Chapter 4
Draco Malfoy was not a patient man. He was curious, grating and had a natural desire to generally irritate people around him. However, the pure magic and anger that radiated off of Hermione as she stormed towards the headmistress’s office warned even him away. Her curls literally crackled and moved with the sheer power bubbling under skin. Malfoy remembered a time when that was him, anger so strong his magic literally fought its way out. He chose not to dwell on the consequences of that particular time, but the lesson remained. Do not push her. Not now.
He did his very best impression of a patient man outside of McGonagall’s office, not forcing his way in alongside Hermione and instead remained ever watchful outside. His eyes swept methodically along the corridors in which he spent his formative years and he could detect no threat. Just students. Many gave him sidelong glances, but he did not engage. He was Draco Malfoy. He did not feel. He did not care.
It was not an insignificant amount of time that Hermione spent with the headmistress and when she came out, her anger had evaporated. Defeat and genuine sadness marred her expression and Malfoy averted his eyes, feeling he was almost intruding on a private moment of grief by simply looking at her face.
Malfoy knew where Hermione’s strict schedule dictated she be next – she had scheduled herself an hour to answer letters and he was sure she would take that time in her office. He followed half a pace behind her as he preferred, close to her in the event of danger but not quite walking next to her.
“You will remain outside of my classroom for all future lessons, tutorials and student meetings,” Hermione broke the silence as they entered her classroom and retreated together to her office. Her tone was not combative, not ridiculing. Malfoy resisted the temptation to react in shock to have heard her speak so… gently? Softly? No… to hear her speak with no fight. It was not something he had heard from her before. Not when she spoke to him.
“That’s not how I work. I need to be in the classroom with you. I am to protect you and-”
“McGonagall has approved it. Too many students are… uncomfortable. I understand you have an assignment, but I have a duty of care to my students. You will remain outside of the classroom,” Malfoy sucked in a breath and slowly pushed it out,
“Very well,” he sighed, sensing the uselessness of putting up an argument, “But to still feel satisfied that I will be able to protect you, I will require your classroom door to remain open, and for no wards to be cast to keep me from entering,” Hermione nodded but did not respond. She reached into the depths of her desk and pulled out a small stack of parchment. Malfoy considered this dismissal and took a seat, leaving a pregnant silence between them. Malfoy wondered to himself if he should perhaps invest in a book to keep him occupied if these long pauses of simply watching Granger work would become commonplace.
Hermione picked up her quill and began to scratch out a response to some of her more recent correspondence – she kept in good touch with multiple healers and muggle doctors alike to keep her research well informed. However, she found writing thoughtful responses challenging as her mind wandered to her students. To Loretta. To what they experienced during the war. It was truly sickening, so much of what her generation and the next suffered.
Time continued to pass silently until 2pm began to creep up on the young professor. She gathered her responses to the letters into two piles – one pile to take to the owlery and one to drop into a muggle post box – and cleared her throat,
“My next tutorial group is arriving any moment.” She did not elaborate. Malfoy was no idiot and knew what this meant – it was his cue to be sent from the room,
“What is this one about? Is it also around defensive wards?” Malfoy asked, unable to help himself. Naturally curious and all that. Hermione shot him a guarded look and paused to analyse. He didn’t seem to be ridiculing or belittling, so she settled for a careful response,
“No. This one is around experimental spell creation. It’s only available to 7th years who take the Advanced Charms NEWT as an extra-curricular for them.” Malfoy’s head gently cocked to one side,
“Is that not dangerous? Allowing students to create spells that do whatever they want? I can think a thousand different ways any one of them could be hurt. Or you, for that matter. Are you sure that I need to-”
“Yes,” Hermione snapped a little too sharply, “You do have to wait outside. I am an excellent professor and would never put my students at risk, I’ll have you know!” She pulled her wand out and flicked it at the chalkboard, updating it with the subject of that tutorial, “Out!” she barked. Malfoy considered biting, the way his every instinct screamed at him to do, but he settled for a cold stare before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.
Hermione sighed to herself as her students filed in. It felt almost helpless, stuck in a situation like this. What was she to do?
The tutorial went well – despite Malfoy’s stupid opinions Hermione quietly said to herself, preening – and the next time she looked up it had just gone half past 4 and she was half way through marking homework assignments. She would pack up in about 20 minutes and head down to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom for the Dumbledore’s Army meeting.
Harry did not feel the need to use the Room of Requirement anymore, seeing as it wasn’t exactly a secret society and he could simply conjure or source himself any equipment he needed. To Hermione, it was a beautiful homage to their school days, but she knew to Harry it was all about never letting children walk into anything as underprepared as he felt. Never again he would say. Never again will he let a child be as scared and defenceless as he was.
