Chapter 7
Hermione would never admit it but after the Daphne fiasco she had spent the rest of the weekend drowning in thoughts of Malfoy. He had asked her for help. He had offered to help her. They had a… truce? An alliance? What was this? And why did she feel so antsy and tingly when she thought about it?
As much as she mulled over every possible selfish machination behind his actions, she couldn’t deny that Malfoy was actually being nice. Or at least decent.
Reconciling this information with the old image she had of Malfoy felt like trying to jam a square peg into a very round hole. She felt like she was missing something. Like surely if she just turned the peg this way or that it would cease to be a square and go back to calling her a filthy mudblood.
She would need to take his alleged betterment with a grain of salt. A reformed Draco Malfoy was still Draco Malfoy. He would likely be mentally cataloguing every bit of information he could get from her extraction and storing it away just in case. She suppressed a shudder.
But it was the only way. She needed to get her parents’ memories back. She needed to right her wrong. If there were consequences to trusting Malfoy, she would suffer them and deserve it.
These were Hermione’s thoughts as she marched up to the seventh floor at eight o’clock on Monday.
Malfoy – who was standing almost nonchalantly by a tapestry – nodded in greeting before turning and pacing three times across the blank stretch of wall, revealing a simple wooden door. He opened it with a flourish.
“Ladies first.”
Hermione couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. She walked stiffly through with her eyes on the floor.
The room looked like something between a library and a home office. Outside, the sun had well and truly set, but the room itself was well lit. There was a large desk with two chairs in the middle and the shelves that made up the walls were stacked floor to ceiling with books.
Malfoy walked to the desk and began neatly placing the books from his bag onto the table. Hermione counted six. As she crept over he pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. She felt very silly as her heartrate increased. Was he teasing her?
“So,” said Malfoy as he took his own seat.
“So,” said Hermione.
“Where should we start?”
“Well, what are you having trouble with?” Hermione had honestly not bothered to think much about content. She’d been more focused on emotional preparation.
Malfoy gave a long-suffering sigh and pulled one of the books out of his pile. He opened it up to a heavily highlighted first page. Hermione winced.
“I hope that’s not a library book, Malfoy.”
“So what if it is?”
“It’s a mess! Madame Pince will skin you alive when you return it.”
With another sigh Malfoy scribbled on the book with his wand, leaving light green ink pooling on the page for a second before swiftly vanishing it. Hermione flushed. Why had no one ever taught her that?
“Well…” She said awkwardly, “What’s all this highlighting then?”
“These are the things I don’t understand.”
More than half of the first page alone was green. Hermione grabbed the book and flipped through. To her astonishment, Malfoy had gotten through the entire thing. The last page was, however, just as heavily highlighted as the first.
“Jesus. Is there anything is here you do understand?”
“Yes, Granger, the parts that aren’t highlighted,” he replied coldly. “And what’s that Jesus thing? I’ve seen that come up quite a bit.”
Hermione’s brain short-circuited. She had put so much work into adjusting to the wizarding world, but in that moment she felt like the alien she had in first year again. Except this time, Malfoy would need to adjust to her. Was willing to adjust to her.
“W-we’ll get into that later. Let’s start with page one.”
Hermione’s suspicions from class had been correct. Malfoy had no idea what “tank”, “telegram” or “socialist” meant. But when she dug deeper he knew almost nothing (nothing true anyway) about muggle transportation, communication or political systems. After half an hour she felt like they’d gotten nowhere, and was getting a headache to boot.
“Look, I’m sorry but I don’t see how we can make any progress on this until you understand the basics,” she finally conceded. “You’re asking about things you should have known since third year.”
“That’s what you’re here for Granger. To fill the gaps.”
“I would say that’s your job, actually. I’m certainly not planning a curriculum for you.”
“If you’re not going to put any effort into your part of the deal, do you really expect me to hold up on my end?”
She had been avoiding looking at Malfoy the entire session, her view restricted to the page and their hands. His left held a heavy “M” signet ring on the middle finger. She glanced up at him now. Her efforts to meet the steely eyes glaring down at her lasted about a second. She huffed.
“We’re going to need to start with easier content. We’ll work with this for now but I want you to go and find some lower level books that we can go over on Wednesday.”
“You think I’m going to ask Madame Pince for a book meant for third years?” Malfoy snorted.
She bristled. “It’s your pride or your N.E.W.T., Malfoy.”
That silenced him.
“Why do you need a N.E.W.T. anyway? Can’t you just read some books and be done with it?”
“Do you honestly think that would be sufficient?” He gestured to the mess of green on the book in front of them. Hermione had to admit he had a point. Not out loud though.
