Chapter Text
“You're absolutely certain we have to help him?”
Hermione huffed the bangs out of her eyes so that Ron could see her angry glare more clearly. “ Yes, Ronald,” she snapped. “He's bleeding out.”
“Well, it's kind of mostly his fault though, isn't it?” Harry muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck.
Hermione so dearly wanted to agree. But there before them lay Draco Malfoy, with his limbs twisted awkwardly and the back of his head surrounded by a steadily growing pool of crimson blood. His skin was quickly losing its already pale complexion and Hermione was fearing for his life, albeit very mildly.
“We can't leave him like this,” she said firmly, hands on her hips.
“He shouldn't have fallen out of that tree then,” Ron shrugged artlessly.
Harry nodded. “Exactly! Why was he up there in the first place? Just to scare us? That's an awful lot of work for a dumb prank.”
“Don't kid yourself,” Ron snorted. “He was probably hoping to actually hurt us.”
“And now he's hurt himself,” Harry's laugh shook Hermione from her silence.
“Alright you two,” she sighed. “Enough dawdling. He’ll be too heavy for a single levicorpus so we’ll have to share the job. Ron, you levitate his head and I'll get his legs. Harry, you make sure you clean up our trail.”
“Trail?” her friend frowned, as she began to cast the charm upon Malfoy's bruised knees.
“You heard me,” Hermione answered primly. “We’re going to get blood everywhere .”
It was probably by the worst luck in the cosmos that they ran into Professor McGonagall on the way to the infirmary. She barely contained a screech at the sight of Malfoy's messy body floating through the air, and when she finally noticed the three of them Hermione knew it wasn't going to go down well.
“Can somebody please explain what's going on?” the Professor demanded, voice only bordering on shrilly.
“Professor,” Harry quickly protested, sensing her train of thought. “We didn't do this to him.”
“Malfoy fell out of a tree!” Ron added hastily. “He tried to say something smart and throw a hex at us as we passed in the courtyard.”
Harry nodded his head as enthusiastically as he could. “And then he fell.”
McGonagall eyed them suspiciously for one lingering moment more before exhaling heavily.
“We're taking him to Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione supplied helpfully.
The Professor sighed. “Has he hit his head?”
“Quite badly,” Hermione winced, eyes darting to the small pool that was growing at their feet as Malfoy's wound kept bleeding.
“Then we must hurry,” the Professor extracted her wand from her robes and swiftly took over levitating the injured boy.
Ron sighed in relief but schooled his features when McGonagall directed a stern glance his way.
“If this somehow gets back to Mr. Malfoy we will be in great trouble,” she said as she began to stride quickly towards the infirmary. “It was reckless of you three to take the boy to the infirmary yourselves.”
“We didn't think it would be right to leave him there,” Hermione frowned. “Even if it was so we could go get a teacher.”
“Yes well,” McGonagall huffed. “I'd dearly appreciate not having to deal with an irate Lucius Malfoy ranting about how three of my students had gruesomely disfigured his son and were parading him through the school.”
Ron and Harry could barely contain their snickering. Hermione blanched.
The infirmary was quiet and empty now and the only sound to accompany Hermione's thoughts was the rustling of the sheet under her weight. She sat on the edge of an empty cot, legs dangling over the side. The stiff sheet made an awful lot of noise when she swung her legs around, and even though she knew that Malfoy needed his rest, she didn't quite care much if he woke up.
“You can leave once he is awake and steadied.”
That was what Professor McGonagall had said. Hermione grimaced at the memory. She should have known she'd be the one to be roped into overseeing Malfoy's recovery. For one, she was almost certain that McGonagall didn't truly believe their story of Malfoy falling out of the tree. It barely made sense that he'd even be in one. Some things had to be seen to be believed.
Secondly, the Professor would never have left Harry or Ron to this job- it's not as if she wanted another fight.
So that effectively left her as the only appropriate choice. Responsible and level-headed Prefect Hermione Granger. What joy.
