Chapter 25
Hermione’s eyes bulged at the sight in front of her. Well that escalated quickly, she thought to herself. One moment she had been nervously babbling to both of the boys, the next they were speaking quietly to one another and now… But as happy as she was for Harry and Theo that they seemed to be having some kind of moment, Hermione really had no interest in staying to watch.
Slowly and as discreetly as possible she backed away. Once she had gotten behind a wall of books and out of sight from Harry and Theo, Hermione made her way back to the table she had originally been sitting at. As she settled back into her spot, Hermione opened the book that had caused her to get up in the first place, and began reading.
It was about transfiguration. McGonagall had assigned them an essay discussing the importance of the rules for transfiguring animals between species. Obviously, their textbook would give them enough information to get the basics of the topic, but Hermione had never really been one for bare minimum understanding. And also…it wasn’t like she had anything better to do. Plus—her brain added unhelpfully—the library was one of the few spaces around the castle that Pansy Parkinson and her crew avoided like the plague, which meant Hermione didn’t really have to worry about anything in here.
Not to say Pansy was dumb, but it was more so that she was the type of witch who believed that if anyone actually saw her putting effort into her academics, she’d suddenly combust. Just one more reason for her to hate you, Hermione.
It worked out in the end though, Hermione’s corner in the back of the library had become a sort of sanctuary where the Slytherins would not be caught dead. And in honesty, Hermione needed the sanctuary after the last few weeks she'd had. She didn't really care how many times Pansy informed her of her 'big-head' or 'useless swottiness'. But sometimes, a simple quiet was just what she needed to feel better. That, and an afternoon spent between the library windows and walls of books while she knocked things off of her to-do list.
And Hermione was making great progress. It wasn't even seven thirty by the time she finished the first few chapters, and she was fairly confident in the lines she had begun writing already. But then it all went dark—well, not actually dark, she was just being dramatic—but someone was standing in front of the lights and casting a shadow over her. For just a moment, Hermione felt the slightest bit of déjà vu, expecting to look up from her work and find Draco Malfoy looking down at her. She didn't want to acknowledge the drop of disappointment in her stomach when she looked up and found it wasn't.
No, no tall, intense blonde wizards came to find her in the library anymore. Instead, it was a brunette. An imposing brunette in a Durmstrang uniform who was leaning over her table and looking at Hermione expectantly. And while she wanted to say she recognized him from somewhere, Hermione really wasn't sure where. She didn't think they had ever spoken before, and she would have known if they had any classes together, so he must be a stranger. Well, what could he possibly want from me?
“Um…” Hermione started after the two had been starting at one another blankly for several moments. "Hello?" she asked.
No answer came though.
Hermione waited just to see if maybe he was still thinking, but when the boy didn't move, she continued. “Can I help you with something?”
This seemed to wake the other boy up from whatever daze he appeared to have fallen into because his brows jumped, and he immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“Er…alright.” Hermione answered, nodding awkwardly. She thought he would leave. Right? Why was he still here? Why wasn't he moving? Why is he still looking at me?
But the boy didn't move. Instead he gave an audible swallow before jamming his hand out between them. It startled Hermione, to say the least. Which she felt was perfectly fair because he moved so bloody fast and one second they were across from each other and the next he was leaning over the table with his massive palm in her face. She flinched. Hermione wasn't trying to be dramatic but it was considerably alarming and she didn't actually think he was going to punch her or anything, but it's not like she had fast reflexes in case he did. It was evident, though, when she looked back at his face, that he had noticed.
“I—Sorry. I didn’t—I” He bit his lip pensively, seeming to take a deep breath before speaking again. “I am Victor.”
"Right..." Hermione said, still not sure for the life of her, what was happening or what he was doing talking to her. He did seem nervous as well though so Hermione nodded and conceded. "I'm Hermione."
But it seemed she hadn't needed to say it as Victor nodded quickly "I know." If she was surprised by that admission from a total stranger, Hermione was only more shocked to watch as the intense boy before her's entire face turned bright red and he no longer met her eye.