“I don’t see why you’re so intent on taking extra exams, though.”
“We’ve been through this, Granger.”
“No, we haven’t actually. You said you wanted to understand the other side, not work in a muggle industry.” Unbidden, the image of Malfoy as a sweaty, oily mechanic passed through her mind and she had to supress a laugh.
“How my brain works is none of your business. Currently – and unfortunately, might I add – how yours works is very much my business. Now why did they keep sending people to run at the other side’s holes when they were being slaughtered by the machines?”
“Trenches, Malfoy. And it’s machine guns.”
“But why were they sending them? What a stupid strategy.”
“Don’t you pay any attention in History of Magic? People make stupid decisions in war all the time.”
“Why would the soldiers go, though? If I knew I was going to die as soon as my head was above groun-”
“Because they would be shot if they didn’t! They were basically given the choice between dying for their country and dying a coward. Which would you choose?”
Hermione had meant it to be a rhetorical question but when she glanced over at Malfoy he was staring at the ceiling in thought.
“Did any of them get away?”
“Well… not many, but some did,” she answered hesitantly.
“Then I’d risk it and run. Why should I die for the place I happened to be born in?”
Hermione’s head hit her hands. Did he have no sense of self-awareness?
“You were willing to die for Voldemort’s regime.”
He winced. “Bold of you to assume that, Granger.”
“Why were you fighting, then?”
Malfoy looked pained. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. And you had a lot of them. You chose to take the dark mark. You chose to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. You chose to kill Dumbledore, or at least attempt to.”
Malfoy stood suddenly, the chair skidding violently across the room.
“My family would have been killed if I didn’t! Don’t you understand that? Don’t you understand the position I was in?”
“And what about my family?” she shouted back. “They’re muggles! Everything you did was to further the ambitions of a maniac who wanted to enslave everyone like them! You said yourself your side hunted them. And what would you and your Death Eater pals have done if you’d found them? Sat them down with tea and biscuits and asked them where I was?”
“If you want to bring your parents into this then it was your choice to erase their memories then, wasn’t it? It’s your fault they’re where they are.”
“That’s exactly what it is! At the end of the day it was a choice I made and therefore it’s my responsibility to put up with the likes of you and your slimy, selfish, irritating ways if it means I have any chance of fixing my mistake!”
Malfoy starred at her for a full five seconds before gathering his books with a wave of his wand and striding swiftly out of the room. The slam of the door echoed loudly in the aftermath.
Hermione sat down – unaware she’d even stood – and waited for the adrenaline to subside.
Fuck Malfoy. Fuck the entitled, thoughtless, spineless git. Here she’d been thinking he was trying to atone for his sins somehow, but how could he when he could barely admit he’d done anything wrong? Did he honestly think his own actions weren’t his fault? The nerve…
But when the anger subsided, she was instead filled with a heavy, pooling dread. Her parents… If the fight caused him to back out of the deal, she’d be back to square one.
She held her head in her hands, heart swirling with emotions she couldn’t quite name. She hated how he had this much power over her. If she backed out of the deal, he would suffer mild inconvenience. If he did, she could lose her parents forever. They were in very different positions here, and she hated hated hated it. The realisation made her feel sick, but if Hermione wanted to save her parents she would have to hold her tongue. She would have to put up with his baseless victim complex.
But could she hide anything from him once the extractions started? The thought brought her to the verge of tears. Of all the people to have to bear her soul – her complete being – to, Malfoy was up there with the worst. She just had to hope it would be worth it. That it would be enough.
Eventually – on still shaky legs – she made her way up to bed.
***
Tuesday passed without much drama. Hermione’s usual seats were towards the front in all her classes while Malfoy tended to skulk around the back, so she couldn’t do much to observe him. From the glimpses she got, though, he seemed more straight-backed and rigid than he had all term. Like a quill that she could reach out and snap if she chose to. He explicitly avoided eye contact with Hermione, which was fine by her.
Except it wasn’t, really. It just made her even more sure she’d fucked things up beyond repair.
Well, he started it. Said a small, petulant voice in the back of her head. She quieted it quickly. There was too much at stake here to let her ego get in the way of her task. If she had to, she’d apologise, although she wouldn’t mean a word of it. She’d beg and grovel and feed his bullshit if she had to. As much as she loathed it, she needed Malfoy.
When eight o’clock on Wednesday rolled around, she wasn’t sure what to do. She half expected Malfoy not to show up at all. Did he expect the same of her?
It would be best to go, to play it safe. Just in case he’d cooled down a bit and was willing to work with her despite their disagreement. If she did get a second chance, she would be smarter this time. She would put her values aside and feed his inflated ego. It would be worth it.
