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"I did say it was Advanced Transfiguration, did I not, Mister Malfoy?"
McGonagall is staring down her nose at Draco, one eyebrow raised in condescending question. Yes, she had said it was advanced, but this schedule is grueling. Not to mention, it’s going to make it impossible for Draco to pursue the one bright spot on his otherwise dim future: Quidditch. He had fought too hard for the right to play on the team as an Eighth Year, and he does not intend to give it up. Can't give it up. It's really all he has to cling to.
"Yes, Professor, of course," he says, oozing with as much charm and humility as he can, "it's only that the schedule is conflicting with some of my other Hogwarts obligations-"
"Quidditch."
He doesn't appreciate the interruption, but grimaces sheepishly anyway. "Yes, the training schedule is very rigid, and my position on the team is rather perilous..."
"Indeed," she says, and there is a lot in that one word.
And who's fault is that?, it seems to say. Perhaps if you had not followed a megalomanic tyrant into murder and death, you would not be on such thin ice with your peers and faculty. Perhaps, you should have adjusted your priorities before settling on the wrong side of a war.
Perhaps, young Mister Malfoy, you should not be here at all.
That is what "indeed" means today.
There is a moment of silence, Draco losing some of his nerve and dropping his gaze to his feet. He's in no position to demand anything. It's not as if he has forgotten that, but McGonagall has always been fair-minded, if not a bit overly stern.
Finally, she relents, being the first to break the standoff.
"Very well. I won't have Horace accusing me of crippling the Slytherin team unfairly. If you wish to continue with this class, I will create an independent study curriculum which will mitigate much of the after-hours and class work. However, I want to see a level of commitment from you, and the time you do spend will be dedicated and intense. Is this understood?"
Hope blooms. Not a vibrant hope, of course. Draco has not had much reason for it. More of a sad single blossom, raising its face to the sun from being downtrodden in the dirt.
Quidditch and leaving Hogwarts with impressive marks: This is all he really has now, and it seemed he could possibly have both. Maybe he doesn't have to choose after all.
"I understand. Thank you, Professor."
"Don't thank me yet, young man. I look forward to you proving your dedication."
Draco nods as she sweeps from the room.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Hermione is absolutely livid. Not only is she left without a partner in Transfiguration once again, but it is, ONCE AGAIN, because the class sits at an odd number due to Draco Malfoy's absence.
How he was even allowed to return to the school he had a hand in trying to destroy is beyond her. But to continue in one of the limited Advanced classes which he barely deigns to attend...
It's absurd.
She sits with her arms crossed, scowling at her book, while those around her practice changing the shape of each other's noses.
The professor told Hermione she could just practice in her free time, or even with McGonagall outside class, since she is already fairly adept at the spell.
She wants to take it as a compliment. She does mostly, but as she eyes the empty chair beside her, ire wins out over pride, and she scowls ever harder.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Nice of you to join us," she snips, not even looking up from her notes. Malfoy stiffens beside her, and she hopes he is uncomfortable. Dares him to snap back.
She thinks he might. She can feel him tense further and waits for some rude comment or sarcastic reply, but instead she hears him take a breath before responding. "Shall we?" he asks, and she lays her quill across her parchment to turn his way.
"I've already done the assignment," she tells him. "I'm so often without a partner, I've been seeing the Professor after hours to finish my practicals."
Malfoy shrugs at her. "I have as well," he says, and Hermione sees red.
"Is that why you're never here? She's letting you do independent study voluntarily?" She grits her teeth, trying to keep her voice even as she whispers harshly back at him.
"Something like that. I have some scheduling conflicts. McGonagall is being generous enough to help me work around them."
"Of course. Of course, she is. Merlin forbid if Draco Malfoy ever had to follow the rules the rest of us do."
"Oh, the rest of you? You already admitted she is making special considerations for you as well, so I fail to see the issue, Granger."
"I- But that's - Only because you're never here! I didn't ask for special treatment, Malfoy. She's just making sure your absence doesn't hurt my marks."
She watches him pause, calming what was undoubtedly a hot retort and starting again. "Look, it seems as if this works for the both of us. We are both completing our work, and we don't have to complete it together. I can't imagine you'd argue that's a bad thing."
"No," she agrees quickly. "Working alone suits me just fine. My marks always suffer in paired assignments."
"Well then..." He gestures back to where she was working on their next assignment, already a full week ahead of class. He picks up his own quill and starts on what looks to be very similar.
