Breaking the Foundations
6 February 1997 – Thursday Night
The Room of Requirement had transformed into a makeshift workshop, its dim lighting casting long shadows over books, notes, and an array of magical tools scattered across a conjured worktable. At the center stood the Vanishing Cabinet—a hulking relic of magic, pulsing with dangerous potential.
Hermione tucked a loose curl behind her ear, her white uniform sleeves rolled up as she meticulously traced her wand along the cabinet’s edges, whispering detection charms under her breath. Across from her, Draco leaned against the table, all buttoned up (as always), arms crossed, watching her work. The flickering torchlight carved sharp lines into his features, making his expression unreadable.
“I still don’t understand how you figured out where the connection failed before I did,” he admitted. "I've been at it for months" There was no bite to his words, only reluctant admiration.
She smirked, not looking up. “Simple. You were looking for damage, but I was looking for interference.” She tapped the wood with her wand, and faint golden lines shimmered across the surface, revealing the hidden spellwork. “Your repairs didn’t fail because the cabinet was broken. They failed because someone redirected the connection elsewhere.”
Draco exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Merlin, that explains so much.”
Satisfied with their progress, Hermione straightened and stretched, about to make a remark about his previous failed attempts—until she caught the way he was looking at the cabinet. His gaze was distant, kinda empty, and detached.
“Draco?” she asked, her tone softer now.
He blinked, his focus snapping back to her. The momentary blankness in his expression vanished behind his usual mask, but not before she caught a glimpse of something raw beneath it.
After a pause, he sighed and pushed off the table. “You know,” he began, voice quieter, “I spent my whole life being told exactly who I was supposed to be.”
Hermione stilled, sensing the weight in his words before he even finished.
Draco let out a humorless laugh. “I was groomed for this. For all of this. The Malfoy heir—pureblood, superior, untouchable.” His jaw tightened, fingers curling into a fist. “Even half-bloods were beneath us. And Muggle-borns? We were taught they were thieves—stealing magic that was never meant for them.”
Hermione felt her chest tighten, anger and sadness coiling within her, but she held her tongue.
His eyes locked onto hers, something sharp and defiant in them. “And then you came along.”
Her breath hitched; he did tell her she was the first ever muggle born he'd met, at eleven, that’s wild.
Draco shook his head, a smirk ghosting over his lips, but it lacked his usual malice. “This insufferable, brilliant, terrifying witch who was supposed to be beneath me—ended up being everything a pureblood was meant to be. Clever, powerful, relentless.” His hands emphasizing the points, voice dropped lower, almost reverent. “Hermione, you are a witch, through and through. To your very core. More pure than any of the inbred ancestors rotting in the Malfoy crypt. And you did it all without even knowing magic existed until you got here.”
She swallowed thickly. She hadn’t expected this. At least not this early in their collusion. He really didn’t seem to be the conniving mysterious arse she, Harry, and Ron thought he was.
Draco exhaled, glancing away, running a hand through his hair. “I look at the Sacred Twenty-Eight now, and I don’t see tradition. I see rot.” His voice darkened. “And then there’s the Manor. What I’ve seen there, what I’ve heard when he—” He broke off, inhaling sharply before shaking his head. “I don’t know if you can imagine what it’s like, Granger. To have your entire foundation crumble beneath you. To realize everything you were raised to believe was a grotesque, poisonous lie.”
Hermione stepped closer, “Then let it crumble.”
His gaze snapped to hers, startled. He was digging himself in deep with this new partnership, and she hadn’t confirmed it, but he was 100% sure Harry and Ron knew what they were up to. Those two were about as subtle as a Boggart out of its box. Draco’s honesty felt even a bit out of character to himself, but in for a sickle in for a galleon, he supposed.
She held his eyes, fierce and unwavering. “What you were taught was wrong, and you know that now, then let it fall apart. Build something new. You have that choice.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He swallowed hard, something unreadable flickering behind his expression.
“Plus, we’re teenagers, nothing’s set in stone, even if it feels that way. Now’s the absolute best time to change. Not to say you couldn’t keep evolving when we’re older but, carpe diem and all that!”
