The Tale of Three Brothers
Hermione was astonished. There had been a noticeable shift in the atmosphere at the house in the past weeks. The Malfoys no longer wore their customary sneers. While they still regarded her with the air of aristocrats enduring the presence of a presumptuous peasant, they acknowledged her as a person—something that hadn’t seemed possible before.
There are some experiences that forge unlikely connections, and breaking the curse of the Dark Mark was undoubtedly one of them. It had taken Hermione four months of pretending to be nice—and an unsettlingly cursed tattoo—to gain their grudging acceptance. But she had made progress, however slight.
The next day, Hermione was buzzing with anticipation. After dinner, Narcissa extended an unexpected invitation: tea with the three Malfoys. The Malfoys would gather in the smaller drawing room post dinner every once a while since both the older Malfoys like to sip chamomile tea before bed time, but Hermione was hardly ever invited. The door was usually warded with silencing charms, impenetrable to even Extendable Ears.
She sat on the far end of the lounge and waited impatiently for Lucius Malfoy to divulge the details about the wand You-Know-How was seeking. Lucius Malfoy showed no sign of haste and quietly poured a cup of tea, taking small sips from the cup.
Draco, seated nearby, studied her with a curious expression, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The sneer that he usually reserved for her was conspicuously absent, replaced by something closer to genuine curiosity.
“So,” Hermione prompted, breaking the silence, “you mentioned yesterday about a wand.”
Lucius set down his cup. “Yes. The last task the Dark Lord entrusted to me and Bellatrix was to locate a wand for him. Specifically, to find Gregorovitch—a wandmaker of considerable repute.”
Hermione replied, her brow furrowing. “But that doesn’t make sense. Gregorovitch stopped making wands years ago.”
“How do you know that?” Lucius asked, his voice sharp with interest. Both Draco and Narcissa leaned forward, their curiosity piqued as Hermione mentioned the wandmaker.
“Victor told me,” Hermione replied matter-of-factly. “He has one of Gregorovitch’s wands. It’s one of the last he made before he disappeared without a trace.”
“Victor? Victor Krum?” Draco interjected, his eyes widening slightly. “You’re still in contact with him?”
“Yes, I am,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Why is that so shocking to everyone? Honestly, we kept in touch over the years. We’ve met a few times, and he mentioned this to me amongst many other things we discussed.”
“Victor Krum? The Bulgarian Seeker?” Lucius mused, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. “He attended Durmstrang, did he not? That institution harbors many… believers. They’ve even carved the mark of the quest into the school’s walls. Shacklebolt might be aware of the quest, or perhaps certain members of the Order. They may find this information useful. After all, all those who believe in the quest are seeking it.”
“Believers of what?” Hermione interrupted, “Are you saying they’re all after the wand? This makes no sense!”
“Well, you see the believers seek the Deathly Hallows,” said Lucius.
“What do you mean? What exactly are the Deathly Hallows?” asked Hermione.
Lucius set aside his empty teacup. “I assume you are familiar with “The Tale of the Three Brothers?”
When Hermione gave no sign of recognition, Lucius asked “The Tales of Beedle the Bard? I am sure you have heard of them?”
“No I don’t know of the Tale of Three Brothers and as for this book,” said Hermione, “The Tales of Beedle the Bard…I have never heard of it.”
“You’ve never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?’ Draco asked incredulously, “You are kidding right? You must have read half of Hogwarts library and you haven’t read…”
“No, I haven’t!” exclaimed Hermione, momentarily distracted by the unsettling realization that there was a popular book others had read, but she hadn’t—a rarity that she found almost inconceivable.
“Oh! Come on, all the old kids’ stories are supposed to be Beedle’s aren’t they?” The Fountain of Fair Fortune…The Wizard and the Hopping Pot…Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump…”
“Excuse me?” said Hermione giggling, “I am sorry what was that last one again?”
“Oh shut up! Real mature!” said Draco with a scowl and crossed his arms in disbelief.