She too looked down, but as she did, Hermione noticed that Victor was still holding his hand out—though, thankfully a bit further from her face now—and she thought he might be trying to shake hers. Hermione attempted to smile while meeting him halfway and clasping his hand back, though she was fairly certain it looked more like an awkward grimace. "It's nice to meet you...Victor."
Instead of smiling back, the boy groaned, “mamka mu”
"Pardon?" Hermione hadn't understood, perhaps his accent was just too thick?
When he finally looked back at her, Victor's face had calmed and he moved his hand to shake hers. "Honour it is to meet you too."
"Right..." She pulled back. Again Hermione waited to see if Victor would move, but he didn't. Instead he continued to stare at her. "Er...I'm terribly sorry," She said gesturing to the work on the table in front of her, "but I actually do have to—"
“Dojouknow’owtodozis?” Hermione was cut off as Victor...asked?...said?...told? She wasn't actually sure he had spoken proper English as the wizard now held out a stack of parchment in front of him. Where did that even come from?
"Sorry, what?" Hermione asked. She stood up a bit so she could lean over the table and try to make out whatever the papers were.
Once again Victor let out a series of words that this time Hermione was quite sure were not English before looking at her again. “I is terrible at zis.”
Really, she wasn't sure what 'this' meant. That is, until her eyes landed back on his hands and it clicked. "Oh! At this?" She asked, gesturing to the stack.
Victor stared at her for several moments quizzically. When he didn't answer though, Hermione decided to take initiative. Reaching forward—and pausing, so as to give him the opportunity to say no— Hermione took the papers. Once in hand, she began shifting through them carefully to try and deduce what they were about. Arythmancy. He’d brought her an Arythmancy assignment. Hermione noticed there were notes scratched into the margins of the first three problems, but the rest had been left blank so far. She glanced back up.
“Did you…want my help?” She asked.
Victor watched her quietly for a moment, as if unsure of what to do before he nodded. It wasn’t entirely unusual for a student in another year to come find her for some sort of tutoring, everyone at Hogwarts was well acquainted with her reputation. She just hadn’t realized such information had spread to the visiting schools as well. Hermione supposed that also explained why he had known her name when he came into the library, someone else from her school had probably recommended her when Victor told them he was struggling.
“Oh, well, sure.” Hermione said. She was still a little surprised by the situation though, so she just quietly gestured to the seat beside her so they could work together.
And if Victor smiled in a slightly smug way as he moved around the table, Hermione would have no idea, having already turned back to her own chair and begun making notes on the page in front of her.
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
“Draaaco.” The witch beside him whinged, somehow managing to draw his two syllables name out into seven. It was something she had been doing for a while now. Attempting to grab his attention by approaching him with familiarity. Perhaps it was meant to be endearing. Instead, she sounded like a child. Pathetic.
“Draaaco!” She tried again.
“What.” He didn’t bother looking up from his transfiguration essay. He didn’t want to talk to Parkinson. At. All. He also didn’t want to be here.
“What are you doing?”
Honestly, Draco was half wondering if the pitch of her voice was specifically designed to annoy him.
“Work.” He answered stiffly.
“What kind of work?” She drawled again and Draco wanted to groan. Instead, he remained silent and ignored her question. If she actually cared, there was nothing stopping her from reading the title of his parchment. And Draco was too frustrated to care.
It was loud. And chaotic. And despite what Blaise Zabini had initially told him, no one was actually doing any sort of bloody studying. He was beginning to wonder how Slytherins managed to get anything done at all.
It wasn’t like how the other houses studied—or at least, how Hermione studied— up in the Astronomy tower with just the wind and her books. With her, the only conversation to be heard was intellectual and stimulating. No one compared answers in the Slytherin common room.
Honestly, no one even looked for answers. All anyone seemed to do here was gossip.
“Did you see Dean Thomas and Michael Corner coming out of the bathroom before Divination?” Millicent Bulstrode offered in an—unwelcome—attempt at conversation.
No, Draco had not seen Dean Thomas and Michael Corner coming out of the bathroom before Divination, because Draco bloody well had a life. And better things to do.
