Hogwarts After Hours

Hermione Granger believed in structure. In order. In faculty meetings that actually accomplished something.

Unfortunately,  it seemed like she was the only professor at Hogwarts who felt that way.

The staff room was already descending into chaos by the time she arrived, parchment and quill in hand. The long oak table was cluttered with half-empty teacups, crumpled notes, and what appeared to be a half-eaten pastry Pansy Parkinson was unapologetically picking at while swinging her boots onto the table.

Across from her, Theo Nott was lounging in his chair, smirking like a man who had never taken a meeting seriously in his life. Which she was all too aware was the truth. 

Neville, ever the responsible one, looked mildly concerned, and Dean Thomas was deep in conversation with Parvati Patil, probably discussing the finer details of why none of them wanted to be here.

Draco Malfoy, of course, had positioned himself directly beside Hermione, sipping his tea in that infuriatingly relaxed way that made her want to shove his chair over. She was never going to do it, of course, but she certainly had thought about it– over and over again. 

Hermione squared her shoulders. “Alright, let’s get started—”

Theo immediately held up a hand. “Before we begin, I need to address something critical.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “What, Nott?”

Theo smirked. “Malfoy owes me ten Galleons.”

Malfoy finally looked up from his tea. “Do I?”

“You do,” Theo said smugly. “Because you definitely said, and I quote, ‘If another one of those cursed Weasley products finds its way into my classroom, I will personally hex Weasley into next week.’”

Malfoy blinked. “That doesn’t sound like a bet, Nott.”

“Oh, but it was,” Pansy chimed in. “You bet ten Galleons that the last Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes catastrophe would be the final straw.” She gestured vaguely at a massive box sitting in the corner of the staff room. “And yet. Here we are.”

Hermione, who had been pointedly ignoring the large, very suspicious package, already felt a headache forming. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Neville sighed. “If you think it’s an unauthorized delivery from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, then yes. It is exactly what you think it is.”

Malfoy exhaled slowly. “I hate this school.”

Hermione walked over to the large box and peered inside where the horrific sight of Wizard Wheezes products met her. The box contained everything from Fizzing Whizbangs to Nosebleed Nougat, Peace Disturbers, Whispering Wands and more. 

Hermione let out a little groan, this was going to be a disaster if this was not the only box George and Ronald had sent, and knowing George for as long as she had…. Chances are that there were many more products than what Filch had apprehended. 

Hermione took a deep, calming breath. “So, just to be clear, none of us ordered this.”

A chorus of nope, definitely not, and absolutely not, though I admire the craftsmanship (that last one from Luna) echoed around the room.

Neville, arms crossed, looked at Hermione. “You’re closest to Ron—can’t you just ask him what happened?”

Before Hermione could answer that even if she did she would be unlikely to receive the truth, the door burst open.

Enter Ron Weasley, Looking Suspiciously Guilty.

“Oh,” Ron said, glancing around the staff room. “You lot look… tense.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest in a move she had perfected all too well over the years. “Ronald.”

Ron winced. “Oh no. Full bloody name. That’s bad.”

Pansy smirked. “So, Weasley. What exactly possessed you to send an entire shipment of chaos into the castle?”

Ron held up his hands. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t mean to! It was supposed to go to our Diagon Alley location—"

“And yet,” Malfoy drawled, “it’s sitting here instead, Weasley. Funny how that happens.”

Ron groaned. “Look, George and I had no idea the delivery was mixed up until this morning! I came to fix it before—” He gestured toward the box of doom. “—before you lot opened it and decided to burn the shop down.”

Hermione rubbed her temples. “Ron. The enchanted ceiling is stuck in a fireworks display, already.”

“Oh, well that’s definitely going to last at least a few hours if not days,” Ron muttered. Every professor in the room turned to the tall ginger man pinning him with loathing glares. 

“I,” Malfoy declared standing up from his chair quickly, “am going to kill you.” Hermione grabbed a fist full of his robes before he got too far and shoved him back into his chair unceremoniously without even a glance in his direction. 

“Sit down, Malfoy.” She snapped, receiving a few muttered curses her way from him, but he thankfully stayed put. 

Pansy sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Weasley, since you’re here, you might as well help clean up the disaster you’ve inflicted upon us.”

Ron crossed his arms. “Hey, I already feel bad—"

“Good,” Hermione interrupted, standing up. “Because you’re fixing this mess. Now.”

***

The walk to the Great Hall was tense.

Ron, despite very much being the cause of the disaster, had the audacity to look put out about being dragged along. Hermione was too frustrated to even snap at him, while Malfoy was stalking ahead with his wand clenched so tightly that it looked like he was actively debating hexing someone.

“I still don’t get why I have to clean up,” Ron grumbled.

“Because you and George are the reason the castle could very well be under siege,” Hermione shot back irritably. It wasn’t even eleven AM and she already had a headache, if this was how Minvera felt while teaching Harry, Ron and herself then she had a lot of apologising to do. 