“You know fully that I was brought up by Muggles, I didn’t hear stories of Babbitty Rabitty and her cackling whatever…which by the way sounds ghastly for a children’s story!” said Hermione.
“If you children are done bickering, perhaps I can go back to the discussion at hand?” asked Lucius, his voice growing impatient.
Draco quickly regained his composure, feigning nonchalance as he brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his robes. Hermione narrowed her eyes, her chin tilting upward in defiance, as though not having read a supposedly popular book was of no consequence to her—though her irritation betrayed otherwise.
Lucius continued, “Well, as I was saying, the Tale of the Three Brothers goes like this…There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight…”
“Midnight, mother always told me midnight,” said Draco. Lucius shot him a look of annoyance while Narcissa smiled into her cup.
“It’s just spookier if it’s told as midnight. Sorry, Father—please, go on…” Draco said hastily. Hermione, however, couldn’t help but be amused. The idea that a children’s tale could excite Malfoy enough to interrupt his father was both surprising and oddly endearing.
Lucius continued, “In time, the brothers reached a river, too deep to wade through, and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands, and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it, when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure, it was Death. And Death spoke to them…”
“Sorry,” interjected Hermione, “but Death spoke to them?”
“It is a children’s tale Granger, you don’t have to take it literally!” said Draco rolling his eyes.
Lucius ignored them both and continued, “And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for being clever enough to evade him. “
“So, the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence. A wand that must always win battles for its owner. A wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death. So, Death crossed to an Elder Tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that had hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.”
"Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So, Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.”
"Finally, Death turned to the third brother. A humble man, he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And so it was that Death reluctantly handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.”
“In due course, the brothers separated, each for his own destination . The first brother travelled for a week or more, and, reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard, with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted of the powerful wand which he had snatched from Death himself and of how it made him invincible. That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay wine-sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand, and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. And so, Death took the first brother for his own.”
"Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here, he took out the stone which had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as though by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there, and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad by hopeless longing, killed himself, so as to truly join her. And so, Death took the second brother for his own.”
"But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility, and gave it to his son. And then, he greeted Death as an old friend, went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life.”
Lucius stopped talking and stared back at Hermione, who took a moment or two to realise that the story had ended.
“Sorry, so how is this about the Hallows?” asked Hermione, sounding confused.
“Those are the Deathly Hallows. Together the three artefacts make the Hallows” said Lucius.
“But there is no such mention in the story.” said Hermione.
“Well, ofcourse not,” said Draco, maddeningly smug. “It is a children’s tale.” Lucius had an ugly scowl on his face, he was not taking well to his son rudely interrupting him.
“Those of us who understand the old ways, know and recognise that the story refers to the three objects that make the Deathly Hallows,” said Narcissa.
“But then do you mean…” said Hermione slowly, trying to keep the skepticism away from her voice,”that you believe these objects- these Hallows- actually exist.”
“Well, of course,” said Narcissa. Lucius raised an eyebrow and Draco tried to stifle a laugh.
“We all know Invisibility cloaks exist, they are rare…but it is possible that a real one, which truly render the wearer invisible and not fade with age must exist! I have told you this before at least a thousand times Lucius.” piped Narcissa.
“Cissa, We both come from immeasurable wealth and old wizarding families, none of us has ever seen such a thing. Your belief stems from your father reading a story to his little girl who happens to love such tales! ” added Lucius.
Hermione knew of such an invisibility cloak, she had used Harry’s cloak a number of times, but she wasn’t about to confess that to the Malfoys. “All right, let’s say the cloak existed but what about the Elder Wand and the Resurrection stone? How can that be real?”
“Exactement!” said Lucius. “The Elder wand doesn’t exist, like the other imaginary artefacts.”
Narcissa looked outraged, “Because nobody’s proved it doesn’t exist, must mean it is real. You all should open your mind a little bit. You must have heard of the wand in the pages of history, its bloody trail is splattered across pages. Eric the Evil? Barnabus Deverill?”
“If you think we actually paid attention to anything that boring old ghost Binns droned on about in History of Magic, you’re very much mistaken, Mother,” said Draco with a hint of exasperation.
