Chapter Text
Sitting in the Great Hall for the Welcome Feast, Hermione pushed the images of the room from months ago out of her mind. The Great Hall was now filled with the usual long tables packed with eager students. Though the reminders of its time as a battlefield, as a morgue, as a field medical station still lingered with those who had stood there four months prior.
Hermione found her place beside Ginny and quickly fell into a conversation with Parvati and Dean. Parvati was just in the middle of explaining how Lavender was traveling to the US to try an experimental lycanthropy treatment when Seamus cut into the conversation.
“Oi, look who decided to show his face,” Seamus remarked haughtily, glaring over at the Slytherin table. Hermione looked up and instantly locked eyes with one Draco Malfoy, who quickly reeled back as if he had been slapped by her gaze.
“He has a lot of nerve showing up here,” Ginny agreed, her jaw clenched. Hermione turned back to her plate.
“The war’s over, guys,” she reminded them gently, picking up her fork. “He’s not our enemy anymore. Just the usual annoying Malfoy again."
“I still don’t trust him,” Dean spoke up, glancing over at Draco.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually defending him, Granger?” Seamus asked, an air of disbelief about him.
Hermione shot the Irishman a light glare at his question before replying, “I’m not defending him, Finnegan. I’m just tired of talking about the bloody war. I can’t even tell you the last time I went a full day without having flashbacks to the war. I’d like to move forward with my life.”
Hermione turned to pile some potatoes on her plate, effectively ending the conversation. The war was over, she reminded herself. But if the war was over, then why did all of the battle wounds still hurt, still bleed pain? Shaking her head, Hermione went through the technique she had been working through with her therapist to calm herself down.
The first week of classes felt somewhat surreal to Hermione.
It felt odd to exist in a school without Albus Dumbledore sitting at the teacher’s table with his long white beard. If felt odd to walk through the halls without Ron and Harry, who had both decided against returning to school. It felt odd to stand where she had months before, dodging killing curses from death eaters back in her school uniform. Helga, it even felt odd to not have Snape glaring at her.
It was all just . . . odd.
But perhaps the oddest thing was when she watched three seventh year Gryffindor boys push Draco out of their way, causing his books to fall to the ground and parchment to roll around on the floor. And instead of turning around yelling about how his father would hear about it or hurling a hex at the boys, Draco simply bent down and picked up his belongings.
Perhaps odd wasn’t the right word for it.
Walking over, Hermione bent down slightly, picking up one of the textbooks that had been flung the furthest and held it out to him. Draco stared up at her with an analytical gaze for a moment as Hermione questioned his sanity. Standing up, Draco reached out and took the book from Hermione’s hands. He tucked it under his arm with the rest of the books wordlessly.
“Are you alright, Malfoy?” Hermione asked cautiously. He turned to leave, pausing to shoot her a look that lacked the usual malice.
“Mind your business, Granger,” he replied haughtily before stalking off. Hermione raised an eyebrow as she watched him walk away. She blinked a few times before turning and heading towards the Gryffindor Common Room as if nothing had happened to slow her down.
The war might have been over, but that did not mean that things were normal again. Hermione didn’t think that they would ever be normal again.
No one was surprised when Hermione Granger was named Head Girl upon her decision to return to Hogwarts for her eighth year. Many were surprised when Anthony Goldstein was selected as Head Boy, but Hermione was always quick to defend her co-head.
Hermione liked Anthony, he was a fellow member of the DA, always kind and courteous, and maintained his role as Head Boy well. They had a strong working relationship, which McGonagall reminded them was very important to their roles.
So, when Hermione returned to the Heads dorms to find Anthony sitting in their common room with a frown on his face, she was instantly concerned. “Something wrong?” she asked, placing her bag on the couch, and sitting across from the Ravenclaw.
“It’s the prefect rounds,” Anthony sighed, setting aside the parchment.
“What about them? I thought they were finalized and approved.”
“They were. But then MacMillan threw a fit when he realized he’d have to be doing rounds with Malfoy for the whole year,” Anthony explained, rubbing his face tiredly. “I’ve asked all of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff prefects, but no one’s willing to do it. And of course, we can’t pair him with a Slytherin prefect, and I’m not confident that any of the Gryffindor prefects will be willing to work with him.”