Fine then. They can work on independent study together at their shared desk. She certainly doesn't need his help reviewing the transformation of hair texture. She's been doing that since fourth year.
Their scratching quills work in tandem while the rest of the room barks spells and instructions at each other.
Hermione handily ignores Draco Malfoy, the few times he bothers to attend, for the reminder of November.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"You're particularly taciturn today," she says, scribbling away. Since Malfoy walked into class, he has only grunted at the, in her opinion, very polite 'good morning' she had offered, and muttered a mumbly 'yeah' when she asked if he had already completed today's assignment during his independent time.
For her trouble, he glances at her now and shrugs.
It's not as if they are chatty partners. She can count on her hands the number of classes he has attended in the past 3 months, and the words exchanged between them during those times are minimal at best, but she was trying to be friendly. Was softly asked if she would be friendly.
Hermione rarely sees Malfoy with anyone. He eats alone at odd times (she would know, Hermione does the same), spends hours in the library alone (again, like knows like), and practices flying while the pitch is free from other teams, including his own. He does attend Slytherin practices, but his focus is always solely on the game. She knows that only because Theo Nott, chatty bugger, likes to keep her apprised of all things Hogwarts while they are partnered in Runes.
But outside of practice (and, Theo says, when he manages occasionally to drag Malfoy to Hogsmeade for a pint), he's become quite the loaner.
It wouldn’t really concern her much, but Theo seems bothered by it. For his part, he seems a good enough sort. Quiet; kept to himself during the war despite his father's involvement, but good enough. And Theo seems to have a soft spot for Draco. Since Hermione is finding that she has a bit of a soft spot for Theo, she thought for his sake maybe she could be nice.
Well, nevermind then. She flips her hair over her shoulder and returns to her work. He doesn't want to lower himself to speak to a mudblood? Fine, she needn't have bothered.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hermione misses Harry.
She misses Ron, to an extent, but post break-up, things are a bit strained. What she really misses is pre-war Ron. Or maybe even just the idea of Ron. Does she miss him? They fought tirelessly for years, if she's honest. Maybe she only misses what is familiar...
Anyway, she definitely misses Harry.
So as the holidays approach, she is looking forward to a visit to the Burrow and seeing her friends and adopted wizarding family. It is with this in mind that she feels her heart break in two as she finishes reading the owl post.
...I know you will understand, dear. You've always been an empathetic sort. The relationship is just so new. And Lavender is a frightfully sensitive witch. Very feminine and sweet. Not strong like you. I know you will have a lovely time with your own family and perhaps we can catch up over the summer.
Regards,
Molly
Regards? Fucking regards?
Hermione sits staring at the parchment, dumbfounded. She's been disinvited from the Weasley's? Less than a year since the war? Since she starved and struggled with their son to save their entire society? Since she was tortured and bloodied and forgave him for being a complete wanker and abandoning them in favor of hot meals and a soft bed?
Are you bloody joking?!?
She's seeing red by the time she makes it to class, ignoring Neville's nervous, "Alright, Hermione?" and Anthony Goldstein's, "What's the rush, Granger?"
No rush. No rush at all. It's not like she has anything to be late for. She can just skip class apparently. Works for Malfoy. And it's not like she has any packing to worry about since she apparently will be staying here for the holidays. No rush at all, Anthony, thanks for asking.
Hermione tosses her satchel on top of her desk and roughly pulls out her notes and quill. She hardly notices when Malfoy sits beside her or when their Professor starts speaking. In fact, she isn't noticing much of anything, the words blurring on the page.
Everything is a bit blurry, actually. She's mortified to realize she is one heavy tear away from crying and hides her face with her hair, letting the moisture well up and fall over her lower lid. The rest of class is spent pretending she is very interested in her parchment as she wills her eyes to dry.
At the end, she gathers her things and sees Malfoy lingering from the corner of her eye. When she glances over, she finds him studying her, a look of consideration on his face, and they lock their gazes for just a moment. She thinks he might speak, maybe comment as to her red eyes and inordinately quiet demeanor, but he just shakes his head once and gives her nod of acknowledgement before leaving the room.
XXXXXXXXXXX
"Are you sure you won't join me?"
Hermione shakes her head at Theo, oddly touched by his offer, but not wanting to intrude. She doesn't know him that well, after all. It seems strange to spend a family holiday with him.
