Extracurriculars

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open to a bright wash of daylight streaming through the curtains. For a moment, she lay still, blinking at the unfamiliar quality of the light, her mind slow to wake. It was only when she turned her head and saw the clock on her bedside table—half past one—that the realization struck, and she bolted upright in a panic.

Bloody hell.

She had slept the entire morning away, and she had missed her shift at St. Mungo’s. Her heart pounded, and she threw the blankets aside, sending Crookshanks scrambling off the bed with a startled yowl. Despite the initial shock, she felt oddly well-rested—her body lighter than it had been in weeks, as if a deep, uninterrupted sleep had chased away the exhaustion she’d carried for so long. But there was no time to bask in the unfamiliar feeling.

This wasn’t the plan. She had meant to catch a few extra hours after that long night at the hospital, but now she had overslept, missed work, and was about to be late for Malfoy’s training session. Her own bloody fault as she’d intentionally moved their lesson to earlier in the day, her last minute booking of office hours for her advanced potions students scheduled through the evening.

Her thoughts tumbled into chaos as she scrambled out of bed, barely taking the time to throw on a pair of jeans and a loose jumper she found draped over a chair. Her hair was a frizzy mess of curls, and there was no time to tame it, no time to make herself look halfway decent.

“Crookshanks, why didn’t you wake me?” she muttered as the ginger cat shot her a reproachful look, his yellow eyes blinking lazily. She grabbed a hair tie from her bedside table and yanked her curls back into a quick, haphazard bun. Stray strands escaped in every direction, but she had no time to care.

Merlin’s beard, I’ve really done it this time, she thought, rummaging through the clutter on her desk until she found her wand. Her hands were steady as she cast a freshening charm on her clothes, but the familiar spell felt oddly awkward—her magic sluggish, like it was struggling to catch up with her frantic pace.

She snatched her bag from the floor, hastily shoving in her notes and textbooks, and disapparated with a sharp crack that echoed in her ears. She rushed through to the floo down the street, dumping far more powder into the flames than necessary. The familiar twisting sensation wrenched her stomach, and she stumbled slightly as she reappeared in the Ministry, feeling incredible off kilter.

The Ministry was alive with its usual midday crowd—workers and officials chatting in clipped voices, parchment rustling, the occasional burst of laughter echoing against the marble walls. She weaved through the throng, barely registering the towering fountain at the center of the Atrium, her thoughts racing. She hated being late—hated the disorganized mess she’d become in the last few weeks. She had planned to go over her notes for today’s lesson, to prepare properly, but now everything was in shambles.

Oh, for Merlin’s sake, she thought, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she pushed into the lift just before the doors closed. A couple of Ministry workers shot her curious glances, and she offered a tight, apologetic smile, feeling the heat crawl up her neck.

The lift dinged its way upwards, and Hermione took a deep breath, pressing her palm to her chest to steady herself. She was well-rested, that much she had to admit. Her mind felt clearer than it had in days, even if she was a bit frazzled from the unexpected sleep-in. If she could just get through the lesson with Malfoy, she could salvage the day.

But as she reached the Auror Office, she knew she was already out of time. Malfoy was there, standing in front of the small meeting room with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was cool and impassive, but she could see the flicker of irritation in his eyes as she approached.

“You’re late, Granger,” he said sharply, his tone cutting. “Half past one, and you’re just getting here?”

“I know,” Hermione said, a bit breathless as she came to a stop in front of him. “I’m sorry. I—overslept.”

“Overslept?” Malfoy’s brow arched, and he gave her a once-over, his gaze lingering on her rumpled clothes and the loose strands of hair escaping from her bun. “How very unlike you. You’ve missed half the day.”

She bit back a retort, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “I’m not normally like this,” she said stiffly. “Let’s just get started.”

“Fine,” Malfoy said, though the way he uncrossed his arms and followed her into the meeting room made it clear he was less than impressed. “But do try to be on time in the future. I don’t have time to wait around.”

Hermione bristled at his tone, but she forced herself to focus. The room was small and familiar, the shelves lined with medical texts and diagrams she had brought from St. Mungo’s. She dropped her bag onto the table with a thud, feeling a bit more in control now that she was surrounded by her own notes and supplies.

“Right,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “We’ll start by reviewing last week’s lesson. I want to see how much you’ve practiced.”

Malfoy’s expression remained neutral, and he pulled out his wand with the same casual grace he always did, his movements controlled and precise. She demonstrated the first diagnostic spell again, her wand tracing the familiar shapes in the air. A web of silver light appeared between them, the lines shifting and forming a delicate pattern.

“Your turn,” she said, stepping back and gesturing for him to proceed.

He raised his wand and cast the spell. To her surprise, the light appeared sharper and steadier than it had been last week, the lines of the diagnostic glowing clearly in the air. She watched with a flicker of surprise as he held the spell with ease, the pattern stabilizing.