As part of a new initiative from McGonagall, which had been partially employed even before Hermione attended Hogwarts, prefects were not supposed to do rounds with a prefect from their own house. At first it was to ensure that proper points were taken away when prefects found students out of bed. But McGonagall insisted they implement the rule to promote inter-house unity following the war.
“I see,” Hermione sighed, pursing her lips together.
No one was more surprised to see Draco Malfoy entering the prefect car on the Hogwarts Express than Hermione Granger. She hadn’t even expected him to return to Hogwarts. And she certainly had not expected McGonagall to allow him to retain his position as prefect. But, in a way, perhaps Hermione and McGonagall shared a similar perspective on the subject.
The war was over. It was time to move on, time to rebuild.
And in her letters with Harry, Hermione had learned that Draco had willingly given over plenty of information to Kingsley and the other authorities on condition that his mother escape a sentence in Azkaban, which they were still considering. Harry never mentioned anything about Draco’s involvement in Lucius Malfoy’s trial, only Narcissa’s. Hermione was privately unsurprised.
Looking up at Anthony, Hermione wore an expression of confidence as she spoke, “You can put me with Malfoy. I’ll handle it.”
Anthony looked at her incredulously, as if he didn’t believe the words that had come out of her mouth. “Really? You want to do rounds with Malfoy?”
“Want to and willing to are two completely different things,” Hermione corrected, folding her hands in her lap. “Unless you know anyone else who would be willing to do it.”
“I don’t,” Anthony admitted honestly, though he still looked slightly concerned, “it’s just . . .”
Hermione let the implication of Anthony’s concern hang in the air. The phrase ‘mudblood’ carved into her skin still stung when she thought back to that day, but Hermione focused on her breathing, working through her usual coping mechanisms quietly.
“While I thank you for your concern, Anthony, I’ll be fine. It’s just Malfoy.” Thinking back to the earlier exchange she had seen in the hallway, Hermione turned back to Anthony. “Besides, you should have seen him today. He let three Gryffindors push him around. Malfoy. Let people push him around. He’s not the same person he was, Anthony.”
“Are any of us?” Anthony sighed, resting his head on his hand.
Hermione knew the answer, though she did not speak it aloud.
Two days later, Hermione walked out of Gryffindor Tower, ready to walk down to the dungeons to collect Draco. But she paused when she found him waiting for her at the bottom of a staircase, leaning against the wall looking bored out of his mind.
“Malfoy,” she called, causing him to look up at her. Standing in front of him, she gestured to the side. “Let’s start this way.”
He did not respond, merely following after her with his hands tucked into his robes. They did not converse; they did not even look at each other for the first hour of their patrol. No students were out, though they had already run into Peeves twice, to both of their dismays.
Another ten minutes of silence passed before Hermione decided she couldn’t take it anymore. “How are your classes going, Malfoy?” she asked as they turned the corner. She had to pause however, as Draco stopped walking at her question. Turning around to stare at him, Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Something the matter?”
“We’re not bloody friends, Granger. You don’t have to make small talk,” Draco huffed, seeming to snap out of it, before storming past her.
Granger rolled her eyes but turned to catch up with him anyways. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy, it was just one question.”
“Well stop with them,” he snapped lightly, glaring back at her. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Why do you assume it’s pity?” Hermione asked, walking beside him as they entered one of the lesser traveled corridors.
“What else would it be, Granger?”
“Does it have to be something, Malfoy? Why can’t they just be harmless questions?”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Well, I’m glad to see that the old Malfoy is still hidden under all those layers of black,” Hermione scoffed, shaking her head. Draco reeled back, turning to shoot her a look.
“What are you talking about, Granger?”
“Honestly, even the dullest individuals would notice that you’ve changed, Malfoy. The incident in the corridor the other day proved that to me,” Hermione replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
Draco narrowed his eyes at her. Taking a step forward, he leaned down slightly so that their faces were inches apart from each other’s. If one of them wanted to, a slight movement onto Hermione’s toes or dip of Draco’s head would have locked their lips into a heated kiss.
“Let’s make one thing clear. You don’t know anything about me, Granger. And you never will,” Draco warned, his voice rough.
“I’ll try and hide my disappointment,” Hermione drawled sarcastically before turning and walking down the corridor. “Now, pick up the pace. We’re behind on our schedule.”
