did not break in front of people. Ever.

In the daylight she was Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl and war hero. She was moving onwards and upwards after the war, just as everybody else was, with a smile on her face and hope for the future. She was there for Harry when he needed to talk and helped him work out what he needed to move forwards; she laughed at Ron’s jokes and helped him decorate his new flat; she helped George out in the shop and kept him company as he processed Fred’s death.

No one ever asked her about herself. Ever. No one even considered that her own trauma was slowly cracking her apart.

No one suspected that, in the lonely darkness of her bedroom surrounded by silencing charms, she spent sleepless nights screaming and sobbing into her pillow.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to meet Malfoy’s gaze. “Thank you for returning it.”

His brow furrowed again, his eyes tracking over her in a way that made her panic climb higher. She knew he could hear the croak in her voice, and that his intelligent gaze was now cataloguing every sign of her weakness. She just needed him to leave before he put it all together.

“Goodbye, Malfoy,” she hissed, moving to close the door and jumping as he stepped forwards.

“What’s wrong with you?”

She scoffed outwardly, even as she hid a wince. “Excuse me?”

He held her eye now, bending forward slightly as if he was trying to see into her inner thoughts. “You don’t seem like yourself.”

“Well, thank you for that incredibly vague yet personal comment,” she replied shakily, inching the door forwards.

“Granger…”

“Leave!” she suddenly screeched, making him blink in surprise before his expression smoothed back into his usual cool disinterest.

He held out the wand again. “Fine, here.”

Against her will, her gaze locked on the offering once more, and a small, choked sound escaped her.

She battled to hold it back, to hold it together, but her strength ran out. Flashes of fear, panic and pain assaulted her, battering at her insides until her vision wavered. Beyond that, though, was the unstoppable surge of sheer and utter hopelessness. That was what truly broke her.

His eyes flared wide with panicked realisation as she crumbled, her body bowing in on itself in an instinctive defence against the pain. He tried to step towards her, anguish clear on his face as he reached for her, but she slammed the door shut with a grunt of effort and collapsed back against the wood with a sob.

“Shit, Granger, I’m sorry, I didn’t think!”

She heard his shout clearly through the door as she slid to the ground, the carpeted floor scratching along her skin as all strength left her and she let gravity take control.

A thump sounded behind her. “Granger? Please open the door. I’m so sorry.”

Silence was all he received in return as she struggled to breathe, her cheek pressed against the rough floor.

Another loud thump echoed. “Granger? Fuck!”

Curling into a ball, arms wrapped protectively around her knees, she fell into dark memories.

***

Awareness crept in slowly. She had no concept of how much time had passed, only a vague recognition that she could hear a voice.

“…so obviously I have to pretend to give a shit about the fact that the napkins are crimson when she requested carmine. Of course, my question of why she would want the colour of blood at her dinner party at all was not well appreciated, but apparently it’s a Spanish thing. Why she is even in Spain and not France, I will never understand, Granger, but my mother has a will that would even rival yours…”

She sucked in a deeper breath, coughing as she inhaled some dust from the floor and hearing the flow of words from behind the door pause.

“Granger?”

A low groan escaped her as she rolled onto her back, realisation flooding in as she recalled where she was. She covered her face with her hands, finding it wet but lacking the energy or wherewithal to wipe the tears away.

“I heard that, Granger, are you with me?”

Her breath trembled as a soft sob escaped, her mind and emotions still reeling. She was startled by a soft knock on the door, the sound right beside her and low on the frame.
“I’m here.”

New emotion rose up in a surge as she realised that Malfoy was sat on the other side of her front door. That he had stayed with her and had clearly been talking to her the whole time in an attempt to keep her connected to reality. That he somehow, in some way, understood what she was going through.

Tears streamed down her face and dripped onto the rug below her as his low voice started up again, the steady tone giving her an anchor that she didn’t know she needed.

“…so I’m at Theo’s for the next couple of weeks until September. I have to say, Granger, that I am dreading going back to that place. I hate that they’re forcing us back for another year. Hogwarts was hell for me the last year or so, and I doubt anyone wants me to forget how much pain I caused either. I already get spat on in the street, and I’m betting school will be worse. Gives them a nice fishbowl to put me in and poke at. Thank fuck Theo, Pans and Blaise will be there. Three friendly faces are better than none, right?"

Her heart tugged at that admission, her hand falling against the door as if to reach for him. She knew that he would never speak like this to her face, but she could hear the raw feeling in his words. The ring on her finger, a birthday gift from her mother, clunked softly against the wood, and his words trailed off again.

Silence reigned for a few moments before his voice came through, clear enough to know that he would be right beside her if it wasn’t for the thin barrier between them. “I think you’re back now. I’m not sure what you need, but I can leave if you would like me to. Before I do, though, I need you to hear this, and I pray that it doesn’t hurt you anymore than I already have today.”

She held her breath as tears welled again. She didn’t blame him for today, but she couldn’t find the strength to move right then, let alone speak to him.

“I’m sorry, Granger. For all of it. For the bullying. For the bigotry. For picking the wrong fucking side. For not doing more to stop her…” his voice cracked as he broke off. “I brought the wand as some fucked-up peace offering, thinking that it was a way to start showing you how sorry I am, but I didn’t realise… I’m sorry, Granger.”

He cleared his throat loudly. “Anyway, I’ll go. Just tell me what you need.”

She blinked rapidly as she tried to pull herself together, knowing that she really wasn’t ready to move or function yet but wanting to give him some kind of answer. Not that she had a single clue what she needed. Her mind was lost in a whirl of confusion and all she felt was overwhelmed. Even the prospect of walking up the stairs to her bed felt like too much.

Tears of frustration escaped her now as the silence lengthened and she heard him sigh.

“Alright Granger, maybe you can’t answer me yet. Can you knock?” he gently knocked once on the door to demonstrate. “Knock once if you hear me.”

She almost smiled at the ridiculousness of him, which was a miracle in itself at that moment, but lifted her hand back from where it rested against the door and let it fall in a pathetic but audible knock.

He gave a pleased hum. “Fucking finally, Granger, I worried I was talking to myself this whole time,” he joked. “Ok. Do you need me to get someone? Potter?”

She squeezed her eyes shut in horror at the thought of anyone, let alone Harry, finding her like this. He had enough trauma of his own to work through without adding her own.

After a minute of silence, Malfoy spoke again. “Alright, I’ll take the silence as a no. Someone else? Weasley?”

She almost smiled again at the utter disgust in his voice, but stayed silent.

“Thank fuck, I can’t imagine that going well for me. Ok, I can’t keep guessing random names. Do you want me to get someone?”

Silence. She had no one.

He sighed. “Do you want me to leave?”

She raised her hand this time, but paused. She hated that someone had witnessed this; that of all people it was him that saw her break down, but now that he was here, and showing her kindness, did she really want him to leave?

She didn’t knock.

His voice came through much quieter this time. “Do you want me to stay?”

She knocked.

She heard him release a long breath, and it was long minutes before he spoke again, his voice thick. “Can you open the door?”

Her answering silence was met with a shuffling sound as he settled back against the door again. “Right, well I suppose I can prattle on at you for a while longer if you want, you daft witch, but you’re only expanding my ego. And you have only yourself to blame.”

Her mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile this time as she knocked. His answering laugh made a shot of warmth fly through her chest, breaking through the numb ice and allowing her to shuffle slightly into a more comfortable position.

“Alright, but do me a favour? Knock when you need me?”

The realisation that he was there, that she wasn’t alone in that moment, allowed her to breathe deeply for the first time in months.

She knocked.

Chapter Text

The crack of apparition sounded in her ears as she appeared on the sunlit platform at King’s Cross Station, fingers tightly grasping her charmed trunk as the pressure inside her skull quickly abated. Apparition had never been her favourite mode of travel, it was too uncomfortable and limited to what you could carry, but she couldn't deny that it often came in handy. Plus the idea of battling her new-found fame and walking through the crowds on Platform 9 and ¾ was something she wanted to avoid at all costs.

Moving quickly out of the designated apparition area, the soft folds of her school skirt brushed her thighs as she walked purposefully through the thinner crowd at this end of the platform, heading directly for the waiting train. The huge clock suspended high above the platform confirmed that her timing was perfect, and she deliberately ignored the number of eyes already locked on her every movement as she darted up the steps of the nearest carriage.

“Hermione!”

Turning towards the cheerful voice, she smiled at the red-haired girl who was waving cheerfully from the other end of the long carriage.

“Merlin’s saggy balls, newbies, just pick a seat!” Ginny abruptly yelled at a couple of first-year boys who were blocking the aisle, promptly shoving them into a compartment with a small huff of frustration as she blustered past.

Hermione suppressed a snort of laughter at the indignation and shock on their faces, swearing to herself once again to never tell Gin how much she sometimes reminded her of her mother. As Molly’s only daughter, Ginny had most certainly inherited her ability to take charge and make her opinions known.

Throwing her arms around Hermione when she reached her, she hugged her fiercely before drawing back. “Where’ve you been? We were worried you weren’t going to make the train!”

Hermione grimaced. “I apparated in last minute. Didn’t fancy posing for photos this morning.”

Nodding her understanding, Ginny squeezed her hand. “Yeh, Kingsley assigned Harry an escort to help. Didn’t deter people much though, we only got to the train a few minutes ago. Come on, our compartment is down here.”

Hermione’s gaze roamed around the train as she allowed Ginny to drag her through to the next carriage, the loud whistle of the Hogwarts Express signalling its departure before it slowly began to move. Clouds of steam billowed past the carriage windows, students kneeling on the leather bench seats as they waved their frantic goodbyes to the crowds at the station. Memories of all the years they had taken this journey trickled through her, making her swallow hard as she tried to stay calm. She desperately needed to keep it together today, and had spent a sleepless night anticipating how difficult it was going to be to return to Hogwarts again after everything that had happened.

She had no choice though. The Ministry had decreed that all students must return to complete their education if they expected to keep their wands, and after fighting so hard for the freedom to use her magic, she wasn’t going to abandon it now. Not that she had a clue what to do with her hard-won life, but that was a problem for later.

Right now, life simply involved taking one step at a time.

“Mione!”

Arms enveloped her again as she was guided into a compartment, the smell of Ron’s cologne surrounding her as she returned his familiar embrace. He had started wearing the scent as one of his many sponsorship deals, and the strength of it never failed to make her nose wrinkle. It didn’t suit him in the slightest, but he had embraced every element of the attention they attracted as the ‘Golden Trio’ and she couldn’t deny that it was fattening his new Gringotts vault nicely. Or that she often used him as a willing shield from reporters.

Pulling back, he gave her a quick once over before passing her to Harry, who gave her hand an affectionate squeeze and smiled softly. “Did you avoid them?”

She nodded as she settled on the seat beside Ron, letting Ginny sit beside Harry. “Yes, thankfully. I hear you had a bad time though?”

He gave a small grimace and shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Where’s your stuff?” Ron asked with a frown as she tucked her small trunk beneath the seat.

“Featherlight and shrinking charms,” she answered, pursing her lips at him. “You’re in your final year, Ron, did you really lug a huge, heavy trunk with you?”

He flushed red but shook his head at her dismissively. “Typical Hermione, always has to be one step ahead of the rest of us and show off.”

She felt her jaw tense in irritation as he nudged her playfully, forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath and let it go. It wasn’t worth the fight.

Smiling at him in a way she knew would placate him, she patted his knee. “I’ll teach you.”

His eyes darkened slightly at her touch, and he smirked as he threw an arm over her shoulders. “I look forward to it.”

Inwardly cursing as she realised that she had accidentally encouraged his interest, she looked around for a path of escape. Since their impulsive kiss during the final battle, Ron had made it very clear that he wanted to pursue a relationship between them. He didn’t seem to notice her lacklustre response, or the fact that she actively avoided being alone with him, and as time went on his advances were becoming bolder and harder to deflect.

While it was true that she didn’t want to hurt his feelings or cause any drama, ultimately she simply didn’t have the mental energy to do anything but avoid the issue while she could. She had actually confided in Ginny after he had been particularly flirtatious during a family dinner at the Burrow a few weeks prior. After catching him eye-fucking Hermione while she cleared the dishes, Ginny had tugged her up to her bedroom and excitedly demanded to know what was going on between them.

Taking a risk for once, Hermione had forced herself to be honest with her friend, explaining how she just wasn’t feeling a spark and begging for her help in deterring him. Unfortunately, Gin had somehow twisted her answer and assumed that Hermione wasn’t ready yet; that she simply needed more time, but she had at least agreed to help even if she hadn’t really listened.

Currently, though, Ginny was brushing her fingers through Harry’s hair in a futile attempt to tame the mess, and therefore blind to Hermione’s discomfort.

To her intense relief, the compartment door slid open and Neville ducked his head through with a nervous grin, his long arm around the waist of his blonde girlfriend. “Room for two more?”

Leaping to her feet and happily shrugging off the heavy burden of Ron’s arm, she grabbed Neville by the elbow and shoved him into her vacated seat before turning to beckon Luna in as well. “Of course! How are you both?”

Perching beside Ginny now, she tried her hardest to pay attention as Luna and Neville recounted their summer together, their fingers intertwining adorably on the seat between them. Heartbeat now pounding in her ears, Hermione fixed a warm smile on her face and laughed at the appropriate moments as the group chatted together. It took several long minutes of silently counting her breaths before her chest loosened a little and her spine relaxed, the world slowly coming back into full focus once again. She glanced quickly around at the others, catching their gazes one by one until she was satisfied that her internal freak out had gone unnoticed.

The train chugged its slow journey northwards over the next few hours as their compartment received an almost constant stream of visitors. Most simply walked past to ‘subtly’ catch a glance of the famous Boy who Lived and friends, but several acquaintances also stopped in to greet them. Seamus and Dean spent an hour debating Quidditch tactics with Ron and Ginny, leaving Hermione to happily take the opportunity to ignore them and bury her nose in a book while Harry listened quietly. The Patil twins gave them a wave as they passed by, Ginny darting out to chat with them before disappearing to visit her fellow seventh years.

“We should probably change soon,” Harry muttered a while later, his gaze fixed on the looming hills as the daylight began to soften into early evening. Rain drizzled lazily against the wide window as the train rocked softly, the three of them having finally been left in peace.

Ron grinned and poked Hermione’s foot where it was resting on the seat beside him as she reread her well-annotated copy of Advanced Potion-making. “Goody two-shoes here was in uniform before she even stepped on the train.”

She huffed lightly at him but otherwise ignored the jibe as she snapped the book shut and returned it to her trunk. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Harry frowned at her as she stood, worry in his eyes. “Don’t go far, Hermione.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed reassuringly. Quiet and reserved since the war, Harry was still struggling to adjust to the idea that they were safe now. They both had to check in with him every day, however briefly, so that he didn’t spiral into anxiety. While Ron kept it all light-hearted and joking, she knew better than anyone how hard it was to pull yourself out of that dark pit and made sure that she was there for him. In those first few weeks especially, they had spent countless sleepless nights talking, letting Harry get it all out until he felt more centred and able to cope. Even now, he was still terrified that it wasn’t over, but she supposed that only time would convince him otherwise.

The stares and whispers as she made her way down the length of the train were neither new nor welcome. While she was admittedly proud of herself for her role in Voldemort’s defeat, the pressure and expectation of her new role as war hero and Golden Girl was almost worse than sitting in a wind-battered tent waiting for snatchers to find them at any moment. At least no one had expected her to be happy back then. Just staying alive was a noble achievement, which was sadly no longer the case.

Hearing Ginny’s familiar howl of laughter, she stopped in her tracks, knowing that she would find the next compartment full of people she knew. Her initial destination had been the snack cart, seeing as she hadn’t managed to stomach anything for breakfast that morning, but there was no chance that she would be allowed to pass by without being pulled in to at least say hello. The thought of it was enough for her to turn on her heel and head towards the back of the train instead.

She only just walked past here… maybe she’s got the runs… she's so pretty… where is she going… maybe we should talk to her… I’d do her… I heard she’s helping teach this year… she’s obviously Head Girl… do you think she’ll tell us about You-know-who… her hair looks lovely now doesn’t it… I bet she’s shagged them both…

She tried to tune out the whispers as she passed, but snippets inevitably slipped in, the heavy judgement making it hard for her to breathe. Suddenly desperate for a place to hide, she found herself almost running towards the back of the train with a shining sliver of hope that she might find an empty compartment. There were fewer students returning to school than ever, after all. Surely there was a place where she could find peace.

Her hopes were soon dashed as her hunt revealed every compartment as occupied, leaving her with the realisation that the train must magically resize itself according to the number of passengers. Standing in the final carriage, she stopped to lean against the space between the last compartments, her head hanging back with a defeated thunk against the wood.

With a soft click, the door to her right opened and a mop of brown curls poked out. A look of surprise was quickly followed by a wicked grin as bright blue eyes looked her over.

“You knocked, Granger?”

Blinking stupidly, she froze in place as she met the inquisitive gaze of Theo Nott.

“Is she already here looking for reasons to dock house points?” called a deep voice from inside the compartment, followed by a snigger.

Theo smirked, tilting his head cheekily at her in question.

“I…” she stuttered, irritation at herself suddenly rising enough to kick her brain back into gear. Pushing off the wall, she brushed her hands down her robes and studiously ignored the blush of embarrassment that she knew now stained her cheeks.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she admitted. “I’ll just…”

She hiked a thumb over her shoulder and went to turn away, freezing as he briefly tugged her elbow to stop her. “Are you okay?”

He had drawn her close enough that she could now see into the compartment, the sight of the five other eighth year Slytherins looking back at her making a stone drop in her gut. Malfoy’s grey gaze caught hers from where he sat between Blaise Zabini and the window, his legs sprawled out from under his robes with a relaxed carelessness that she immediately envied. The three remaining girls, Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, and Tracey Davis, sat across from the boys, the eighth years down to six members after the events of the war.

She felt her pulse jump as she stared at Malfoy, memories of their recent encounter replaying in her mind and threatening to send her reeling. His expression was guarded but neutral, any openness that he had shown her now locked away behind a composed mask. He calmly returned her gaze without a word, and it struck her that she wore her own mask in a very similar way.

A feminine giggle came from the silently observing group, but it was the small twitch of his platinum brow as he pointedly glanced towards Theo that snapped her back to the present.

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in her mouth, she forced her eyes down to her shoes and gathered her wits, pasting her calm smile back onto her face before lifting her head.

“I’m fine, thanks Theo, how are you?”

The crease of a frown briefly appeared between his brows before it smoothed away, his grin returning full force. “Excellent! Post war bliss all around, I have no doubt. How is that ginger haired cretin of yours?”

Chuckles broke out behind him and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to hide a sudden urge to smile. It was almost refreshing to hear someone not worshipping the ground Ron walked on for once. Going by the twinkle in Theo’s eye, he hadn’t missed her reaction.

“My cat? Crookshanks is fine, thank you,” she replied sweetly, deciding to embrace the playfulness she was unexpectedly feeling. “He actually lives at Hogwarts now, so I’m looking forward to seeing him.”

A beat of silence reigned before full blown laughter erupted from the Slytherins, Daphne clutching Pansy’s leg as she lost her balance on the seat. Hermione couldn’t prevent a small smile from creeping across her mouth as Malfoy grinned at her, eyes now twinkling with amusement.

“Salazar, Granger, you actually made a joke,” Blaise chortled as the laughter settled down.

“Wonders will never cease,” Pansy chirped with a haughty sniff that brought the jovial mood to a halt.

Hermione glanced back down the aisle of the carriage, checking her escape route as she murmured an awkward goodbye. “Anyway, I’ll see you at school.”

She saw Theo shoot a glare at an unrepentant Pansy, who simply shrugged and looked out of the window. Before anyone else could get a dig in at her expense, Hermione turned and walked away, making it halfway to the next carriage before a sudden thought made her stop.

“Fuck it,” she growled under her breath, summoning up her courage before she could overthink it and striding back to the Slytherins’ compartment.

Pulling back the door without a knock, she stepped inside just enough that the door slid closed at her back. Six pairs of eyes stared up at her with a mix of confusion and disbelief, but she forced herself to focus on Malfoy as she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands and took a centering breath.

“I don’t know when, or if, I’m going to get another chance to say this without anyone else hearing,” she began, clearing her throat uncomfortably as she glanced around at the others. “I mean, people that know me, anyway.”

He frowned in confusion, a hint of wariness in his eyes, but she barrelled on.

“Thank you, for what you did. And what you said. I’m sure that wasn’t… easy… for you to deal with, and I apologise for my… behaviour.” She swallowed hard as she struggled to stay calm. “I’m, um, usually better than that. So I’m sorry. And please don’t feel badly about it. About anything in fact. It's all in the past now. So… yeh…”

Her cheeks were on fire as she trailed off, her hand scrabbling behind her for the handle of the door as he stared at her with an unreadable look on his face. The others stayed silent, quietly watching her unrehearsed monologue and flicking their gazes between them.

Finally managing to wrestle the door open, she paused to speak again before thinking better of it and walked briskly away. Holding her head high even as she felt the undeniable tremor in her hands, she couldn’t help but overhear the loud exclamation that came from the Slytherin compartment before the door fully closed.

“Drake, what in the ever-living fuck was that?!”

Chapter Text

The fallout from the war had never been more prominent than in the numerous reactions to the thestral-drawn carriages that carried them up to the castle.

Hermione found herself offering quiet comfort to a third year boy who had taken one look at the skeletal creatures and fallen to pieces, having witnessed the death of his muggle father at the hands of the Death Eaters only nine months earlier. Others also visibly suffered, and Harry and Ron wordlessly stayed behind with her to offer their support.

By the time they made it to the looming entrance hall, darkness had descended and a small crowd of nervous first years were huddled together in advance of the sorting. Ron shot a wink at them as they stared open-mouthed at the Golden Trio passing by.

“Chop chop now, Mr Weasley,” came a piercing but familiar voice. “You wouldn’t want to be late for your dinner.”

Hermione smiled warmly at Professor McGonagall as she emerged from the Great Hall, her tall hat sitting regally on her head as she gave Ron a stern look. He flushed red but grinned, giving the Professor a respectful nod as he grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her towards the hall.

“Mr Potter, Miss Granger, I hope this isn’t a sign that you three will be causing trouble this year?”

Harry twisted back to grin widely at her. “Us, Professor?”

Ron laughed. “We would never!”

Hermione shook her head at them in fake exasperation, a warm feeling flooding her chest as she enjoyed the moment of camaraderie. Professor McGonagall dismissed them with a twinkle in her eye before turning to the first years and beginning her usual welcome, allowing the Trio to slip into the hall.

Hermione’s stomach clenched as she took in the familiar space, terrified that being back would trigger her panic. Thankfully though, the familiarity of the Great Hall immediately brought more good memories to the fore than bad. During the final battle, the castle had taken huge damage, and the awful memories that she struggled to let go of featured more rubble and flashes of light through the darkness than the scene now laid out before her.

The four house tables stretched out before them as they always had, with the staff table raised before them on the dais. The usual candles hovered high above their heads, bathing the room in warm light, though the ceiling was no longer enchanted as it had once been.

Following her gaze, Harry leaned close as Ron forged a path towards the Gryffindor table. “Minerva told me that it took too much damage. The charm was ruined, and no one is quite sure how Helga Hufflepuff managed to cast it originally.”

Her mouth twisted in thought. “I wonder, maybe it was a variation of the…”

Harry chuckled and gave her a tug, stopping her before she could get going on the intricate theory of charm work. “Come on brainiac, dinner first, yeh?”

She hummed distractedly, her thought process interrupted by the sight of Malfoy watching them, his eyes dark as smoke in the candlelight. Feeling her cheeks heat at the memory of her ridiculous little speech earlier, she quickly looked away and followed Harry to join her fellow Gryffindors.

Ron was grimacing as he shuffled in his seat, attempting to fold his long legs underneath the bench. “Did they shrink the tables?” he grumbled as people around them watched in amusement.

“Ron, we’re nearly nineteen, it’s hardly surprising that we’ve outgrown the table that we’ve sat at for eight years.”

He shrugged and nodded at her answer, finally settling as the tall doors swung open to admit the Headmistress and her small gaggle of terrified eleven-year-olds.

And there really weren’t many of them, twenty-five at most compared to the almost forty that had started in their year. A pang of sadness hit her as she watched them don the familiar hat, more bedraggled than ever as it boisterously sang before sorting them into the four houses. Those around her seemed not to feel the same bittersweet emotion as her, cheering rowdily as each member was assigned a place and sat down with trembling smiles.

It was almost forced, she felt. As if everyone was determined to prove that everything was ok now. A sour flavour coated her tongue at the thought.

Only Slytherin house stayed more subdued, the lower years celebrating the process somewhat half-heartedly as their house received only three new members. Otherwise they sat quietly, with no jeers or taunts being thrown underhandedly at the other houses like they usually would. Turning just enough to see their full table, she could see the eighth years sitting stoic and silent at the back of the group.

Theo looked up from his silent examination of the silverware and met her gaze, giving another curious tilt of his head as he caught her looking. His face was passive but open, and she gave him a small smile of understanding. After everything that had happened in the war, she imagined that the Slytherin table was not the most comfortable place to be. He returned the gesture with a quirk of his lips before dropping his eyes again. Malfoy was beside him, at the end of the row, his head in his hands as he stared down at his empty plate. If there had been any doubt whether any of them wanted to be here, she certainly had none now.

She jumped a little in her seat as the tables abruptly filled with food, turning to find that the Headmistress had already given her welcome speech and settled into her seat at the staff table.

“Alright Hermione?” Harry asked quietly, sensing her disorientation.

She nodded, shaking off her thoughts and helping herself to some steak and kidney pudding.

“Wonder where we’re sleeping,” mused Dean as they settled into their meal, the hall filling with low chatter and the clatter of cutlery.

Ron attempted a response with a mouth stuffed full of mashed potato, earning himself a swift kick from Hermione to prevent them being sprayed with food.

“I think what Ron is trying to say,” Neville said in an amused tone as Ron grumbled at her. “Is that is probably why she asked eighth years to stay behind.”

Ron grunted and pointed a finger at Neville in a gesture of agreement. Hermione hadn't even heard the instruction, but was curious herself. The tower could have been extended, she supposed, but the need to accommodate an entire extra year group would put a strain on the common room at the very least.

It wasn’t long before they got their answer. The seventh year prefects led the rest of the school to their respective houses while the eighth years remained behind, Professor McGonagall stepping down from the dais and pausing briefly before she spoke.

“Due to the terrible events of the last year, you are forced to linger here for longer than originally planned. I admit that I am in full agreement with the Ministry that you must complete your education, yet this school has never before harboured eight years’ worth of pupils.”

She looked over them with her eyes shining. “We have lost some of you, a fact that we will never forget and forever regret.”

“And should’ve lost more,” Ron muttered, quietly enough for only her and Harry to hear, glaring at the Slytherin table.

Hermione froze and stared at him, eyes wide in shock. She felt something crack inside her; felt something break irrevocably apart as she absorbed the hateful comment. The fact that he could be so thoughtlessly disrespectful of everyone they had lost just to express his dislike of people who had been cleared of all wrongdoing shook her. She really had no idea who Ron was anymore.

“Ron, mate,” Harry admonished quietly, but the redhead didn’t respond as he sneered unabashedly across the hall.

The professor gave a loud sniff and snapped out of her moment of grief, clearing her throat and clapping her hands together. “So, it has been decided that house unity needs to take precedence more than ever before. As the oldest students, and with you all having been directly touched by the war in some way, the school will look to you to set the example.”

Seamus leaned forward on his elbows and gave a firm nod. “We can do that Professor.”

McGonagall raised an imperious brow. “Excellent, Mr Finnigan. Perhaps we should first focus on not interrupting me?”

He audibly swallowed and apologised before turning to grimace at a grinning Dean, who gave him a friendly shove as the headmistress continued.

“With this in mind, alongside the fact that none of your previous common rooms can accommodate more students, your living arrangements this year will be different.”

Hermione saw Pansy glance worriedly at Daphne and felt her own anxiety rise. Of all places, the Gryffindor common room was a place of safety that she had been looking forward to.

“An eighth year common room has been created that will accommodate you all. You will live and study together this year, to cultivate house unity and show the school that the troubled times have passed.”

There was an explosion of sound.

Ron and Seamus leapt to their feet along with Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw, yelling and gesticulating wildly as they outrightly refused to have anything to do with Slytherin house. Shocked chatter broke out on every table as they processed the news and considered the ramifications, watching Professor McGonagall attempt to calm the immediate outrage from the hot-headed boys.

The Hufflepuff table remained seated and quiet, Susan Bones looking perturbed while Hannah and Ernie fell into energetic conversation. As Purebloods, Hermione assumed they held a different perspective of the Slytherin students. They at least understood the social pressures and expectations of Pureblood society, and were more likely to understand them than most.

Parvati, on the other hand, promptly burst into tears, claiming that she wouldn’t feel safe sleeping near Death Eaters after what happened to Lavender. At her words, Harry reached across and slipped his hand into Hermione’s, squeezing hard as he remained silent.

All Hermione really saw, though, was Malfoy’s head making a slow descent to the tabletop and landing with a resigned thud.

Her hair lifted slightly in the next moment as magic rippled over the crowd, the silencing charm making her feel momentarily deaf before a red-faced McGonagall spoke.

“Let me clarify,” she said loudly, angry disappointment clear in her tone. “This arrangement is not optional. I expect you all to behave in a way befitting the adults that you are. That means showing each other basic common decency. I will not tolerate any more childish vendettas!”

Releasing the charm with a wave of her wand, she looked pointedly at the boys on their feet. “Let me ask you, boys. What did we fight for?”

Ron scoffed and looked pointedly at Malfoy. “To get rid of evil arseholes.”

“Language, Mr Weasley,” she snapped. “And perhaps an attempt to think before you speak?”

“Freedom.” Hermione called suddenly, stomach churning as she caught Harry’s eye and he gave her a melancholy smile. “We fought for freedom.”

McGonagall nodded, giving her a grateful look. “Exactly, Miss Granger. Freedom. For those who did not have it. Every one of you fought for and won your freedom, even if your battles were fought in different ways. You are more alike than you know.”

Seamus barked a laugh and pointed at the Slytherin table. “Us? The same as them?! Fat chance.”

“You bloody wish,” grated Pansy, glaring daggers at him.

“Fuck you, Death Eater bitch.”

Professor McGonagall spluttered, but her reprimand was cut off as Malfoy pushed himself abruptly to his feet in a clatter of movement that startled them all.

“You’re right on one count,” he hissed scathingly. “She is a bitch. But there’s only one Death Eater here, you self-righteous prick, so at least get your facts straight before you light your torches.”

Ron barked a harsh laugh and looked to the professor. “See? He even admits it. Why the hell isn’t he in Azkaban where he belongs?!”

“Mr Weasley!” she cried in answer. “Every person in this room has been cleared of any charges that the Ministry may have brought against them. If you wish to take it up with the Wizengamot, please let them know. As it stands, you are all here, and you have two choices! Stay and learn to tolerate each other, or leave and relinquish your wand.”

She took in a steadying breath. “Now, I have heard quite enough of this. Any of you who are staying, follow me. Any who remain behind will be sent immediately back to London.”

Wand still in hand, she marched out of the hall, robes billowing impressively behind her as most of the eighth years scrabbled to follow. Harry stood and followed the small crowd without a word, giving Malfoy a nod of acknowledgement as he passed by that made him blink in surprise. The stunned look lasted until he caught Hermione watching, their gazes clashing for a long moment before he glared over her shoulder at where Ron and Seamus seemed frozen in indecision.

Without a word, the Slytherins stood as one and made their way across the hall after the others, Theo grabbing Malfoy by the arm as he passed him to ensure he followed suit. Hermione moved to follow, stopping in her tracks as Ron spoke.

“You’re ok with this, Mione? Staying here with them?”

She spun, burying her rising frustration to shrug at them. “The war is over. I can be civil if the other option is losing my place in the world we fought to keep.”

He spluttered a little, but she forged on before he could spout any more hatred. “Are you seriously considering never using magic again, just because their presence here upsets your sense of justice? Most of them weren’t even involved, so I’m not sure why you’re so angry at them. The Ministry must have proved their innocence, or else they wouldn’t be here. You might not like them, but that’s simply tough luck. I, for one, am not letting hatred take any more from me than it already has.”

Marching quickly out of the hall, she heard the two boys release reluctant groans before running after her. Casting a wordless tracking spell, she soon caught up to the other eighth years as they neared the third floor, seeing the look of relief on Harry’s face as he spotted Ron behind her. He sent her a grateful smile, which she returned as the group came to a halt before an innocuous, wooden door.

“Did you have to, Granger?” asked Blaise in a low, teasing tone. “Getting rid of King Weasel that easily would have been an excellent start to the year.”

The yelp he released in the next moment had everyone’s head turning their way, watching him hop on the spot in response to the silent stinging jinx Hermione had sent at his thigh. She watched him dance about with mild curiosity as he glowered at her, feigning innocence as Theo and Seamus both chuckled.

“Your password for the moment is unitatem,” Professor McGonagall said, pausing in the doorway to face them all. “You will find a schedule of your duties in the common area, and your rooms have already been allocated and your trunks delivered.”

“Duties?” Neville asked, frowning.

“Yes, Mr Longbottom. I have decided not to appoint a single Head boy or girl this year. Instead, I expect you all to work together to fulfil the roles. Essentially, you are all prefects this year, with the included expectations, and the seventh year prefects will have a more limited role until next year.”

Daphne, stood on Hermione’s right, sighed softly and murmured under her breath. “Well that’ll go well.”

“One last thing,” the professor continued. “I am sad to say that I am unsurprised by the lack of civility I have seen so far from some of you, and have therefore anticipated it. To ensure that there is no fighting or foul play, Professor Flitwick has charmed the dormitory to respond to aggression.” She glared at the Gryffindor and Slytherin boys in turn. “Any jinxes, hexes or violence will be met with swift consequences.”

Hermione made a mental note to ask Professor Flitwick about the charm out of sheer curiosity. She was startled out of the thought, though, as Theo leaned over to whisper in her ear. “When you ask him about the charm, let me know? I doubt he’ll tell me, but I’d love to know how he made that work.”

She huffed at him in surprise as he pulled back and gave her a smirk, pushing his mess of curls back out of his face. She raised a brow at him, wondering how he could possibly know what she was thinking, and he gave an unrepentant shrug in answer that left her grinning.

A sharp poke in the back made her grunt, turning to find Ron scowling at her. “Stop talking to them, Hermione,” he hissed, pushing her forwards as the Professor moved aside and let the group into their new common room.

A flash of platinum caught her eye as they passed Malfoy, who was clearly hanging back in an attempt to stay out of the way. His emotionless mask was fixed in place, a look of apathy on his face, but she could see the tension in his jaw and shoulders as he watched the large hand on her lower back almost shove her forwards. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she realised that she was just allowing Ron to manhandle her without a fight. The thing was, it was just easier that way most of the time, but with Malfoy’s eyes watching it made her feel suddenly pathetic and weak.

She made a practiced side-step out of Ron’s path as they walked through the simple door and rejoined the group, darting around a stunned-looking Padma Patil so that she was back beside Harry. Catching the awed look on his face, her embarrassment was forgotten as she looked up and took in the space around her, not missing the smug smile on McGonagall’s face as she quietly slipped back out of the room and left them to their evening.

Chapter Text

She had her own room.

Hermione didn’t think she had ever been more grateful for anything in her life than she was to discover that they were no longer expected to share dormitories. They were adults now, she supposed, but she had assumed that the sleeping arrangements would be the same as previous years. Rather than casting weaker nightly charms over her bed, she could now cast more permanent wards on the room that would prevent anyone from hearing her nightmares, as well as keeping anyone unwanted out.

The room was small, with a single bed, dresser and desk filling the space. Predictably maroon sheets and curtains were accented with splashes of gold and ochre, with the Gryffindor crest hanging on the wall beside the door and a long mirror propped in the corner. The single, tall window would allow her a stunning view of the mountains surrounding them, the deep window seat already filled with books that she guessed had been left there for her by Professor McGonagall, as the few she had brought with her still lay in her luggage.

With a few waves of her wand, her trunk expanded and swiftly emptied, her belongings zooming into their designated spots and leaving her sitting silently on the edge of the bed, pondering what to do. It was too early to sleep, but the thought of heading back out to the common area made her nose wrinkle.

A soft knock made a sigh fall from her lips, but she dutifully hopped up to open the door. Parvati Patil stood on the other side, peering curiously in over Hermione’s shoulder to check out her room. “Hey, how do you have a window too? Your room is opposite mine.”

Hermione shrugged tiredly. “Magic?”

Parvati giggled and nodded. “Fair. Come on, let’s go catch up with everyone. I want to check out Padma’s room too.”

From their brief exploration so far, it seemed that the new common room had four short corridors branching out from its edges. A house emblem hung over each one, each path quickly branching in two to allow the separation of boys’ and girls’ rooms. A name plaque hung on each door, with the only way out into the main school being through the central common area using the door they had first entered.

It was a clever move, allowing house representation and the relative safety of sticking with who you knew, but simultaneously forcing them to mingle. The bedrooms were comfortable but contained the bare minimum, with a shared bathroom for each branch, whereas the central room had clearly been designed to attract them in.

Several deep settees, the colour of bronzed caramel and covered in thick cushions, faced the large fireplace that adorned one stone wall. Thick rugs covered the floor, leading around to the set of heavy desks that would allow them to study comfortably in the light of the warm lamps. Bookshelves lined one wall, creating their own miniature library, with any spare wall space on that side covered with living ivy that climbed steadily up to the lofty ceiling.

What had struck her most, however, were the two enormous windows that filled the south-westerly corners. Stretching up to the high ceiling, they were bordered with colourful glass decoration and inlaid with glowing silver runes that sent shards of delicate light through the room. It was stunningly beautiful as well as ingenious, as she strongly suspected that the runes were a key element of Flitwick’s anti-aggression charm.

Attracted by the thought of the bookshelves, Hermione allowed herself to be pulled back to the main room without resistance. Most of the group had already reassembled there, lounging across the sofas and chatting quietly. The Slytherins were notably absent.

“Hermione!” Anthony called, gesturing her over with a grin. “You’re friendly with house elves, aren't you? What are the chances of you getting us some party supplies?”

“Zero,” she answered with a roll of her eyes, walking over to the shelves and selecting a text on Ancient Runes. She vaguely heard his answering groan, ignoring the boys as they continued to debate the best way to get alcohol into the dorm.

She settled at a table, using her wand to brighten the nearest lamp a little, and got lost in rune theory until a raised voice caught her attention. Looking up, she saw Padma standing beside the fireplace and gesturing at the Slytherin rooms, an angry look on her face. Parvati stood beside her twin, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

“...no matter what the Ministry says, it's their fault! Lavender should be here, not them!”

“And Justin,” called Ernie, a melancholy Susan nodding her agreement at the thought of their Muggle-born housemate who had fled during the war and had since opted to stay with his family rather than return.

Hermione felt her hands begin to shake as the thought pricked uncomfortable memories and threatened to set them loose. Closing the book softly, she returned it to its shelf and headed silently towards her room.

“Mione!”

She bit her tongue to hold in the groan that wanted to escape as she heard Ron’s shout. “I’m tired,” she called back with a lazy wave of her hand. “Goodnight.”

She’d made it to the Gryffindor entrance before a warm hand enveloped her elbow and tugged her to a stop.

“You’re just going to study and sleep?” Ron gave her a smile that he likely thought was cute and cajoling. “Come on, Hermione, it’s the first night back. We’re all finally together again. Come and hang out.”

She was forced to dig her heels in to stop him as he started pulling her back towards the common area. “No, Ron. Lessons start in the morning, I’m tired. Plus I really have no desire to sit there and bitch about people.”

His eyes darkened. “Bitch? Those ‘people’ don’t deserve to be here. They should be locked up. We’re just standing up for what’s right. Hermione, you’re a Gryffindor. Act like it.”

“Do you hear yourself?!” she hissed at him, yanking her arm free from his grip. “You sound exactly like a Death Eater.”

Refusing to wait for his temper to explode at her, she spun and left him standing there, slipping through her door and furiously locking and silencing the room. Hands shaking fully now, she changed quickly into her oversized sleep shirt before climbing into bed.

Wordlessly extinguishing the lamps, she lay in the silent darkness and allowed herself five slow breaths before falling apart.

