Best of Fifteen

As the week went on, Draco began to think that although the first part of Pansy’s directive (apologise to Granger) had been more initially intimidating, it was the second part (treat Granger like a normal person) that was far harder.

He had no idea how to behave normally around Granger. The only way they’d ever interacted before was at school: her being brilliant and swotty and kind, him being a massive tosser. He was fairly certain that dynamic wasn’t what Pansy had been suggesting.

He tried to treat Granger like a normal person when they passed each other in the halls (Do normal people say hello to each other every morning or just nod?), when they bumped into each other in the cafeteria (How fast do normal people escape back to their offices after purchasing their meals?), and at department-wide meetings (Do normal people make eye contact? How much? How quickly do they look away if they’ve been caught staring?).

Despite a constant and unhelpful mental catalogue of each moment of awkwardness, he continued valiantly. It seemed Granger was planning to follow suit. Her music still played from next door, although not as loud. Draco came to enjoy hearing it through the wall, a sort of white noise he could tune out. They nodded at each other in the halls, and he kept to his own office and his own work after the filing cabinet had been tamed.

So if it wasn’t quite normal, it was certainly better. And if Draco was keenly aware of her presence any time she entered a room, perhaps that would just be their new normal.

Granger’s music cut out abruptly on Friday morning. Draco had been reviewing a case when the silence descended. Moments later, he heard Granger’s door open and close. He nudged his own open.

She was walking down the hall, her bag on her shoulder and her coat draped over her arm. Draco checked his watch– 11:00 am. She was humming and smiling at the wall, and as he looked closer, he saw a sheen over her eyes that he would have called vapid if this were any other witch.

Draco was out of his chair before he had time to think.

“Granger?” he called.

The witch turned towards him and smiled a vacant smile. “Oh, hullo Malfoy. How are you?”

Draco blinked. “I’m fine. May I ask where you’re going?”

“Oh, I’m headed to the dentist, I think,” she responded, a hand coming up to play the end of her braid.

“You… think?” Draco’s eyebrows were surely near his hairline. “You made an appointment midday on a Friday?”

Granger giggled. She giggled. “Well, I didn’t make an appointment, but I’ve just remembered that I’ve got to get my teeth cleaned. You have to keep up with these things, you know.”

Malfoy nodded, growing more concerned.

“Dental hygiene,” she continued, “very important. I’m sure you know that. You have such nice teeth. Is that genetic? I didn’t think you’d know what a dentist is.”

“I know what a dentist is, Granger,” Draco said. “You’re leaving to find a dentist you’ve just remembered you need to see?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed airily. “Oh, and I suppose I’ve got some Christmas shopping to do. You can’t start too early.”

As it was early September, Draco didn’t find that answer particularly reassuring.

“What have you been working on this morning, Granger?” He asked slowly.

She blinked. “Erm, a file, I suppose? From that cabinet. Nasty thing. I wonder if it needs to see a dentist, what with all those teeth.”

She mimed biting a few times. This was, naturally, the last straw.

“Anyway, must be off,” she said cheerily, making to head down the corridor.

“Granger, would you mind showing me the file?” Draco asked.

Granger pouted. “But it’s so dull. I’ll just leave off, I think.”

“I’d really like to see it,” Draco said.

Granger was still pouting, her berry lips pushed out a bit, which was, of course, not what Draco was noticing or thinking about just now. She nodded. Draco followed the witch into her office, and approached the desk with a bit of trepidation. On it sat a leather folio, which Draco had watched Granger levitate out from the lowest drawer of that blasted cabinet. Draco pulled his wand from his robes and cast several diagnostic spells on the thing, careful not to touch it.

As the spells cast a deep, angry red in the air over the table, he felt Granger pull beside him.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Draco nodded, looking grim.

“You were acting a bit off, I wondered if…” He nodded at the magic signature arcing from the object.

“That’s some nasty work, isn’t it?” she said.