The effects of the war really were still felt by all who lived through it, Hermione knew. Her and Harry found refuge in Hogwarts, found family and normalcy, but she knew not everyone was so lucky. Some didn’t make it out, some never moved past it. Some still woke up everyday stuck in the middle of a war 5 years ended, terrified of a man 5 years dead. Could she blame them? Did she not have nightmares of black hair and a shrill laugh? A cursed blade and her blood slowly dripping? Silver eyes fixed on hers, unmoving and…
3 homework assignments left to go. She had been pleasantly surprised by the quality of her students’ work and felt a flicker of happiness at the passion she saw on the parchment before her.
And then everything went sideways.
It all happened in the span of perhaps 3 seconds, possibly less.
The office door opened. No knock, no warning. It swung open with force, but before the door even knocked the wall behind it, Malfoy was out of his seat. His wand was drawn from its holster in his robes, he grabbed the entrant by the wand arm, turned him round to face the empty classroom, forced him to his knees and placed his own wand firmly in the junction between neck and jaw. Malfoy remained between Hermione and the entrant, and snarled in the intruder’s ear,
“Don’t you fucking move!”
Hermione barely had time to drop her quill.
“What the fuck are you doing? Malfoy, get off me you goddamn ferret!” Hermione felt a shriek building in her throat as Malfoy stepped back, a sick grin spreading across his face as he saw who he had overpowered.
“That’s what you get for bursting into a room unannounced, Potter. How was I meant to know it was the Boy with a Golden Dick or whatever it is they call you these days? You could have been anyone,” Malfoy’s voice was suddenly a dead ringer for the drawl of his schoolboy days. Hermione suddenly sprung into action, pushed past Malfoy and helped Harry to his feet,
“Merlin! Are you okay? Harry, I’m so sorry!” Hermione all but gushed, casting a quick diagnostic charm that appeared over Harry’s unruly hair,
“Jesus, ‘mione, I’m fine. All he would’ve done is bruise my knees,” He reassured her before rounding on the blonde man that now leant back against Hermione’s desk, “And just what in the fuck do you think you are doing? Attacking a Hogwarts professor? What is wrong with you? What was that?”
“My job.” Malfoy shrugged. He offered no further explanation as Harry cursed the gods for all they were worth. Harry turned back to his best friend with a worried expression,
“What is this? One of my students said he had seen Draco Malfoy outside your class, I came here as quickly as I could! What is going on?” His green eyes searched her face for explanation but all Hermione could do was sigh,
“It’s McGonagall. She’s worried about… things with my research. Apparently, there are people who want to stop it. So he’s been assigned to… watch over me? I don’t know, basically he’s been assigned to be a pain in my goddamn ass.” Malfoy snorted uncouthly behind the pair but they paid him no mind. Harry sighed and pulled Hermione into a hug, holding her tight,
“This isn’t right, ‘mione. Not at all. Is there anything I can do? Are you okay? How have you been sleeping?” One of Harry’s hands found its way to Hermione’s cheek, holding her gaze. Hermione grimaced and tried not to allow her eyes dart over to Malfoy. She could see him pretending to puke out of the corner of her eye and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“I don’t know. I’m not looking forward to tonight but what can I do? It’s out of my hands.”
“Is it out of my hands? Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so. I saw McGonagall earlier about- about something,” Hermione stumbled over thoughts of Loretta, “But she’s firm. This is it until she and the Ministry says otherwise.” Harry’s lips tightened as he stood back from Hermione and looked her over,
“Right, it’s DA in a minute. Come with me now and we’ll get ready.” Harry guided Hermione out of her office, “Ferrets aren’t allowed! So fuck off and leave us alone,” He barked over his shoulder. Hermione didn’t even bother protesting, knowing the refusal that was about to come.
“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed that I got a handle on you there, Potter, I am on assignment to stick to Granger like glue, and I will not leave her at risk for your ego.” Malfoy snapped back, walking a full pace behind them as they left.
Hermione shook her head and gave Harry a sideways glance, knowing it’s not worth it as the old enemies continue to argue. This man was a far cry from the boy on trial just 5 years ago, and it was so hard to connect them in her mind – she knew it was hard for Harry to remember as well. 5 years ago, they were children. They were scared children armed and sent into a war they didn’t sign up for, for reasons they barely understood. But it had been 5 years, and they had grown up. Harry learned to rely on the people around him, to share the load. Hermione learned when to speak and when to hold her tongue. But Malfoy? He was still the same arrogant boy he was then, hiding behind looks and money and popularity. Even though he was now shit out of luck on two of those.
At least he didn’t continue to needle at Harry too much throughout the evening, although his presence was most certainly not welcome.
The rest of the evening continued to pass, and before she knew it, Hermione was stood in her newly enlarged kitchen with her kettle (of course, modified by her as her laptop was) making herself a cup of tea the muggle way. She knew it would be quicker to make with a flick of her wand, but there was something so supremely satisfying about making herself a good cup of tea the way her mum used to. Once made, Hermione settled herself into the armchair by the fire and took her current book from its spot on the arm of the chair where she left it and prepared to relax into it.