***

Breakfast the following morning was, in a word, awkward.

Ron had clearly gone back to the group and ranted about her last night. Both Parvati and Seamus shot her dirty looks as she slipped onto the bench beside Neville at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Ron refused to look at her at all, his face ruddy and scowling as he shovelled scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“Morning,” said Harry with a quiet smile, clearly refusing to engage with the issue at all. Part of her appreciated that he hadn’t simply taken Ron’s side, but she knew he was simply staying out of it to save himself some grief.

She envied him there. Though she wouldn’t have minded some support for once, if she was honest.

Spreading butter and jam on toast, she turned pointedly away and fell into conversation with Ginny and some other seventh years, helping Harry describe their new living arrangements.

“You’re all living together?!” Ginny squeaked, wide eyed, looking between them as if they might be kidding.

Harry shrugged. “Shared common room, separate dormitories. It could be worse.”

“Try telling Ron that,” Hermione huffed, eyes darting up as the morning post arrived and owls flocked into the hall through the open upper windows. An enormous Eagle-owl caught her eye as it swooped down to the Slytherin table, waiting regally for Malfoy to remove the letter attached to its leg before it soared away again.

She briefly wondered if he was in contact with his father, who had been sentenced to life in Azkaban after a short but well-publicised trial. Lucius’ memories had been forcibly extracted and presented to the Wizengamot, leading to a swift verdict of guilty on charges ranging all the way from tax evasion to murder. Narcissa had escaped a prison sentence due to her memories showing a lack of any true action in Voldemort’s campaign, but she had been ordered to pay heavy reparation fines due to her sympathies for his cause. She had then fled the country and settled abroad. Spain, if Malfoy’s doorstep ramblings were to be believed.

A gentle nudge in her side had her turning to Neville, who had noticed where her attention lay. “It’s weird, isn’t it. That he’s here.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not really. The Ministry…”

“The Ministry judged his memories and decided he was brainwashed. Yeh, I know. Still, he has the Dark Mark. He was one of them. And after everything, he's just sat over there.”

She drank the last of her pumpkin juice before replying. “He was coerced, Nev. He was raised to believe it all, and when he actually had the chance to change, he did. He refused to kill Dumbledore, he helped people escape the Carrows during seventh year, he threw Harry his wand to kill Vol…”

“Alright, alright, I hear you,” Neville interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. “Bunch of bullies though, weren’t they. We aren’t likely to ever get along.”

“They were,” she admitted, remembering how many tears she had shed over the years because of Slytherin taunts and hexes. She glanced over to where Ron, Seamus and Dean sat in animated discussion. “But I’m not sure they’re the bullies anymore.”

Neville pushed away his plate. “Anyway, time to go, I suppose. Are you taking Herbology this year?”

She frowned. “No, I couldn't make it fit. Professor McGonagall would only let me take five subjects.”

He grinned at her. “Poor Hermione, how dare they restrict the Golden Girl. What did you choose?”

“Eurgh, please don’t,” she griped, her grimace making him laugh. “Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration.” She counted them off on her fingers as they gathered their bags and headed out of the hall.

“Er, where’s DADA?!”

She flushed a little at his shocked expression and forced a nonchalant shrug. “Didn’t really see the point, I can already do everything required at NEWT standard. It would be a waste of my time. And it clashed with Runes, so…”

“So you dropped an easy O grade in favour of the hardest courses. You are Hermione Granger, I suppose I should have expected that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment!” she answered light-heartedly. “What are you taking then?”

His reply was cut off as a thick arm wound round his neck, tugging him down into a loose headlock.

“Time for class, Snake Killer!” Seamus grinned, laughing as he wrestled to keep hold of a struggling Neville. “Where’s that sword now, ay?“

Hermione moved to intervene on Neville’s behalf, hesitating when Seamus suddenly let out a yelp and fell to the floor as his legs gave out. Neville straightened and smoothed down his robes, wand in hand from where he had defended himself. Glowering, he let some quiet swear words loose at Seamus, whose legs were shaking so violently from the strength of Neville’s jelly-leg jinx that he couldn’t stand, before walking away with his head held high.

Hermione grinned proudly after her friend as she followed, loving his new-found confidence. Laughter echoed around the handful of students who were watching rather than heading to lessons, Dean guffawing as he attempted to help Seamus up.

“See you later, Hermione!” Neville called back at her, shooting her a cocky grin that made her chuckle.

Professor Babbling’s classroom was on the sixth floor, meaning the unfortunate delay with Seamus left Hermione rushing to reach Ancient Runes on time. Darting in through the open doorway, she jolted to a halt as she saw who else was taking the class.

She should have expected it, really. The two subjects that clashed with Runes on the eighth year timetable were Divination and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the five Slytherin students looking back at her were definitely not going to voluntarily enter a classroom with people who thought that they were the Dark Arts. Apparently only Tracey thought that the lunacy of Divination was preferable to the toil of Runes.

Clearing her throat quietly, she began to make her way to an empty table.

“Ah, Miss Granger, welcome back,” greeted the Professor warmly from behind the teacher’s desk, looking at her over the metal rim of her reading glasses. “Please join Mr Zabini, would you? We’re starting with some pair work.”

With a decidedly forced smile, Hermione nodded and moved back to the front desks, slipping into the seat beside a smirking Blaise. Pansy and Daphne were beside them at the front, watching her shrewdly, while Theo and Malfoy had the desk directly behind. She felt boxed in and uneasy, tension keeping her spine stiff as she waited for one of them to comment.

Blaise did not disappoint. As the Professor turned to finish notating the course outline on the main teaching chalkboard, he leaned closer and gave her a wolfish smile.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he murmured, running a hand over his dark hair. “I’m very much looking forward to working with you.”

“Nope.”

Hermione blinked in surprise at the sudden, clipped word from behind them. Before she even had a chance to look for the source, Blaise yelped as he was abruptly yanked off his seat by the collar, frog-marched to the desk behind, and shoved down beside an astonished Theo. Ignoring Blaise’s stuttered protest, Malfoy swapped their books and dropped down to sit beside a gaping Hermione as Professor Babbling turned back to face them. The elderly professor looked between them all in slight confusion for a moment before giving a mystified shake of her head and beginning the lesson.

Sitting casually, knees spread underneath the table as he appeared to focus on the lecture, Malfoy pointedly refused to meet Hermione’s gaze as she continued to stare at him. When it became clear, though, that she was missing key information for the task as she attempted to figure him out, she gave herself a mental rebuke and forced her attention forwards.

Thirty minutes later, after a terrifyingly complex reminder of what was expected of them at NEWT level, she was skimming the parchment containing details of their new project. The time had given her a chance to refocus; to rebuild her mask so that she was ready to face him.

“Do I get to read it?” Malfoy drawled as the pairings all began to chatter about the tasks. She could hear Daphne’s panicked whispers at the amount they were expected to get through. “You won’t need to do all the work now that you’re not paired with Blaise.”

She shot him a measuring look as she pushed the parchment across the desk to him. “And why, exactly, am I not working with Blaise?”

He raised an imperious, blond brow at her before quickly reading through the task. “Most of this is easy enough to split. We’ll have to work through the central translation together though.”

She frowned at him. “Don’t ignore me, Malfoy. Why did you swap?”

He sighed loudly. “Look, Granger, Blaise doesn’t care about his grade. He’ll spend the term hitting on you repeatedly until you either sleep with him or rip his head off. Either way, you’ll have to do all the work yourself.”

She scoffed a laugh. “And it affects you how? I thought Slytherin cunning meant only acting when you get something out of it.”

He smirked at her, and the silence told her that the others were now listening to their conversation. “What makes you think that I don’t?”

“Need me to pull your grade up, Malfoy?” she snarked, returning his smirk with her own.

He laughed, but his silver gaze was guarded. “We kind of like Blaise with his head attached, so needs must.”

Waving her wand to duplicate the project information so they had a copy each, she opened her copy of Spellman’s Syllabary and pulled out a fresh quill. “Wow, you really must like him, if you’re willingly working with the Mudblood.”

Her tone was sarcastic and light, but she physically felt the temperature drop as he gave her an icy glare.

“Don’t fucking say shit like that, Granger.”

She huffed, cheeks flushing but refusing to be embarrassed. “Why not? You all did. Repeatedly. Do you just expect me to forget that?”

He stood with a clatter, the chair scraping along the stone floor with a painful screech. She flinched, grabbing her wand from the desk in front of her to defend herself from his attack, but none came.

Ignoring the calls of both Theo and the Professor, Malfoy grabbed his books and stormed out of the class. His broad shoulders hunched as he left without a word, the rest of them staring after him in heavy silence as Hermione felt her hands begin to shake.

“Good job, Granger.”

She squeezed her eyes closed as she attempted to wrestle her emotions back under control. Still, she managed to grind out a few words, relying on the ageing Professor’s inferior hearing to miss the hissed curse.

“Go fuck yourself, Pansy.”

Chapter Text

Sleep didn’t come that night, leaving her tossing and turning until finally giving up entirely and snuggling into the cushioned window seat to watch the sun rise.

The previous day had not improved after Runes class. She had endured Transfiguration and Charms with trembling hands, forced to focus so fully on maintaining her mask that she had no real clue what the lessons had involved. Not that anyone had noticed.

Whilst the eighth years seemed to be getting along together well, bar the Slytherins, they all naturally settled back into their own house groups at every opportunity. After this many years of being segregated, it was instinctive now, and she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had actually thought this all through.

For their part, the Slytherins were maintaining an air of haughty apathy, ignoring any taunts thrown their way and staying well out of reach and earshot wherever possible. Malfoy hadn’t even glanced at her since Runes, but she needed to corner him at some point soon to work out the details of their project. She refused to do it alone - even Blaise wouldn’t have gotten away with that, no matter what Malfoy had suggested.

Harry and Ron were waiting for her when she emerged for breakfast, the sight of them in their typically dishevelled uniforms prodding warm memories of the past. She gave them a genuine smile, allowing Ron to tuck her under his arm.

“Come on, Mione, I’m starving,” he groaned dramatically, clutching his stomach as Harry chuckled.

She gave a playful, exaggerated sigh. “Well we can’t have you wasting away, can we.”

They joked around on their way to the Great Hall, the mood lighter than she had felt for a good while. Even Ron’s hand brushing indecently low on her back, almost reaching the curve of her backside, didn’t sway her. She simply darted to Harry’s other side and put him between them, pointedly ignoring Ron’s frown at the brush off.

“We’re going down to the lake this morning,” Ron said to her over his porridge. “We’re all free until Potions.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I need to get to the library. We’ve already got a Transfiguration essay due, and my Ancient Runes project is going to take weeks.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “No Mione, you’re coming to the lake. This weather isn’t going to last, do your essays when it’s raining.”

Her spine stiffened at his tone. “No, actually, I’m not.”

“Merlin’s tits, you can be so bloody boring,” he snapped, pointedly turning away from her to talk to Seamus instead.

Looking down at the single, half-eaten piece of toast on her plate, she was mortified to feel her eyes welling with tears. Swallowing repeatedly, she fought them back, digging her nails into her palms and letting the pain ground her. A voice in her head screamed at her to yell at him; to not just let it go, but she was just so… exhausted. It wasn’t worth the fight, or the attention it would undoubtedly bring.

When her lungs were expanding fully again, she looked up and found Theo watching her from the Slytherin table. Shame rushed through her as she realised that he had witnessed their small fight, but his expression only seemed to be curious, if a little concerned. Tipping his head slightly, he gave her a minute smile. Cautious, but surprisingly touched, she returned the smile before grabbing her bag.

“I’m going to the library,” she said to Harry and Neville, who simply smiled at her and nodded.

Madam Pince gave a small nod of welcome when Hermione arrived. Nothing seemed to have changed since she was last there, the scent of parchment and ink making something settle inside her heart, and she was delighted to find her favourite table was still in the exact same place as before. Beside a long, thin window that looked out over the Black Lake, it was a smaller table that was well out of the way of regular foot traffic. It was also close enough to the restricted section that most people avoided it, not liking the ominous whispers that occasionally echoed around the space.

Settling onto one of the cushioned wooden chairs and digging her Transfiguration texts out of her bag, she sank happily into the familiar routine of studying. It wasn’t long, however, until a whispered argument distracted her.

“I told you, just leave her the hell alone.”

“What, you can talk to her but we can’t?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“This is purely transactional, Drake.”

“Seriously, she's not a bloody stray that needs adopting.”

Hermione sighed and looked up, spotting Theo and Malfoy having their not so subtle argument at the other end of the long bookcases opposite. Noticing that they had her attention, Theo grinned and abandoned the frowning blond, strolling towards her holding a folded napkin.

“Granger! I come bearing gifts.”

She frowned as he placed a handful of buttered toast on the table beside her, looking back up at him with a raised brow.

“I noticed you had a rough start,” he admitted with an easy shrug. “You didn’t eat much.”

She simply blinked at him, trying not to flush at the mention of the drama he had witnessed. Glancing past him, she saw that Malfoy was watching them with an unimpressed face, arms folded across his broad chest.

“Er, thanks?”

Theo beamed, reaching up to push stray curls out of his blue eyes. Laying down her textbook, she held up a palm before he could speak again. “No, hang on, why?”

Tugging out the chair opposite her, he sat down and dropped his satchel on the floor beside him. “Alright, fine, you caught me. I do want something in return.”

She sighed, sitting back in her chair and flicking Malfoy a look. “I’m the stray?”

Theo snorted at that. “Ignore the drama queen back there. I’m after a favour.”

“In return for cold toast?” she asked, not hiding her amusement as Malfoy audibly huffed.

“I’m happy to negotiate,” he grinned, leaning forward on his elbows as she gestured for him to continue. “I need you to help us with Runes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You and Malfoy are perfectly capable.”

He looked a little sheepish at that, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Uh, yes, true, but the other three are not. At all. They didn't even take it in sixth year.”

“What? How on earth can they get a passing grade if they missed a year?” she exclaimed, sitting up straight.

“No one cares if we fail, Granger.”

She looked up as Malfoy spoke, his gaze challenging her to disagree. She wouldn't though, she was certain that he was right. While the Nott and Malfoy families had been directly involved with the Death Eaters, Pansy, Daphne and Blaise had no connection to Voldemort other than being sorted into Slytherin house. It was frankly disgusting that they were being treated like the enemy, even by the Professors, it seemed.

“I’m sorry for the way they are treating you,” she murmured, meeting Theo’s assessing gaze.

He tipped his head in a way that was becoming familiar. “Are you really?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes. I am. And I’m also still wondering why you need me to help when you two could tutor them yourselves.”

“Three of them, three of us,” Theo said, steepling his fingers. “Plus if we make it more of a study group then they'll take it better.”

She groaned. “You’re trying to trick them into getting extra help?”

“Nah,” he slouched back in his chair now, messing with his hair again. “They’ve missed a year, they’re not idiots. It’s more of a way for them to save face.”

“Subtle,” she said sarcastically.

Malfoy sauntered closer to the table, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets as he sighed in frustration. “Tell him to fuck off, Granger. You do not want to deal with that lot.”

She frowned at him. “You don’t want to help your friends?”

“No,” he argued, narrowing his eyes at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was that stupid. “You don’t want to help them. Trust me.”

“I shouldn't.”

He acknowledged that with a nod, a wealth of emotion flashing across his face before he quickly buried it. Theo looked between them with a small furrow between his eyes before grabbing Malfoy's arm and yanking. “Sit, Draco, let's have a trial run.”

Hermione huffed impatiently. “I’m busy, Theo.”

He nodded and gestured to the table. “Yes, studying, let's do that. Together. If it works, then you help us with Runes.”

“I’m prepping my Transfiguration essay, I’m not switching to Runes now,” she grumbled, half frustrated and half amused by his efforts.

He grinned. “We all take that class, let’s do it.”

Breathing a laugh, she glanced up at Malfoy, who was looking at Theo like he’d grown an extra head that would not shut up.

Realising that Theo was not giving up and that it was going to be easier just to humour him for now, she picked up her textbook and resumed her reading, taking notes as she went. Malfoy had settled in the seat beside Theo after a meagre amount of grumbling, the pair of them pulling out A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration and settling down to read. After a while, Theo stood and disappeared into the stacks, returning shortly after with a small pile of books which he deposited in the centre of the table.

“Shall we split these?” he asked, scratching his cheek almost nervously, as if he was afraid to disturb her process. “Each take one and swap notes?”

Her lips twisted in uncertainty. She’d never actively studied with anyone, mainly because no one else seemed to care like she did. Precision and thoroughness were important to her, they were the key to her success. Harry and Ron had always done the bare minimum necessary to get a project over with, and studying with them actually meant studying beside them and then correcting their work. But both Theo and Malfoy had always been hot on her heels with their marks, so maybe there was something to be said for giving it a try. She could always fix it later.

“Ok,” she said with a quick nod, not reacting to the surprised glance Malfoy shot her.

She reached for the leather-bound book that Theo handed her, her gaze straying briefly out of the window and catching on a group of students gathered at the lakeside. From this distance, they were only small, nondescript figures, but there were enough details that she could identify most of the eighth years. Ron, his bright copper hair making him obvious, was tossing a quaffle around with Dean, who she could identify by his height. Seamus was running about in the shallows, seemingly splashing the sunbathing girls as they began to shout and gesticulate at him.

“Why aren’t you down there?”

Theo had leaned across the table to share her view without her realising, meaning his voice was directly beside her ear. She jumped violently and shoved him back into his seat with a surprised oomph. Malfoy chuckled at her reaction, and she sent a glare at him in return before gently rubbing her sternum.

Malfoy frowned at her hand, immediately sensing her discomfort. She dropped it instantly, clutching her now-shaking hands under the table instead. Her pulse was thrumming in her ears after the momentary shock, and while she knew that she was in no danger from the nosey idiot opposite her, her immediate adrenaline response was now threatening to overwhelm her.

Realising that she had no choice, and hoping that she could keep it as subtle as possible, she squeezed her eyes closed and began to silently count her breaths. If she could just pull back a modicum of control, she could run back to the dorm and melt down in private. There was zero chance that the two boys opposite her weren’t watching and cataloguing everything, and she didn’t want to give them any more ammunition than she already had.

A low roar began in her ears as she struggled to pull in enough air, her count stuttering as her chair was suddenly yanked around and a heavy pair of hands landed on her knees.

“Granger, tell me three things you can smell.”

She felt the hands on her legs give a quick squeeze, helping draw her focus. She sucked in a breath through her nose, trying to consider what scents were around her. “Parchment… toast… apples.”

“Good girl, now two things you can feel.”

“Your hands on me,” she whispered, her chest loosening a fraction. “Hair tickling my cheek.”

Fingers reached up to tuck the offending curls behind her ear. “And one thing you can see.”

Her eyes cracked open, blinking slightly in the light after being squeezed so tightly shut. Molten silver eyes stared back at her from where Malfoy was kneeling, having twisted her chair away from the table so that he could get close.

“Grey eyes,” she murmured, releasing a long but shaky breath.

“Better?” his voice was so low that she wasn’t certain Theo could even overhear.

She nodded timidly, her face flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he answered, giving her knees a brief squeeze of before pushing himself up to standing.

Utterly mortified now, she braced herself to run. Theo reached out before she could move, though, tapping on the table lightly to get her attention. “Hermione, are you alright?”

His use of her name made her meet his eyes in confusion, but rather than the mockery and judgement that she expected, all she saw was concern.

“Salazar, Theo, obviously she’s not.”

Malfoy sat in the chair beside her this time, twisting his books around to face him as he delved back into studying without another word. Taking his cue, Theo also pulled back and picked up his quill, giving her a soft smile before focusing on his text.

They were giving her space. A chance to pull herself back together and freedom to choose what to do next. Tears pricked her eyes but she fought them back, quietly turning her chair back to the table before picking up the book she had been using.

By the time they stopped for lunch she felt like herself again. There was an inevitable sense of calm and safety in the quiet of the library, but what made the biggest impression on her was the feeling of satisfaction as they handed her impressively detailed and organised notes on their respective resources.

Packing them into her bag alongside her books, she bit back a smile as she duplicated her own set and handed them over. “That worked,” she admitted as they gathered the last of their things.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her as Theo grinned. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

She shook her head and hefted her bag onto her shoulder, wandlessly renewing the featherlight charm as she moved to leave.

“You didn't answer me,” Theo called, making her turn back. “Why aren’t you down there with the rest of your lot?”

She nibbled her lip, considering how honest she wanted to be. One study session didn't exactly make up for years of bullying and enmity. Her gaze shifted to Malfoy, who was studiously avoiding looking at her as he tidied the already mess-free table.

“Why did you help me?” she asked him, something in her suddenly needing to hear what he had been thinking.

He shot her a disparaging look, standing tall. “Why is it that none of your so-called friends seem to see that you’re falling to fucking pieces? Or do they just not care?”

Her answering smile was plaintive, her reply barely a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

Potions was popular.

The dungeon classroom was packed with bodies, every desk and cauldron needed as Professor Slughorn welcomed them with a hearty wave.

“Welcome, welcome!” he called, rocking back gleefully on his heels and folding his hands over his generous stomach. “Goodness me, eighth years. So many of you! What a journey you have had. What a journey.”

Hermione was sitting beside Harry, who turned to her then with an incredulous look. She shrugged at him. Slughorn was bound to be pleased that almost every eighth year had chosen his subject. It was also only a matter of time until…

“Harry, my boy!”

Hermione stifled a grin as Harry groaned under his breath before answering. “Hello Professor.”

“Our saviour! Back in my classroom,” Slughorn crooned, oblivious to Harry’s clear discomfort. “I do hope you’ve brought that brilliant Potions mind back with you!”

Harry straightened in his seat as if he’d had a sudden realisation. “Actually Professor, I have to confess.”

“Oh?”

Harry nodded vigorously, glancing at Hermione as she stared at him in amazement. “I’m not all that great at potions. In sixth year I had Professor Snape’s old textbook. I just followed his instructions. I basically cheated.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Slughorn blinked rapidly. Theo Nott laughed loudly.

“Bold move. Very Slytherin,” he called from the back row, which the six Slytherins had claimed.

“Shut it, Death Eater,” Ron snapped, turning to glare back at them all.

Hermione scowled at him, the temptation to hex him rising. “Ron!”

“Actually,” Harry said loudly, apparently ready to air every secret if it would help. “The Sorting Hat did try to put me there, you know. Though that might have been that pesky Voldemort connection I had going on.”

A stunned silence greeted that revelation, broken only when Hermione lost control and released a sudden snort of laughter. Slughorn seemed to shake himself out of his stupor as Hermione lost herself to a fit of giggles, soft mutters breaking out among the other students before the Professor called for quiet. Harry gave Hermione’s hand a soft squeeze as she hiccuped into silence, shooting her a conspiratorial wink.

“Anyhoo!” the Professor continued, striding around his desk at the front of the classroom. “The Headmistress has made it clear that inter house cooperation is the name of the game this year, so I think we need to have a mix around before we start brewing, no?”

He glanced around, clearly realising that every pairing would need changing to achieve his aim. “Ah, right. Well let’s pair you up then. By ability, I think! Yes, let’s see…”

He gave Neville a solemn nod. “Mr Longbottom, good to see you. At the front please. Miss Bones, you too. Now, Miss Patel, with Mr MacMillan, if you would.”

Hermione became steadily more tense as he paired them off, breathing a sigh of relief when Ron was placed with Hannah Abbot and not a Slytherin. Before long, there were only four of them remaining, and she briefly closed her eyes as she anticipated his next move.

“Mr Potter! Would you be so kind as to work with Mr Malfoy?”

The silence that descended was thick with tension. She was surprised, though, at the calm tone that came from the back of the classroom.

“I don’t think that is the best idea, Professor, do you?”

Everyone turned to watch as Malfoy leaned forward on his elbows with deceptive casualness, his robes taut across his shoulders as he awaited Slughorn’s answer. Hermione could see the displeasure burning in his eyes, though, his knee jumping almost imperceptibly beneath the desk.

Slughorn held up a hand, ready to defend his decision, but Harry cut in. “Malfoy is the best potioneer in our year, you’d be holding him back paired with me. I cheated, remember.”

The Professor scoffed. “My boy, you have talent, you cannot deny it.”

“Hermione is better,” Harry argued, spots of red blossoming on his cheeks as he began to lose his cool. “I’ll partner Nott.”

She looked at Harry passively, wondering if he realised that he was throwing her under the bus to make his own life easier. It was true, Malfoy was ten times the potion maker that Harry was without that infernal textbook, but ultimately Harry was just trying to escape having to work with his childhood enemy.

She could see how it would be hard. For both of them, in fact, considering the memories it would poke at and the grudges they inevitably still held. But had he even stopped to consider how hard it might be for her? She was the one who had been tortured in Malfoy Manor. She was the one who had been bullied incessantly by the Slytherins for her ‘dirty’ blood.

She supposed that, once again, she was expected to put on a brave face and step up. And though it stoked the raging fire of heartache that she hid deep inside, she breathed a soft sigh and raised her hand.

“It’s fine, Professor.”

Slughorn looked a little relieved and gave her a short nod. “Very well, Miss Granger, take your seat at the back. Mr Nott, please join Mr Potter.”

He clapped his hands as he finally began the lesson, lifting an abnormally large mushroom from his desk and waving it casually in the air. Tuning him out, Hermione grabbed her satchel and slipped from her seat, pointedly ignoring Harry’s whispered apology.

Theo nudged her as they passed each other, hissing in her ear. “Will you protect me from the mean Gryffindors, Granger?”

She huffed a laugh, giving him a harder nudge back that made him chuckle. Sliding into the seat beside Malfoy, she ignored him entirely as she pulled out parchment and a quill to begin making notes on the swelling potion they would be brewing.

It was mere moments before the note reached her, the small bird shape fluttering delicately down onto her parchment. Unfolding it somewhat reluctantly, she found Ron’s scrawled handwriting.

I’ll hex his bollocks off if he even looks at you wrong.

Biting her tongue in frustration, she cast a wandless incendio on the note rather than bothering to respond. Grabbing the laid out ingredients as Slughorn set them off on the task, she slammed their gurdyroot down into the mortar and began to viciously grind it to a pulp.

She huffed as she saw Malfoy eyeing her warily, neatly dicing the dried nettles as she worked out her frustration on the poor root.

“Granger we need the juice, you don’t need to pulverise it.”

She glared at him. “I am fully aware.”

He sighed as she continued to pound it into mush. “Seriously, woman, calm down. It’s only one lesson. I’ll be nice.”

She paused, turning to raise a brow at him. “Nice?”

He smirked. “Well, probably not.” He grabbed the pestle out of her hand to stop her destruction of their ingredients. “Still, I’m not that bad.”

She huffed and slumped forwards, dropping her forehead onto her hands. “It’s not you.” She looked over at him when he didn't respond, seeing the dubious look on his face. “I’m sorry to burst your evil bubble, Malfoy, but it’s really not.”

He glanced at where Ron was turned fully backwards on his seat, ignoring Hannah’s attempts to get him to help as he glared daggers at where they were sitting. “Tell your boyfriend that, Granger.”

She scoffed, feeling her cheeks flush crimson. “He’s not my… he’s my friend.”

“I’m not sure he’s even that,” muttered Malfoy, stirring the nettle into the already bubbling cauldron and watching it turn a bright yellow.

She frowned at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Friends have your back, no matter what,” he answered, leaning over towards her with a dark look. “They don’t throw you at a Death Eater and then blame you for it.”

She bit her lips together, her pride demanding that she argue with him but finding herself suddenly unable to figure out exactly why. He had hit on exactly what was bothering her, after all. Still, irritation fired in her chest and she snapped her spine straight as she glared at him.

“They are my best friends. We have had each others’ backs through everything. I would be dead if it wasn't for them. Don’t you dare say things like that to me.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Would you? Or would you have been well away from the danger without them dragging you into it all? They use you and don’t even see what’s going on with you. Seriously, Granger, get better friends.”

He hissed in pain as she grabbed her wand and sent a jinx at him, the jet of orange light hitting him square in the chest and sending him staggering off his chair. His quick reflexes had him steading himself before he could fall, and he was up in her face in a split-second. Grabbing her wrist, he pointed her wand away as he towered over her with fire spitting in his gaze.

“Lashing out because you hate that I’m right?” he hissed, his grip on her tight as she struggled to pull back. “Pathetic.”

“Get the fuck off her!” bellowed Ron as he stormed towards them, wand at the ready.

Releasing her quickly, Malfoy sat down on his stool and calmly watched Ron’s furious advance. Slughorn’s voice dimly registered as she looked at Malfoy in confusion, not understanding why he wasn’t ready to defend himself. Ron would certainly have no qualms about hurting him.

Her shield charm sprang to life between them before she had made the conscious decision to move. Ron’s spell ricocheted back into the classroom, forcing students to duck as it hit the roof and caused a shower of red sparks. Seeing that she had defended Malfoy, Ron stared at her in stunned outrage as Slughorn reached them and plucked his wand from his outstretched hand.

“Detention, Mr Weasley! And twenty points from Gryffindor! I will not tolerate you attacking other students!”

“He had his hands on her!” Ron yelled, pointing at where Malfoy sat impassively, no wand to be seen.

Slughorn turned to Hermione, brow raised in question. She sighed as Ron looked at her imploringly and shook her head. “We were arguing, Malfoy did nothing out of line.”

She felt all eyes on her as she raised her chin and held the Professor’s gaze. Slughorn gave a short nod before dismissing her shield charm and shooing Ron back to his seat.

“I can see that some of you are finding it more difficult to work together than I had anticipated,” the Professor noted, clearly disappointed. “Please get used to your pairings, they are now permanent!”

A collective groan echoed around the classroom as Hermione sat back in her seat, ignoring the feel of the many eyes on her as she focused on the work. Malfoy took her cue, handing her the stirring rod without further comment.

Neither of them spoke again for the remainder of the lesson, wordlessly working through the potion instructions together with surprising smoothness. After getting the nod of approval from Slughorn for their finished product, Hermione hurriedly grabbed her things and escaped the lesson ten minutes early without a single backward glance.

***

She skipped dinner, glad to lock herself away in her well-warded room while she finished her Transfiguration essay.

Dressed in an old, oversized Quidditch practice shirt of Harry’s and a pair of ratty pyjama bottoms, she glanced out of the window at the darkening sky as she rolled up the finished project, considering whether or not to sneak down to the kitchens for a snack. The house elves probably still hated her, though, even if she was no longer attempting to convince them to demand freedom. A long shower would have to suffice until breakfast.

It wasn’t until she opened her door, towel tucked over her arm, that the silencing charm broke. Loud, angry voices echoed down the corridor from the common area, sending tendrils of dread spiralling down her spine and soft tremors down to her hands.

“Don’t turn your back on me!”

Ron’s angry shout made her feet start moving towards the fight. The common room might be warded against magical fighting, but Ron’s temper seemed to run away with him more than ever lately. Stopping just inside the room, she saw Ron, Seamus and Dean on their feet in the centre, looking angrily over at the Slytherin corridor.

“I’m talking to you, you prick,” he yelled at Malfoy, who was facing away from them beside the Slytherin dorm. Daphne was tucked under Malfoy’s arm, whispering urgently at him as he nudged her down into the dark corridor before slowly turning to face the room.

Stone faced, his eyes flicked quickly over Hermione before focusing on the irate Gryffindor boys. He raised a brow and slowly folded his arms across his chest, stretching the fabric of his school shirt over his biceps and passively waited for their next move.

“You think you can just waltz in here and interrupt us?” Seamus snapped, Ron grunting in agreement.

Malfoy's lips flattened into a thin line before he replied, his tone measured. “Interrupt in what way, Seamus?”

He grinned unrepentantly. “We were only having a chat with her.”

“A chat,” Malfoy replied flatly, though she could see the anger in the hard line of his jaw. “I don’t believe that Daphne saw it that way. Nor did I, hence the rescue.”

“Rescue?!” Ron barked, taking a menacing step forward. “You’ll be the one needing a rescue, prick, especially if you get in our way.”

“You used that one already,” Malfoy smirked. “Ask Blaise for tips if you need some better insults, he's a master.”

“The only thing I’ll be asking a filthy Slytherin for is to climb the Astronomy tower and jump!” Ron hissed, face flooded crimson.

“Tempting,” Malfoy drawled. “How about you show us all how?”

Hermione glanced around at the other eighth years who had emerged from their rooms, taking in the sea of frowning faces. No one seemed to be considering stepping in, though apparently they were happy to watch. Hermione wasn’t sure what to do, knowing that the only place this could lead was physical violence and that she couldn’t use magic to help. If Ron didn’t calm down, things were going to go south.

“Ron,” she called softly, but he snapped his head around and glared at her.

“Don’t you bloody start, not after that shit earlier.”

She gaped at him, her brain almost unable to reconcile the hate filled boy in front of her with one of her best friends.

“Ron, mate,” muttered Dean, apparently deciding that yelling at their own housemate was a step too far.

“Well if you’re turning on yourselves, I’ll just leave you to it.”

Seamus spun at Malfoy’s words, whipping out his wand. “Oh no you d…”

His words were cut off abruptly as the wards responded to the spell he had begun to cast. The ivy-covered wall came alive, long tendrils of green leaves darting out towards Seamus and wrapping around him so quickly that he had no time to even shout before he was yanked off his feet. Wand clattering to the ground and bouncing uselessly off the cold stone, he released an oomph of breath as he was slammed back into the wall, tightly pinned in place roughly six feet in the air.

Ron let out a snort of laughter that made Hermione suddenly furious. Rounding on him, he gave her a wary look as she glowered at him.

“This is not amusing, Ronald! He tried to hex him!”

He huffed, rolling his eyes and dropping down onto the sofa behind him. “Come on, Mione, it's only Malfoy. He deserves it.”

She shook her head at him disappointedly, noticing that Malfoy had already disappeared into the shadows of the Slytherin corridor. Ron wasn’t even looking at her anymore, though, as he waved a loose hand towards his trapped friend.

“Can you get him down?”

The fury bubbled back up her throat and made it momentarily impossible to breathe. Squeezing her fists hard enough that she felt her nails dig painfully into her skin, she wordlessly turned and walked away. She didn’t trust herself not to say or do something that she’d regret right then, and her plan of a long, hot shower was better than spending the night pinned beside a miserable looking Seamus.

Or looking for even one moment longer at Ron’s oblivious, very slappable face.

Chapter Text

The Daily Prophet landed on the Gryffindor breakfast table with a loud slap as Parvati threw it down dramatically.

“See, it’s not over!”

Frowning, Hermione leaned across to catch a glimpse of the moving mugshot splashed across the front page. Rodolphus Lestrange scowled back at her as he bared his teeth for the camera and seemed to bark like a dog. She recoiled a little as the sight of him poked at locked-away memories, skipping past the headline to read the information below.

“It just says that there may have been a sighting in London,” she summarised, pulling the paper closer. “There’s no actual evidence here, Parvati, just a lot of scaremongering about a revival movement.”

“Exactly!” she cried, flinging her arms in the air. “A revival! They’re trying to come back!”

Hermione sighed and pushed the paper away, taking a fortifying sip of her tea. “And how would they do that? Harry killed Voldemort. They have no Dark Lord to follow, and most of their supporters are serving life sentences in Azkaban.”

“Most, but not all,” Dean said, picking up the paper with a frown.

She rolled her eyes, but the conversation was abandoned as Seamus came strutting into the Great Hall and the Gryffindor boys gave him a loud cheer. He had spent the night pinned to the wall by the ivy, only being released when the Headmistress deigned to free him. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips at the cheering boys as she entered the hall behind Seamus, clearly unimpressed as she made her way to the staff table.

“Boys,” griped Ginny from beside her. “Literal idiots, the lot of them.”

Hermione breathed a laugh and nodded. “Even Harry?”

Ginny shrugged. “They don’t have to be smart to be useful. Anyway, I’ve got Luna on board to convince Nev, and I’m working on Harry, but you’re hosting a party on Friday night.”

“Erm, excuse me, I am not.” Hermione answered primly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Eighth year common room, Friday night, the boys are following orders and getting the goodies. Just be there, Mione, and relax for once, ok?”

Looking at the determined light in Ginny’s eyes, Hermione realised that fighting her was pointless. Shrugging, she finished her toast and gathered her things before answering. “I hear you, Gin, but don’t let Professor McGonagall catch on. She’s already annoyed at Seamus for triggering the wards.”

“Good point. I heard that Malfoy provoked him, slimy git,” she grumbled, shooting a glare at the Slytherin table.

Hermione sighed. “Actually, I think they were bothering Daphne and Malfoy stood up for her. Seamus was being an idiot. Ron too.”

Ginny looked sceptical. “Maybe you didn’t see it all. Ron said Malfoy was being a git and deserved it.”

“Well, obviously what Ron says must be right,” Hermione snapped, tucking her bag under her arm and leaving a gaping Ginny behind. She felt bad about losing her temper, but she was beyond sick of no one listening to her, as well as Ron’s behaviour.

Reaching the entrance hall, Hermione was in her own world as she walked smack into a solid form. Bouncing back with a squeak of surprise, strong arms scooped her up before she could fall and steadied her back on her feet before releasing her quickly.

“Woah, now, pretty girl,” Blaise crooned, his smirk wide. “Don’t go falling for me over breakfast.”

She cleared her throat, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry, I just… sorry.”

Pansy Parkinson stood beside Blaise, hand on her hip as she looked Hermione up and down with an unimpressed gaze. “What’s with you, Golden Girl?”

Hermione frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“You say that a lot,” Pansy sniffed, checking her nails and flicking her midnight black hair over her shoulder before sliding her arm into Blaise’s. “Come on, I will not abide being late, and I refuse to break a sweat by walking quickly. Let’s go.”

Blaise snorted. “God forbid you work up a sweat, eh Parks?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Not for this, no.”

“You coming, Granger?” he called as they headed towards the dungeons.

Hermione stood for a long moment and watched them walk away, frozen in a moment of indecision. It topped the list of one of the most unexpected invitations she had received in her life, but she couldn’t reason out why she shouldn’t walk with them. They were all headed to Potions class, after all, and house unity was something they were all expected to work on.

Body catching up to her decision, she trotted after the pair and caught up at the top of stairs. Pansy gave her an odd look but made no comment as Blaise shot her a wink, leading the way down into the dungeons. They were early enough that the others would only just be leaving breakfast, so she was surprised to see the rest of the Slytherins waiting outside the classroom.

Tracey Davis’ blonde brows rose at the sight of Hermione. “Picked up a stray, Pans?”

Pansy hummed as Theo chuckled, stepping forward to offer Hermione his elbow. “May I escort you into Potions, Miss Granger?”

She frowned at him as she reached him, coming to a halt rather than take the offered arm. “You’re being weird.”

Blaise snorted. “What’s new?”

The others sniggered as they pushed open the heavy, metal door and went inside. Theo raised a brow at her, wiggling his elbow meaningfully. Laughing, she reluctantly took it, letting him pull her into the room with a pleased hum.

“See,” he said sweetly, batting his eyelashes in a ridiculous way that made her smile. “Was that so bad? I didn’t even turn all Death Eater on you.”

She huffed and gave him a shove as he deposited her at her workstation. “Shut up, you know I don't think that.”

He smiled genuinely this time, tipping his head at her. “Yes, I’ve realised. Feel free to tell everyone else, yeh?”

Her amusement dimmed, her lips twisting. “I’ve tried.”

He gently tweaked her nose, making her slap at his hand. She missed as he danced away with a chuckle, other eighth years beginning to trickle in as he slipped into his seat.

“He likes you,” came a low voice from beside her. She merely sniffed and began to organise her books as she waited for the lesson to start, pointedly ignoring the blond idiot next to her.

Harry gave her a guilty smile as he walked in and took his spot beside Theo, Ron glaring back at Malfoy with his lip curled before he saw Hermione’s hard look and reluctantly took his own seat. Neville bumped his table as he attempted to sit, knocking a vial from the prepared potion ingredients into Susan’s lap which turned her entire leg periwinkle blue in an instant. She squealed in dismay before Slughorn scuttled over to help, Neville loudly apologising as Seamus and Dean fell about laughing.

“Bloody prats,” she mumbled, pulling out her textbook to read while they waited.

Malfoy scoffed quietly. “Is this news to you, princess?”

