Chapter 8
By the time Halloween had come and gone, Hermione had to reluctantly admit she was started to enjoy her evenings with Malfoy. When he wasn’t using his conversational skills to whittle her down to the bone with insults, he was actually quite pleasant to talk to. It helped that they had carefully avoided talking about the war – the one they’d fought in, that is.
Hermione had also discovered, to her surprise, that Malfoy was quite the gentleman. It made sense when she thought about it, what with him being part of the wizarding aristocracy, but she just hadn’t expected the pulling out chairs and opening doors for her to continue. She hadn’t expected it to start. Hermione had actually burst out laughing when she’d sneezed on Friday and Malfoy had offered her a handkerchief with an ornate D.M. embroidered in it.
She was even starting to get used to his dry sense of humour. Since her outburst he had seemed to realise Hermione needed him to be very clear about when he was joking and when he wasn’t. So he had been. And maybe a part of it was that Hermione was slowly starting to trust that when he said things like, “Well of course they had to be exterminated, they were given out loans for Merlin’s sake,” he didn’t really believe it.
There was still that nagging voice in the back of her head telling her that she might be wrong. He might be hiding despicable thoughts behind a veil of dark humour. But as their potion continued to bubble in its corner, she continued to trust.
Tonight was going to be different, though.
Hermione woke up in a cold sweat at an ungodly hour in the morning. She didn’t remember her dream, but the terror of it was still clinging to her skin. She jumped as a particularly strong gust of wind shook one of the windows and felt very silly.
After deciding that it was indeed acceptable to be awake at 5:23 a.m., Hermione showered, dressed and headed down to the Great Hall, hoping it wasn’t too early for breakfast.
To her relief, there were a few students already there and quietly eating. She made her way to one of the few tables with a spread and poured herself a gratuitous amount of coffee. She was eying the food distastefully when a chair was pulled out across from her and a grinning Theo Nott sat down.
“Morning, Granger! You’re up early,” he said, buttering some toast.
“Yeah…” It was too early in the morning to process Theo Nott talking to her, much less be clever in her responses.
“It wouldn’t happen to be because of nerves, would it?”
Hermione choked on her coffee.
“Wh- what would I be nervous about?”
“Well, if I was going to have the essence of my being extracted by a smarmy blond git who’d bullied me for years, I probably wouldn’t be feeling too hot.” Theo said nonchalantly as he took a bite of toast.
Hermione blanched. “He told you?”
“Relax. He didn’t betray your trust. I just happen to be very well versed in the art of secrets and deceit.” Theo grinned somewhat manically, green eyes meeting hers. “I have my ways of finding out what I need to know. You aren’t exactly being subtle about it. Have your friends not noticed yet?”
They hadn’t. Hermione had thought they were being subtle enough.
“Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be on his best behaviour.”
“How do you know that? What exactly has he said to you?”
“It’s really more about what he hasn’t said to me.”
When Nott didn’t elaborate, Hermione sighed in frustratrion.
“Alright then, what hasn’t he said to you?”
“Well, he hasn’t called you an insufferable know-it-all once this year. He hasn’t called you useless despite several sessions of you trying to shove information about muggles into his head. He even got mad at me when I called you stuck-up. That’s Malfoy’s version of singing your praises.”
“What do you want, Nott? Besides irritating me.”
“I want nothing other than your lovely company, Granger.”
Hermione snorted. “Slytherins always want something.”
“Ex-Slytherins, I think you mean. According to the hat, I’ve always been a Gryffindor. How did you deal with all these stairs for six years, by the way? It’s inhumane to have the common room so high up.”
Hermione only just stopped herself from laughing. “You have no idea how lucky you are. Ravenclaw tower’s two floors higher and there’s even more steps up to the dormitories. Not to mention the doorknocker.”
“Ahh yes, Draco’s told me about the riddles. He didn’t mention it was so damn high, though. Those quidditch players are built different.” Theo grimaced into his coffee. “My condolences for the stairs, but honestly answering a riddle can’t be any worse than making small talk with the Fat Lady every time you need to get into the common room. Did you know she’s started crocheting?”
“I have no sympathy for you. She had an opera phase in third year.”
Theo winced at that, and they fell into a somewhat more companiable silence as they ate.
