Hogwarts After Hours

“Look who’s late now,” Hermione said with an all-too-satisfied smile, arms crossed as she watched Malfoy descend the staircase toward their agreed meeting spot on the third floor.

Malfoy, as always, looked unimpressed. “I wouldn’t have been late if a group of absolute menaces hadn’t waylaid me with their ridiculous questions.”

Hermione arched her brow. “Menaces?”

“First-years,” Malfoy grumbled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Had to be placated with reassurances that the giant squid would not, in fact, eat them alive if they failed their exams.”

Hermione bit her lip, fighting a laugh. “And what exactly did you tell them?”

Malfoy sighed dramatically. “Told them to grow a spine and that the squid had bigger things to worry about than their abysmal academic performances.”

Hermione’s smile widened. “Did you at least assure them that the squid is, in fact, vegetarian?”

Malfoy shot her a flat look. “No, I did not tell them he’s a vegetarian, Granger. I told them to get their arses to bed or I’d charm their beds into the lake and let them figure it out themselves.”

Hermione stared at him, aghast. “Malfoy, you didn’t—”

“I wasn’t actually going to do it,” Malfoy huffed, rolling his eyes.

That hadn’t been her point, but she decided to let it go. Malfoy’s parenting tactics over the Slytherins were not her responsibility. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

With that, they started their patrol, moving through the quiet corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone.

Aside from the occasional rogue ghost swooping by and Mrs. Norris lurking ominously in the shadows, the castle was peaceful. Portraits grumbled as their wand light flickered across their frames, complaining about being woken at such an ungodly hour, but everything else seemed… under control.

“So,” Malfoy drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked. “Are all our patrols going to be this mind-numbingly dull, or is there a chance of some actual excitement?”

Hermione gave him a pointed look. “Excitement usually means trouble. I’d rather have a quiet shift, thanks.”

Malfoy sighed dramatically. “Merlin, you’re impossible to entertain.”

“Not everything needs to be entertaining, Malfoy. This is a job.”

“Ah, so your idea of fun is scolding first-years and patrolling empty corridors? Who am I kidding, of course it is.”

“Fun,” Hermione said primly, “is not the priority. Keeping the students safe is.”

Malfoy smirked. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t found the right kind of fun.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, ready to argue that she had enough fun at Hogwarts to last her a lifetime. But then, a faint chorus of whispers caught her attention.

She held up a hand, stopping Malfoy in his tracks. He lifted a brow but followed her lead as they crept forward.

At the far end of the corridor, a group of four students was huddled together in front of one of the castle’s ancient suits of armor. Their wands flicked through the air as they muttered something under their breath, eyes locked in concentration.

Hermione sighed deeply. “Not again.”

Malfoy, however, grinned. “Oh, this I have to see.”

They approached quietly, unnoticed by the students, until Hermione cleared her throat.

All four froze.

“Care to explain what exactly you’re doing?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms.

One of the students, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, glanced at the others before hesitantly stepping forward. “We were just… improving the atmosphere?”

Hermione blinked. “Excuse me?”

Malfoy, looking thoroughly amused, nodded in approval. “Go on.”

The student perked up at the encouragement. “Well, Professor, Hogwarts is a place of learning, right? We thought the decor should be a little more… cultured.”

Hermione frowned. “Cultured?”

The student gestured at the towering suit of armor. “We enchanted it to recite poetry whenever someone walks by.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “You enchanted the armor—”

“—to perform,” Malfoy finished, looking delighted.

“Yes!” the student beamed. “It’s harmless! Just a bit of art appreciation.”

Malfoy smirked at Hermione. “You wouldn’t shut down art appreciation, would you?”

“I would if it involved tampering with ancient magical artifacts!” Hermione snapped. She turned back to the students, her stern professor voice in full force. “This is wildly irresponsible—”

“But it worked perfectly in practice!” another student piped up.

“Well,” Malfoy said, clearly enjoying himself, “why don’t we see for ourselves?”