She snapped her gaze to his, eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

He raised a brow. “That’s who you are, though, isn’t it? Gryffindor’s golden princess?”

A literal growl rolled out of her throat as she pointedly turned her back on him again. Teeth clenched, she pulled in a calming breath before returning to her plan of ignoring him entirely.

“Do you want to chop or stir?” he asked a few minutes later when they had been given their instructions.

She ignored him, flipping open her textbook and reading around the recipe before they began.

“Granger, I’d rather not balls this one up and end up half blue like the Puff. How do you want to split this?”

She could hear the impatience in his voice but dismissed it. She had nothing to say to him, though he clearly thought that she would just forget that he had been so disrespectful to her the day before.

Shoving ingredients at her with a grunt of frustration, he set a fire underneath the cauldron and began to add the first elements. It was only moments before he broke and began to rant at her. “Seriously, you are acting like a bloody child. If you don’t speak to me, this won’t work.”

She simply flipped the page, pretending to be reading intently.

“Granger, for the love of Merlin.”

She heard him blow out a long breath as he slumped into the seat beside her. There was a heavy pause as she tried desperately not to watch him in her periphery.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like I did yesterday. No matter what I think, it was rude of me to say anything about your friends.”

She chewed on her lip, eyes not seeing the text in front of her as she listened to his murmured admission. His voice was quiet, deliberately low enough that no one could overhear, his head ducked down and shoulders bunched where he leant forwards on the countertop.

Still, it was hardly an apology. She flipped a page.

“Granger, I can’t fail this. If my marks fall…”

The soft knock had her head whipping around to look at him, his fist still hovering above the wood of the table from where he had rapped his knuckles twice beside her arm. The silver flecks in his eyes glimmered as she stared at him, remembering how he had used her own knocks to help her all those weeks prior.

Knock when you need me.

“If your marks fall, what?” she whispered, something souring in her gut as she suspected what he meant.

“One foot wrong and my current state of probation gets revoked,” he answered after a moment, attempting to mock the situation with a quirk of his lips.

She scowled, reaching out to flick him on the elbow. “It is not funny. It is disgusting to hold that over your head when your memories have already been judged. They can’t…”

“Yes, they can,” he interrupted, looking at his elbow in confusion. “Did you just flick me?”

She waved at him dismissively. “You shouldn’t be living in fear of your life being swept from under you.”

“Shouldn’t I? You did.”

His expression was resigned, guilty even, and it sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. Her hands reached out to wrap around his taut forearm, her answer so soft that it was barely a whisper.

“We all did.”

A loud bang from the front of the classroom startled them both out of the moment, Hermione nearly falling off her seat as she jumped at the sound. Malfoy’s hand shot out to steady her, giving her a concerned look as he watched her for signs of panic.

“I’m ok,” she muttered, shaking her head. Dusting off her skirt, she stood and vanished the now congealed mess in the cauldron. “Come on, let's do this.”

Ninety minutes later, her sleeves were messily pushed back and her hair had puffed up into a nightmarish mess, but they had a perfect shimmer on their Veritaserum Antidote. Malfoy, of course, had a single platinum lock of hair out of place to show for his efforts, and a wide smirk on his face as he looked her over.

“Granger, you look a fright.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“Miss Granger!” she winced as Professor Slughorn appeared beside them. “Ten points from Gryffindor. Oh but look at this effort.” He reached in to scoop up a small vial of their potion and lifted it to the light. “Perfection! Top marks, Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy. Good show indeed. Twenty points each to your houses!”

Malfoy snorted a laugh as Slughorn moved away, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Prat.”

He laughed harder as she wrangled her hair back into a thick, messy bun, dodging her kick. “Violence is not the answer, princess, play nice.”

“Hermione!”

She turned towards the loudly whispered call, finding every student nearby staring at the two of them. Parvati was waving her over, giving Malfoy a wary look as Ernie watched them both suspiciously. Huffing, she grabbed her bag and went over with a somewhat fake smile for her fellow Gryffindor.

“Yes?”

Parvati frowned. “Are you ok? Looked like you needed a rescue. Is Malfoy being awful again?”

Something in Hermione snapped, her hands curling into fists as she narrowed her eyes and answered in a dangerously calm tone. “A rescue? We were laughing. Do I need saving from a joke?”

Ernie raised a brow as Parvati blinked at her stupidly. “She just wanted to make sure, Hermione,” he said carefully, glancing back at where Malfoy was surely watching.

“Make sure,” she echoed, shaking her head at him. “You know what would really help, Ernie?”

His eyes widened as her voice rose, catching the attention of everyone in the room.

“It would help if anyone would just LISTEN when I say that he has done NOTHING WRONG!”

Dumbstruck silence fell at her shout, but she wasn’t about to stand around and wait for someone to respond. She really could not have cared less what any one of them had to say to her right then. Especially as she was now pretty certain that even Malfoy disagreed with her on that point.

Spinning on her heel, she turned and marched out of the classroom, catching an amused smirk from Blaise as she passed by his workbench. The heavy door flew open with a simple wave of her wand, allowing her to leave with a dramatic flair that somehow felt extremely satisfying. She really was sick of being the placid, well-tempered good girl, especially if it meant that nobody took her seriously.

Sharp footsteps followed her, and she knew it must be Malfoy. They had been the first ones to complete the task, even with their delay.

“You need to stop sticking up for me, Granger.”

She stopped dead, eyes flaring briefly before she squeezed them shut. She was so angry that she could feel her magic bubbling beneath her skin, ready to explode. With a flick of her wand, her otter Patronus materialised and scampered away in a flash of silver light to deliver its intended message.

She turned her head slowly to see him a short way behind her, looking dumbstruck as he stared at where the Patronus had disappeared. Her answer, however, brought back his focus and put a scowl on his pretty face.

“No.”

Chapter Text

The roar of the emerald flames echoed momentarily in her ears as she stepped out of the fireplace.

Dusting residual Floo powder from her shoulder, she took in the familiar wooden wainscoting on the deep maroon walls, the wide mahogany desk sitting centrally in the room as it had been on the few occasions she had previously visited. Perched on the corner of it, arms folded as he watched her arrival, was Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic.

He gave her a wide smile. “Hermione! Welcome. Come in, sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“Hi Kings,” she replied, following his instruction and dropping into one of the two Chesterfield armchairs in front of his desk. “Yes please.”

He conjured a tea service with a wave of his wand, proceeding to doctor a cup to her instructions before sinking down in the chair beside her. “Now, tell me why I’m receiving urgent messages from our Golden Girl, who is supposed to be happily studying at Hogwarts this year, away from all of this.”

Hermione sighed, sipping her tea delicately before setting it down on her saucer and looking at him earnestly. “Things aren’t ok at Hogwarts, though. We’ve only just got back and the tension is awful. People are acting so spitefully, it’s basically bullying already, Kings, and no one is listening to me!”

He nodded thoughtfully. “The new common room was always going to be a point of contention. It will take time, Hermione. You need to lead through example. Don’t rise to their behaviour. Show the others how to rise above and you’ll soon see things improve.”

She nodded, letting the warmth of the tea calm her as she heard the wisdom in his advice. Leading by example was something she could do, though she was already dreading how hard some of the others would push back about it. Ron, in particular.

“And report any wrongdoing to Minerva immediately,” Kingsley went on, giving her a stern look. “She will deal with them.”

“Ok, I can do that,” she said, giving him a grateful smile. “And I also think everyone needs to see the truth. That’s why I’m here, really, instead of speaking to the Headmistress.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “Well, what’s the use in having friends in high places if you don’t call in favours once in a while. What do you need?”

“I want to make my testimonies public record.”

His jaw dropped slightly before he caught himself and neutralised his expression. She frowned briefly but pushed on, keen to make him understand. “I know I initially asked to keep them private. I didn’t want Skeeter and her cronies publishing over-exaggerated versions of things, and I thought the details would only add to people’s suffering. We were moving on; I thought it only mattered in the trials. But I was wrong, the details do matter. People should know what happened.”

Kingsley was slowly shaking his head. “Hermione, people don’t want to know the gruesome details.”

She nodded, conceding the point. “I agree, but ignorance isn’t a virtue. In fact, I would argue that ignorance about blood purity and power was the root cause of both wars. Knowledge is power, you know that.”

“What difference would it make, though?” he asked simply, making her eyes narrow as he attempted a subtle change of tact.

“It would show people the difference,” she replied, placing her tea cup down and sitting straighter as she became aware that Kingsley was going to push back on this. “Everyone will be able to see the evidence that helped to put some in Azkaban and free others. People who were tried and acquitted should not have to deal with the prejudice and abuse of bitter people who don’t understand what happened. It isn’t fair.”

She fell quiet, waiting him out as he stared at her, cogs clearly turning. He was obviously reluctant to allow her witness statements to be released, but he also owed her. They all did, in fact, and she wasn’t above reminding them of it.

Rising, he walked around to sit on his usual side of the desk, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he resumed his seat as Minister rather than friend. “Hermione, you testified in several cases over the summer, all Death Eaters. Who exactly benefits from this?”

Her brow creased. “Not all Death Eaters. Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were exculpated. Plus my statements helped to remove suspicion from Theodore Nott, ensuring he was released without charge.”

“Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott,” Kingsley repeated, tone stony. “They’re the ones causing trouble?”

She shook her head sharply. “No, they are the ones being targeted. By people who clearly need to see the full truth to believe that they aren’t a threat.”

“They are a threat, Hermione.”

She scoffed loudly at his answer. “You wouldn’t have allowed them inside Hogwarts if you believed that.”

Reaching into his desk, he pulled out several thick files and lined them up on the desk in front of her. There were several, each with a stapled photograph on the front. Some were mugshots, others clearly surveillance, but every one showed a different Death Eater who was not currently in custody.

Kingsley put a finger beside Fenrir Greyback’s face, forcing Hermione to fight down a wave of nausea as flashbacks tried to punch their way into her consciousness.

“These people are a threat. They will not stop pushing back until we hunt down every one of them.” Angry determination flashed in his dark eyes. “It is not the time for public opinion to sway towards sympathy.”

She tried to argue, but he cut her off with a raised palm. “I understand that you’re trying to help, but you’ve always been blinded by your empathy. These people made their choice, and they have to live with the consequences of it.”

“Malfoy didn’t have a choice, though. The Wizengamot agreed to that. He was placed on probation for his actions but declared not responsible for them.” She stared at him imploringly, willing him to see past his bias. “Kingsley, the school are treating him like dirt, and he’s so afraid of the repercussions that he can't even defend himself.”

“Good.”

An antique vase on the mantle shattered as she briefly lost control of her magic, his blunt response making fury whip through her like a forest fire. Grinding her teeth, she wrestled it back under control, her cheeks hot as she took a long breath and accepted what she had to do.

Standing, she placed her palms on the files and leaned forward to meet his gaze. “It’s simple really, Kings. Either you’re telling me that your processes failed, and you released dangerous criminals into the public domain. The school system, in fact. Or else you’re accepting that Draco Malfoy’s verdict was fair and truthful, and that he is as deserving of impartial treatment as the rest of us. Which is it?”

He looked furious now, shaking his head. “Hermione, you can’t…”

“Release my testimonies to the public or I will go to the press and do it myself,” she snapped, cutting him off. “I refuse to be an innocent bystander to this shit, and if I have to use my status as a decorated war-hero to make that clear, then I will.”

She spun on her heel, marching back to the Floo without a backwards glance. She had come here to get help from someone she respected; someone she trusted to do the right thing, and it was now crystal clear that he was part of the problem.

“Choose your friends wisely, Miss Granger,” he called after her, his deep voice resonating around the room.

She gave a dry laugh in response, throwing a handful of sparkling powder into the flames and answering as she stepped in.

“Funnily enough, you’re not the first person to give me that advice lately.”

***

The prefect schedule, which had appeared on the common room notice board on their second day back, had them all on evening patrol duty twice a month in rotating pairs. Apparently forced proximity in the common room was not quite enough ‘unity’ for the school board, as it was clear that the assignments were not random. Hermione’s first patrol was with Daphne Greengrass, and she wasn’t alone.

“Alright, Granger?”

Hermione looked between Daphne and Tracey in confusion. “Er, hi Tracey. Are you on patrol?”

She shrugged, linking her arm through Daphne’s territorially. “No offence, but none of us are going anywhere alone.”

“She won’t be alone,” Hermione replied, slightly defensive as she pushed upright from the wall outside of the eighth year common room where she had been waiting.

Tracey shrugged, tugging a blushing Daphne into step with her as they began to walk the patrol route. “Come or don’t, Granger, we don’t care.”

With a soft huff, Hermione followed, not prepared to just abandon her duty. The two Slytherin girls muttered quietly between them, walking at a leisurely pace as the shadows lengthened to cover the castle. Hermione made a mental note to bring a book with her next time. Reading while walking was a skill she had yet to master, but it was a good excuse to learn.

They were approaching the library a while later when they heard voices. Whispered giggles echoed around the corner, followed by a low grunt that made Hermione roll her eyes. Surely any common room would be more comfortable than against a stone wall. Less risky too.

With a flick of her wand, Daphne sent a non-verbal jinx into the next alcove. Tracey laughed loudly at the shriek of pain emitted by Stewart Ackerley as he tumbled out into the corridor, his trousers around his ankles. Orla Quirke stumbled out beside him with scarlet cheeks, fumbling to button up her shirt. Hermione bit her lips together firmly as she tried to hide her amusement, but as the Ravenclaw fifth year leapt to his feet and yanked his clothes back into place, his embarrassment turned quickly to anger.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!” he yelled, prompting a nearby portrait of an elderly wizard to mutter loudly about impertinent upstarts.

Daphne gave an apathetic shrug, though her posture was defensive. “You’re breaking curfew.”

He took an aggressive step towards her. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“Back off, Ackerely,” Tracey ordered with a dark look, levelling her wand at him.

Scowling, he spat on the ground by her feet. “Slytherin scum, you don’t belong here.”

“I think you’ll find that you are the ones who don’t belong here, Ackerley,” Hermione interjected, stepping around Daphne with her wand held loosely by her side. She looked him up and down with her lip curling. The Ravenclaw couple looked dumbfounded, clearly not having noticed her behind the others.

“Hermione! I…”

She cut him off with a wave of her wand. “Langlock. I don’t want to hear it. Twenty points from Ravenclaw for being out after curfew, and another twenty for undermining house unity and challenging the authority of a prefect.”

He made a gagging sound as his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. She waved a hand at the mess on the floor, ignoring the glare Orla was sending her. “Plus five more for disrespecting school property. Clean that up and get back to your house.”

Folding her arms, she waited, twitching a brow up when they didn't immediately move. Kicking into gear, Orla quickly scourgified the mess before grabbing Stewart by the arm and tugging him in the direction of the Ravenclaw common room. Both shot angry looks back at the three girls, and Hermione didn’t pocket her wand again until they were well out of sight.

“Come on then,” she muttered to the Slytherins, leading the way and nodding in acknowledgment to the portrait, who had broken into light applause.

The next hour was blissfully uneventful, if somewhat silent. She noticed the caretaker’s familiar, Mrs Norris, following them for a few corridors at one point, but it wasn’t until they were nearly back to their own common room that any of them spoke.

“Why did you shield Draco from the Weasel’s hex?”

Stopping, Hermione looked back at Daphne’s voice. “He didn’t defend himself. I wasn’t just going to stand there and watch Ron hurt him.”

“Ok, but why?” Tracey pressed. “Isn’t Weasley your boyfriend?”

Hermione groaned. “For Merlin’s sake, no. He is not. And it’s irrelevant anyway. Malfoy doesn’t deserve to get hurt because Ron can’t control his temper.”

“Don’t you hate him?”

She scrunched up her nose in momentary confusion. “Ron?”

Daphne looked at her incredulously. “Brightest witch, my arse. Malfoy. You hate Malfoy.”

“I really don’t,” Hermione argued, hands on her hips. “I haven’t in a long time.”

There was a heavy pause as they seemed to digest that information, followed by a quick glance between them that made Hermione sigh. “Just ask me.”

Daphne shrugged. “You stuck up for us tonight, you protected Draco, and from what you said on the train something else happened over the summer. Why aren’t you treating us like everyone else is?”

“He didn’t tell you?” she asked, getting stuck on what she had said. “What happened in the summer?”

Tracey shook her head. “He refuses to talk about it.”

A sparkle of warmth buzzed in Hermione’s chest at that knowledge, knowing that Malfoy could have easily used the incident as ammunition against her. She realised the Slytherin girls were still looking at her expectantly.

“It was war. We were all trying to save ourselves and our loved ones in an impossible situation. Too many people seem to refuse to see that, but I won’t. And I won’t let people swing the prejudice around to make themselves feel better either.”

With that, she turned and walked the final corridor back to the common room, ready to turn in. Most eighth years seemed to still be up when she entered the main room. The boys were gathered around a game of wizarding chess, groaning and laughing as Seamus made a move against Anthony, while the Patil twins were sitting in the study area with Hannah and Susan, watching Parvati sketch something on a piece of parchment.

“Ooh Hermione,” she called when she spotted her. “What do you think of this makeup look for the party tomorrow?”

Hermione knew that the quickest way to get to her bed was to play along, so wandered over and hummed her appreciation for the design. It was a little much, in her honest opinion, but she had as little desire to debate it with Parvati as she did to go to the party at all.

A warm hand landed on her back, startling her slightly. Ron’s face came into view as she straightened, and she recognised his cajoling, flirtatious smile.

“I like it,” he said, shuffling closer and trapping her against the table as he peered down at the design. “You should wear it.”

She frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn that much makeup.”

“Try it,” he shrugged. “I bet it’s sexy on you.”

Reaching round to peel his hand off her back, she shuffled around to step away from the table, earning herself some space. “This party is just Ginny being Ginny. I’ll show my face because I promised I would, but I am not dressing up for it.”

His face dropped. “You’re not dressing up for me?”

“Ronald Weasley, don’t be a sexist pig,” she snapped loudly, making him recoil slightly. “If I dress up, it will be for myself. I am not a doll for you to play with.”

He smirked at her, apparently deciding that she was flirting with him. “But I like playing with you, Mione.”

Her brows pulled together as the girls around them giggled. She opened her mouth to refute the suggestion that he had, in fact, ever played with her at all, but Padma cut in before she could speak.

“Godric, you two, get a room.”

The girls giggled again, Ron grinning lasciviously and trying to snag her hip. She stepped back, fighting not to roll her eyes as she shook her head. “Stop it, all of you. You’re being ridiculous, and I’m going to bed.”

Unfortunately, Ron decided to follow her as she walked into the Gryffindor corridor, catching her arm and spinning her back to face him before she could step over the boundary to the girl’s dorm. “Come to my room?”

She couldn’t suppress the eye roll then. “Ronald, I just told you that I am going to bed. I am not coming to your room. Please let me go.”

“No running from me tomorrow, Mione, we’re going to the party,” he grated, scowling slightly as he released her and she stepped back behind the safety of the wards. She had never been more grateful for the warding of the female dorms than she was in that moment.

She nodded distractedly, needing to escape the conversation. “We’ll both be there. Goodnight, Ron.”

She took the last few steps to her door and pushed inside with a huff of relief. His pushiness was getting ridiculous, and she made a mental note to sit down and talk to him about what she wanted. Or, more specifically, what she didn’t want. Because his recent behaviour had made it all the more clear to her that she was not interested in him that way.

Being his friend was hard enough.

Chapter Text

Hermione had barely swallowed her final mouthful of dessert at Friday dinner time when a delicate, but terrifyingly strong, hand wrapped around her wrist.

“Time to get ready,” Ginny announced with a wide smile, yanking her to her feet. “We’re going to Parvati’s room.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she grabbed her bag. “Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not to wear something boring or try to skip out altogether. It's a party, Hermione, it’s supposed to be fun.”

“Is it?” she sighed in answer, reluctantly allowing herself to be pulled out of the Great Hall until they reached the eighth year common room door. Ginny spoke the password without hesitation, not even glancing around the common area as she marched them straight into the Gryffindor dorm.

Hermione gave her a surprised look that just made Ginny smirk. “What? Did you really think I wouldn’t know how to get into my boyfriend’s room?”

“No,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “I’m just surprised I haven’t seen you here.”

Ginny winked and whispered, “Invisibility cloak, duh.”

Parvati’s door opened at the sound of their voices, Padma’s head poking out with a grin. “Ladies.”

“I should grab my clothes,” Hermione began, attempting to head for her own room, but Ginny stopped her.

“Nope, we’ve got you covered, come on.”

She frowned as she was tugged into a room that looked almost identical to her own, apart from the piles of clothing scattered on every available space. It looked like a high-end boutique’s fitting rooms after a day of mad sales. “I’m not dressing like a…”

Parvati, who had clearly skipped dinner in favour of getting ready, spun away from the mirror on her overly high heels to glare at her. “Like what, Granger?”

“Like a person who is even remotely comfortable at a party,” Hermione finished, chin lifting to meet Parvati’s challenge.

Parvati backed off with an unimpressed sniff, turning back to assess her outfit again in the long mirror. “Well some of us aren’t boring,” she said snarkily, brushing her hands over the mustard yellow silk on her hips.

“I’d rather be boring than vapid,” Hermione snapped in return, turning to leave but finding Ginny in her path.

“Stop, both of you, or I’ll hex you,” the redhead threatened very convincingly. “Mione, go put this on.”

She shoved a bundle of bronze fabric into her hands and shoved her towards the privacy screen in the corner. Already tired of the entire ordeal, Hermione acquiesced and slipped behind the decorated wooden boards as the others began chatting.

The dress she had been given fit her like a glove, and was clearly Ginny’s compromise for her as it was simultaneously understated and sexy. The witch knew her well enough to realise that she wouldn’t wear anything that she wasn’t comfortable in, no matter how much they pushed her. The main body of it was a rich mahogany mini dress, cutting low on her chest and high on her thighs, and would be an immediate and absolute no by itself. The effect was muted, however, by the burnished, metallic mesh overlay which covered her from neck to knees, as well as adding tightly laced sleeves down to her wrists.

“Does it fit?” Ginny called, clapping happily as Hermione stepped out into the room. “Oh it's perfect, I knew it!”

Padma looked impressed. “Nice, Hermione, that colour is stunning on you.”

Hermione smiled gratefully. “Thanks Padma, you look great.”

The witch beamed and adjusted the neckline of her peacock blue dress. Ginny bent down to grab something before handing a pair of gold-strapped sandals to Hermione.

“Here, put these on and I’ll do your hair.”

Hermione groaned. “No heels, please Gin.”

She was waved away. “No deal, you need heels with that dress. The shoes already have cushioning and stability charms, you’ll be fine.”

It was another hour of unfathomable faffing before Ginny declared that all four girls were ready to party. Wearing a short jumpsuit that seemed to be made entirely out of huge, gold sequins, she led the way out into the main area, which was now lit only by hundreds of floating candles.

Hermione looked at her, impressed, as the others went over to join the small crowd of people already dancing in the centre of the room. It seemed that most seventh years had accepted the invitation to party in the school’s newest common room. “Nice charmwork, Gin.”

The redhead grinned in answer, squealing in delighted surprise as the Gryffindor boys arrived, throwing herself at Harry. Ron caught Hermione’s eye and gave her a slow, appreciative once-over before holding out a hand.

“Drink?”

Forcing a smile, she nodded, but didn’t take his hand. Turning to the others, she grabbed Neville’s shirt sleeve and tugged lightly. “Come on guys, who’s brave enough to try Ginny’s punch? I hear she got the recipe from George, so be warned!”

They laughed, and she didn’t glance at Ron again as they made their way to the drinks table as a group. The Hufflepuffs boys were already there, debating the concept of flavoured firewhisky, and it gave her the chance to hang back and find Harry and Ginny on the sofas.

“Hi,” Harry said, his smile warm but a little tentative. “I’m sorry about the Potions thing. I didn’t know we’d be stuck with them.”

She raised a brow at him, unimpressed. It was the first time that he had even admitted fault, though she suspected that the fact she had been avoiding him, along with Ginny’s elbow digging persistently into his ribs, was the real reason that he was apologising.

“Is he being a total prat? Well, obviously he is, it’s Malfoy… I could talk to Slughorn?” he offered, his grimace showing her how badly he did not want to risk swapping partners.

She sighed. “No, he’s not. We actually work really well together. Don’t worry about it. Though if you could talk to Ron about backing off, that would be great.”

Harry grimaced as Ginny leaned over him to reply. “He’s just protective, Hermione, cut him some slack.”

“Slack? He attacked him!” Hermione argued.

Harry gave her a look that she struggled to interpret. “And you protected Malfoy. It was odd, Hermione. Ron’s still annoyed about it.”

“I’m not going to leave someone defenceless, Harry, no matter who it is.”

He shrugged. “Yeh, but it’s Malfoy. Ron hates him. You hate him. It’s weird.”

She frowned. “I don’t hate him.”

Ginny blinked at her in surprise. “Of course you do, he bullied you for years and then watched you get tortured!”

“I am so sick of people telling me what I feel!” she snapped, pushing to her feet with a sharp shake of her head. “I’m getting a drink.”

Walking away from the couple before it descended into an argument, she headed straight back to the drinks table and grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey out of Seamus’ hand. He grinned at her as she poured a healthy shot into a glass and downed it.

“Well someone is finally loosening up,” he chuckled as she repeated the move for a second time before giving the bottle back to him.

She glared at him and grabbed a butterbeer. “Don’t be an arse, Seamus.”

Twenty minutes, and a pleasant buzz of alcohol, later, she was laughing at Susan’s impression of Professor Trelawney when heavy hands snaked around her waist. She stiffened as Ron’s hot breath rushed over her neck, twisting to look up into his sea blue eyes.

“Can we talk, please?” she murmured, pressing her hands against his chest in an attempt to give herself space.

His eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he gave her an enthusiastic nod. Grabbing her hand, he turned and led her over to a pair of deep burgundy armchairs in the corner. Sitting on one, he attempted to tug her into his lap, frowning as she resisted. “I want to talk, Ron.”

“Ok,” he agreed, releasing her and letting her step back a little. Sitting forward, he leaned his elbows on his knees as he looked up at her, red hair falling onto his forehead in a way that she remembered she had once found endearing.

She waited for his eyes to make it up to her face before she spoke, nerves prickling in her gut. “I wanted to speak with you, Ronald, about our relationship. I’m conscious that everything has been up in the air since the war, and that everyone has needed time to work out how to move forward.”

She cringed a little at the overly formal wording, feeling like she was giving a speech rather than attempting to bare her feelings, but he didn’t seem to mind. He stood before she could continue, reaching for her as he stepped closer. “It’s alright, Mione, I knew you’d come back to me when you were ready.”

She held up a hand. “I’m not ready. Well, I am, but…”

She gasped as he abruptly pushed into her space, bumping his weight into her until she was pressed against the bookcase behind her. Pushing a hand into her hair, he tugged her head back and pressed his mouth to hers, groaning loudly. Her muffled squeak of protest only seemed to spur him on, apparently misinterpreted as encouragement, and he pushed a knee between hers as he thrust his tongue into her mouth.

Managing to wriggle her hand free from where he had trapped it between them, she dug into her pocket for her wand and shot a strong, non-verbal jinx at his leg. Stumbling back with a surprised curse, he whipped out his own wand and spun around in search of the threat, turning back to her as he realised what had happened.

“What the hell?!”

She was trembling now, holding her wand loosely by her side as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yes, Ron, what the hell? Why don’t you ever just bloody LISTEN to me?! I was trying to tell you that I don’t think we should be together, and you just decide to assault me?!”

He drew back in shock, and she saw that several sets of eyes were now on them. Watching, she realised, but still not acting on her behalf even though it had to be obvious what had happened.

The distraction did not work in her favour, as she didn’t see Ron’s confusion morph into anger until he was up in her face again.

“Assault you?!” he hissed, the smell of alcohol sour on his breath. “You have been stringing me along all summer, Hermione. I gave you time and space, but you are my girlfriend and it’s about damn time you stop being such a fucking tease and start acting like it!”

With a loud bang, he went flying, her defensive spell sending him soaring back until he crashed down on top of a bewildered Ernie MacMillan.

“Fucking hell, Hermione!” Seamus yelled, running over to help Ron and Ernie up.

The music cut off abruptly as a sea of confused, worried, and angry faces stared at them from around the room. She felt her cheeks heat as rage began to crawl across her skin like a nest of attacking ants, her lungs tightening as she watched Seamus take up position beside a scowling Ron and draw his wand.

“Me?!” she hissed, noticing Harry move around the crowd to stand in between them all. “That was clearly defensive, or the room would have reacted!”

“Ron wouldn’t attack you, Hermione,” Harry reasoned, holding out placating hands. “Put your wand away, yeh?”

She scoffed loudly. “At the risk of sounding repetitive, me?! He kissed me against my will and then called me a tease when I pushed him away. I think I’ll hold onto my only defence, thanks.”

“Against your will?!” Ron yelled, his hair a mess as he shoved a hand through it in irritation. “You’re my girlfriend!”

She looked up at the high ceiling as she shrieked through gritted teeth, the sound of sheer frustration accompanied by a wave of accidental magic that blew out the section of candles above her. She was losing grip on her magic, on herself, and she realised that she had truly and completely had enough.

“I am NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” she screamed at him, the ferocity making his eyes widen and causing Seamus to warily raise his wand. “I’m not even sure that I’m your friend right now, Ron, seeing as you apparently think it’s ok to treat me this way!”

Harry cut between them, grabbing hold of her shoulders and looking upset. “Hermione, come on, you need to calm down before you say something you don’t mean. This isn’t like you.”

She looked up into his familiar, green eyes, speaking low enough that only he could hear. “I am telling you, right now, that Ron was out of line and that I need your support.”

It was the doubt in his expression that broke her. She knew that the last few months had been hard on them, but he was her best friend, and he wasn’t choosing her. She stepped back as the cold splash of betrayal hit her, and she was sure that she felt something in her heart splinter as he let his hands drop without a fight.

Hanging on to the last flames of her anger, she lifted her chin and glanced around, noting how many of her so-called friends were hesitating to defend her. A horribly hot feeling behind her eyes threatened to push forward, but she fought back the tears as she focused back on Harry. “It’s funny, isn’t it, what it takes to show you who you can rely on.”

He began to shake his head, but she had no desire to hear any more. The Gryffindor crest on the other side of the room was her obvious escape, but with the crowd in between it may as well have been a mile away. Glancing around desperately for any other option, she was suddenly acutely aware that she had one avenue of escape almost directly behind her where none of them were likely to follow.

Turning on her heel, she cast a quick protection shield to cover her back as she marched resolutely into the Slytherin dorm. The fact that she thought it even remotely possible that any of them would cast at her back made her throat seize, but she strode down the corridor without reacting to the shout of surprise behind her.

Her jaw tensed as her mind whirled, and she veered left as the corridor split in two, barely registering where she was going as the shadows swallowed her. Her wand began to tap out a rapid pattern on her thigh as her emotions got the better of her, forcing her to focus on keeping hold of it as she blinked back hot tears. Finding a short corridor containing three unmarked doors, she hesitated as the reality of her situation suddenly crashed over her.

Trying to hold back the sob that was clawing its way up her throat, she pushed herself down the predictably green hallway and raised a fist to hammer on the closest door. She focused on her breathing as she waited, digging her nails into her palm to give her the jolt of pain that she needed to hang on. When the wooden door finally swung open, she looked up into darkly surprised eyes.

“Why are you in the snake pit, Golden Girl?”

She blinked at Blaise’s bemused but curious expression, realising that she had no idea how to answer. What she had needed was an escape, but now that she was beginning to fall apart in the aftermath, she had no idea what she had been thinking when she ran into their territory.

“I need… I…”

He folded his well-muscled arms and leaned against the door frame. “Careful, little lioness, you’ll get bitten down here.”

It was becoming harder to breathe, her hands suddenly shaking so badly that she heard her wand clatter to the floor. Blaise’s expression showed no sympathy as he watched her closely, no feeling at all in fact, and she realised that he had his own mask to wear. Perhaps they all did down here.

“Malfoy,” she croaked out, remembering in the ever-increasing haze that there was one person who had helped bring her back twice now. Blaise raised both a brow and a finger to silently point at the last door in the corridor, otherwise passive as he waited for her next move.

It must have been only a few feet, but the walk to Malfoy’s doorway felt like forever. Finally pressing her forehead against the cool, bevelled wood, she sucked in a tiny amount of air as the shadows around her began to creep into her vision like faceless phantoms. Her hand felt unnaturally heavy as she lifted it enough to land a single knock on the door, forgetting that she was balanced against it as it suddenly swung open.

Strong arms caught her as she sagged forwards, Malfoy’s startled gaze peering down at her as the light from his room surrounded him like a halo. She felt herself laugh at the thought, watching as his brow creased into a frown and he exchanged a few inaudible words with Blaise.

His mouth moved again, but the buzzing in her ears had deafened her. She no longer had control over her body, it had betrayed her yet again, and she was surprised that she was still able to see him at all when all of her other senses had abandoned her.

The world shifted as he scooped her up, shadowed eyes looking down at her in concern as the tilt and sway of movement proved too much. The darkness forged its final invasion, sucking her into blissfully empty blackness.

Chapter Text

She opened her eyes to silence and shadows.

Blinking rapidly as her mind tried to slot everything into place, she glanced around the low-lit room. The layout was almost identical to her own, and just as neatly kept, with Slytherin insignia hanging on the far wall. A green and silver striped tie looped over the back of the simple desk chair, a quill resting on the parchment on the desktop as if it had been put down in a hurry.

Her fingers dug into soft sheets as she stirred, the mesh of her dress scratching her thighs where it had ridden up slightly. Turning her head, she sucked in a soft breath as she saw long legs stretched out beside her, her gaze tracking up to meet his molten silver eyes.

He gently closed the book in his hands, his expression controlled and unreadable.

“Your mask is on,” she murmured absently, her voice rasping.

His eyes narrowed. “Did you hit your head?”

Everything abruptly fell into place with startling clarity, and she gasped as she scrambled upright until she was sitting beside him. She clapped a palm to her forehead as the world swam slightly, wincing as he spoke.

“I’d rather not have to lug you about again if you stand up too fast, perhaps you should move a little slower.”

She turned to glare at him. “Lug?! I’m not a sack of bloody flour.”

He raised a brow. “You collapsed on me and passed out, I should know.”

She pressed the heel of her hands against her bleary eyes, hunching forwards as she replayed the scene that had led her to his door. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”

There was a long pause before he answered, her husky breaths the only sound in the room.

“Why did you come here?”

She grimaced slightly before shaking her head, refusing to look at him again. “I don’t know. I needed to get away from them.”

“Them?”

“They weren’t listening,” she explained, staring down at the ragged edging of her dress as she dropped her hands. “Ron… acted badly. But apparently me standing up for myself puts me in the wrong…” She felt the tears loom again, finding that she didn’t have the energy to hold them back anymore. “No one was on my side. Not even Harry.”

“Explain ‘acted badly’,” Malfoy demanded, his voice unnervingly calm.

She bit her lip, chewing on it as she debated what to say. “He kissed me when I didn’t want him to. He thought I did, I think, but he wasn’t listening. I had to use magic to get him off me, and then everyone was blaming me.”

She screwed her eyes closed as she tried not to feel the weight of the pain he had caused. It felt like a chink in her armour, and if she let it crack her open she didn’t know what would happen.

Malfoy released a long, forceful breath through his nose before speaking. “You felt safer down here than with them.”

She gave a shaky, disbelieving breath of laughter, letting her head fall back against the headboard behind her with a soft thunk. She was beyond exhausted, both physically and mentally, and as she twisted her head to face him she saw that he was already watching her.

“You’re a mess, Granger,” he said, though the words contained no malice or judgement. His brow was creased with concern, his eyes searching her expression, and she understood that he wasn’t talking about her dishevelled appearance.

She nodded, more tears slipping silently down her wet cheeks. “I know.”

His lips pursed at her whispered admission. “You can’t keep pretending that it’ll go away on its own.”

“Everyone else is ok,” she argued half-heartedly. “I just need more time to get there.”

He scoffed, breaking eye contact and swinging his legs around to sit facing away from her on the edge of the bed. He straightened, stretching out his spine before he stood.

“You’re not stupid enough to believe that, Granger. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.”

She froze, looking around. “Where’s my…”

He plucked her wand off the desk and held it out to her, smirking slightly. “You’re lucky Blaise gave it back.”

She huffed disapprovingly as she took it, the familiar weight in her hand making her feel more secure. Not that she felt unsafe with Malfoy, which was a revelation in itself that she had yet to process, but having it with her was comforting nonetheless.

She hesitated as he opened the door and gestured for her to walk through. “I should go alone.”

He sighed and gestured again. “It’s two-thirty in the morning. No one is out there. And I don’t like the odds of you making it to your room without passing out again. Let’s go.”

She raised a brow at his tone, a stubborn part of her instinctively pushing back. “Bossy.”

He rolled his eyes at her and walked out of the room, apparently giving up on chivalry. “Move it, Granger, I would like to sleep at some point tonight.”

Guilt washed over her, prompting her to move. She trotted out after him, once again grateful that her heels were charmed to support her, and opened her mouth to apologise. He stopped her with a finger on his lips, glancing at the other doors. Pressing her lips together again, she quietly followed him out of the Slytherin dorm and breathed a small sigh of relief when they found the common room almost empty. Neville was sprawled out on one of the central sofas, but his arm hung loosely over the side as he snored softly, his face squashed against the cushions where he had apparently settled for the night.

Picking their way through the mess of bottles, glasses and playing cards, Hermione was surprised when Malfoy led her down the Gryffindor corridor without stopping. It was only at the point the hallway forked; the point where the wards prevented him entering the girls’ dorm, that he stopped and faced her.

“Go on,” he murmured, throwing a dark look towards the boys’ dorm. “Go to bed.”

She nodded, suddenly mute, and went to move past him. As she was about to step through the ward, his fingers leapt forward and circled her wrist, lightly tugging her to a stop.

“What is it?” she whispered, looking at him in confusion when he didn't immediately speak. He was frowning at her feet, and it was only when she tried to pull her wrist back that he looked up at her. His eyes looked black as pitch in the low light, but she could see some sort of emotion on his face that made her stomach clench.

“You have to feel it.”

She drew back a little, and he released her easily. “What?”

He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets and seeming to steel himself. “You’re suppressing it all. It’s why you keep losing control of it. You need to let yourself feel all the pain that you’re trying to ignore. If you keep hiding from it, you'll never move past it.”

She frowned and started to shake her head, but his harsh whisper cut her off.

“Granger, no one is okay. Stop pretending you are.”

With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows without a sound. She stood for several long minutes as she stared at the spot where he had vanished, her mind unexpectedly quiet when she slowly turned and made her way back to her room.

In a haze of deceptive calm, she lit a single lamp and dropped her wand beside the bed as she slipped onto the window seat, absentmindedly pushing books out of the way to bring her feet up in front of her. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she focused on the meandering rivulets of rain running down the window, with nothing but empty blackness beyond.

Feel it.

Eyes unfocused, she allowed the question to form in her mind's eye.

How?

The concept of allowing that pain to touch her was terrifying, but a part of her knew that he was right. She couldn't move on and begin to live her life again until she admitted that ignoring it wasn't working. It was there, it was real, and it wasn't going away.

As soon as the thought had formed, the bubble of pressure rose in her chest. It was right there, she realised, desperate for release. It pushed again, insistent and agonising, and she decided then that she had to let it come.

Her breath caught as the wave crested and crashed over her, her body jolting as it crushed her mental walls and she was swept into memory. She saw the faces, the loss, the fear. Felt the pain, the torture, the hopelessness. More than that, she was forced to face the truth that the final battle had not been the end of it. Voldemort was defeated, but his legacy was long lasting. Nothing would ever be the same, and she was not the only one with scars.

It was only as the sky lightened enough to make shapes out of shadows that her eyes blinked and began to focus again. Her cheeks were wet and aching, her breath misting the window as exhaustion gusted out of her in a long sigh. The pounding rain eased with the dawn, leaving the stone walls of the castle glistening and fresh after the onslaught. Battered, but still standing strong.

She wasn't there yet, she knew, but the sight gave her hope. And that, in itself, was progress.

***

The Monday morning Prophet featured a large photograph of Corban Yaxley being dragged through the ministry atrium, greasy hair hanging over his sneering face.

