Eight and Eighth--Chapter 24
Title: Eight and Eighth
Author: Marmalade Fever
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and more.
Genres: Romance, Drama, weird combo of in-Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts, and Humor. I can't write a fanfic without humor leaking its way in.
Spoilers: DH (though no epilogue)
Overall Rating: PG-13
Summary: Up from the ashes of seventh year grow the roses of the eighth. Eight students return for their final year at Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger would never have thought Draco Malfoy would or could be one of those roses.
8 & 8th-Chapter 24-White Violet
“Hermione!” A voice interrupted the sleepy symphony of flowers and thumbs and clumps of poisonous, parasitic yuletide gaiety, which all whirled together in an octagonal maze of crystal balls, each one housing a laughing, bug-eyed Trelawney.
Hermione blinked awake, confused for a moment until Hannah’s face came into focus. “Hmm?”
“I found this tacked to the door. It’s got your name on it.” Hannah took a seat on the end of Hermione’s bed, seeming determined to solve the mystery of her find, which she’d tossed lightly into Hermione’s hands-hands that were being controlled by a sleep-doused mind, which explained why Hermione fumbled with it and nearly dropped it onto the floor.
Sitting up and blinking into the fake morning sun, she looked drearily at the flower. It had a note, the same as always. Her name was on the front, and on the back were the words: “White violet.”
It had been one week since Draco Malfoy asked her to be his girlfriend, and she still hadn’t been able to make her mind up.
“Who’s it from?” Hannah asked, looking excited. “August’s already at breakfast…. Maybe it’s from Ron!”
Hermione gave her a sleepy look that she hoped didn’t insult Hannah’s intelligence too harshly. She didn’t know about all of the hullabaloo in Hermione’s life as of late.
“No. Not his handwriting,” she said honestly.
Hannah looked intrigued. “You don’t think… Harry?” she asked, sounding almost beside herself with shock.
“No, no, no…” Hermione grumbled.
“Dean?” Hannah asked. “That I’d understand. Luna’s, er, nice and all, but… you know.”
“If you must know,” Hermione said, yawning grumpily, slipping out of bed to kneel beside it, and retrieving her herbology text, “it’s from Malfoy.”
Hannah made a peculiar face before bursting out laughing. “Right! Of course.” She sniggered. “You’re a riot.” She clapped Hermione on the shoulder. “See you at breakfast. Let me know if you change your mind and decide to actually tell me.” Hannah slipped from the room, still guffawing, and Hermione turned back to her text.
She found the V’s quickly and slid her finger down to the section on violets, tapping confusedly at the page until she realized that the entry carried over to the top of the next. There was a single sentence for white violets: “Let’s take a chance on happiness.”
“Well,” she mumbled, “he certainly does know how to be persuasive.” She ran her finger up and down the page out of habit.
Happiness-such an intangible, obscure thing that could be obtained in many ways at many costs. Is this what would finally make him happy? Her?
Even so far back as at Platform 9 ¾, he’d seemed less than what she’d call happy. Back then and in the Great Hall during the Start of Term feast, she’d thought, however subconsciously, that she’d like to see him happy again-she just hadn’t realized what his sole demand would be.
And wasn’t she the one who was, apparently, addicted to his smiles? She half wondered how he’d react if she sent him a yellow tulip, declaring, “There’s sunshine in your smile.” He’d probably turn tail and run from such a wholesome compliment.
Hermione got dressed quickly, feeling suddenly determined. This was the first time he’d attempted to nudge her into making a decision since he’d asked, and so she should probably say something to him, even if she still wasn’t decided. Her best conjecture was that he figured the more he left her alone to think, the less annoying she’d find him. He was spot-on with that one, assuming that was the real reason. Or perhaps he was hoping Ron might go away again before they settled things. She was kind of hoping the same.
She closed the door to the girls’ dorm behind her and stared a moment at the door to the boys’. It wouldn’t hurt to knock, would it? It was just a conversation. Those were innocent enough, right?
Before she could lose her nerve, she rapped smartly on the center of the door, and then she stood there biting her lip. There was the sound of bedsprings and footsteps before the doorknob turned. “Hermione?” Ron asked, pulling the door open. Behind him on the corner bed next to the lavatory sat Malfoy, who looked up curiously and made a face at her from behind Ron’s back. She couldn’t even begin to guess how she was meant to interpret it.
“Oh, hi Ron,” she said.
“Harry’s already gone.” He yawned. “Whatcha got there?” Ron pointed at the white violet that was still in Hermione’s hand, and she blushed faintly.
“Oh, this? I was just… going to put it in my hair,” she fibbed.
Ron half-frowned, half-smiled. “You are?”
“Er, yeah. I thought it might be nice to do something different for a change.” Behind Ron, Malfoy had his right eyebrow raised, a definite smirk on his face.
“That’s nice. Are you… coming to breakfast?” Ron asked awkwardly.
“In a minute.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I… actually wanted to talk to Malfoy.” Well, she did. “About Arithmancy.” That was a lie, but Ron didn’t need to know that.
