Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. These Potions papers were a mess, he noted, flipping through the never-ending stack. Red ink was splattered over every piece of parchment noting where the students had gotten things wrong. He breathed in deeply, grabbing another red inkwell. The one he’d been using had finally run out. At this moment, Draco felt a little like Snape. Draco was a tough grader, but it was all for the benefit of the students. The kids should’ve gotten it right in the first place, it was all in the textbook.
He stepped back from his desk with another sigh. That was enough for the night. Besides he had plans to tend to.
Draco grabbed his cloak and book, striding down the halls towards the library. Few students were left at this hour, with most on their way out for the night – after all, it was almost curfew. Draco watched the remainder of the students trickle out, his usual corner almost completely empty. From the front desk, Madam Pince gave him her usual look but left him alone for the most part. She spent the rest of her effort, scurrying the last-minute studiers out of the library.
The blond felt relief for a moment at the quiet and stillness of the library. Many things changed in the castle after the war, but the library seemed to remain the same. Draco shuffled his way over the seat he’d sat in throughout most of his youth, and now most of his adulthood. It was almost as if his sitting there was a reminder as the usual voice that pestered him these days rang through the library.
“Back, Malfoy?” a voice from the painting called.
Draco sighed, not necessarily from annoyance, as he settled into the chair. He sat without minding his etiquette, his legs crossed under him and his cloak draped over him like a blanket. He leaned into the plush seat, almost as if he were melting into the chair. “Yes, I’m back, Granger.”
Hermione Granger had died in the Final Battle. It was rather unfortunate, her death. She’d gone after Harry upon noticing that he’d gone off to the forest alone. There, Hermione was met with a “dead” Harry Potter and a merciless Voldemort. Of course, as the story goes, Harry was very much alive and did his part to win the war. Hermione, on the other hand, had not come out unscathed. Voldemort didn’t even take his time with the girl – she died on the spot to the killing curse.
After the events of the war, Hogwarts had gone into renovation. Much of the building was retouched, despite keeping its original exterior. For everything that remained the same came an equal amount of things that were new. For one, Draco had returned to Hogwarts for with seventh and final year. After that, he studied Potions in the leading country of Potioneers, returning to England as a Potions master. He was twenty-one when Headmistress McGonagall had offered him the Potions professor, which he accepted, and he became the second youngest professor in Hogwarts history – much like Snape.
It was at this time that McGonagall had commissioned a magical portrait of Hermione to be completed. They had hung it in the library, the place that Hermione had held closest to her heart. She would occasionally talk to students in the library but mostly watched over them. On other days, Hermione would walk through all the different paintings in the castle. She was often found talking to all the different Headmasters in the Headmistress’ office.
It was completely by coincidence that Draco had met Hermione. Well, portrait Hermione. Draco had been completely unaware that there was a portrait of Hermione in the castle. The new Potions professor had coincidentally run into Harry Potter on his way to the library to find materials for his class. Potter had congratulated him on his appointment as the next Potions professor and Draco had in turn awkwardly asked what Harry was doing inside Hogwarts.
Potter had just awkwardly responded, “I was just here to visit Hermione.”
Draco furrowed his brows, “Granger?”
The raven-haired boy, who now was an Auror, hummed as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes, “Yes, she’s– Professor McGonagall’s made her a portrait. It’s in the back corner of the library. I come to talk to her every now and then.” The blond stiffly nodded, although he did not visit Hermione’s portrait. Draco never actively sought out the portrait. Until one day when Draco had some time on his hand and decided to read in the library. Something made him want to sit in the seat that he sat in as a student, so he walked to a secluded corner in the back of the library. It was there when he realized McGonagall had put the portrait in his corner.
The curly-haired brunette gasped, “Malfoy! What are you doing here?”
Draco eyed the portrait from the plush seat, “I’m the Potions professor. Surely you knew.”
Hermione nodded, “I never expected you to visit here though.”
The blond sat stiffly, “This is the corner I usually sat in. If anything, you’re the guest in this corner.”
The girl laughed, excited by the interaction. She had been slightly lonely these days as a portrait. Draco observed the portrait. They had put her in her Hogwarts robes, her hair tied back into a bun resting at the nape of her neck. A few stray pieces of hair framed her face and they were as curly as Draco remembered her hair being. And she was still young. Hermione still looked like her seventeen-year-old self, while Draco had gone on to age and mature in ways Hermione never was able to.