“How the hell is he out of Azkaban?” Neville muttered from Hermione’s left side, peering over her shoulder to read with her.

She shook her head. “It’s temporary. He’s trying to barter information for a lighter sentence.” Releasing an irritated sigh, she finished reading and handed him the paper. “They’re clearly struggling to find the ones who ran.”

Finishing off her third slice of toast with a gulp of pumpkin juice, she smiled as Luna flicked to the next page of the week’s publication of the Quibbler and turned it upside down. She was beyond grateful for the pair since emerging from her room at Sunday lunchtime and finding them waiting for her. She had slept for most of Saturday, as well as spent more time reflecting, and by the time the need for food had drawn her out, she was ready to face the world again.

But perhaps not Ron and Harry. A fact which Neville and Luna seemed to grasp without her needing to ask, and they had proved to be a highly successful barrier. Even then, as Harry attempted to lean around him for the third time during breakfast to speak to her, Neville opened the Prophet in his face with an exaggerated flick and proceeded to loudly read out the weekend’s Quidditch results.

Biting back a grin, she grabbed her bag from under the bench and stood. “I’ve got to get up to Runes, I’ll see you later.”

Luna waved a cheery goodbye as Hermione left, ignoring the feeling of eyes watching her as she left the breakfast crowd behind and headed for the sixth floor. By the time she had made it up the first four staircases, she was cringing a little as her thighs protested the climb, and a chuckle behind her made her pause and glance back.

Blaise and Theo were grinning as they approached, slowing their own climb until they stopped a few steps below. “Unfit, Granger?”

She narrowed her eyes at Theo. “Rude.”

He chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender, but Blaise was looking her over with a salacious expression. “Have to disagree with you there, my friend. She is most certainly fit.”

Hermione snorted, unable to hold back the amused sound as Theo grimaced at him. “Salazar, Zabini, that was terrible.” He shook his head in disappointment as Blaise shrugged unapologetically.

Theo abandoned his friend and climbed to meet her, smiling again. “Shall we?”

She rolled her eyes playfully but nodded, turning back to continue the climb beside him and hiking her bag higher on her shoulder.

“I’ll just stay back here,” Blaise called. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Theo sighed and gave her a pleading look. “Please don’t hex the idiot, he’s harmless, promise.”

She shrugged, replying loudly enough for Blaise to overhear. “If looking at my legs keeps him out of trouble, he can knock himself out. But if he touches me, I’ll do that for him.”

Blaise clapped a hand dramatically over his chest and pretended to swoon. “Oh Granger, bestill my heart.”

Theo was looking at her carefully as they made it to the Runes classroom. Tilting his head thoughtfully, he reached over to open the door for her. “You look good, Hermione. Stronger.”

She met his gaze as she passed him, giving him a small smile. “Thanks.”

Sliding into her seat, she dug out her project notes and textbook, intending to use the few minutes until the lesson began wisely. It was a struggle to concentrate, however, with her attention fixed on the door as she waited for the others to arrive.

She hadn’t seen Malfoy at all since the drama of the party, and she was dreading having to face him now. Admittedly, she wanted to thank him for both his help and his advice, but the fact that she had fled to him like he was some sort of hero was making her want to run away and hide. A part of her was sure he was going to sneer at her and rub it in her face the moment he saw her, and for some reason the idea of that hurt more than it ever had previously.

She deliberately drew in a calming breath, shoring up her courage as the door opened and the two Slytherin girls entered, chatting quietly. Pansy pulled Malfoy in behind her, her arm linked through his as she gave a low laugh at something Daphne said. Snapping her focus back down to her parchment, Hermione pointedly ignored him as he sat beside her at the desk, watching in her periphery as he slouched back in the chair and turned to speak to the boys behind.

Her heart rate was beginning to drop back to normal by the time Professor Babbling arrived and began the lesson, and Hermione was happily in her element as she scribbled notes on blood activated runes.

It was as the focus veered onto the types of blood that tension subtly crept into the air. Malfoy's posture beside her stiffened slightly, and she saw Daphne shift uncomfortably in her seat as the Professor continued obliviously.

“...the source of the blood will affect its power, and consequently determine the potency of the rune. Many wizards have claimed that the magical purity of family lines can affect the power of blood, but it has never been proven. What is clear to those of us who wish to utilise runes to their full efficacy, is that the only worthwhile consideration is the nature of the blood harvest. Slicing your finger to sketch a rune in blood is a powerful tool, yet lifeblood from a pumping artery increases the energy tenfold.”

She paused, glancing meaningfully at three girls in the room. “And ladies, your menstrual blood, particularly if harvested on a full moon, has more power than any ingredient you can find in a potions laboratory. Use it wisely!”

A soft, strangled sound from behind her made Hermione twist around in time to see the tail end of Blaise’s disgusted gag. Pansy scoffed, clearly having seen it herself, before loudly muttering about ‘idiotic boys’.

Hermione raised a brow at him. “You would genuinely work with less power to avoid blood that came from between a woman's legs? Isn't that your favourite place to be?”

Theo sucked in a shocked breath and proceeded to choke on it as Pansy let out a loud cackle of laughter. Blaise, however, grinned at her as he replied. “For three blessed weeks of the month, yes, it is.”

She shook her head at him. “Why I’m surprised that you lack a proper appreciation of the female body, I have no idea.”

Malfoy snorted at Blaise’s highly offended expression, provoking her to face him fully. She sent him a challenging look. “Are you claiming to know any better?”

Her question didn’t seem to phase him, and he raised a platinum brow as his amusement dropped into his signature smirk. “I fully appreciate the female form, Granger, including the perks of shark week.”

She felt her cheeks heat slightly, and she heard Theo snigger as Professor Babbling cleared her throat loudly. Hermione hadn’t seen this side of Malfoy in a long time, and never directed at her. The full force of it was scarily intoxicating.

“Let’s get back on topic, perhaps?” Babbling called disapprovingly, lips pursed as she demanded their attention.

Tearing her eyes away from Malfoy’s, Hermione turned to face the front and forced herself to pull it together. Picking up her quill as the lecture continued, she glanced across to find Pansy watching her shrewdly. Dark hair hanging in a shining wave, the witch propped her chin on her hand as their gazes clashed and narrowed her eyes slightly, more contemplative than displeased.

They were gathering their belongings at the end of the lesson when Theo piped up, throwing an arm around Daphne’s shoulders as the Professor made an amusingly speedy exit.

“Clearly I have the right idea,” he said with a grin, waggling his brows at Hermione. “Stick with dicks, avoid the mess.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Er, dicks make a mess Theo.”

He shrugged as Blaise fell about laughing and Pansy grinned. “Now, now, Granger. That entirely depends where you put them.”

Chapter Text

Hermione opened her eyes to bright sunlight, grateful for another full night’s sleep.

The past couple of weeks had seen her getting stronger each day, her mental and physical progress working hand in hand. The huge initial step she had made in facing her trauma had renewed her ability to eat and rest, taking an enormous element of strain from her shoulders and, in turn, allowing her further time to reflect and heal.

The nightmares were still an issue, and her fight or flight response was still easily triggered, but she was coping. She was living.

Today, though, would be tough.

“Happy birthday, Hermione,” she whispered into the silent room, allowing herself a moment of melancholy before pushing out of bed and working through her usual morning routine. Pulling on jeans and a dusky-rose sweatshirt, she grabbed the latest muggle crime thriller she was reading and decided to appreciate the sunny Saturday morning down by the lake.

It was too early for many students to be up and about, but the Gryffindor Quidditch team were already helping themselves to breakfast in the Great Hall, decked out in practice robes and readying for a full morning of flying. She held back her grimace when she saw them, fixing a placid smile on her face as she went over to grab a couple of pastries. Demelza Robins gave her a friendly wave as she approached, Dean mumbling a greeting through a mouthful of toast as Ginny’s spine stiffened with tension.

The main fallout from the party incident had been the strain on her close friendships, but it was particularly true with Ginny. In general, her relationship with the Gryffindor eighth years was now cool but civil. Neville was the exception, having made it immediately clear that he refused to choose sides, dragging Luna over to the Gryffindor dining table most mealtimes to help keep the peace. Harry was also trying, though she was finding it difficult to forget the ease with which he had taken Ron’s word over her own. He had reached out a few times, but it was clear that he was struggling as Ron was refusing to even acknowledge Hermione’s existence.

For Ginny, though, it seemed the choice had been easy. Blood came first, so her loyalty lay with her brother and Hermione was in the wrong. While she couldn’t really fault the strength of Ginny’s commitment to her family, Hermione had to admit that it had hurt to see how easily one of her closest friends had abandoned her. It had also caused an additional rift between Ginny and Harry, as she made her displeasure clear whenever he made moves to repair the friendship. A rather public argument had occurred only a few days before, his frustration with Ginny boiling over and leading to a shouting match in the entrance hall, sending gossip flying around the castle at an unprecedented rate.

Wrapping a couple of apple fritters in a napkin, she ignored Ginny’s reaction to her appearance and wished the team well in their practice before walking away. She refused to get caught up in it all and let it taint the day, and the quiet solitude of the lake was beckoning.

The sun was high in the sky when she dropped her finished novel onto the grass with a bittersweet sigh. She lay back, basking in the satisfaction of the completed storyline while mourning that she now had to let the characters go. A distant shout caught her attention, carried to her on the breeze that whipped tendrils of hair into her face as she sat up in search of its source.

A small group of sixth years were boisterously making their way down the path from the castle, heading for the neighbouring village of Hogsmeade. She smiled as one of the girls jumped up onto the back of Owen Cauldwell, screeching as he took off at a sprint with her clinging on for dear life. The group laughed and catcalled, and something in Hermione’s chest settled. This was what they had fought for. The true victory was right in front of her in that moment.

Deciding that the birthday girl deserved some sugar quills from Honeydukes, she pushed the novel back into her deceptively small bag and followed the sixth years towards Hogsmeade. Her stomach grumbled a little, telling her that she had managed to miss lunch while lost in her book, but she could easily grab food from the village.

Two hours later, she had restocked her ink supplies at Scrivenshaft’s and purchased ‘A Dark History of Blood Rites and Runes’ from the suspicious looking owner of the Tomes and Scrolls bookshop. She wasn’t sure what exactly he thought the Golden Girl would be planning to use it for, but she dutifully explained that she simply wanted some light reading around the topic for school until he reluctantly accepted her payment, his doubt evident as he watched her leave with narrowed eyes.

Sucking contentedly on a sugar quill as she wandered towards the Three Broomsticks Inn, she stopped dead and swore under her breath as a wiry figure stepped out of Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop. Rita Skeeter’s elaborately bejewelled glasses caught the light as she glanced around, her trademark nasty smirk sending Hermione diving into the nearest cobbled alleyway mere moments before she was spotted.

Desperate to avoid the press, particularly the woman who remained determined to besmirch Hermione’s character at every possible moment regardless of her war hero status, she trotted quickly down the shadowed alley and into the side streets of the village. Looping around past the main village square to rejoin the high street further down, she squeaked in surprise as a reporter seemingly popped out of nowhere and snapped a picture. Hermione didn’t recognise the dark-haired photographer, but now that she had been spotted it would be mere minutes before the swarm descended.

Cursing herself for not considering the fact that the press might be lurking around in wait for them, even this far from London, she backed away as he called her name.

“Miss Granger! Are you meeting your friends for a birthday celebration? Or Mr Weasley for a romantic rendezvous? Did he give you a ring for your birthday?”

She grimaced at him but knew better than to answer. Anything she said would be twisted into whatever they wanted to print anyway. Turning, her eyes caught on a greying sign of a severed, bloodied boar’s head and she realised that she had potentially found her escape. Aberforth might have run an inn that was questionably clean and boasted a somewhat disreputable clientele, but the press were strictly forbidden from entering the Hog’s Head, and they never pushed their luck.

No one messed with a Dumbledore, after all.

Pushing in through the blackened door, she picked her way across the grimy floor as piercing blue eyes looked up at her from behind the bar. “What do you want?”

She scoffed, moving to lean on the grimy bar top and then deciding against it. “Hello to you too, Aberforth.” He silently raised a bushy, white eyebrow at her, making her shrug lightly and slip onto a rickety bar stool. “The press are outside, and I’m really not in the mood.”

Aberforth grunted and grabbed a bottle from the back shelf, pouring a shot of firewhisky into a glass tumbler and pushing it towards her. She nodded in thanks as he dropped a filthy rag on the bar and grumbled something about his goats as he disappeared into the back, clearly not in the mood to be sociable. Not, she suspected, that he ever was.

A low echo of laughter sounded from a table that was tucked out of sight around the corner of the bar, the sound breaking easily into the otherwise quiet room. Glancing around, she took in the cramped, shadowed space that she was somewhat familiar with, dirty tables scattered around the grime-coated stone floor. A fire crackled heartily in the small fireplace, sitting beneath the infamous enchanted hog’s head that was snorting lazily in its sleep where it hung on the wall. A lone figure sat at a crooked table near the door, hunched over a pint of dark liquid with a deep hood covering its features. A pair of red orbs seemed to be glowing from its shadowed face, and she quickly looked away, turning back towards the bar and leaping in surprise as she found a grinning Blaise Zabini standing directly beside her.

His grin only widened as she clutched a hand to her chest in shock. “Fancy seeing you here, Granger.” He glanced down at her untouched drink and wrinkled his perfectly straight nose. “Please tell me you’re not drinking that.”

She looked at the dirty glass and shook her head. “Er, no, I’m just…” She sighed and jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the entrance. “Hiding until the reporters give up.”

He looked surprised. “Salazar, I know you’re all golden or whatever, but they really follow you everywhere?”

“Apparently they guessed that I’d leave school grounds today,” she shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, they aren’t allowed in here, I’ll wait.”

Flicking his wand, he summoned a bottle from the top shelf of the bar and jerked his chin. “Come have a drink with us, then.”

She hesitated long enough for him to lean towards her, raising a challenging brow. “Scared of snakes, little lioness?”

“Should I be?” she answered snarkily, pressing a hand to his chest to push him out of her space. He moved easily, letting her get off the stool and dust off her jeans. “Lead the way, then.”

He grinned and gave her a mocking bow, grabbing her drink and leading her around the bar. Five pairs of eyes flared in surprise at her appearance, their quiet conversation stalling as Blaise guided her to the seat that had clearly been his. Theo grinned at her as Blaise pulled up another chair for himself, leaning around Malfoy who was sitting to her left.

“What on earth are you doing in this dump, Hermione?”

She shot Theo a wry smile as Blaise scourgified her glass and refilled it from the new bottle. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Malfoy gave a low chuckle, attracting startled glances from the Slytherin girls. Hermione turned to find his sharp eyes on her as he swallowed a mouthful of amber liquid from his glass.

“She’s hiding from the press,” Blaise explained.

Pansy scoffed, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the heavy wooden tabletop. “Hiding? Aren’t you the hero? They love you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Sure, they love me. Not as much as they love Harry, but enough that they don’t give me a single iota of privacy. Merlin forbid that I just try to move on with my life in peace.”

Pansy gave an exaggerated pout. “Poor Granger, it must be so hard for you.”

“Fuck off,” Hermione snapped. “They just want stories that sell, and they don’t care how they get them. Knowing my luck, tomorrow’s headline will be Golden Girl or Grimy Girl? Granger’s dodgy birthday dealings with disreputable Dumbledore brother.” She took a long swig of her firewhisky. “Or perhaps it’ll be Worried Weasley left Wanting: Hermione hides in horrifying Hog’s Head after ruthless Ron rejection. And then I’ll get a lovely shower of howlers along with it to really make my morning.”

Daphne released a breathy, disbelieving laugh as the others simply stared at her in bewilderment. “Those were pretty good, actually.”

Hermione raised her glass in thanks before swallowing the rest of her drink in one. “Cheers. Anyway, I should go.”

She made to stand, but Pansy reached forward to grab her wrist. “It’s your birthday?”

Hermione nodded, frowning as she tried and failed to tug out of Pansy’s death grip.

The dark-haired girl narrowed her eyes. “Why aren’t you celebrating in style with those Golden Boys of yours?”

“Let her go, Pans,” Malfoy murmured, quiet but firm. Pansy released her and sat back, giving him an unimpressed look.

Blaise leaned over and refilled Hermione’s glass. “Well here’s to the birthday girl!”

“Did you reject him ruthlessly?” Theo asked with a wicked grin. “Was his gift awful or something?”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. Shooting back the drink, she coughed as the burn caught the back of her throat. “I don’t know,” she croaked in reply. “Does nothing count as awful?”

Theo and Daphne exchanged horrified looks. “Nothing?!”

Hermione sighed. “Let’s not point out how wonderfully pathetic it is that I have no one in my life who feels the need to acknowledge my birthday, ok?”

Pansy scoffed and raised her glass. “Sufficiently pathetic to drink with the lowly snakes. Bottoms up.”

Hermione found the drink in front of her refilled once more, Malfoy leaning forward to clink his glass gently against hers. She met his gaze as his knee pressed against her thigh, his smirk lacking the cruelty she was used to seeing there.

“Happy birthday Granger.”

***

They stumbled onto school grounds only moments before the protection wards activated for the night, the shimmering dome sealing shut behind them as Tracey tripped into Daphne and they toppled over like giggling dominos. Pansy tapped her toe impatiently as Blaise scooped them both up again, sliding a supporting arm around each of their waists.

“If your lack of ability to hold your liquor gets us caught, I will maim you both,” she hissed, strutting off down the winding path towards the castle with surprisingly sturdy steps, long hair flaring out behind her. Hermione would never have guessed that the girl had been drinking at all if she hadn’t personally witnessed the number of empty bottles the group had left behind.

The waxing moon lit their path as they rounded the eerily silent lake, the breeze light and cool over the black water. A shiver ran over Hermione’s skin as she glanced up at the stars, blinking rapidly as they seemed to dance and sway to ancient music of the universe.

She jumped as an arm wound around her shoulders. “You’re the one swaying, Granger, and you’re about to go arse over tit.”

She turned indignantly, ready to defend herself, but fell clumsily into Malfoy’s hard chest. Strong hands steadied her as she heard Theo snort with laughter beside them. “Music of the universe? That’s hilarious.”

Theo needed to fuck off. Malfoy, however, smelt like sweet mint and dark musk and was keeping her upright, so he could stay.

“Is she sniffing you?”

She felt the rumble of amusement in his chest where she was pressed against him. “Apparently so. What the fuck is dark musk?”

“It’s dark and musky, duh,” Hermione slurred, grabbing hold of Malfoy’s arm to steady herself as they started walking again. She flexed her fingers on his bicep, wondering when he had become so big and strong.

Theo sniggered. “Merlin’s tits, Hermione Granger’s brain falls out when she’s drunk. Big and strong? Brilliant.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Malfoy boasted, his smirk turning into rich laughter when Hermione slapped him on the shoulder indignantly.

“She is right beside you and can hear everything you’re saying!”

He leaned down, his warm, whiskey-laced breath rushing over her skin and making her shiver. “She is also loudly saying everything she’s thinking. Which, while highly entertaining, should probably stop now we’re at the castle. Unless you want detention all year?”

Mortified and wide eyed, she folded her lips together and bit firmly down on them. Malfoy breathed a laugh but nodded, tucking her hand tightly into his elbow as they climbed the main stairway. She supposed that he was being a gentleman, as it had likely been drilled into him from birth to escort a lady home. It didn’t mean that he liked her.

It did, however, mean that she could focus less on where she was placing her feet, and more on the excellent view of Blaise’s toned arse, which was in prime viewing position ahead of her on the stairwell.

She gasped as a large hand slapped over her mouth and she was manhandled into the next corridor with her feet barely touching the ground.

“For fuck’s sake, woman,” Malfoy hissed in her ear. “You are both an utter pervert and a complete pain in my arse. Filch is on the prowl by now, so stop. Fucking. Talking.”

The mental image of the long time, doddery caretaker crawling around the castle alongside his cat familiar, Mrs Norris, made her snort with muffled laughter, Malfoy’s hand still firmly over her mouth.

Theo groaned quietly. “I don’t think she can shut up; we need to run for it.”

Hermione scowled at him. She absolutely could be quiet, if the situation called for it, but the point became moot as Malfoy grabbed her hand and practically dragged her through the castle until they reached the common room. Blaise spoke the password, shoving the girls through the door before holding it open for the rest of them, and the group tumbled into the room in a laughing jumble.

The shriek of a chair scraping back on the stone floor made Hermione wince even before the bellowed shout rang out, leaving a weighted silence in its wake.

“What in the actual fuck is going on?!”

Chapter Text

She had a sock in her mouth.

That had to be the explanation for the dry, furry feeling that was preventing her from swallowing, but she couldn’t seem to spit it out.

With a groan that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in an army of Inferi, she rolled onto her back and winced at the daylight pouring in through the window. She was still fully dressed, her jumper twisted uncomfortably around her body and jeans clinging tightly as her shoes messed up the sheets. Twisting her head in a vain attempt to stop her hair from suffocating her, she spotted her wand laid neatly on the bedside table beside a piece of parchment and a small vial of shimmering sky blue liquid.

She sat up gingerly, fighting down a wave of nausea as she reached for the note.

Drink me. DM.

She frowned, turning the note over to check for any more information before picking up the vial and squinting at the swirling blue contents. She didn’t recognise the potion, which grated on her in itself, but she did recognise the looping swirl of the handwriting and the questions it created only made her head hurt more.

It made no sense for Malfoy to give her a potion, let alone expect her to drink it with no explanation. He either assumed she trusted him, hoped that she did, or didn’t care if she actually drank it or not. Her head hurt too much to work it out.

She wasn’t even going to attempt to figure out how he had got it past the wards and into her room.

The world swayed horrifically as she tried to stand, gravity claiming her again and sending her slumping back down to the bed. Laying sprawled on her back once more, she reluctantly allowed herself to remember the reason for her pain.

Drinking… all the drinking… stumbling… verbal diarrhoea… shouting…

They had tripped drunkenly into the common room after curfew and interrupted a Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Wizarding Chess tournament. Ron had leapt up at their appearance, upending the board and angering Michael Corner who had been on the verge of winning. His irritation was fully eclipsed, however, by the red-faced screaming of Ron as he began to hurl abuse at the Slytherins and accuse them of attacking her.

Pushing the girls behind them, the three Slytherin boys had lifted their chins and been prepared to deal with whatever was thrown at them. Hermione, however, would not accept that, and let her rage fly free in all its intoxicated glory. Shoving a wide-eyed Theo out of the way, she had planted herself in front of them and pointed her wand at Ron’s chest, insisting he either calm down or lose a testicle.

“...you’re not fit to be in Gryffindor…”

His words echoed in her ears as she remembered the furious spray of spittle hitting her face as he had yelled at her. She couldn’t even recall most of it clearly, but those seven words had seared their way into her heart.

She was proud of her house, it had been her home and part of her life for most of her teenage years, but to Ron it was more than that. He had been raised in a family of Gryffindors; had always known he would be one. The Weasleys were the outsiders of Pureblood society, shunned by the Sacred Twenty-Eight as blood traitors, and Ron had clung to the idea that they had nothing to their name other than being quintessentially strong and courageous Gryffindors. Gryffindors were the heroes, Ravenclaws the brainiacs, Hufflepuffs the peacemakers, and Slytherins the enemy. It was part of his identity, and he took any perceived challenge to this worldview as a challenge to himself personally.

It scared her to see how much hatred and judgement had burrowed into his heart because of the war. So much so that he was apparently willing to choose his hatred over their friendship.

Unity seemed to be an impossible goal when bare tolerance was too much for some.

Stomach rolling, she pushed herself back up to sitting and looked down at the small bottle that was still clutched in her fingers. No matter what had happened in the past, she couldn’t deny that Malfoy had been better to her since the summer than her best friends had. He seemed to see her mask for what it was and hadn’t once used it against her. Contrary to all of her expectations, he’d actually helped her and asked for nothing in return. And while he might only be trying to make amends for the past to assuage his own guilt, his actions meant that she was finally beginning to heal, and that meant something to her.

“How bad could it be?” she muttered aloud, pulling the tiny cork out of the bottle and swallowing the single mouthful of potion.

For one awful second, she thought the entire contents of her stomach were about to reappear. In the next, a delightful cooling sensation rushed through her in a soft wave, clearing her head, washing away the nausea, and leaving a subtle peppermint aftertaste on her now-clean tongue. She glanced down at the empty vial in awe, realising that he had sent her the most effective hangover cure that she had ever used. The Apothecary in Diagon Alley sold them, but in her limited experience it tasted like rotting slugs and still left you with a queasy stomach.

Standing, she huffed a disbelieving laugh at how normal she suddenly felt as she gathered clean clothes and headed for the bathroom that she shared with Parvati. She was keen to get on top of her homework now that she felt well again, especially as it would provide a welcome distraction from thinking about the previous evening.

Dressed in comfortable leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, satchel of books slung over her shoulder, she stopped in her tracks as she reached the entrance hall and saw the Quidditch banners waving over the stairwells. Cursing under her breath, she dithered, wanting to avoid the crowd that she could hear in the Great Hall, hyping themselves up for the first Quidditch game of the year. Not that she had a single clue who was playing; she had never cared for the sport in the slightest.

She squeaked in surprise as a Hufflepuff fourth year, fully decked out in a bright yellow and black costume, blew a kazoo in her ear and ran past her with a shout of laughter. The library called to Hermione, tempting her to just head straight there and hide, but the angry growl of her stomach said that she would be miserable without breakfast after all the alcohol she had unwisely consumed.

Resigned, she walked into the Hall and instinctively made for the Gryffindor table. Upon spotting Ron sitting with Dean and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she faltered again and paused halfway to the table. Ginny glanced at her before quickly leaning over and saying something to her brother, who turned to look at Hermione with a scowl. The rest of the team followed, a small sea of heads turning to unabashedly stare at her in response to whatever had been said, and she felt herself take a reflexive step back as if threatened.

Catching Ron’s angry gaze, she heard his harsh words replaying in her mind, and for the first time in her time at Hogwarts, she wasn’t sure she would be welcome if she sat with them. The thought stirred resentment in her gut and she pushed her spine straight. She refused to cower or apologise when she hadn’t done anything wrong, though she was certain that they expected her to.

Turning on her heel, she found Luna smiling at her as she approached from the Ravenclaw table, her renowned roaring lion hat tucked under her arm. “Good morning Hermione. Are you feeling alright?”

Hermione smiled warmly at her and pulled her bag higher onto her shoulder. “Yes, thanks, are you off to the game?”

Luna nodded dreamily as she stroked the fur on the lion’s head. “You should eat before the food disappears, you know.”

“I know, I was just…” Hermione hesitated awkwardly. “Deciding where to sit?”

The blonde looked briefly confused before reaching out to gently pat Hermione on the forearm. “Just sit with your friends. See you!”

Hermione blinked stupidly as Luna walked away, humming happily. It was, as usual, sound advice from the bizarrely wise girl, and Hermione drew up her courage as she made a decision.

It took fifteen steps to reach them. “Can I sit with you?”

Theo’s mop of brown curls bounced as he nodded enthusiastically, shifting along the bench to make space. “Of course!”

Blaise laughed from opposite him. “Way to play it cool, Nott.”

Hermione bit back a smile as Theo gave Blaise the finger in response, tucking her bag down by her feet as she helped herself to some pumpkin juice.

“Bold move, Granger,” Pansy remarked from her other side, brow raised in clear question.

Hermione shrugged. “If I’m being made out to be the villain, I may as well sit here.”

A beat of silence fell before Pansy cackled loudly, attracting attention from along the Slytherin table as she raised her glass to Hermione before draining it. Hermione could feel eyes and ears on them as she tried to focus on her breakfast, her pulse refusing to settle in the oddly quiet Hall.

She felt a nudge on her foot and looked up from her plate to find Malfoy watching her. She raised a brow in question and he searched her face before leaning forward.

“You drank it,” he stated quietly.

She nodded slowly. “I didn’t think anything could make me feel worse than I did when I woke up, it wasn’t much of a risk.”

He took in her teasing smile and snorted. “You’re welcome.”

“He gave you one of his hangover cures?” Daphne asked from beside him, looking surprised.

“And you drank it?” Blaise asked incredulously.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at them. “We got her hammered, I thought we probably owed her one. I’m not that much of an arsehole.”

Theo laughed. “Aren’t you?”

“Well he didn’t tell me what it was, or how he got it into my room while I was sleeping, but I’m grateful that I didn’t vomit everywhere so I’ll just say thank you,” Hermione said as she buttered some toast.

“House elf,” he admitted with a smirk, raising his palms in mock surrender as she glared at him. “What? I was perfectly polite.”

A hesitant tap on her shoulder interrupted the complaint she was about to throw at him, making her turn to find Isabella Tintwistle leaning towards her from the next table.

“Hey,” the seventh year Hufflepuff whispered, glancing warily at the Slytherin’s around her. “You can sit with us if you’ve fallen out with your friends?”

She felt Theo stiffen beside her as everyone in earshot turned to witness the interaction. Hermione, however, pasted on a saccharine smile as she replied. “Thanks, Isabella, but I’m fine here.”

Surprise rippled over the Hufflepuff’s face as Hermione turned back to her breakfast, effectively dismissing her. Hermione gave Theo a friendly nudge as she took a bite of toast, trying to reassure him while ignoring the heavy silence in the room.

“Well this is awkward,” Tracey hissed, grunting as Pansy kicked her in the ankle.

“Traitor.”

The single word was loud enough to filter through the whispers that had begun again, ensuring that everyone heard. Her heart stuttered as she recognised the voice as Ginny’s, and it was immediately followed by a bark of laughter from Seamus. Hermione’s cheeks heated as she felt the word like a physical blow, but she refused to react in public. Kingsley had told her to lead by example, after all.

Malfoy caught her gaze, the smallest crease on his forehead betraying his concern. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to take another bite of toast as she gave him a minute shrug.

“Do you want to work on Runes this morning?” Theo asked her a few minutes later, as the general noise levels in the Hall settled back to normal.

Hermione abandoned the rest of her breakfast, taking a final sip of juice. “You’re not watching the match?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Useless Puffs versus Cocky Dickheads? Sounds thrilling. No thanks.”

Blaise chuckled at that as Theo shook his head. “Draco makes a mean hangover cure, but I’m still in need of a quiet day. Library? I’ll drag us all there.”

She nodded, grabbing her satchel and standing. “I’ll meet you there in a bit.”

Escaping as Blaise began to whine about the idea of studying on a Sunday, she confidently made her way out of the Hall without a backward glance. The Gryffindor team had left for the Quidditch pitch a few minutes earlier, but she knew that the rest of the school were watching her every move.

She also knew that she couldn’t hold her composure for much longer.

Passing the main staircase, she walked quickly towards the central courtyard and slipped into Classroom Eleven. Closing the door behind her, she leant back against the cool wood and took a shuddering breath as she checked around for signs of life. Dumbledore’s old enchantments still lingered in the now unused space, the Forbidden Forest seeming to stretch out before her as realistically as it had when Firenze had taught Divination there three years before. Not that Hermione had seen much of it herself, having happily discarded the subject before then.

Moving further into the room, she wearily dropped her bag at the foot of a knobbled tree and heaved a weighted breath. Emotion pressed down on her, making her chin drop from the force of it, but she tried to let the panic rise rather than fight it. When it didn’t, she frowned, raising her hands to find them not shaking at all.

Yet the pressure behind her eyes persisted, and a small, trembling sigh escaped her lungs as she realised that this was not panic at all. She wasn’t being tugged back into memory; she wasn’t suppressing fear and grief until they overwhelmed her. This was about the now, not the past. She was hurt by her friends’ easy abandonment of her; by the way they were treating her like she meant nothing to them. By the fact they had chosen their hatred over her friendship.

This wasn’t trauma, it was sadness.

She gave a soft gasp as her knees buckled, the weight of it pulling her down, but long arms wrapped around her before she could hit the ground. Scooping her back to her feet, they turned her and pulled her into a solid chest, tucking her close as the first sob clawed its way out of her throat.

Her hands fisted the front of his shirt, gripping tightly as she cried for the hurt and the loss until the fabric was soaked through and her sobs had subsided into soft hiccupping breaths. Her fingers loosened as she began to calm, her hands sliding around his back as she pressed her cheek against the comforting warmth of him and listened to the steady beat of his heart.

The scent of spearmint and familiar cologne surrounded her as she stood in his embrace for several quiet minutes, the world settling back into place and leaving her feeling balanced again.

“Don’t,” he murmured as she opened her mouth, making her frown.

“Don’t what?”

His chest rumbled slightly, as if he was annoyed. “Don’t apologise or try to dismiss it. They’re fucking arseholes and you’re allowed to be upset.”

She pulled back a little, craning her neck to meet his stormy grey gaze. “I wasn’t going to.”

He released her, briefly running the warmth of his hands down her arms as he eyed her dubiously. She pursed her lips. “I was actually going to ask about the hangover potion. You made it?”

His face split into a grin, making something in her warm further. “Of course you were. Swotting even when crying.”

Wiping her cheeks, she bent to scoop up her bag before giving him a dirty look that had zero feeling behind it. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

He laughed, giving her a knowing look as he cast a subtle drying charm on his shirt. “Shut it, Granger? Or do you mean ‘please go into full and rampant detail, oh Master of Potions’?”

She huffed. “Come on, oh Master of Potions, we need to go. Theo probably thinks we’ve abandoned him.” She turned at the door to give him a pointed look. “You can tell me on the way.”

His deep chuckle made a smile spread across her face, her chest feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “Only if you keep calling me Master.”

“Seeing as you’re the one following me around, I’d say that you’re more the lapdog than the master,” she joked.

He leaned in close as he went to pass her, his smirk making her breath catch.

“Woof.”

Chapter Text

She was in an alternate universe.

That was the only logical explanation for the fact that Draco Malfoy had apparently turned into a caring, thoughtful person who seemed to understand her better than she did herself.

While she genuinely didn’t blame him for his past and the life he had been trapped in, being free from it seemed to have changed him more than she had thought possible. It was almost hard to trust it.

She wrinkled her nose as she followed him into the library, glaring at his broad back. He was confusing. A puzzle. And that only stirred her innate curiosity and made her look more intently.

There was also the fact that he had no business being so… distracting.

Taking her seat across from Theo in the library while studiously ignoring the continued whinging of Blaise, who had clearly been bodily dragged there, she tried to refocus her thoughts. The problem was that her brain seemed resolutely fixed on remembering the feel of being in his arms. Of his strong hands rubbing her back. Of his heartbeat thumping against her cheek.

Of the fact that he had followed her into that room, somehow knowing that she was about to crumble and wanting to offer her comfort.

Pansy raised a brow at them. “Where did you two go?”

Malfoy looked at her suspiciously as he sat beside Hermione. “Please tell me you’re not keeping track of my bathroom habits.”

She recoiled so fast that Hermione had to bite back a smile. Blaise took the momentary pause to renew his complaint. “Seriously, Drake, why are we studying today? I can’t be the only one feeling like I’ve been trampled by a hippogriff.”

Daphne launched forward and slapped Blaise around the back of the head. “Stop it. You had the same potion as the rest of us. You’re fine. And I’m not doing this by myself.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Pansy scowled.

“Team effort, Snakes!” Theo cried, earning a hiss of reproval from Madam Pince. He waved cheerfully at her as Malfoy sighed.

“I warned you, Granger.”

Hermione dug her textbooks and parchment from her bag and gave him a nod. “You did.”

Pansy scoffed. “Does Granger really have anything useful to add to this process? Other than her never-ending swottiness?”

“Try and be less threatened, Pans,” Theo suggested, eyes narrowed. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“She has a corporeal Patronus.”

Hermione’s gaze whipped to Malfoy, dimly noticing Theo’s jaw dropping in her periphery.

Malfoy shrugged as he nonchalantly flicked open his Runes text and picked up a quill. “And she can send messages with it. She has come top of almost every class she has ever taken and isn’t even taking Defence because she’s beyond it. If you don’t want to be here, Blaise, then fuck off. I want to study with people I can learn from.”

She felt the flush creep up her neck at his assessment of her and swallowed hard. “Must you all insist on talking about me like I’m not right here?”

“Can you show us?” Theo asked, almost panting with excitement as he gave her well-practised puppy dog eyes.

She rolled her eyes even as his behaviour coaxed out her smile. “Sod off, Nott.”

The others all chuckled at his exaggerated pout of disappointment. Hermione took pity on him. “I’ll show you if this study session actually happens,” she offered, giving Blaise a pointed look.

Blaise groaned in defeat. “Fucking hell, fine.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as he dug a small, brass flask out of his pocket and took a deep swig before passing it to Daphne. She sipped it quickly before handing it to Malfoy, who caught the baffled look on Hermione’s face.

“Snake study tradition,” he explained with a small smirk before swallowing a mouthful himself. “All learning needs a touch of fire.”

She raised her brows as he looked between her and the flask for a few seconds before slowly tipping it towards her in offering. She heard Blaise huff a laugh across the table, muttering something to Pansy, but Malfoy just gave her an easy shrug. The clear suggestion that it was her choice, along with the knowledge that these Snakes were snobs and would only drink the finest vintages, made her fingers curl around the cool metal and bring the flask to her lips. Something seemed to flash in Malfoy’s gaze as he watched her claim a sip, but she was distracted by the smooth firewhiskey flowing over her tongue.

“Fuck, that’s a good one,” she murmured, looking over at Blaise as he grinned widely at her, teeth flashing white.

“Always a pleasure, Granger,” he drawled, voice like rich chocolate.

Hermione smirked at him as she passed the flask across to Theo. “Prat.”

She heard Malfoy’s low laugh of agreement before he pushed their paired project between them and tapped a selection of runes. “These aren’t in the core text. We’ll need to research around the main lines.”

Immediately drawn in, she nodded. “Right. This one is frustratingly familiar, but I can’t work out where I’ve seen it.”

Her heart stuttered slightly as his long fingers gently pushed her hand over. “I think we should start here,” he suggested, seeming not to notice as goosebump erupted along her skin. Extracting her hand as quickly as she could without being obvious, she cleared her throat and nodded.

“That’s fine,” she agreed, pushing to her feet. “I’ll grab some obvious starting points.”

Inwardly berating herself for her ridiculous behaviour, she happily disappeared into the stacks. Leafing through a large volume of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms a few minutes later, she nearly dropped it entirely as a curled head appeared around the corner with a wicked grin. “Need help?”

She frowned at Theo as she rebalanced the text against the bookshelf, pretending that he hadn’t scared her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He chuckled and shrugged as he sauntered closer. Reaching past her shoulder, he slid a textbook from the shelf and inspected it. “Are you ok?” he asked lightly, with a little too much innocence. “You seem a little jumpy.”

She huffed. “I’m fine. Stop being a pest and let me concentrate.”

He lapsed into silence for a long minute, allowing her to rule out the text she was holding and slide it back into place on the shelf. In hindsight, she was grateful for the pause, or his next words may have caused her to drop it entirely and flatten her toes.

“So, what exactly does dark musk smell like?”

She whipped around, eyes widening at his amused smirk. “Theodore Nott, don’t you dare use that against me. I was drunk!”

His smirk widened into an unrepentant grin as he leaned close and replied in a loud whisper, thumb pointing at his chest. “Slytherin.”

She made an exasperated sound as she pushed him back, making him laugh as he watched the crimson flush spread across her cheeks. “Go away, you horrid snake.”

He laughed harder as he obeyed, taking his chosen text and wandering back towards the table. Just as he was about to turn the corner, he spun back, waggling his brows at her as she pressed her palms to her overheated face.

“Oh Malfoy, you’re so big and strong,” he taunted, making a run for it as she grabbed her wand with a mortified hiss.

***

“What else did you take? What else?! Crucio!”

Agony… more pain than she can even fathom… bones bending and twisting beneath her skin… fire licking across her flesh… icy fists crushing her organs… screams loud enough to shatter her eardrums… everything is cracking… ready to shatter…

Slumping against the cold stone floor as the pressure lifts… limbs twitching uncontrollably as she struggles to breathe…hot tears tracking across frozen skin…

Cold, grey eyes catching hers across the room… pressure forcing through and slicing inside… soft touches smoothing over the fractured lines of her psyche… handing her shimmering brick after brick… strengthening her defences…

Holding her together as the pain returns… keeping her whole even as she screams…

***

Someone was screaming. And banging. Loudly.

The moment the thought materialised, the scream cut out and silence rang in her ears.

