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Minerva McGonagall would never admit to having a favorite student. And, she was proud to note, most of her students would never know she had any, nor any she particularly disliked. She was fair, with the exception of the occasional act of favoritism like letting Potter on the quidditch team (oh, but who was fair about quidditch?).
But the truth was that she did. She loved the Weasley twins even though they occasionally made her want to pull her hair out and expel the lot of them, never to teach a ginger ever again. She had adored Nymphadora Tonks for similar reasons. She was fond of Cho Chang in Ravenclaw who had a genuine interest in Transfiguration and she found Luna Lovegood irritating, but dear. Yes, Minerva even had a fond spot for Harry James Potter.
But Hermione Granger had topped them all.
Her thirst for learning rivaled Minerva’s own, her occasionally misguided but earnest attempts to make the world fair was inspiring, her utter refusal to let her buffoons waltz to their graves without her – she embodied Gryffindor’s values while also, like Minerva had, pursuing her curiosity and investing in her friendships. She even had a dash of Slytherin ambition that Minerva found admirable.
There were also students Minerva was less fond of, though she did try to give each child the benefit of the doubt. But still, Vincent Crabbe was the sort who liked to pull the wings off butterflies and Cormac McLaggen was not to be trusted around the witches. Lavender Brown brought pettiness to a whole new level and Honora Michael in Ravenclaw in the class of 1992…that witch was entirely capable of cold blooded murder.
And, despite a promising first year where she had found herself surprisingly fond of the Malfoy heir, Draco Malfoy had proved disappointing. He had been bright, curious, though he had a rivalry with her own students and like the rest of the first years seemed to be incognizant of the line between pranks and bullying.
Second year forward, though, he had apparently taken on his parents’ blood supremacist ideals, and committed what, to Minerva’s mind, was nearly an unforgivable sin.
He made Hermione Granger cry.
She’d find the little girl with the big hair sniffling behind a corridor, and it had been a terrible afternoon when Hermine Granger, serious but unsure, had come to Minerva to ask “Professor, what is a mudblood?”
Yes, that had rid Minerva of most of her fondness toward the little blond boy with the bright, inquisitive grey eyes.
But it didn’t stop the sadness she often felt when her students careened towards brittle, hostile, or lonely futures. She watched him harden, resemble Lucius more and more, cruelty become his norm.
But there were moments she wondered if that little boy remained. When after the ferret incident she’d found him alone, attempting a healing spell on his own wrist that had been broken. He’d been in pain and embarrassed and didn’t snarl or snap. He just quietly asked her not to send him to the infirmary, because his father would be angry he had been humiliated in such a way. Minerva had agreed and healed his wrist for him, with an educational discussion on how healing spells are nearly impossible on one’s self.
At the Yule Ball she’d watched Hermione Granger spin by him, the perfect moment for a cruel remark and he merely nodded at her before they went their separate ways.
He’d come to her late in fifth year, in the midst of the Inquisitorial Squad and Umbridge’s pathetic reign of terror, carefully carrying a crying fourth year Gryffindor who had been assaulted by a seventh year Ravenclaw. She made no investigations when that seventh year ended up hexed within an inch of his life the following day and written up for anti-authoritarian activities to Umbridge.
No, Draco Malfoy was not her favorite student, nor even a student she particularly liked. She doubted these flashes of his better nature would take root, but she was a woman who hoped, and regardless, she never wished to see a student suffer. She protected her students, even if they were little snots who bullied her favorites. It was what a good teacher did.
Thus it was with a heavy heart that Minerva McGonagall watched Draco Malfoy deteriorate his sixth year. The bright eyes she’d enjoyed as a first year had been slowly fading to steely flint, and now there was no light to be found in them, only harsh emptiness.
She had known he was talented, it was no real surprise he was an occlumens. But to employ it regularly as a child?
Then he quit the quidditch team – it was never, not once in her teaching career, a good sign when they quit quidditch.
Then the dark shadows under his eyes became more prominent. His skin became wan and weight began to slough off him to the point he looked nearly sickly. He moved woodenly through the halls and no one seemed to ask what was the matter.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she called after class one Tuesday and the boy paused. She motioned for him to come to her desk and he did.
“Yes, Professor?”
Minerva leaned against her desk, appraising him. His uniform was hardly its usual pristine state, but rumpled like he’d been wearing it a while. His eyes were flat, the dark circles under his eyes as stark as ever.
“Draco, are you quite alright?” she asked, gently as she could. The boy blinked at her.
“No,” he said, voice quiet and small. Her chest tightened in sympathy.
“How can I help?”
He blinked at her again. “You can’t,” he said, shifting his bag on his shoulder and turning to leave before pausing again.
He swallowed hard. “But thank you, for asking,” he said softly. “And you should know…I’m sorry.”
The boy left and Minerva felt despair settle heavy in her gut.