The first Hogsmeade trip of the year was finally upon them, and Hermione found herself being dragged down to the village between Luna and Ginny. They were supposed to meet Harry and Neville at the Three Broomsticks, who both had the weekend off from their auror training. Ron had the weekend off as well but had decided to help Fred with his physical therapy instead.
The heat of battle and threat of imminent death had led to a lot of hasty confessions and rushed relationships as a result. Hermione and Ron were no different. And neither were Luna and Neville, though they had only gone on one date before realizing that they were much better off as friends.
Hermione and Ron had dated briefly following the end of the war, for about two months, before quietly calling it quits. It was mutual and they were still good friends, but it was still awkward, still fresh. Hermione hoped that they would both move on quick enough, though her money was on Ron with that one. Her romantic prospects were utterly abysmal, which Ginny continued to point out.
The three girls eventually made their way inside the Three Broomsticks. Ginny was the first to spot the two aurors in training and rushed over to greet her boyfriend. Luna and Hermione shared a look with Neville, who playfully rolled his eyes as Ginny and Harry snogged briefly.
“How are you, Neville?” Hermione asked, sitting beside Luna at their table.
“Fine, thank you. Bit sore from training, but getting used to it,” Neville replied, glancing between Luna and Hermione.
Once Harry and Ginny remembered that other things other than each other’s lips existed, the five friends quickly caught up. Harry and Neville recounted stories about their auror training while Ginny, Luna, and Hermione entertained the boys with news from Hogwarts.
Just as Luna was telling Harry about Hagrid’s latest projects, Neville looked at the door with a mild look of shock on his face. “I don’t believe it,” he mumbled, causing the rest of the group to turn towards the door as well. Hermione briefly locked eyes with Draco, before he broke the contact, and led the way over to a booth with Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass behind him.
“Still don’t understand why he returned,” Harry mentioned offhandedly, though his tone lacked the usual malice that it had for the past few years whenever Malfoy was brought up in conversation.
“Perhaps he wanted a fresh start,” Luna suggested, licking at the foam on her lips.
“He’s definitely different,” Ginny agreed, studying the table of Slytherins. “Hermione’s been doing rounds with him.”
“You have?” Harry and Neville questioned the bushy-haired witch incredulously.
Hermione took a sip of her butterbeer, before placing the glass back on the table. “Yes, I have. Like Ginny said he’s . . . it’s . . . different,” Hermione replied, trying to find the right word to describe the situation. Other than odd, that is.
“He let a bunch of Gryffindor seventh years push him around in the hall. Didn’t even fight back,” Ginny explained on Hermione’s behalf again.
“That doesn’t sound like Malfoy,” Neville stated, causing Harry to nod in agreement.
“How did your rounds go with him anyways?” Harry asked Hermione, who shrugged in response.
“They went. We mostly stood in silence.”
“Probably for the best,” Harry replied quietly.
“Probably,” she agreed, sparing one last glance at Draco, before turning back to her friends.
The days started to blur together for Hermione as she focused more and more time on studying for her NEWTs. Her rounds with Draco were still rather awkward, but she supposed that was to be expected. Pouring over her Transfiguration textbook, Hermione looked up as a letter from Harry landed in front of her.
She opened it with a quick flick of her wand, her brown eyes hurriedly reading over the scribbles from her best friend. Her eyes widened as she read that Narcissa Malfoy would be put on trial with her husband Lucius for crimes committed during the war. Apparently, Draco was not as good of a negotiator as he had hoped.
Setting down the letter, Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall only to find Draco missing from it. Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott were still seated where they usually were, but Draco was nowhere to be seen.
Hermione glanced back down at the letter Harry had sent her before closing her Transfiguration textbook. Pulling out a roll of parchment, Hermione ripped off a small bit before scribbling a response to Harry. She sent the letter out with one of the school owls, before making her way to the Gryffindor Common Room.
A few hours later, she emerged in search of Malfoy again. He was in the same spot as before, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes watched her descend the staircase. Though he appeared as put together as he usually was, Hermione could see a tinge of redness to his eyes and blotches in his otherwise pristine light skin.
“Malfoy,” she greeted with a small nod.
“Granger,” he returned, before pushing off the wall. “Let’s get this over with.”
She didn’t say anything in response, just following along with him. They had nearly reached the halfway point in their rounds when Hermione finally started to speak. “I heard about your mother,” she started, glancing at Draco, who stiffened at her words. “I just wanted to say that—”
“—You don’t need to pity me, Granger. Or sympathize,” he scoffed, cutting her off. Hermione frowned at him but kept walking along.