Lucius glanced at Hermione, she was frowning at Draco but did not contradict him.
“What do you think?” he asked Hermione.
“Sorry it sounds a bit too good to be true. A wand is only as good as the wizard, is it not?” asked Hermione.
“Do you remember your first time at Ollivanders, did he not tell you that the wand chooses the wizard?” asked Narcissa.
“Wait, how do you know that!” said Hermione with her eyes wide in surprise.
“C’mon, he says that to everyone. Old man Garrick lost his marbles a long time ago,” scoffed Lucius.
“It is a story to tell children isn’t it? To teach them lessons and scare them into doing good things. Come to think out of it, perhaps that story’s why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky” said Draco.
“What are you talking about?” asked Hermione.
“One of those scary superstitions. “Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight”, “Wand of Elder, never Prosper”, “May-born witches will marry…” Draco was interrupted mid-sentence by a loud cough by Lucius.
“I was raised by Muggles so I was taught different superstitions.” scowled Hermione.
“It might just be a morality tale, but it is obvious which gift is best, which one would you choose?” asked Narcissa.
The four of them spoke at the same time, Hermione and Draco said ‘the wand’, Lucius said ‘the stone’ and Narcissa said ‘the cloak’.
They looked at each other, half surprised, half amused.
“You are supposed to say the cloak to appear modest Granger,” Draco told Hermione,” but if you had the wand, a powerful, unbeatable wand why would you need a clock anyway, you could just cast a powerful disillusionment spell.”
“The wand would attract trouble, and the cloak is rather useless for a wizard who can do a disillusionment charm, the stone is the one that is unique and invaluable. No magic can bring back the dead,” added Lucius.
“The wand is dangerous only if you go shouting about it, dancing around telling everyone about an unbeatable wand, “Come have a go”, you just need to keep your trap shut…” said Draco.
Hermione nodded, surprised to find herself agreeing with Malfoy on something for perhaps the first time ever. “You know, the only consistent thing is that there have been stories about extraordinarily powerful wands for centuries,” she said.
“There have?” Draco asked, genuinely intrigued.
Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, “Of course! Some of us actually pay attention in Professor Binns’ classes. The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny—they’ve appeared under different names throughout history. It’s all nonsense, of course. But,” she added thoughtfully, “there’s no mention of any stones or cloaks in the historical records. So if there’s even a shred of truth to this, the wand would be the easiest to trace.”
Lucius and Draco continued to argue about the Hallows, but Hermione’s mind was now racing. Voldemort was raised in a muggle orphanage. Nobody would have told him about The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and like Hermione he wouldn’t have believed in the existence of the same. Was it likely that he knew about the Deathly Hallows?
Hermione gazed into darkness…Well, perhaps not, else why would he create the Horcruxes? If he knew about them, he would have surely sought them out, done anything to possess them like he did for Flamel’s Philosopher’s stone. If he had known about the Hallows, he would not have needed the Horcruxes in the first place. Which meant that Voldemort wanted the wand for what it best existed for…its bloody history and the legend behind it. He just thinks it is a powerful wand.
“So, in the end, the legend of the Elder Wand is nothing more than a children’s tale. Even if it does exist, acquiring it would be nearly impossible,” Lucius said. “The Dark Lord is an extraordinarily powerful wizard; he doesn’t need the Elder Wand. The fact that he’s seeking it means he intends to use it against Potter, to counter the phoenix feather core in Potter’s wand.”
Draco flinched at the finality of his father’s words. If the Dark Lord were to acquire that powerful wand, Potter wouldn’t stand a chance. This hiding out in the Muggle world might just become permanent, he thought grimly.
“I must say, there’s an overwhelming amount of lore surrounding wand cores and the types of wizards they choose,” Hermione continued, her voice thoughtful. “But doesn’t the wizard’s own choice matter more? Harry and You-Know-Who have the same wand core, yet they are so fundamentally different. So, really, the wand itself isn’t the deciding factor.”