She kicked her legs a little viciously at the thought, jostling the bed so hard that it creaked loudly on its metal hinges. The sound reverberated around the room, closely followed by a small groan.
Hermione stiffened. That had to be Malfoy.
She tentatively pulled at the curtain separating his bed to watch his face twist into a frown. His eyes began to flutter and then they were open, staring up at the ceiling.
“Oh good,” she managed to say stiffly. “You're awake.”
Strangely, Malfoy nearly jumped right out of the bed at her voice.
“Wha-?” he mumbled, looking at her with a strange sort of panic.
Hermione felt a small pang of regret for being so rude. “Hey, calm down Malfoy. You're alright. You're in the infirmary.”
“Why?” he croaked, still staring at her with wild eyes.
She hoped his next words weren't going to be related to calling his father. “Well. You… um, you took a nasty spill. From… from a tree.”
The Slytherin groaned again, low and long. “That's why my head feels like a Hippogryph sat on it.”
Hermione shifted her weight on her feet somewhat nervously. “Yes. I suppose so.”
The blond looked away from her to prod at his varying bandages and the smaller, exposed bruises before snapping his eyes back to glance her way curiously.
“What are you here for?” he asked.
Hermione paused in her shuffling. “I'm sorry… what?”
“You. Why are you in the infirmary?” Malfoy explained with what seemed like infinite patience. “Did you fall too?”
“No!” Hermione quickly shook her head. “I brought you here. We saw you fall.”
“Oh,” Malfoy frowned, before cracking a small, lopsided grin. “Lucky me then.”
Hermione felt her stomach turn at the sight. It wasn't horrifying, no, but Malfoy never smiled. Ever . And the fact that he was smiling… at her nonetheless… made her feel a lick of fear.
“Are you sure you're alright?” she asked nervously, clenching her hands to her sides to make sure she didn't wring them.
Malfoy took a moment to scrunch his nose in thought. “Not at the moment, really. I feel like death warmed over. And my head hurts like a bitch . I'll be fine soon though, thanks to your quick thinking.”
He smiled again, lazily, and Hermione knew something was wrong.
“Malfoy, you're acting very strange,” she murmured, taking a careful step away from his bed.
He looked outright crestfallen at the accusation. “Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel weird. Just… accept my thanks then.”
That made everything worse .
“You never apologise,” she said, almost to herself.
Malfoy didn't hear, thankfully, and just continued to sadly pick at the ugly sheet that covered his legs and torso. “You don't have to stay anymore. I'll be fine.”
She had so wanted to hear those words but hadn't dreamed that Malfoy would be the one letting her leave and thanking her in the same breath. It made her head spin most disconcertingly.
But she couldn't leave now, could she? Malfoy might have gone bonkers. The right thing to do would be to call Madam Pomfrey. But she didn't want to waste anymore time on this horrid boy than she was instructed to. She had all the right to leave.
“Before you go,” that wretched Slytherin piped up suddenly. “And I hope this won't come off as more strange… but could I at least have your name? For saving me?”
Hermione turned and fled.
“That's hilarious! And then what happened?”
“Ron, don't be a prick!” Hermione whined. “I just ran. I ran and ran till I found you two.”
The boys fell silent at that, before slowly erupting into small snickers.
“Oh please tell me what to do!” Hermione groaned. “Malfoy might as well have lost his mind. He smiled at me!”
“EW!” Ron gagged.
Harry shuddered. “Was it as slimy as I imagine it to be?”
“No,” Hermione snapped. “It was actually quite charming. I really think I might go back and make him smile again.”
The two Gryffindors sobered up from their mirth quickly, groaning at her words.
“Don't be so stiff, ‘Mione,” Ron moaned.
Even Harry shrugged. “He really did do this all to himself. And his intent had been to cause us actual harm. Imagine if you were in the infirmary instead of him! He wouldn't wait for you to feel better and he wouldn't be so polite at all. In fact, he would have run the second you hurt yourself.”