Shit.

Wincing at the sting in her throat, Hermione sat up, her bedsheets tangled around her legs as she felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck. Rubbing her face briskly, she tried to block out the flashbacks of the nightmare she had clearly just woken from.

Jumping out of her skin as the banging sounded again, she allowed her eyes to briefly close in dread as she heard Parvati’s voice through the door. Muffled, but audibly concerned, her housemate had clearly heard her screams, meaning that she had forgotten to renew her wards.

Wrestling out of the sheets, she padded quickly to the door and pulled it open as Parvati turned to call up the corridor.

“She’s here!”

“Hermione!” came Harry’s worried voice from where he must have been stopped by the magical barrier. “Are you ok?”

Hermione frowned, looking at Parvati. “How loud was I?”

Parvati looked a little bashful and shrugged. “I went to wake him when I couldn’t get in. You wouldn’t stop screaming and I kinda forgot he couldn’t come closer.”

Stepping past her with murmured thanks, Hermione traipsed the few steps to find the dark-haired boy pushing uselessly against the invisible boundary. Hair sticking out in every fathomable direction, his glasses were wonky on his face and his loose pyjama shirt was rumpled as he looked her over with almost desperate concern.

“What the hell was that?” he said, lowering his voice now that she was close. “I’ve never heard you scream that loudly!”

She raised a disbelieving brow. “Never?”

His cheeks flushed as he looked down at his feet, but she took pity on him and stepped closer, tugging him into a hug. “Sorry I scared you. It was just a nightmare.”

He squeezed her tightly, grumbling into her hair that there was no ‘just’ about it, and she basked in the warm feeling of security that his embrace gave her. It had been a while since she’d had a Harry hug, and she resolved to ignore recent tensions and let it soothe her frayed nerves.

Stepping back a little, he squeezed her shoulders and held her at arm's length. “I thought your nightmares had stopped,” he murmured, inspecting her face carefully. “But I haven’t been paying attention, have I.”

It wasn’t even phrased as a question, the certainty and shame in his voice making her eyes feel hot. She shrugged him off her arms so she could grab his hands in hers. “You’ve had a lot going on,” she said, squeezing his fingers.

He shook his head. “No, I’ve been a total shithead. You’re my best friend, Hermione, and I’ve been so wrapped up in myself that I haven’t looked twice at you.”

Her breath hitched at this admission, and he looked horrified as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “Crap, not crying. Ok, we’re going to my room and having this out. Come on.”

She frowned and resisted the gentle tug on her hand. “Isn’t Ginny there? I’d really rather… not.”

He sighed deeply, hurt flashing across his face as he shook his head. “Nah. She and I are… well, we’re not exactly speaking right now.” He looked up at her and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure we’re broken up, actually.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped and she reached for him in sympathy, but Harry only shook his head again. “It’s fine. Really. She isn’t the person I thought she was, you know?”

Biting her bottom lip in an attempt to stave off her bubbling emotions, she nodded. “Yeh.”

Harry shot her a sad smile. “Come on then?”

She nodded, letting him lead her down the boy’s corridor and into his room, his door hanging open where he had clearly run to help her without a second thought.

“Secure,” she snarked, making him grin self-consciously.

“My best friend needed me,” he said, pulling her up onto his bed so they were sitting facing one another. “Took me a while to notice, but I’m hoping that she’ll forgive me.”

Her eyes were misty, but her smile was genuine. “Well, she’s listening.”

***

Harry was waiting for her in the central common area the next morning, a warm smile on his tired face as he offered her his arm. “Breakfast, milady?”

She snorted ungracefully as she wove her arm through his. “You and Theo would get on like a house on fire if you actually talked to him, you know.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I get that they’re your new buddies, but you’re not going to make me sit with them, are you?”

She chuckled. “I think Pansy’s head would explode if you did. Actually, maybe we should…”

He glowered at her. “Haha, very funny. Not today, ok?”

The very fact that he was open to the idea at all made her beam at him. “Ok.”

Sadly, her jovial mood was ruined as the morning post arrived. The murmurs started as soon as the first wave of owls swooped over, dropping various letters and parcels over the tables, along with the morning papers.

The Daily Prophet bounced once in front of Harry as the delivery owl didn’t even bother to land, gliding back out of the Hall before he’d even unwrapped the thin band holding the pages together. Sitting between Harry and Neville at the Gryffindor table, Hermione gave a low gasp of horror as she caught sight of the front page.

APPELBY ATTACKED - DEATH EATERS RETURN

Beneath the huge headline lay a photograph of a small village in ruins, smoke rising steadily from burning buildings and framing the writhing Dark Mark that hung in the sky.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, shaking the paper fully open to read the article underneath.

Reading over his shoulder, Hermione absorbed the report with a heavy weight in her gut. The Lincolnshire wizarding village had been attacked by masked intruders in the dead of night, the cursed fire spreading so rapidly that it was all the residents could do to get out alive. Thankfully, there had been no casualties, but the signature left in the sky left a clear message.

She looked at Harry as he finished reading, knowing that the haunted look in his eyes was reflected in her own. He gripped her hand tightly, his lips thinning into a firm line.

“The Ministry will get them,” he insisted in a low voice.

She raised a disbelieving brow. “Because they’ve proven so good at that in the past.”

He huffed a flat laugh and nodded in acquiescence. “Still, Kingsley was in the Order. He knows what he’s doing.”

She hummed noncommittally, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice as she took in the mood of people around her. The news was spreading fast, and a concerning number of looks were turning to the Slytherin table. Or, more specifically, to Malfoy.

“For fuck’s sake, it’s not like it was him,” she muttered, attracting Neville’s attention.

“Well we know that,” he admitted around a mouthful of porridge. “But there are plenty of students here who are hurting and will be happy to blame him anyway. He should watch his back.”

Hermione felt anger rise in her throat as Harry answered. “I’m pretty sure he already does.”

Chapter Text

Hermione looked up from her desk at the sound of the heavy door being pulled open. She had been continuing her work on their translation project while she waited for their Monday morning Runes class to begin, but as Professor Babbling walked in Hermione looked around the otherwise empty classroom with a frown. She hadn’t noticed the time while she’d been focused, but the others were now officially late.

“Oh dear,” the Professor said as she also noticed the missing Slytherins and faltered on her way to her desk. “Just you, Ms Granger?”

Hermione chewed on her lip, concern creeping in. “I’m not sure why they aren’t here yet.”

One or two of them late, she would shrug off with an eye roll, but all five felt suspicious. Worrying even, after the news that morning.

“Well, this simply won’t do,” Babbling said with a disappointed shake of her head. “I’ll have to issue them with a detention to make up the time.”

Something in Hermione’s gut told her that the others hadn’t simply skipped class though. “Maybe there’s an emergency?” she hedged.

The Professor looked disinterested as she arranged the lesson materials on the desk. “It is their responsibility to arrive on time, Ms Granger.”

Hermione scowled. She was seriously sick of the blatant disregard for the eighth year Slytherins’ well-being, especially from the people who were purportedly there to help and protect them all. “In an emergency?” she asked, failing to keep the ire from her tone.

Babbling looked over the rim of her glasses at her sole student. “Do you have any evidence to suggest that there is, in fact, an emergency?”

Hermione stood and gave her a forced smile. “Good point. I’ll go get some, shall I?”

Walking out without another word, she ignored Babbling’s shocked call of her name and let the wooden door close behind her with a decisive thud. She brushed her fingers lightly over her wand in her pocket, letting its presence reassure her as she dragged in a centring breath and reminded herself that she was safe.

“If you lot are just skiving off the lesson and I get detention for this, I will hex you,” she muttered under her breath as she headed back towards the main staircase.

The corridors were all but silent now that lessons had begun, and she strained her senses as she mulled over where to go. With only the seventh floor above her, she decided to retrace her earlier steps downwards, hoping to come across a sign of where they had gone. If nothing appeared, she could check the common room and library.

She heard it as she reached the third floor.

A muffled yell sounded, and though it quickly cut off it was enough for her to go running towards the Defence classroom. The classroom itself was subject to a permanent silencing charm, so she knew the sound wasn’t from the ongoing eighth year lesson, but she was sure that she was headed in the right direction.

Stopping halfway down the corridor, she uttered a whispered curse as silence surrounded her and no more clues appeared. Beginning to doubt herself entirely, but unable to shake the feeling that something was going on, she sighed and raised her wand.

“Homenum Revelio,” she murmured with a flick of her wand, blinking in surprise as the spell revealed nine people in the hidden room to her right. Tucked out of sight behind a large tapestry, the Defence storeroom was generally unknown to most students. The fact that there appeared to be nine people in there in the middle of a lesson was suspicious at best.

Lifting the tapestry carefully, she slipped through as quietly as possible, wand at the ready as she passed through a silencing ward into an explosion of sound.

It took her only a few brief seconds to take in the situation and react. Several backs were to her, giving her a welcome advantage as she counted three seventh year Ravenclaw boys with wands out. Martin Wilson and Bobby Hughes held Blaise and Theo against the side wall with their wands pressed against their chests, Theo screaming something across the room as a shock of red trailed from Blaise’s lip where it had been split open. Pansy was on her knees beside a jeering Jack Miller, one of his hands gripping her hair tightly to hold her in place as she spat curses up at him. His wand was loosely aimed at a hissing Daphne, but their eyes were all fixed on the other side of the room where Oliver Robertson reared back and drove his foot once more into Malfoy’s prone form.

Hermione was casting before his groan of pain reached her ears. With a wordless swish of her wand, three wands flew into her free hand, the owners barely having time to turn and gape at her in shock as she flicked her wand in a low swoop towards Robertson.

“Depulso!”

With a yell of surprise, Robertson was sent flying into the far wall, the strength of her banishing spell causing him to crash loudly into the shelving and slump limply to the floor. Hermione glanced over in alarm in the next moment as Miller released a piercing shriek, finding Pansy’s clawed fingers buried between his legs and twisting ferociously until he collapsed in a writhing heap. Trusting that the others could gain the upper hand now that the seventh years were disarmed, Hermione ran towards Malfoy, dropping to her knees as she took in the state of him.

“Damn it,” she bit out, rolling him slightly to assess the damage. He gave an agonised moan at her touch, making her pull back with a mumbled apology as he gave a sudden cough. When his hand came away smeared with blood, she raised her wand to call for help. The silver otter shot away obediently as she discarded her handful of extra wands, keeping hold of her own as Malfoy managed to turn onto his back with a wheeze of pain.

“Lay still,” she chided softly. “You really shouldn't be on your back in case you choke.”

He let out a breathy sound that was almost amused, bruises already blooming across his face. “So bossy.”

“Shh,” she scolded, her anxiety spiking at the sound of his ragged breathing. “Help is coming. You’ll be ok.”

He raised a sardonic brow. “Help? Doubtful.”

“Well I came, didn’t I?” she snapped, glancing up to check on the others. The seventh years were now huddled in a small group, Robertson still out cold between them. The Slytherins had clearly retrieved their wands from whomever had taken them, as they were now trained on the nervous attackers as they watched her speak to Malfoy.

“How is he?” Theo asked shakily.

“I’m fucking fine…” he trailed off with a cough, hissing out a pained breath. Hermione reached out instinctively and grabbed his hand, tugging it into her lap and squeezing supportively.

She glared down at him, her worry coming out as irritation. “You didn’t even fight back, did you.”

“No, he fucking didn’t!” griped Pansy, tracking her fingers through her hair with a scowl.

“Because he knows his damn place,” snapped Hughes, stepping forward to shove Blaise and send him stumbling back a few steps.

Pansy whipped around and threw a stunning spell at him, sending him slumping to the ground as Professor McGonagall appeared. She was a little breathless, robes whipping out behind her as she strode into the room with her wand aloft.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she cried. Everyone froze instinctively as her shrewd gaze scanned the space and landed on Hermione. “Miss Granger, you called for help?”

Malfoy’s grip tightened on Hermione’s hand as he began coughing again, sweat coating his brow. “Professor, they were attacked by these seventh years. Malfoy needs to go to the Hospital Wing.”

McGonagall stepped closer to assess him, her expression folding into deep creases of concern as she nodded primly. “Absolutely. Don’t move, Mr Malfoy, I will levitate you there.”

Malfoy groaned in protest but was ignored, Hermione releasing his hand as McGonagall floated him out of the room on a conjured wooden board. Daphne dutifully held back the tapestry for them as the Professor barked instructions for them all to follow.

“Bring your friend,” Hermione snapped at the conscious seventh years before storming out of the room to follow the headmistress. She left their wands on the floor, uncaring if they retrieved them now that McGonagall was involved.

In the ominous quiet of the corridor, the sound of McGonagall’s crisp footsteps mingled with the thrum of Hermione’s heartbeat in her ears, and she felt her hands begin to tremble. The all too familiar adrenaline coursing through her system was threatening to tug her into memory. It had been easy to slip back into the mindset of battle, but now she was struggling not to crash further down into fear and despair.

She jolted as a warm hand slipped into her own, a soft gasp escaping her as she snapped her head round to find Theo walking beside her, his grip firm and comforting. He shot her a small smile of reassurance and squeezed her fingers as they pushed through the doors of the Hospital Wing. Malfoy twisted his head around to peer back at them at the sound of her surprise, pain evident on his face even as he narrowed his eyes at Theo.

“Get off her,” he croaked as the headmistress called for Madam Pomfrey.

Theo simply pulled Hermione closer, tucking her under his arm as he shook his head. “Fuck off, you possessive bastard,” he hissed. “I’m trying to stop her spiralling.”

Pansy scoffed, muttering about the idiocy of boys as the seventh years arrived, supporting a semi-conscious Robertson between them. Hermione barely registered their presence, blinking dumbfoundedly up at Theo as Malfoy began to cough again, her thoughts entirely distracted by the odd exchange between them as the school nurse came barrelling over.

“What on earth?!” Pomfrey exclaimed, taking in the state of Malfoy and immediately transferring him to a hospital bed. Hermione moved out from Theo’s grip without thinking, her concern for Malfoy urging her to follow, but was blocked by an irate headmistress as she rounded on the small group once more.

“Explain this. Immediately.”

“Er, what about Robertson, Professor?” Wilson asked timidly, gesturing to the friend he was still holding upright.

McGonagall gave a sharp sigh and pointed her wand at the boy. “Renervate. There. Now, if you would, Miss Granger?”

Robertson snapped to full awareness, eyes darting around in confusion as his friends set him on his own two feet. Hermione ignored him and folded her arms. “I’m not the best person to ask, Professor,” she said evenly, trying to keep her exasperation at bay. “I was only involved at the end.”

“They attacked us!”

Hermione turned to gape at Miller’s shout, watching in disbelief as he raised a finger to point at a silent Pansy. “They jumped us on the way to class, and she tried to rip my balls off!”

Blaise released a low, angry sound as Pansy narrowed her eyes at the boys. Hughes stole one look at her expression and took a marked step away from his friends, leaving Wilson to nod along with Miller as Robertson rubbed his face in weary bewilderment.

“Exactly how is Mr Malfoy in his current condition if it is you who were attacked, Mr Miller?” McGonagall asked in a deceptively calm tone, observing them all shrewdly. Hermione could see her eyes flashing angrily as Miller nudged Robertson, pushing him to speak.

He swallowed hard and nodded, apparently caught up with the situation he had found himself in. “We got the better of them and turned the tables, Professor. It was self-defence.”

Hermione could feel the tension radiating from the Slytherins as she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She needed to give the headmistress the benefit of the doubt here, if for no other reason than to see if she would live up to her own expectations of tolerance.

McGonagall folded her hands in front of her. “I see. Miss Parkinson, would you agree with any of that testimony?”

Pansy nodded simply. “Yes, Professor.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as the Professor looked a little taken aback. “Oh?”

“I definitely tried to rip his balls off, Professor,” Pansy explained. “After he slapped Daphne, stole our wands, and threw me to the ground by my hair, that is. Oh, and threatened to sexually assault both of us.” She examined her fingernails briefly before giving Miller a sorely disappointed glance. “Sadly, it doesn’t seem like I did much damage.”

Miller scoffed and began to argue back, but a single fierce glare from the headmistress made him fall silent and his bravado shrivel like a wilting flower. Hughes shuffled a little further away from his friends as they shared an outraged glance between them.

Blaise, dabbing the blood still drying on his lip, gestured at the seventh years as he spoke up. “We were on our way up to Runes; we always go early to classes to avoid the crowds. They jumped out and grabbed the girls before we could react, forced us to hand over our wands and dragged us all into that room. Draco let them beat the shi… Draco let Robertson attack him so that they wouldn’t hurt the rest of us.”

To her credit, Professor McGonagall looked shocked. “Is this true, Miss Granger?!”

“I arrived a few minutes before you did, Professor,” she answered honestly. “I was worried when none of them turned up to class and decided to search for them in case there was a problem. I suspected there might be, after the news this morning.”

McGonagall’s cheeks tinted pink as anger flashed in her gaze. “You suspected there would be an attack?”

Hermione nodded. “People are looking for someone to blame. Malfoy and Nott are easy targets. Seeing as I found them in the middle of being attacked, I think I was right, don’t you?”

McGonagall gave a tired sigh. “Hermione, I am not saying that you’re wrong, but please just describe the incident itself.”

She tried to swallow her indignation and remain calm, but she knew her voice was rising in anger. “Fine. I walked in to see Theo and Blaise being held at wand point. Blaise was bleeding. Pansy was being held down on her knees as Daphne was also held back under threat, while Robertson kicked the living shit out of Malfoy, who was laying on the floor and not fighting back. I put a stop to it.”

“Put a stop to it,” echoed McGonagall. Hermione simply nodded, causing the headmistress to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Surely you can see how people will question how four seventh year students so easily overpowered five eighth years? Especially if you managed to overpower them alone, and they are claiming otherwise?”

Hermione gave a bitter laugh. “I’m afraid that is entirely your fault, Minerva. You and the Ministry, anyway. You have created a situation where they are too afraid of the fallout to even defend themselves, so they don’t fight back. They don’t trust that anyone will even ask for their side of the story, let alone believe it. Would you even accept their testimony if I wasn’t here, or would you require more evidence?”

Minerva frowned disappointedly. “That is unfair, Hermione.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Maybe, but seeing as Kingsley directly told me how little he cares for their wellbeing, I’ll reserve judgement.”

McGonagall’s eyes widened in surprise at that, but she quickly collected herself and darted her eyes over the watching Slytherins. “Do any of you need medical attention? Mr Zabini?”

Blaise shook his head. “It’s just a cut, I’m fine.”

McGonagall nodded shortly. “In that case, you five can go and clean yourselves up before your next lessons. Mr Malfoy will need to remain here until Madam Pomfrey clears him for release. I shall deal with these boys immediately.”

“But that’s not fair!” Robertson cried, stepping forward angrily. “Why do you believe them over us?! Slytherins are dirty liars, Professor!”

“Watch your words, Mr Robertson!” McGonagall snapped. “Prejudice will not be tolerated at this school. Unless you wish to be sent immediately home, I suggest you calm yourself down and provide evidence of your accusations!”

Wilson raised his hand timidly to point at Blaise. “Where’s his evidence?”

“You’re welcome to view my memory of it, if you wish, Professor,” the Slytherin retorted with a dark smile.

“If you don’t believe the Golden Girl, that is,” Daphne added with a smirk at a scowling Miller.

Hermione sighed. “You don’t need me. Malfoy is the bloody evidence,” she muttered, glancing worriedly back into the infirmary where she could hear Madam Pomfrey tending to her patient.

“I think using the Pensieve is an excellent idea, Mr Zabini!” the headmistress announced, gesturing to the door of the Hospital Wing. “Mr Robertson, I’m sure you are willing to share your own memory in order to prove your innocence. Let’s go to my office.”

The seventh years began to stutter and look at each other nervously. Hughes was already standing beside the door, head hanging low as he waited for the axe to fall.

“NOW, Mr Robertson. Miller, Wilson and Hughes, you too,” she barked. “Eighth years, back to your common room. I will alert you if you are required.”

Robes flaring out behind her, she marched the seventh years out of the room without another word, leaving Hermione and the others standing in silence for a long moment.

“Salazar’s taint, Granger,” Blaise murmured. “You called her by her first name and gave her attitude.”

Hermione snorted in sudden amusement, but her response was cut off by the reappearance of Madam Pomfrey. “Out! Out, the lot of you!”

Pansy briefly attempted to argue but the doors were soon slammed shut behind them as they were forcibly ejected. “Fuck’s sake,” she muttered, flipping her long hair in indignation. “Come on then, at least we can skip the rest of Runes.”

Hermione hesitated as the others moved away, gesturing up the stairwell as Theo looked around for her. “I need to grab my things and send an owl; I’ll see you later?”

Theo frowned slightly but nodded, a shadow hanging over his expression that she hadn’t seen previously. She realised that he hadn’t spoken a word to McGonagall, his mood suddenly flattened and withdrawn in a way that perturbed her. He was walking away before she had the chance to check on him, though, and she forced her thoughts to her task as she turned for the stairs.

It was time to give Kingsley his final warning.

Chapter Text

It was the headline news of the Daily Prophet the following morning.

Hermione was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Harry, Neville and Luna, eating a bowl of porridge as the boys discussed plans to visit Hagrid’s hut for tea the following day. She was half-focused on the Arithmancy textbook open in front of her as the Owl Post arrived, meaning that she missed the initial swell of incredulous chatter until Harry gave her a nudge.

“Hermione, what did you do?”

“Hmm?” she answered, looking up and finding him pushing the paper towards her.

“Did you let Kingsley release your testimonies? I thought you wanted them sealed?!” he hissed, concern for her filling his expression.

She gave him a reassuring smile. “It's ok, I asked him to. Forced him, actually.”

Harry’s brows rose in surprise. “What? Why?!”

She took the paper, grimacing a little as she saw her picture splashed across the page. Skimming over it, she saw that the article filled the first five pages and clearly detailed her role in condemning several Death Eaters to Azkaban. Mugshots of Lucius Malfoy, Gregory Goyle, Yaxley and Travers were dotted around the pages, glaring out at her, but it was the final pages that made her smile in triumph.

Pages four and five thoroughly detailed her statements in support of Theo Nott and, more verbosely, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. Malfoy’s mugshot stared back at her from the centre of page five, his expression full of resigned fear and his dirty hair hanging lank around his face. Something tugged in her gut at the sight of it, her memories stirring but thankfully not overwhelming her.

Eyes were on her now, she could feel them hot on her skin as her ears caught snippets of the incredulous chatter, but as a shadow fell over the page the noise seemed to lower to an expectant whisper. Glancing up, she found Theo standing by the edge of the table, frowning down at her as the morning light highlighted his curls.

“Is this true?” he asked simply, his expression a guarded mix of confusion, hope and resignation as he held up the Prophet he was holding.

She bit her lip nervously as she nodded. “It should be. I haven’t read it fully, but I told Kingsley to release the full transcripts.”

Theo’s eyes flared wide before he echoed her nod. “You stopped them from charging me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Theo,” she answered, pushing up to stand beside him. “I just made sure they knew it.”

His bright blue gaze began to glisten as he visibly fought back his emotions. “They let me go after a single day in the Ministry cells. I thought I was fucked, and they suddenly just released me. Because of you.”

Hermione shook her head and made sure her words carried across the Hall. “Because you didn’t do anything wrong. You aren’t your father, and you shouldn’t pay for his sins.”

He cleared his throat loudly, looking down as he bashfully wiped a wayward tear from his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighed at that. “I didn’t think it would make a difference. I thought people would realise that you were innocent because you were free.” She shrugged and glanced reproachfully around at the watching students and staff. “Sadly, I was wrong on that one.”

Theo chuckled thickly. “First time for everything.”

She shot him a mock glare and he laughed again before pulling her into a hug. Squeezing tightly, he whispered a heartfelt thank you in her ear before releasing her and walking quickly away, clearly feeling overwhelmed and needing an escape. She swallowed hard as she sat back down, her own emotions rising as she found Harry staring at her.

“I forget how amazing you are sometimes, you know.”

She shrugged lightly. “Your loss.”

He barked a laugh at her teasing, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing her in a side hug as the general chatter picked up around them again. “Seriously though, Hermione,” he said quietly, serious again. “Are you sure you’re ok putting yourself back in the spotlight?”

She gave him an unimpressed look. “People need to understand that they aren’t the enemy. We killed the enemy, and imprisoned the rest. Those boys are suffering for no reason other than peoples’ assumptions. I’m not letting it happen anymore.”

Luna hummed a thoughtful sound as she refolded her copy of the Prophet and looked at Hermione. “You can’t stop people being cruel, you know. But you’re a good friend. They need that.”

***

Hermione sighed softly as she found Pansy, Blaise and Daphne already seated at her usual library table when she arrived twenty minutes later. Theo was nowhere to be seen, and she grimaced a little at the thought of dealing with them without the usual buffer he provided.

Glancing up, Pansy pointed to the seat beside her as she approached. “Thank Merlin. Granger, please help me understand this shit?”

Daphne sighed loudly and nodded. “Yes, please help. What did we miss?”

Hermione tried to wipe the baffled look from her face as she obeyed and sat, but Blaise caught her eye and shot her a knowing grin. “I think you’ve officially been adopted, little lioness.”

She wrinkled her nose a little and mouthed her answer. ‘Why?’

He held up three fingers and counted them off as he loudly stage-whispered back. “Stuck up for us. Trusted us. Saved our arses.”

Pansy huffed and slammed a hand on the table between them. “Look, this is serious. I refuse to fail this damn course and waste a year of my time. So would you help?”

Hermione straightened and nodded, totally understanding her issue. “Sorry, of course. What’s the topic?”

It was an hour later when she finally had the chance to ask about Malfoy. “He’s ok, healed up apart from the bruising now,” Pansy said, sipping delicately from the small, metallic water bottle that she pulled from her satchel. “He was released from the Hospital Wing first thing this morning. I think he’s sleeping.”

Blaise shook his head. “He wasn’t in his room after breakfast, I checked.”

Pansy simply rolled her eyes and picked up her quill. “In that case, he’s brooding somewhere. He does love to be dramatic.”

“Theo’s probably with him,” Daphne suggested as Blaise chuckled softly at Pansy.

Hermione shook her head, nodding at the approaching Slytherin. “Nope, Theo’s here.”

“McGonagall suspended them,” he announced, curls bouncing as he dropped exuberantly into the seat beside Hermione, apparently back to his normal self. “The arseholes confessed without even showing their memories, apparently. They’ve been sent home for a month and will have to catch up on all their work when they return. And they’re banned from Quidditch. Ravenclaw are going to be pissed to lose Miller.”

Daphne frowned angrily. “That doesn’t seem like much. She should have watched their memories anyway. Or asked for ours.”

“It was assault, she saw the state of Malfoy,” Hermione agreed heatedly. “Robertson should have been expelled at the very least!”

“Down girls,” Blaise said with a wide smirk. “Sheathe those claws. I’m sure we can find a way to even the score.”

Theo gave him a knowing look and tipped his head at Hermione. “We have the brightest witch of our age on our side now, after all.”

She grimaced at the title. “Please don’t call me that.”

The boys chuckled quietly at her obvious discomfort, wincing as Pansy hissed at them. “Stop teasing her. Study or get out.”

Theo lifted a brow and leaned close to Hermione, murmuring in her ear in order not to attract anymore of Pansy’s wrath. “Since when does she stick up for you?”

Hermione grinned at him and pulled out another textbook, giving him an innocent shrug in answer, even though she wasn’t entirely certain herself.

By the time they stopped for lunch, Hermione had finished an essay for Charms class and made further headway on the Runes project. Malfoy had yet to reappear though, and she was trying hard not to show her concern to the others. She sat with Harry again at lunch, noting that Malfoy still didn’t appear at the Slytherin table, and it was only the fact that Pansy had spoken to him that morning that stopped her marching to the Hospital Wing to check that something hadn’t gone wrong.

When he skipped Potions, leaving her to brew poison antidotes alone despite his previous concern about his marks, she decided that she needed to find him. Robertson and his buddies were hardly the only students in the castle who blamed Malfoy and the Slytherins for their pain, and she hadn’t saved his arse only the day before just to see him get ambushed again.

With the nod of approval from Slughorn at her completed potion, she threw her supplies back into her bag and marched over to Harry’s workstation. He glanced up at her in surprise, a red smudge of salamander blood on his nose where he had clearly pushed up his glasses.

“Are you ok?”

She nodded, giving him a tight smile and tightening her ponytail. Several wisps had escaped as she had rushed through the work and were falling into her face, but it would have to do. “Yes. No. I just need…” She turned to Theo, who was carefully stirring the sludgy mixture in their cauldron. “Have you seen Malfoy yet?”

His brow rose slightly as he shook his head. “No, I haven’t, but he’s fine Granger. He does this sometimes.”

She clicked her tongue at him irritably. “Fine? Like he was yesterday?”

Theo pushed his curls back as he briefly pursed his lips. “Ok, you have a point, but he really does love to brood.”

She nodded. “Ok, where?”

He wrinkled his nose as Harry looked between them in confusion and interrupted. “What’s going on? Where’s Malfoy?”

Hermione ignored him and looked expectantly at the curly-headed Snake. He rolled his eyes affectionately at her and shrugged. “His room, the dungeons, the lake, any free classroom. Seriously, he goes anywhere he can get some peace. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

Her lips twisted in frustration before she turned to Harry and briefly explained what had happened the day before. His brow furrowed in concern as he asked for details and immediately offered his help, making Theo blink in surprise.

“Seriously, since when are you Gryffindors so forgiving?” he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching up as Harry rolled his eyes.

“Since when are you Slytherins so stupid?” he retorted, his green gaze flashing with irritation. “None of you should be going anywhere alone right now, especially Malfoy.”

Theo’s eyes twinkled with sudden mischief as he gave Harry a nudge with his elbow. “Are you offering to be my escort, Potter? I might just enjoy that.” Turning back to their desk, he picked up the stirring rod and casually refocused on the potion, as if he hadn’t just made the Boy who Lived flush like a ripe tomato.

Hermione briefly glanced between them in surprise before tugging Harry’s sleeve to regain his attention. Lowering her voice further, she gave him a determined look. “I need to find him. Can I borrow the map?”

Glancing quickly back at Theo again, Harry abruptly cleared his throat and gave her a nod. “Yeh, go for it. It’s under my bed.”

“Ok, I’ll grab it now.”

He hesitated. “I warded my room, I… have no idea why I’m telling you that. You’ll break it in about a minute knowing you. Lock it again, please.”

She gave him a savage grin and turned on her heel, ignoring Theo as he cheekily called after her.

“Bon chance!”

***

Hermione stomped up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, the Marauder’s Map safely stashed away in her bag after spending ten full minutes searching for his name. Frustration was bubbling in her veins as her thighs screamed at her for the climb, and she cursed at him under her breath for forcing her to search him out like this.

The late afternoon sun made her squint a little as she rounded the last staircase spiral, but Malfoy’s platinum head was unmissable directly before her. He was sitting out on the open parapet, legs hanging precariously over the edge as he looked out over the lush Scottish hills and uncharacteristically blue sky.

When he didn’t even look round at the scuff of her shoe on the top step, her temper frayed further.

“Seriously?!” she snapped, stopping a couple of feet behind him. The sheer height of the tower and the open arches around its edge always made her stomach swoop. “I could be someone willing to shove you off the ledge. Why don’t you care about your safety? Or that your friends are worrying about you?”

He tilted his head just enough to take her in, leaning back on his hands on the smooth stone floor. “Friends, Granger?” he drawled. “Is that what we are?”

She fumbled a little at that, frowning down at him and folding her arms defensively. She had no clue how to answer that one.

A smirk spread across his darkly bruised face as she faltered, and he casually turned back to the view. “Don’t panic, I’m joking.”

“Joking?!” she scoffed, feeling an angry flush rise on her chest at his apparent indifference, overtaking her brief embarrassment. “I’m trying to help you, and you think that it’s just a joke?”

He stilled for a long moment before abruptly pushing to his feet and swinging around to face her. All amusement had dropped from his steely gaze as he stepped forward into her space, forcing her to look up at him if she wanted to maintain eye contact.

“The joke, Granger, is you questioning my idea of safety when your idiotic need to play the hero has painted a fucking target on your back.”

The anger in his gravelly tone was undeniable, and she felt a shiver roll down her spine as her pulse picked up. She wouldn’t back down though. It wasn’t in her nature. “No,” she snapped, lifting her chin defiantly. “I’ve taken it off yours.”

He barked a humourless laugh, his spearmint breath washing over her face. “Of course you haven’t, you naïve bint. There’s no redeeming us in their eyes. You’re only throwing yourself down into the dirt.”

The bite of his words was tempered by the soft edge to his gaze, silver flecks dancing in the storm.

“Well, at least I tried,” she retorted, quieter but resolute. “I assume you read today’s Prophet?”

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders beginning to bleed away as his eyes roamed her face. His frustration slowly gave way to gratitude, respect, and something deeper. Something raw that made her breath catch. “I saw it, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” Her voice failed her, emerging as a husky whisper as he lifted a hand and gently traced her cheekbone with his thumb.

“I’ll stop, if you stop trying to rescue me,” he countered with a smirk that made her swallow thickly.

She pursed her lips in annoyance as his words registered, watching as his gaze immediately fixated on her mouth and wondering if he was about to kiss her.

She realised with a skipped heartbeat that she would let him.

Still, she refused to let the point drop just because she could silently admit that he was extremely distracting. “I’m not rescuing you,” she argued on a murmur. “I’m trying to make them see the truth.”

His expression shuttered at her words, a coolness washing over him that made her stomach sink as he dropped his hand and stepped back. “The truth?” he snapped, sniffing haughtily at her, the epitome of the Pureblood prince he had once been. The abrupt difference was startling. “They see a Death Eater. Someone who has committed atrocities in the name of an evil tyrant. A coward who chose the wrong side.”

His mask had slipped back into place so seamlessly that she could almost believe it was his true self, and she had to forcibly stop herself from flinching as he moved to step past her.

“They already see the truth,” he hissed, his jaw tight enough to cut glass as he headed for the stairwell without a backwards glance.

The bitterness of disappointment coated her tongue as frustration and hurt warred within her chest, pressure briefly building behind her eyes before she forced in a deep breath and the sensation slipped away.

“No,” she whispered to the silent room, the distant echo of his footsteps fading as she calmly watched the dust motes dance in the fading sunlight. “They don’t.”

Chapter Text

Orange fur dusted her robes as the affectionate half-kneazle climbed across her lap, insistently nuzzling his head into her chest until he was almost pushing her over on the bed. He was purring loudly enough that she could feel it thrumming through her hands as she buried her fingers in his dense coat, making her laugh until she gently pushed him back a little and kissed the top of his head.

“Honestly, you’d think I hadn’t seen you in years,” she cooed, scratching under Crookshanks’ chin. “You come and find me most days, you know.”

She glanced over at her dresser, tilting her head contemplatively at the dusty grey cat that sat regally on top of her Arithmancy textbook. “You don’t usually bring a friend, though.”

Bright yellow eyes stared unblinkingly back at her, the intelligence there unnerving Hermione a little. Still, a cat was a cat, and she held out a hand in offering. “Did you want affection too, Mrs Norris?”

The creature simply blinked once before continuing to stare.

“I was doing some reading recently, you know,” Hermione mused, brushing down her skirt as Crookshanks leapt off the bed. “I was thinking about becoming an Animagus. It really could have helped during the war, but there’s no reason that I can’t still try. It turns out that it isn’t only Animagi who can transform into an animal. There are dark curses that can do it, but against a person’s will. Each time they change, they get stuck in that form a little longer, until they’re not able to become human again at all.”

She stood and walked to the door where Crookshanks was pawing at the frame. She opened it for him, watching him dart away with a soft smile before turning back to Mrs Norris. “You’ve never quite seemed like a normal cat, especially with your bond to Filch. I wonder if you’re a Maledictus.”

The answering yowl was loud enough to make her cringe and hold up her hands. “Ok, you’re right, it’s really none of my business. Sorry.”

Mrs Norris leapt lightly down to the floor and followed Crookshanks out of the room, not even gracing Hermione with another look as she disappeared from sight. Hermione laughed and gave a shrug, grabbing her wand and warding her room as her stomach growled.

The common room was empty bar a tall redhead, leaning casually against the back of one of the sofas as she emerged from the Gryffindor corridor. He gave a dismissive sniff as the cats slunk past, wrinkling his freckled nose briefly before levelling his blue gaze on her in a way that made her wary.

She stopped, making sure her placid mask was firmly in place before raising a brow at him expectantly. “Did you need something, Ronald?”

The slap of the newspaper landing at her feet startled her, and she glanced briefly down at where he had thrown it before focusing back on his scowling face.
“What is this bullshit?” he bit out, ears reddening even as he attempted to look composed.

She sighed softly. “The Ministry made my witness statements public. The media published them.”

“The Malfoy stuff makes you sound like a sympathiser,” he snapped.

“I just told the truth,” she replied, burying the urge to roll her eyes at his sheer predictability.

Ron stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as she simply held his gaze and refused to give him the upper hand by letting him draw her into an argument.

Folding his arms across his chest, he lifted his chin in a way that was almost defiant. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but it’s over between us.”

She blinked at him as he paused, rendered speechless by the bizarre declaration.

With a loud huff at her lack of reaction, he ploughed on. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but you’ve changed. I think you need time to sort yourself out. I care about you, but I need to step back and think about what I really want, you know?”

With an almost tangible pop, the bubble of tension in her chest burst. The stunned disbelief and anger initially triggered by his words suddenly morphed into the undeniable desire to simply laugh in his face.

So she did.

Her high-pitched giggle made him straighten up in surprise, soon becoming loud, snorting guffaws that had her bent double and clutching at her stomach.

“Mione?”

She waved a hand at him, gasping thorough her chuckles as his pathetic voice only made her laugh harder. “Don’t…. just stop… talking…”

When she finally managed to straighten up again, she was left desperately trying to reel in the soft giggles that kept threatening to pull her back down into laughter. Casually wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand, she had to firmly bite the inside of her cheek when she took in Ron’s dumbfounded expression.

“Granger?”

Both of their heads snapped round to where Pansy had emerged from the Slytherin corridor, her arm linked through Daphne’s.

“Everything ok?” Pansy continued, taking in Hermione’s wet cheeks before eyeing Ron with disdain. He scowled back and opened his mouth, but Hermione spoke before he could spew any of his usual vitriol.

“Yep, all fine!” she chirped, amazed at just how light she suddenly felt. “Are you heading down for dinner? I’ll come.”

“Hermione, what the fuck?” Ron barked, stepping closer to her as his temper reared its ugly head.

She snapped out a hand, palm facing him, and gave him a wide, patronising smile. “You know what, Ronald? You really are an utter idiot.”

***

Settling down to dinner at the Slytherin table, Hermione was in the perfect position to spot Harry as he walked into the Great Hall. Giving him a subtle wave and nodding meaningfully to the empty seat beside her, she had to fight back a smirk at the clear conflict in his face as he ran a hand through his hair and eyed the people around her. Meeting her gaze, he murmured something to himself before visibly steeling his spine and marching towards them.

“Granger, tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did,” Pansy hissed from beside her, making Hermione turn to meet her dark gaze.

“Are you just using me for study help, or are we friends?” she asked pointedly, making Blaise whistle softly at the challenge.

Pansy’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Hermione refused to let it phase her, waiting for an answer. She no longer had time and space in her life for people who pretended to care.

“Don’t be such a Gryffindor,” Pansy hissed, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t bother spending time with the people I use, so shut up.”

Hermione smirked at her but nodded. “Good. I’ll hear that apology you owe me for your past behaviour any time you’re ready.”

She heard Blaise choke on the sip of water he had just taken as she turned to greet Harry with a smile. He slid in next to her, much to the consternation of the students around the hall who had noticed him making his way over.

“Are you really making me do this?” he grumbled quietly, filling his drinking goblet with juice and throwing it back like he wished it was a shot of whisky.

Hermione breathed a laugh at him, elbowing him gently in the side before helping herself to food. “Don’t be so dramatic, this is hardly the worst place you’ve been.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” came a cheerful voice. “Between this one’s penchant for silent brooding, those two constantly bickering, and the general hatred thrown our way, it might be in contention?”