Draco sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Let’s just hope the students haven’t gotten their hands on any of the products yet.”

That hope died immediately when they reached the Great Hall doors.

The moment they stepped inside, pure chaos erupted around them.

It was a full-blown battle.

The enchanted ceiling was still stuck in a looping fireworks display, but now, an actual firework dragon was swooping between the house tables, roaring loudly as it chased after a group of second-years who were screaming in equal parts terror and excitement.

The Ravenclaws had barricaded themselves behind a wall of floating tables, hurling dungbombs at a group of Hufflepuffs who were returning fire with a literal catapult made out of enchanted chairs.

Meanwhile, the Gryffindors and Slytherins had formed temporary alliances with the sole purpose of launching enchanted stink pellets at every single prefect or student who dared to enter the Hall.

And, for some ungodly reason, there were Cornish Pixies everywhere.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Neville muttered, ducking as a Pixie swooped past him, shrieking gleefully.

“I knew it!” Hermione groaned. “I knew some of the products had already been stolen! How did they even get their hands on—”

She was cut off by the firework dragon letting out a deafening roar and suddenly locking onto Malfoy like a hunting target.

Malfoy, who had been scanning the mayhem with his usual unimpressed glare, suddenly froze.

“…Oh shit.”

The dragon charged.

Malfoy barely had time to let out a very undignified yelp before bolting in the opposite direction.

And because Hermione had been standing too close, she got swept along with him as the dragon veered after them, trailing a shower of sparking flames.

“Weasley, I am actually going to murder you for this!” Malfoy bellowed over his shoulder.

“You’re gonna have to get in line, mate!” Ron yelled back, narrowly dodging a Pixie that had decided his hair was the perfect new nest.

Hermione and Malfoy barely made it out of the Great Hall, sprinting down the corridor as the firework dragon continued its relentless pursuit.

“That’s not just a firework, Malfoy, that thing is tracking you!” Hermione panted as they ran.

Malfoy shot her an exasperated glare. “Oh, brilliant deduction, Granger! Any other stunning observations before we die horribly?”

Their escape route took a sudden turn for the worse when—just as they reached the end of the corridor—someone released even more Pixies.

“FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN,” Malfoy roared as the tiny blue creatures swarmed them, cackling maniacally.

“We need to hide,” Hermione gasped, yanking him down a side corridor.

The nearest door was Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“Oh, perfect,” Malfoy muttered, shoving inside after her, slamming the door shut just as the Pixies and the dragon firework collided outside in a mess of sparks and blue feathers.

There was exactly half a second of silence.

Then Myrtle shrieked from her usual spot near the sinks. “Oooooh, visitors! How lovely!”

“Not now, Myrtle,” Hermione groaned, already dragging Malfoy toward one of the stalls as Pixies started squeezing through the cracks in the door.

Before she could properly think about what she was doing, Hermione pulled Malfoy into the cubicle with her, slammed the door, and locked it shut with a silent charm.

And that’s how she found herself—

Squashed into a cramped bathroom stall.
With Draco Malfoy.
Standing together on the rim of a toilet.

…Fantastic.

Malfoy shifted, his ridiculously broad shoulders knocking against hers as he exhaled slowly. “This,” he muttered, “is officially the worst day of my life.”

Hermione snorted. “Worse than when you got turned into a ferret?”

Malfoy shot her a look. “Granger, I swear—”

But the insult died in his throat because that’s when he finally seemed to notice exactly how close they were.

Hermione did too.

Their legs were pressed together, the stall far too small for two fully-grown professors.

Malfoy’s breath was warm against her cheek, his grey eyes flickering over her face, searching, assessing—his usual sneer nowhere to be found.

She had never been this close to him before, well sober at least.

He smelled like peppermint and firewood, and his damn hair fell in soft waves over his forehead, and—

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

This was not happening.

And yet, Hermione’s heart was definitely beating faster than it should have been.

Malfoy’s gaze flickered to her lips. Just for a second. Barely noticeable.

Except Hermione noticed.

She swallowed hard. “We, uh… we should probably…”

Malfoy nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Neither of them moved.

Something shifted in the air. Tension curled tighter, a heat pressing against her skin, making her suddenly very aware of how close his hands were to her thighs, how his breath was turning slightly uneven, how his knee was pressing against hers—

Then, Myrtle screamed.

“OH, YOU TWO ARE HIDING TOGETHER!”

There was a loud splash, and before either of them could react, the ghost dove headfirst into the toilet.

A geyser of water exploded out of the bowl, soaking them both instantly.

“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Malfoy roared, shoving open the stall door as Myrtle cackled from the pipes.

Hermione sputtered, absolutely drenched, her once-neat curls now plastered to her face.

Malfoy turned to her, dripping with toilet water.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, at the same time, they both burst into hysterical laughter.

