Chapter 5
Several weeks went by and the atmosphere in the Memory Room had been cordial – if a little cold. By some sort of unspoken agreement they seemed to have decided not to mention their disagreement.
If anything Malfoy had been unfailingly polite to Hermione on the occasions he chose to speak to her.
She found it unnerving.
Hermione was used to ill-concealed disgust and/or irritation from him. This refined courtesy was unlike the Malfoy that she knew. Hermione liked known entities. She liked to feel in control of her environment. Malfoy was throwing it all off kilter by behaving in a manner completely contradictory to what she expected.
She’d been expecting thinly veiled insults, scoffs and huffs, rolls of the eyes and perhaps the odd swear word. What she got was ‘Good morning Granger’, “Here, check the reference to Mnemone Radford’s creation of Memory Charms”, and “Have a nice night Granger.”
Hermione half-wondered if it was some sort of reverse psychology to make her feel guilty – except for the fact psychology was a Muggle Science which Malfoy would surely deem to be beneath him. It was working though. She kept replaying their argument in her mind; the way a storm seemed to darken his mercurial gaze, and the brief flash of hurt when she flinched from him. With each replay of the events her guilt intensified; how had she been so close to such a horrific invasion of privacy?
Ashamedly, she rather thought it was because she hadn’t quite viewed Malfoy as human; as having feelings as valid as her own. That somehow her memories of his callous youth had left the impression that he simply sprang into being an arsehole. She was beginning to realise though, after weeks of quietly working alongside the man, that perhaps she had judged him too harshly. It was a galling thought.
He hadn’t once mentioned her birth; very few wizards managed to go a full conversation without commenting about how it was wonderful to have a Muggleborn in the Department; so few were able to cope with such rigorous magical study. Whilst she met few blood purists these days, there were still some objectionable attitudes towards Muggleborns.
And Malfoy.
He was the person who had introduced Hermione to the concept that her blood was dirty. He had called her a Mudblood before she even knew what it meant. Yet now he made no mention of her heritage. Even when he had been yelling at her over his memory, his insults had never dipped below some variation of how interfering he was.
The Malfoy she remembered would have called her a Mudblood without a moments hesitation.
It was weird. Hermione didn’t like weird. She liked predictable. She liked knowing what to expect. And that Malfoy was behaving decidedly in an unexpected way had throw her off.
She frowned when she looked at the clock.
It was already 9.30. Had she really spent the last 45 minutes thinking about Malfoy of all people.
Merlin, something had to be done to address the knot of guilt in her stomach that tightened with every stiff, polite word from the wizard sat opposite her. Gods, she was going to have to apologise.
She really didn’t want to.
She was quite certain this courteousness must be an act.
She wished she could just tell Harry and Ginny what had happened.
They were blunt enough to tell her if she was in the wrong.
Ugh.
“Malfoy.”
He said nothing, but continued to pore over some medieval tome.
“Malfoy. Could I talk to you?”
“You are talking to me Granger.”
He was insufferable.
Hermione sighed with irritation.
“Could you look at me please?”
He looked up and met her gaze. His silver eyes were cool and indifferent. Perhaps this would be easier if he just looked back at the book …
Hermione sucked in a breath.
Now or never.
“Malfoy, I would like to … to apologise to you.” He raised an eyebrow at her. She rather thought the coolness in his gaze had thawed a fraction. She continued. “For my behaviour and actions on our first day, I mean. I was antagonistic to you from the off, and though I didn’t watch your memories, even the consideration of it was a gross violation of your privacy. I’m really very sorry I even entertained the thought. I believe I let our history colour my perceptions of you. It wasn’t right, and, well I’ll do my best not sink back into old ways from now on.” She finished in a rush of breath; her cheeks colouring from awkwardness under his cool observation.
A moment passed.
And then another.
He seemed to be weighing her words.
Eventually he began to speak.
“Thank you Granger. I admit the thought of you watching my memories has weighed quite heavily on me the last few weeks.” His brow furrowed slightly as he contemplated his next words. “I confess I am relieved to know you did not watch it. There are some things in my past that, whilst relevant to our research, I am not quite ready to air out in the open, you understand.” Hermione nodded – she really did understand. It wasn’t like she was jumping to tell him about her parents. “I can appreciate you must have been very curious – they after all are rather unusual in appearance.”
Hermione flushed slightly at this concession; a soft pink colouring her cheeks.