"No, I'm fine to stay here. Really, I already have a study schedule mapped out." She gestures to the muggle spiral bound calendar tucked with her spell books. "I do appreciate it."
"Anytime. Maybe I'll convince you to visit over the summer."
She gives him a warm smile. Theo Nott is quickly becoming a very good friend to have, and she is touched by his consideration. "I'd like that," she tells him, and finds that she means it.
"Alright then, I'm off to distant relatives and stiff pureblood meals. Wish me luck." He gives her a mocking salute as he grabs his travel bag and leaves the library for the Express. Hermione can't say as she would have been comfortable having dinner with some odd collection of Rosiers and Burkes (of the non-Death Eater variety of course), but it was terribly kind of Theo to try. When she hedged that she might not be welcome, his response was "fuck them, your lot won this war" which had made her laugh for the first time in three days.
Now, she is truly alone. Neville has gone to see his Gran (and likely visit his parents in St. Mungos, a terribly tragic affair every time). Luna is hunting some invisible creature or other with her father. And every 8th year that she is even removely friendly with (of the few that returned to finish school) has similar plans.
Lavender Brown is, of course, on holiday at the Burrow.
Irritating cow.
Of course they all assumed Hermione would be visiting the muggle world. No one bothered to ask why she wasn't.
The answer to that question is that her parents thought it be best that they spend a bit more time apart. Their memories are still fighting with the identities she had given them, and they have been loath to give up their new life in Australia. In addition, they find themselves jumpy in her presence, and still struggling with forgiveness.
But again, no one bothered to ask. Not even Ron. Not even Harry. And that had hurt most of all.
He did send her a letter that they would miss seeing her this Christmas but understood why she had opted to make other arrangements. Apparently, Mother Weasley had not admitted her part in it, and Hermione chose not to correct them. Maybe she will later. Face to face or when she's in a snit, but for now, she's just tired. So, she sent Harry his Christmas gift by owl and wished him many happy returns.
With a sigh, Hermione gathers her things and leaves the library, fairly confident the Express will be gone by the time she is at the Great Hall. It's lunch time soon, and she may as well eat. At least it will be quiet.
The halls are deserted, only portraits for company as she makes her way through the castle. And when she enters the hall, there is only one person already seated, a shock of blonde hair at the Slytherin table, his back to the door.
He turns when her shoes scuff the stones.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Theo told him she was staying, so he’s not exactly surprised. What he doesn’t understand is why? Why the fuck would Granger stay?
Draco had assumed his holiday would be a quiet affair. Counted on it, actually. To his knowledge, no other student was staying behind. They either had families to return to or friends who invited them along. Draco, of course, is school bound as a part of his parole.
When he hears her enter, he glances over his shoulder to watch her make her way to Gryffindor. Taking a seat at the massive table, she looks ridiculous parked in her usual place. But then, Draco would suppose he does as well. The Great Hall is massive, and they make a ridiculous pair of islands floating amongst a vast ocean of space.
Not even a professor on the dais, just them for lunch it seems.
He hesitates, but Draco knows what he will do next. She had tried to speak to him in class a few times; tried to be polite. Draco has mostly ignored her the past month. But for the next two weeks, it will be just the two of them. He's not sure why she isn't with her Muggle family. Or Potter. Or the Weasley brood. But he can imagine it's an unpleasant tale.
So Draco stands and makes his way to the the other side of the hall, straddling the bench beside the witch and leaning an elbow on the table. As soon as he's in place, a plate of scones appears, and he grabs one with blueberries and a drizzle of vanilla glaze.
"Good afternoon, Granger."
She looks surprised and then narrows her eyes. "Oh, are we talking today? How very magnanimous. Is Christmas come early?"
He chuckles a little. He could be offended, but she's right. She offered him a "Good morning" in Transfiguration at least eight times (he counted) which he had barely acknowledged. She'd offered him a quill when he could not find his own. She even leaned over to point out a passage in his book while working beside her; something about the effects of citrus on mandrakes. He hadn't been sure why it caught her eye, and she hadn't known it would make any difference for him, but it had saved him a lot of wasted efforts in his independent study.
The truth, that Draco would likely never admit to anyone, is that Hermione Granger is oddly kind even as she gives no quarter. She can hold a grudge to the ends of time, while simultaneously championing the downtrodden and abused. He's known her for years, but doesn't really know her well at all. And intrigue is one of the few pastimes Draco has been afforded since the war. He's watched her since September out of pure curiosity. Now they are alone. Might as well indulge in some practical study.