Before Hermione could stop them, the first student flicked their wand and said, “Sonorus Poeticum!”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

The suit of armor trembled, lifting a hand to its metal chest.

And then, in a deep, booming voice, it declared:

"O fair and noble wizards true,
Your trespass here shall cost to you!"

Hermione’s stomach dropped.

Malfoy’s smirk faltered. “That’s… dramatic.”

Then, with an ear splitting creak, the entire row of suits of armor began to move.

The students stumbled backward in alarm as the lead knight drew its sword.

"A sonnet now for all to hear,
Your fate lies close, so flee in fear!"

The other suits unsheathed their weapons in unison.

Malfoy blinked. “Oh, shit.”

One of the students shrieked.

The knight took a step forward.

Then another.

Then it charged.

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN—” Malfoy yanked Hermione backwards by her robes just as the suits of armor lunged forward, swords raised.

The students screamed and bolted in every direction.

But the knights weren’t chasing them.

They were chasing Hermione and Malfoy.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL KIND OF PRANK IS THIS?” Malfoy bellowed as they sprinted down the corridor.

“I DON’T KNOW, YOU ENCOURAGED IT!” Hermione shouted back, trying not to trip over her own robes.

Behind them, the armored knights thundered after them, metal boots clanking loudly, their swords raised high.

"Doomed souls who dare to fight their fate,
You run, you flee—but it’s too late!"

Malfoy let out a strangled laugh. “ARE WE ACTUALLY BEING HUNTED BY SHAKESPEAREAN MURDERERS?”

“I THINK SO,” Hermione wheezed.

They took a sharp left, skidding into another hallway.

“FIX IT!” Malfoy demanded.

“I’M TRYING!” Hermione cast a counterspell, but instead of stopping the knights—

A hidden panel in one of them clicked open, and a small wooden box tumbled out.

Hermione barely had time to react before Malfoy grabbed her hand again, yanking her toward a nearby alcove just as one of the knights swung its sword—narrowly missing them.

They pressed back against the stone, panting.

Malfoy’s breath was warm against her cheek. “Tell me,” he said between gasps, “how does it feel knowing your relentless need to interfere has almost gotten us decapitated?”

Hermione glared at him. “You encouraged them!”

“Encouraged? Maybe. Suggested weaponizing iambic pentameter? No.”

Another knight lurched toward them raising his sword above his head, his empty helmet creaking open to shout at them.

"For love unspoken, hearts held tight,
Two souls must face their darkest night!"

Malfoy stared at the knight, appalled. “Granger. What is it insinuating?”

Hermione did not have time for this. Raising her wand she cast bombarda, pieces of shiny armor littered the corridor as it exploded, buying them some time. Breathing heavily she turned to Malfoy with an incredulous expression. 

“You know Shakespeare?” She asked, surprised by Malfoy knowing of the Muggle Poet. Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

"Shakespeare was a halfblood, of course I know who he is.” Malfoy replied, wiping away the perspiration on his brow. Hermione blinked at him, baffled. 

“Shakespeare wasn't a wizard.” 

“Uh, yes he was. Listed in Most Famous Wizards and Witches of the 1580’s?” Malfoy said, scoffing. “Honestly, Granger. I thought you read.” 

Hermione bristled in annoyance, “No– I would remember if he was a wizard. He would have been listed under S in ‘The Sonnet Sorcerer: A Collection of Bewitching Ballads’.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, “Not if you read the 1890’s edition where there was a misprint.” 

“A MISPRINT? WHY ON EARTH WOULD THE ONLY COPY IN THE LIBRARY BE A MISPRINT?” 

“BECAUSE HOGWARTS IS STILL A SCHOOL AND THE LIBRARY RUNS OFF OF THE DONATIONS OF PUREBLOODS AND HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A PUREBLOOD WILLINGLY LET GO OF ANYTHING IN THEIR LIFE–” Malfoy’s yell was cut off by the creaking of another knight showing up. Both of them turned to look at the enchanted armor. 