Hermione debated internally for a long time before speaking. She had Nott relatively cornered, and he seemed smug enough in his knowledge of Malfoy to let a few things slip.
“So why is Malfoy taking Muggle Studies?”
Theo paused his chewing and looked at her searchingly. “He hasn’t told you?”
Hermione huffed. “He’s told me but hasn’t told me. It’s… admirable that he wants to learn but there’s no reason he needs a N.E.W.T. It’s not like he’s planning to go become an accountant or anything.”
“What’s an acc- never mind.”
Theo was silent for a minute as he scrutinised her. Then he sighed.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but the Malfoys aren’t in a great position right now. It’s none of your business how I know this, but there’s been talk at the Ministry of seizing their assets and using them to help rebuild. The section of the pureblood community that managed to stay out of the war want nothing to do with them given what they did. That includes the Parkinsons, meaning Draco’s semi-engagement with Pansy is off. They’re close to ruin.”
Hermione felt cold. Her brain had gone down an old, familiar path at this new information.
“So you’re saying Malfoy wants a N.E.W.T. to make his family look good in the eyes of the Ministry? He wants to pretend he’s reformed so they don’t take his money away?”
Theo’s gaze darkened. “That isn’t quite how I’d interpret that information. But who knows? You are the brightest witch of your age, after all. And co-saviour of the wizarding world to boot.”
Before Hermione could formulate a response, Theo had downed the rest of his coffee and strode off with an, “Excuse me,” and a slight bow.
She felt like she’d missed something. Why had he left? Had she been rude?
These thoughts followed her for the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, her head was not in a place where she could sort through any of the new information she’d been given effectively, and by the time dinner rolled around she was no closer to forming much of an opinion on Malfoy’s situation, let alone an evaluation of her own social skills.
Hermione was feeling so queasy that she’d seriously contemplated skipping dinner. In the end, she decided she’d rather not risk fainting during whatever Malfoy was going to do to her later that night.
“Hey! Anyone home?” Ginny asked, waving a hand in front of Hermione’s face. “You keep spacing out.”
Hermione avoided looking into Ginny’s shrewd eyes as she shook her head. “I’m just tired, sorry. It’s been a long week.”
“I call bullshit. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Hermione did not have the mental fortitude to deal with an interrogation right now.
“Nothing’s got you looking awfully pale.”
Hermione scanned her brain desperately for an excuse.
“I’ve been having nightmares.” There. That wasn’t even a lie.
Ginny’s face immediately softened.
“Oh… do you wanna talk about it?”
Hermione shook her head.
“Y’know, if you go tell Madame Pomfrey about it she’ll give you some Dreamless Sleep. She doesn’t even ask questions given half the student body’s in the same position. One of the girls in my dorm’s a screamer. I don’t know exactly what happened to her and I don’t even know if I should ask. Slytherin’s… weird. It’s like there’s all these unspoken rules everyone but me knows.”
“Actually, I think there might be. Daphne mentioned that she didn’t know if she should talk to her old friends because the rules are different now, or something like that.”
“Oh, Merlin!” Ginny’s head sank into her hands. “I knew it. I wish someone would make a Slytherin survival guide. Or better yet that they’d all just relax a little bit. Did Daphne say anything about what these mysterious rules are?”
“Well… it was honestly mostly about which families were friendly with each other. If the parents don’t get on, then neither should the kids was the gist of it.”
“That’s ridiculous. Honestly, as annoying as this whole situation is I can see why the hat did what it did. The sooner that kind of rubbish is scrapped, the better.”
“Does that mean you’re going to talk to your roommate, then?” Hermione asked.
“Well I suppose I’ll have to now. Otherwise I’ll feel like I’m participating in some sort of gross, regressive ritual of silence.”
Hermione wished her friend luck with a wan smile. A quick glance at a clock on the other side of the hall told her she had about fifteen minutes to get to the Room of Requirement. Her stomach turned at the thought.
After forcing down a few more bites of potato she excused herself early, telling a sympathetic Ginny she wanted an early night. Which she did, really. She just wouldn’t be having it.
As always, Malfoy was already at the entrance to their room. As always, he held the door open for her. Once they were inside Hermione’s eyes snapped immediately to the silent, fumeless cauldron in the corner.