—-
She mentioned it to Filius, who shrugged. He cared for his students but had no time or space to worry for the crueler ones. Trelawney raved about his future in absolute nonsense terms. Albus was somber, but seemed resigned to the fact the boy would suffer. The boy’s friends don’t seem to notice much except for Pansy Parkinson who looks at him with worry in her eyes and Theo Nott who stuffs pastries into his pockets and brings him the occasional cup of coffee.
Minerva found Severus, who she knew to be the boy’s godfather – they had disagreed frequently about his bullying of Ms. Granger – and to her surprise, Severus also occluded, though she could only barely notice.
“Things are dark all around,” he began, his voice slow and deliberate, “and for the son of a dark wizard and Death Eater…I’m not sure the darkness can be escaped.”
Minerva’s eyes widened, the concern in her gut growing.
Severus reassured her he was doing his best to help the boy, but some things were beyond the control of professors and loved ones to control. And so Minerva continued to watch the boy struggle, seemingly no one the wiser.
The only others who noticed were Harry James Potter, who watched the Malfoy heir with suspicious intent, and Hermione Jean Granger.
She would watch him with a furrowed brow, and she heard the girl bark at Potter to give the stalking a rest. They ran into each other once in the halls and Minerva and everyone else prepared for a fight, but Draco merely kept walking. Hermione’s mouth had dropped open in shock and she’d stared after him.
One evening, Minerva was finishing grading essays in a random classroom near the Great Hall; she had supervised detention that evening and had decided to stay once her charge had left since she only had three more essays to finish. She was just rolling them up to leave when she heard her favorite pupil’s voice.
“Good evening, Malfoy.”
“Granger,” he replied woodenly. No sneer, no smirk, no taunt to his lips. She moved closer to the door to see Hermione frown as he turned and began walking their patrol route. Minerva listened carefully, as they drew closer to her office.
“You weren’t at dinner, I noticed,” Hermione mentioned casually and Malfoy scoffed, but only barely.
“You don’t care, Granger, just drop it,” he muttered. Hermioned huffed.
“Well if you faint on our prefect rounds, it will be my problem,” she insisted and Minerva could just see her hands float to her hips as they crossed by her doorway.
“I won’t,” he said instead, the hint of emotion she’d drawn from him absent once again. Minerva stood, hoping to get a better view of her students, and was rewarded as she saw Hermione’s arm snap out to grab Malfoy’s elbow.
“What’s wrong with you,” she insisted, no hint of a question in her voice, only pure demand.
Malfoy stared at her hand on his elbow before raising flat eyes to meet Hermione’s.
“Everything, Granger. Let it go,” he said, but Hermione’s grip tightened.
For some reason, Draco’s face softened.
“Let me go,” he said gently, and though Minerva couldn’t see Hermione’s face, only the back of her curls, she knew there would be fire in her eyes.
“You aren’t mine to hold onto,” Hermione responded as she released him. “But someone is. You should hold onto them.”
Draco sighed, the weariness profound for someone his age.
“Seriously, Malfoy –”
Minerva saw the anger spark to life in him, and despite her normal instincts to shield Hermrione, she was grateful for something happening in the young Malfoy heir’s eyes besides emptiness.
“Hold onto who, Granger? My father in Azkaban?” he sneered.
“I don’t know, for some reason you have friends despite your boorish behavior –”
Draco barked out a cruel laugh. “Right, thanks for the pep talk, Granger.”
He spun on heel and stalked down the hallway.
Minerva waivered - spying on students was something she generally did not approve of - but quickly transformed and followed along the hallway quietly in feline form.
“Well, you have to admit, it is absurd you have made me worry about you!” she huffed and she stormed after him.
“You aren’t worried about me,” he snapped.
“You’re too thin and you look like you never sleep!” Hermione protested.
“And so you’re curious,” he snarled, “But don’t lie to yourself or to me and act like you give a flying fuck about whether I eat or sleep or want to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower! Because you don’t!”
Hermione stopped short, and so did Minerva, sitting back on her haunches, eyes wide.
“Do you?” she asked in a small voice and Draco flushed.
“No. Now leave it,” he said sternly and turned back to walking. Hermione kept up with him, and the two walked in silence as Minerva padded quietly behind them.
“You shouldn’t throw yourself off the Astronomy Tower,” Hermione eventually said.
“I can’t, fear not,” Draco replied, his voice flat once again.
“Why can’t you?”
“Fucking Salazar,” Draco muttered and Minerva had to agree. That was an…interesting question to ask.
“Well, is it a reliable reason or one where you could still end up dead?” Hermione asked, her voice nearly a screech. Draco stopped short.
“Why, dreaming of finding my corpse, Granger?”
Hermione gasped. “Why is it so hard to imagine I might have some compassion for you, be worried for you, despite your constant need to be a horrendous git?”
“And you’d spare your concern for me?” he sneered. “Horrendous git, remember. It’s hard to imagine because it’s not how people work. Not even you.”
“Compassion is hardly so rare or terrible,” Hermione replied, crossing her arms.
“Oh, but it is,” Draco snapped. “ Compassion is truly terrible. It can be used against you and twisted and make you commit unspeakable horrors to care if someone else is suffering.”