"Touche. I was just thinking it will be a lonely couple of weeks if we can't even sit together at meals."
She scoffs. "So I'm all there is, then? Typical. Hermione Granger: the last resort."
Draco thinks there might be something behind that sentiment that has nothing to do with him, but he chooses to let it go. "Anyway, my table only served up orange scones today. The elves tend to do that for Slytherin, because Slughorn prefers them. Why, I'll never know."
"So you've come for the scones?"
"And the company, of course," he says with an easy smile. She seems to be relaxing a bit, so he turns fully onto the bench and reaches for a pumpkin juice.
"No Christmas at the manor?" she asks, and he cringes a bit internally.
"Can't leave. Not until the end of the year," he says, eyes on the goblet in his hand. He hears a soft 'oh' from Granger and assumes she is feeling some small measure of guilt for asking.
So he does the stupidest thing he can. He reciprocates. "No muggle holiday for you?"
He glances over and watches her guilt evolve into something else. Guilt but also anger. Even a little sorrow. He thinks she might storm off, but she must see something on his face. Or maybe she's just tired of whatever she's battling. Because Hermione Granger slumps, settling into her place and picking at her own pastry. "I was disinvited from my home because my parents are slightly terrified of me. I was disinvited from the Burrow because Ron is trying to rekindle with Lavender Brown. I had no where I particularly needed to be."
She looks at him then with defiance. "Enough ammunition there to use against me?"
Draco raises his eyebrows. "Merlin, Granger. I see why the hat put you in Gryffindor and certainly not Slytherin. Were I so inclined, that could keep me in material the rest of the year."
"I'm to believe you aren't inclined?" she asks, and he just shakes his head.
"Think I've had enough antagonism in my short life," he says with a chuckle. "So why, praytell, would your parents be afraid of you?"
And so she tells him. The obliviation. The lengths she had to go to in her quest to reverse it after the war. The struggles they still face and likely will for years to come.
So Draco tells her about his mother's Christmas letter, somehow making him feel guilty for not being home even though he is legally not allowed. No one does guilt like Narcissa Malfoy.
Then they talk about their classes and how well they are doing in each subject, subtly bragging about their marks and making light of each other's performance in kind. They talk about Theo Nott, ridiculous, lovable sod that he is. They talk of their favorite sweets and countries they've visited and why Professor Binns should be made to retire for the betterment of the curriculum.
And they talk until well into the evening, the elves continuing to provide snacks and drinks as lunch becomes dinner. They hardly notice McGonagall slip in to eat and then out a half hour later, barely pausing to give her a perfunctory "good evening", as they continue their potions theory debate. They talk until finally they depart for their separate towers as the hour pushes into curfew territory.
She turns from the top of the steps to give him a little wave before he goes down toward the dungeons, a sincere smile turning up her mouth, and warmth in her eyes.
And that is the moment Draco thinks he and Hermione Granger might be friends. And he's not even a little upset about it.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The next day is Christmas Eve, and Hermione decides she might write a letter. She's feeling much better after her conversation with Draco. Perhaps it's all a ploy, some long game to win her trust just to humiliate her later, but she doesn't think that's the case. What she thinks is that he's just as lonely as she is, and Hermione never could resist the unloved.
Theo
I want you to know that I talked to Draco yesterday. I know you thought we might get on if he could get out of his own way. (I believe you also said if I wasn't so stubborn, but I'm stubbornly choosing to ignore that.)
I think you might be right. We had a lovely conversation over dinner. Maybe when you’ve returned we could go to Hogsmeade?—
And then she promptly rips the letter into pieces.
Presumptuous, Hermione. She chastises herself as she dresses for the day. Draco Malfoy does not want to be friends. He said himself, she’s simply the only other student here. The castle is basically empty.
Shaking her head at herself, she decides to grab some breakfast then take a stroll on the grounds. It’s cold, but the fresh air might do her some good.
She grabs a thick coat, gloves and hat already stuffed in the pockets, and makes her way back down to the Hall.
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He’s not waiting for her, per se. That would be pitiful. But if Draco happens to find himself near the Gryffindor tower just before breakfast, and if he happens to linger and meander and stroll about the corridors, what of it? Not as if anyone is here to be annoyed by his presence.
