Extracurriculars

Hermione navigated the Ministry’s dim corridors with heavy, measured steps, the strain of another double shift at St. Mungo’s and a long night of research weighing on her like lead. She was beyond exhausted, her thoughts hazy, every nerve in her body thrumming with fatigue. And yet, she kept going, pushing herself forward because stopping—letting the illness take hold of more innocent lives—was not an option.

When she finally reached the training room, she spotted Malfoy already there, adjusting his wand holster. He looked up, his usual indifferent expression shifting as his eyes scanned her face.

“Granger,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “You look… exhausted. Worse than usual.”

She managed a tight smile, fighting the dull ache pounding through her temples. Not exactly the best way to start a lesson, she thought, but tried to keep her tone light. “Good morning to you too, Malfoy,” she replied, forcing a bit of energy into her voice. “Shall we get started?”

He didn’t look amused. In fact, his frown only deepened. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

“Last night,” she said, waving a dismissive hand, though even she could hear the unconvincing tone in her voice. “Or… maybe the night before. It’s not important. I’m fine.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his expression slipping from concern to irritation. “You’ve been at St. Mungo’s all day, then here, barely able to stand. And now you’re running on the last scraps of energy you have left?”

Oh, so he was paying attention, Hermione thought, too tired to even feel annoyed by his prying. She straightened, determined to show that she could handle it. “Look, you’re either going to help me with this lesson or get out of my way,” she said firmly. She could practically feel her legs trembling but clenched her fists to keep steady. “I’m not leaving.”

Malfoy studied her, his expression hardening in that infuriatingly unreadable way. She expected him to argue, maybe even insist that she go home, but instead, he let out a frustrated sigh and gestured toward a chair near the counter. “Fine. Sit down. You’re not casting another spell until you’ve rested.”

Too drained to protest, Hermione sank into the chair, feeling the relief of having something solid beneath her. Maybe he’s right, she admitted reluctantly, but forced herself to focus, ignoring the way Malfoy watched her with a mixture of exasperation and—was that concern?

After rummaging in his bag, he placed a small vial of bright orange potion on the table in front of her. “Pepper-Up,” he said shortly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Take it.”

Hermione hesitated. It felt strange to accept help from him, even in the form of a potion. But practicality won out over pride, and she downed it quickly, feeling a wash of warmth as the worst of her exhaustion faded. The relief was instant, though the closeness of Malfoy’s gaze still caught her off guard.

“Thank you,” she murmured, more rattled than she wanted to admit.

“If you’re determined to run yourself into the ground,” he replied curtly, “I’d rather you at least make it through the lesson awake.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. He was frustrating, but his dry honesty was somehow almost reassuring. As her energy returned, she reached for her wand, feeling her determination sharpen. “All right. Today, we’re going to focus on handling vampire wounds. If you’re in the field and slightly unprepared, don’t assume ordinary healing magic will work.” She looked up at him, adding, “Try not to look so eager.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, but his wand was already in hand. “Just show me the spell, Granger.”

They moved through the sequence slowly, Hermione guiding him through the counter-curses and restoration spells. He followed each step carefully, his focus almost surprising. He hadn’t questioned her choices in weeks now, and somewhere along the line, she realized, she’d begun to trust him as much as he seemed to trust her.

But as she finished the demonstration, a fresh wave of magical depletion hit her, her vision swaying slightly as she struggled to stay upright. Merlin, not now, she thought, trying to take a steadying breath, but the ache at her temples intensified, leaving her light-headed. She staggered slightly, her vision blurring.

“Granger,” Malfoy’s voice broke through the haze, sharp and steady. He was at her side instantly, one hand on her shoulder. “Enough. You’re about to collapse.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but her strength gave way as her legs buckled slightly, leaving her leaning into his support. I’m fine, I’m fine, she insisted inwardly, but the words wouldn’t come. She hated that she had let herself reach this point—she, Hermione Granger, exhausted past her limit.

“Let’s go,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “You need to get home.”

“I can make it myself,” she mumbled, though she barely believed it.

“Not a chance,” he replied, calm and unyielding. “You’re in no state to go anywhere alone. I’ll take you.”

Too weary to argue further, Hermione let him guide her out of the training room, aware of his steady hand on her shoulder as they walked down the corridor. The contact, usually something she would have balked at, felt… reassuring. When they reached the Ministry’s Floo network, he led her to the nearest grate and helped her step in.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, holding her steady as he spoke their destination: “The Leaky Cauldron.”