Apparently, though, he was alone in this sentiment as three of the five other people at the table looked aghast, while Crabbe and Goyle just looked confused.
“NO! WHY?!” Parkinson barked across the table to her friend.
"Pansy calm down." The Greengrass girl chided before turning back. "I saw them in Divination this morning, Millie, but not before. Why?"
“Well, Daph. I mean one can’t ever truly be sure about these things, but I overheard that Davis bitch was telling her friend, the—the—what’s the other one’s name?” Bulstrode asked, snapping her fingers as if they were all dogs whose attention she commanded.
Draco’s sneer was as his uncle Thoros used to say, ‘Uncannily Malfoy’.
“You know,” Bulstrode waved her hand in front of her face as if that was supposed to give them any more sense of identification.
"Turpin?" Greengrass offered but was quickly dismissed.
“No! The Ravenclaw. She's the one with the other one.”
Ah yes, the one with the other one, I simply forgot that was how people in proper society referred to human beings.
"Turpin is a Ravenclaw, Millie."
“OH! OH! THE PATIL TWIN!” Parkinson shouted as she practically leapt from her chair in excitement. Draco tried to hide his jolt away from her knocking him.
“YES! THE PATIL!” Bulstrode snapped at them once again, waving her finger in Parkinson’s direction. “THANK YOU PANSY! Salazar, the rest of you lot are all bloody useless."
"Hey! I helped! It's not my fault you can't remember anyone's names. We've only been going to school with them for four years."
"Whatever, Daphne. You're missing the entire point by yammering, but fine. Just the boys are useless. I don't now why I bother telling any of you anything." Bulstrode pouted, crossing her arms in front of her like a toddler.
“Millicent?” Zabini spoke with his own sneer.
“Yes, Blaise?”
“Shut up and tell us what the fuck happened between Corner and Thomas.”
Completely missing the tone and point of Blaise’s aside, Bulstrode broke out into a fit of cackles Draco could not imagine anyone finding appealing.
“Stop it Blaise! I’m getting there! You must let me have my fun!”
Draco glanced over at the other wizard and flicked a brow in question. Zabini just rolled his eyes at Draco. Well, at least I’m not the only one who can’t stand her.
“ANYWAY! Davis was talking to Patil, and she said that apparently there were some second years who heard some things when they went in there to use the loo. And when they came out Corner's robes were entirely messed up and he looked..." Draco didn't see whatever look was given to finish that sentence, but judging by the gasps of surprise from around him, he wasn't dissapointed.
“I DON'T BELIEVE YOU! That is a complete load of shite, Millicente! Why the hell would Thomas be caught with Corner when I know for a fact Thomas was dating the idiot from his house!” Parkinson chimed in, nearly blasting Draco’s eardrum as she scooted closer to him.
“I'm telling you it's not! And anyway, what idiot?” Bulstrode asked. Draco moved himself away.
“The Irish one in our year.” Zabini answered.
“Seamus?”
“No, the other one.” the wizard deadpanned.
“There is no other one Blaise!"
"It's called sarcasm." Greengrass scoffed. "And by the way, yes there is. Stephen Cornfoot is also very much Irish."
"What?" Zabini straightened. "No he's not."
"Yes he is."
"How the fuck would you know?"
"I've talked to him." Greengrass shrugged. "He's from Limerick."
"Bullshite! He doesn't have an accent." Zabini accused.
"Have you even spoken to him before?"
"No. Why the hell would I speak to someone whose last name is bloody 'Cornfoot'. It sounds muggle."
"Well then you can't possibly know, can you Blaise!"
"OI SHUT UP!" Parkinson screeched. "No one cares, you two. The point we're supposed to get to is that two boys in our year are fucking and one of them might be cheating!" And at the look of excitement on her face, Draco decided he'd like to be avada'd right then. This fucking school.
"No one said they're having sex Pansy." Bulstrode corrected.
"Oh Millie, don't be naive."
"I'm not being naive, Pansy. Don't be a bitch. I'm just saying..."