He hears a portrait shift and smart shoes click on the stones and picks up his pace.
Around the corner, he sees her headed toward the moving stairs and calls for her without thinking. “Morning, Granger.”
She starts, visibly lurching in her pace and turns on her heel. Draco throws up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Merlin, Malfoy, someone should put a bleeding bell on you.”
Draco finds that rather funny and gives her a sincere laugh.
"Where did you come from, anyway?" She is eyeing him with a bit of distrust, which Draco finds he does not care for.
"The owlery," he lies easily. “Just sending off some last minute Christmas cheer.”
"Oh yes? Your mother?"
"She's terribly cross to ne alone for the holidays. Can’t seem to convince her I had no choice in the matter." That at least is true. Narcissa has told him no less than ten times how much she would have appreciated seeing her son while she sits alone in the manor. Lucius is serving a generously short stint in Azkaban, which leaves her on her own for the next two years. Well, her and the elves. Actually, that reminds him...
"Pipsy?"
The elf pops into the corridor, between himself and Granger. "Master Draco?"
Hermione's face is turning red, and Draco can't help but relish in it just a little. So fun to rile, is this witch.
"If you could be so kind, Mother will be dining alone this Christmas. I thought you might make some of that Black recipe trifle for her."
"Pipsy would be most pleased to make trifles for Mistress."
"Excellent. Perhaps if you have a little left, Granger and I might indulge as well?"
The little elf spins to look behind her, noticing the witch for the first time. Her eyes are comically wide when she turns back. "It would be Pipsy's honor," she says, overly solemn, and then pops away.
"Enjoy putting on that little show, did you?"
Draco grins feigning ignorance. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Ordering your house elves about! How did she even get here? Are you calling her from the manor to serve you? Of all the entitled, boorish, self-absorbed-"
He laughs, interrupting her before she says something to jeopardize their fragile new friendship. "She lives here, Granger. She chose to work at Hogwarts after the war. She's just doing me a favour."
"She's free?"
"Entirely," he answers with a softer smile. "But she adores me and my mother. And by extension, you will be one of the lucky few outside the Black family to indulge in the trifle recipe that could launch a thousand ships."
Granger chuckles a little, relaxing and moving toward him so they are not shouting down the hall. "That good?"
"The best. But that's for later. At present, let's see about the scone selection, what do you say?" He offers his elbow, wondering if she will take it.
There is not much hesitation when she lays her hand on his arm. "Lead on, then."
So he does. And another day is wiled away with Hermione Granger. They share their breakfast, then make for the grounds. She had said she had wanted some air, so Draco slaps on some warming charms and follows her into the snowy Scottish weather. After, chilled and damp, they separate to bathe and groom for the evening, promising to meet up in the hall for Christmas Eve dinner.
XXXXXXXXXX
Professor McGonagall is here, and Madame Pince, and absolutely no one else.
Hermione takes a seat near her professor, and offers a Happy Christmas to both of the older witches.
"Is Mister Malfoy joining us?"
Hermione looks up to find the question is directed to herself. "Oh. I mean, I believe so. He said he would see me at dinner when we spoke earlier."
When he slips into his side, right beside Hermione, ten minutes later, the two faculty members share a look that Hermione cannot decipher.
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"I have something for you?"
Draco looks at her, confused, so Hermione clarifies.
"For Christmas. I mean, if you want it."
It's midnight, and Draco had coaxed Hermione to spend the evening relaxing in the Slytherin dorm. With no other student present, he did not imagine they could get in trouble. So he had magicked the fireplace to life and asked Pipsy to bring hot chocolate and the promised trifles, and they had spent hours talking once again.
"Granger, we've been friends for less twenty-four hours. How on earth do you have a gift for me."
Hermione flushes, pleased that he called them friends. Was it only yesterday they began to talk? Yes, she would suppose it was. But in that time, they've spent nearly every waking moment together, and she's told him things very few people know. Her parents and her aspirations and stories of her childhood before she knew she was a witch. And he has shared just as much. About expectations and his very proper upbringing, and even his abject fear during the war.
They are friends then, she would suppose. Truly. Fears that he is using her or tricking her or that she is nothing but a last resort have abated. She offers him a winning smile and confirms. "I do. But don't be too excited. As you say, we just became friends. It's just what I could find in my things."
From her bag, she pulls out a photograph. Its Muggle so it doesn't move, for which she apologizes. "I've heard wizards find still photos a bit off-putting, but my father took this with a Muggle camera."