“Wand lore is far more intricate than that,” Narcissa said.“The secrets aren’t shared freely. The Ollivanders are one of the oldest and most prestigious pureblood families to master the craft. One doesn’t simply enter an apprenticeship to become a wandmaker. You need to be practically born into it.”
Hermione absentmindedly twirled her wand between her fingers, her mind drifting back to her first visit to Ollivanders. She recalled the moment when she had chosen her wand. “Ten and three-quarters inches, vine wood and dragon heartstring, unyielding,” Mr. Ollivander had said. Surprising, very surprising indeed. I haven’t had a Muggle-born choose a dragon heartstring in years. Vine wood wands are particularly picky, Miss Granger. You seem to be a witch with hidden depths.”
“Dragon heartstring, is it not?” Lucius said, eyeing Hermione’s vine wood wand with interest. “A fine choice. Very powerful magic can be performed with it. It’s preferred by purebloods, you see. The dragon must lose its life to provide the core, unlike other materials that are simply... plucked. The magic from the dragon binds to the owner in a far more potent way than the magic from a unicorn or phoenix core ever could.”
Narcissa rolled her eyes at this proclamation, but Draco, on the other hand, gazed at Hermione’s wand with a wistful expression. He couldn’t help but remember his own time at Ollivanders in Diagon Alley, the weight of the wand he had chosen still lingering in his thoughts.
The selection of his wand had sparked a heated argument between his parents back home. Draco remembered the shouting that echoed from the parlour, where his parents’ voices rose in anger. He had sneaked in with his elf and listened from the other side of the door.
“This is all your fault, Cissa!” Lucius yelled. “You’ve turned him into a mummy’s boy. The elves have been stuffing him with sweets and candy. And now he’s chosen a wand with a unicorn hair core—a girl’s wand!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lucius,” Narcissa snapped. “We hardly know anything about wand lore. This obsession of wizards with dragon heartstring wands is just ridiculous—overcompensating for something else entirely. A unicorn hair core is a perfectly reasonable and honourable choice.”
Draco glanced at his wand, still remembering his desire for one like his father’s—Elm and Dragon Heartstring, passed down from his grandfather and perfect for complex spells. Yet, when he’d touched the Hawthorne wand in Ollivanders almost six years ago, he’d felt an immediate connection.
His parents had left him alone in the shop after he chose his wand. Noticing his disappointment, Mr. Ollivander had said, “Mr. Malfoy, don’t get swayed by others’ opinions. Hawthorne and unicorn hair is a rare combination—only six of these have ever been made, and none sold until now. Hawthorne struggles to support unicorn hair, but yours is pliant. Expect contradictions in your life, but your wand will always choose the magic closest to your heart.” Draco had never shared this with anyone; it remained his secret.
His wand had failed him only once, when he had tried to cast the killing curse on Dumbledore and couldn’t do so, but he hardly blamed his wand for it. His thoughts were interrupted when Hermione abruptly got up and announced that she was off to bed.
“Well, this was quite educational and thank you for sharing it with me Mr, Malfoy. However, I don’t think the Elder wand is real, and if it were, I don’t think the quest is worth the time & effort. Good night to you all.” Hermione said and strode across the room.
Draco continued to stare deeply into his tea cup, which was now empty except for the dregs of leaves at the bottom.
“Do you think it was wise, Lucius, to tell her that the Dark Lord is looking for the Elder Wand? She’s helped you and Draco, but this could change the course of the war and trace back to us,” Narcissa asked.
Lucius paused before replying, “I’m not convinced the Dark Lord will find it. My father spent years searching for the wand with all his resources, and still failed. The wand probably doesn’t even exist. The real danger is that if Potter’s side stops getting information from us, we’ll be expendable—and Miss Granger will desert us.”
Draco’s hand instinctively moved to his left arm. “If she wanted to harm us, she wouldn’t have helped with the Mark.”
“I’m not sure what truly motivates Miss Granger, and I refuse to believe it’s out of the goodness of her heart to keep us alive,” Lucius said sharply. “The curse she transferred is advanced magic, and by any standard, it’s dark. We need her to believe we’re useful, Draco. For that, we must keep feeding her information.”