Maybe this was why the hat had insisted on Ravenclaw. She knew when to keep her courage quiet and let her brains take over. Actually doing it, though, would be the issue.
To her surprise, Malfoy was standing in the same place he was on Monday. He was clearly trying to look relaxed, but failing miserably. He didn’t meet her eyes as he ushered her through the entrance.
As soon as the heavy door thumped shut behind them, Malfoy’s cold voice startled her.
“I owe you an apology,” he clipped.
She spun around to face him. He was looking her in the eye now. Hermione didn’t last long this time either. She felt like she’d been doused with icy water. She didn’t speak.
“I was rude last time we spoke. You gave me a lot to think about. So I did… think about it,” he said, softer. If anything about Malfoy could be called soft.
She decided to roll with the strange, seemingly unearned victory he’d just handed her. “And what conclusions did you come to?”
“You… were right.” The admission seemed to pain him. “There is always a choice. But I will maintain that sometimes the only choices you have are shit.”
She had to give him that. He wasn’t done though.
“You were also right about me being a coward. Although that insult doesn’t sting as much as you might think it does. The problem is that I forget not everyone else is a coward and I miscalculate.”
“You’re… fine with being called a coward?” Hermione could not quite fathom this.
Malfoy sighed heavily. “You realise that all the problems you have with Slytherins – that we’re self-serving and conniving and power-hungry et cetera… It doesn’t just go one way. We have our own values and our own problems with the rest of you.”
“What problems?”
“Well we’ll start with Gryffindors since you’re – they’re the most annoying. There’s the temper tantrums and the misguided sense of moral superiority just because their good deeds happen to be the showiest. Most can’t understand anything more nuanced than a punch to the face.”
Hermione’s temper flared. “You do realise-”
“Let me finish, Granger. I’m trying to prove a point. Hufflepuffs tend to have no ambition, barely any sense of self-worth and are perfectly happy being the doormats of society. Ravenclaws are insufferably arrogant and prefer to spend most of their time in their own heads because the real world is too hard for them.”
Malfoy really wasn’t doing anything to redeem himself to her.
“What, so every house other than Slytherin is full of the scum of the earth?” She snorted.
“Of course not. We’re exactly as self-absorbed as you think we are. We have an unhealthy amount of pride which leads to us disregarding and being unable to learn from people who are different from us. Our ambition often drives us past the point of what’s morally acceptable. And as you’ve said, we’re cowards. I’ll admit all this.”
“What’s your point, Malfoy?”
“My point is that everyone has flaws. What makes your flaws more acceptable to you than mine is a combination of how you were raised, your peer group and – since you’re a recovering Gryffindor – possibly a lack of self-reflection.”
Hermione huffed. “A recovering Gryffindor?” She spat. Malfoy was becoming less tolerable by the second.
“I’m sorry. It was just a joke.”
“Well, it wasn’t funny.”
“Is anything to you? Or do you take yourself too seriously for that?”
Hermione had to physically restrain herself from punching the git straight in the nose. Sweet, sweet memories of the crunch of Malfoy’s face under her fist in third year came bubbling up to the surface.
The blond sack of shit had the audacity to sigh at her murderous expression. “Again, it was a joke, Granger. I’ll stop now.”
“You can’t just be a complete arse, say whatever the fuck you want and call it a joke when people get upset, Malfoy! That’s not how communication works.”
“Actually, that’s how it’s worked for me my whole life. I see now I’ll need to adjust,” he said derisively.
Her mouth was already open and prepared to yell at him again when he cut her off.
“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean for that to sound sarcastic, honest.” Malfoy held his hands up in a kind of surrender and finally, finally lowered his eyes, scowling.
“So what you’re saying is that there’s nothing wrong with being completely spineless?”
“I’m not. Are you saying there’s nothing wrong with having a raging temper?” He shot back instantly.
She thought back to the absolute terror she’d felt yesterday when she’d realised she might have lost her chance to save her parents because she just couldn’t stop herself from ripping into Malfoy.
“… No,” she replied, “But it can help you do a lot of good if you know where to direct it.”
“As can ambition. As can cowardice, even.”
“How on earth can cowardice ever help you do good?”
Malfoy sighed again, his posture sagging. She found herself unintentionally relaxing seeing him without the clenched jaw he’d been sporting all Tuesday. And the fact that they were having this conversation… maybe Malfoy wasn’t going to drop out of the bargain.
“For the sake of argument, look at Teddy Lupin’s situation. If his parents had been a bit more cowar-”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about that, Malfoy! You didn’t know those people. I did. They died for what they believed in so that Teddy could grow up in a better world.”
