More Than A Memory

Eighth Year

Hermione wondered if she’d been naive about returning to Hogwarts. Harry and Ron had turned McGonagall’s offer down almost immediately, and at first, she’d thought they were being melodramatic.

Until she got there.

Until she realised she couldn’t make it down a single corridor without someone stopping her, looking at her like she was some kind of exhibit rather than a person. People were just so bloody nosy. With little regard for Hermione’s feelings, they’d probe and prod her with intrusive questions almost constantly in the halls, as if they weren’t casually asking about some of the most traumatic moments of her life. It was almost at a point where she was being mobbed as she walked between classes, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. 

“Did you really avada Greyback?” Someone called as she passed a group of third years. She clutched her book more tightly against her chest. 

“Can we see your scar? Is it bigger than Harry’s?” Somebody else shouted. Hermione huffed as she continued towards her dorm. She rounded the corner and a huge group turned to look at her with curious eyes. It was like facing a pack of wolves. Breathe. Keep walking. Don’t react.

She could feel her pulse hammering, her skin too tight, and just as she was preparing to push through them-

An arm yanked her sideways.

Hermione yelped, dropping her book as she reached for her wand, old habits dying hard. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Pansy Parkinson said, picking up the book and holding it out to her. “I just thought you could use some…I don’t know. Help.” She finished, and Hermione blinked. 

“You’d help me?” She asked, and Parkinson sighed. 

“We’re in the same boat here, Granger. The little kids prying into our lives as if it’s any of their business, it doesn’t just happen to you. You got my letter after my trial, you know that I don’t see you as less than anymore, if I ever did at all. With you sharing with Draco, I didn’t want this year to be awkward. I’m trying to be nicer.” She replied, even if it looked like the words physically hurt her. Hermione almost laughed. 

“People ask you about Harry?” 

Parkinson nodded, suddenly looking as tired as Hermione felt. “All the time. ‘Oi, Pansy, do you still want him dead?’” She sneered. “It’s bullshit. You know, last week this tiny firstie asked Draco if his dark mark still hurt. Where do they get the audacity when they’re that small?” 

“I’ve had people begging to see my scars so they can compare with everyone else’s. I don’t know how they even know about half of the stuff that happened, it’s not like I’ve gone around telling people about any of it.” Hermione said, and Parkinson shrugged. 

“Gossip is gossip. I’d bet anything that it’s Skeeter lurking around again, fanning the flames.”

Hermione mulled over the possibility, wondering if she needed to send the woman a jar to remind her of a few things. “I just wish I could get around without people gawking all the time.”

“Some of these empty classrooms are linked together. It’s how the boys and I have been getting around without being seen. If you head through that door, it’s a shortcut to your dorm.” Parkinson replied.

Hermione peered around the witch, looking at the door that she was pointing at. “Thank you for telling me that. That’s about to make my life so much easier.” She said, and Parkinson nodded. 

“It’s not right, how you’re being treated. Nobody is entitled to know a single thing about you, much less anything that happened during the war. I’m sorry that it came to this.” 

Something in Hermione stilled. The words were simple, but they settled in a part of her chest that had been aching since the war ended. She’d heard a hundred platitudes, a thousand sympathies, but never once had anyone said, so plainly, that she didn’t owe them anything. 

Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the exhaustion, the sheer relief of someone standing on her side for once, but before she could second-guess herself, Hermione found herself speaking. 

“If you did want to know about it, though, then I’m always around. If you want to talk.” She offered, and surprise flitted across Parkinson’s face. 

“You’d want to talk to me about it?” 

Hermione nodded. “And your boys, if they’d want to. It feels like something that might help, maybe. I mean, Malfoy and I both saw the worst parts of the war. If I was looking for someone that would understand me, I’m not sure there’s anyone better.” She said. Then she laughed and shook her head. “I never thought I’d say anything like that.” 

Parkinson snorted lightly. “A lot’s changed recently, I keep having moments like that. But I’ll take you up on your offer, I think I’d like that. The boys, too, if I can convince Draco. He’s…stubborn.” 

Hermione smiled. “I noticed.” 

“What if we met up in your dorm? There’s nobody to overhear us then.” Parkinson suggested, and Hermione nodded. 