Reluctantly, Lucius added, “And I want this war’s outcome to change quickly. We should return to the manor—this Muggle house is starting to get to me.”
Draco lingered long after his parents had retired to bed. He was starting to see things more clearly—the Dark Lord cared only about his own power, with his followers as expendable resources. Draco, the last heir of two ancient wizarding families, had been no exception when the Dark Lord had used the Mark to hurt him. Now, Draco questioned whether the Dark Lord had ever truly cared about blood purity or if it had all been a ruse to manipulate wealthy old wizarding families to fund his own personal quest for limitless power.
Merlin, how naive he'd been. The near-death experience and the curse lifting from his Mark made him reconsider the past few months. Perhaps Granger wasn’t as foolish as he thought for supporting Potter. She must know more, and if she was hiding information, Draco was determined to uncover the whole truth this time.
*****
The opportunity came sooner than he expected. Since his illness, Narcissa had taken to doing chores with Granger, while Draco conveniently shirked his duties. He spent his days wandering the vast gardens, hiding in the shadows of trees, and only returning for meals. It annoyed Granger, but that was just an added bonus.
One afternoon, as he lazed under a lemon tree, he heard a soft pop near the benches. Glancing up, he saw Granger approaching him with purpose.
“Well, there you are. It has been weeks since I have seen you in the house. I know you had a tough time recently but you are all better now, I am sure of it! Your father is back to his old self which means you too would have recovered by now. You can’t avoid your chores forever!” complained Hermione.
“Did you miss me Granger? Leave me alone, will you,” scoffed Draco. When she refused to go away and continued to glare at him with her arms crossed, he decided it was best to deal with it rather than disappear to another hideout.
“What? Here to gloat or collect your favor?” Draco sneered. “How do you live with that oversized head, full of your righteous nonsense? Don’t expect a medal from me. I’m a Malfoy. I don’t owe you anything.” He turned back, pretending to nap.
“Firstly, I’ve been nothing but decent to you, so I expect the same. Secondly, as I told your parents, I didn’t do you a favor. Removing the curse was simply the right thing to do. That’s what I do—what’s right. Are you so arrogant to think everyone is as self-serving as you? Things haven’t been great in the past, but can’t we get past that unpleasantness and at least be civil while we’re here? I think I’ve earned that.”
Draco blinked, stunned by the verbal onslaught, “Uh... maybe. I hadn’t really thought about it.”
When Hermione refused to budge, his expression suddenly turned serious. "Granger, look. I am happy that you helped my mother deal with the crisis and all but it is just… about what I said while we were in school. I didn't really mean it. I don't think of you as a… like that, anymore. At least not really. It's hard to reconcile what I thought I knew, with things changing over the past few months, yeah?”
Hermione frowned. "Wow, that's hardly an apology, Malfoy—"
"That is the best I can do, and Potty and Weasel are not part of the apology. Oh, and like I said earlier I don't think we're friends, exactly. Just not enemies anymore," Draco replied.
“Wonderful, it’s like talking to a five-year-old,” Hermione muttered, returning to shred blades of grass by the bench.
“Then you must have plenty of practice, dealing with your juvenile Gryffindor friends,” Draco remarked.
“I was going to be gracious about this, but now you owe me for saving your life. I want you to teach me Occlumency,” Hermione said. “And don’t pretend you don’t know it. I know you do. Harry heard you boast about it to Professor Snape!”
“That’s a cauldron full of toad spleen! You must be delusional if you think I’ll teach you Occlumency. Father’s already shared important information about the Elder Wand with you—shouldn’t that cover the gratitude?” Draco scoffed.
“The Hallows are a load of dragon dung, and you know it!” Hermione shot back. “An all-powerful wand? The idea is preposterous. A wand is only as good as the wizard using it.”
Draco sniggered, “So the wand doesn’t matter at all to you? Only the skills of the wizard using it?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes, and reluctantly said “Yes” which caused him to smirk even more.