“Still, without your mother, Harry would have never been spared from—”
“—Don’t say his name!” Draco yelped out, startling both of them unintentionally. He turned away, stalking ahead, clearly embarrassed. Hermione blinked a few times in shock before moving to catch up with him.
“I didn’t mean to cause you any harm, Malfoy.”
“You didn’t, Granger,” Draco replied, keeping his gaze focused away from him.
“Can I ask why you . . . why you’re afraid to say his name?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Malfoy—”
“—Granger, you don’t have to throw me a pity party. Let’s just forget it,” Draco stated, sparing her a momentary glance.
“If that’s what you want,” Hermione offered, to which Draco nodded in confirmation. “But . . . you are aware that the war is over, right? You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore. You’re allowed to move forward.”
“I told you, I don’t need your pity, Granger.”
“It’s not pity, it’s . . .” Hermione trailed off, trying to find the right word. “It’s . . . understanding, in a way. The nightmares, the constant looking over your shoulders, it’s . . .”
“Draining,” Draco provided, though he kept his gaze forward. “Exhausting.”
“Utterly exhausting,” Hermione agreed, wrapping her arms around herself. A few beats of silence passed between them before Draco finally broke it.
“You . . . have you moved forward, Granger? From . . . everything?”
“I’m trying to,” Hermione spoke softly, glancing at the ground as they rounded a corner. “I’ve been seeing a therapist to try and figure things out.”
“. . . What’s a therapist?”
“Someone you talk to about your problems. They help you work through things psychologically,” Hermione explained before turning to Draco. “I swore that other pureblood students have seen them. There are plenty that attend where I go.”
“I grew up calling them shrinks. Or more bluntly, conmen,” Draco stated, somewhat haughtily. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head.
“Why am I not surprised that you’re one of those people who thinks they’re above therapy?” she muttered in a deadpan. “You of all people would probably benefit from it, Malfoy.”
“I beg your pardon.” Draco whirled around, clearly offended by Hermione’s words.
“It wasn’t an insult, Malfoy. Don’t get your knickers in a twist about it.”
“No, what was your meaning there?” Draco demanded, stepping in her way. For a moment, brown locked with pale blue, a silent battle of sorts passing between them.
“I meant that instead of almost having a panic attack when someone mentions his name, you simply take a breath, and continue on with your day. That’s a possibility if you give it a chance, Malfoy. But you need to seek help.”
“I do not need anyone’s help. Let alone yours or these stupid crackpots.”
They were about to finish up their rounds when Hermione tucked a hand into her robes. Fishing out a small piece of parchment, she also pulled an odd device from her robes that somehow wrote without an ink well. Hermione jotted something down, before holding the paper out to Draco.
“I think therapy would be good for you, Malfoy.” Hermione stared up at him, urging the piece of parchment into his hand. “I know it helped me.” Hermione was about to walk away when she paused. “It’s okay to ask for help sometimes. You don’t always have to keep up the façade anymore . . . Draco.”
And without another word, she was gone. Leaving Draco Malfoy staring after her, a stunned expression on his face, and a small slip of paper in his hands.
It had been three weeks since Hermione and Draco’s little tiff in the hallway, and their subsequent rounds had been mostly quiet. Their conversations never diverted away from more traditional topics—the weather, the Quidditch Cup, NEWTs, their shared classes, and sometimes Hogwarts gossip.
But nothing deep or meaningful.
Hermione was somewhat concerned about how sad she was about that change and decided to fill her time with books and her studies. Her go-to coping method, anyways. Her therapist approved coping method—provided that she still got some sleep, fresh air, and food in her.
Sitting in the library on one calm afternoon writing her Transfiguration essay, Hermione looked up as someone suddenly took their seat across from her. She pursed her lips together and quirked an irritated eyebrow as she stared at the Slytherin across the table from her.
“To what do I owe the displeasure, Zabini?” she huffed, scribbling at her parchment.
“What did you do?” Blaise asked, staring Hermione down with a curious gaze.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Draco,” Blaise stated, causing Hermione to pause in her scribbling momentarily.
“I’m not sure what you’re illuding to, Zabini. Are you unable to speak with your own friends about their lives?” Hermione scoffed, continuing to scribble away at her essay. “And why are you bothering me about it?”