The room had been slightly different every time they’d met, so far. This time, the once simple chaise lounge was completely smothered in pillows and fuzzy blankets. There were plush rugs covering the floor and the walls had been brightened from the grey stone of the castle to a soft beige. A small fireplace had been added as well as a tea set. Hermione even caught a whiff of lavender in the air. A nervous a laugh bubbled out of her.
“What exactly did you ask this room for, Malfoy?”
“A calming space. Do you not like it?”
Hermione was taken aback at that. She hadn’t expected him to be so considerate.
“I don’t… not like it. For future reference I prefer rose scents, though,” she said, trying (and probably failing) to hide her anxiety behind a veil of flippancy.
“Noted,” said Malfoy, walking over to the cauldron and meticulously measuring out two vials of potion. Hermione tried to will her heart down out of her throat as she watched him do some complicated looking wand work on one of the vials. It bubbled and turned completely transparent.
Malfoy crept over to her with a vial in each hand, looking more like he was approaching a skittish animal than a person. She didn’t miss the slight tremble in his hands as he held the vial of glittering blue potion out to her.
“This will last exactly one hour. You’ll want to sit down before taking it. From what I’ve read, we’ll both be in a sort of trance state.”
Hermione walked hesitantly over to the chaise lounge and sat down. She desperately wanted to pull one of the blankets around herself but didn’t want to look like the scared child she very much felt like right now.
“What will it feel like?” She asked, tentatively.
“I don’t know,” said Malfoy, grabbing an empty flask from the cabinet by the cauldron. “But I know that once it starts, we have an hour before it stops.”
“Right.” That was not reassuring.
“Are you ready?” asked Malfoy, holding up his vial.
Hermione froze. Was she ready to expose to innermost thoughts, feelings, hopes and fears to her childhood bully who, a few months ago, might not have hesitated to Crucio her?
Malfoy seemed to sense something in her rigid posture, and surprised her for the second time this evening.
“Look, Granger. I know this can’t be easy. I know what it’s like for your own head to be… unsafe. Invaded. It would be remiss of me not to reassure you that I have absolutely no intention of using anything I see against you. I’m not going to… judge you.”
Hermione didn’t look up – couldn’t look up – but found herself relaxing into Malfoy’s words. There was still a small, niggling part of her that told her she shouldn’t be trusting him, that he would never do anything that wasn’t for his own gain, but she quickly reminded that part that she didn’t exactly have much of a choice.
“Ok, we may as well get it over with then.” Her tone came out flatter than she’d meant for it to, and she cringed slightly at how ungrateful she sounded.
“Bottoms up, then,” said Malfoy, holding up his vial.
Hermione followed his lead and held her vial up to her lips with shaking hands. As she tipped it back she felt a sort of slimy tingling in her throat. It tasted vaguely minty.
She had only a few seconds to register how woozy she suddenly was, and to feel herself falling back onto the lounge before her surroundings resolved into the inside of a car.
Looking down, she registered she was in a car seat.
Granger?
A disembodied voice floated through her head.
Malfoy?
Right. It seems like we can talk then, he replied.
Hermione panicked as she felt a tinge of concern that was distinctly not her own coming from somewhere inside of her.
This panic proved to be too much for her tiny body. She felt like she was watching herself from far away as she started crying loudly, but at the same time was experiencing all the terror of a child overwhelmed with feelings that were too big for them.
She lost track of the strange Malfoy thread in her brain as her panic ran away with her. Her cries got louder and louder until she was kicking her seat and fighting to get the suddenly too tight harness off of herself.
“Hermione! What’s wrong, sweetie?” Her mother had turned to look back at her from the passenger seat, but all she could do was wail.
“Jesus Christ, has she hurt herself?” came her father’s harried voice.
“I can’t see- Hermione, calm down!”
But she couldn’t. She could only scream and cry and kick her tiny legs. She felt like her head was exploding and reached her hands up to shove her palms into her eye sockets. She was vaguely aware of her mother shaking a rattle and making gentle cooing sounds from the passenger seat but could do nothing to stop the crying.
After a few minutes the storm passed, and she slumped down in her seat, exhausted.
Granger? Granger!
The Malfoy thread was back. But he must have felt her terror spike again at the attempt at communication because the tendril of thought immediately withdrew.