“Ah, bollocks.” Malfoy muttered, he grabbed Hermione’s hand and they tore off down the corridor again as the armor cried after them. 

"For love unspoken, hearts weighed down by time,
Two souls entwined in fate’s unyielding grasp.
A shadowed past, a steep, unyielded climb,
The echoes whisper secrets none dare ask.

Through corridors of ghosts and sins untold,
They flee the night, yet darkness runs behind.
No blade nor spell can shape what fate unfolds,
For chains once forged still bind the strongest mind.”

Malfoy’s grip tightened around Hermione’s wrist as he yanked her forward, urgency in every step. His breath came fast, matching hers, boots pounding against the stone as the thunderous clanking of enchanted armor closed in behind them.

He scanned the corridor frantically, eyes darting between doorways and shadowed corners.

Then—there. A narrow alcove, barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

Without thinking, Malfoy jerked her inside, pressing them both against the cold stone just as the knights stormed past, still bellowing their eerie, poetic warnings.

“Turn not away, O cursed child of war,
The past you flee shall find you evermore."

Hermione barely had time to register the words before she realized—

Malfoy had her pinned. His body was flush against hers, one arm braced beside her head, the other clamped over her mouth.

Her eyes widened, but before she could protest, Malfoy leaned in, murmuring lowly against her ear.

“Don’t. Move.”

She stilled instantly, heart hammering, their breath mingling in the small, dark space.

The knights’ heavy steps echoed down the corridor, fading slowly as they charged deeper into the castle.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

The only sound was the pounding of her pulse—or maybe that was his.

And then, far too aware of just how close they were, Hermione arched a pointed brow.

Malfoy blinked. His gaze flicked to where his hand still covered her mouth.

Right.

He dropped it instantly, stepping back as if she had burned him.

“Well,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “That wasn’t awkward at all.”

Hermione glared at him, ignoring the sudden warmth in her chest.

“Move.”

“My pleasure.” He responded dryly, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. Hermione peered out of the alcove to check if the coast was clear, satisfied there was no immediate threat they creeped out from their hiding spot. 

***

The enchanted knights were still on the move, their metal boots clanking against the stone as they searched for their fleeing prey. 

"No blade nor spell can shape what fate unfolds,
For chains once forged still bind the strongest mind!"

Malfoy groaned, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Right. That’s enough of that.”

Hermione, equally exasperated, tightened her grip on her wand. “Agreed.”

They exchanged a look—one of those rare, unspoken moments where their minds aligned perfectly.

Time to end this.

Malfoy moved first, flicking his wand at the nearest knight.

"Depulso!"

The force of the spell sent the armor skidding back, but it quickly regained its footing, its sword raised high.

Hermione, already predicting the counter, swooped in, casting a Disarming Jinx that sent the weapon spinning into the air.

“Nice,” Malfoy admitted begrudgingly, before dodging another knight’s swing.

“Less talking, more spellwork!” Hermione shot back, flicking her wand in a tight, controlled motion.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes shot forward, attempting to bind one of the knights, but the enchanted armor sliced through them like parchment.

“Oh, come on!” Hermione huffed.

Malfoy, meanwhile, was dealing with two knights at once, his wand movements fluid and precise.

"Expelliarmus!"

One knight’s sword flew across the hall—

"Confringo!"

The second stumbled backward as a well-placed explosion rocked its frame.

For a moment, Hermione was distracted watching him, surprised at how effortlessly he fought.

Malfoy, of course, noticed.

“Granger,” he drawled, sidestepping an incoming strike, “as flattering as it is to be admired, now might not be the time.”

Hermione scowled, flicking her wand and stunning the knight Malfoy had dodged. “Just focus, Malfoy.”

“Thought I was.”

“On the fight!”

“Ah, right.” He smirked. “My mistake.”

