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Chapter 7- Hermione's POV
Who did he think he was? She’d only gone up to the Auror Bullpen to hand him the preliminary rune report she’d managed to just finish after their visit to Gringott’s the previous day when he’d unilaterally decided he was in charge of the case? As if she reported to him.
Well, she just wasn’t going to wait to see how he’d manage that; she turned on her heel and went down to the Department of Mysteries.
Try to get a hold of me now, Malfoy , she thought as she took deep calming breaths inside her closed office. Git .
But, of course, he had the audacity to come by the next day with special permission to access the Department of Mysteries. She sat frozen in place when she heard the knock on her door and had to resist the urge to leap out of her chair and hex him when it was he who stepped into her office.
It was infuriating. He was infuriating.
Despite Hermione grudgingly allowing him space in her office, his presence put her on edge. Not only did she feel uncomfortable with him there—understandable, given everything he’d done to her in the past—Draco Malfoy brought all of Hermione’s insecurities boiling to the surface with just a glance at her.
All she could do to stave him off was to keep her father’s repeated advice at the forefront of her mind.
Don’t let them see you sweat.
How many times had he relayed these words to her about the very man sitting across her office from her on a small stool and table he’d transfigured for himself? It had held true all those years ago, and she was sure her father’s words of wisdom would hold true now.
So she sat up a little straighter, held her quill more firmly and each time she needed to address him, she’d do so with pride.
“That’s not how you fill out the special permission slip to gain access to the Dementor’s Chamber,” she pointed out matter-of-factly when he’d required her signature on the form.
She reveled in the way the vein in his forehead throbbed at it.
Of course, Malfoy still couldn’t handle being bested by a mudblood, even if it was in her own job.
On the third day, she needed to stop by Grimmauld to gather some more clothes and books before retiring to her parents' house. Somehow she’d deluded herself into thinking that flooing to Grimmauld with Malfoy wouldn’t be a terribly uncomfortable ordeal, considering their somewhat civil conversations in the days before Harry was in the hospital, but in the end, Hermione couldn’t find it in her to even say a word to the man. She didn’t owe him friendliness. Instead, she resolved to ignore him and simply catch up with Ron and Ginny.
She heard the door to Malfoy’s room slam more loudly than was necessary and floo’d to St. Mungo’s, furious with him for his rudeness.
“He’s insufferable,” she groaned to Harry when she entered his room minutes later.
Harry sighed. “I thought I made it clear I wouldn’t referee you two.”
Hermione glared at him mercilessly and he had the gall to stick his nose up in defiance.
“I’m not asking you to referee, I’m just stating the obvious facts.”
Harry rolled his eyes. If he weren’t bedridden, Hermione would have thrown something at him. The spoon that sat on his bedside table would have done wonderfully.
“Tell me, Hermione, what did Malfoy do now?”
“Don’t patronize me, Harry!”
“I’m not! I truly want to understand.”
Hermione folded her arms over her chest, fixing her stare at an unused nail in the wall.
“He’s rude. He openly ignores me. He thinks he knows everything-”
“You think you know everything.”
This time she did throw the spoon at him. He managed to dodge it, and Hermione scoffed.
“Why didn’t you dodge that spell like that.”
“The spell was thrown by a supremely talented dark wizard, and the spoon by someone with no hand-eye coordination.” He flashed her a teasing grin and she managed a smile back.
Harry stared at her and he sighed once more. “How’re your parents?”
“They’re fine. Mum has been… skeptical. I heard her asking Dad if he knew why I was having such a long stay.”
“Did you not tell them?”
Hermione shrugged. “I just said I missed them. It’s not a lie.”
Harry shook his head. “But you wouldn’t be staying with them just because you miss them.”
“I can’t exactly tell them you brought my childhood bully into our house without consulting me first, though. Dad would be furious at you.”
Harry rolled his eyes again at her. “I don’t care if your dad is furious at me or not. Malfoy needs help, and we have the means.”
Hermione’s nostrils flared... “If it were anybody else…”
“You’re just choosing to see the worst in him.”
Hermione huffed out a breath. Harry’s words implied she was being subjective and if Hermione prided herself on anything it was for her ability to remain objective—particularly when it pertained to her work.
She wasn’t seeing the worst in Malfoy, she was simply seeing what he had to offer. And so far it had all been cold stares, clipped words and brief nods in greeting whenever he entered the room.
The man had absolutely no personality and no redeeming qualities… except for the fact that he was a bit handsome. Objectively speaking. But being a bit handsome did nothing if he had such a heinous personality.
“Do you disagree?” Harry pried. “On your subjectivity?”
“I am not subjec—”
“Does he come in late?”
It took Hermione a moment to process the question after his interruption. “What?”
“Does he usually come in late to work?”