Draco looked back at his essay when the witch kept continuing her nonsense. Alliances or not, he was fairly certain Even his father would accept that the line had to be drawn somewhere. And knowing the details of the sex lives of bloody fucking fourth years was Draco’s line—Which, why the fuck does anyone even need a sex life? He wondered. We haven’t even passed our OWLs. And maybe it was the cynic in him that didn’t see the point but, surely there must be some rule or guideline about major decisions made before we’re even allowed to bloody apparate, much less wed! Though, the Thomas bloke probably had no intention of wedding whoever. Still.
One day when Draco and Emmeline get to have—no. If Draco and Emmeline get to…he hoped it might be more meaningful and permanent than just some washroom debauchery.
Fuck. Now he was thinking about Hermione. He needed to leave. He had done his service, right? He’d bonded with the Slytherins…maybe. He didn’t know exactly how many hours he had spent now in their dungeon common room with the lot of them, but it was officially too many.
Quickly, and without speaking, Draco began capping his ink well and storing his parchments in his bag. It took him a moment to organize the lot of it, but once he had, Draco stood ready to go.
In fact, he’d just made eye contact with Zabini to say his goodbyes with he felt a clammy hand wrap around his elbow.
“Draco!” Parkinson cheered over the noise of other students at him. “Where do you think you’re going?!?!”
“I have to leave.” He answered, attempting to pull his arm away from the witch.
“But we’re having fun!” She whinged and he withheld a grimace. I’m not.
“I know, but I am leaving, so you must let go of my robes.” He tried again, this time more diplomatically. It failed though. Tremendously so.
“Fine.” Parkinson drawled as she stood up beside him. Instead of letting go of his arm and letting him leave though, Parkinson dragged both of her palms down the extent of it until she was clasping his hands between hers. In what he imagined was her attempt at sensuality the witch flicked her eyebrows at him before whispering loudly in his ear. “They’re not touching your robes now, Draco.”
It was too hot. And too cold. And her hands were too sweaty. And she was too close. Her perfume was noxious. And Draco couldn’t breathe.
It happened quick. One second Draco was standing in the Slytherin common room surrounded by people and lights. The next, everything had gone black. The lights were out. From all directions around the room there were shrieks and shouts and no one seemed to know what was going on. But Draco took the chance he had. Without thinking he jerked himself away from Parkinson and ran. Draco didn’t know how he found the exit so quickly, or why it seemed no one was able to cast a lumos and return sight to them all, but he didn’t care. He was leaving.
In fact, he was leaving so fast that he didn’t notice until after the passage had shut behind him, that there was someone in the hall waiting for him.
“Mr. Malfoy.” The wizard drawled and Draco stopped, anxious at first. He let his shoulders relax though when he turned around, slowly allowing his mind to calm.
“Severus.” He greeted.
“That’s professor Snape to you.
Draco scoffed lightly. “Are you not my godfather who taught me to hex properly when I was eleven?” He asked. He knew Severus was owed the title in his classrooms, but Draco had never used it in private.
“I am, but I am not.” Severus answered mysteriously, and Draco felt his guard creeping back up at his strange tone. “We need to talk, Draco.”
“About?”
“Not here.”
Because that’s not fucking ominous.
“Alright…?” Draco spoke slowly. “Shall we move to your office then?”
“No. The circumstances are not what you think, Draco.” He cared for his godfather, truly, Draco always had. He wouldn’t call the many good natured, necessarily, but he was kinder than Draco’s biological father. And despite the pressure Draco had always faced to be top of his class regardless, his godfather had always ensured Draco enjoyed lessons as well, by teaching him additionally during the summers.
But there was also no one else in the world quite like Severus Snape. And despite the fact that Draco was confident in saying his godfather liked him, the man was still fucking tedious at times.
“I don’t understand.”
“Meet me in my office. Tuesday evening at eight. You will not be late.”
When had Draco Malfoy ever been late to anything? The answer was never.
“Of course.” Draco nodded once, bowing just the slightest in respect to his godfather.