Their interactions back then were limited. Draco would return to the corner to read every so often, they’d exchange greetings, and Hermione would watch Draco read until he left. That was until one day, Draco had brought a Muggle book into the library.
Draco had brought Pride and Prejudice, a book that Hermione particularly enjoyed, to read in the library. Hermione had been itching to ask him about it, and the blond noticed her jitteriness. “Is there something I can do for you, Granger?” Draco drawled, annoyed by Hermione’s inability to sit still in the frame.
Hermione nodded eagerly, “Could you read to me?”
“My book?”
“Yes, you’re reading Pride and Prejudice , no? Could you read aloud to me?” Hermione sat in her frame, expectantly.
Draco eyed Hermione, choosing to ignore her request. Hermione, however, had not moved from her position, still expecting Draco to read to her. Seeing that she was still waiting, Draco let out an exasperated sigh and started to read aloud to her. Then he continued to do so the next day. Then the following day.
He would come and read to her at the end of the day, usually late at night. Hermione always waited for him to come around to read to her. For many semesters, for many school years, Draco would come and read Hermione a bit of a new book that they decided upon. Sometimes it would be out of Hermione’s suggestion. Sometimes it would be out of Draco’s interest. Some days it was a Muggle classic, other days, magical academic texts.
Hermione popped into the frame, settling in. “You’ve brought the book back, right? I am really excited to see what happens next! You left me on a great cliffhanger yesterday.”
The man chuckled, opening the book to where he’d left off. “I’ll read once you’ve simmered down,” He said in a low voice. Hermione waited patiently for Draco to start reading Life of Pi , an interesting new Muggle fiction, to her. The man had chosen it, surprisingly enough. He had seen it in a Muggle paper, he told Hermione when he had brought a copy in one day. Since then, Draco had been reading her a couple of chapters a day. Draco started reading to her in a low and quiet voice, and Hermione listened intently, fascinated by the writing.
Draco had read less than normal, cutting himself off with a yawn. “Sorry, Granger. Long day, seems like we should wrap it up here,” He said, lightly stretching.
The girl groaned, “Aw, no fun. We were just getting to the good part!”
The Potions professor shrugged, tucking the book into his side, “Until next time.”
“Will you return to read to me tomorrow too?” She asked as if she didn’t know that he will always return to read to her. Draco didn’t think the two of them were friends – certainly, you couldn’t be friends with a portrait. But Draco did believe that maybe it was a part of his atonement to read to the girl. He carried out the task like it was a responsibility.
Draco nodded, his response short like usual. He sat silently, head tilted against the chair to rest for a second. He felt himself drift off when he heard Hermione speak, “Tell me about your life, Malfoy.”
“All of a sudden?” Draco replied, staying in the position he was in.
“Yes, tell me. How are things with you?” Hermione asked with great interest.
“Well… I teach Potions year-round at Hogwarts, and in the summers I return to the estate.”
“The Malfoy Manor? Is… is it still the same?”
Draco sat up, realizing that the last, and only, time Hermione had been at the estate was during Voldemort’s stay . “No, it’s completely renovated. The Aurors tore it inside out after the war. I saw no reason to keep it the way that it was if the government was going to ransack my home to the point of destruction.” Draco says this with a twinge of bitterness – bitter at the fact that the government had destroyed his home, rather than the fact that it was completely renovated from top to bottom. The estate was a source of great pain for Draco, but it was still his childhood home.
Regardless, Draco barely spent any time at the Malfoy Manor. The only people left at the Manor were the house elves. His mother spent most of her days at the Malfoy Chateau in France, while his father was serving his sentence in Azkaban. Draco supposed it really didn’t matter what the house looked like if there wasn’t anyone in there anyway.
Hermione nodded. She was curious but didn’t ask about the Manor anymore. “How about your life? You teach here, yes, but what else? Have you gotten married?”
Draco chuckled, “No, I’m not married, Granger. I spend most of my time here like I said.”
The girl sighed dramatically, “You can still be married as a Professor.”
“I don’t have the time.”
“Okay,” The girl replied simply, accepting Draco’s response, “What about your friends?”
The blond sighed, “Pansy and Blaise got married a couple of summers ago, they’ve got a child on the way. Crabbe and Goyle… are in Azkaban. Theo’s… well, Theo. He just floats around, doing his own thing. The last time we spoke, he was visiting my mother in France. Is that good enough of an update for you, Granger?”