Draco silently agreed with her about the Hallows but refused to admit it. Hermione pressed on. “You know what? Maybe you’re lying about being good at Occlumency. I can do advanced magic, and I’m not afraid to show it.”
Draco narrowed his eyes, weighing the offer. He certainly didn’t want to owe Granger anything, but teaching her Occlumency seemed a small price to pay—especially if it meant keeping his family’s secret betrayal safe as well. It’s not as if she will be a skilled Occlumens just with a few lessons. Plus, the added bonus of using Leglimency on her... The idea of learning all her secrets, and gaining access to Potter’s as well, thrilled him. His eyes glittered, Gryffindors were awful at making deals, he thought.
“Well, the more I think about it, I suppose it’s a fair trade,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “In exchange for you supposedly saving my life, I’ll teach you Occlumency while we’re here.”
“Deal!” Hermione replied, extending her hand. But Draco merely glanced at it, refusing to shake. When she raised an eyebrow, he sighed softly and shook her hand, his discomfort clear as his hand twitched before he shoved it into his pocket.
They both walked back to the house, smirking, each convinced they had come out on top in the deal.
*****
Hermione had struggled for days, trying to figure out how to tell Harry and Ron without revealing her mission. For some reason, she wanted to keep it from Shacklebolt as well. When Ron wrote about Harry’s nightmares—dreams about someone named Gregorovitch—Hermione saw her chance to mention the Hallows.
It was easier than expected since Ron had already read the story. Harry found it hard to believe that Ron had read something before Hermione did, and she could practically feel Ron’s smugness leap off the page.
“Blimey! This is a huge deal. Sounds like something Luna would believe in.” Ron’s messy scrawl made her smile.
“You need to focus on the mission. I’ll research the Founders and let you know what I find,” she wrote back.
“We had to leave the house after the Ministry incident. A Death Eater (can't say who) grabbed onto Harry’s trainers, and the Fidelius charm broke. We’re on the run now. Can’t share our location, but we’re safe.”
After a moment, he added: “I can’t believe you’re still in touch with that duck-footed Bulgarian. It’s fraternizing with the enemy, you know!”
Hermione smiled at the thought of how mad Ron would go if he found out she had agreed to hide the Malfoys in a mansion abroad while Harry and Ron camped out in a tent. She missed her friends terribly but struggled to write to Ron—it felt wrong. He was fighting in a war while she was hiding out.
Their messages had become sparse as they were forced to constantly move, always worried about Snatchers. Hermione slammed the notebook shut, groaning as she wondered how much longer she would be cooped up in this place.
Draco was already sitting under the lemon tree when he heard the soft pop of apparition behind him. “You’re late,” he said.
“Well, bite me. I was busy,” Hermione retorted, sitting on the bench opposite him.
“Don’t make me regret this. Shall we begin?” Draco asked, clearing his throat. He clearly relished the shift in power and began, “The mind is a complex labyrinth, multi-layered—well, most minds are,” he smirked. “Occlumency and Legilimency are two sides of the same coin. One shields the mind, the other explores it. Both require intense mental discipline, emotional control, and focus. Most wizards are either good at one or the other, but rarely both.”
“Emotions like anger, fear, and sadness make the mind vulnerable. To master mind magic, you need to train your mind. Are you keeping up?” Draco asked.
Hermione, sitting cross-legged on the bench, nodded. “Time and space matter in mind magic. Eye contact is often crucial for Legilimency. But the most important tool is the mind itself. Occlumency relies on deception, secrecy, and cunning. Without the right cunning, most wizards fail in Occlumency. Our first task is to train your mind to focus.”
“There are various techniques to divert a Leglimens,” Draco continued. “You’ll need to find what works for you. Some use storytelling to distract, others clear their mind completely by hiding information or store memories in boxes. But first, you must train your mind to relax and focus through meditation. That’s where you’ll start.”
“That’s it? You want me to meditate? I thought you were teaching me advanced magic!” Hermione replied, incredulous.
“It is advanced magic, but you’re not a natural, so you’ll need to start with the basics,” Draco said coolly.