“Now.” Severus said, and it was like watching a painting to see the transition in posture before he spoke again. “It is almost curfew and while you may be a Malfoy, you are a student of Durmstrang and most assuredly not allowed in any of the private quarters at Hogwarts. If I see you in my common room again Mr. Malfoy I will have you sent back to your headmaster before you can say quidditch and ensuring you serve detentions every night until you graduate. Understood?”
“Understood…” Draco said. “Professor.”
“Get out.” He ordered and Draco felt his lips twitch upward for the first time all week as his godfather rolled his eyes and told him to leave.
----- ----- ----- -----
Victor was surprisingly friendly. He was also surprisingly smart. When he had first approached her table in the library Hermione had been confused. Briefly she had wondered if he was lost. But then he’d explained that he needed help with a Arythmancy concept, and she had understood. It had taken several hours, but by the time Madam Pince had informed them that the library was closing, Hermione was fairly certain he would be able to finish his work on his own.
She, however, had made no progress on her Transfiguration essay as a result last night and was stressed. It was a problem. Not one she couldn’t solve, but a problem no less. And as Hermione made her way back to the common room after parting ways with Victor, she had found herself worrying. Normally, Hermione liked to make plans. She made lists for every week and afternoon to organize exactly what needed to get done for her to be able to stay on top of all her work. But the essay was on yesterday’s list. Which meant it was supposed to be done. And it wasn’t. So now her essay was poking into her time for today, and she had no idea how it was going to fit.
Her best plan was to work on it intermittently, which meant finishing her Potions project would be behind, but Hermione had hopes she could still manage it. She woke herself before breakfast and finished her research. Then between lessons she finished writing her introduction. During lunch she managed a rough, but still impressive informative section. And by the end of DADA that afternoon, she was relatively pleased to say the first fifteen out of twenty inches were done.
She liked helping people. Really, Hermione did. It was just that normally helping people took only a bit of her time and then she went back to her own work. But helping Victor had taken hours. And it had been hard. She didn’t entirely understand how he’d managed to qualify for NEWT level courses if he didn’t understand even the basic material, but maybe that was her. Afterall, Hermione was just a fourth year trying to explain to a sixth year how to do maths she had never seen before. Honestly, it made her head hurt.
But Victor had been so kind and appreciative that Hermione hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. And she was able to figure it all out in the end…it had simply taken four or more hours.
It’s fine, she told herself as she distractedly weaved through the stacks towards her table in the back. You’ll just have to stay up a bit later and finish it all tonight.
“Herminninny!” Hermione hadn't seen him coming. One moment she was rounding a shelf, the next she was falling backwards. For a split second she thought his arm might catch her, but instead it knocked into her bag and she hit the ground harder. Oww.
"Govno! Hermy-nee! I so sorry! I did not—I..." Hermione looked up at the boy above her and tried to clear her face from the pain.
"Oh, no worries." She told him, bringing her arms up to rub her elbows that had collided with the wood floors. "I'm—I'm completely fine."
Victor held out a hand to her and Hermione accepted, "I sorry. I did not mean to hurt you."
"It's alright," she shrugged, awkwardly releasing his hand once she was stable and standing. "I just bumped my self. Nothing permanent."
"Good." Victor told her, then smiled self deprecatingly. "My мама always says I no made for being on land."
Hermione returned it, but asked, "On land?"
"Yes—er, 'ow do you say?" He waved his hands towards his shoes. "Eh, two feet on ground. I no good at."
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, finally understanding. "Do you sail? I don't, but my cousins do. They have a boat over in Falmouth that I swear is my uncle's prized possession. A few summers ago they took my parents and I on it for a bit and I was total rubbish at it. I got seasick after the first hour, but my cousin Elaine was brilliant. I actually think my Aunt may say the same thing about her now. She was built to be in the water not land." She was blabbering, but it wasn't often at Hogwarts that she talked to people with common experiences so she was excited.
Except...no. Because now Victor's giving her this look as if she's both very strange but also a cute puppy and Hermione felt slightly uncomfortable.
"Er...sorry." She mumbled.
