Chapter Text
Hermione always loved ballet.
Ever since she was a little girl she would beg her parents to take her to the theater to watch the ballerinas in their sparkling tutus and dazzling crowns. Her parents enrolled her into ballet classes, hoping it would bring her out of her shell and help her make friends.
It consumed her every being.
It was a way for her to express what she was feeling, to feel some sort of “normalacy” in the world. Her parents tried their best truly and she doesn’t fault them for anything, but both of them being older plus having a magical daughter has its challenges. From such a young age she was bullied for being different. Then finally when she thought Hogwarts would be the place for her, with other witches and wizards, at the top wizarding school, she was quickly labeled as a muggleborn and a “pompous know-it-all book nerd.” It was the same at Hogwarts as it was back in London, if anything it was worse, at least muggles couldn’t cause your front teeth to grow bigger than they already were. She didn’t have the heart to tell her parents that Hogwarts wasn’t the dream place she thought it would be… but she did eventually make friends. It just took a troll.
The first few days she was so excited by magic she forgot about ballet, but late in the night she dreamed of her loneliness and anger being performed full of sorrow on a stage, she could hear the music, see the costume, she longed to dance again but Hogwarts doesn’t have dance classes, unless you count the Yule Ball lesions with Professor McGonagall. So she snuck out late in the common room, in her dorm when her roommates were out, in the courtyard when even the ghosts were sleeping. It wasn't the same, just different. But it helped get her through the rough days, then she met Ron and Harry and it was a little less lonely. Eventually in year 3 she stumbled upon the room of requirements, which gave her everything she needed. She would sneak off there during the night and even sometimes during her free periods if the day was particularly rough, she would slip on some point shoes, a leotard and tights and occasionally a tutu and expressed her feelings. The room always knew exactly what she needed.
~:~
Narcissa has always loved going to the ballet.
Every Christmas the Malfoy family would go see the Nutcracker and any time she heard of a ballet she would drag her son along. Not that he minded, he admired how high the men on stage could jump, their strong powerful movements and the grace duets. So since he could walk he was enrolled in dance classes.
His father said it was pure blood tradition that the men knew how to dance, Draco always figured that it was his way of saving face because it was “weak” of him to want to dance. Since he could say he had learned as many types of dance as he could, most of his teachers called him a prodigy of dance. But as he got older and was forced to dance with young witches, like Pansy during balls and galas and debutants. It was no longer fun. He used it as a way to escape all the pressures of being pure blood and that of being Lucius Malfoy's son; multiple wizarding dance companies wanted to recruit him, but they were turned down the year before Draco got to Hogwarts.
He stopped dancing.
Not in common room parties.
Not in clubs.
He hardly danced at the lavish parties thrown by his parents and other pure bloods. He would dance with whatever which he was supossed to, would dance with Pansy once to appease both of their parents, then he would go find a balcony to hide at or be at his fathers side nodding along with whatever was being said.
But one late night in 3rd year he was mindlessly following a fluffy ginger cat around the castle wondering why it was up at this hour.
Wondering why he was up.
The cat had seemingly led him to the Room of Requirements– set up as a stage. On the left, laid out there was a pair of ballet flats, a pair of black shorts, and a song played.
It called to him.
So for the first time in 4 years he danced.
He let all of his emotions flow out of him. He felt the sadness, the fear, the loneliness, the anger…
Draco danced until he couldn't stand anymore and lay on the floor sweating, legs felt like that muggle Jell-O thing Theo made them all try that one night and for a split second after he felt a little joy again. So for the next two weeks in the night he would sneak out to the room, find that orange furball and would follow it to the room of requirement. There he would dance.
When he was forced to take the Mark, he headed straight to the room as soon as he got back to Hogwarts. And screamed.
Anger
Sorror
Pain
Agony
Everything he couldn’t let out
Slowly he got up and slowly stripped off his robes, his body hot and sweaty. Heaving. Panting.
If anyone was there, they might've said his dance was ghostly. Haunting. but that's exactly how he felt.
Dead.
A ghost in his own life.
~.~
Once the war was over Hermione went back to Hogwarts for the eighth year to finish her studies. She decided she was going to be a healer and work for the ministry. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron went straight off into Aurora training. They didn't see much of each other that year, however, she did see a lot of Draco Malfoy.
He also returned but under house arrest.