She passes it over, and points to the young Draco captured on film. "See, it's you and your mother, outside Fortescue's. You're eating that dreadful lemon concoction they used to have."
He looks mock offended. "I'll have you know that When Life Gives You Lemons is the best icecream sundae known to the world."
She laughs, and watches as he looks back down at the photo, thumb tracing over his mother's face.
It's not a great photo. There's a bit of lens flair and a blur on the left side. Hermione was caught mid sentence, so her mouth is skewed in a strange shape, and her mother is looking exasperated at the camera. For a moment, she regrets giving this away. It was such a real moment, before things turned... Well, just before.
But she sees the look on Draco's face, and thinks he might need these memories more than she does. She can rebuild with her family. They will make new memories, but Draco will have a harder road from here. His family will be lucky to merely be ignored as he mostly is here at Hogwarts. She's heard the whispers of "Death Eater" when he leaves a room. Maybe having this moment to look at, his mother looking at him adoringly as he takes a too-large bite of lemon sundae, will make him smile sometimes.
"Thank you," he says, and she can tell he means it sincerely. "I, erm... I don't have anything for you. I didn't even think..." Draco shakes his head. "I owe you, alright. After the holidays, whatever you like. I saw you eyeing that new potions compendium. Maybe I can see if they have one in stock-"
Hermione cuts him off, laughing a little. "You don't owe me anything, Draco. This cost me nothing. Just, Happy Christmas, alright? Thank you for spending it with me."
He looks at her for a long time, before standing up and offering his hand. "Can I show you something?"
Cocking her head, she smirks up at him. "This better not be some line about showing me your bedroom," and then she laughs at the absurdity of the idea.
A grin is pulled from him, and he answers, "Later, maybe," with a devastating smirk that makes her blush. But then he gestures with his hand again. "Come on. Grab your coat. I have something for you after all."
"My coat?" She questions him but takes his hand and asks as she rises, "You expect me to go outside? It's midnight! Not to mention freezing."
"It won't take long. Come on, live a little."
Hermione laughs and grabs her coat, stuffing her hat onto her head. "Now you must know we're friends. I wouldn't traipse about in the cold for just anyone."
As they make their way into the corridor, he looks back and retorts, "Oh, so I've made the Potter and Weasley ranks then?"
She laughs again, despite herself. "Too soon," she says, but is tickled all the same. What fun she is having with Draco Malfoy. Who could have guessed...
XXXXXXXXXXXXxx
Draco starts to regret this decision almost immediately, but he can't back out now. The photo she gave him... Well, he doesn't think she can know how much it affected him. He can remember that exact moment. His father had stayed behind that summer, allowing Narcissa to take Draco for his Hogwarts preparation shopping alone. No Lucius meant icecream and Quidditch and laughing with friends when they came upon people he knew. It meant walking slowly and window shopping and his mother ruffling his hair like she had when he was little.
It was the summer before Fourth year, and things would never be the same after that.
On the grounds, it is indeed frigid. The night is dark, overcast and starless. But Hermione Granger is still holding his hand as he leads her past the Quidditch pitch, and his hand feels warm against hers.
"This should be far enough," he says. When he turns, she is eyeing him warily, and it hurts to think she might not entirely trust his intentions.
I wanted to show you something," he says. "I don't have a gift or anything but... Well, no one has seen this yet. I thought it might be nice if you were the first. My only friend and all," he adds with a self-deprecating chuckle.
That seems to relax her and she rolls her eyes. "You have Theo."
He agrees with a knowing smile. "So do you, as I understand it. The wanker talks about you nonstop."
"Because I'm beating him in Runes," she argues, still playful. "So what do you want to show me."
That makes him clear his throat. "The reason I was quiet all month. Sorry I was a bit... brusque the past few weeks."
"That's an understatement."
He gives her a mock frown. "No interrupting. Anyway, I wasn't intending to be rude, but I was focused on my independent study for McGonagall."
"Wait, you mean you were doing different assignments? I thought you were just doing the classwork with her privately like I was."
He shakes his head. "That was the price for the program. I had to do something a bit more intense for her to consider it." A pause and then, "So, as I said, no one else has seen this yet. McGonagall doesn't even know I've finished."
"Are you trying to build suspense? It's bloody cold, Malfoy."
"Just a bit nervous," he says, glaring her into silence. "I've only done this once."