In a flash of green flame, they arrived in the familiar warmth of the pub. The quiet chatter around them felt a world away from her fatigue, but Hermione’s mind stayed alert, caught between her gratitude and her discomfort at being seen this vulnerable by Malfoy of all people.

“I’ll Apparate you the rest of the way,” he murmured quietly.

She nodded, too drained to argue, feeling his grip on her arm as they Apparated outside her flat.

He released her, stepping back, though the intensity in his gaze didn’t lessen. “Get some sleep, Granger,” he said, his tone unexpectedly soft. “Let someone else handle things for once.”

She managed a weary smile. “Thank you, Malfoy.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable as he took another step back. “Just… don’t make a habit of this. We won’t get anywhere if you collapse.”

The hint of concern took her off guard. “Goodnight, Malfoy,” she said softly.

But instead of leaving, he steadied her shoulder again. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re in bed.”

Surprise flickered through her exhaustion. She nodded, allowing him to guide her into her flat, feeling a faint comfort in the warmth and familiarity of her surroundings.

As soon as they entered, Crookshanks appeared, eyeing Malfoy with a look that could only be described as skeptical.

“Well, this explains a few things,” Malfoy muttered dryly, looking down at her cat with a faint smirk. “For a supposedly intelligent creature, he’s looking at me like he’s ready to pounce.”

Hermione stifled a laugh, even as she leaned against the wall. “He’s a bit protective,” she murmured.

Crookshanks padded closer, his gaze still on Malfoy as if he were sizing up an enemy. Malfoy met the cat’s glare head-on. “I’m only here to make sure she gets to bed, you overgrown fluff,” he said, the words sounding oddly tender for him.

Crookshanks let out an unimpressed mrrow, then turned, flicking his tail dismissively. Hermione shook her head, exhausted but faintly amused. “Granger, let’s get you to bed before he decides I’m a threat.”

When she finally sank onto her bed, the weight of the mattress felt like heaven. She kicked off her shoes, barely able to manage that last bit of energy. Malfoy lingered for a moment, his expression a mix of irritation and something softer.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he murmured. “No more double shifts without sleep.”

She nodded, words failing her, as the exhaustion took over. As she lay down, she felt the tension release from her body. “Goodnight, Malfoy,” she managed before her eyes closed.

Malfoy lingered briefly, his gaze softening. Then he glanced back toward the doorway, where Crookshanks sat, watching him with a renewed glare.

“Fine, guard her all you want,” he muttered to the cat, turning to leave. “Goodnight, Granger,” he added softly, closing her bedroom door behind him.

Hermione woke after hours of deep, unbroken sleep, feeling more refreshed than she had in days. For the first time in weeks, her thoughts felt clear, her body rested. Sitting up, she brushed off the lingering embarrassment of Malfoy seeing her on the edge of collapse and then half-guiding, half-dragging her back to her flat. The memory of his steadying hand on her shoulder—his insistence on making sure she was actually in bed before he left—still surprised her. She had been too tired to care at the time, but the significance of his actions, the strange protectiveness he’d shown, had crept back into her mind this morning. Since when does Malfoy care if I make it home in one piece? she mused. She shook her head, pushing the thought away, choosing instead to focus on what truly mattered.

Even just hours later she felt herself again. Energized. Purposeful. She gathered her notes and organized them into a meticulous outline, adding points to investigate further based on her last session in the archives. With renewed purpose, she set off for the Ministry archives.

By the time she slipped into the restricted section, the Ministry’s corridors had emptied, leaving a hushed, almost solemn silence in their wake. Hermione relished the stillness, her mind fully attuned to her task. She moved along the rows of shelves, her fingers grazing the worn, faded spines as she read each title, the rich scent of old leather and parchment grounding her focus. At last, her fingers stopped on a thick, leather-bound ledger labeled Dark Artifacts: Cursed and Forbidden.

Her heart quickened as she carefully lifted the book from the shelf, feeling the slight weight of anticipation settle in her chest. As she flipped through its ancient, brittle pages, each paragraph brought her closer to understanding. And then—there it was. The Signet of Corvus.