A moment of silence stretched between them before Draco exhaled, shaking his head with something like amusement. “Merlin, you’re exhausting.”
Hermione huffed a small laugh. “I’ve been told.”
She hesitated, then decided if he was being honest, she could be too, “I work hard because I have to. Before I was eleven, I was just as much an outcast among Muggles as I am here. I was always different. An anomaly.”
“You’re a brilliant swot.”
His lips twitched, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, her expression turned wistful. “Last year, my parents had my baby sister—Cordelia.” Her smile was sad. “I was sixteen, and suddenly, it felt like they had replaced me. Like they wanted a normal child.”
Draco absorbed that, frowning slightly. As an only child, he couldn’t imagine suddenly having to share the limelight with an infant. It didn’t seem fair.
“I haven’t told them yet, but I think Cordie’s magical too,” she whispered.
Draco’s eyes widened. Hermione’s sad smile returned. “Over Christmas break, she pulled my wand off the end table and made white sparks.”
“She shouldn’t even see your wand,” Draco murmured, understanding the inherent enchantments that made most magical objects unnoticeable to Muggles.
Hermione nodded. “Exactly. How do I tell my parents they tried again and still ended up with a witch?”
Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I wonder how rare that is.”
She glanced at him, considering. “Maybe there are squibs somewhere in my lineage.”
“Or something else,” he mused. “You should research it.”
She nodded, lost in thought. When she looked back at him, his expression had shifted—calculating. “You know, I could… probably should, teach you something.”
Hermione arched a brow. “Oh?”
“Occlumency.”
Her surprise was evident. “You know Occlumency?”
Draco scoffed. “Granger, my family is steeped in deception. My mother made damn sure I could guard my mind from a young age.” His smirk faded slightly. “Especially now… with him at the Manor, I need to be better than ever.”
She swallowed. No need to clarify who he was; she was pleased to find he didn't revere him with the awful-sounding dark lord titles.
Draco studied her. “You want to protect yourself, don’t you?”
Hermione hesitated. The idea of someone rifling through her mind—Snape, Voldemort, even Draco—made her stomach twist. She should learn though and maybe even she could help Harry with it in a safe space. Finally, she nodded, the pros definitely outweighed the cons, and she would obviously cut it off if Draco made her uncomfortable. “Alright. Teach me.”
A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Good. Didn’t think you’d pass up an opportunity to learn.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. “There have to be ground rules. No judgments on what we might see by accident.”
Draco stepped closer. “Of course, Granger. I’ll be entirely professional.” Then he leaned in, smirking. “And when I see those fantasies about me, I’ll be sure to make them happen.”
She smacked his arm, but he dodged, laughing.
His presence became suddenly tangible as he closed in around her shoulder. “First lesson,” he murmured, voice low. “You need to learn control.”
Hermione lifted her chin. “I have control.”
“Not enough.”
Then, with deliberate slowness, he traced his fingertips over her wrist down at her hip. The touch sent a jolt through her spine.
Her breath hitched. She refused to move.
Draco’s gaze flickered over her face, reading every reaction. “You feel that?”
Hermione swallowed, her skin burning where he had touched her. “Obviously.”
“That’s what you have to suppress.” His voice was velvety smooth, dangerously low. “Every reaction. Every emotion. You have to lock it away before someone else pulls it from you.”
She exhaled through her nose, schooling her features. “Fine. Do it again.”
Draco’s smirk widened a slow, lazy thing. “Now that’s the Granger I know.”
He stepped even closer, his body a whisper away from hers, and she could feel the heat radiating from him. He reached up again, this time ghosting his fingers along her bare forearm. The touch was fleeting but deliberate, his thumb just barely skimming her pulse.
Hermione clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to react, though her pulse betrayed her.
Draco hummed, his breath fanning her temple. “Better.”
Their eyes met, something electric crackling between them.
Hermione inhaled slowly. “Again.”
Draco’s smirk softened, something dark and amused flickering behind his gaze. “Careful, Granger,” he murmured. “You might start enjoying this.”
Hermione fought a smirk of her own. “Just shut up and teach me, Malfoy.”
His chuckle was quiet, but there was something almost reverent in it.
And so, he did.