“Or,” Hermione countered, “It makes it nearly impossible to commit said unspeakable horrors, because you can’t hurt someone you care about.”
“And if they’re pitted against one another, Granger?”
“I don’t follow.”
“If those for whom you have compassion come at odds,” he said, voice soft, and Minerva is grateful she’s a cat at the moment, because dread makes her want to gasp. Instead her fur raises.
“Well, Granger, what then? What if you can’t save everyone and you can only save someone?”
She furrowed her brow, still confused.
“Your mother or your classmates, Granger, which would you choose?”
And Minerva knew exactly what had happened to Draco Malfoy.
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
“You care about both of them, don’t you? But you have to care about one more.”
“I’d look for a way out,” Hermione said slowly.
Draco laughed, a humorless, wicked sound. “There isn’t one. You simply have to choose.”
“That’s not a choice at all!” she countered and Draco winced.
“Yeah. That’s right, it’s not,” he said softly, and began walking again.
Minerva padded along behind them, staying to the shadows. The two students were silent, walking side by side.
“Can I help?” Hermione asked quietly and Draco stopped in his tracks.
“No,” he replied, voice hoarse. Hermione huffed and they continued on their way, silent the rest of their patrol until Minerva finally left them on the fourth floor corridor.
—-
They were reasonably subtle about it. Hermione forced a muffin into his hand at the beginning of their next prefect rounds and Draco dutifully ate it, breaking it into small bites.
“Why the fasting?” Hermione asked and he sighed.
“I always feel like I’m going to throw up,” he admitted and Hermione frowned.
On their fourth patrol together, Draco asked the questions.
“What are your parents like?” he queried, voice hushed as if afraid he could be overheard (which, to be fair, he was).
Minerva transformed immediately and began to follow them, desperate to hear this conversation.
“They’re lovely,” she told him, a hesitant smile on her lips. “They’re dentists, which are a specialized type of muggle healer. It requires a lot of schooling. My mum is a very good listener, she always lets me snuggle in beside her and tell her all my troubles. She’s also a recreational rugby player,” Hermione laughed and Draco asked what rugby was.
“It’s a heavy contact sport,” she explained. “No one would look at my mum and suspect, but my dad always says she has a lot of aggression tucked into that little frame!”
“Sounds familiar,” Draco muttered and Hermione laughed.
“Hey!”
Draco’s lips twitched upward.
“And my dad, he’s just the best,” she continued on with a forceful look at Draco, who held up his hands placatingly. “Always has a book with him, tells the worst jokes, gives the best hugs,” she sighed, content in her memory.
Draco looked at her oddly then returned his gaze in front of him.
“What?”
“Aren’t hugs a bit…undignified?” he asked and Hermione looked at him, aghast.
“Who cares if they’re dignified or not? Hugs are…critical!” she protested, voice rising. “They’re an integral part of the human experience!”
“Not everyone enjoys being touched,” he countered and Hermrione harrumphed, allowing that.
“Still, if one does enjoy touch, they’re a beautiful reminder of comfort, love, family…”
Draco hummed skeptically and Hermione grumbled.
“You obviously like touch, since Parkinson hung off you all fifth year,” she said with a challenging glint in her eyes and Draco sighed.
“I don’t mind it,” he admitted and Hermione pointed a finger at him.
“See! So you are someone for whom dismissing hugging as undignified is just… anathema!” she concluded and Draco snorted.
“Awfully riled up over a hug,” he mentioned casually and Hermione crossed her arms.
“I am riled up because you are wrong, as usual,” she sniffed and Draco chuckled.
“Undignified,” she muttered, shaking her head.
They were quiet a moment when Draco said in a small voice, “They sound like nice people.”
Hermione glanced up at him, brown eyes wide.
“They are.”
He nodded and Minerva marveled that miracles were as subtle as a boy questioning his assumptions and a girl making space for compassion where hatred ruled the day.
—--
Minerva was passing through the library shelves after a pleasant tea with Irma in her office when she stumbled upon them.
Hermione Granger was doing her homework and at the table opposite her, Draco Malfoy was asleep, head on his arms.
It was clear Hermione was keeping some sort of vigil over the exhausted boy. She glanced around every so often, eyes finally resting on his sleeping form before returning to her studying.
Eventually, Draco began to twitch in his sleep and Hermione gave up all pretense of reading to watch him. He let out a quiet whimper and Hermione stood, her hand outstretched to rouse him when she paused. Minerva could only imagine what she was thinking – would he ridicule her, viciously snap at her for having the audacity to touch him, or some other form of cruelty?
But Hermione visibly summoned her courage and extended her hand to rest upon his shoulder and give him a gentle shake as she murmured “Draco. It’s a dream, wake up.”
He startled awake, a gasp torn from his throat as he bolted upright; his eyes darted around until they looked up, at the concerned Gryffindor hovering above him. His breathing was still ragged and neither said anything, just gazing into each other’s eyes and a different kind of dread began to creep up Minerva’s spine.
War was a terrible time to fall in love.
—--