Theo was grinning widely as he slid into the seat opposite Harry, pulling Malfoy down beside him. Malfoy’s lip was curling at the sight of Harry Potter in the Slytherin domain, but Harry failed to notice as he smiled a little hesitantly at his curly-headed potions partner. Blaise and Pansy were, indeed, still bickering quietly but intensely between themselves, with a bemused Daphne and Tracey listening in.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, answering Theo. “A freezing cold tent in mid-January was definitely worse.”

Theo appeared to weigh that up. “Hmm, who with though?”

She hiked a thumb at Harry. “On the run with the Chosen One, remember?”

“With your bestie? Nah, that doesn’t sound too bad,” he joked as he dug into his own plate of food.

“Ok, how about trapped in the deep vaults of Gringotts with a dragon on the loose?”

He looked up with a frown. “You’re kidding.”

Harry chuckled wanly. “She’s really not. How about getting attacked by a giant snake at Christmas?”

The mood darkened a little at that, painful memories of the war pushing closer for them all. Harry, though, didn’t appear to be finished. “Or dying? I did that too.”

Theo stared at him with a heavy expression, watching intently as Harry’s emotions got the better of him. “Yeh, ok Harry, you win.”

Harry released a low bark of cold laughter. “That’s not even the worst one, Theo. I’m sure Malfoy can guess it though.” He turned to the silent blond and tipped his head in question. “Where’s the worst place I’ve ever been, Malfoy?”

“Harry, stop it,” Hermione murmured, her pulse beginning to race as Malfoy slowly looked up from his plate.

“I can only assume it’s the same as mine,” he answered simply, glancing at her for a brief second before focusing back on Harry. “Why exactly are you over here again?”

Harry stood abruptly, shoving a hand through his mop of hair before giving Hermione an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Hermione, this is too much…”

Trailing off, he waved away her attempted apology and strode away with multiple eyes watching closely. Hermione went to stand, not wanting him to be alone as he spiralled, but warm fingers on her arm stopped her.

“I’ll go, that was my fault,” Theo said, his eyes flashing with guilt. He didn’t wait for her answer, quickly following Harry out of the hall as she watched with tears threatening to spill over.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed away the remains of her food and allowed herself a few moments to collect herself before looking up at Malfoy. “Did you have to be such a dick?”

He quirked a platinum brow at her unrepentantly. “He was the one bringing up the past.”

“So?” she snapped. “You made that so much worse!”

He held her gaze for a long moment before sighing. “Why do you seem shocked that I’m the bad guy? You already knew that, surely?”

She scoffed. “Oh, shut up. I know you can be a prat, but you’ve been nothing but kind to me recently. Why is Harry any different?”

“He started it,” he grumbled, looking haughty. “Besides, would you make nice with someone who had given you scars?”

She twisted her lips, silently admitting that she had forgotten that. Guilt warred with disappointment in her gut as she realised that Harry was in no way ready to face old enemies yet and she had pushed the both of them too far.

Stewing in silence until her barely touched dinner had disappeared and the dessert selection had appeared across the tables, she jumped a little as she glanced up and found that Malfoy had scooted down the table until he was sitting across from her.

“You need to eat something, Granger.”

She gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m fine.”

He scoffed at her. “You stop eating every time you get emotional. Which, let’s face it, is a lot.”

“You really are a prat,” she answered, glaring at him.

Grabbing an apple from the bowl between them, he held it out to her. “Eat something and I’ll try and be nicer to Potter, how about that?”

“We both know that’s hardly a promise.”

He smirked at her and shrugged. “It’s better than nothing though, right?”

She grimaced at him before grabbing the apple from his outstretched hand. “Fine.”

She held his gaze challengingly as she took a bite, the tart crispness bursting across her tongue as he watched her intently. She chewed slowly, raising a brow at him until he gave a satisfied nod and turned away to speak to Blaise.

Swallowing hard, she glanced around to find Pansy’s sharp-eyed gaze fixed on her. “I almost expected him to say good girl,” she murmured quietly. “Though I may have heaved up my meal.”

Hermione felt the hot blush creep over her cheeks, buying herself a moment to collect herself by taking another bite of apple. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Pansy snorted softly and examined her nails. “Whatever you say, Granger.”

Unsettled and overwhelmed, Hermione glanced back across at Malfoy, his gunmetal eyes flicking to hers as he continued to speak quietly to Blaise. Something warm was stirring low in her belly as he watched her eat, his gaze darkening as her tongue darted out to catch a rivulet of juice that ran across her skin.

“Nooo idea what I’m talking about,” taunted Pansy in a whisper, the words suddenly making Hermione snap back to reality. Dropping the half-eaten fruit onto her plate with a thunk, she took a shuddering breath as she pushed to her feet.

She had no idea what the hell she was doing. She wasn’t sure if she was flirting, or if he was, or if no one was and she was having some kind of mental crisis. Plus there was the highly relevant fact that it was Malfoy. They had so much weighted history between them that she should probably be avoiding him entirely.

Still, as he slowly leaned forwards to pick up the shining, green apple, the look in his eyes told her a different story entirely. Her breath caught in her throat as he brought it to his lips and took a deep bite, his gaze trapping hers as her mouth dried out. The solid wood of the table in front of her bumped her hips as she unconsciously leaned towards him, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt as her pulse jumped.

“Oh, Draco, I’ve been looking for you!”

The melodic voice was like a bucket of ice water rushing over her skin, startling her out of the moment as her gaze rose to the girl standing behind him. Stunningly beautiful, the brunette gave Hermione a tight smile before focusing back on Malfoy as he turned to her with a frown.

“Sorry, I wasn’t interrupting, was I?” she asked demurely, her perfectly manicured fingers reaching out to brush his shoulder.

Daphne grimaced at the newcomer. “What do you want, Tori?”

Tori briefly glared at her older sister. “Nothing for you to worry about, Daphne. I wanted a word with Draco.”

“Why?” Daphne snapped. “You haven’t spoken a word to him for months.”

The sixth year giggled in a way that made Hermione cringe internally and brushed Malfoy’s shoulder again, apparently not realising how unimpressed he looked at her proximity. “Don’t be silly, the start of term is always so busy. Now the dust has settled I thought it would be nice for us to socialise again.”

“You mean now that people have read the Golden Girl’s testimony and are more sympathetic, his fortune is looking pretty juicy again,” Blaise crooned, his easy-going tone belying the accusation in his words.

Pink spots appeared on Tori’s cheeks as her smile faltered, her eyes dancing over them all before settling on Hermione. She knew by the glint in Tori’s eye that she had just been selected as the weakest link; that something underhandedly hurtful was about to emerge from the girl’s mouth as she lashed out, and Hermione decided that she wanted absolutely no part in it.

“As fun as this is, I was leaving,” she announced before Tori could speak, catching Pansy’s amused smirk before turning and walking away. It wasn’t until she was almost at the large arched doorway of the hall that she realised that she wasn’t alone.

Pansy slipped her arm through hers, falling easily into step with her as she gave her a wicked grin. “I’m with you, Granger. Listening to her voice was threatening to make my hair curl. Plus I have patrol tonight, with Parvati. I may need a drink first.”

Chapter Text

The quiet, rapid knock made Hermione look up from her book with a confused frown. A quick glance at the small, mechanical clock beside her bed told her how late it was, but it wasn’t like she had been asleep. Rising from her desk chair, she gave a soft groan as she stretched out her spine and went to open the door.

She blinked in surprise as the expectant look on Pansy’s face melted into disgust.

“What on earth are you wearing?”

Hermione looked down at the oversized tee and cotton shorts she was wearing as Pansy pushed into the room. “My pyjamas?”

The brunette scoffed. “Are you homeless? That is not appropriate sleepwear.”

“Appropriate? It’s not like anyone sees me, and its comfortable,” she argued, folding her arms. “Are you seriously just here to be a judgemental bitch?”

Pansy grinned and shrugged. “Sorry. Do you want to come and hang out?”

“Not really,” Hermione replied honestly.

“Oh come on,” Pansy replied, pausing her perusal of the room to look at her. “It’s getting a bit late for homework, isn’t it?”

Hermione shrugged. “Probably. It’s more that it doesn’t sound appealing.”

Narrowing her eyes slightly, Pansy gave her an assessing look. After a long moment her expression sobered and she gave a slow nod. “Ok, no worries Granger.”

Moving to leave, she paused in the doorway and pursed her lips. “I, uh, didn’t mean to offend you, you know. Not like…”

“Before,” Hermione finished when she trailed off.

Pansy had the decency to blush a little before stiffening her spine and facing her fully. “I used to hate you. Partly because I was taught to. Expected to, actually, unless I wanted to be disowned. But I can admit that it was more than that.” She pulled in a deep breath, looking visibly uncomfortable. “I was jealous. Everything was just so easy for you. You made me question everything that I’d been taught about Muggleborns.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “I cried a lot of tears over things you said and did, Pansy.”

The Slytherin twisted her lips in clear discomfort. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

A moment of silence fell heavily between them, but Hermione could see the emotion in Pansy’s gaze as she spoke again. “Really, Hermione, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured in acceptance, realising that she hadn’t needed the apology as much as she had thought. The past was the past, and she was happy to move on.

Pansy nodded and turned to leave, glancing back over her shoulder. “Sure you don’t want to come to the snake pit? The boys want to play games and I’d rather we outnumbered them.”

Hermione breathed a laugh at her conspiratorial wink, feeling any lingering resentment for the Slytherin girl melt away. “Yeh, ok.”

Pansy grinned and led the way, pausing to let her grab her wand and ward the room as they left. Weaving their way through the dark, empty common room, they headed into the Slytherin dorm and down to the second door in the boys’ corridor.

There was a chorus of friendly greeting as Pansy pushed inside without knocking. The rest of the Slytherin eighth years were lounged around the room in the low light, making a loose circle around a small, wooden table. Pansy hopped up next to where the girls were stretched out on the bed, Blaise propped up against it on the floor with an elbow resting on his bent knee. Theo and Malfoy were in deep armchairs that they must have transfigured from other furniture, considering the way they were squashed into the space, with crystal tumblers in their hands that made Hermione release a snort of amusement.

Theo jumped to his feet as the noise caught his attention. “Granger! What a lovely surprise!”

She gave him a nod of thanks as he magically extended his armchair enough for her to join him, sitting down and eyeing his glass. “That’s real crystal, isn’t it.”

“What else would it be?” Malfoy asked with a smirk, claiming her attention. Lounging casually, legs spread wide in his dark tracksuit bottoms, his simple grey t-shirt showed a distracting amount of detail that his school robes normally hid.

Forcing her eyes up to his before he caught her staring, she raised a brow. “You two really are pompous gits, you do realise that?”

“Oi,” Blaise interjected with a friendly wink, tipping his own glass at her. “You mean three.”

She chuckled. “Right, three, sorry.”

He smirked. “Did Parks inform you of this evening’s plan?”

She nodded, settling back into the seat and tucking her feet under her. “Games, right? Though I’m not getting drunk this time, we have classes tomorrow.”

Theo grinned at her and gestured to the decanter of amber liquid on the table. “One finger is all you need for this one, curls. If you would, Drake?”

With a smirk, Malfoy flicked his wand and summoned a small vial of transparent liquid. The girls released a harmonious groan at the sight of it.

“Oh come on,” Daphne groused. “This one is a bit harsh for the newbie, isn’t it?”

Blaise chuckled darkly. “What say you, lioness? Are you scared to play with the Snakes?

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Am I a child? Stop taunting me with peer pressure bullshit and lay it out on the table. Explain it and I’ll play if I want to.”

Theo grinned and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I think I love you, you know.”

She rolled her eyes at him as Malfoy removed the tiny cork from the vial with his teeth and poured it into the decanter. “It’s a very simple, but popular, game from the Slytherin common room. Everyone drinks from the bottle, everyone answers any question asked of them. If you manage to lie, you win.”

She frowned in confusion. “Lie?”

He smirked and handed her the empty vial. She took it and examined it, eyes widening as she sniffed it and her mind reached the inevitable conclusion. “Veritaserum?!”

Theo grabbed the decanter and swirled the contents gently before pouring out seven even portions. “Yup. Almost impossible to fight, but fun to try!”

“That is the most ridiculous waste of a semi-legal, difficult to produce, beyond expensive potion,” she argued in disbelief, making them all chuckle.

Malfoy raised his glass in toast, leaning back into his armchair again. “It is indeed. Cheers.”

Theo passed the rest of the glasses around, leaving Hermione’s in front of her if she chose to take it. Amusement crept in as she watched them all drain their drinks without any further preamble. She chewed her lip warily, but the sternly sensible voice in her head was quickly drowned out by the undeniable potential of what she could ask them.

“Can I stay if I don’t drink it?”

Malfoy’s left brow quirked up. “What do you think?”

She grinned unrepentantly and shrugged. “Worth a try.” Grabbing her portion, she gulped it down in a single swallow, wincing at the alcohol burn. “One stipulation? Please don’t ask me about the war.”

“Why not?” Blaise asked, wincing as Pansy immediately reached down to slap him around the head.

Hermione sucked in a breath as she keenly felt the potion’s influence, as if someone had reached down her throat and tugged the answer right out of her mouth. “It hurts too much to remember some things, and I don’t want to ruin the game by having a panic attack.”

Theo reached out to gently squeeze her knee. “No war talk.”

“Pansy, where is my Ogden’s thirty-year-aged firewhisky?” Malfoy drawled, breaking the tension.

Her eyes widened almost comically, but the answer burst from her lips in the next moment. “Blaise has it, in the trunk under his bed.”

“Bitch,” Blaise muttered as Malfoy shot him a glare.

Pansy only huffed and shrugged at Blaise. “Did you really think you could keep it for yourself?”

“I was going to share,” he protested. “Some of it, anyway.”

Hermione huffed a laugh, catching Blaise’s attention. He gave her a calculating look. “Who’s a better shag, Weasley or Potter?”

“Pointless question, I wouldn’t know,” she answered with a superior smile as he gave a disappointed sigh.

She turned to Theo, who eyed her a little nervously. “What are your intentions with Harry? Are you just playing with him? Because he really doesn’t need that right now.”

“I have none,” he answered, running a hand through his curls sheepishly. “He’s hot as fuck, but I know he’s out of my league. I’m happy to be his friend.”

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. “He’s still healing, and I think you confuse him, but he’s definitely interested. Intrigued at the very least.”

Theo blinked in surprise as Malfoy made a soft noise of disgust. “Really, Theo, did it have to be bloody Potter?”

Theo smirked at him. “You’re one to talk.”

“Is it just me, or is no one actually trying to lie?” Tracey complained. “If you’re all going to just sit and bare your souls, I’m going to bed.”

Theo shot her a sly smile. “Apologies, Trace, you’re right. So, which eighth year not currently in this room would you most like to fuck?”

Tracey immediately clamped her jaw shut, eyes wide as saucers as she tried to swallow back the answer that she clearly did not want to give. A pained noise escaped as she struggled and ultimately lost the battle. “Longbottom!”

The boys immediately broke into laughter, earning a disapproving look from Hermione before Pansy spoke over them. “Actually, I agree with her there. He put on some muscle last year. You should have seen him in Herbology the other day, all sweating and dirty. I would.”

Seeing that she had effectively shut them up as they gaped at her, she smiled victoriously before turning to Daphne.

“Who are your parents trying to betroth you to? And why won’t you tell me?”

Daphne turned pink but answered without much of a fight. “Marcus Belby. I told them I would refuse to marry anyone even remotely related to a Death Eater.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth and looked incredibly guilty as she glanced around. Malfoy only tipped his glass at her and shrugged. “Can’t blame you there, Daph, we’re arseholes.”

“You are not a Death Eater or an arsehole,” Hermione snapped at him, drawing his gaze.

His jaw ticked before he spoke. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately. “Do you really believe that I’m lying about it?”

“No,” he replied, leaning forward to place his empty glass on the table. “I think you’re deluding yourself and feel obligated to save us as part of your Gryffindor hero complex.”

She gaped at him, not wanting to admit how much his words had hurt her. “I know my own mind, Malfoy.”

He nodded. “I know. I’m not saying that you don’t. Just that you have some instinctive need to save people that’s blinding you to the truth.”

She clenched her fists in frustration. “You don’t believe that I really forgive you, do you?”

“No.”

His silver eyes flickered in the lamp light as he looked at her, seeming not to even attempt a fight against the potion. She knew then that she was about to break her own rule.

“Are you sorry?”

He sighed softly, the small sound heavy with feeling. “More than you know.”

She nodded and swallowed hard. “What for?”

This time his eyes flared, his throat working as he visibly began to resist the Veritaserum. It took a few long seconds, but his answer poured out like thick honey once he began.

“Everything I have ever said or done to hurt you. For every time I stood by and let you get hurt. For not stepping in and stopping Bella that day. For choosing my parents and their bullshit over you and other innocent people until I lost any sense of goodness in my blackened, shrivelled soul. For being a coward, even now. And for trusting you to play this game without bringing up the past.”

He looked up at her, his expression broken. “Did that feel good, Granger?”

She choked on a soft sob. “No. Now ask me.”

He frowned, the other people in the room a distant memory as they focused on one another. “Ask what?”

“I asked why you’re sorry. Now ask if I forgive you.” She scowled as he shook his head, sitting forward in an echo of his position and dashing the tears off her cheeks that she hadn’t felt fall. “Ask me! I can’t lie, and I need you to believe me.”

“Drake…”

Theo’s soft plea startled Malfoy, his gaze snapping to him before he suddenly pushed to his feet and made for the door. Hermione wanted to beg him not to run again, to stay and finish smashing down the walls around them, but he was gone before she could even form the words.

“Well that went well.”

Her gaze snapped to Blaise, who was once again dodging a slap from Pansy.

“Am I game to you?” she croaked, emotion thick in her throat as she looked around at them all. “Is all of this ‘adopting’ me just out of pity or spite, or a joke?”

“No,” Theo answered immediately. “Not at all, Hermione, I swear it.”

Pansy sat up and frowned at her as she answered. “I like you, Golden Girl, as much as it annoys me to admit it. And I trust you, so you’re in whether you like it or not.”

Daphne murmured her agreement as Tracey shrugged. “I don’t honestly care, Granger, sorry.”

Hermione almost laughed at the irritation on Tracey’s face as the truth was pulled from her. A grunt from Blaise caught her attention though, the expression on his face reminiscent of a constipated toddler as he fought not to answer.

Theo snorted a laugh as they watched Blaise puff out a long, pained breath before grinning at them triumphantly. “Wow. Do you need new underwear after that?”

Blaise seemed to consider the question carefully, prompting Hermione to stand. “And that’s my cue to go. Sorry I ruined the game.”

“Are you going straight to his door?” Blaise called after her as she left, making her scowl as she made a futile attempt to clamp her lips together.

“Yes,” she replied, grabbing for the handle.

“Going to pounce on him or slap him?” came the amused response, prompting her to dart out into the hallway and slam the door shut behind her, cutting off their low laughter.

“Quite possibly both,” she grated as quietly as possible as she stomped across to Malfoy’s door. Lifting her fist, she squeaked in surprise as the door was roughly pulled open before she could knock.

“Go away, Granger,” he growled down at her, eyes flashing angrily.

She frowned. “Do you really want me to leave?”

His mouth tightened before he answered. “I… yes… no…”

“Wow. Clarity,” she said snarkily, unable to stop the smirk from forming on her face.

He huffed, the corners of his mouth twitching just enough that she felt herself relax.

“Why are you pushing this?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching hers.

She let the answer flow without resistance. “Because I need you to believe me.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to forgive yourself.”

He dropped her gaze at that, eyes cast on the floor between them. Slowly, she raised a hand, tucking her fingertips beneath his jaw and tilting his face back up to hers. “Ask me,” she pleaded on a whisper.

She saw his throat work as he held a fierce internal debate, his eyes flashing silver in the low light as he gazed down at her.

“Do you forgive me?” he finally murmured in a barely audible exhale.

She smiled, the truth loud in the silent hallway. “Yes, Draco. I forgive you.”

She watched as wonder, awe and acknowledgement flowed over his features, closely followed by something deeper that she didn’t have time to interpret.

Gasping as he suddenly moved into her space, she found herself being gently but insistently herded backwards, stumbling a little as her back hit the cool stone wall of the corridor. Planting his hands on the wall either side of her, his breath ruffled her curls and tickled her neck as he leaned close to murmur in her ear. “Say it again.”

Goosebumps broke out across her skin as her breath stuttered, the heat of his body surrounding her as she tried to make her brain work. “I forgive you?”

He pulled back enough to meet her gaze, smirking at her as he catalogued her reactions to him. “You might regret that, Granger.”

She blinked in confusion. “Why?”

His smile turned wolfish. “Because that was the only thing holding me back.”

Boxed in and surrounded by him, she was certain that all coherent thought had abandoned her.

All but one. “I don’t want you to hold ba…”

He stole her words and breath before she could finish, pressing his mouth to hers with a soft rumble of need that sent heat rushing across her skin. Burying a hand in her hair, he cushioned her head against the wall as he deepened the kiss, groaning as her hands fisted the material of his t-shirt to pull him closer. He swallowed her answering moan as he tugged lightly on her curls and angled her head for better access, pressing her harder against the stone as she dug her nails into his chest.

Breaking away without warning, he checked that she was steady on her feet before putting a little space between them. She frowned, making him smirk in return. Anxiety threatened to creep in as she tried to read his expression, but she was reassured as he tenderly reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“Stop thinking,” he murmured. “It’s late. Go to bed.”

She blinked stupidly. “Bed?”

He tipped his head and grinned, and she realised with a quiet groan that she was only feeding his ego.

“Bed, Granger,” he repeated. “Go.”

She huffed but straightened, refusing to let him keep the upper hand and stepping forward into his space. His gaze flicked over her face, his pupils blown wide, and she gave him a soft smile as she leaned close.

“Dream of me?”

His breath caught as she pressed a single, chaste kiss to his cheek, the potion dragging the answer straight from his chest.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

She had woken to a blush pink rose on her pillow, and she was certain her cheeks were a similar colour as she hesitated at the entrance to the Great Hall.

“You are being ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, lightly shaking out her hands and forcing herself to move before anyone noticed that she was acting oddly.

“Morning Hermione,” Neville greeted her with a grin as he came up beside her, nudging her elbow as he fell into step with her. Harry was with him, dishevelled as usual as he greeted her similarly and began to pull her along with them.

Her eyes slid helplessly over to the Slytherin table and a certain blond who seemed to be attempting to ignore a chattering Daphne beside him. Silver eyes flashed up as if he could sense her watching him, a small smirk forming as she shot him an amused smile, and the pressure lifted off her chest as she allowed Harry to lead her to a seat beside Neville.

“Please tell me you aren’t sharing smiles with Malfoy now,” Harry muttered in her ear as he leaned across to grab a sausage. She cursed herself for forgetting how observant he could be.

Glaring at him, she stole the sausage directly from his plate, deliberately skewering it with her fork in a way that made him wince. “I do hope that Theo helped calm you down yesterday.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed at her pointed retort, glancing to check that no one had overheard before giving her a short nod and turning to focus on his food. Rolling her eyes at Harry, she gave Neville a smile as he caught her attention.

“I need your help,” he admitted, his voice low. She frowned in concern, but he stopped her before she could speak. “No, I’m fine, I mean help with Luna. It’ll be our six-month anniversary before long and I want to get her something perfect, you know?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, wow. Well, I’m not sure how much help I can be?”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “You’re a girl. What do girls like?”

She was pretty sure that she should have felt offended, but his desolate expression just made her snort a laugh. “Well what I like won’t be the same as what Luna likes, Nev, and I’m pretty sure you know her better than I do.”

He groaned. “Ok, yeh, but don’t girls all want something pretty for things like this?”

“What, like flowers and jewellery?” Harry asked, close enough to hear their conversation.

Neville wrinkled his nose. “Jewellery? At six months? You sound like my bloody grandmother.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a bemused look. “Say what now?” Harry asked.

Neville glanced between them, brows raised. “I’m mad for the girl, but we’re not marriage level serious yet.”

“Well get her a necklace, not a ring,” Harry said slowly, like Neville was being thick, but Hermione realised that they must be missing something.

She waggled her fork between herself and Harry. “We grew up with muggles, Neville, you need to explain.”

His mouth formed a small o of understanding before he leaned in towards them secretively. “Jewellery is part of courting. As in, you only give jewellery when it’s really serious. Betrothal type of serious.”

“Courting,” Hermione echoed, knowing she sounded a little incredulous. “As in, chaperoned walks around the flower garden and dance cards at the ball?!”

Both boys turned to look at her in bewilderment. “What are you on about?”

She sighed at Harry’s question and turned back to Neville, waving at him to explain further.

He shrugged and dug back into his food. “There are loads of stages to it traditionally, flowers that mean stuff and all that, but only the really old Pureblood families bother with that nowadays. Jewellery though…” He sat back and blew out a breath. “Every witch knows what that means.”

Hermione gave a soft laugh as the Owl Post arrived overhead. “If only Mr Darcy was here to guide you on an appropriate gift to avoid the promise of betrothal.”

Neville narrowed his eyes at her as Harry caught the rolled newspaper dropped before them. “Is this a real person? Because…”

The sound of Harry’s gasp cut off whatever Neville had been saying, a heaviness slowly washing over the room that made Hermione’s stomach roll. She dropped the spoon she had been using to stir her tea, turning to a frozen Harry and seeing the Prophet flattened out on the table in front of him.

Lestranges Return – Two Dead in Yorkshire Attack

The large, bold headline sat atop three monochromatic pictures, the faces within them making bile rise in Hermione’s throat. The familiar picture of Rodolphus Lestrange sat to the left, snarling and wild as before. His brother Rabastan stood stoically on the far side, dark hair hanging lank as he glared at them with a dark promise that sent shivers running across her skin. But it was the screaming, wild-haired woman in the central picture that had Hermione’s fingers curling into fists.

“Oh shit,” Neville exclaimed, twisting the paper towards him a little so he could read the article. “Aurors were called to the wizarding village of Upper Flagley at midnight last night and found the missing Lestrange brothers burning homes to the ground before they escaped,” he paraphrased shakily. “Two died, three are in St Mungos in serious condition. There are reports of other Death Eaters with them, including a dark-haired witch who some claim was Bellatrix Lestrange. Well that can’t be true, she’s dead.”

Hermione couldn’t tear her gaze from the picture of the insane witch, her worst memories suddenly thrusting to the forefront of her mind. A painfully familiar sense of terror crept up her spine, digging into her skin with icy cold fingers as her pulse began to thunder in her ears.

“It’s happening again,” she heard Harry say in a panicked tone, his breathing heavy. If Hermione had been able to look away from her tormentor, she would have seen him drop his head into his hands. “Will it ever actually be over?”

A part of Hermione knew that this was the moment that Harry needed her to turn to him and say the right words. To talk him down, reassure him. To hold him as he pulled himself together.

The problem was, she couldn’t. If anything, his panic was only fuelling her own. Her vision had tunnelled until all she could see was the root of her fear. The feral, vicious eyes that were locked on her in return and refused to let her turn away. Memories played like flickering film clips on repeat, from the Department of Mysteries to that night in Malfoy Manor, and she couldn’t seem to make them stop.

Throat tight and breathing ragged, she knew that she was panicking. It was the first real episode to hit her since she had faced her trauma and opened up to her feelings, and where there was once a reinforceable wall there was now only intangible smoke. There was no longer any chance of escaping or suppressing it, even though she was surrounded by people. Even as the paper was suddenly pulled out of her field of vision, she remained trapped in her head. Screams and cackling laughter echoed in her ears as her eyes watched Harry look up at her, but his mouthed words did not reach her as his forehead creased into a concerned frown. He exchanged a worried look with Neville, the pair faltering as they struggled to work out what was happening.

Breaths rasping and thin, her fingernails scratched at the wooden table as her hands flexed uncontrollably, her gaze suddenly darting around in search of an escape. People were turning to face her, eyes staring as her panic was noticed and increasing the pressure on her chest as she felt the weight of their judgement.

Moments later, she found what she needed. Intense, grey eyes caught hers across the room and forced the whirlwind of panic to slow. Air rushed into grateful lungs as she saw realisation hit him, his brow creasing as he glanced at the people around her and found them only staring at her. She jumped and recoiled as someone touched her shoulder, her hands balling into fists again as Parvati leaned into her field of vision and tried to speak to her.

Across the hall, Malfoy stood abruptly before hesitating, clearly torn as he watched the scene unfolding. He could see her panic, he was familiar with it after all, but she was very much sitting in the belly of the lion’s den and his presence would definitely create even more of a scene. As his gaze drilled into hers, he shoved a frustrated hand through his hair before Harry’s face abruptly blocked her view of him entirely.

“Hermione!”

His voice was distorted by the buzzing in her ears, but the moments of distraction Malfoy had given her meant that the sounds in the room were shifting back into focus. Sadly, that meant that her awareness of the sheer number of people staring, pointing and muttering also became clear, including the nearby seventh and eighth year Gryffindors.

“What’s wrong?” Harry called, only catching more attention and sending her heartrate spiking higher again. He grabbed her forearms, sitting back beside her. “Hermione, please talk to me, what’s happening? Do you need Madam Pomfrey?”

Her throat worked, but her tongue refused to cooperate as she felt a tear track down her cheek. Sucking in a resistant breath, she tugged her arm free and forced her eyes back across the room to the only person who seemed to understand. The only person she trusted to pull her out of both the panic and the situation.

She knocked.

Fist on the dark wood of the table in front of her, she lifted a trembling fist and rapped her knuckles in quick succession. Looking directly at him, she saw the moment his gaze tracked the motion and watched as he immediately spurred into action. Pushing away from the Slytherin table, he strode across the hall without breaking her gaze, rounding the end of her table and bypassing watching Ravenclaws until he was suddenly dropping into a crouch beside her seat.

Harry stammered in surprise at the unexpected arrival but was ignored as Malfoy gently turned her to face him, a stunned silence dropping over the watching students as he spoke.

“Breathe, Granger. I’ve got you.”

She felt her emotions swell at his words, biting down hard on her lip as she tried to hold it back.

“Oi!” The sudden shout startled her enough that she gasped. “Get away from her!”

Malfoy’s eyes never left hers, his left hand sliding forward to squeeze her knee. Her own hand instinctively landed on top of his, grasping it tightly as if it could anchor her to reality as other voices sounded behind her.

“Get the hell off her, Ferret,” Ginny hissed close by, drawing her wand.

“Back off, Ginny, he’s helping her,” Theo snapped, having followed Malfoy across the room.

There was a bark of caustic laughter that Hermione recognised as Ron’s, and she tensed in anticipation of his heated reaction. The next voice, however, came from a rapidly approaching Professor Flitwick as he began to demand to know what was occurring.

Malfoy, eyes never leaving Hermione’s, ignored it all and drew his own wand smoothly. “Protego totalum. Silencio duo.”

A small, shimmering dome erupted around them, giving them roughly a metre of silent space and effectively cutting off the drama around them. Tucking his wand away again, Malfoy reached up to gently brush a lock of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

“Stop worrying about them,” he murmured. “Focus on breathing and then we can get you out of here.”

She forced herself to focus now that the overwhelming noise and embarrassment was paused. The feel of his thumb rubbing slow circles on her palm; the warm scent of him that was tinged with spearmint and a now-familiar cologne; the softly murmured words of encouragement as she slowly pulled herself back together.

“What is happening?” Harry asked bluntly. He was sitting close enough that Malfoy had been forced to include him in the circle, which he was clearly displeased with as he shot him a disparaging look.

“What’s happening is that you lot have your heads wedged so far up your own arses that it’s hardly surprising you spew so much shit.”

A surprised snort of laughter flew out of Hermione’s mouth, and she clapped a hand over her lips as Malfoy smirked at her. “And she’s back. Ready to move? I’m pretty sure the Weasel Bitch just fired a hex.”

“Oi, watch it.” Hermione glanced around at Harry’s somewhat half-hearted defence of his ex, seeing Flitwick examining the shield Malfoy had created while Professor McGonagall berated a scowling Ginny.

Malfoy stood, brushing off his trousers as he raised an unimpressed brow at Harry. “Watch what, Potter? Granger having a panic attack that none of you know how to deal with?”

“But you do,” Harry replied, more of a statement than a question.

Malfoy simply sniffed at him before offering a hand to Hermione. “Shall we?”

She glanced about nervously, reluctant to leave the safety of the bubble he had put them in but knowing that she needed to face them all, if only to make her escape.

“Granger.” Her eyes shot back to his obediently, frowning as his expression closed off a little. He tipped his head towards Harry. “Potter can walk you back to the common room.”

Her head was shaking before he had even finished speaking, and she slid her hand into the one he was still offering. He gently pulled her up to her feet, but she refused to let go when he tried to release her.

“No,” she croaked, throat dry. “You can.”

“I’ve caused enough of a scene, princess,” he argued softly, tipping his chin towards the commotion outside of the bubble. She simply stared at him, lifting her own chin a little in defiance until he released a soft sigh and mumbled under his breath. “Bloody stubborn woman.”

Harry snorted this time, making them look at him as he shrugged. “You go, I’ll hold them off.”

With unspoken agreement, they leapt into action. Cancelling his charms, Malfoy renewed his grip on Hermione’s hand and towed her towards the large hall doorway, guiding her past living and inanimate obstacles alike with his usual grace. She winced as the din crashed against her ears, trusting him completely to get her out as she heard Harry disarm someone and loudly complain about the school resembling a zoo.

While remaining considerate of how hard he tugged her arm, ensuring that he tucked her into his elbow to guide rather than yank her along, Malfoy did not slow until they were back in the forest enchantment in Classroom Eleven. Still shaking, she happily allowed him to guide her down to sit on a fallen tree trunk.

Backing out of her space, he folded his arms and narrowed his eyes slightly. “Can I ask what happened?”

She released a shuddering breath as she forced herself to remember what had triggered her, allowing it wash over her rather than burying it and giving it more power. “You didn’t see the Prophet this morning?”

He frowned and shook his head. “Bad?”

She swallowed thickly and nodded. “Bad. There was an attack in Yorkshire. Death Eaters. People are saying they saw Bellatrix.” Her voice was audibly trembling at the final word. Malfoy stiffened, his face turning to stone.

“She’s dead.”

“I know,” she agreed, dropping her gaze to pick invisible lint off her thigh as embarrassment prickled through her. “But there was a picture of her. I wasn’t expecting it, and then Harry was freaking out, and I just… panicked.”

The following silence was long enough that she almost wondered if he had left until he silently settled beside her on the wide log.

She sighed. “I’m so…”

“If you apologise, I may have to put you over my knee until you see stars.”

Hermione blinked at his interruption, biting her lips together as his words sparked a fire that she wasn’t sure he had intended. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

He sucked in a strangled breath before releasing a disbelieving laugh. “Fucking hell, Granger.”

She smirked at him as they settled back into a more comfortable silence, and she leaned into his arm as they both stared out into the shadows.

“I dream of that night still,” he murmured long minutes later. “Of you being trapped and screaming. Of her laughter. And every single time I do nothing but watch it happen.”

She shuddered, the hot feeling of bile creeping up her throat at the memories, but she somehow knew that this wasn’t about her any longer. “Me too.”

His face creased in shame and disgust, and she placed a firm hand on his thigh as she continued.

“But you don’t do nothing. You save me, protect me.”

He scoffed. “I did not save you. Trust me, I remember every damn detail of what happened. Bloody Potter and Weasel saved you, and Dobby.”

She hummed noncommittally and rested her head against his shoulder. “I remember too. I remember you pushing into my head and helping me to rebuild my walls when they crumbled. I remember you holding me together.” She twisted her head to look up at him. “You saved me, really.”

He dropped his head, letting it hang forward to avoid looking at her. “I forced my way into your mind. I added to your pain.”

She stifled an eye roll, pushing away her frustration at his refusal to hear her. “Stop it, Malfoy.”

He scowled at his feet. “He did that. The Dark Lord. He forced his way into peoples’ minds. Attacked them from the inside. He taught me how, and then I did it to you.”

“Why?”

His head snapped up as he looked at her brokenly. “I couldn’t let her break you. I just… couldn’t. Not you.”

She reached up to briefly cup his cheek. “So, you didn’t try to hurt me. You didn’t attack me. You held me together long enough that we could escape, and I will never be able to thank you enough for it.”

He released a long breath, his cheeks puffing out with the pressure. “You are beyond stubborn.”

She grinned and rested her head back on his shoulder. “It’s been said. Doesn’t mean that I’m wrong though.”

His quiet chuckle seemed to trigger a change in him, some of the tension easing out of his posture as he shifted to wrap his arm around her. Still, she took the moment to voice the words she thought that they both needed to hear aloud.

“She’s dead. Dead and gone.”

He nodded absently, eyes still watching the shadowed forest. “Yeh. I know.”

Chapter Text

Slipping into her usual seat in the Transfiguration classroom, Hermione didn’t even bother acknowledging her desk partner as she retrieved her books from her satchel. Knowing him as well as she did, however, she could almost feel the waves of tension pouring from him as he aggressively tapped his quill on the wooden tabletop.

Angling herself better so that she could see him in her peripheral vision, she saw that his ocean blue eyes were locked on her, a bitter scowl on his face that reminded her of how he reacted whenever his Quidditch team lost a match. The end of his quill snapped as he stabbed it down too firmly, clearly trying to catch her attention so that he had an excuse to release the rant he was composing in his head, but she simply ignored him and bit back the amused smile that threatened to appear.

She wasn’t certain at exactly what point she had simply ceased caring about Ron and his opinions of her, but she realised that she just… didn’t. If anything, she was left wondering why she had never found his red-faced spluttering entertaining before.

The class settled as Professor McGonagall swept into the room, her keen eyes skimming over them as she waved her wand at the blackboard. Despite being the Headmistress, the Professor had maintained her role as Transfiguration teacher due to both her undeniable expertise in the subject and the lack of willing and available replacements after the war.

As the words ‘King to Rook’ appeared with an elegant flourish, McGonagall folded her hands in front of her and gave them a tight smile. “Today we shall begin our work on the transformation of a chess piece into a noble relative of the crow. This is far from an easy task, students, do not be fooled by the play on words.”

Hermione fought back a snigger at the utter bewilderment on Ron’s ruddy face before realising how much extra work she would once again be forced to do with him as her partner. Sighing softly, she refocused on the Professor as she demonstrated the required spell, leaving a regal, ebony black bird perched on the desk. Cocking its head in apparent confusion, it gave a loud squawk and spread its wings, flying up into the rafters and peering down at them suspiciously.

“Now, I would like you to select a new partner for this project and reseat yourselves. There are several texts available at the front to use alongside your core textbook and extend your knowledge before attempting the spell. I encourage you to do so, unless you have a particular penchant for cleaning up Corvus carcasses!”

Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste as the class broke into chatter and began to move. Ron turned towards her and gave her an unpleasant, knowing smirk. “Reckon you’ll have a long line of volunteers to be your partner, Mione? Or have they all seen how low your standards have dropped lately?”

She simply raised an unimpressed brow. “I hope whoever agrees to partner with you knows that they’ll be doing all of the work.”

He scoffed and stood. “Yeh, we’ll see who is left out in the cold here, shall we?” Turning, he cupped a hand to his mouth to call across the room. “Hey, Harry! Come partner me!”

Grinning as Harry gave them a quick once over and began to make his way over, Ron leaned down and brought his mouth close enough to Hermione’s ear that she physically flinched away. “Do fuck off now, swot,” he muttered nastily, straightening as Harry approached.

Hermione could feel the attention of the class on them as Ron tried to make a show of them both rejecting her, and she couldn’t help the way her pulse picked up at the thought of Harry having to make an actual choice between them. She liked to think that the choice wouldn’t be easy, but ultimately she hated that Ron was deliberately putting Harry in this position.

“Do you seriously not give a shit about anyone but yourself?!” she hissed at him as she grabbed her belongings and stood. He only rolled his eyes at her as Harry stopped before them, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shifted uncomfortably.

Reaching out to clap a hand on Harry’s shoulder, Ron gestured to her seat. “We can stay here, mate. She’s leaving.”

Hermione shook her head quickly as Harry opened his mouth. “It’s fine, Harry, really. It’s not a big deal.”

She turned, ready to seek out a partner from whoever was left, when firm fingers encircled her wrist and pulled her to a gentle stop. Looking back in surprise, she found Harry reaching over the desk to stop her, his green gaze steadfast and firm.