“You're right, Harry,” Hermione sighed. “But he is hurt, and very confused. We have to help him.”
“I say... I say we convince him that he's in Gryffindor,” Ron said slowly, face lighting up with a grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes hard. “I don't know why I came to you two for help.”
She rose to leave the common room, followed by their loud retorts at her departure.
“You knew we'd say terrible things so you could feel better about your plan!” Harry called out before the portrait closed, and he couldn't have been more right.
Professor McGonagall looked even more harried than when she'd seen Malfoy bleeding out in mid air when Hermione finished telling her about the Slytherin’s behaviour.
The Professor left her office swiftly, Hermione trailing in her wake as they made for the infirmary a second time.
Madam Pomfrey was already there, administering potions to Malfoy, who sat quietly and pliantly under her care.
This might have struck Professor McGonagall as odd right off the bat as she halted in her steps almost immediately. Malfoy heard them however, and turned to catch a glimpse of the newcomers.
“You!” he said loudly.
Hermione almost shrank behind the Transfiguration Professor. Almost being the key word, for Malfoy's face somehow warmed at seeing her.
“You came back,” he gushed awkwardly. “I really didn't mean to come off like a right buffoon before. It must have been the headache. You alright?”
Hermione's head swam again.
“I see what you meant,” McGonagall whispered quietly, before striding up to the cot in which the blond sat.
“Mister Malfoy,” she began briskly. “Do you know who this student is?”
“Yes, she helped me get here-”
“No, you know her more than that. You two are rather well… acquainted , should I say,” the older witch muttered.
The Slytherin raised his brows and then lowered them until his eyes were narrow. “We are?”
“Yes,” the Professor prodded. “Think carefully.”
“She saved me after my fall,” he offered weakly.
“No, think before the fall,” McGonagall pushed, leaning forward in earnest.
“Well, she's clearly a fellow classmate,” Malfoy said, flustered. “Is this a test? Oh it is one, isn't it? Great.”
“What do you remember about Miss.. about this girl?” Professor McGonagall asked again.
Malfoy winced. “I remember that she's smart?”
The professor frowned.
“She's also a Prefect,” Malfoy added slowly. “Right? I'm right, aren't I?”
Hermione crossed her arms. “You just saw my badge.”
“Dammit. Will someone help me out? Am I in trouble for not knowing who you are?” Malfoy nearly pouted, looking forlorn.
She couldn't take it anymore. She could take the weird smiles and the strange conversation but she couldn't handle the thought of Malfoy- Draco Malfoy- being upset at not knowing her name. Frankly, the fact that he didn't know her at all was chilling enough.
If he didn't remember her then they didn't have any history. And they had a lot of history. Too much to be erased over one afternoon.
“It's me! Granger!” Hermione gasped, sick of this polite version of her most hated bully. “Hermione Granger, the muggleborn!”
Malfoy’s eyes widened comically and then he cocked his head to one side, pondering.
“Granger,” he tested, and his voice was all wrong.
It wasn't the same as before and Hermione almost regretted telling him her name.
“That's right. The Gryffindor who hangs out with Potter. You're going to be Head Girl.”
Hermione started at that and couldn't help but glance at McGonagall, who expertly avoided eye contact. Malfoy watched the exchange and smirked, somewhat looking like his former self for a moment.
“Don't worry, Granger,” he said warmly. “It's practically guaranteed.”
Hermione worried. She worried indeed. Maybe not for the same reasons Malfoy supposed she did, but that wasn't important. She also wanted him to stop saying her last name like that.
“Don't call me that,” she muttered defiantly.
Malfoy seemed to get the wrong idea. “Oh. Are we on a first name basis then? Hermione.”
Merlin this was worse! She had to suppress a shudder at the sensation of Malfoy pronouncing her given name, and she couldn't help the wave of gooseflesh that made the hairs on her arms stand up. It was all wrong! He said it like he was testing a caramel taffy in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue. The idea made her blanch again.