“Would you do the same, then? If it was your child?”
That gave her pause. But Malfoy didn’t give her time to think.
“You were brave enough to take the risk with your parents. Look where that got you.”
“Shut up. Shut. Up.” His words took all the wind out of her. She didn’t have the energy to yell at him. Didn’t have the energy to fight the tears that sprang to her eyes.
Malfoy seemed to realise, then, that he’d gone too far.
“I’m sorry. I… That was wrong of me.” Malfoy sighed and buried his hands deep into his pockets.
“Again – and I wish you’d stop being so bloody intelligent so I can stop saying this – you’re right. There aren’t many places worth going that cowardice can get you. Look at where I am. I did… a lot of bad things because I didn’t even have the spine to question what was happening. Let alone stand against it.”
Hermione attempted to surreptitiously wipe a stray tear from her face. Malfoy made a show of looking away. Hermione was grateful. She hated to be caught crying, and hated it even more when people tried to smother her as if that was supposed to make her feel any better.
“I’m trying to change, if that helps. I’m trying to be less of a coward. I’m trying very hard.”
Hermione’s head snapped up but thankfully Malfoy didn’t attempt to meet her eyes. The tension was back again. Except this time his face was much less unreadable. Maybe it was because she had the context now, but Malfoy really did look… scared? Ashamed? Sad? Whatever it was, it was like watching ice crack over a frozen lake. She couldn’t see the bottom, but she could see the surface wasn’t as solid as it had originally appeared.
“Good,” was her eloquent response.
They were both silent for a full thirty seconds before a strange smell caught Hermione’s attention.
“What is that?” she asked, sniffing. “It smells like petrol.”
“That would be the potion. It needs stirring.”
Hermione’s eyes widened as Malfoy strode to the other side of the room, where a small cauldron was emitting black fumes. He’d already started? He must have never even considered breaking their deal. A wave of relief washed over her.
She hadn’t noticed before, but the room looked different to how it did the first time. As well as the library there was now a kind of sitting area with a long chaise lounge on one side, and a brewing station on the other.
“How long will it take to finish?” she asked.
“Another month or so. It’s quite a complicated potion and I don’t want to take any risks. We can start the extraction around Halloween,” said Malfoy, dissipating the fumes with a flourish of his wand.
Hermione shivered at the mention of extractions and was grateful Malfoy’s back was still turned.
“I went and got a third year book by the way, suffering untold humiliation in the process. I was terribly brave about it,” he said.
Hermione couldn’t help laughing at that.
“I didn’t get through all of it. There was a lot of talk about electricity but no real explanation except it comes out of the wall and makes electrionics work.”
“Electronics.”
“Whatever, does it really come from walls? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Have you ever considered how strange it is that magic comes from sticks?”
Malfoy looked nonplussed for a second before asserting that, “It doesn’t. Wands are just channels.”
“Well, socket plugs are sort of like that too.”
They found themselves sitting at the desk again as Hermione explained the basics of electricity. She was starting to see the problem with Malfoy’s self-directed learning. He was meticulous. To a fault, even. He wouldn’t accept the explanation of ‘moving charged particles’ until she’d explained particles, and then subatomic particles, and then how they managed to make a lightbulb glow just by moving around in a circuit.
A part of her said that she should feel frustrated by this, but she just couldn’t pretend. She’d always been the pedantic one, the one who needed to know everything about everything. She was so surprised to find Malfoy’s brain worked similarly that she didn’t have any room for frustration.
It was Malfoy who stopped them at some time around ten o’clock.
“Well, that was much more productive,” she said, hoping she wasn’t flushing too hard as she packed up her parchment. Had she really lost track of time talking to Malfoy?
“It was. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And…” She had to do it. As much as it hurt her pride, she had to do it. “Thank you for not backing out of the deal.”
Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “Why would I back out? It’s advantageous to both of us.”
Hermione debated silently for longer than was probably appropriate before she decided what route to take.
I’ll be direct, Granger.
“Yes, but… one of us has a lot more to lose here than the other. It would be inconvenient for you, devastating for me.”
Malfoy looked at her strangely for a minute. “Had you considered, Granger, that maybe I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore?”
Hermione felt like the ground had suddenly disappeared beneath her.
“So… you’re saying you actually want to help me?”
Malfoy averted his gaze. “I’m saying I have things to gain from helping you. Just like you have things to gain from helping me. That’s all.”
The lake had frozen right over again.
They walked back up the Ravenclaw tower in silence, entering separately. Hermione slept soundly that night.