“Let’s just say I recognize your handwriting,” Blaise replied, pulling out a small piece of parchment from his robes.
Hermione glanced up, before her eyes widened at the sight of it. So, Draco had kept her recommendation after all then. How very . . . un-Draco-like of him. Blaise noticed Hermione’s expression and nodded to himself.
“As I thought.”
Hermione scoffed at his words. “I don’t understand why you have to bother me about it still.”
“He never talked about it before. Everything that happened last year,” Blaise spoke, leaning back slightly in his chair. “And frankly you’re not the first to make this suggestion. So, why are you so special, Granger?” Blaise punctuated his question by leaning forward, staring down Hermione.
“He didn’t talk about it before?” Hermione questioned, looking rather surprised. Blaise shook his head, before leaning back in his chair.
“Refused to. Bottled everything up.”
“It was just a suggestion, Zabini. Don’t get all worked up about it.”
“Just accept the compliment, Granger.”
“What compliment?”
“Somehow you managed to help him.”
“I didn’t help him,” Hermione insisted, turning back to her essay. “People have to want to help themselves. They don’t change because someone told them to, they change because they want to.” She scribbled something down before turning back to Blaise. “And get your head checked, Zabini. Perhaps you took a Bludger to the head.”
“Maybe you just gave him a reason to change,” Blaise replied elusively, ignoring her jab, before getting up and walking away.
Hermione paused, staring up at Blaise as he walked away, her eyes wide with surprise. When he finally disappeared through the library doors, Hermione turned back to her essay. But she found that she could no longer concentrate on Transfiguration.
Sighing and lowering her head, Hermione pulled out another roll of parchment and started writing a letter.
It was yet another round of death eater trials. Hopefully one of the last if the Auror Department and Kingsley Shacklebolt had anything to say about it. They had successfully tracked down most of the remaining death eaters and sympathizers but gutting an organization that was decades old was easier said than done.
Hermione sat with Harry as the Malfoy’s were brought out in chains to sit before the Wizengamot. Hermione glanced across the onlookers’ section, which was most packed with press, and off duty aurors or other survivors of the war, to where Draco was sitting.
He was clearly anxious and sitting alone. His leg bounced with anxiety as he stared down at his parents with a concerned look on his face. She quietly wondered where his fellow Slytherins were, but then she recalled the Slytherin trait of self-preservation.
Most of the Slytherins and frankly purebloods who were not considered blood-traitors had been quick to distance themselves from the pureblood mania associated with Voldemort and the death eaters. As such, members of the families that had avoided inditement stayed clear away from scandal, such as attending the death eater trials.
The Wizengamot conducted the joint trial rather efficiently and the evidence was mounted up beside them. For Lucius Malfoy, it wasn’t a matter of if, but rather how long he would be spending in Azkaban. But the trial for Narcissa Malfoy was more complicated.
She wasn’t a death eater, per say. She didn’t have the Mark. But she was clearly involved in the organization, her family home had been used as a base camp for various death eater operations, and just about every other member of her family were known death eaters.
But she also had some more generous support behind her.
There was Draco’s own testimony and the exchange of his information for a lighter sentence, should the Wizengamot convict her. But Draco was still not exactly the most reputable source and had only been let go on account of his willingness to fork over information and the fact that he had been underage at the time of receiving the Mark.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, who personally presided over all of the death eater hearings, pulling out another slip of parchment. The Minister folded his hands in front of him, staring down at the parchment, before turning to Narcissa Malfoy.
“We must, however, also take into consideration testimony from Auror Harry Potter on the matter,” Kingsley began. Hermione could feel Draco’s gaze on her and Harry, but neither of the Gryffindors turned to meet his gaze. “Mrs. Malfoy, please recount your actions in the Forbidden Forest on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts.”
Narcissa quietly explained how she had been tasked to see if Harry was still alive curse—though she also avoided saying ‘Voldemort’. She recounted checking on him, but upon discovering that Harry was still breathing, asked about her son Draco. After Harry confirmed that Draco was alive, Narcissa lied to Voldemort. After Narcissa finished her story, the Wizengamot began their votes.
“All in favor of convicting Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy of all charges?” A few hands raised, but not anywhere near the majority. “All in favor of acquitting Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy of all charges?” More hands raised in the air before the gavel came down. “Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy has been acquitted of all charges.”