“No.”
“Does he leave early?”
“No, he—”
“Is his work shoddy?”
“No, but he—”
“Does he get distracted during work time?”
“No, but—”
“Does he keep you from doing your work?”
“No, Harry—”
“Has he ever been openly rude when you speak?”
“I don’t speak to him!” She half shouted in exasperation, glad to have been able to get a full sentence in. It took her several moments to calm her irritation with Harry, and then she noticed the smug look on his face.
“Why don’t we try something out?” Harry pressed.
Hermione felt herself grimace. Reluctantly she motioned for him to go on.
“I want you to try to change how you react to Malfoy when he’s around. If he asks your opinion on something, try to point out the positive instead of the negative. If you need a favor you would ask any other of the housemates, ask him first, and you have to agree with him at least once a day.”
“Why?” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.
Harry gave her a mischievous grin. “I just think you are purposely choosing to see him in a negative light, and you need to force yourself to stop doing that, otherwise this animosity between the two of you will never end.”
Hermione grumbled petulantly. Obviously, Harry needed his healer to check on him again. He might have sustained heavier injuries than they thought.
“Don’t blame it on my being bedridden. You know, deep down, that I am right.”
She stared at him in open-mouthed shock.
“Promise you’ll try.”
She sighed dramatically.
“Fine.”
And that was how Hermione found herself, on the fourth day, sitting across from Malfoy in a muggle cafe in London.
She’d been furious at Ron when he first suggested she go to lunch with Malfoy instead and had been two seconds away from refusing when she looked at Ron. He winked at her.
I’ve been so set up.
But then she remembered Harry’s pronouncement.
You have to agree with him at least once every day .
So she’d swallowed her rebuttal and braced herself for the unlikely case that she might agree with him and an uncomfortable lunch.
She took the time to study him after they sat down. Tried to force Malfoy into a positive light and not focus on the bright sunshine that made his hair glow or his eyes sparkle; that was merely a coincidence.
Instead, she studied how politely he’d treated their server. How he’d handed her back her notebook when she dropped it on the floor, and how he’d left a generous tip despite the girl being a bit clumsy.
Hermione was painfully aware that she had no rational reason to feel enraged by his treatment of the young girl, but she did. What a hypocrite! Why would a completely random strange muggle girl deserve better treatment coming from him .
So she pursed her lips and did not speak a word to him for the remainder of their lunch.
By the time they arrived back at her office, she was sufficiently annoyed at him for his silence. So she ordered him to reevaluate the list of Unspeakables to be interviewed, to revise her rune translations, and provide a status update on Ron’s case with enough vitriol that he’d notice.
That afternoon she arrived at Mungos ready to fire back at Harry with a list of reasons to despise Malfoy that she’d mentally created after their silent lunch. She should have expected the earful she got from Harry on the general subject of not jumping to conclusions about Malfoy.
“And before you storm off, Mungo’s returned the clothes I had on during the skirmish and I need you to give them to Gin. She won’t be able to come today or tomorrow.”
Hermione grabbed the package from him. “I hadn’t planned on going to Grimmauld today.”
Harry gave her a knowing grin. “You can ask Malfoy to take it with him tomorrow. Asking for favors was part of our deal, remember?”
She rolled her eyes at him.
This was a bad idea. She warred with herself as she donned her cloak. Truly, it wasn’t that hard to just drop by Grimmauld, hand Harry’s clothes to Ginny and then leave. She didn’t have to exchange a single word with Malfoy to accomplish that plan.
But Harry would surely ask him, or Ginny would, if he didn’t want to be too obvious, and as much as he drove her crazy, she didn’t want to disappoint him.
She sighed before turning to the offending wizard.
“Hey, Malfoy.” Why did her nerves have to betray her in these moments? Surely, he could feel the hesitancy in her voice.
He raised an eyebrow at her and it pained Hermione to admit it wasn’t a cruel gesture. It was merely questioning. If his lips had turned just the slightest bit upward, she’d have thought it a friendly one.
She blinked once before ploughing on. She was not to be intimidated by Draco Malfoy.
“Would you terribly mind bringing this back to Grimmauld for Gin?” She lifted the package up in one hand and watched the question grow in his eyes. They flicked from her face to her package and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
When he only nodded in reply, she pushed the package into his hands and hurried past him. She left him rooted to the spot and didn’t look back, and when she arrived at the lift she jammed the buttons, hoping to spare them both from yet another uncomfortable lift ride together.
If she had known everything would implode on the fifth day, she wouldn’t have followed him to lunch. The only reason she followed him to the floo was that she had promised to agree to one thing each day, and she sure would not agree with him on any suggestions for their case; lunch would have to do.