“Yes, I was very curious. Do you know why your memories vary so much in colour?” She asked tentatively. She was surprised at how … forgiving he seemed to be.
Malfoy’s expression seemed to shutter slightly.
Hermione tried to backtrack.
“I’m sorry. You don’t need to answer.”
“It’s fine Granger.” His face was tight. “I’m just not particularly comfortable discussing that just yet, if you don’t mind. No doubt I’ll have to inform you at some point.” Hermione noticed he looked distinctly less than thrilled at that prospect. “Perhaps, in the interim, we can ground ourselves more thoroughly in the existing research of memory magic.”
“O-of course, Malfoy. I didn’t mean to pry. Now – I did what you requested and looked for more work around Radford’s creation of memory charms. I actually found in the archives some old manuscripts detailing portions of her arithmantic theories during the creation process. It’s fasincating really – but she seems to have incorporated some runic elements which I’m finding a little tricky. I remember you had a particular talent for Ancient Runes – perhaps you might take a look?”
He seemed happy to accept her olive branch, and the morning passed quickly as they debated the various issues with combining Nordic Runes with arithmantic analysis.
“I’m telling you Granger. Runes predate arithmantic understanding – it’s emotive magic, not logical. You can’t apply arithmantic theory to Runes. It’s as much about the precision of the runes as it is about the emotion of the scribe.”
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Arithmancy allows for the variables of emotion. Arithmantically designed spells allow for variances of emotional intent in much the same way as runic spells do; impact of the spell, range, longevity. Honestly Malfoy, you took NEWT-Level Arithmancy. You know this”
Malfoy merely grinned in response.
Hermione noticed a dimple in his left cheek. How strange, she reflected, to have spent six years in his presence at school and never noticing that he had dimples when he smiled.
She rolled her eyes at him.
“Alright. Have fun winding me up did you?”
“Ah, I’m sorry Granger. It’s just so rare I get to debate academic theory – Theo’s all about justice, and if it’s not Potions, Pansy’s not interested. I had to play Devil’s Advocate. It’s no fun if we just agree.”
Hermione pursed her lips at him, but couldn’t quite help the tug of her lip into an involuntary smile.
“Keep reading you insufferable prat.”
Her words lacked any real venom, but Malfoy saw fit to follow them nonetheless, with a kind of spring in the way he flicked through the pages.
They continued their research for a time; an almost comfortable silence punctuated by a deep breath, or sipping of coffee.
“You know,” Hermione said suddenly. “A bunch of us are meeting at the Leaky for drinks tonight.”
Malfoy arched a brow at this sudden interruption. “How … delightful for you.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at his drawling voice.
“Ugh. You’re such a prat. I only mentioned it because, well, I still feel bad for the other week. I thought I could perhaps buy you a drink as an apology? But if you’re going to be difficult about it then I won’t bother.” She crossed her arms with a huff.
“Let’s not be hasty Granger.” He wagged a finger at her. “Whilst I normally don’t refuse a free drink, I confess I tend to frequent Muggle establishments over wizarding pubs.”
Hermione looked blankly at him; shock evident in her wide chocolate-brown eyes.
“Does that surprise you Granger?” He leant back in his chair and folded his arms; a cool expression in his steel gaze.
Hermione recovered herself; shaking her curls back and looking at him directly.
“Well, actually yes it does. I stand by what I said at your trial – you’re no Death Eater. But historically you haven’t exactly had a high opinion of Muggles, or Muggleborns.” Her voice was tart.
Malfoy sighed. To Hermione’s ears it sound long-suffering; like he’d had this discussion many times over and was fed up with repeating himself.
“Forgive me, but whilst I appreciate the vote of confidence in my allegiances Granger, it’s been a long time since Hogwarts. You didn’t really know me then, and you don’t know me now.”
The atmosphere had shifted from almost-comfortable to awkward and tense.
Hermione felt herself gawping at Malfoy; her mouth opening and closing like a fish as she summoned a response.
“Malfoy … I … uh…”
“Forget it.” He cut her off. He stood from his seat and brushed his robes of imaginary lint. “It’s getting late. I’m going to head out.” He paused and took a deep breath as if summoning some courage. “If the offer still stands, I might see you at the Leaky. I’m out with Theo tonight though, if you don’t mind his presence.”
“Not … not at all.” Hermione squeaked out.
Malfoy left.
Well. Hermione thought to herself. What on earth was all that about.