Chapter 8
“I can’t believe you ditched us for Malfoy.” Ron’s voice was terse when Hermione had returned to the Leaky Cauldron; having cast a surreptitious glamour charm to hide the red rims of her eyes. Their unexpectedly emotional heart-to-heart had been draining, and she was confused by his sincere offer of friendship, and she really didn’t want to deal with Ron’s jealous tendencies. Romantic they may not be – but he remained remarkably protective of her nonetheless.
“Ronald, please. I had important business to discuss with him. We’re both Unspeakables, you know I can’t say more than that.”
Ron opened his voice to argue when Lavender, who had politely been pretending to listen to Luna theorising that wrackspurts were responsible for house rivalries (apparently the Gryffindor’s present had been less than impressed when she invited Theo Nott to join them) whilst he and Hermione argued, laid a scarred hand on his wrist.
“Ronnie, leave it. Hermione’s a big girl. If she says it was important, it was important. Go get her a drink – she missed your round.” Ron’s mouth closed obediently and he nodded, pressing a kiss to Lavender’s temple as he stood.
Hermione smiled gratefully at Lavender who rolled her eyes fondly at Ron.
“He was so worried about tonight, you know. He didn’t know how you’d feel about … well, us.” Lavender shrugged her shoulders in an apologetic sort of way.
“Like I said to Ron, school was a long time ago Lavender. Which you’d think he would bear in mind when having a go at me about Malfoy.” She huffed and threw a glare at the red-head who was happily signing an autograph at the bar.
Lavender grinned. Her blue eyes alight with the kind of delight Hermione recalled from years of listening to her gossip about boys. “Well, Ronnie might not care for him – but my goodness Malfoy has grown up well. You must be enjoying whatever secret business you’re working on.” She gave Hermione a wolfish grin.
“Whatever you are thinking Lavender, you’re further off than one of Trelawney’s predictions.”
Lavender laughed loudly as Ron returned with Hermione’s butterbeer before waving Ginny over from her perch on Harry’s lap.
“Hermioooooooneee” Ginny stumbled slightly before landing gracelessly in Ron’s vacated seat. Ron looked nonplussed. Lavender plucked the butterbeer from his grip, and waved him off towards Harry.
“We were just talking about how Malfoy has turned into an absolute dish, Gin” The wolfish grin was back. Just like fifth year.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Lavender was talking about it. Frankly, I think she has lost the plot.”
“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.” Ginny’s voice slurred ever so slightly, she had a habit of drinking in excess when on leave from the Harpies, and when Hermione fixed her with a stern look she simply gazed back with softly unfocused eyes. “He might still be a prat,” she continued, “but fuck, he’s a good looking one. You didn’t mention that when you came round for drinks!”
“I don’t make a habit of appraising my co-workers for their looks.” Hermione responded primly, taking a dignified sip of her butterbeer. Ginny and Lavender eyed each other knowingly before breaking out in tipsy giggles.
Hermione resolutely ignored them. She’d certainly noticed that he looked remarkably handsome in his Muggle clothes, but after such a fraught conversation, and with a tentative friendship in the making, Hermione did not have the fortitude to unpack that thought any further.
Their work together was significantly more productive in the weeks that followed; though by silent agreement neither mentioned their conversation at the coffee shop. The only way Hermione was certain she hadn’t dreamed it was in the way that Malfoy seemed less guarded than before. His unnerving politeness had given way to small smiles and friendly ribbing.
That did not mean, however, that there weren’t times that he drove her absolutely potty. Some things from school had decidedly not changed. He still seemed to have an incessant desire to rile her up – but instead of harsh insults and sneers, he would simply make one provocative comment after another – watching the resulting explosion with no small hint of amusement.
“For Merlin’s sake Malfoy! How can you possibly be arguing in favour of the enslavement of an entire magical species?”
“I’m not. I merely asked if it can be considered enslavement when they enjoy it.” His grey eyes glittered on his emphasis, and he leant back in his chair, stretching his arms and knotting his hands behind his head.
Hermione looked up from the tome she had been trying to read and narrowed her dark eyes at him.