“Whenever you want. No long sleeves allowed?” She tilted her head, and Parkinson’s eyes drifted to Hermione’s arm before she nodded. 

“Agreed. If we’re doing this, we’re getting out the whole ugly truth.” She said, huffing slightly and rolling her shoulders back. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk, Granger. Thank you.” 

Hermione nodded. “I appreciate your help.” She said, and Parkinson sighed. 

“Is being nice always this exhausting?” 

“Usually.” 

“Gods, how on earth have you done it for so long?” She asked as she made to disappear through the far door. Hermione called after her. 

“Parkinson?” The witch turned with a raised brow. “Have you been shopping for the Yule Ball yet?” She asked. A wide grin grew on her face, and Hermione suddenly wondered what exactly she was getting herself into.

***

Roger Malone’s shoot had been awkward to say the least, seeing as neither Hermione nor Pansy knew him that well, but he’d been a good sport all the same. He worked in the Ministry archive office, and so Hermione had flagrantly abused her name to be able to ‘accidentally’ bump into him in the canteen under the guise of visiting Harry. She’d overheard someone talking in the apothecary about ‘how fit Malone had gotten’, and so she’d gone on a mission to recruit him. They’d dumped a pygmy puff in his lap, asked him to take his shirt off, and called it a day. 

The others had gathered in the room before the next volunteer arrived.

“But he’s a twat.” Malfoy said flatly, his face the picture of disgust. Theo chuckled into his hand, and Hermione shot him a withering look. 

“His personality doesn’t matter, Draco, he’s fit. He’ll sell copies of this thing.” Pansy replied, finishing the plain background they’d settled on for May. “Piss off downstairs if you don’t want to see him. Mi and I are quite happy to do this alone.” She smirked, and Hermione huffed out a quiet laugh. 

“Tossed Longbottom aside already, I see.” Malfoy shot back, ignoring the way Pansy flipped him off. “I’ll send him up when he gets here.” He mumbled to Hermione as he passed her, sloping back down the stairs.

“Theo, you have orders to do.” Hermione said with a knowing smile. He pouted dramatically, sighing morosely as he got up off the sofa. 

“You just want the bloke all to yourselves. It’s selfish.” 

Blaise stuck his head around the door and grinned. “I knew you’d be in here, you pervert. Come on. I’m not doing this all on my own. You can go home and ogle Potter later to make yourself feel better.” He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. 

“Yes, Dad.” Theo replied, leaving the room. 

“I like it when you use my name.” Blaise smirked, throwing his arm around his friend. Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust, waving her hand and slamming the door closed. 

“That right there was a jealous man.” Pansy said. Hermione frowned. 

“Which one?” 

She groaned loudly. “Draco! ‘I’ll send him up’.” She imitated his voice, folding her arms and pouting. “He wants to mark his territory before Pucey comes in here with us. With you.” 

“Pans, he isn’t jealous. He just doesn’t like the man.” Hermione replied. “He’s protective of his friends, you know this.” 

“Mm. His friends.” She muttered, straightening the chair she’d brought up to use. A knock on the door ended that particular conversation, and Adrian Pucey swanned in, confident smile on his face. 

“Was the guard dog necessary, Pans?” He asked. She rolled her eyes. 

“You know what Draco’s like. He meant nothing by it.” 

Hermione frowned. “I didn’t know you knew each other?” 

“Slytherins, love. We all stuck together once upon a time. I don’t believe we’ve spoken before, though. Adrian Pucey.” He stuck his hand out, and she went to take it. He flipped his suddenly, and took her fingers in his, kissing her knuckles gently with sparkling eyes. 

“Hermione Granger.” She replied, finding the display charmingly ridiculous.

“Of course I know that already. Who wouldn’t remember a woman as gorgeous as you?” He said. Pansy sighed heavily, folding her arms. “I’m just being polite, Parkinson.” He looked over at the other witch with an innocent smirk.

“You can get changed behind there.” She nodded her head at the screen and he did as she asked, but not before throwing a wink in Hermione’s direction. She rolled her eyes at his antics, sitting down on the sofa and crossing one leg over the other. 

“So ladies, how do you want me?” He asked after a moment, emerging from behind the screen in only a pair of trousers. They’d decided he didn’t need much of a theme, not when he looked like that. It felt like overkill, so his set was a simple, plain background.