Draco let out a strangled gasp of relief before making his way to the stairs. Narcissa was relieved of her restraints before she turned towards the stairs. The mother and son embraced emotionally, Draco burrowing his head into his mother’s shoulder. Hermione smiled at the sight. Lucius kept his gaze averted from his family.
“All in favor of convicting Mr. Lucius Malfoy of all charges?” More hands went up in the air. More than enough to convict him. “All in favor of acquitting Mr. Lucius Malfoy of all charges?” A few hands went up, but clearly nowhere near enough to stop a conviction. The gavel came down. “Mr. Lucius Malfoy has been found guilty of his charges.”
Kingsley Shacklebolt pulled up another piece of parchment before turning to Lucius Malfoy. “it has been predetermined, based on the charges presented and previous death eater sentences, that Mr. Lucius Malfoy will be sentenced to a minimum of five years in Azkaban and a maximum of fifteen years depending on his subsequent behavior.” The gavel came down again.
Lucius Malfoy lowered his head. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or concern or shame. Narcissa approached her husband, and Draco trailed after her. The married couple appeared to be having a quiet discussion, though Draco seemed to stay out of it.
Hermione turned to Harry. “I should be heading back to Hogwarts.”
“More NEWTs prep?” Harry joked, standing up.
“Of course. What kind of Head Girl would I be otherwise?” Hermione scoffed, following Harry out to the hall. “And thank you for writing that testimony, Harry.”
“You were rather persistent, Mione. And you did make a quite a few good points,” Harry replied, sending Hermione a small smile. “But be careful around Malfoy.”
Hermione scoffed at Harry, rolling her eyes. “I assure you that I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Harold.”
“Fine, fine,” Harry conceded, waving his hands to the sides. “Well, don’t let me come between you and your textbooks.” Hermione scoffed again, but gave him a tight hug anyways, before making her way to the exit.
Draco walked out of the room with his mother and Aunt Andromeda, who he had been introduced to for the first time in the weeks following the end of the war. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor being his cousin-in-law though.
As Narcissa and Andromeda made plans for an afternoon tea, Draco spotted Harry down the hall. Excusing himself and promising to return shortly, Draco walked towards the Gryffindor and his former school rival. He was rather nervous, but the . . . specialist he had been seeing told him that repairing formerly antagonistic relationships was the key to moving forward.
“Potter,” Draco greeted, causing Harry to turn around. The Boy Who Lived nodded back politely, though he looked somewhat on edge.
“Malfoy.”
“Thank you for writing that testimony on behalf of my mother,” Draco replied, trying not to physically sweat in front of Harry. “I know we’ve had a rather . . . strained and antagonistic relationship in the past, but . . . truly, thank you for writing that. I’m not sure if they would have allowed her to walk away if you hadn’t written it.”
“Of course, Malfoy,” Harry spoke, nodding in understanding. “But the person you should be thanking is Hermione. She sent me a letter with all the deadlines and everything. She filed all the paperwork for it. All I wrote was the actual statement.”
Draco’s eyes widened in surprise at Harry’s admission, tilting his head to the side slightly. He blinked a few times, the words failing to register in his brain for a moment. Which only served to amuse Harry, who was not used to seeing the Slytherin so flustered.
“She did what?”
“Between you and me, Malfoy, and you can’t tell Hermione I told you this.” Harry paused, waiting for Draco’s nod before continuing, “I think she was really worried about you and all of this. I haven’t gotten so many reminders about deadlines since our fifth year.”
“I see,” was all Draco replied.
“So, I would extend your thankfulness to her, if I were you,” Harry stated.
Draco was sure that there was an underlying threat in there somewhere, but he found he didn’t particularly care. He would have thanked Hermione anyways, with or without a threat of most likely bodily harm from her best friends. But the question was really how he should thank her.
Hermione raised an eyebrow when she returned to her dorm to find a wrapped package waiting in front of the door. Doing a series of checks over the box—she had learned her lesson on just opening random boxes a long time ago thanks to the Weasley twins—Hermione grew curious when there was not a single enchantment on the box.
Picking it up, Hermione walked into her room before opening the package. She pulled out a few books, rather surprised when she noted the titles. These had been on her list for months now. But they weren’t exactly cheap, which was why they remained on her list.