“You've got a real strange name, Hermione,” he continued, oblivious to her dismay. “ Hermione . Head Girl Hermione. You know… it's got a nice ring to it.”
Professor McGonagall coughed suddenly, moving to draw Madam Pomfrey to a side. The mediwitch looked very stricken at the sight of the extent of Malfoy's change in personality. She shakily kept a potion back on the bedside table and followed Professor McGonagall to a corner of the room, where they immediately began conversing in frantic, hushed tones.
Hermione envied the distance they had between themselves and Malfoy. She wanted to be that far away from him as well.
But this version of Malfoy wouldn't understand why she was being so rude, and that made her feel uncomfortable and very, very guilty.
“We aren't friends,” he said suddenly, and she turned to see him carefully observing her face. “And we’re not on a first name basis, are we?”
Hermione tried to swallow. “Why… why do you say that?”
Malfoy shrugged lightly, moving so he could lean back against the headboard. He looked far too casual for a wizard of such high pedigree- his hair was messy from the bandages around his forehead and his shirt was untucked, dirty and crushed to high heaven. He looked… normal . Like how Seamus and Ron would look after wrestling on the common room floor. Or how Neville looked after spending a night in the greenhouses because he forgot to leave his plants before curfew. It threw her for a loop.
“You just don't seem comfortable around me,” Malfoy mused, bringing her out of her thoughts. “And you look ready to puke when I say your name. I won’t say it. It must be awkward hearing a complete stranger refer to you like they know you.”
Hermione gulped. “A complete stranger.”
That's what he was now, wasn’t he? A perfect stranger to her. And she to him.
“The old bat seems to think we’re friends though,” he smirked suddenly, leaning forward swiftly, like as if they were sharing a secret. “I wonder why that is.”
Hermione tried not to move away from him too obviously. “Me too. Seems kind of strange. Maybe she’s trying to push inter house relations?”
Malfoy seemed to consider the idea. “Forcibly? How maladroit.”
“Maladroit?” she breathed, feeling dizzy.
What was he doing? Was he being smart? Was Malfoy an actual intellectual? Circe, help her.
The Slytherin didn’t seem to notice her internal suffering. “You don’t agree? If throwing two complete strangers together is her idea of inter house unity, then Merlin save us all.”
“You mean you aren’t opposed to it?” Hermione sputtered, pulling away to glare at his startled grey eyes accusingly.
“It’s heavy-handed but the idea is well placed,” he shrugged mildly, before noticing her confusion and slowly retreating. “Unless of course you think it would be terrible to be friends, in which case I think so too.”
That startled a laugh out of her, sharp and amused. “No, no, that's not why I asked.”
Malfoy kept looking at her funny. “Is the idea of being my friend so appalling?”
“The idea of you wanting to be friends is what's boggling my mind,” she answered honestly, still confused about the fact that Malfoy had made her crack up.
The blond raised an eyebrow archly, looking very much disdainful of her sentiments. It was almost a sneer.
“What does that mean?” he asked carefully.
“It means…,” Hermione began, trying valiantly to ignore the hurt swimming in his eyes. “It means you-,”
“Mister Malfoy, we have something of great import to discuss,” a strict voice interrupted suddenly.
Professor McGonagall stood stiffly by the bedside, Madam Pomfrey wringing her hands behind her. The strict Professor gave Hermione a cursory glance, indicating that she should leave, before turning back to face Malfoy. Hermione took her nonverbal cue and began to backtrack her way out of the infirmary. She didn't want to be there when Malfoy was told that he’d hit his head hard enough to forget his whole personality.
It was too messy. She was glad to have no responsibility for this part.
Except Malfoy seemed to understand that something was wrong and immediately latched onto Hermione's arm before she could move too far away.
“She can stay, right?” he asked a little frantically. “It's not so bad is it? It's not so bad that Granger can't bear to hear it as well.”
Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened and she shared a look of concern with Madam Pomfrey that didn't go unnoticed by the students.