“Are you with me?” Draco asked, turning over his shoulder to look at the witch. She was very close to him now, but didn’t seem to register their proximity, her eyes fixed on the read-out from Draco’s spell.

“I can still feel it a bit,” she responded. “But now that I know what it is I can work around it.” The witch leaned in, continuing, “The signature’s not exactly like the Hogwarts Muggle-repelling wards–”

Granger pulled out her own wand, her arm brushing Draco’s, and cast another series of spells.

“It’s keyed to Muggle blood, not to the absence of magic abilities,” she breathed.

Draco nodded again.

“I haven’t encountered anything like this,” she said.

Draco was silent, not wanting to tell her how he’d known exactly what to look for. But it was likely useless– there was no way she hadn’t already worked out that Draco had seen this type of charmwork many times. He was bracing himself, his shoulders tense. He felt, not saw, as she let out a long breath.

“There’s always something new to put me in my place, isn’t there?” she asked.

He knew she wasn’t saying it to him, but he turned towards her and opened his mouth to speak. To say what, he wasn’t sure.

He didn’t need to know, as the witch cut him off. “Don’t apologise again, please. You didn’t cast this. The tosser who did is dead. And now I’m going to get through his bloody spellwork and see whatever he’s trying to hide from people like me.”

The witch flicked her wand and the speaker began to blast its music again. She turned that fire in her eyes towards the leather folio. If Draco were the leather folio, he’d be terrified. But as a witness to the scene, he could only watch in amazement– sheer, dumbstruck amazement– as her anger crystalized into determination.

Draco was thinking about that look in Granger’s eyes as he apparated onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor that evening. He appeared near the gate. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d wanted to see the front of the manor, only that it felt important he did.

It was dusk, and there was only a thin line of light still over the horizon. Most of the sky was dark, an inky black overtaking the blue above the manor’s peaks. The manor itself was dark. Draco remembered being very young and loving to see night fall over his house– loving the way the windows lit up and the lights in the garden began to twinkle on. In each bright window, he knew someone was living. His mother, overseeing floral arrangements, or his father’s study, where Lucius was doing something that Draco assumed was very important and grown-up. The manor was vast to his childhood eyes. It gave Draco great satisfaction to know that the whole of this massive, glowing house, was to be his. The manor had seemed to be the purest form of magic then, back when Draco had no idea what his family was, or what his father was capable of.

Tonight, he forced himself to look squarely at the windows, dark and unused. Draco remembered the look in Granger’s eyes as she faced down a dark spell. The honey and darkness in her eyes had gone molten, til he could almost swear he could see the fire of her magic beginning to unfurl itself.

Draco was humbled, truly humbled, thinking of it.

He looked away from the manor. It had won the staring contest. Perhaps it always would.

As Draco neared his mother’s cottage, he could hear music. He knocked on the door, and getting no response, pushed it open himself. He found the sitting room in disarray, furniture pushed haphazardly against the walls, and his mother, in resplendent dress robes, dancing alone in the centre of the room.

Draco watched her for a moment before announcing his presence. Narcissa jumped.

“Oh, Draco! Come in.”

He did.

“I’ve got to go to a gala,” Narcissa said, gesturing to her robes, “It will likely be tedious, but Andromeda’s talked me into it. I think these may be a bit too long for dancing.”

She frowned down at the garment.

“Shall we find out?” Draco asked.

Narcissa looked up in surprise as Draco bowed and offered a hand. The witch placed her own hands over her heart, her eyes beginning to well. She curtsied and placed her hand in his.

They began a Belgian Waltz. Draco fell into the steps easily. He smiled down at his mother, remembering how she had taught him this dance, him standing on her feet. How he’d tripped on her robes and they’d tumbled to the floor together, pulling an ancient vase down with them. How his mother had laughed until his father had walked in to find them on the floor among the shattered remains of a priceless heirloom.

He didn’t want to remember the rest.

Narcissa and Draco danced silently. The song ended, and Narcissa continued to grasp Draco’s hand.

“Don’t go away from me for so long again, my Dragon.”