Malfoy occupied himself first by making moves to familiarise himself with the wards around the room. He sat at the dining table and fiddled around with his wand, casting various spells and wards to check what was in place. He added a few of his own to ease his mind before finding he had done all he could there. Malfoy then moved to the kitchen. He peered into cupboards and looked at the strange contraptions Granger kept littered about. One of them appeared to make steam earlier, and another with rectangular holes in it that started to glow red when he pressed a button,
“Stop it,” Hermione ordered from her chair, not even looking up from her book, “It’s a toaster, it will catch fire if you mess around with it.”
“Doesn’t seem very safe if it can combust from some light prodding,” Hermione pretended she did not hear. He considered turning on the next contraption that had some sort of plate inside a metal box but decided against it. He knew muggle inventions could be rather dangerous if not handled with care. Malfoy once had a go in a carriage that moved with no horse, and it made him sick. It was worse than thestrals – he did not like travelling when he could not see what was propelling him.
He continued to peer vaguely at Hermione’s belongings even after she disappeared into her room – she did not care to explain herself, but the wards were strong enough in the living quarters that he could relax slightly and not bother to question it. Just as he was beginning to consider taking a shower, she came back out of the room and caught him rather off guard,
“What are you doing?” He demanded, face tight and eyes squinting as he judged her attire. Hermione scoffed as she sat down in her armchair and began to tie her shoelaces,
“I’m going for a run, Malfoy. It’s exercise. It’s supposed to be good for you.”
“Wait here. I’ll change.” He sighed and headed towards his own room,
“Why? What danger is going to befall me on my run? Am I going to come across a first year?” she gasped in mock-panic, “Well in that case, you’d better come along! I’ll need you there to grab him by the neck and pin him to the floor! How else will I survive?”
“If they burst into your office when you are in actual life-threatening danger from wizards unknown, then you can be damn sure I will do that,” Malfoy bit back, closing his bedroom door behind him, “Potter is damn lucky I didn’t fire!” She heard him shout from behind the door.
“Child,” she muttered under her breath. She set about readying her water bottle and taming her hair into a ponytail while she waited for Malfoy to come out. And when he does… well, she had not expected this.
Malfoy was one of those men you only expect to see in high-end, tailored, regal clothes. Robes, suits and the like. He looked rich and that was what his whole ‘thing’ was in Hermione’s opinion. So, muggle running clothes? Nope. Unsettling. Hate it. Draco Malfoy with his huge frame and Quidditch thighs squeezed into black shorts and a black t-shirt? Not okay. Wrong. Indecent. At least he was faithful to his signature colour, Hermione supposed, seeing not a glint of colour on him. Not even on his trainers. It took her a few seconds to verbalise her surprise,
“What are you wearing?” She hoped her voice contained as much incredulity as she meant it to. It probably didn’t. Malfoy fixed her with a challenging glare,
“I did learn a thing or two in my mandated muggle studies class, you know. And apparently muggle clothes – while generally indecent and covering far too little skin – do have their benefits. I have a small muggle wardrobe for certain purposes and I will admit… it suits me.” He could not resist proverbially patting his own back a little, smirking at the baffled witch before him. She again took a moment to gather her thoughts as she moved to leave her quarters.
“Black washes you out.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
At almost exactly 10pm, Hermione found herself lighting the fire in her bedroom with her wand while she massaged oil into her hair. The run did her well, and while it was rather different to hear Malfoy’s padded footsteps alongside her, she felt sleep settle into her bones in a satisfying way. She was just about to wrap her hair up when a quick knock came from the door. Tension immediately built up in Hermione’s shoulders, she opened the door to her bedroom just a crack – so much of her life was due to be shared with Malfoy now, and therefore she wanted her bedroom to remain a safe haven for her,
“What is it?” Hermione asked, no venom in her tone and no energy to be surprised at what he was wearing – black jogging bottoms and another black t shirt. His hair was damp and tousled over his forehead, having clearly made use of his own shower. Behind Malfoy’s shoulder, Hermione saw a book on the sofa and a mug of something steamy sat on the side table. She wondered to herself if he braved use of the kettle or if he had just conjured it.
“I’d like to see a copy of your schedule for tomorrow. You keep a busy day and it would be pertinent for me to review it and any potential risks ahead of tomorrow.” Malfoy responded. Hermione internally sighed,
“I’ll just be in the castle, as always. Is that really necessary?” Malfoy wasted no time rolling his eyes and his face set like stone.
“Yes. Now hand it over.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed in distaste as she slammed the door, muttering that she’ll send him a copy. She heard the irritating man settle himself on the couch and refused to allow herself to wonder what kind of books Draco Malfoy liked to read. She quickly found her timetable for the next day and made a copy, a sly smirk creeping its way onto her face.
She banished the copy with a flick of her wand and heard a startled yelp from Malfoy as it reappeared without warning, barely half an inch from his nose. Hermione smiled to herself as she pulled back her duvet and crawled into bed. She hoped for a night without dreams, but that would not be in the cards for her.
Hermione slept fitfully, moments of nothingness punctuated with terrifying images of Loretta’s parents and the awful choices and life that befell the man sleeping just one door down from her.