“Of course they think they enjoy the work. They’ve been conditioned through generations to enjoy it. They’ve never been given an alternative. They think it’s normal to be magically bound to one family’s whims for their entire existence so they don’t even question the fact that they don’t get pay, or leave or any kind of compensation for their incessant work!”
Her eyes flared as they often did when she was on the subject of house-elves. It had been so long since she’d had this debate; her friends had long since grown bored of riling her up. It seemed there were only so many lectures one could take. Malfoy, it seemed, was still enjoying the novelty of provoking her infamous temper with childish glee.
“Could the joy of the work not be considered a reward in itself? Why does compensation have to be material?”
“Oh, and the magical compulsion to injure themselves for failure is just a standard workplace hazard? Harry told me Dobby once ironed his fingers.”
Malfoy remained silent.
Ha. Take that.
His grey eyes shuttered.
“I hardly think my father is a good representative of house-elf ownership.”
Oh bugger.
“I’m sorry Malfoy – that was low.”
“No, it was true.” He gave her a stiff smile – an assurance he wasn’t mad at her, but it was like cold water had doused the fire of their discussion, leaving a chill in its wake. “For what it’s worth though Granger, Dobby was my father’s elf. My mother and I had no involvement in his treatment. Even as a child I found it … discomfiting to witness.”
Hermione smiled softly and reached towards his desk and squeezed his fingers slightly in acknowledgement. She tried very hard not to register the warmth of his skin or the way her heart stuttered as his fingers squeezed hers lightly in return. Resisting the overwhelming, and entirely unacceptable, urge to remain there, Hermione withdrew her hand before pushing herself to her feet.
“Fancy a walk down to the library? I’ve had a thought on how we could diversify our research.”
Malfoy gave a small smile of appreciation at the change of subject; Hermione had noticed that, despite his recent honesty on the topic, he tended to become quite withdrawn and morose following any mention of his past. Placing his hands on his knees, and Hermione definitely did not notice how large his hands were, and pushed himself upwards. He towered over her, and gestured toward the door.
“Lead the way.”
The Ministry Library was cavernous. Situated in the lowest levels of the Ministry, it filled two floors and, like the rest of the Ministry, had charmed windows to give the illusion of being above ground. Usually the library’s chosen weather was a bright day; a few white clouds drifted past the windows, whilst the cathedral windows allowed shafts of sunlight to illuminate the space.
Hermione loved the library at the Ministry. It housed more books than anywhere in Wizarding Britain and had an abundance of space in which to work. The central, open area had large oval-shaped oak tables; providing ample room for Hermione to spread out an array of books. She would have loved such a space to work in her time at Hogwarts; as it was the school’s library had cramped desks and altogether too many people for Hermione’s liking. There was also the advantage that Madam Pince was not lurking to snatch back Hermione’s books and return them to the shelves.
“So,” Hermione spoke softly as they browsed the shelves; it always felt wrong to talk too openly in a library; her own sacred space. “We have been focusing our research exclusively on works about memory.”
An amused scoff left Malfoy’s lips.
“That is our assignment, Granger.”
She smiled smugly.
“Actually, Malfoy, I think you’ll find that it is half our assignment. We’re supposed to be researching memory and emotion.”
“We have been! Half the books I’ve dragged myself through are about the power of emotional memories in casting spells like the Patronus charm.”
“Yes – but we haven’t been researching emotions as a separate entity. Only in terms of their connection to memory-based magic. I think if we research emotions specifically we might find a few more connections that will help. To be honest I think a few Muggle psychology textbooks wouldn’t go amiss, but the Ministry’s library is sorely lacking in Muggle literature.”
“Psychology?” Malfoy questioned as he watched Hermione charm several large tomes to gently levitate their way to one of the spacious oval desks.
“It’s a Muggle science – the study of mind and behaviour. It’s required study for their versions of Mind Healers.”
“Interesting … and their Mind Healers are good?”
“Well – much like here, some are better than others. Usually the best ones are unaffordable for many Muggles – but I think they approach some issues far more progressively than wizards do!”