“However you like.” Pansy replied, slightly breathless, shooting Hermione a wide eyed look that told her she was slightly surprised at what she was seeing, despite knowing the man since Hogwarts. Hermione had to agree. The audacity to look like that was honestly ridiculous. 

Objectively speaking, he was a little awkward, but it didn’t really matter. He could have stood there without posing at all and still have made a good enough impression. Both witches had gotten a little hot under the collar, needing a moment to cool off once he’d left. He’d kissed Hermione’s hand again before ducking out of the door and it had admittedly left her slightly flustered. She’d not been flirted with quite so outrageously before. 

“Why did he look so smug?” Malfoy asked, appearing in the room seconds after the door closed downstairs. Hermione had to assume he’d run up the stairs, and frowned. “Why are you both so red?” 

“Because they’ve just spent half an hour up close and personal with a man who looks like he was carved from marble.” Theo replied, appearing behind Malfoy and resting his chin on the blonde man’s shoulder. “Was he the stuff of dreams?” 

Pansy obnoxiously fanned herself with her hands, puffing out her cheeks. “Great heavens, I’m all of a dither. He was such a gentleman.” She enthused sarcastically in a terrible American accent. “Took quite the shine to our Mi.” She added. 

“What?” Malfoy all but snapped, and Pansy snorted. 

“Down, dear. It’s unbecoming of a man of your status to be quite so jealous.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He only kissed my hand. He was being facetious, it wasn’t anything interesting.” 

“Am I remembering events incorrectly? Because I thought I heard him refer to you as gorgeous, beautiful, and ‘an angel amongst mere mortal men’ more than once.” Pansy replied. Hermione shot her a look that she hoped said ‘stop it’, but Pansy’s eyes were glittering with mischief, too much to get her to back down now. Theo made a high pitched noise that might have been described as a squeal, before Malfoy shoved him off his shoulder.

“I’m not jealous.” Malfoy grumbled, disappearing back down the stairs as Blaise wandered in.

“Pucey been in?” He asked with a grin. 

“What gave it away?” Pansy replied. Hermione sighed, flopping her head back to look at the ceiling.

***

Eighth Year 

“Morgana’s left tit.” Pansy muttered as they walked across the field. “I know I said they were like my brothers, but Merlin.” 

Hermione snorted. “Surely you’ve seen them topless before?” 

“Of course. It’s a challenge in itself to get them to wear clothes at all. I’ve never seen them in this specific setting, though. The fading light, the rain trailing down their abs mixing with the sweat.” She was practically drooling, making Hermione laugh again. 

They’d agreed to meet straight after quidditch practice, and the three slytherins were waiting in the middle of the pitch, their sweaty shirts cast aside. Hermione had become friends with them really quite quickly, after having found that she actually had a lot in common with them all now that their prejudice was dead and buried. Malfoy was still a little reserved, but their history was admittedly more personal than what she had with the others. It was a work in progress. He was, at least, civil.

“Granger, it’s pissing it down.” Blaise whined as they reached the three boys. “Can we not do this another day?” 

Hermione stopped in the middle of the grass and turned, hands on her hips, hair plastered to her face. “Nope. It was hard enough getting you to agree in the first place, I’m not letting you off the hook so easily. You’ll keep finding excuses until it just never happens at all. You’re already wet anyway, what’s the difference?” 

Pansy muttered something about being wet elsewhere, but Hermione ignored her.

“I am usually against doing things that make me look like a tit.” Theo pointed out, and Hermione huffed. 

“I firmly believe that all four of you can do this. I wouldn’t have pushed so hard if I didn’t think you had the potential.” 

“That’s the most gryffindor-ish thing you’ve ever said.” Pansy turned up her nose, renewing her repelling charm so that her hair would remain dry and perfectly styled. The others hadn’t bothered, apparently content with casting a drying charm later. Hermione found that the rain sometimes helped with focusing her magic. She hadn’t quite worked out why just yet, but she thought that the others needed all the help they could get if they were going to pull this off. 

Ignoring Pansy’s comment yet again, she pushed on. “Did you all want to try together, or go one at a time?” 