She held her breath as she read, transfixed by the description. The cursed ring had been crafted to drain the magical energy of its wearer gradually, latching onto their magical core like a parasite. Over time, it would weaken them, hollowing out their power until nothing was left but an empty vessel. A chill ran down her spine. So we were right, she thought. It’s not an illness. It’s a weapon. Her chest tightened, dread twisting into a cold determination. She had to understand it fully if they had any hope of stopping it.

With shaking hands, Hermione began copying the entry into her notebook, her quill scratching quickly across the page. The cursed artifact’s origin was murky, mentioned only in reference to an ancient wizarding family that supposedly guarded dark objects until they were “needed”—the vagueness sending a shiver of unease down her spine. And though the ring itself seemed long lost, descriptions of its effects bore an uncanny resemblance to what her patients were suffering. This is the missing piece, she thought, her heartbeat pulsing with urgency.

If they could trace this curse’s origin or find a way to counteract its effects, they might finally have a chance of stopping the insidious attack from spreading. She meticulously copied every relevant detail, every description and ancient footnote, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the rush of discovery.

Hermione had just returned the book to the shelf when she heard footsteps echoing from the hallway, sharp and steady. She froze, her heart pounding. She glanced around the shadowed shelves, hoping the intruder would pass by, but the footsteps stopped at the doorway, and a familiar figure stepped into the room.

Malfoy’s gaze swept over the dim space until his eyes landed on her, his expression quickly shifting from surprise to exasperation. “Granger,” he muttered, folding his arms. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t take a night off. Do you have any idea how many Ministry regulations you’re breaking right now?”

Hermione straightened, bracing herself for the expected lecture. She was too caught up in her discovery to care about his scolding. “If you’re here to report me, go ahead, Malfoy,” she said coolly, lifting her chin. “I just found information that could save lives.”

A flicker of amusement softened his gaze, though he continued to look unimpressed. “Report you? I am the authorities tonight,” he replied dryly, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth. His gaze drifted to her notebook. “Did you find something worthwhile, then?”

Hermione’s grip tightened on her notes, and she nodded. “Yes. There’s a cursed artifact—the Signet of Corvus—that’s designed to drain magic from anyone it attaches to. The symptoms match exactly with what I’ve seen in the patients.”

The smirk faded from Malfoy’s face as he processed her words, his expression turning serious. “So it’s not an illness. It’s a curse.”

“Exactly,” Hermione replied, her voice steady. “It’s erosion magic, designed to lock onto a person’s core and slowly deplete it. If we can trace its origin, we might have a chance of breaking it before the damage becomes irreversible.”

Malfoy considered her words, his gaze narrowing in thought. “My family’s library has some of the oldest texts on curses,” he said slowly. “You wouldn’t find some of those volumes here.”

Hermione felt her stomach clench involuntarily at the thought of Malfoy Manor. Her memories of that place were tangled in fear and pain, moments she’d worked hard to bury. She hesitated, glancing down, feeling her chest tighten. “I… appreciate the offer,” she managed, her voice tight. “But that won’t be necessary.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by her reaction. “It’s just a library, Granger. What’s the harm?”

Her voice faltered, the memories pressing in despite her attempts to push them down. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice more steady this time. “I can’t go back there, Malfoy.”

Understanding crossed his face, a rare softness replacing his usual aloof expression. He nodded, his voice quieter. “Fair enough. But if you change your mind, the offer stands.”

A silence fell between them, the weight of unspoken memories hanging heavily in the air. For a moment, Hermione felt the fragile boundary between them shift, as if acknowledging the shared pain neither of them had ever spoken of. She felt her resolve harden, and she straightened, brushing past him toward the exit.

They walked in silence down the corridor, both lost in thought. As they reached the end of the hall, Malfoy paused, glancing down at her with an expression she hadn’t seen before—one that almost bordered on concern.

“Be careful with whatever counter-curse you’re planning,” he said quietly. “Erosion magic isn’t easily undone.”

Hermione nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “I know. But we can’t just do nothing.” She paused, meeting his gaze squarely. “People are counting on us.”

Malfoy’s lips quirked in a faint smile, though his eyes remained serious. “I wouldn’t expect you to do nothing, Granger. Just… make sure you’re still standing at the end of it.”

She felt an unexpected warmth at the sincerity in his words, the faintest sense of reassurance that took her by surprise. She managed a small, grateful smile. “I’ll do my best, Malfoy.”