Hermione gritted her teeth and ignored him.

After what felt like a lifetime of dodging and dueling, Hermione realized something—

“No matter how many times we knock them down, they just keep getting back up.”

“Brilliant observation, Granger. Really. Ten points to Gryffindor,” Malfoy said dryly, rolling out of the way as a knight’s sword sliced through the air where his head had been.

“I’m serious,” Hermione shot back. “There must be a core enchantment—something anchoring the spell!”

Malfoy scowled. “You mean the prank magic?”

“Yes! It has to be written into the original spellwork.”

A lightbulb clicked in Malfoy’s head.

“The poetry!”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Exactly! They’re following the rhyme sequence!”

Malfoy didn’t hesitate—he lifted his wand and snarled,

"Silencio!"

The nearest knight froze mid-step, its sword arm twitching but unable to continue its dramatic monologue.

Hermione followed suit, casting the spell on the remaining knights.

One by one, the suits of armor locked in place, their bodies still but their mouths moving soundlessly, as if trying desperately to continue their ominous recitations.

Malfoy exhaled. “If only I’d known all it took to shut them up was silencing them.”

Hermione ignored his sarcasm, already flipping through counter-curse options in her head.

“Now, to undo it properly…” She flicked her wand and muttered a reversal incantation, tracing a rune midair. “Finite Incantatem!”

The golden glow of lingering magic unraveled—and then, just like that, the knights stood completely still, lifeless suits of armor once more.

Malfoy let out a low whistle, brushing dust off his robes. “Not bad, Granger. I’d almost say we made a good team.”

Hermione, still catching her breath, glanced sideways at him. “We didn’t kill each other. That’s enough of an accomplishment.”

Malfoy snorted.

***

With the knights officially neutralized, it was time to round up the troublemakers.

It didn’t take long—Malfoy, still in a foul mood over nearly being beheaded by poetic armor, dragged the students out of their hiding spots with a glare so sharp it could have petrified a basilisk.

Hermione stood over the trembling fifth-years, arms crossed. “Do you realize how dangerous that was?”

The students squirmed under her stare, looking thoroughly miserable.

“We just—” one of them muttered, “—wanted the suits of armor to be a little… dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Malfoy repeated, voice dangerously low. “You almost killed your professors with sonnets.”

One of the students made the mistake of laughing.

Malfoy’s brows shot up. “Oh. You think this is funny?”

Hermione, foreseeing bloodshed, stepped in. “Enough. You’re all going to put these suits of armor back where they belong, one by one—without magic.”

The students groaned loudly, but Hermione’s glare silenced them immediately.

Malfoy smirked as the students begrudgingly got to work, dragging the suits of armor back into position.

“I like when you get all authoritative, Granger.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

It was well past one in the morning by the time the last suit of armor was back in place.

Just as Hermione turned to dismiss the students, the familiar click of sensible house slippers echoed down the hall.

Hermione winced.

Malfoy straightened immediately.

And there she was, Headmistress McGonagall, in her housecoat and tartan slippers, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here.

For a long, tense moment, she simply observed the scene—the exhausted students, the two equally exhausted professors, and the freshly repositioned knights standing stiffly in their proper places.

Then, she sighed.

“I assume,” McGonagall said dryly, pinching the bridge of her nose, “that this is the conclusion of whatever catastrophe you two found yourselves in this time?”

Malfoy opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something insufferable, but Hermione jabbed her elbow into his ribs before he could get a word out.

“Oof—bloody hell, Granger!” Malfoy hissed, doubling over slightly.

Hermione smiled politely at McGonagall, ignoring Malfoy’s pained scowl. “Yes, Professor. Everything is under control now.”

McGonagall eyed them both, clearly skeptical. Then, finally, she let out a tired sigh.

“Well,” she said, rubbing her temple, “as much as it pains me to admit it, good work.”

Malfoy straightened, smirking. “You hear that, Granger? Good work.”

Hermione, without missing a beat, elbowed him again.