“Oh, let’s go one at a time. Really drag out the embarrassment when none of us can cast the bloody thing.” Malfoy drawled bitterly, and Hermione sighed before casting her own patronus. The otter danced around the five of them, blue light reflecting off their wet faces, before fading away in a cloud of smoke. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Is the showing off necessary?” 

“It’s not showing off. I’m showing you that it’s possible. Despite the scars and the trauma and the years of bad memories that I have in my head, I can still do it. That is why I think you’ll be able to.” 

“Granger, this thing-“ He lifted his arm.

“Won’t stop you casting a patronus. I’ve done the research, and I think it’s generally believed to be impossible because nobody’s tried before, rather than it actually being undoable. You are only defined by the mark if you allow yourself to be, Malfoy.” 

“Gods, I’m going to get a headache if you’re that sickly sweet all the time.” Theo grinned, before being the first of them to pull out his wand. “A happy memory, right?” He looked at Hermione, who nodded. 

“Your happiest. Try to remember how you felt, feel those emotions again. The incantation is expecto patronum.” Theo nodded, flipped his wand a few times in his hand, and then tried the spell. A silvery blue blob floated across the pitch, and Hermione grinned. 

“What was that?” Blaise frowned. 

“A non-corporeal patronus. With practice, you’ll be able to form that into a creature.” She explained excitedly, looking at the disbelief on Theo’s face. 

“Wait, so… I did it?” 

“You did.” She nodded, as he barked out an incredulous laugh. Malfoy was gaping at his friend, mouth slightly agape in shock. A second later, Pansy produced her own glittering blob, smiling up at it in a genuine way that Hermione hadn’t seen from her before. 

“Holy shit.” Blaise whispered as a borzoi trotted out from his wand, nose stuck in the air as it completed a lap of the grass. Theo laughed, clapping his friend on the back. 

“I knew it.” Hermione said, watching the dog with a wide smile on her face. “I knew you could do it.” A moment passed after it faded away, and they all turned to Malfoy. 

“Your turn, Drake.” Pansy said gently.

Malfoy didn’t move. His wand was clutched in his hand, a white-knuckle grip. Hermione could see it - the tightening of his jaw as he prepared to fail.

“We won’t take the piss if you can’t. It doesn’t matter either way.” Blaise said, clapping the blonde man on the shoulder.

Hermione knew him too well, though, even after such a short time truly in his acquaintance. She could see the battle behind his eyes, the part of him that had spent years proving himself, only to find that it never mattered.

“I do think you’ll be able to.” She said softly. He was one of the most naturally gifted wizards she’d ever met, and it had done her head in for years. He’d kept stride with her in marks, even with Voldemort himself living in his bloody house, and so she was completely convinced that if anyone could cast a patronus with little to no experience of the admittedly complex magic, it would be Malfoy. 

He turned his head, looking at Hermione just for a moment, and then he whispered the spell.

Blue sparks. A formless glow. A shape that almost lingered before fading away.

Hermione grinned.

“I told you.” She said, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“That’s all you have to say? ‘I told you so’?” He drawled, unable to keep the smile from his face. A moment passed where she held his gaze, a silent conversation had between them. Then she turned to the others. 

“More practice, then?” 

“Fuck yes. I want to know what my animal is.” Theo enthused, producing another non-corporeal shape with more ease than last time. Blaise’s borzoi pranced about, chasing Hermione’s otter as the others continued to produce non-corporeal forms. Eventually, Pansy’s began to take on the form of some sort of bird, but it was getting late and they were all getting cold. They agreed to try again another day, all of them feeling far more positive about it than they had before. It was one of the first times that Hermione had seen Malfoy smile for an extended period, and it did something to her, knowing she was the one that had inspired it. 

He whispered his thanks to her before he disappeared into his room that night, offering her a warm, genuine smile before he closed his door.

Her heart did something strange. Something…tight.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t looked at him before. Of course she had. He was Malfoy, always looming in the periphery of her life, but this was the first time she’d noticed.

The way the candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face. The way his eyes had softened just for her. The fact that he was still very much shirtless.

“Oh, fuck.” She whispered, pressing her palms against her face.

She had dedicated several pages in her diary to documenting her bewilderment at the new feelings that night. More than several. An embarrassing amount of pages, really. It was a realisation that was terribly inconvenient, all things considered. Draco Malfoy was an attractive man.