“There there, honey. You’re alright. It’s okay.” Her mother was pushing her hair out of her face and cleaning up the mess of snot and tears with a wet-wipe. Hermione was caught somewhere between a confused child and a very embarrassed adult.
Before her mother had even finished cleaning her up, Hermione’s surroundings shifted again.
The first thing she registered was the cold. It burnt her cheeks and her gloved hands felt like rocks. Looking around, her vision was assaulted by a mass of bright white.
“Hermione!” Her father’s voice called out from behind her. “Come help Daddy with the snowman.”
She turned, disorientated, and there was her father crouching in the snow. A little bubble of childlike joy rose up inside her at that and she stomped through the sea of white back to her father. Hermione still felt out of control of her body, but it was different now. Child-Hermione knew what to do. She wasn’t afraid. She could still feel a niggling somewhere in the back of her mind that she assumed was Malfoy’s presence, but he didn’t reach out to her.
The cold burnt her hands as she rolled the snow into little balls. Her father had already made the body of the snowman and held onto her hands as she guided her snowball to the top of it. The adult Hermione felt a tinge of grief as she looked into her father’s smiling face, but the child brushed it away, absorbed in rolling another snowball.
Too soon, Hermione’s surroundings shifted again and she was sitting at a desk with a sheet full of addition problems in front of her. She tried hard to block out the noise of her boisterous classmates. She was almost done.
A few minutes later Hermione finished the page, and – double checking her name had been written at the top – shot her hand into the air.
But Mrs. Dubose was helping a child on the other side of the room. Slightly irritated, Hermione looked around to see if anyone else had finished. She wanted Mrs. Dubose to know that she had been first. She wanted the “Wow! Hermione, great job!” her teachers would always give her, and she wanted some harder problems.
She spent four and a half minutes with her hand stuck stubbornly in the air – she knew it was four and a half minutes because there was a clock and she was good at reading clocks – before her teacher took notice of her.
“Great job, Hermione! I think this deserves a gold star.”
Hermione’s tiny chest puffed out in pride as Mrs. Dubose pulled a sticker from the sheet she was carrying. She would tell Mum and Dad she got a gold star in maths today. They would be proud of her.
“Is there any more I can do?” asked Hermione. “Can I do some subtraction?”
“Hmm, let’s see if I have any more worksheets.”
Mrs. Dubose did in fact have a subtraction worksheet. As Hermione dug into it, she felt a twinge of amusement coming from somewhere in the back of her head.
Oh, shut it Malfoy.
I didn’t say anything.
The adult Hermione internally huffed.
Are you alright, by the way?
I’m fine. I… the kid version of me just had a tantrum.
I’m pretty sure my tantrums didn’t feel like that.
I was disorientated. Hermione tried desperately to suppress the shame that welled up inside of her. She didn’t need Malfoy to know how embarrassed she was. She didn’t need him to know that her tantrums had continued well past childhood.
Malfoy’s thread vibrated with a tentative curiosity. She ignored it.
Hermione finished her subtraction problems and put her hand up again.
“Nerd!” she heard a boy call from another table. Some of the other kids burst into laughter. Hermione’s cheeks reddened as Mrs. Dubose quickly scolded the boy. Hermione put her hand down, not wanting to draw attention to herself, and tried to arrange her bushy hair to sit over her ears.
Jeremy was always mean to her. But everyone liked Jeremy. Hermione felt very small.
Thankfully, the potion chose that moment to take her somewhere else. She was playing near the monkey bars in the school playground. Well, she was playing. The other kids were getting distracted.
“Sarah! You’re supposed to be a lion! Lions don’t walk on two legs.”
“I can do what I want,” Sarah said as she jumped at Rhianna with a loud roar. Rhianna squealed and abandoned her zebra posture to run away. They were all supposed to be animals. They’d made the rules and agreed to them together. What didn’t the other girls understand? Were they stupid?
“Rhianna! You’re a zebra! Zebras don’t walk on two legs!” Hermione shouted from her four-legged elephant position. A little flame of in her chest was growing dangerously fast. They were playing animals. The other girls couldn’t just change the rules!