Hermione huffed, “Just trying to make conversation. Can’t a portrait want to talk a bit with someone?”
The blond hummed, getting up from his seat. “Whatever, Granger.” Without another word, he left for his chambers.
But he always came back. Draco returned the next day, and the next, to read to Hermione. The way that he’d done for years. Over the years, the two developed a strange sort of connection. They weren’t friends, per se, but the two did not have the sort of relationship that they once had as young children.
Since then, the two had gotten quite close. They would often share details about their private lives, in intimate ways that Draco could never imagine doing with anyone else.
“I feel so alone at times,” Hermione had admitted, “Ron never visits, and Harry rarely has time. I can’t blame them, but the charm of talking to the Fat Lady wears off after some time. So it’s really nice when you’re around. I really do look forward to our nightly read-aloud.”
Draco thought about these words for a long time. He would never admit to her, that he liked it too, but Draco felt it in his heart. He felt a growing attachment to this form of Granger. Sometimes it made him feel sick to the stomach that they could’ve been amicable like this all along, but it was his Pureblooded prejudice that blinded him from recognizing how interesting Granger was as a person.
Malfoy had actually received a great offer as head Potioneer for a lab that specialized in medical potions. It was a path that he’d been quite interested in as of late. Although, it felt like something had been holding him back. It was the day that Hermione confessed to her loneliness that Draco realized that it was Hermione that had been tethering him to Hogwarts. The charm of teaching young children had worn off long ago, but Hermione had made him want to stay. Hermione healed some part of his heart that was lonely, too, and Draco found himself unwanting to leave this behind.
One day, Hermione brought up the anniversary of the Final Battle to Draco. The blond looked particularly uncomfortable, yet heard out the girl. At this point, Draco was well into his thirties, and she remained a teenager. The anniversary was quickly approaching, and Draco had tried to put off thoughts about it. “Yes, what about the anniversary?” He asked, closing the book they were reading.
“Can I ask for a favor from you?” She asked carefully. Draco shrugged, letting her speak. “Could you make sure… that Ron and Harry are doing well?”
The blond slightly paled. This would mean that Draco would have to leave his bed on the dreaded day and head out to the little graveyard where Hermione had been buried just beyond Hogsmeade. He’d gone there on the day of her funeral last, and never again. He swallowed thickly before responding, “I– I suppose I should do that for you.”
Hermione nodded, “Thank you, Draco.” Somewhere along the years, Hermione had taken to referring to him by his first name. It sounded natural coming out of her, but never struck as natural to him. Perhaps it was because he was yet to be able to refer to her by her first name.
“I’m not so stuck in my old ways as to know that I ought to do as much for you, Granger,” He said in a lighthearted manner.
“Do that and bring hydrangeas with you. They’ll be a little hard to get your hands on at the moment, but I do think they’ll be beautiful on my grave,” Hermione said pensively.
Draco grunted, slightly annoyed at the task. A few days later, he concedes. He dragged himself all the way down to the small grave site to do her bidding, placing the hydrangeas on the tombstone while no one was watching. He watched over the Weasel’s and Potter’s family come and go, greeting Hermione’s grave site.
Later that night, Draco reported back to Hermione. Hermione sat expectantly. They’d finished their book recently, and it was Draco’s turn to bring something. Instead, Draco showed up empty-handed. Hermione looked at him curiously as Draco started, “I’ve left you flowers on the grave. They’re preserved – should last for longer than fresh flowers. And the Weasel and Potter came by with their families. Their kids are getting quite old now, they’ll be at Hogwarts any year now.”
Hermione nodded with a wistful sigh, “That’s good to know. Thank you, Draco.” She swallowed thickly, “You know, I’m learning to let them go.”
Draco nodded understandingly, “I’ve got something else to say, too.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve decided to quit being the Potions professor.”
Hermione looked at him shocked, “And why’s that?” Draco explained his reasoning, and how he’d decided to work at the lab. Hermione understood, nodding along wistfully. “So you’re going, too.”
Draco nodded awkwardly along with her, “Weirdly enough, I had to tell you. I was going to go without saying anything. But I just… couldn’t.” Hermione nodded in understanding and asked for him to stop by so she could see him off.
And when that day finally came, Hermione said quietly, “Draco, you don’t need to earn the right to be happy. Follow your heart, and happiness will come to you regardless.”
With those words, Draco left Hogwarts behind, ready to start the next chapter of his life.