Growing increasingly confused, Hermione looked around for any kind of identification on the box or any kind of note, but all she found was a small scrap of parchment in the bottom of the box. Hermione picked it up, frowning again as she read the mere ‘thank you’ written.
“What in Godric’s name?” Hermione sighed, looking over the books.
Though she was still confused, and slightly on edge, she picked up one of the books and settled on her bed, pouring over the pages. She would get to the bottom of the mystery soon. But reading a chapter or two wouldn’t hurt between now and then, she rationalized.
Hermione had been confused about receiving the books from an anonymous stranger, but she was even more confused when she received some flowers. One morning, she sat at the Gryffindor table, just chatting with Luna and Ginny about their plans for the weekend, when a bouquet of daffodils fell into her hand.
“What the Hufflepuff?”
“Ooh, daffodils!” Luna gasped, staring at the bouquet. “I love daffodils.”
“Why?” Ginny asked, glancing down at the flower with mild interest. “If this was actually going to be interesting, I would have expected some roses or something.”
“Daffodils represent rebirth and new beginnings. I always found it to be a sweet meaning,” Luna replied, caught up in her own thoughts for a minute.
“New beginnings?” Hermione asked, before straightening up. She glanced over at the Slytherin table, but the boy she was looking for was not in sight.
It was once again time for Hermione and Draco to complete a set of rounds together. Draco was trying to hide his nervousness as he leaned against the wall, waiting for Hermione to emerge from the Gryffindor Common Room. And Hermione was trying to play it cool and not blurt out everything at once to Draco once she spotted him.
Making her way down to Draco calmly, Hermione pursed her lips together. “Shall we conduct our rounds, then?”
“Of course. Ladies first.”
They walked around in silence for a moment. Hermione wasn’t sure how to approach the subject really. No boy had sent her flowers and books before. Viktor had sent flowers, but this was a different situation. And Ron had bought her gifts before, of course, but this was still different. And Draco had rarely apologized in his life before.
Clearing his throat, Draco finally turned to Hermione. “Can we talk?” he asked. Hermione glanced up at him curiously.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Thank you,” Draco blurted out, causing Hermione to pause in her step. Turning to face him, she raised an eyebrow as he fumbled around for his next sentence.
“For?”
“The trial. Potter told me what you did. For my mother.”
Hermione nodded, glancing at the floor before turning back to him. “It was nothing. Your mother saved Harry’s life and therefore everyone else’s. It was repaying a debt,” Hermione stated simply, as if she was reciting a lecture.
“It wasn’t nothing. Not to me, anyways.”
“Is that why you sent the gifts then?” Hermione inquired, not bothering to glance up to see Draco’s surprised expression.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I don’t think being subtle is one of your traits, Malfoy.” Hermione continued walking before pausing and turning back to Draco. “But, if you must know, Luna told me what the daffodils symbolized, and I put the pieces together.”
“I see.”
“You didn’t need to send them. Especially the flowers,” Hermione spoke softly.
“You didn’t need to organize the statement,” Draco shot back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Hermione allowed her lips to twinge into a small smile.
“Touché, Malfoy. But really, I don’t particularly enjoy flowers,” Hermione stated, earning a surprised look from Draco.
“What do you mean you don’t like flowers?”
“I like flowers, just not receiving them.”
“Why not?”
“I never know what to do with them,” Hermione replied, shrugging slightly. “And they always die, and it turns into a hassle.”
“Very well. I won’t buy you flowers in the future.” Draco blushed slightly at his wording and hoped Hermione didn’t notice. She did, but she merely bit her lower lip in response, looking anywhere besides Draco. “I also went to see . . . the specialist you suggested,” Draco admitted, trying to move the conversation along.
“And?”
“It’s helping,” Draco responded, staring deeply in Hermione’s eyes. “They said I still have a lot to work through . . . but . . . it’s a start.”
“That’s what matters, Malfoy,” Hermione murmured, sending him a small reassuring smile.
“Draco,” he corrected, causing her eyes to widen momentarily. “Please.”
“Then call me Hermione.” Allowing a small smile to twinge her lips once more, Hermione turned and started down the corridor. “We should probably catch up with our rounds . . . Draco.”
The Slytherin nodded, an easygoing smile gracing his features as they continued through the corridor. “I’d have to agree with you . . . Hermione.”