The flame got bigger and bigger until she just couldn’t smother it. Her mind was running around in the same frustrating circles. The other girls weren’t playing properly. It didn’t make sense. They were breaking the rules of the game. It didn’t make sense.
The heat inside her body was desperate to escape and drew her out of her elephant position – the proper one. Fuming, she stomped over to where the supposed ‘lion’ was climbing the money bars.
“You can’t do that! Lions can’t climb! Are you stupid?” she yelled.
Sarah and Rhianna both gasped and gave her a look she couldn’t decipher.
“Lions have four legs! They don’t have arms!”
“Well you’re a meany!” Sarah shouted back.
“Yeah and you’re a nerd and no one likes you!” Rhianna added.
Hermione wanted to charge at them both, but her mum said hitting was bad. As she struggled desperately to keep her raging body still, she felt angry, traitorous tears welling up in her eyes.
“We can do what we want!” asserted Sarah.
“Yeah! You’re just a meany and that’s why you have no friends!” Rhianna taunted.
Hermione’s hands trembled with the force she was using to keep them still. She wanted to hit them. But hitting was bad. It was bad. Her mum said so. Tears fell down her face but she stayed still.
It was then that the other girls started up a chant. “Mean-y! Mean-y! Mean-y! Mean-y!”
Hermione didn’t hit them. She didn’t. She sat on the ground. She didn’t hit them. The fire was burning her insides. It wanted out. She wouldn’t let it out. Mum said hitting was bad.
Hermione sat there for several minutes after the girls had run off, choking on her sobs, trying to breath. The fire went away – it always went away – but it had burnt right through her.
The grass in front her blurred and with a horrible lurching feeling she found herself staring up at a beige ceiling, in her own body and Malfoy-free mind.
The tears started immediately. Hermione covered her face with her hands and curled herself into a ball facing the sofa. Malfoy did not need to see this. She wished he would go away. He’d already seen enough. Shame welled up inside of her as, “Mean-Y! Mean-Y! Mean-y! Mean-y!” beat itself into her head like a drum.
She didn’t know how long she cried – her world consisting only of the couch and her distress – but the next thing she knew she was waking up to a sore back and too-cold air. A quick scan of the room showed her the fire had gone out. And Malfoy was asleep in the armchair across from her.
Hermione numbly registered that several hours must have passed. Something in the back of her exhausted mind told her that was a problem, but she couldn’t think why.
It was cold, though, despite the fuzzy blanket on top of her. She needed her wand, her wand… Why wasn’t it in her pocket? It was cold. She needed to light the fire.
Slowly she pulled herself into a sitting position, muscles aching from the hunched position she’d fallen asleep in. She pulled the blanket around herself with the intention of walking over and borrowing Malfoy’s wand from the side table he’d left it on, but her knees gave way immediately and she fell to the ground with a crash. She’d knocked over some sort of table, and after the clang had finished resonating, she heard the distinct sound of a wand rolling away. Dammit. It had been right there.
“Granger?” came Malfoy’s sleep-addled voice. He coughed to clear the scratchiness from his throat. “Are you alright?”
Hermione didn’t answer. Was she alright?
“I’m cold.” That much was true.
Malfoy picked up his wand and swiftly re-ignited the fireplace. Suddenly the room was bathed in an orange light. Hermione’s eyes tinged in pain and she closed them. Her ears told her that Malfoy had walked over to her, and when she managed to get her eyes open, she saw his socked feet unnervingly close.
“Granger.” That pulled her eyes upwards. Malfoy was holding out his hand to her, ring glinting in the firelight.
Embarrassed, Hermione ignored it and pulled herself back onto the lounge. Malfoy pulled his hand back, face freezing over.
“Are you alright?” he asked again.
She looked away stubbornly.
Sighing, Malfoy walked around of the room gathering a plethora of blankets. He placed them neatly beside her on the lounge. Hermione pulled them awkwardly around herself.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Malfoy clipped. The rigidness was back again, the lake frozen over. She didn’t like it.
“I- I’m fine,” she croaked, struggling to get the words through her exhausted brain and out of her parched mouth.
“Current circumstance would suggest otherwise.”
“Well, what do you want me to say?” Hermione snapped, “I feel like shit?”