And lunch was a good opportunity to follow Harry’s advice and attempt to see Draco in a positive light. Last time, she’d let herself get distracted by his decent treatment of the server, but she was determined to not let the same thing happen today.
“This is where I come when I don’t want to be bothered. It usually isn’t visited by many wizards,” she offered when he slid into the booth across from her because small talk would be a good way to test the water.
Malfoy didn’t cave. He studied the menu quietly, not gracing Hermione with any sign that he’d heard her. She furrowed her brow slightly at his lack of acknowledgement.
Maybe she just needed to try a bit harder. Her comment about the establishment didn’t really require any type of response, but if she tried for something even he could converse on.
“I went to visit Harry yesterday.” Why did she have to sound so unsure of herself? She hated it. Clearing her throat she continued more confidently. “The Healer says he’s doing better.”
That made him put down the menu, but when his steel eyes locked into hers, she was immediately taken aback by the utter look of boredom that rested in them. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was occluding, but she knew he wasn’t and somehow, knowing that he didn’t care, not even when she was trying, irritated her.
“I’m glad he’s feeling well,” he replied in a monotone.
Hermione couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped her.
“Oh my god,” she whispered in a disbelieving scoff, but Draco didn’t catch it. He was once again studying the menu and ignoring her.
“Look, I’m trying okay?” She finally snapped, slamming her hand down hard on the table. “You’re not making this any easier!”
She didn’t care if her voice was shrill, she wanted to rile him into any type of reaction. She wanted to smack the stoic look from his face.
“Do I complicate your life by merely being alive, Granger?”
She felt the rage burn inside her, rendering her completely speechless. She could feel the heat creeping up her cheeks and it took all of her self control not to hex him right then and there. She twitched her fingers to keep herself from drawing her wand.
“We aren’t friends, Granger. You’ve said so yourself. Yet, for some convoluted reason, Potter’s convalescence has inspired you to seek some sort of remorse for the way you’ve treated me since the accident. It’s not going very well, considering you still treat me like shite ninety percent of the time.”
Why Harry would even think it was a good idea she attempt to treat him kindly, she would never understand. This man was insufferable!
“I’m just trying to make the best out of a bad situation!” She shook her head.
And she was, she truly was trying to bridge the gap of animosity between them, but how was she supposed to do that when he was so detached? It was as if he were made out of stone. Stone features, stone grey eyes, stone heart.
“If this is such a bad situation, why are we here? Why agree to spend time with me away from work if being in my presence is so repugnant when we are at work ?”
Her fingers stilled. She mustered all of the calm she had in her, but it was fleeting and placed her entwined hands over the table. “Malfoy, we live in the same house, and we work together.”
He scoffed. He actually scoffed.
“We do not live in the same house anymore. You ran away.”
The way he emphasized “you” sent a fresh pang of anger coursing through her. Where did he come off calling her a coward?
“I did not run away. I am staying with my parents for the time being. I do that often and I don’t think it’s any of your business. Grimmauld is still my home.” She didn’t care that she’d almost shouted the last bit.
She wanted to strangle him. Harry was clearly an idiot and Hermione would not be putting up with Malfoy any longer, she would not play nice if he didn’t. It took her several moments to calm down, which was not made easier by his steady gaze that did not waver from her face. Don’t ever let them see you sweat echoed in her mind she held on to it firmly.
Taking deep breaths, she finally managed. “I’m just trying to be civil — ”
“Oh, that’s what you’ve been doing? What a pisspoor effort it’s been.”
She didn’t care that he looked slightly horrified just as the words left his lips.
“At least I’m making an effort.”
She knew by the way his eyes narrowed that she’d stuck her finger too deeply in the wound.
“And I haven’t?” he bit back, finally, finally showing any sign of emotion! It feels! “If you haven’t noticed I’ve been nothing but civil to you, while you go back and forth between hating my guts and trying to initiate some sort of acquaintanceship. How am I supposed to react to any of it!”
She only gave herself a minute to process his words — w hy did he care about her reactions toward him? — and was soon snapping back another reply.
“You call that being civil? You’re completely detached, ignore half of what I say and you’re always so… so…”
She grasped for words that alluded her, but as soon as his remark of “so what?” rang in her ears, she exploded.
“So COLD!”
His sarcastic laugh was too reminiscent of their years in school and Hermione recoiled from the sound.
“Don’t feel special Granger, this is how I treat everybody. If you knew the slightest thing about me, you would know that, too.”
She leaned back in her chair, and failing in her attempt to put some distance between them, she folded her arms as if it would shield her from his presence.
“I don’t know why Harry insists on having you around.”
“And I don’t know how he stands you.”
Hermione snapped her mouth shut and frowned down at the table. She wouldn’t admit it, ever, to anybody, but the words had been like a crucio to her ego. She had nothing more to say to Malfoy after that.