“I think it's best if Miss Granger leaves. Poppy, why don't you go round up Mister Potter and Mister Weasley. Take the three of them to Headmaster Dumbledore and I'll meet you all there when I'm done here.”
The Professor smiled tightly at the mediwitch before turning to close the curtains that hung around Malfoy’s bed. As the stiff cloth shut around them, Hermione watched the Slytherin’s look of worry fade out into a mask of cool indifference and wondered how much of Malfoy remained in himself and how much had seemingly vanished into thin air.
The boys looked unhappy after leaving Dumbledore's office, and Hermione had to admit she didn't feel so great either.
“I can't believe the Ferret managed to mess himself up so bad,” Ron grumbled as he kicked his shoes against the stone floor.
Harry groaned and rolled his neck. “It's almost as if karma came back to kick his pale arse. Except we had to be there to see it. Why, oh why couldn't we have just not walked out into the courtyard?”
“You were the one who wanted to go watch Ginny do handstands for that dumb dare Lee made her do,” Hermione scowled.
“Oh,” Harry paused. “Yeah. Drat. We missed that entirely didn't we?”
Ron seemed rather pleased at that. “It's alright, she probably didn't miss us anyway. What do you reckon happened to Malfoy though?”
Harry shrugged and looked to Hermione with an expectant gaze.
She wished she had an answer.
“I don't- I'm not sure actually,” she winced. “He's just not himself. I don't know what they're going to do about it.”
“Maybe they'll knock his head again to make it right,” Ron laughed. “Or wrong. Depends on how you look at it.”
Hermione couldn't disagree with that last bit.
“Maybe it will wear off,” Harry yawned, already looking bored of the conversation. “Who cares? It's not like anyone will miss his bigoted tripe.”
Hermione felt that she should argue; there was something inherently wrong about Malfoy unknowingly being a decent person. About him not being aware of his change in persona. But she couldn't deny that his vile behaviour wouldn't be missed, so she shut her mouth and headed back to the dorms, determined to put this mess behind them.
Luna was usually a quiet study partner. It was Ginny that never sat in silence, and was always restlessly fidgeting while Hermione tried her best to concentrate on homework. But despite this, Hermione was rudely drawn away from her Arithmancy essay when Luna gasped sharply, jolting upright as if she'd been shocked, before fluttering her hands over Hermione's parchment.
The brunette looked up to throw a glare at the younger Ravenclaw, but found her staring at a distance behind them, transfixed by what she saw.
Hermione swiveled her torso around to accuse the offending person but drew in a harsh breath at who she saw striding up towards them, cutting past the other students who lay scattered across the gardens. Malfoy’s stupidly brilliant hair was almost golden in the warm sunlight as he glided over to where she and Luna sat by the lake. He looked angry.
“Granger,” he snapped, fists in his pockets and robes billowing in the wind.
He looked like he was about to hex her and Hermione felt a sudden rush of relief. They'd fixed him. Malfoy was back to being a righteous prick and a sorry excuse of a wizard. She almost smiled.
“You won't believe what absolute garbage they tried to sell me,” the blonde continued much to her dismay, huffing as he dropped his lanky form down to the grass beside her.
Luna looked wildly excited and Hermione forced herself to suppress the groan growing in her chest.
“So far this day has been mighty fucking awful!” Malfoy continued snappishly. “McGonagall told me I've lost my mind! Can you believe that? What kind of hallucinogens does one have to be on to come up with such jargon? I'm right as rain, obviously. She can't even explain why she thinks I'm different. Said my personality is off kilter . Like as if I know what that means.”
Hermione let the groan escape her lips, closing her eyes to the stares of the other students lounging around them.
Malfoy seemed to take it as a response to his complaints.
“It gets worse, hold on. These two… two lumbering goons have been following me around all day,” he continued, looking over his shoulder as if they were about to pop out from behind a tree. “They don't say anything, they just… follow me. It's eerie. And this girl, Merlin this girl-,”
“Pansy Parkinson perhaps?” Luna asked innocently.
Malfoy gave her a cursory glance. “Possibly. She got a ditzy voice?”