He smiled and tapped her on the shoulder kindly. "No, no, Hermmi-ony. Er—yes. You understand. I think it is the same."
"Oh, good." Hermione told him, nodding that she got it. But as she did, her eyes glanced down around her and she noticed something wrong. Something very wrong. "No no no no no no no!" Hermione panicked, dropping downwards and pulling everything away.
How does this always happen to me?! She groaned internally. Some way, somehow, she managed to dump her entire bag on the floor of the library, tossing everything out of it. And while a simple mess was annoying, it was something she could fix easily. What Hermione couldn’t fix easily, was the shattered ink wells that had spilled all over everything. Her books, her worksheets, her projects. It wasn’t enough that Peeves had ruined one of her books earlier this week, now she had managed to ruin three of them all on her own.
Hermione’s hands both came to cover her mouth as she tried not to freak out. It’s fine. It’s alright. It’s not that bad. There are real problems in the world, Hermione. Terrible problems. Hurting books isn’t a problem. It’s fine. You can fix this. You can fix this.
“I can fix ‘dis.”
“What?” Hermione was broken out of her spiral as she looked up. Victor was in front of her, crouching over her belongings as well.
“I fix ‘dis. I knows ‘ow to fix ‘dis.” He insisted but Hermione shook her head.
“Oh, no. It’s fine. I—I’ll do it. Please don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.”
But Victor didn’t seem to listen as he picked up the entire scattered stack of her parchments that had been splattered on. “No, Hermy-ninny. I can. Trust, trust.”
“Wait, Victor,” Hermione didn’t want to think about how many hours she would have to spend rewriting them all, though at least she might be able to make out some of her work.
“Scouzrifie.”
Hermione froze.
Victor froze.
It seemed everyone in the world was frozen as they stared at the previously drenched in ink parchments that were now perfectly…blank.
Apparently, Victor didn’t wait.
Gone.
It was all bloody gone.
Her potions project? Gone. Her runes and charms notes she’d spent hours taking? Gone. Her—her transfiguration essay? Gone.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
“Oh.”
Hermione looked up, trying to block out the sting in her eyes. Did he just say that? Oh? OH? Hermione’s hands raked through her curls as she gaped at him, not decided if she was going to cry or curse. A significant part of her wanted to hex him, but Hermione had had a bad week, and she wasn’t sure she had the emotional stability to curse someone right now. Not when everything she had been working on was ruined.
Fuck. How was she going to fix this? She couldn't fix this. It was ruined. It was all just gone. There was nothing she could do. The only option left was to cry, and she was not going to do that in public.
“I—I have to—I have to go.” Hermione told Victor. Frantically she started grabbing her things and throwing them back into her bag. She didn’t notice or care how anything fit or in what order. Hermione just needed to not be here.
She could hear Victor as she stood, as she placed her bag over her shoulder. Hermione could hear him apologizing and stammering over her name as he did so. Normally Hermione might have found it sweet, but in that moment, she didn’t care if she was rude.
In fact, Hermione didn’t care about anything as she made her way out of the library. She didn’t notice the people she passed, the people she ignored. Hermione just had one goal, and that was to get to her room. It wasn’t until she was stopped again that she even looked up. Hermione was just coming up one of the stairwells when someone grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She immediately rounded on them, pulling her wand from her robe, and not really thinking before she stuck it in her attacker’s face.
But then they said her name.
“Hermione?”
And it all came bubbling up. She didn’t know why. She didn’t know why, when she’d only known these people for a few months why they cared. She didn’t know why she trusted them. She didn’t know why the moment her eyes met his, all of her walls fell, and the tears flowed. But Hermione was too tired to care about expectations and pretences or even bloody boundaries. Because when he pulled her towards him, with such concern on his face and asked, “What’s wrong?” Hermione didn’t want to hold it in any longer.
“Theo,” She sobbed, not really thinking before she threw herself at him. She just knew he would understand, and she needed to hug him.
“Oh, love.” He said into her curls, immediately wrapping his arms around her as well, bringing her close. “I’m so sorry.”