“Yes, it is a big deal,” he said ardently, releasing her and straightening as he looked back at Ron. “Not sure what you’re playing at, mate, but I choose Hermione. I have no idea why you’re trying to turn people against her, or what this little show is all about, but if you’re making me choose between you, she wins.”

Ron scoffed inelegantly. “What? I’m your best mate! And you’ve seen what she’s like lately! She’s hanging out with the bloody traitors!”

Harry folded his arms and lifted his chin defiantly. “My best mate wouldn’t treat people like this. Especially the one person who has always been there for them and has stood by them through everything. We literally would not be alive without her.” With a disappointed shake of his head, he moved round the table to grab Hermione’s hand and tugged her away, ignoring Ron’s indignant sputters.

Parvati’s mouth was hanging open as she sat beside Seamus, clearly revelling in the drama as Harry pulled Hermione towards the back of the room. Giving Hermione a sharp look as she opened her mouth to speak, Harry pushed her gently to sit at the desk he had selected as she heard the quiet snap of McGonagall’s voice instructing their audience to focus on themselves.

Biting her lip as her initial surprise morphed into a heady mixture of gratitude, love and sadness, she felt her eyes water as Harry dropped down beside her with an irritated huff.

“Fucking prick.”

She automatically shushed his muttered curse, hating what had become of his and Ron’s friendship. It only earned her a scowl.

“Don’t, Hermione, he is,” he snapped, carding a hand through his dishevelled hair. “I don’t understand what is going on with him lately.”

She sniffed and shrugged. “The war affected us all…”

He cut her off with a slash of his hand through the air. “Don’t. Don’t make excuses for him.”

“Hear, hear.”

Their heads snapped around at the sound of Theo’s voice from the desk behind them, where he was giving them a wry smile. She rolled her eyes at him half-heartedly, shooting Tracey a small smile of acknowledgment that was easily returned. Blaise and Daphne peered over at them from the back desk as Harry gave Theo a friendly nod.

“I reckon Draco would happily compose a few more verses of Weasley Is Our King if you asked,” Blaise called, grinning wickedly. “He loved writing that.”

Harry sighed and turned back to their desk, grabbing his textbook. “Of course he did.”

Hermione bit back a smile at Harry’s exasperation as the four Slytherins chuckled loudly, shaking her head at Blaise as she turned back to her books as well. Thankfully, Malfoy was taking Herbology rather than Transfiguration, so was not there to wind Harry up any further. The tension in his shoulders was already concerning.

She gave him a nudge. “Thank you.”

He simply rolled his eyes at her and gestured at the front of the room. “Stop talking rubbish and go and get the books we need.”

His tetchiness only made her grin. “Sure thing, Chosen One.”

***

Their chess piece had feathers by the time the Professor called an end to the lesson, which was more than anyone else could claim. Harry had also cheered up somewhat, despite Ron’s insistence on shooting him forlorn looks, and by the time they had packed away their books he had a distinct twinkle in his eye that made her a little uneasy.

“What?” she asked warily when he stopped her from standing.

“Malfoy,” he said simply, suddenly looking decidedly mischievous. “Or should I say you and Malfoy. Because while thinking about it hurts my head, I’m not blind. And this feels like prime teasing material.”

Her mouth dropped open as her face flushed. “Don’t you dare!”

He chuckled triumphantly and poked her arm. “Hey, if you want to dabble with the bad boy, be prepared for the consequences. What kind of friend would I be if I ignored opportunities to made you look like a tomato?” He pointed at her face. “Yeh, like that. Maybe darker though. Tell me, does he let you help him do his hair?”

She raised an imperious brow as he grinned widely at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeh right, and the fact he faced down the entire Gryffindor table to get to you earlier means nothing.”

Holding his smug gaze for a long second, Hermione let a wicked smile creep across her face and leaned close, watching as his expression faltered slightly. “I like the way his hair is messier nowadays, rather than the old, slicked back look, don’t you? Makes me think about burying my fingers in it when he pins me to the wall.”

As she had expected, Harry jumped to his feet and shook out his limbs as if she had poured beetles on him. “Eurgh! Hermione! Gross.” She snorted a laugh as he pointed a finger at her and scowled. “Never tell me anything like that again. It’s Malfoy.”

She rolled her eyes as he gagged a little, standing and swinging her satchel onto her shoulder as Theo appeared beside them and looked at Harry in amusement. “What’s Malfoy?”

Harry just shuddered again as Hermione shrugged. “Who pins me to the wall.”

“Hermione!”

Theo looked highly amused at Harry’s protest, raising a brow at her. “Does he now? Good for him. Anyhoo, I wanted to ask a favour.”

She smiled at him. “Ok, sure.”

He looked a little bemused by her easy agreement. “You don’t know what it is yet.”

“So? We’re friends, I trust you.” She gave him a stern look. “I take my friendships seriously, Theo. I hope you do too.”

Whipping up his palms in surrender, he nodded quickly. “Absolutely I do. It’s just that your very Gryffindor approach to life takes some getting used to.” She rolled her eyes and gestured for him to get on with it. “Do you think you can teach me how to cast a Patronus? I’ve never managed a corporeal one before, and yours is epic.”

Glancing between them, Harry casually raised a hand. “I can.”

Biting back a grin at both the red blotches flaming on Harry’s cheeks and Theo’s look of pleased surprise, she nodded firmly. “Oh, Harry is definitely the best person to ask. He taught the rest of us, after all.”

“You did?”

Harry tipped his head in acknowledgement, visibly summoning up his courage as he puffed out his chest. “Lupin taught me in third year, made sense to pass it on.”

“Third year?!”

Hermione could almost see cartoon hearts around Theo’s awestruck gaze as Harry grinned. “Yeh. If you wanna learn, I’m happy to help. We could, like, meet up sometime?”

Theo’s natural playfulness was returning with a vengeance as he smiled at Harry. “It might take me a few lessons to learn it. We’d have to meet up a lot.”

“I’m ok with that,” Harry said, holding Theo’s gaze as something unspoken passed between them.

“Eighth years, your youth may not afford you much urgency, but I have another lesson to prepare for,” called McGonagall suddenly, making them realise they were the only students left in the classroom. “If you would be so kind as to move on?”

“Sorry, Professor,” called Harry as they quickly left, Hermione forking left outside the room as she realised that she needed to hurry to Arithmancy.

Calling a brief goodbye over her shoulder, she trotted down the stairs to the first floor, where Professor Vector had been holding classes since discovering a Doxy infestation in their usual classroom over the summer. Rounding the corner at the bottom of the silent stairwell, she gasped as a hand shot out and grabbed her arm, yanking her into a window alcove hard enough that she stumbled into the stone wall.

Flexing her wrist with a soft wince from where it had been crushed against the wall, she grabbed her wand as she spun around to defend herself, freezing as she found a wandtip pointed directly between her eyes.

“Finite Incantatem!”

Surprise slowly melting into anger, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the redhead before her, raising a single sardonic brow in response to the spell.

“Hermione?” Ginny enquired with an assessing look, her blue eyes searching Hermione’s face.

“That would be me, yes.”

“Are you…” Ginny faltered, stepping back and clearly unsure if her spell had worked. “Are you you again?”

“Expelliarmus.” Ginny gasped as her wand flew into Hermione’s grasp before a flick of her own wand sent Ginny tripping back against the opposite side of the alcove.

“What the actual fuck, Ginevra?!” Hermione hissed. “It’s one thing to turn your back on me, but it’s another to attack me! What was that supposed to achieve, anyway?!”

Straightening up, Ginny lifted her chin defiantly as her cheeks pinkened. “I was trying to help. I figured that you had to be under some kind of spell to be acting the way you have!”

“Help?! Help would be talking to me, Gin. Or deciding not to call taunts across a crowded room!”

Ginny scowled. “You have friends who love you, and you’d rather make nice with Death Eaters. Are we supposed to be ok with that?!”

“Love me?” Hermione echoed, her voice cracking. “You didn’t even notice that I was falling apart, and when I needed you more than ever you turned your backs. I’ve only been worth what I can give you. That isn’t friendship.”

“You’re a fool if you think those snakes are your friends,” Ginny spat, hands balling into fists as she stepped closer. “They’re using you to get to Harry and Ron. It’s a game, Hermione. You’re nothing but a joke.”

Hermione took in the fiery rage in Ginny’s eyes, allowing the hurtful words to flow over and past her without sinking deep. She had already faced the truth of their friendship, had accepted that things had inexorably changed, and while the barbs still scratched, they didn’t burn and scar like they once would have. “Why do you hate them so much?”

Ginny gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Are you fucking kidding me?! They are BAD PEOPLE, Hermione! They were on Voldemort’s side! They’re the reason people DIED!”

Hot tears sprang to Hermione’s eyes as the truth became suddenly, blindingly clear. Everyone carried their scars differently, attributed guilt where it felt right, and Ginny was no different. Her grief meant that she needed someone to blame. Someone to hate.

“Gin,” her voice was a whisper now as emotion clogged her throat. “They didn’t kill Fred.”

She heard the sharp crack of skin against skin before her mind registered the pain, her head whipping to the side as Ginny slapped her across the face. The wand she had taken was roughly snatched from her hand, sharp footsteps almost covering Ginny’s choked sob as the redhead hurriedly marched away.

Raising her now empty hand to her throbbing cheek, Hermione dragged in a shuddering breath as she took a moment to centre herself. Instinctively tightening her fingers around her wand, she hissed in a breath as sharp pain pulsed through her damaged wrist, almost dropping it before managing to slide it back into her pocket. The sound of heavy steps sent a jolt of tension through her as she braced herself for whoever was approaching, but the blond head that appeared around the corner made her sag in relief.

“You’re late, Granger, I’m concerned that we’re having a bad infl…” Malfoy’s teasing tone dropped abruptly as his gaze took her in, his easy smile shifting into a something dark and intense. “What happened?”

She grimaced as her injuries ached sharply, wincing as he reached out to grasp her chin and inspect her face. “I’m ok, I just…”

“What. Happened?” he demanded, his gaze darkening to pitch as his jaw clenched.

She sighed, head hanging low as she suddenly felt entirely drained. “Can you just take me to the Hospital Wing, please? I think my wrist is sprained.”

She could almost hear his teeth grinding together as he clocked the way she was favouring her arm. “Hermione…”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “I don’t need you to go all caveman on me. I just need…” She had to swallow thickly as she fought back tears of frustration and pain. “Can you just take me to Madam Pomfrey?”

Gentle fingers on her unharmed cheek encouraged her to meet his eyes. Apology and affection shone softly back at her, and she wordlessly allowed him to gather her carefully into his chest and hold her close. Winding her good hand into the back of his robes, she clung on and breathed in the calming scent of him for a long moment before he answered.

“Will you tell me later?” he murmured against her hair as he gently stroked her back in a wide arc.

“Will you promise not to do anything stupid if I do?”

His chest expanded beneath her cheek as he released a long sigh. “Do you really think I’m idiotic enough to end up in Azkaban over something stupid?”

Pulling away, she gave him a knowing look before letting him tuck her good hand into his elbow and lead the way. “That wasn’t an answer, Malfoy.”

He smirked at her. “Sounded like one to me, Granger.”

Chapter Text

The light through the open curtains woke Hermione the following morning, a shaft of intense sunlight making her squint and squirm away. She scowled at the window as if it was to blame for the fact that she had been too exhausted to remember to draw the curtains when she had fallen into bed.

After an evening in the Hospital Wing to get confirmation that her wrist was indeed sprained, and a nicely uncomfortable compression bandage to wear for a couple of days while the healing potions repaired her torn ligament, Malfoy had insisted that she eat some dinner before allowing her to succumb to the drowsiness from the pain potion. By the time he had walked her as close to her door as he was able, she had been dead on her feet.

Grimacing as she stretched and pain lanced through the injured limb, she gingerly sat up and used her left hand to rub her face. As a strong, sweetly floral scent caught her attention, she noticed a short stem of small, off-white flowers on her second pillow. Lifting it with a bemused frown, she ran her fingers over the fern-like leaves as she tried and failed to identify it. Casting a quick statis charm, she placed it in the small vase beside her bed alongside the rose from the previous day before forcing herself to get up and ready for the morning.

She found the Slytherin girls sat in their normal place at breakfast, slumping down beside Pansy and slipping three sugar cubes into a hot cup of tea. Daphne gave her an amused smile as Pansy scrunched up her nose at the state of her hair.

“Tired?” Daphne asked kindly.

“Please let me charm your hair, Granger,” Pansy begged, actually looking pained as she made a clear attempt to censor herself.

Hermione gave her an appreciative smile. “Feel free. I’m too exhausted to care right now.”

Daphne nodded sympathetically. “How’s the arm?”

“Just a sprain,” Hermione shrugged, flexing her fingers carefully.

Pansy narrowed her eyes as she slipped her wand back into her robes, Hermione’s hair now hanging in an intricate braid down her back. “And who are we spraining in return? Draco won’t tell us.”

Hermione huffed. “Because I won’t tell him. I don’t need him to fight my battles, and it’s not a big deal. It wasn’t even intentional. Where are the boys, anyway?”

Pansy shot her a look that implied the matter was not forgotten but allowed the subject change. “They’ve gone for a fly while the weather’s still fair. Drake usually goes before breakfast a few times a week, but he dragged them along today, bitching and moaning.”

Hermione grinned. “I can imagine.”

“Any reason that you’re getting more looks from the Gryffindor table than usual?” Tracey muttered, nodding at a group of seventh years who were in intense conversation while repeatedly glancing their way.

Hermione sighed. “No idea. If I could get one bloody day of peace, that would be nice.”

“Do you ever wish that you could go back to when you were a kid?” Daphne mused, smoothing a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “When you thought life would just always be sunshine and roses?”

Pansy scoffed. “I can hear my mother’s voice telling me that sunshine is bad for my skin, and roses must only be accepted with her express permission.”

The other two girls gave a cynical laugh as Hermione frowned. “Flowers means things, right?”

Pansy waved a dismissive hand. “To us lot, yes. Be grateful you don’t have to worry about it, because it’s a complicated minefield where the slightest misstep leaves us disgraced and disowned.”

“Or married to a middle-aged French guy,” Tracey added with a slightly green hue to her skin. “My cousin lives in Lyons now.”

“Right,” Hermione replied, spreading apricot jam on her toast. “Every flower means something, then?”

Pansy’s gaze was suddenly sharp. “Why?”

Hermione forced herself to seem nonchalant as she casually swallowed her mouthful. “What does a rose mean, then?

Daphne smiled confidently. “What colour?”

“Pink.”

“What kind of pink?” Daphne pressed, making Hermione frown.

“That really matters?” She ignored Pansy’s laser-like focus on her as Daphne nodded emphatically. “Ok, light pink. Really pale, blush colour.”

Daphne nodded. “That’s admiration.”

Hermione placed her half-eaten toast down onto the plate as butterflies took off in her stomach. “What about a white flower? Like, lots of small, whitish flowers clustered together with leaves like a fern.”

“That sounds like Yarrow,” Tracey interjected, making Daphne nod.

“That one means healing,” Daphne said, draining her juice.

“He’s giving you flowers?” Pansy breathed, her face a picture of stunned excitement.

Daphne whipped her head around at her words, eyes widening. “What?!”

Hermione felt the rush of heat rise up her chest as she flushed deeply. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I was just curious.”

Pansy’s eyes abruptly filled with tears, the tip of her nose reddening. Hermione froze with her mug of tea halfway to her lips as Pansy tossed her hair over her shoulder and cleared her throat, clearly trying not to cry.

“Pans…”

Pansy cut her off with a sharp shake of her head. “Don’t.”

Hermione glanced at Daphne, who twisted her lips uncertainly as Pansy stood. Seeming to pull herself together a little, Pansy paused and turned back, looking down at Hermione with watery eyes.

“I know he seems like he’s made of stone, but he’s a good man,” she said in a hushed tone. “If he offers you flowers in person, please don’t accept them unless you mean it.”

They watched her walk away in stunned silence until Daphne cleared her throat. “Time for class, I guess. See you later?”

Hermione nodded as they all pushed out of their seats. “Sure, I’m going to the…”

“Library?” Tracey finished with a smirk, though her voice held no bite.

“Where else?” Hermione joked with a shrug, giving the girls a smile and small wave as they parted ways.

Mulling over Pansy’s words and the unprecedented display of emotion behind them, she reached the library corridor before realising that she was being followed. Glancing back over her shoulder as she sensed people behind her, she spotted three Gryffindor seventh years deliberately walking a few paces away, watching her intently. Seeing her notice them, they moved to approach her more directly.

“Alright Granger?”

“Uh, hi Lucan. Did you need something?” she wrinkled her nose as he smirked at her. On him, the expression looked ugly and faintly menacing.

“We’ve noticed that you’re good at making new friends. We think you should make friends with us.”

His leering tone wasn’t outrightly threatening, but she felt a tingle of apprehension lift the hairs on her arms. Slipping her hand into her robes, she wrapped her fingers around her wand as she turned to fully face them. “Right, I’m actually ok though, thanks.”

The dark-haired girl behind him scowled and stepped forwards, forcing Hermione to move back if she wanted to maintain the distance between them. “I see, you’ll hang out with slimy snakes, but your own housemates aren’t good enough?”

“Sadly, some of my own housemates see fit to judge me, taunt me, and corner me in a dark corridor for reasons I have yet to determine. I don’t need friends like that, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just…” She gestured in the direction of the library and moved to walk past them, stopping abruptly as a glob of spit landed at her feet.

She flinched slightly as the three laughed, lifting her chin with a glare of disgust. “Do you know, the Slytherin crowd bullied me for years. Name-calling, mostly, with a few simple hexes thrown in. What they never did was follow me, attempt to physically intimidate me, or make me feel afraid. And yet, you all call them the bad guys. Maybe you should take a long, hard look in the mirror.”

The girl, Matilda, let out an angry hiss and drew her wand. “If you want a hex, I can give you a hex.”

“Now there’s Gryffindor bravery, and there’s simple idiocy. Which do you think this is?”

Malfoy’s icy tone washed over her like a balm, her shoulders dropping slightly in relief even as the sound of his cool anger sent a shiver down her spine. Walking calmly around the trio, he placed himself firmly in front of her like a shield.

A shield she really didn’t need but appreciated all the same. No one had stepped forward to protect her in a long time, and she briefly allowed herself to bask in the warm feeling before stepping sidewards out of his shadow.

Shooting her a quick look that told her he both noted and disliked her movement, Malfoy turned back to sneer at the three wands that were now pointed directly at him.

“Fuck off, scum,” spat Mitch, speaking up for the first time as he glowered at Malfoy.

The cruel smirk that she was so familiar with crept over his face, but instead of dread dropping through her stomach, she felt her pulse kick up a notch. Not only was it not directed at her, it was actively defending her, and she knew what it was concealing. She saw the mask for what it was and knew that it hid the truth of who he really was behind it. As the muscles of his back tensed beneath his shirt, the rigidity of his spine the only real clue to how agitated he was as he calmly faced off her aggressors, she realised that she was intensely, embarrassingly turned on.

By a single smirk.

She was so screwed.

“Why so crabby, Carlisle?” Malfoy drawled, making Mitch’s eye narrow. “Your father’s company gone under again?” He tipped his head in apparent thought. “Wait, that’s right, no one will invest anymore, will they, after he decided to cut and run with their money at the start the war.”

“Yeh right, says the one who paid off the Ministry for their crimes,” Mitch spat, face scarlet with fury. “You can’t talk about money, you’ve lost it all, you Death Eater prick!”

A cold laugh rolled out of Malfoy’s mouth as he subtly tried to nudge Hermione behind him again. “You’re right on one thing, I’ll give you that. The reparations they took were rather large. A fortune, you could say.” He raised his chin to look down his regal nose at them. “Good job I had a few fortunes to spare.”

Matilda scoffed and sneered at Hermione. “That’s why you’re drooling after him, then, Granger? Money opens all doors, including the Golden Girl’s thighs.”

Malfoy’s smirk dropped into an icy stare. “From what I hear, Thatcher, you’ll need to use that technique to get anywhere in life. What’s the phrase, again? Ah yes, dumb as a post?”

The bright flash of red made Hermione gasp and grab Malfoy by the shirt, yanking him to the side so that Lucan’s jinx only grazed his cheek. It hit the stone wall behind them as Malfoy wrapped one large hand around her waist, steadying her as the slice on his cheekbone began to ooze blood. His eyes never left the threat though, his jaw tight and fingers twitching with the desire to grab his wand.

“Downgraded, haven’t you Granger?” Lucan mocked arrogantly. “Picking Slytherin scum over your own house. He can’t even fight back. It’s pathetic.”

Spinning as the words made fury spark to life in her chest, she marched up to Lucan and prodded the tip of her wand against his stomach as she snapped at him. “You needed two buddies to help threaten me. Exactly who is pathetic here?”

He shifted uneasily as golden sparks fired from the tip, shoving her arm away from him as he sneered. While the move wouldn’t have caused an issue normally, she gasped in pain as his hand hit her bandaged wrist, barely managing to keep hold of her wand as she clutched her throbbing arm to her chest.

A furious sound exploded from Malfoy, and she quickly turned back to him as the seventh years aimed their wands his way with fearful expressions. Planting her left palm on his chest, she forced him to stop his livid advance, his jaw pulsing as he ground his teeth in frustration and looked down at her. She gave him a placating look as she gave a small shake of her head; reacting like this was what they wanted.

“Naww,” mocked Mitch. “Your little girlfriend has you well-trained, doesn’t she.”

Matilda gave a nasty laugh. “People used to be afraid of you, and now you’re just the Golden Girl’s pet. It’s all rather… impotent.”

The dark wood of Malfoy’s wand flashed past her face as he lost the battle with his anger and aimed it over shoulder at them. His eyes blazed with a frozen fire as his mouth opened to form a spell, and Hermione caught him off guard as she suddenly shoved him backwards. Stumbling back, he didn’t get the chance to find his balance before she pushed him again, falling back against the stone wall with a soft grunt as she pushed into his space.

“Stop!” she hissed, her hands pressed to his solid abdomen.

He glared down at her furiously, eyes cold as steel as they searched hers. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“That’s it, Granger, show him who’s boss!”

She ignored the cackling laughter behind her as he moved to push her off him, grabbing the wrist of his wand hand as a noise of frustration rumbled through his chest. “You can’t fight with your wand.”

He bared his teeth at her. “They fucking deserve it.”

She let a cool smile spread across her face, her fingers sliding down his hand until she was touching his wand. “You can’t fight with your wand.”

His brow furrowed slightly as she gently tugged the hawthorn wand from his grip. It felt warm in her fingers as he released it without a fight, their gazes locked as he grasped her meaning and his eyes flared in surprise.

“I’m the Golden Girl,” she whispered, slipping her own wand into his grasp. “No one will check mine.”

A wicked, appreciative grin curved his lips, making the fluttering butterflies in her belly rush south as he gripped the light beech wand and tested the weight of it. No one but herself had ever used this wand. Ollivander had custom made it for her in the days after the final battle as a gesture of gratitude, knowing she had lost her original wand in the struggles at Malfoy Manor, and it had cleaved to her perfectly.

Unlike other wands that she had been forced to use in the final days of the war, Malfoy’s wand felt almost alive in her hand, her magic ready and waiting to be directed almost as if it were her own.

“Got him leashed yet, Granger?” Mitch called mockingly, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Malfoy’s free hand found her waist again, lightly moving her out of the way as he stood tall and stepped towards the waiting trio. A quick glance around told her that no one else had heard the commotion, and they were safely guarded from prying eyes by alcoves and shadows.

“Do bear with me,” Malfoy said, smug anticipation oozing from him as he rolled his shoulders. “I haven’t had the chance to stretch my legs in a quite a while.”

A light flick of her wand sent a shimmering shield charm hovering in front of where she stood by the wall, and she rolled her eyes at his back at the gesture. The seventh years shot each other wary glances before Matilda stuck her nose in the air and scowled.

“You can’t duel us, Malfoy. They’ll cart you off to Azkaban if you attack anyone.”

He let out a low, sinister laugh, sending shivers across Hermione’s skin as she watched, knowing that he needed this. “I haven’t duelled anyone since my Auntie Bella so lovingly taught me how.” Hermione’s throat tightened at the mention of Bellatrix as Lucan took a fearful step backwards. “This is simply the Golden Girl defending herself.”

Five flashes of light, two short shrieks of pain and a groan of agony was all it took before the three Gryffindors lay in crumpled heaps on the flagstone floor. Hermione’s breaths were rapid and shallow as Malfoy cast an individual silencing charm over each seventh year, levitating them into the closest broom cupboard with a casual flick of her wand before turning back to her.

“You alright?” he asked, brushing away the shield charm he had conjured as he stepped in front of her.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, clearing her throat as she nodded quickly. “Yep. Yes, I’m fine.”

His intelligent gaze swept over her, one platinum brow rising as his lips lifted into a smirk. “You look a little flustered.”

She huffed out a breathy sound as she tried to calm her heartrate, knowing her cheeks were flushed. “We were attacked, of course I’m flustered.”

Her breath caught as he reached out a slow hand, tracing the line of her clavicle until his thumb rested lightly in the hollow of her throat. “Was it really the seventh year dickheads that got you in this state, Golden Girl?”

Biting her lip, she internally debated her options before settling on honesty. With his shadowed eyes fixed on her mouth, she waited until he looked up again before slowly shaking her head.

With a soft groan, he wrapped his fingers around her unbandaged forearm and pulled her away from the wall, leading her down the corridor at a speed that had a short burst of laughter falling from her mouth.

“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder, Granger,” he threatened, making her bite her lips together as he steered them towards the common room.

Chapter Text

Wisps of hair were falling out of her braid by the time they reached the empty eighth year common room, the strands tickling her cheeks as Malfoy wordlessly pulled her down the Slytherin corridor and unlocked his wards. Guiding her inside with a gentle hand on the small of her back, she bit back a smile as she looked around his space.

“What?” he asked, seeing her amusement.

She shrugged innocently and wandered past his desk, mentally cataloguing the books he was reading. “Nothing, it’s just so neat in here. I’m pretty sure that normal boys have messy rooms.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and folded his arms across his chest. “A gentleman does not live like a slob.”

She laughed loudly at that, making his sneer morph into a grin. “Are you claiming to be a gentleman?”

He made a pitiful attempt to look insulted, smile still in place as he watched her trail a finger along his bedspread. “My mother likes to think so.”

She laughed again and rolled his wand in her fingers before holding it out to him. “I suppose we should swap back.”

He smirked and nodded, walking over to her and taking his wand from her hand. Rather than give hers back though, he placed them both on the bedside table. “You seem less flustered.”

She shrugged, trying not to flush at the intense look in his eyes. He was standing close enough that she had to look up to see his face, his chest almost brushing hers on every inhale. “So do you.”

Heat spiralled through her as his fingers traced up her arm, brushing over her shoulder until they slipped past the collar of her shirt and found bare skin. As in the corridor only minutes before, he traced the ridge of her collarbone towards her throat, dipping briefly into the hollow and sending a rush of sensation over her skin. His eyes remained locked on hers, molten silver swirling as the darkness of his pupils expanded at her breathy inhale, his fingers sweeping up the side of her neck as he drank in her reaction.

“Trust me, Granger,” he breathed, his hand wrapping around the nape of her neck. “I’m flustered.”

His lips were impossibly soft as they pressed to hers, the warmly spiced scent of him surrounding her as her hands gathered fistfuls of his robes to pull him closer. She moaned softly into his mouth as his fingers moved into her hair, gently unravelling the braid and pushing deep into the waves. Needing to be impossibly closer, she swept her tongue across his as she arched into his body, feeling the rumbling growl roll through his chest in response.

She barely had the chance to register the feel of his bed on the backs of her legs before she was tumbling back onto the sheets with a shocked gasp, registering his amused smirk as he crawled over her.

“Pushy git,” she grumbled, failing to bite back a smile.

“You love it,” he teased, cutting off her retort as he captured her lips again and pinned her to the bed with his weight.

Kissing him back fiercely, she ran her hands up his arms, revelling in the strength in them before reaching up to push off his outer robes. Lifting himself off her a little, he remained stubbornly focused on her mouth as he helped her peel them away, yanking his tie over his head and throwing it to the side.

His low groan as she pushed her fingers around the back of his neck and tangled them in his hair made goosebumps erupt along her skin. Tugging lightly on the platinum strands, she lost herself in him until she grew desperate for air, ripping her head to the side with a panting gasp. He happily took the inadvertent offering, tracing his tongue around the shell of her ear before tracking kisses down her throat to suck firmly on her pulse point, dragging a moan out of her that made her flush with embarrassment.

Grabbing her hand before she could hide her face, he pinned it down by her side and nipped her throat with his teeth. “No hiding, Granger. I want to hear that again.”

Tugging the thin material of her shirt out of the top of her skirt, he slipped his fingers underneath to find her skin. There was no trace of humour in his gaze any longer, only an intensity that sent a hot pressure rolling low in her stomach and had her thighs instinctively squeezing together.

Bringing his hands up to her shoulders, he gave her robes a small tug and raised a brow. “Can I?”

At her nod, he pushed himself up, standing beside the bed and grabbing her hand to pull her up until she was sitting before him. Gentle but confident hands pushed her robes down her arms, stripping them from her as he watched her face intently. At her smile, he slid her already loose tie from around her neck and dropped it onto the floor without ceremony.

He grinned as she laughed, placing a knee between her legs and pushing her back down onto the bed. “Tidy is overrated.”

She landed on her elbows as she let her eyes roam over him, the white formal shirt and dark slacks highlighting his strong shoulders and trim waist. “It’s odd, isn’t it, wearing a school uniform again after everything. I’m nineteen and back in a skirt and tie.”

His gaze tracked the long line of her legs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, tender and swollen from his kisses, as his hand followed the same path, pushing up past the hem of her pleated skirt to grip her thigh.

“Don’t knock the uniform, princess,” he answered, his voice rough. “I’ve been fantasising about getting under this skirt for years.”

She rolled her eyes at him, squeaking as he grabbed her behind the knees and tugged so she fell flat again. She laughed as he loomed back over her and ran the tip of his nose along her neck, gasping softly as he nipped her jaw.

“Are you laughing at my pain? How cruel.”

She scoffed, tugging his hair so that he pulled back and looked at her. “You’re joking.”

He raised a regal brow. “Granger, that big brain of yours, teamed with that superior attitude and that spectacular arse, have been the trifecta of wank bank material since you broke my nose in third year. Trust me, I am not joking.”

He smirked, but she could see the truth of his words in his eyes - the vulnerability - and she felt something settle in her chest. A final puzzle piece falling into place that had her reaching up and tugging his mouth back to hers.

She hummed in pleasure as his weight settled over her once more, her legs reflexively falling open to let him settle between them as she lost herself in the taste of him. Keen fingers delved back beneath her skirt and gave her thigh a brief but firm squeeze before continuing their journey northwards. He smiled against her lips at her soft moan as they rounded the curve of her hip and sent spirals of sensation racing across her skin, his amusement dropping into a shuddering inhale as she squirmed against him.

Locking his lips back to hers with a sudden desperation, he palmed her backside and pulled her against him with a groan of need, showing her exactly how affected he was and making her head fall back with a breathy whimper. An intuitive and impulsive roll of her hips sent a shower of sparks rushing through her, his answering grunt giving her the confidence to repeat the move as his lips scattered kisses across her collarbone, his breath scorching against her sensitive skin.

The insistent, unmistakeable tap of a beak against the windowpane yanked them out of the moment with a harsh snap, both of them looking round to find the huge Eagle-owl tapping impatiently as it struggled to perch on the narrow outer windowsill.

Malfoy’s brow furrowed as he pushed himself up, straightening his shirt as he walked to the window and let the creature inside. It barely fit through the gap, its feathers ruffling irritably as it allowed Malfoy to relieve it of two thick letters before quickly flying away into the gusting winds.

“What’s urgent enough that it couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s post?” Hermione asked, concerned when he simply stared at the duo of envelopes in his hand.

Sucking in a sudden, shuddering breath, he sat down heavily in his desk chair. His skin had paled beyond belief, dark circles suddenly prominent beneath his eyes, and her concern had her rushing over to kneel beside him. “Draco.”

His eyes moved to hers at the sound of his name, the pools of silver now a flat and unreadable gloom. His fingers briefly tightened around the letters in his lap, making her reach out to grip his thigh, trying to give him an anchor as he clearly struggled to speak.

It took a long minute for him to find an answer, his voice rasping. “An official letter from the Ministry and one from the Malfoy estate at the same time can only be one thing, Granger.”

She tipped her head in confusion. “What?”

“My father is dead.”

She sucked in a soft, shocked breath, her fingers tightening their grip on his leg. “You haven’t opened them though.”

He huffed a short breath and leaned forward, placing the heavier letter on the desk as he ripped open the second and read aloud. “Dear Mr Malfoy. It is with regret that we write to inform you of the passing of your father, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. Lord Malfoy was discovered to have passed away peacefully in his cell this morning. His death has been recorded as unsuspicious and his belongings will be sent to his estate in due course. Regards, Ethel Feverwort, Secretary to the Minister for Magic.” Something shuttered in his gaze as he held the parchment out to her. “Four lines. I’m impressed they bothered.”

She glanced at the letter as she took it, the handwritten swirls of calligraphy taking up barely any space on the thick, embossed parchment. Kingsley hadn’t even bothered to write it himself.

“Now this one,” he murmured, lifting the other letter and running a long finger along the edge. “The moment I open this one, I become the new Lord Malfoy.”

“Draco.”

He didn’t react this time, his eyes fixed to the envelope.

“You don’t have to open it. Not right now.”

He scoffed quietly. “Every minute the estate goes unclaimed, my family line is at risk. My mother, the properties, the accounts. Everything every one of my ancestors worked for. I do have to open it. I have to be who my father raised me to be.”

“You’re allowed to take your time.”

He shook his head decisively. “The Malfoy name might not mean much right now, but it won’t stay that way. The Malfoy’s have held their power for countless generations. It’s more than just money, it’s ancient magic. It’s power. Power that I won’t let just fade into nothing.” He stood, pacing across the room and leaving her on her knees. “I won’t be the one who lets it all crumble to dust.”

“Drac…”

He sliced a palm through the air as he cut her off. “Stop it! Stop trying to stop this. It’s happening. It’s done! You may not like it, but I am a Malfoy.”

Hermione pushed gracefully to her feet and moved to stand before him, reaching for his hand. His chest was heaving as he let her tangle their fingers together, and she reached up to cup his cheek. “This is not about your name, your estate or your bloody power. This is about the fact that you just lost your father, and you can’t just ignore what you feel about that.”

Pain washed across his features. “He doesn’t deserve my grief.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “It isn’t about him, it’s about you. Whoever he was, whatever he did, he was your father.”

“I just…” he sighed and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, seeming to almost deflate in exhaustion. “I just need to get on with it.”

She squeezed his fingers. “You need to feel it.”

They fell into silence for a long moment before he pushed closer and buried his face in her hair. “I’m not sure I can.”

“You aren’t alone, Draco,” she promised, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m here.”

***

The sound of muffled voices outside made her glance up from the book in her hand, the fingers of her other freezing on their journey through his hair where he lay pressed against her thigh.

“Sex is not more important than dinner.”

“You clearly aren’t doing it right, then.”

“They’re adults, Pans, just leave them alone.”

“We haven’t seen them since breakfast. Just knock and check if they’re ok?”

“You know what, Potter, feel free. Just don’t blame me when Draco punches you in the face.”

She sighed as the argument grew louder, shuffling out from where she was sat up against his headboard, his arm wrapped around her leg. He tightened his grip briefly before releasing her, his forehead crinkling as he instinctively fought to stay asleep. Padding to the door, she quietly pulled it open to glare at her friends.

“Shut up,” she hissed, the intensity of her glower making them freeze in place. “If you wake him up I will hex you.”

Blaise raised a brow. “Merlin, Granger, you really wore him out then.”

Glancing back over her shoulder to check that Draco was still sleeping, she stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind her with a soft click. Narrowing her eyes at Blaise, she gestured at Theo’s door. “Don’t be a pig. Let’s go to Theo’s and I’ll explain.”

Theo frowned slightly, catching her solemn mood and quickly unlocking his wards. Blaise, Pansy and Harry silently followed them in, and as the door shut behind them she turned and heaved a deep breath. The last few hours had been heavy.

“He’s only just fallen properly asleep, he needs the rest,” she murmured. “It’s been a long day.”

Pansy frowned and stepped closer. “What happened?”

“He, uh, he had some bad news this morning. We’ve been talking. Helping him process.”

Harry folded his arms, looking concerned. “Bad news? Mione, you look wrecked.”

She glanced at Pansy and Blaise before locking eyes with Theo, the one of them who could best understand the implications of the news. “Lucius is dead.”

Pansy sucked in a breath as Theo’s eyes widened, his skin paling. Harry shifted closer to him in concern.

“Fuck,” Theo whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Harry reached out to steady him and glanced between them all in confusion. “Ok, I get this is bad news, but what am I missing?”

Hermione sighed. “The Malfoy title and power will all transfer to Draco, including all the responsibility of managing the estate and dealing with the politics of it all. Including dealing with the Ministry. His mother can’t help much, as she’s in Spain. He wasn’t expecting to deal with it all yet, Lucius was legally in charge even from Azkaban, but now he has to step up and be Lord Malfoy at eighteen.” She sucked in a tired breath. “And he has to deal with losing his father, and the guilt that he loved him even after everything.”

Theo’s eyes were rimmed with red. “And he’s asleep?”

She huffed a wry laugh and tried to smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. “After a long day of trying to push me away, anger, silence, yelling, crying, and finally talking to me, yes.”

Arms wound around her waist, and she easily returned Pansy’s embrace. “Thank you for being there for him.”

Theo was staring at her. “You stayed with him all day? You must have hated Lucius.”

Harry huffed an unimpressed laugh. “Slytherins. It wasn’t about her, was it. It was about Malfoy.”

Hermione gave him a grateful smile as Blaise spoke up. “You look like shit Granger. You should go to bed. We’ve got him from here.”

Her lips twisted in reluctance, but the yawn that forced its way out of her mouth had Harry grabbing her hand and dragging her to the door.

“He’ll be fine with them, you need to sleep. Come on.”

“Hermione.” She turned back at Theo’s call, resisting Harry’s tugging to meet the Slytherin boy’s blue gaze. “I keep having to thank you.”

She shrugged. “You don’t need to, we’re friends, remember.”

He nodded seriously. “You need to remember that too. We’re friends. We’ve got your back, no matter what. It isn’t one sided. You need us, you call.”

Chapter Text

Her robes and shoes had been returned to her room before she woke the next morning, and by the weekend it was clear that Draco was avoiding her.

She hadn’t been all that surprised when he had missed classes the day after the news, especially as it had hit the Prophet front page and had tongues wagging throughout the castle, but her knock on his door that evening had gone unanswered. She had shrugged it off as him needing some space, but when he had finally appeared at the Slytherin table the following morning he had kept his head down and not even glanced over at where she was sat at the Gryffindor table with Harry and Neville. Pansy had dragged her over to sit with them at lunchtime, where Draco had proceeded to barely look at her as he ate in stony silence. The others had quickly picked up on it, glancing at each other in confusion but not commenting when Draco pushed away his empty plate and left the table without a word. A twinge of hurt had rolled through her but she had tried to push it away, reasoning that he needed to deal with his grief in his own way.

And then he had disappeared again, not returning to the hall for meals at all and avoiding their shared classes.

By Saturday morning, she was done tiptoeing around it.

Courtesy of Harry’s map, which he had handed over with an eye roll and sympathetic smile, she found him in the Potions classroom. Surrounded by what looked like Runes textbooks, he was engrossed enough in reading that he didn’t react to her presence until she spoke.

“Well at least you’re still committed to the project, I suppose,” she snapped, standing in front of the desk and propping her hands on her hips.

His face snapped up at her words, his eyes briefly widening in surprise before flattening back into his emotionless mask. The sight of it tugged something painfully in her chest, but she refused to let it overtake her irritation.

“What do you want, Granger?”

She flinched a little at the sound of her name on his lips. It sounded wrong. Apathetic. Like it used to years before. He was only one step away from sneering at her.