Hermione actually had to clutch his arm for support, giggling so hard her sides ached.

Malfoy shook his head, breathless, running a hand through his soaking wet hair. “I hate everything.”

Hermione snorted. “I hate you more.”

Malfoy smirked. “Oh, you love me, Granger.”

She opened her mouth to retort—

Only for the door to the bathroom to slam open again.

“THERE YOU ARE!” Theo Nott yelled, doubling over laughing at the sight of them in drenched robes.

Pansy appeared behind him, gasping dramatically. “OH, WHAT DID WE INTERRUPT?”

Hermione groaned, hiding her very red face in her hands. 

Malfoy?

Malfoy just smirked.

***

“Well, now that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley—” Headmistress McGonagall addressed Ron and George with a disapproving glare down the table, making both men sink into their seats. “—have successfully rounded up what remains of their inventory, I hope we can ensure that all future shipments reach their proper locations.”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” both men answered sheepishly, looking in opposite directions to avoid her piercing gaze.

Seemingly satisfied, McGonagall moved on to her staff meeting notes.

“Patrols of the corridors by the fifth- and seventh-year Prefects will be on hold for the next several days while our O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students take their examinations,” McGonagall announced to the room.

Hermione nodded along in agreement, pleased that the school was taking their students’ education seriously. It was refreshing to see, given that her own examination weeks had been filled with absolute chaos—no proper revision time, no chance for a full night’s sleep.

Though, to be fair, she couldn’t place all the blame on Hogwarts' curriculum or the Prefect patrol schedule. Most of the madness during her time had been caused by none other than Harry, Ron, and herself—though, in her defense, a large portion of that blame could be redirected to Voldemort.

“…Patrols will be taken over by the staff,” McGonagall continued. “Please see the official schedule and assigned partners on the noticeboard after this meeting.”

Hermione blinked, only catching the tail end of what McGonagall had said.

“Sorry, Professor, can you repeat that?” she asked, confused.

Malfoy chuckled quietly beside her, clearly amused by her lapse in attention. She ignored him.

McGonagall sighed, fixing Hermione with a pointed look. “Miss Granger, please pay closer attention.”

Hermione winced. She never got called out by McGonagall—never.

“As I was saying,” McGonagall continued, “since the Prefects will be occupied with studying and resting for their exams, I would like the professors to take over nightly patrols. I have already assigned the pairs, which can be found on the information board if you forget. You, Miss Granger, will be partnering with Mr. Malfoy.”

Hermione choked.

Malfoy?!

Surely this was a mistake. No one in their right mind would pair her and Draco Malfoy together.

“Professor,” she started, voice rising slightly, “I think there might be some kind of mistake. You see, Malfoy and I don’t—” she gestured wildly between them “—work well together. I mean, surely you remember what it was like—”

She turned to Malfoy, expecting him to launch his own protest, but—

Nothing.

Malfoy said nothing.

Instead, he sat silently beside her, lips curled in amusement, clearly enjoying every second of her suffering.

Hermione scowled at him. Traitor.

McGonagall peered over her spectacles, raising a single brow. “Miss Granger, are you implying that I’ve made a mistake?”

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut.

Oh, no.

There was no universe in which Hermione Granger would outright accuse Professor McGonagall of being wrong. The last time someone had done that (Theo Nott, two months ago), McGonagall had transfigured his chair into a rather uncomfortable-looking rock and continued the meeting as if nothing had happened.

“…No, Ma’am,” Hermione muttered instead, begrudgingly admitting defeat.

“Good,” McGonagall said briskly. “Now, I would like to remind everyone to submit their end-of-year forms by Friday morning. And please, Mr. Nott, I would like them to be legible this time.”

Theo, who had been slouched comfortably in his chair, merely grinned. “Of course, Minnie. Anything for my favorite bird.”

The room erupted into laughter.

McGonagall shot Theo a scathing look, though the slight twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement.

“You are dismissed!” she called out.

The room filled with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor as people got up from the table.

Hermione rushed to the noticeboard, praying that she had misheard McGonagall—that there was some mistake on the schedule, that she had not actually been partnered with Malfoy—

She scanned the parchment.

McGonagall had paired her with Malfoy.

Not once.
Not twice.
Three. Whole. Nights. In. A. Row.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and released a frustrated groan.

“Cheers, Granger!”

She whipped around, only to find Malfoy smirking at her, entirely too pleased with the situation.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he drawled smoothly. “And do make sure you’re on time. I hate waiting.”

Then he winked.

WINKED.

Hermione scowled, watching as he strode out of the staff room, Theo and Pansy grinning like idiots behind him.

Pansy caught Hermione’s gaze and gave her a thumbs up before disappearing through the door.

So much for being a good friend.

Hermione turned back to the schedule, rubbing at her temple as the full reality of her predicament set in.

She was in so, so much trouble.