Office Hours

Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about what Malfoy had said to her last night. He hadn’t been a total jerk. Why hadn’t he been a total jerk?

She needed to discuss this with someone as soon as she could. There was no way that she could talk to any of her new colleagues. She needed to talk to a friend. Hermione made her way up the owlery before breakfast the next day to send a letter to Ginny. She was very vague in her wording of the letter. She didn’t want it to be opened by Harry or Ron and have them jump to conclusions about Malfoy. No, she needed to talk to Ginny by herself. 

She scribbled a quick letter to Ginny and sent it off with one of the school Barn owls.

Hermione found that her second day of teaching was much easier than the first day had been. She managed to get through the day without any more accidental arson incidents, though there was an ink bottle that smashed all over her desk during a demonstration, but that was easy enough to clean up.

Maybe Malfoy was right. Maybe she was good at this. Not that she really cared about what Malfoy thought. Nope, she did not care about what he thought. And she definitely did not want to brag about her success at dinner this evening.

Hermione glided into the Great Hall for dinner that evening feeling considerably lighter than she had the previous night. Perhaps with a bit of her own trademarked Malfoy smugness she was so used to.

Malfoy squinted at her as she took her seat at the staff table, giving her a questioning look.

Cautiously, he asked, “ Alright, what’s with the look?”

Hermione tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What look?”

Malfoy set down his tea. He was not buying her nonchalance. 

“The look that says you’re about two seconds away from launching into a monologue about your own damned brilliance.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it a monologue.” A smirk appeared on her face.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Granger. Just get it over with.”

Hermione leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. Trying to do her best imitation of Malfoy’s care-free existence. 

“You’ll be delighted to hear that today was an undoubted success.”

Malfoy exhaled, dramatically. “So no Professor-Know-It-All today then?”

“Nope. Turns out I was born for this. My first years thanked me for my demonstration of turning a match into a needle. They even appreciated the extra homework I gave them on the theory of beginning transfiguration.” She decided to leave out the part about him being right. He didn’t need to know about that.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. “Stockholm Syndrome sure works fast these days.”

Hermione ignored the dig and continued on. “And the best part? Not a single fire. Not one. Not even when Elias Brightwood tried playing with the match instead of transfiguring it!” She was beaming at this point.

Malfoy’s jaw tensed. Hermione grinned wider.

“You seem disappointed, Malfoy.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Just surprised. Here I was thinking that I’d get some type of entertainment out of your suffering today.”

Hermione let out a pitying sigh. “Alas, you’ll have to find joy in someone else’s misfortunes. Sorry you won’t be treated to your ‘favorite form of entertainment’ today.”

“Don’t worry, Granger. I’m sure you will provide me with plenty more opportunities.” Malfoy said, leaning back in his chair, smirk back on his stupid face. At least she had wiped it off of there for a second.

“Not if today was anything to go by.”

Malfoy tutted, looking her up and down. Hermione quickly crossed her arms in front of her. She didn’t like him sizing her up like that.

“Hmm. We’ll see about that,” Malfoy said.

“We will.”

 —

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione was relieved to receive a reply from Ginny. She quickly detached the parchment from the leg of the owl and scanned the message.

She would get to discuss her Malfoy dilemma in a few days time. Friday couldn’t come quickly enough. 

—

The anticipation of seeing Ginny that evening was the only thing that got Hermione through the day. Her Friday had not gone as well as her Tuesday. She found that the older grades tended to give her more trouble than the younger ones did. It made a lot of sense to her. She could recall the way Harry and Ron had acted in their later year at Hogwarts. ‘Have you met teenagers, professor?’ surfaced in her brain. She quickly pushed that thought away and focused on getting ready to meet Ginny at the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione chose a slightly more modern set of robes to wear to meet Ginny. These robes were a muted shade of sage green and gave off a slight sparkle when in direct light. They also looked more like a muggle dress than the traditional wizards’ robes. 

The Three Broomsticks was fairly packed that evening with Hogwarts professors, regulars, and a few tourist groups from other countries. Hermione spotted Ginny already sitting at a cozy, firelit table in the corner. Hermione greeted her best friend with a smile from across the pub. She quickly ordered two butterbeers from the bar and made her way over to the table.

“Gods, am I glad to see you!” Hermione exclaimed, handing Ginny one of the butterbeers.

Ginny chuckled. “Teaching those snot-nosed brats is that bad, is it?”

“Well no, not exactly. The teaching part isn’t that bad, well besides the spontaneous fires.”

Ginny, mid sip of butterbeer, almost choked. “I’m sorry, did you say fires?”