“How do you know I’m not a natural? We haven’t even tried anything yet!” Hermione protested.
“Because you’re not a Black or a Zabini. That kind of ability is inherited through certain families. You know about familial magic and natural talent, right?” Draco scoffed.
Hermione crossed her arms, annoyed. She hated how the Malfoys always treated her like an uneducated village simpleton, but she couldn’t deny that she didn’t understand what familial magic meant.
Draco sighed. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, okay? Hear me out first, then you can yell all you want. There are certain magical traits that are inherited. The Prewetts, for example, are naturally good at flying and duelling. Potters were known for potion-making, which helped build their fortune. The Blacks and Gaunts were always skilled at mind magic, the Malfoys excel at spell work, the Flints at Transfiguration, the Scamanders and Lovegoods with magical creatures, and so on.”
Hermione frowned. “That’s nonsense. Have you seen Harry in the potions lab? He’s atrocious!”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Hermione gasped, realizing what she’d said, but Draco had already caught it and smirked. “Yes, that he is. But his familial talent is in potion-making. He just lacks the discipline to refine it. Instead, he focuses on the flying talent he must have inherited from some distant Prewett in his bloodline. Look, it’s not that you can’t master a skill without being born with it. I’m a better flyer than that Weasel of yours, but you can bet the Falmouth Falcons’ scout would choose him over me any day when it comes to Quidditch. It’s just how last name stereotypes work in the wizarding world. Keep your money with Greengrass and your plants with Longbottom!”
Draco continued, “You’d know when you have a natural talent for something—it comes effortlessly. That’s how you know you’re born with it. Occlumency came easily to me; I mastered it with little effort. Flying, on the other hand, took more work, but I got there eventually.”
A certain sadness washed over her, “So... does that mean I wouldn’t know what my natural talent is because I’m a Muggle-born witch?”
Draco studied her for a moment before answering, “Yes and no. You’ll feel when magic comes naturally to you. People won’t have any preconceived notions based on your last name. When you performed advanced charms and transfiguration in our year, nobody doubted you.”
Hermione stared at the blonde boy in front of her. Well, that almost sounded like a compliment, she thought, it was backhanded but a compliment nevertheless.
Noticing her skepticism, Draco added, “Alright, let me show you. You can try to peek into my mind. Just take out your wand, say the incantation, and remember the movement—it’s a sharp jab starting from the left.”
With a cocky grin on his face, Draco watched her closely. She drew her wand, straightened her posture, and aimed it at his temple.
“Like I said, Granger, eye contact and focus are crucial for Leglimency,” Draco said, his smile widening with menace.
Hermione fixed her gaze on his grey eyes, taking a deep breath. She recited the incantation clearly and focused all her energy on breaking through. She felt resistance immediately, like running into an invisible wall. She pressed harder, but all she saw was a swirling darkness, a cold mist. She tried again, sweat starting to trickle down her neck. With one final push, she broke through—only to find herself back under the tree, she was panting, her breath uneven.
She had ended up moving much closer to Draco than she intended to, and quickly wiped the sweat from her brow, suddenly self-conscious. Draco, however, seemed unaffected, not having moved an inch.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Draco smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “Every morning when you wake up and before you go to bed, spend ten to fifteen minutes meditating. We’ll stick to that for a couple of weeks, then move on to the next steps.” He gave her a dismissive nod, turning away as he casually tossed his silver snitch into the air beneath the tree.
Malfoy’s approach to Occlumency was nothing like how Harry had described it. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was mocking her, but decided to trust the process. After all, in the wizarding world, finding a private tutor for mind magic was nearly impossible, especially since it was such an ancient and obscure branch of magic. The few books she’d managed to find at the Hogwarts Library barely scratched the surface.
After dinner, Hermione retreated to her room, determined to give meditation a try. She focused on her breath, inhaling slowly, then exhaling just as slowly. I can do this. How bad could Malfoy be as a teacher? He’s surely better than Professor Snape was with Harry. Another deep breath in, and out.