McGonagall, looking far too sleep-deprived to deal with them, merely turned on her heel and walked away.

***

Despite having been up late the night before Hermione found herself awake at five am, bleary eyed and desperate for a morning cuppa before her first lesson started she got dressed for the day. Throwing her hair up into a twisted knot and shrugging on her coziest jumper, she raced out of her staff dorm to the kitchens. 

While being obsessed with freeing the House elves during her own time at Hogwarts, Hermione had finally come to terms with the fact that they were simply happiest while they were busy. Something that she had in common with them, and frankly, she had gotten tired of Ronald rubbing her nose in it every time a House elf had turned down her offer of payment for their service. 

The kitchen was full of activity that morning while the elves ran around getting the breakfast feast ready for the students and staff. Trays of sausages, platters of eggs and towers of toast floated over their heads as they moved about. One small elf in her uniform came over to Hermione, leaning over into a dramatic bow. 

“Miss is here for her morning tea, Lottie presumes?” The little elf squeaked, her bluebell eyes round behind her tiny spectacles.

Hermione smiled at the little creature. 

“Oh, please Lottie, I’ll take it to go this morning. You all are so busy this morning, I think I’ll take a walk and try to wake up a little more before my classes– long night, you know.” 

Lottie nodded her head, snapping her fingers. A travel mug appeared with Hermione’s preferred brew, two sugars and a splash of milk already stirred in.

 “Yes, miss. Heard the commotion from the kitchens we did. Very naughty children, miss, but most fun to watch.” Lottie giggled, handing Hermione her tea and waving to her as Hermione exited the kitchen.  

Hermione climbed the staircases, heading to her favourite spot at the Astronomy tower where the view was best to watch the sunrise. Stifling a yawn as she went, nodding her head in greeting to the students already up for the morning or heading to Quidditch practice. 

“Morning Professor Granger!” 

“Good morning Teddy,” Hermione called out to a particular Hufflepuff boy, who was sporting a mass of fluorescent pink hair that morning. Remus and Tonks’ son waved as he passed, broomstick in hand and surrounded by his teammates– clearly heading to the pitch. 

Hermione finally reached the doors to the Astronomy tower, bracing her face against the chilly breeze from the open air balcony. The giant orrery whirred softly as it moved. The morning sky was still dark, a few stars still twinkling away despite the soft pink glow that was rising over the Black Lake. 

As Hermione walked towards the railing to her preferred perch, she noticed a tall figure standing in her spot. Dark cloak swaying in the breeze, Draco Malfoy stared off into the distance– lost in thought. 

“Have you even slept yet?” Hermione whispered, trying not to scare him. Malfoy flinched nonetheless, turning to face her. Dark circles lined his eyes, his normally stormy grey iris dulled with an achy tiredness, his mass of blond hair wind blown. Hermione wondered how long he had been out there, something clearly bothering him. 

Malfoy cleared his throat, “Sorry Granger, am I in your spot?” He slid over a step to make room for her. Hermione moved over to stand next to him, her arm brushing against his cloak as she leaned against the railing. 

“You okay?” She asked quietly. Malfoy sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. 

“Do you honestly care, Granger.” 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” She said, trying not to take his tone personally.

It wasn’t like they were particularly close, he had other friends to talk to if something was bothering him, but she felt like they had come a long way as colleagues since he started teaching. 

“Something one of those stupid suits of armor said,” Malfoy muttered, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I guess it’s just been on my mind.”

Hermione frowned, watching him carefully. “What part?”

His jaw clenched. He hesitated. And that was new.

Draco Malfoy was many things—a nuisance, a perfectionist, a smug pain in her arse—but he was never hesitant.

He exhaled sharply, eyes fixed on the horizon, like the answer could be found in the rising sun.

"Turn not away, O cursed child of war,
The past you flee shall find you evermore."

He repeated it softly, like the words had sunk into his bones and refused to let go.