“How so?” Malfoy’s baritone was inflected with evident interest. Hermione smiled as she faced away from him to peruse more titles. She was beginning to notice quite how different he was from her expectations. The Malfoy she remembered would have scoffed at the idea of Muggles doing something, anything, better than wizards.
“Well, there is far more focus on therapeutic techniques – talking basically – to get to the root of people’s problems and enabling them to learn the tools to unpick and manage issues themselves. I’ve found wizarding Mind Healers focus almost exclusively on looking for magical causes, and solutions, to issues that aren’t necessarily magical in nature. Take the war for example; a lot of what I struggled with afterwards was grief, and whether you’re magical or muggle, grief is grief – but that didn’t stop the Mind Healer’s prescribing potion after potion to me.”
Malfoy nodded slowly, his eyes trained on the dusty bookshelves, fingers dancing across the leather spines of the books.
“And,” He spoke softly, “This Muggle psychology helped?”
Hermione turned to look at him; noting the way his gaze determinedly avoided her eyes. One large hand nervously running along the books, and the other clenched in a fist at his side. She smiled sadly; it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots, and Hermione was the Brightest Witch of Her Age. She laid a delicate hand to his – stopping the uneasy motion of his fingers.
“Draco,” She spoke his name softly, and his grey eyes snapped to hers. She’d never used his given name before. “We will figure this out; and when we do I can put you in touch with my therapist. They’re a Squib working in the Muggle world – so you wouldn’t have to hide anything at all.”
“You would do that?”
The gratitude in his eyes stole her breath for a moment. Usually he was so guarded but in the openness of his expression his grey eyes shone more like silver and he was a far cry from the boy she had known at school.
She smiled at him.
“We’re friends aren’t we?”
Draco was thumbing through a volume entitled Enchanting Emotions: Sentiments, Spells & Sensations with some distaste; it seemed more a handbook on how to coerce witches than anything else. He went to place it in the discard pile when he looked at Granger.
She was hunched over a particularly hefty tome, tracing the words with her finger as her mouth moved wordlessly. Her chestnut curls were piled haphazardly atop her head in an artless knot – stray curls had escaped, brushing gently over the pages she was so absorbed by. Her dark eyes were almost a blur as she read at a speed most could only dream of keeping pace with.
He took her in with fresh perspective. Their burgeoning friendship had opened his eyes to the truth of this witch. Qualities he had once bemoaned and mocked her for were now qualities he found himself admiring. Her expansive intelligence was now stimulating and engaging instead of obnoxious and grating. Her bossiness was a sign of determination rather than officiousness. Her capacity for kindness, which he might have mocked once, was now extended to him. This awareness sat strangely in his chest; almost uncomfortable in the way it lodged behind his ribs.
Hermione gasped loudly and Draco jolted; his cheeks colouring as she looked up – catching him staring at her.
She did not seem to notice anything amiss.
“Draco – look at this!” She swung the book around and pushed it across the table toward him – pointing to a specific paragraph.
There are countless potions that exist to change a person’s emotional state; for example the combined use of Myrtle (a flowering plant associated with Aphrodite and commonly used in wedding bouquets) and pearl dust creates an obsessive and enduring love, whilst the use of powdered moonstone in many elixirs induces a sense of calm. Oftentimes such potions are used specifically to induce new feelings – but appropriately chosen ingredients can be used to enhance existing emotions though few potioneers express interest due to the limited practical applications.
“The power of a memory comes from our emotional connection to it – right?” Hermione explained as Draco scanned the passage.
He could see what she was getting it.
“So – if it’s possible to enhance existing emotions; we can devise a potion to heighten the emotions associated with particular memories,” he continued – a smile beginning to tug at his lips.
“Exactly!” She grinned broadly. “It might not lead us straight to the recovery of memories like Bulder’s hoping, but it’s definitely a start. And just think of the practical applications – if we can enhance the power of happy memories for example; just think how many more people will be able to achieve a Patronus.”
“It’s definitely a start.” Draco might naturally lean towards cynicism – but her excitement was infectious, and he found he wanted to stay basking in the warm light of her smile.