“That would be preferable. But what I want is for you to explain what happened. What was that? Why is your brain so…. so-”
“So what?” Hermione challenged, a combination of indignation and exhaustion giving her the fortitude to glare directly into Malfoy’s eyes. He was looking at her like she was some impossible puzzle.
“Well, everything was so… big. I don’t know how to explain it. Everything’s closer and bigger. And Jesus Christ your temper…”
“Sod off, Malfoy!”
He sighed. “Sorry. It really didn’t seem like you had any control over it.”
“I can control it perfectly fine,” Hermione clipped.
“I wouldn’t call what you did controlling it.”
“I didn’t hit anyone.”
“No, but…” Malfoy paused for a second. “Granger, that’s not normal. Other people don’t feel like that. I don’t even know if you can call it a temper… it doesn’t feel like anything like mine.”
“That’s because not everyone is you, Malfoy.” Again, did he have no sense of self-awareness?
Malfoy let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. It was so uncharacteristic of the ever-polished Malfoy that Hermione felt slightly alarmed.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m quite an accomplished legilimens. It was my main job after I… didn’t complete the first assignment I was given. I’ve been in a lot of people’s brains. They’re all different, obviously, but yours is… different different. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Does it matter?” Hermione lifted her chin, forcing herself to maintain eye contact.
“Obviously it matters. Look at you.” He gestured to her puffy eyes and tangled hair. “Let’s not pretend those episodes stopped in childhood.”
She hated him in that moment. Hated his razor-sharp mind that spared no thought for the people it might cut. Her brain was none of his business.
“I am the brightest witch of my age. Maybe I’m just smarter than anyone you’ve… interrogated.” Hermione supressed a shiver at the thought of what circumstances those interrogations must have taken place in.
“You are. I’ll admit that. But that’s not it. Everything in your mind is… louder. It’s almost deafening to be in there.”
The tension in Hermione’s jaw was starting to cause her pain. And she had a headache to boot. She moved her gaze back to the ground, finding almost instant relief. She didn’t have to say anything to that. He hadn’t asked her anything, and she had nothing to contribute. Except maybe expletives and a three-foot-long essay detailing why he was horrid and irritating and she hated him.
After a few minutes of awkward silence Malfoy walked across to room to collect her wand and handed it back to her.
“We have a problem.”
Hermione panicked. Was he going to go back on the deal? Was her brain so inhospitable that Malfoy would refuse to do any more extractions?
“What problem?” She asked, trying hard to keep her voice neutral.
“It’s four a.m. Any ideas on how to get back to our dormitories without being seen and giving the Hogwarts rumour mill the scoop of its life?”
She blushed at what he was insinuating.
“I wish we had Harry’s cloak…” It had always been the perfect solution to her, Harry and Rons’ late-night wonderings.
“Excellent idea. Disillusionment charms. Can you stand?”
Hermione pulled herself off the lounge out of shear stubbornness.
After they’d both retrieved their shoes and Hermione had tried in vain to get her tangled hair under control Malfoy asked if she was ready. She nodded an affirmative and he cast the charm on both of them. Hermione shivered as the freezing magic trickled down her spine.
“Can you walk?” Asked the now practically invisible Malfoy. She had to admit his disillusionment charm was impressive.
She nodded before realising he couldn’t see her, and then croaked out a small, “Yes.”
They crept in silence up to Ravenclaw tower. The eagle didn’t speak until Malfoy loudly cleared his throat.
“Who goes there?” Creaked the bird.
“Draco Malfoy. Let me through.”
“You must know how this works by now, young one,” squawked the eagle. Hermione could barely make out the riddle through her raging headache, which the bird’s metallic twanging was only making worse.
Fortunately, Malfoy had no such problems and they were soon standing in an empty common room. Hermione was hyperaware of the heat of Malfoy’s body and the sound of his breathing beside her.
She stood awkwardly for a second, wondering whether she was supposed to say something. Suddenly she felt a wand tap her head and heat dribbled down from the top of it. Looking down, she saw she was visible again.
“Goodnight, Granger.” Malfoy said so quietly she was half convinced she’d imagined it. When the sound of his footsteps had faded, she felt very alone. She wrapped her arms around herself, refusing to admit that a small part of her was wishing he would have stayed with her a little longer.
When she finally made it up to her silent dormitory and stumbled into bed, she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.