Hermione stayed silent, letting him take his time.

“It’s ridiculous,” Malfoy finally muttered, rolling his shoulders stiffly, like he was physically trying to shake it off. “It was a prank. Just some overly dramatic rhyming nonsense from a suit of armor.”

But his voice lacked conviction.

“You don’t believe that,” Hermione said gently.

Malfoy let out a short, humorless laugh. “No. I don’t.”

A pause.

Then, a whisper, barely there—“Because it’s right.”

Hermione’s heart twisted.

She turned, finally getting a proper look at him. He was still staring at the sky, but his hands were gripping the stone railing tightly, like letting go might make him collapse in on himself.

He was struggling, and it hit her then—really hit her—just how much weight Malfoy had carried alone for so many years.

“I didn’t just follow orders,” he said suddenly, voice low and rough. “I made choices. I—” He swallowed thickly. “I marked people for death, Granger. That’s what the Dark Lord had me do. That’s what I spent my sixth year learning how to perfect.”

Hermione stilled, knowing this was something he had never said aloud before.

“People love to say I had no choice,” Malfoy continued, his voice turning sharp. “Like I was just some pawn, some tragic idiot forced into something he didn’t want. But I—” He exhaled shakily, finally looking at her, his expression raw. “I had choices. And I still did nothing.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.

“Dumbledore,” Malfoy whispered, the name like a ghost on his tongue. “He offered me a way out. I could’ve taken it. I could’ve—” He stopped, jaw locking, shaking his head like he couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

“You were sixteen, Draco,” Hermione said, softer now, because Merlin, he needed to hear it.

His eyes snapped to hers, frustration flickering behind them. “And you were seventeen, fighting in a war, making real sacrifices. You actually did something, Granger.”

Hermione didn’t look away. “You don’t think what you went through was real?”

Malfoy let out a shaky breath, rubbing at his face.

“I can still hear him, sometimes,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Dumbledore. The way he spoke to me that night. He wasn’t afraid of me. He was just… sad.”

Hermione’s chest tightened.

“I wasn’t brave enough,” he muttered. “I let people suffer. I let people die. Merlin, I almost killed Weasley in my pursuit for Dumbledore. And no matter how much distance I put between myself and that version of me, it’ll always be there. The past I fled will always find me.”

“The past you flee shall find you evermore.”

Hermione felt every ounce of his guilt, his regret, and she knew there were no perfect words to erase it.

But there was one thing she could offer.

She let out a slow breath. “I obliviated my parents.”

Malfoy blinked, his focus sharpening on her immediately. “What?”

“I modified their memories before the war,” Hermione said quietly. “Made them forget I ever existed. Gave them new lives in Australia. New names, new jobs, new dreams. They don’t remember me, Malfoy. Don’t remember that they had a daughter.”

Malfoy stared at her. Processing.

“I never got it back,” she continued. “I tried. After the war, I went looking for them, thinking I could just… fix it. But I couldn’t.”

She swallowed. “I took away their entire history. Everything they had built for themselves—gone. Because of me.”

Malfoy opened his mouth. Stopped. Closed it again.

He studied her, his gaze heavier now, filled with something unreadable.

“You regret it?” he asked.

Hermione laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “I feel guilty,” she admitted. “I took away who they were, their love for me, everything we had ever shared. But I have never—not once—regretted it.”

Malfoy’s fingers curled against the stone railing, watching her carefully.

“Because they’re alive,” Hermione finished, meeting his gaze. “They’re safe.”

Malfoy exhaled through his nose, staring down at his hands, like he was turning over her words over and over in his mind.

A long moment passed.

Then, quietly—

“…You did the right thing.”

Hermione’s chest tightened again, but this time, it was different.

He meant it.

And maybe, just maybe—she believed it too.

They stood in silence, the pink hues of morning creeping across the lake, the weight of their confessions hanging between them like fragile glass.

But somehow, it didn’t feel so heavy.

Not anymore.