With a breath, Draco wills himself to make the change, for only the second time."
He blinks at her through orange eyes suddenly able to see her better than before in the dark of night. She's looking at him agape when he drops the transformation and returns to his wizard height.
After a moment, she screeches at him. "You're an animagus! She let you do that instead of classwork?! Are you bloody joking?! I would kill for that!" She starts to stomp back to the castle, no doubt straight to McGonagalls chambers.
"Woah there, Granger. As you pointed out it's the middle of the night. I don't think McGonagall would appreciate-"
"Appreciate?! Do you have any idea how many times I asked her to give me private study on this subject? Ugh, I can't believe this. And a fox! So bloody unfair."
Draco preens. He is rather proud of his arctic fox. The first and only other time he tranformed, he did so in front of a mirror so he could watch. He is a beautiful little thing.
"Wait, so that's why you were so rude in class. You had the mandrake leaf in your mouth."
He nods. "Made everything quite difficult for awhile. Theo thought I was depressed."
She gapes still. "He did! He wanted me to be friendly because you seemed so lonely. And then I was friendy," she points out, "and you were deplorable."
Draco shrugs. She's certainly not wrong on that account. Then she looks thoughtful. "Why did you want to show me this?"
He's not quite sure himself. Draco tilts his head to the sky and considers. Finally, looking back down at Hermione, barely visible in the soft glow of distant castle lights, he answers her. "It's the only thing I had of myself to give that I thought you might like. Something I did for myself after the war. Untainted." For a bear they just look at each other in silence, Draco unsure if this was a good idea after all.
Hermione Granger launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his middle. It doesn't take long for his arms to cling to her as well and for him to bend down, burying his nose in her hat-covered hair.
When she pulls away, she smiles. "Thank you. I'm absolutely honored. And I'll keep your secret if you don't want it known."
They back away from each other a little awkwardly, Hermione tucking a curl behind her ear and Draco shuffling his weight from one foot to another.
"We should probabaly..."
"Right, pretty late now.."
"Thanks for..."
"Yes, and you..."
They both stop muttering turn to the castle, parting at the staircase for Draco to head down and Hermione to climb to the tower to sleep.
"See you in the morning?" he calls hopefully. She stops and turns, breaking into a wide grin.
"In the morning. At Slytherin, this time. I fancy some orange scones." He watches her flounce away until she's out of sight.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Theodore Nott the Third really dislikes visiting the Rosiers. Madeline, the family matriarch, is a cheek-pinching, doily-using, head-patting antiquity of a witch. The invite was, of course, very kind. This particular family had distanced themselves from the war and, therefore, his father and their family. Knowing he has no love for his incarcerated parent, she had generously opened her home to him.
Kind or not, it was a rather miserable experience.
After twelve days of distant cousins and very little privacy, however, he is happy to be back in the relative quiet of the Slytherin dorms. Very few from his class have returned for the final year, so he really only has Draco for company.
And Draco has been an incredibly quiet, pouty sod this year, especially the past few weeks.
Theo thinks it's because he is secretly harboring a crush on his Transfiguration partner, but of course he would never say anything to him about it lest he feel the need to prove the denial by being cruel to her. Draco has a tendency for dramatics.
Secretly, Theo is hoping the two might start to get on. Happy mutual friends makes for more circumstances for Theo to see them socially. And seeing more of Granger socially makes it possible for other Gryffindors to join the mix.
And other Gryffindors means the dishy Harry Potter might also tag along.
Theo is playing the long game, but he's hoping by this time next year to have made some headway toward his own secret crush. The first stage of the mission is to get his two friends at least on speaking terms, and then he can move to phase two. It makes him giddy to consider.
Speaking of giddy, is that a giggle he just heard? Coming from his usually quiet sanctuary?
He opens the door with no preamble and gapes like a codfish as Hermione Granger covers herself and Draco Malfoy, in a rather gentlemanly fashion, blocks her from view. They stare at each other for some time.
"You're back early," Draco says, eyes wide.
"Auntie Madeline sends her regards," he answers, as if that says it all.
A blink from all three, and Theo finds himself backing out the door. "Well... See you."
"Right, see you."
Hermione pops her head from behind Draco's shoulder. "Good to have you back, Theo!"
Theo backs up one more step and pulls the door closed, the giggling resuming immediately, then a moan that almost makes him blush.
He grins. Mission accomplished.