“Well done,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “You’ve clearly been practicing.”

He didn’t respond, his face unreadable as he ended the spell with a flick of his wand. “I don’t see the point in half-measures,” he said coolly. “If I’m going to learn this, I might as well do it properly.”

Hermione felt a strange mix of annoyance and curiosity. “You say that,” she said, her voice sharpening slightly, “but you don’t seem to care about why you’re learning this at all. You’re always so detached, Malfoy. What’s the point of knowing healing magic if you don’t actually care about helping people?”

His gaze hardened, a flash of irritation in his eyes. “Not everything is about caring, Granger,” he said, his voice cold. “I’m doing what’s necessary. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Necessary for what?” she shot back, her frustration spilling over. “You’re learning to heal people, to save lives—don’t you feel anything about that?”

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression closing off even more. “You don’t know anything about what I feel,” he said quietly, his voice like ice. “And I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off with a sharp motion of his hand. “Can we move on, or are we going to waste more time talking about things that don’t matter?”

The words stung, and she bit back her retort, turning back to her notes with a tightness in her chest. “Fine,” she said, her voice clipped. “We’ll move on to the next spell.”

For the next two hours, they worked through a series of spells designed to heal internal bleeding, then adjusted them for quick field use. Malfoy’s focus never wavered, and Hermione found herself grudgingly impressed by his progress. But the tension between them remained, a cold and unspoken barrier that hung in the air, making every word feel heavy and strained.

By the time they finished, Hermione’s nerves were frayed, and her patience was wearing thin. “We’ll continue next week,” she said, her tone more formal than she intended. “And—well done today. You’ve improved.”

Malfoy’s gaze flickered to hers, but he said nothing, turning on his heel and leaving the room without a backward glance. She watched him go, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration settle in her chest. He was a puzzle she couldn’t solve—a mystery she didn’t have the bandwidth to unravel. And yet, she couldn’t deny that he was learning. That, at least, was something.

She glanced at the clock—already past three. She had office hours at Cambridge, and she was going to be late. Again.

The magical division of Cambridge was tucked away in a quiet corner of the university, its entrance concealed by a small, ivy-covered archway that shimmered faintly with enchantments. Hermione treasured her time here, the hours she got to dedicate to teaching the advanced potions lesions. Hermione hurried through the door, smoothing her hair as she went, and made her way to her cramped office, where a handful of students were already eagerly waiting outside the door.

The next two hours passed in a blur of potion discussions, essay reviews, and heated debates about brewing techniques. She found herself smiling more than she had in days, the students’ enthusiasm infectious, and by the time the last student left, she felt lighter—even if her schedule had gone completely off the rails.

As evening settled in, Hermione made her way to Grimmauld Place, the familiar weight of the front door creaking under her touch as she stepped inside. The house was warm and inviting, the cozy chaos of the Potter-Weasley household filling every corner. Ginny was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with a flick of her wand, and Harry was wrestling with Albus, who was shrieking with laughter.

“Mummy!” Lily called from the living room, her face lighting up when she spotted Hermione. “Auntie Hermione’s here!”

Hermione’s heart swelled at the sight of her godchildren— James, Albus, and little Lilly, who was giggling from her perch in a highchair. She set down her bag and pulled James into a tight hug, the warmth of the house chasing away the lingering chill of her long, frustrating day.

“Hello, darling,” she said, pressing a kiss to James’s forehead. “How was your day?”

“Good!” Jamessaid excitedly, her dark eyes sparkling. “We learned about magical creatures at school today, and Daddy said we might get to visit the zoo next weekend!”

Harry looked up from where he was trying to coax Lilly into eating mashed peas, grinning at Hermione. “Hey, ‘Mione,” he said, his face lighting up with the easy warmth she had come to rely on. “Rough day?”

“Merlin, you have no idea,” Hermione said, sinking into a chair at the table as Ginny slid a steaming plate of roast chicken and vegetables in front of her. “But I’m here now, and I’m ready to relax.”

Ginny sat down next to her, pouring them both a glass of wine with a practiced flick of her wand. “You need it,” she said, her voice kind but teasing. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“More like I’ve been running a marathon,” Hermione said with a smile, picking up her fork. “But at least I got some sleep, even if it was… longer than expected.”

They laughed, the warmth of their company washing over her, and as the children’s chatter filled the room, Hermione felt the day begin to fade. She listened to Harry’s stories about work, Ginny’s teasing commentary, and the joyful chaos of their family, and let herself be drawn into the familiar, comforting world she had missed so much.

The evening passed in a blur of laughter, stories, and shared memories. For a little while, the frustrations of the day faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of friendship and the soft, familiar comfort of home.