Well more like Hogwarts-arrest to finish his studies along with most of the Slytherins. Thanks to Harry and Hermione's testimony, Draco’s acts of defiance, along with a lot of deep dives into the heads of the families, it was found that the Slytherin children were found mostly innocent, and most of them were crucio into it by their parents and the Dark Lord.
Over their eighth year Hermione mostly saw Draco at night wandering the halls, sometimes looking extremely sweaty for the cool Hogwarts nights.
She never thought much of it. The eighth years pretty much had free reign of the castle– one of the many selling points for many of the students to come back– a later curfew plus they could visit Hogsmed whenever they wanted. It wasn't too surprising to see students from their year out late at night, seeing Draco wasn’t all a surprise but seeing him near the Room was startling some nights but they never officially crossed paths.
He was haunted by the ghosts of war. She certainly was. Some nights the nightmares were unbearable. Hearing the screaming the first few nights in the 8th year dorms were some of the worst, not because someone was being injured but because of the memories of those they loved being killed. Silencing charms around the rooms were placed quickly.
That next morning no one could look in each other's eyes but they were all met with warm hugs and unlikely friendships emerged.
That next morning no one saw Draco leave his room.
~.~
After defying his father, the Dark Lord, helping her escape that night, and secretly helping the Order– He had suspected that she always recognized that perfectly neat handwriting on random paper scraps she found slipped in her bag or a book she picked up. A small act of defiance. A little bit of info to help the order. It had got harder after 6th year, damn near impossible, but he found a way. He always did– not that Ron or Harry knew much of that.
Draco was still branded a death eater, no matter what he did his family's reputation followed him everywhere. Lucius beong eternally imprisoned in Azkaban, it was said the Dementors kiss was too kind for the right-hand of Voldemort. His mother was placed under house arrest at the Manor after being found guilty of helping the Dark Lord but nothing tied directly.
The first time he was allowed to visit the entire place had been redecorated. His mother very quietly whispered as if not actually wanting to be heard when he stepped into the study that it was the first place she remodeled. She couldn't stand to look at it anymore, the fireplace was different, even the windows. She did her best to erase all of the Dark Lord's presence in the Manor, the air smelled different but there was one thing she couldn't erase with a new fireplace… the mark. He tried everything to get it off of him, hexes, potions, burning, scrubbing, scrubbing… so much scrubbing until his arm was red and bleeding, Draco tried cutting it out of him at one point but everytime it stayed the same.
~.~
She could tell by the look in his eyes he wasn't a soldier but a scared boy. And standing there before the Dark Lord at the Battle of Hogwarts he looked scared as ever but he was no longer cowering or hiding behind a quill and a scroll. He led a small group of Slytherns and joined the orders side fighting alongside them. Hermione wouldn't have believed it unless she had seen it and she did.
Cornered by a faceless Deatheater– bloody and beaten– Ron had her had gotten separated at some point, she cursed Ron for not looking back when she called out for help. Wand thrown across the room and tossing gravel at the mask did nothing Pansy swooped in and punched the Deatheater so hard in the face the mask cracked.
She handed Hermione back her wand once he was down for the count then headed off to where Blaze was calling her name. Hermione stood baffled but in that moment all of the confusing pieces that had been eating at her suddenly came together.
~.~
It's been four years since the eighth year at Hogwarts and Hermione has quickly worked up the ranks through the ministry healers, she had any pick she wanted in which department to master in and she chose the emergency department. Seeing mainly the Aurors with her knowledge in the dark arts. She had become the youngest head of any department.
And not that she kept tabs, but Draco had very quickly worked up the ranks of the Aurors units. Thanks to his studies at Hogwarts he was able to jump a few ranks when joining and with his potion knowledge he was put on to some high level cases, she heard most of it from Harry and Ron.
Ron was very vocal when he was outraged or drunk about how Malfoy was somehow climbing the ranks faster then he was and how he must have paid his way in and he was an evil slimy twat and how unfair it was. She always just rolled her eyes at his words, even if Draco was an “evil slimy twat” (in Ron’s words) he was still competing for top student in grades with Hermione. In their final years they were Head Boy and Girl in their houses, sometimes she wondered who would have ended up on top if there wasn’t a war. In their 8th year Draco kept his head down and consistently got second in every class, even if Hermione knew he was better at it then her, which before they would have battled it out, seeing who could stay up latest in the library studying, who would get the higher percent, but now he just quietly kept second. Some small part of Hermione missed the competition but she would never admit it out loud.