Hermione laughed and launched into a story about her first day, including the digs from Malfoy. 

“Hold on–Draco Malfoy is teaching potions??” Ginny practically screamed. “Wait until Harry and Ron find out about this.” 

Hermione panicked, worrying their conversation might be overheard. “Yes he is, but please keep your voice down. And don’t you dare tell Harry or Ron. They would both overreact and I am really not in the mood to deal with their teenage rivalry.”

“Right, cause you have your own teenage rivalry to deal with,” Ginny giggled.

“My issues with Malfoy have nothing to do with any teenage rivalry. He’s hardly calling me a ‘filthy little mudblood’ anymore. I think he genuinely loves to make me angry.”

“Sounds a little teenager-y to me.”

“You don’t understand how annoying he is. I swear, if I have to sit through one more staff meeting or lunch where he smirks at me like he is enjoying watching me unravel–”

“ Like he is enjoying it? Hermione, come on. He is definitely enjoying it.”

Hermione groaned, setting her mug onto the table with a bit too much force.

“It’s like he lives to contradict me. ‘Oh, Granger wants to rearrange the tutoring schedule? Let’s make it impossible.’ ‘Oh, she thinks we should update the curriculum? Let’s argue about it just to be difficult!’” 

Ginny shook her head, a small smile making its way onto her face. “Or, perhaps, he is just trying to get a rise out of you.” 

“Well, it is working. Merlin, he’s just—” Hermione gestured wildly, searching for the right words to describe Malfoy, “ —smug, insufferable, and entirely too full of himself. And don’t even get me started on his voice.”

Ginny raised a knowing brow. “His voice?” she asked with feigned innocence.

“Yes. All smooth and slow, like he is deliberately trying to make me—” She cut herself off, far too late into her sentence.

Ginny’s smile grew. “Trying to make you what, exactly?”

Hermione flushed as she glared at her best friend. She gritted her teeth and said, “Murderous.”

Ginny wasn’t holding her grin back now. “Mmmhmm… Sureeeee.”

“Ginny, I am serious, it’s like he gets off on making me want to murder him and that stupid voice is just an extra layer of torture! I swear to—” 

Before Hermione could continue her rant further, she felt a heavy presence behind her. She paused as she heard the same low, drawling voice come from behind her.

“Well, well. Don’t let me stop you, Granger. Do continue.”

Hermione froze in her seat and scrunched up her face. Ginny laughed into her drink. Of course he would be here to overhear this conversation.

Slowly, she turned around to find Draco Bloody Malfoy standing far too close to her. There was an unmistakable air of amusement surrounding him. He clutched a glass of firewhisky in one hand. The smirk on his face was entirely bloodthirsty.

“Smug, insufferable, entirely too full of myself—yes, yes, I believe I’ve heard all that before. But do tell me more about my voice, Granger.”

Hermione’s face burned.

Ginny actually did choke on her drink this time.

Completely horrified, Hermione asked, “How long have you been standing there?”

“Oh, long enough.”

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, trying to summon patience from the heavens.

Ginny just sat there like she was spending a night at the theater, soaking in every word and look. 

Malfoy leaned down slightly, lowering his voice just enough to be maddening. “You know, Granger, if you think about me this much outside of work, maybe you should just admit that you—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Hermione quickly cut him off.

Malfoy chuckled, delighted in his ability to get under her skin. “Whatever you say, professor .” He drew out the last word.

And then, he was gone again leaving Hermione gripping onto the table like she was about to crush it with her bare hand.

Ginny watched him stroll off, then turned back to Hermione, positively beaming.

“You so fancy him.” 

“I DO NOT,” Hermione replied tersely. 

Ginny took another sip of her butterbeer, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Right, and I suppose you hate the way he smirks at you, too?” 

Hermione refused to answer her. She sat and tapped her fingers angrily against the table. She did hate the way he smirked at her, didn’t she?

“Gods, Hermione. You do like when he looks at you like that! I can’t wait to tell Harry that you fancy Draco freaking Malfoy!” 

Panic rose in Hermione’s chest. “No! You can’t tell Harry!”

“So, you admit that you like Malfoy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why don’t you want me to tell my husband?”

“I don’t want you to say anything to Harry because he is prone to curse first, and ask questions later. And also, I don’t want you to lie to him because I do NOT fancy Malfoy.”

Ginny giggled. “Oh, sweetheart, but you so do fancy him. Maybe you just can’t see it yet.”

Hermione let out a frustrated huff, downed the rest of her butterbeer, and motioned for the server to bring her another one. Ginny was never going to leave her alone about this.

It was going to be a long night.