“Stop it,” she answered softly, dropping her arms and deciding to let him see the hurt. “Tell me what I did wrong, or what is going on with you, but don’t pretend you’re that person again.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she could see the calculations whirling though his head. Something was going on, that was for sure, she just didn’t understand what. Or why it meant pushing her away.

His expression remained eerily devoid of emotion as he sighed and turned back to his book in a clear dismissal. “I am not pretending anything. What I am is busy, so unless you have something worthwhile to contribute to my morning, please leave.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You know what? Fine. Let me know when you pull your head out of your arse.”

Turning on her heel, she thought she heard him release a deep sigh as she marched away. She wouldn’t turn back though. She had given enough of her time to people who didn’t properly appreciate her and easily discarded her when things got tough. If he wanted to be in her life, he could work for it.

A slight tremor shook her hands as she traipsed back up through the school, but she desperately tried to stifle it. Yes, he had been instrumental in her recent progress as she worked through her post-war trauma, but she refused to need him. She was perfectly strong without him.

Even if it hurt more than she wanted to admit.

“Hermione!”

She turned to the sound of her name as she reached the main stairwell, finding Harry waving her over as he came down. “Fancy a walk to Hogsmeade?”

She smiled and agreed, linking her arm through his. He looked her over with a knowing glance as he led them through the Entrance Hall and out into the crisp, autumnal morning. “He’s being an idiot, isn’t he.”

She huffed a breath and shrugged, and they fell into an easy silence as they walked, the clouds rolling over and sending a shiver down her spine by the time they reached the village. Ducking into the Three Broomsticks pub as the first fat raindrops began to fall, Hermione gasped as she bumped into a solid chest. Long-fingered hands caught her arm before she fell back into the wall, steadying her on her feet as a warm chuckle sounded.

“That extra year of school driving you to drink already?” George Weasley grinned, blue eyes twinkling as he clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder in greeting.

“Nah,” Harry laughed, suddenly looking a little nervous. “Just the rain.”

Hermione frowned at him in confusion until George glanced over their shoulders. “Are Ron and Gin with you? Mum will be happy to know I’ve seen them.”

She glanced at Harry before answering. “Er, no.”

George’s eyes narrowed. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing, they’re fine,” she said quickly, recognising the worry in his eyes. “We just… aren’t really speaking at the moment.”

The familiar glint of mischief returned to George’s gaze as he raised a brow. “I see…” He suddenly rounded on Harry. “Do I need to defend my sister’s honour right now?”

Harry simply laughed. “Would you like me to tell her that you asked that?”

“Er, good point, maybe not,” George answered, wrinkling his nose. “That bat-bogey hex of hers is a thing to be feared.” He turned to Hermione. “And has my idiot brother finally realised that you’re out of his league?”

She gave a surprised laugh, feeling her cheeks flush as Harry answered. “He’s an idiot who doesn’t like the word no.”

George’s expression flattened. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing, stop it,” Hermione interjected, squeezing Harry’s arm, but George levelled her with an unimpressed look.

“I’ll have words,” he said simply, buttoning his coat. “Now I hate to leave you two to get into whatever trouble you inevitably do, but I have a meeting to get to. Take care, yeh?”

He gave them both a warm smile as they said their goodbyes, squeezing Hermione’s shoulder as he passed.

“You think he’s buying out Zonko’s after all?” she murmured once they had ordered drinks and settled at a table in the corner of the room.

Harry nodded. “I suppose he can’t wait for long in case somebody else buys it. I know they were talking about expanding before…” He trailed off, his expression reflecting the same pang of grief that was echoing through her chest.

She raised her glass a few inches off the table. “To those we lost.”

Harry gave her a sad smile and copied the gesture. “And to knowing that they would want us to move on.”

***

The rain had eased off by the time they decided to head back to the castle, though the incessant wind had them casting a warming charm to counter the chill. The heavy gloom hung overhead like an oppressive blanket as she clung to Harry’s arm, the pair of them alone on the path as apparently the only ones not to have predicted the changeable weather.

Leaving the outskirts of Hogsmeade as they followed the winding path back towards the Hogwarts gate, her charm seemed to suddenly diminish as a chill abruptly prickled down her arms, sending goosebumps rushing across her skin. Wandlessly recasting it as she shivered, her eyes darted into the dark forest nearby as Harry’s grip on her tightened.

“Something’s off,” he said, voice low. “Can you feel that?”

She was nodding before he had even finished speaking, a weight dropping in her gut as an undeniable sense of unease rolled through her. Sliding her wand out of her pocket, she shot Harry a meaningful glance before focusing back on the trees, trusting him to steer her on the path as he increased their pace.

Because they were both abruptly and entirely certain that somewhere out there, hidden deep in the shadows, someone was watching them.

It felt like hours before the wrought iron gate appeared and they tumbled through, the sense of dread and looming menace lessening significantly as the protective wards enveloped them. Still, Hermione felt the shudder that rolled through Harry as they both looked back, her own throat tight with fear from the unidentified threat.

“Are we being paranoid?”

She swallowed hard at his quiet question, slipping her hand into his with an empathetic squeeze. “I hope so.”

***

She woke with a terrified gasp, her heart pounding in her chest as the darkness seemed to press in around her.

Fumbling for her wand, she managed to light the lamps as a soft sob escaped her, tugging her knees up to her chest and hugging them close as she tried to block out the cackling laughter still echoing in her ears. Nausea swirled in her stomach, the burn of bile rising in her throat as she fought to push back the nightmare, the echoes of phantom pain still twitching through her limbs.

Closing her eyes, she heaved a shuddering breath and forced herself to sink back inside her mind, painstakingly taking each crumbling brick and rebuilding her walls until she was calm. Opening her eyes to the dim light, dawn still hours away, she slid out from under the covers and grabbed some warmer clothes before heading for the shower.

By the time a knock sounded on her door, the morning light now flooding the room where she sat busily writing at her desk, she was thoroughly ahead on her schoolwork and deep into her Runes research project. Closing ‘A Dark History of Blood Rites and Runes’ with a snap, she stretched out her back with a soft groan and stood to answer the door.

Pansy’s nose twitched as her gaze tracked over her, a grin lifting Hermione’s lips at the clear effort she made not to comment on her attire.

“Good morning, Pansy.”

The girl cleared her throat and smiled, brushing her poker-straight hair over her shoulder. “Breakfast time, Granger, let’s go.”

Hermione raised a brow at her demanding tone. “It’s Sunday, why the urgency?”

Pansy sniffed and glanced back towards the common area. “Because we’re going down and you’re one of us. Don’t argue.”

Hermione huffed a laugh and shrugged, pushing her feet into her shoes before warding her room behind her and following Pansy out of the Gryffindor corridor. Daphne, Blaise and Theo stood waiting for them, the boys yawning and blinking slowly as if they’d had recently been subjected to Pansy’s wake up call themselves.

“Morning!” Daphne chirped, looking cheerfully determined as she linked her arm through Hermione’s and led the way down to the Great Hall.

Theo chuckled at the look of suspicion that Hermione gave both girls as she was dragged along. “Trust me, it’s easier just to go along with whatever they’re scheming.”

Blaise grinned and nodded his agreement, stepping around to walk further away from Pansy as she shot them a killer glare.

Entering the Hall, Hermione’s pulse jumped as she immediately spotted the platinum blond sitting at the usual end of the Slytherin table, casually sipping on a glass of pumpkin juice as he read the Daily Prophet. The boys clearly noticed the same, naturally veering towards him until Pansy raised a hand to stop them.

“No.”

They frowned at her but came to a halt, raising their brows in a synchronised movement that made Daphne snort softly in amusement.

“No?”

Pansy shook her head at Theo’s question and grabbed Hermione’s free arm, turning them towards the half-empty Gryffindor table. “We’re sitting with Granger today.”

Blaise faltered. “Er, but Drake is over there.”

Pansy sniffed haughtily. “I am aware.”

“You want to sit at the Gryffindor table?” Hermione asked in an attempt to clarify the bizarre conversation.

Daphne grinned. “No, we want to sit with you. You always sit with us,” she turned her head to shoot an unimpressed glance at Draco, who was now watching them with a frown. “And seeing as someone is being an utter idiot, we thought we could change it around.”

Pansy huffed loudly. “Come on, this will be bad enough without the food disappearing while we dither about.”

Hermione frowned. “You really don’t have to…” She swallowed back a gasp as a warm hand enveloped her elbow and she found Theo leading her to a seat beside Neville.

“Good morning, lions and lionesses,” he announced loudly, attracting more attention than Hermione liked as she sat and gave Neville a shrug in response to his baffled look. Theo sat beside her, the others settling around them as the rest of the table seemed to stare across in shock.

Theo leaned in to murmur in her ear. “We’ve got your back, Hermione.” Her face clearly betrayed her confusion as he smiled and nudged her with his shoulder. “Lord Malfoy has been thoroughly and repeatedly informed of our opinions of his new attitude towards you. Pans is just hammering the point home.”

“He’s alone over there,” she answered with a frown, even as his words made emotion swell in her chest. “He’s going through a lot right now and he needs you.”

Theo shrugged, reaching for a warm, buttered crumpet. “It’s one meal. He’ll survive. And hopefully realise that he’s acting like a twat.”

“Who are you calling a twat?!” snapped an irate voice from further down the table.

Theo turned to meet Ron’s fiery stare, narrowing his eyes briefly before hiking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the Slytherin table. “Malfoy.”

Hermione stiffened, ready to defend her friend as Ron’s mouth opened to argue, but the redhead faltered as the answer registered.

“I… oh.”

Theo saluted Ron with his crumpet before biting into it and sending Hermione a triumphant wink.

Pansy reached over and caught her hand as the table slowly resumed its normal level of chatter. “I have tried yelling, bribing and manipulation and have been met with only stubbornness and idiocy. I have sat at this damn table for you, Granger.” Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself but Pansy shushed her with a quick wave and leaned close. “If you don’t make him beg for forgiveness when he comes to his senses, and I mean beg, I’m not sure we can be friends.”

Pansy’s wicked wink made Theo snort with laughter as the Owl Post arrived, the sound of soaring wings distracting them as letters began dropping onto the tables. Feeling the pull of exhaustion already from her lack of sleep, Hermione just blinked at them both until a loud curse had her head snapping round.

Palms up as if it could save him, Ron was staring at the bright scarlet envelope in front of him in horror.

“Ooh, Weasel got a howwwwwwler,” Blaise crooned softly, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Will he try and run for it?”

Ron was clearly considering it, his eyes calculating the distance to the door as small spirals of dark smoke began to spiral from the envelope in front of him. It was too late though, the letter bursting to life as a booming voice echoed around the Hall.

“You absolute, bloody prat! What in the name of Merlin’s saggy ballsack are you playing at?! Pull your head out of your arse before I tell Mum how you’re treating Hermione. We’ve repeatedly told you that she’s out of your league, so whatever you’ve bloody well done, get on your knees and beg, you idiot! And if I find out that you don’t understand the word ‘no’, I will not hesitate to come and beat the knowledge into you, are we clear?!”

Ron blinked in shock, his face fully flushed as he stared at the now-lifeless envelope in shock. Seamus’ mouth was hanging wide open as the entire table stared between Ron and Hermione, making Hermione shift uncomfortably and duck her head.

“Wowsa,” Pansy piped up, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hand as the chatter in the room rose again. “Who on earth was that?”

Neville snorted a laugh and blushed fiercely as it caught Pansy’s attention. Hermione bit back a smile as she answered.

“George Weasley. Harry and I ran into him in Hogsmeade yesterday.”

Theo looked impressed. “I always liked the Weasley twins. Decent blokes.”

Blaise and Daphne nodded in agreement as Pansy smirked. “Well who knew a Weasley could be hot.”

The others laughed as Hermione grinned at her across the table, watching Ron storm angrily out of the room in her periphery.

“You haven’t met Charlie, have you.”

Chapter Text

The light knock on the classroom door forced Professor Babbling to break off her rant about correctly referencing research texts mid-sentence, turning to the sound to find the headmistress giving her a small smile.

“Headmistress, I didn’t see you there!”

“Apologies, Professor Babbling,” McGonagall replied calmly, her eyes settling on Hermione. “I wondered if I might borrow Miss Granger for a few moments?”

Draco frowned slightly, looking directly at Hermione for the first time that day. She rolled her eyes at him and stood, following the headmistress out into the corridor.

“I would rather not disturb your lessons, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, her voice loud enough that she knew the class would be able to hear them through the open classroom door. Hermione glanced at it in confusion, aware that this must have been a deliberate move.

“That’s ok,” she answered simply. “What do you need?”

McGonagall lowered her chin slightly, directing her piercing stare at Hermione as she spoke. “It has unfortunately come to my attention that some harm has come to a handful of students. Gryffindor seventh years, to be more precise.”

Hermione felt strangely calm as she realised that the idiots who had cornered her last week had apparently decided to report it after all. McGonagall paused briefly as if waiting for a reaction, receiving nothing but a curiously raised brow from Hermione before giving a soft sigh and continuing.

“Madam Pomfrey was required to treat some minor injuries after the incident, once the students had been released from the store cupboard and the hexes reversed. They maintain that they cannot remember the incident, but upon questioning a nearby portrait it seems that you were seen in the area at the time.” McGonagall pursed her lips. “Can you tell me anything about this?”

Hermione felt a sudden and utterly bizarre urge to giggle, forcing herself to take a deep breath and swallow it back before replying. She wasn’t certain what exactly the Professor was trying to achieve – if portraits had seen her then they must also have seen Draco – but she was quite happy to play the game if McGonagall wanted to.

“When and where was this, Professor?” she asked, feigning concern.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she gave her the details. “Obviously I cannot have students duelling in corridors, Miss Granger. It is dangerous and disrespectful, and any student found to be hurting others will be promptly expelled.”

Hermione nodded solemnly. “Absolutely, Professor. I do remember heading towards the library after breakfast, but I realised just before I arrived that I had left several books in my room that I needed and turned back. I don’t remember seeing anything of note, or even who I passed. I’m sorry.”

“Did you happen to see Mr Malfoy?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, he wasn’t even at breakfast. The boys were out playing Quidditch together before lessons.”

“And if I check your wands?”

Hermione didn’t need to fake the offended glare she gave her in response. “Check whose wands? Mine and Malfoy’s? It’s been days since then, and I thought you would trust my word, but if you feel it’s necessary then you may.”

McGonagall sighed, silence settling between them for a long moment before she gave a gentle nod. “I shall leave the matter here, but I beg you, Hermione. Please consider the influence you have on those around you, and the influence others may have. Tensions will never die down until everyone shows patience and respect for each other.”

Hermione lifted her chin. “There is a difference between patience and laying down and taking it.”

The headmistress sighed again, heavier than ever. “You know where I am if you need me.”

Hermione nodded before spinning on her heel and walking back into class, noting that Professor Babbling had not even attempted to continue the lesson without her. Sliding back into her seat and picking up her quill as the lesson recommenced, she felt Draco’s gaze on her face and glanced over at him.

“What?” she hissed softly, glaring at his confused expression. “Did you really think I would let you take the fall for that just because you’re being a total idiot lately? Glad you think so highly of me.”

He scoffed at her, not deigning to reply before turning back to his notes. She swallowed down the anger and hurt at his reaction, glancing over at Pansy who was clearly watching their interaction with narrowed eyes.

“What don’t I know?” she mouthed, making Hermione shake her head.

“Later,” she promised, mouthing back. Pansy accepted the answer with a nod, tossing a glower at Draco before turning back to her work.

It wasn’t until that evening that she found herself dragged to Pansy’s room to confess all, lounging on Pansy’s thousand-count tailormade sheets as she detailed the incident.

“You gave him your wand?!” Pansy breathed, bemused and shaking her head. “That boy should be worshipping you, not ignoring you.”

Hermione shrugged, pretending not to care as she joked. “As should everyone.”

Pansy laughed. “We need drinks so I can cheers to that! And we need a plan. I’m not allowing him to pull this shit for long.”

“Leave him be,” Hermione groaned, falling back on the bed defeatedly. “If he ever figures out what a prat he’s being then he can fix it. Otherwise, his loss.”

Pansy hummed. “Fine. I’ll play it your way. But… at the very least we need to show him what he’s missing. He deserves that much.”

Hermione sat up and eyed the wickedly grinning Slytherin suspiciously. “You have an evil plan, don’t you.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “It’s not evil. It’s genius. All you have to do is trust me.”

***

“Hey, Hermione?”

Hermione looked up at the words, which echoed slightly around the shadowy library stacks. Shoving a thumb in her book to hold her place, she gave the dark-haired Ravenclaw a guarded smile.

“Hi Padma. How are you?”

Padma beamed and straightened her spine as she walked closer, apparently relieved with the civil welcome. “I’m great thanks, are you? How’s… you know… everything?”

Hermione’s brow rose a little as Padma gesticulated in the air between them, clearly feeling a little awkward seeing as they hadn’t spoken in weeks. Sensing that this little chat was leading to a point that she would rather get to without the social performance, Hermione took a leaf from the book of Theo and tipped her head to the side, silently waiting for the girl to get to the point rather than engaging with the bullshit.

Cheeks flushing as she cleared her throat uncomfortably, Padma shifted back a step under her scrutiny. “Uh, right, well… anyway… is it true that there’s a secret Halloween party happening tomorrow?”

Hermione fought not to roll her eyes and turned back to the shelves beside her. “Well it’s hardly a secret if people are talking about it.”

“But like, there is one?” Padma pressed in hushed tones, moving closer again. “Because I heard that it’s invite only.”

Hermione sighed and faced the girl. “If you had an invite, you wouldn’t be asking, would you?”

Padma grinned and nodded. “Exactly. I want one. And apparently you are the person to ask.”

“Me? Throw a secret party? That doesn’t seem likely, does it?” Hermione laughed.

Padma sniffed. “Well, no, but neither does you becoming a Snake, and nowadays you may as well wear green, so…”

Hermione shrugged, uncaring. “Green does suit me better, but that’s hardly the point. It’s Pansy’s party, Padma, ask her.”

She turned away dismissively, but Padma was undeterred. “Please? I promise not to tell Ron or Gin?”

Hermione paused for a long moment as she realised that having the Gryffindors there might actually be satisfying. “You know what, tell them. Bring anyone you like who’s of age. It is a party, after all, right?”

Padma beamed triumphantly. “Right!”

“Greenhouse Six, doors open at nine, costumes mandatory, no wands allowed, and you have to arrive and leave undetected or face the consequences alone. Understood?”

Padma nodded emphatically. “Yes! Thanks Hermione!”

A low voice sounded from the back of the stacks as she scurried away. “This part of your plan?”

Hermione glanced at Blaise and smiled. “Not my plan. You know we all play to Pansy’s score.”

He hummed, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the shelves. “Don’t I know it.”

“You two…” she hesitated as she wondered if she was meddling, but ploughed on as he raised a brow at her. “…haven’t ever been an item?”

He smirked at her. “Jealous?”

“Idiot,” she scoffed, giving him a soft shove that failed to move his solid form at all. He glanced down at his arm in mock indignation before grinning.

“Pans is… like her namesake,” he answered, giving a small shrug. “Too much so for me. Beautiful, but needs tending to. Care and attention isn’t really my thing.”

Hermione smiled. “I can’t actually believe there’s a boy at this school with a vaguely impressive level of emotional maturity. You are officially my favourite.”

He let out a sharp laugh and stood straight, ruffling a hand through his short, black hair. “Keep that in mind, yeh?” She frowned in confusion as he loosened his tie and tugged his shirt out of his waistband, unbuttoning it slightly as he began walking towards the main library. “Pansy’s orders.”

He shot her a wink and strolled away, looking thoroughly mussed. Almost like he’d been back here with a…

“Blaise Zabini, get back here!” she hissed, chasing after him as she realised what he was trying to portray to whoever was out there. His only answer was a soft, dark chuckle, having already made it to the edge of the stacks and strolling out past a group of sixth year girls as she stuttered to a halt before anyone could spot her.

Whispers broke out almost immediately, with several pairs of eyes looking curiously over towards the shadows of the stacks in an attempt to spot whoever he had been with. She backed up, going back to her small pile of books and beginning to stack them into her satchel on the floor.

The snap of heels on the hardwood floor caught her attention as she stood, turning to find the stern face of Madam Pince glowering at her.

“Out! This library is for learning, not cavorting!”

Hermione gaped at her, feeling a red-hot flush rise up her neck. “I was not cavorting!”

Madam Pince clucked her tongue disbelievingly. “Mr Zabini has just been removed from the library in a state that would suggest otherwise!”

“Madam Pince, do you really believe that I would do that?!”

The answer was loud and clear as Hermione was escorted from the library, face flaming but chin held high as she refused to look at the gawking audience around them. Theo was leaning casually against the far wall, boasting a smile that actually looked sympathetic as she marched past him.

“Trust the plan, Hermione,” he urged as he fell into step with her.

She made a strangled noise as she headed for the common room. “Trust?! I’m going to bloody kill her. EVERYONE was staring, Theo.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yep. Everyone was staring, everyone will go away and gossip about it, and even the arsey blond loners will overhear how Hermione Granger is living her best bloody life without them.”

She huffed loudly and adjusted the bag on her shoulder, having forgotten to add a featherlight charm in the chaos. Theo leaned around her and grabbed it, swinging it onto his back with his own. “Pansy was raised to be a social mastermind, and she’d never hurt you. Just go with it.”

“I just don’t appreciate being made to look like a…”

Theo stopped in the corridor outside of their common room, raising a brow. “Like a young woman who embraces her sexual power and independence? Like a person who is strong enough to work through the shit life has thrown at her and begin actually enjoying themselves again? Because whatever word you were about to say, it isn’t that.”

Her throat tightened and he let out a pained grunt as she threw her arms around his neck and they staggered. “Bloody hell Hermione.”

“Sorry, I just…” she released him and straightened his tie affectionately. “You’re pretty awesome, you know?”

He grinned. “Yeh, I know.”

***

Greenhouse Six looked, if one were to look down upon it from the castle, to be sitting in place entirely as expected. Shadowed and silent, the scents of mallowsweet and sage from the surrounding herb gardens would hit the nostrils of anyone who happened to be walking by during daylight hours. But on the late, Halloween evening, as the schoolwide curfew struck, the area was seemingly deserted.

Because Hermione Granger was exceedingly good at charms.

“Drink, my lady?”

She turned to Theo with a grin, taking the proffered cup from his hand as he swept into a low bow before her. He crept closer as he straightened, flashing a pair of pearly white fangs at her as he swept his crimson cloak over his shoulder with a ridiculous flourish. “You must hydrate if I am to feast on your blood tonight!”

She laughed and pushed him back as Pansy appeared at his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Go and prey on someone else.”

He shot her a mock glare, narrowing his eyes before spinning away, making certain that his cape smacked Pansy in the face.

“Bitch!” she called after him, her fingers twitching as if she was already missing her wand.

He waved a graceful arm in the air as he sauntered away into the dancing crowd, the heavy beat of the music almost drowning out his answer. “You would know, my dear!”

Pansy plucked the bronze goblet from Hermione’s fingers and replaced it with a shot glass filled with neon green liquid. “Drink it, then dancing.”

“Hermione?”

She spun to find Neville staring down at her, his face covered in golden brown fur and his ears transfigured to be rounded and high on his head. Beside him stood a skeleton, the faint outline of Luna echoing around the bones in a mirage-like glimmer as she spoke.

“You made a good choice this time. Polyjuice is not to be messed with,” Luna said. Hermione thought that she was smiling, but the skull made it hard to tell.

Hermione smiled and ran a nervous hand over her lycra-covered hip. Her costume was a black, skintight catsuit, her ears and nails transfigured, and thigh high leather boots on her feet. She wasn’t showing much skin, but with the way it clung to her every curve it was definitely the most daring outfit she had ever worn. “Thanks! Figured a cat was tradition. You look incredible, that charm is so impressive!”

“You’re a cat?” Neville blurted, wide eyes roaming over her outfit.

“Yes,” she laughed, pointed to her own tufty, black ears. “Snap. Are you a bear?”

He shot Luna an indulgent smile. “A teddy bear, as requested.”

“Snuggly,” Luna crooned, snuggling up to his arm. “And the fur will protect you from Pixie attacks.”

Pansy looked baffled and a little suspicious. “Are you expecting a Pixie attack?”

Luna’s skeleton shrugged. “Halloween is their favourite night of the year to play their tricks. You should never go to Cornwall in October, you know.”

Pansy’s answer was to down her shot and look pointedly at Hermione.

“Come along Neville,” Luna said dreamily. “They want us to leave now.”

Neville gave Hermione a smile before grimacing at Pansy and dutifully leading his girlfriend away.

“To be fair,” Hermione laughed, “She’s finally talking about a real creature.”

“She’s bloody batshit,” Pansy replied, letting out a shrill shriek as Blaise slunk out of the crowd and grabbed her waist from behind. He ducked away from her slap, laughing as he gave them both a small bow.

“Ladies, you look ravishing.” His eyes swept over Pansy’s dark mermaid outfit before turning to Hermione, catching unabashedly on the front zip of the catsuit where is sat between her breasts with a solid sticking charm to keep it firmly in place. She flushed a little, throwing back the shot in her hand and placing the glass on the table beside them.

“You’re staring.”

He grinned. “I’m a warm-blooded male. Can you blame me?”

She rolled her eyes as Pansy gave her a pleased nod. “See? Told you. That outfit is fire.”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, steeling her spine and lifting her chin. She knew she looked good, she just needed to embrace it. It was Halloween, she was safe and with friends, and all she wanted to do was let go and enjoy it.

An hour later, laughing as she and Harry attempted to teach Theo the Moonwalk, she felt a prickle creep up her spine as if she were being watched. She had no chance to look for the source, however, as strong arms came around her waist and tugged her back into a swaying dance.

“Dance with me, kittycat,” Blaise muttered in her ear. “Let those two hop about together.”

She turned in his grasp, winding her arms loosely around his neck as she gave him a suspicious look. “What are you up to now?”

He gave her a mischievous wink as he tightened his grip on her. “Just playing my assigned part, don’t panic.”

She huffed. “You do realise that this is ridiculous, right?”

He laughed and spun her around. “Yeh? You should see his face right now.”

She tried to turn, searching for Draco as she realised he must be there, but he pulled her close and tutted in her ear. “Don’t spoil it, if I’m going to get punched then I may as well go all out. Can I kiss you?”

Frustrated, she gripped his collar and tugged his ear down to her lips. “No.”

Giving him a small push, he was forced to release her to catch his balance as he stumbled. Turning on her heel, she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at the sound of his laugh as she walked away, the need for some fresh air driving her outside.

The wards sent small crackles of static washing through her hair as she passed through, the noise of the party cutting off abruptly and leaving her in the silent peace of darkness. Sucking in lungful of cool, autumn air, she wandered past the herb garden towards the Dirigible Plum bushes and stared up at the watching moon.

“Blaise works fast.”

She released a breath of disbelieving laughter, not bothering to turn and face him. “About as fast as you changed your mind.”

He stepped up beside her, hands deep in the pockets of his dark suit as he followed her gaze upwards. “He’s playing you. It’s what he does.”

She hummed noncommittally, her lack of response clearly feeding his frustration as he turned to snap at her. “You’re being an idiot, Granger!”

Levelling a glare at him, she felt her own temper rise. “Maybe I am! I did let myself trust you, after all. I let you see my vulnerability, let you get close to me, and you just threw it back in my face when it was your turn to trust me.” She lifted a clawed hand and poked him in the chest as he stared at her, his pale face almost white in the moonlight. “But, guess what? You don’t get to turn up when it suits you and pretend that you have a say in my choices.”

“You need…”

She cut him off as she dropped her hand and stepped back, shaking her head at him in disappointment. “I am not a punching bag; I am a person. What you did for me means so much, but it doesn’t mean that I’ll wait around while you treat me like I’m disposable. I’ve learned my lesson on that one already.” She took a steadying breath, trying to calm her heartrate as he stared at her, eyes wide.

“I might want you, Draco, but I don’t need you.”

He stood in stunned silence as she turned and walked away, long cat tail swinging with the sway of her hips as her heels clicked softly along the stone walkway. She briefly considered turning for the castle, her chest tight even as her pride and self-confidence soared, but she forced herself to push back through the wards into the party.

She knew her worth, she knew what she deserved, and it was time to have some fun.

Chapter Text

Draco struggled to swallow as he watched the shadows consume her retreating form, his mouth dry as her words rang in his ears. Sighing in frustration, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers and aimed a kick at a nearby bush, sending a small, unripe plum sailing silently into the darkness.

“Well it isn’t the plant’s fault.”

Draco scoffed as Potter wandered over, his face as idiotic and irritating as ever. “I suppose you want me to admit I’m a prat and stand here while you berate me for hurting her.”

Potter shrugged, turning to look up at the moon. Draco briefly wondered if all the bloody Gryffindors had a lunar obsession, as they apparently felt the need to leave the party to stare at it.

“Don’t need you to admit that. Figured it out years ago.”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned as if to walk away.

“Still,” Potter continued casually, making him pause. “You did surprise me.”

“Am I supposed to care what you think?” Draco asked with a sneer.

“Not the fact that you were there for her,” Potter continued, as if Draco hadn’t spoken. “But that you managed to fuck it up so fast.”

Draco’s bark of laughter sounded forced even to his own ears. “Fuck off. Don’t act like you weren’t half the reason that she turned to me for support. You didn’t even see her falling apart, you self-involved prick.”

Potter turned to him with a grim smile, the red devil horns of his costume glittering ridiculously in the moonlight. “She doesn’t put up with self-involved pricks anymore, Malfoy. She’ll walk away.”

Draco felt his chest tighten, his hand subconsciously rising to rub the ache before he caught himself and shoved it back into his pocket. “She just did.”

Potter tipped his head thoughtfully. Spending time with Theo was clearly rubbing off on him. “Grovel. If she matters more than whatever made you act like an idiot, show her that.”

“She’s better off without me.”

Draco had no idea what dragged the words from his throat, let alone in front of fucking Chosen-One Potter, but the immediate snort of laughter made him blink in surprise.

“Oh fuck off with that shit. If you’re making decisions for her then you’ve already lost.” He reached over and clapped a hand briefly on Draco’s shoulder, the friendly gesture unnerving but the words capturing his attention more than he liked to admit.

Potter began to walk away before hesitating and turning back, a look of resignation on his face. “I didn’t say this, Malfoy, but you’re not a bad guy. Just stop letting the past get in your head and making you act like one.”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned away dismissively. “Are you done dishing out unsolicited pearls of wisdom?”

There was a heavy pause before Potter answered. “Are you done letting your father ruin your life?”

Draco stiffened and spun, rage flaring in his chest as the mention of Lucius poked at a ragged, raw wound. He was met with only quiet darkness, any sign of Potter gone as if he were never there at all, leaving only Draco’s agitated breathing as evidence of their brief conversation.

“Insufferable twat,” Draco muttered acerbically, walking back towards the greenhouse and hesitating, suddenly torn between the desire to feel the burn of firewhiskey in his throat and the need to avoid any further conversation.

He was sure that it was the promise of firewhiskey, not his pathetic obsession with one Hermione bloody Granger, that had him pushing back through the wards into the party.

His eyes certainly did not seek her out in that ridiculously sexy outfit that she claimed to be a cat costume but may as well have been painted onto the curves of her skin.

He definitely did not watch her like a creeper for the next hour as she danced with her friends, feeling an empty pang in his chest as she laughed, smiled, and seemed to allow her worries to melt away.

He most definitely did not bruise his knuckles against Blaise’s cheekbone as his friends cackled with gleeful laughter before both finally falling into their beds well after the moon had set.

And he absolutely did not lay awake long after trying and miserably failing to ignore that growing sense of dread in his gut that told him that Harry fucking Potter was right, and that he had royally fucked up.

***

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

Theo rolled his eyes, clinging blearily to the doorframe as he held out his hand expectantly. “Well duh.”

Draco sighed, pushing the vial of hangover potion into Theo’s fingers as he slipped through his open door and threw himself dramatically into the ridiculously large armchair. “What the fuck do I do?”

Theo swallowed the potion with a sigh of relief and perched on the end of his bed facing him. “Talk to her?”

Draco glared at him. “Sure, that’ll work brilliantly. Hey Granger! Sorry I’ve been a bit of a dick, but I was trying to clean up the toxic waste that my father left behind and I didn’t want it to touch you.” Theo simply raised an unimpressed brow as he trailed off, making Draco sigh dramatically and sink further into the chair. “For fuck’s sake, Theo, at least say something.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Draco glared at his best friend. “Try to be slightly more helpful.”

Theo stood and stretched out his spine. “Look, mate, you know I’m here for you, but you already know the answer here. Yes. Go and talk to her. Knock on her door and tell her you’re an idiot. And don’t give her a bullshit reason, tell her the truth.”

Draco shook his head. “She can’t understand it all. She’s never been part of our world.”

“Can’t understand?” Theo asked incredulously. “The girl who grew up in a world entirely different from most people here, has spent her childhood trying to work out how she fits in with everyone else while being constantly persecuted for where she comes from, and still wants to honour her heritage while being her own person? Yeh… she wouldn’t understand at all.”

Draco blinked slowly, a little stunned at Theo’s speech.

“Do you want to fix it, or do you just want to feel a bit less guilty about it? Because if you go to her with a half-cocked apology that has no real substance behind it, she’ll see right through you.” Theo strolled around the bed and gathered up some toiletries before opening the door. “Don’t let Lucius ruin this too, Drake.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “That’s what Potter said. You two are spending too much time together if you’ve resorted to chatting about me.”

Theo’s eyes flared briefly in surprise before his face fell into a wide grin. “You’ve been bonding with Harry? That’s cute.”

Draco made a noise of disgust and pushed to his feet, strolling out of the room without a backwards glance as Theo chuckled loudly.

“Sweets to the sweet!”

“There’s no bloody method in your madness,” Draco muttered as he rounded the corner and collided with a mass of curls. His arms instinctively shot out to steady them both as a loud oomph escaped her.

“Sorry,” she croaked, groaning as he set her on her feet. “My eyes are barely open.”

Digging in his pocket, Draco produced a small vial and offered it to her. “Here.”

She took it and swallowed the potion without hesitation, and a small smile crept over his face as he realised that she still instinctively trusted him. A soft sigh escaped her lush lips as the tension drained from her posture and she straightened, stiffening slightly again when she realised that he was standing there.

“Oh, sorry, uh… thanks for that,” she said awkwardly before her forehead creased into a cute frown. “Did I just hear you and Theo quoting Hamlet?”

He raised a brow, not even attempting to resist the urge to provoke her. “Why wouldn’t we?”

She blinked in surprise, pink spots of colour appearing on her cheeks as she fumbled a little. “Uh, well, I didn’t think you would be familiar with Shakespeare.”

He feigned confusion, barely hiding his amusement at her embarrassment. “Whyever not?”

Catching on to his mood, she pursed her lips and shot him a glare, a loose curl falling across her face. “Oh shut up, you know why. Since when do you read Muggle literature?”

He chuckled and shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets to stave off the desire to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear. He didn’t think she would welcome his touch. “Theo gave loads to me in sixth year in an attempt to distract me from everything. His mother apparently loved Shakespeare and he inherited a whole collection when she died. Now he thrusts Muggle books at me whenever he finishes them so he has someone to talk to about them.” He eyed her fascinated gaze with a soft smile. “Though I’m betting you could fill that role easily enough now.”

She grinned and nodded. “Gladly. Should I be worried though?”

He gave her a confused look. “Worried?”

She hummed, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “That you’re quoting Hamlet in the corridors. Are you planning on going on a vengeful killing spree?”

He laughed, a lightness filling his chest as her soft giggles joined in and the sound echoed around the stone walls. He fixed her with a meaningful look as they fell quiet. “No, apparently when my father dies, I just lash out at people who don’t deserve it.”

Her expression shuttered, her gaze briefly dropping to the floor as she visibly steeled herself. “Person, not people. It’s only me that you’ve shut out.”

He grimaced but nodded. “Yeh.”

A heavy silence fell between them as he tried to find something to say that could fix it; that could heal the hurt that was swimming in her gaze. He couldn’t find the right words, though, and she eventually breathed a deep sigh.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Malfoy, you don’t owe me anything. Don’t worry about it.”

He physically winced at the sound of his surname, her voice flat and indifferent. “I…”

“I am sorry about your father,” she said, cutting him off. “Will there be a funeral?”

He blinked in surprise and answered her polite enquiry almost automatically. “No. My mother is abroad, and he didn’t exactly have many friends.”

She nodded in understanding. “I hope you get to say goodbye in your own way then.”

He found himself in sudden need to clear the lump out of his throat and was forced to simply return her nod in answer.

“Well, I’m going to wake Pans and Daphne up and drag them down to breakfast,” she said with a clearly forced smile. “See you down there? I’d like us to be civil, seeing as we share friends.”

He gaped at her for a long moment, but quickly found himself nodding as she began to frown. “Yes, uh, I mean…”

He sighed in frustration as she began to back away, turning down the girls’ corridor. “Good. See you later then.”

“Yeh, see you,” he muttered, the sudden urge to punch himself in the face almost overwhelming.

***

After avoiding him for the rest of the weekend, smiling at him with polite disinterest in Runes, and splitting the Potions work evenly between them before speaking to him only when strictly necessary, Draco was ready to either shake her or scream in her face until he got her full attention.

Jaw aching from how hard he had been grinding his teeth for the past hour, a small but firm hand on his arm tugged him back as he attempted to storm out of the Potions classroom after Hermione, sharp nails digging in viciously enough to make him wince.

“Argh, fuck Pans,” he grouched, shaking her off. “Sheathe the damn claws.”

He turned to face her narrow-eyed glower, the dark liner around her lids making her seem all the more dangerous. To be fair, it was accurate. The girl was not someone you wanted to be on the wrong side of.

“What are you playing at?” she hissed, making Blaise grin widely as Draco shrank back slightly.

“What have I done now?” he grouched, pushing his hair off his forehead. It was getting too long really, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to deal with it.

“Granger!” she snapped.

He rolled his eyes at her. “I am being perfectly civil. As requested.”

He jumped as she slapped him round the head, instinctively cowering. “You. Absolute. Prat. Draco Malfoy!” she snapped, punctuating her words with smacks until she suddenly stopped and her eyes filled with tears. “That girl was everything you could have ever wanted. You had happiness right in the palm of your hand and you just threw it away because you still have some fucked up desire to become your father.”

He bristled, concern for his friend mixing with angry denial at her words. “That is not true. My father was a toxic piece of shit who cared more about power than the people he claimed to love. He ruined everything he touched, and I will do everything in my power not to become him!”

Pansy’s eyes were wide as saucers as realisation and sorrow flowed over her face. “For Salazar’s Sake, Draco. I thought this was about her fucking blood status.”

Draco flinched, his features hardening angrily. “Fuck you, Pans.”

“Alright, back off, both of you,” Blaise interjected, palms raised as he tugged Pansy a few steps back.

Pansy ripped her arm out of Blaise’s grip and pointed a shaking finger at Draco. “You are an arse. I love you, but you are an utter arse. Why can’t you just see what we see?! You are a good person, and you deserve to be happy!” A sob ripped from her chest as she angrily dashed a tear from her cheek. “Is this just about your bloody estate?!”

He gave a caustic laugh. “Bloody is about right. She shouldn’t have to deal with our fucked up world, and she would have to now I’m in charge. The Sacred Twenty-Eight would eat her alive.”

Pansy opened her mouth in a clear attempt to screech at him, but he cut her off with a wandless silencing jinx. “Having said that,” he continued as she glared at him indignantly. “I have realised that I’m an idiot, and that she should decide that for herself. Unfortunately, I pushed her too far and now she won’t even engage in a full conversation with me, so I’m fucked.”

Pansy pulled her wand from her robes, countering the hex before folding her arms and dragging in several calming breaths before speaking.

“One question, Draco, and the answer will determine whether I help or hinder you.”

“Hinder?” he asked, brows raising. “You’re my best friend, you have to help.”

She tutted at him in disappointment. “Nope, you forced that swot into my life and she has usurped you. Suck it up, she’s the bestie now.” She sniffed haughtily. “It’s not my fault that you introduced a superior option to you smelly idiots.”

Blaise looked offended. “Oi, I smell heavenly, thank you very much.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes at him and turned back to Draco, who sighed but gestured at her to continue. “Fine, what is the question?”

She smiled wickedly. “Do you love her?”