“And a pug nose?” Luna added.
“Short black hair?”
“Banshee laughter?”
“That's the bitch,” Malfoy snorted. “Say, who are you?”
“Luna Lovegood,” the Ravenclaw smiled back. “We've been close friends since I cleared your dorm room of a poxie infestation.”
“Luna!”
“What?” the girl shrugged. “It's almost true.”
“What are poxies?” Malfoy interrupted.
Hermione shook her head tightly. “Nothing. They aren't real- they're something Luna made up.”
Malfoy seemed to truly consider this. “How can you be sure?”
“What? Sure of what?” Hermione asked, bewildered.
“That they aren't real?” Malfoy replied casually. “I mean, most magical creatures remain undiscovered due to unique traits that are unknown to wizardkind-,”
“I'm going to stop you right there,” Hermione sighed. “And tell you straight up that you aren't friends with Luna and she has never cleared your dorm of any creature infestations, real or imaginary.”
“Were you having a laugh at me?” Malfoy frowned, turning to glare at the Ravenclaw. “Rude.”
Luna pouted in the face of his dismay and Hermione's looks of severe disappointment, before gathering her books and scrambling to her feet.
“You two are no fun,” she laughed quietly, before skipping away from them. “I have to meet Neville to name his new mandrake. Stay safe and keep away from weasels!”
“What's she on about?” Malfoy scoffed. “There aren't any weasels out here.”
Hermione groaned. “Ignore her. Listen Malfoy, you can’t just come up and talk to me like that.”
The blond shot her an irritated glare. “Like what? Like a normal person? I was perfectly polite, Granger. I don't know why you think I'm some crass human being-,”
“Malfoy!” the Gryffindor grumbled in annoyance. “You are a crass person!”
“Damn I didn't take you for such a bitch, Granger!”
“I'm not. But you are crass. You act like you own this school and you never talk to anyone outside of Slytherin or anyone who isn't a rich, Pureblood bigot . In fact, you only ever mock everyone else. And guess what? You hate me. You hate my guts. I think it's even safe to say you want to see me dead. And that's the truth .”
Malfoy looked like she'd socked him in the face- which she had one time and he looked almost exactly like he did back then.
“You can’t be serious-,”
“Look around you,” Hermione said seriously. “See all those people staring at us like the Squid has just surfaced? They're shocked out of their minds seeing you speak to me. You hate muggleborns and you notoriously hate me . And that's just reality for everyone else but you. And I'm sorry you don't know that part of yourself right now, but you can't come to me to talk about it, okay? Just… just find Pansy Parkinson or something. She might not listen, but she’d probably suck your dick or something.”
The blonde seemed disgusted at the idea but didn't protest as she hastily picked up her things and rose to her feet. Around them, voices hushed as everyone strained to hear their bizarre interaction.
“Sorry this happened to you Malfoy,” she muttered, almost sincerely.
The blonde shook his head in protest. “You won't even try to help me figure out what's going on?”
“It is rather all your fault,” she replied. “And there's also the fact that the real you would never stoop so low as to ask a muggleborn for help. This isn't what you truly want Malfoy.”
“Fancy of you to tell me what I want,” he hissed back, glaring at young Colin Creevey who was ogling them from some distance away.
“Trust me,” she snapped in return. “You don't even know who you are. It's the whole school’s word against yours. Ask around. You'll see.”
“Will they all tell me how much of an asswipe I am?” he asked, voice a sneer despite sounding somewhat resigned to his apparent fate.
“You're not just an asswipe, Malfoy,” she sighed in irritation. “You're the absolute worst thing in this school apart from the basilisk that tried to kill us in second year.”
With that said, Hermione quickly rushed away from the confused Slytherin as fast as her feet would take her. The crowds of students lying about on the grass immediately picked up their gossip as she strode past and she could swear she heard someone faint in the distance.
If she could just make it to Transfiguration without being accosted by anyone, then maybe this nightmare of a day would end soon.