The thing about Ron was that though he could be as thick as tapioca pudding at times, she tended to underestimate him. He wasn’t completely stupid, and at the moment he had already been made suspicious by the class assignment that had led to his breaking Malfoy’s nose and the appearance of the two of them alone together on the night Ron had been missing his teeth-which had grown back quite nicely, as it happens.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Ron said in a slow tone, and he pushed the door wider. “Talk away.” He made no move to excuse himself from the conversation-and why should he if they were talking about Arithmancy?
Malfoy stood, evidently curious about how she planned to get them around Ron. “I was wondering if I could borrow your book. Mine seems to be missing a page,” she lied smoothly, even if smooth for her tended to have a squeakiness to it.
“Well, I don’t know, Granger. Why should I?” Malfoy asked, and whether he was just trying to keep up appearances or he thought that aggravating her was a good way to convince her to be his girlfriend, she couldn’t say. Or perhaps he meant that he’d loan her the book if she said yes, which was a preposterous proposition, since she obviously was lying and didn’t need his idiotic book.
For one moment, she considered replying, “Because you love me,” and then leave him to be pulverized by Ron. It was tempting. Really it was.
“Why shouldn’t you?” she countered.
Ron was watching them carefully. “Perhaps because I don’t have any incentive?” Malfoy asked. He was just toying with her.
“How about because it would be the right thing to do? It’s nice to be nice.” She accidentally leaned in too far and had to draw back. Her nose had crossed the invisible threshold of the boys’ dorm, the tip of it suddenly itching furiously. She stood there scratching at it, well-aware that she was being far from ladylike.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Forget it, I’ve come up with my own incentive-ending this conversation.” He turned around and dug into his trunk, returning with his book. “Get this back to me in one piece,” he warned. And then he brushed past her out the door.
It occurred to her after she’d said her good-byes to Ron that that had sounded suspiciously like flirting. She really hoped Ron didn’t think the same thing.
Hermione took one step past the statue of Merlin that guarded the entrance to Myrtle’s Toilet only to come face to face with Malfoy once again. “Hello,” he said casually, nearly scaring her enough to jump. He had the good sense to wait for her to get settled. “Unless there really is a page missing from your book-and I must say, as a potential beau, book-lending really is the least I could do-do you mind returning mine? I was hoping to get some studying in during lunch.”
“Of course,” she mumbled, retrieving it from her bag.
“Thank you,” he said primly. His eyes glanced to the violet that was still in her hand, and he smirked.
“What?”
“Nothing… just wondering how best to fix that in your hair.” He smirked wider.
“Prat,” Hermione mumbled, scowling.
“Oh, come now, love. You brought that one on yourself.” He flicked a piece of her hair, probably for no better reason than to watch it bounce. “But if you did want to talk to me, I don’t know if this is the right spot for it, not if you’d like to keep your ex off the rampage.” He glanced over his shoulder, looking pointedly at the door to the commons.
“Any suggestions for relocation?”
O
Draco had to think for a moment. There were plenty of nooks and crannies around the castle, but true privacy was hard to come by. It was getting late, and they didn’t have much time to talk if they both wanted to eat before classes. The Room of Requirement would have been ideal if it hadn’t been burnt to a Fiendfyre-y crisp.
“Round the corner,” he finally suggested, lame as it was. There did happen to be an alcove down there with a tapestry in front of it, and it would do as well as anything.
She nodded, her hair bobbing along with her. They took the few necessary steps, she cast a silencing charm, and they stood there staring at one another, hoping Filch didn’t come along and see their feet sticking out. “Well?” he prompted.
She sighed. “I just wanted to talk. You’re sure this is what would make you happy? You can’t blame me for still finding this… situation odd after all of these years.”
“People are allowed to change their minds, aren’t they? Besides,” he couldn’t believe he was saying this, “isn’t this what that class is all about? How much more unified and tolerant could we get?”
She gritted her teeth. “We could be friends,” she suggested.
He blinked drolly at her. “Really, Granger?”
“Well….” She sighed exasperatedly. “You realize we don’t even use each other’s first names?”
“Is that a condition?” he asked, smiling like a cat with one paw on a bird’s tail feathers.
“I don’t know if I’d call it-”
“Hermione?” Her name felt sort of foreign on his tongue, like saying Gesundheit to someone who actually speaks German and suddenly wondering if you’re pronouncing it right or not.
She took a moment to stare at him, almost in shock, until she shook her head a little. “That could take some getting used to,” she mumbled.
“So it will be a regular occurrence, then?” he asked. “Hermione,” he added.
She bit her lip, looking torn, but before she could say anything, the tapestry was pushed aside, revealing the grinning, devilish face of Peeves. “Danger, danger! I’ve found Granger! Stuck in a cranny with a dandy by the name of DRACO MALFOY! DRACO MALFOY AND HERMIONE GRANGER!”
Granger’s eyes went about as wide as they would go. Peeves was on the outside of the silencing charm, which had been cancelled automatically as soon as the tapestry had been pushed aside, which meant, simply, that anyone within hearing distance would have heard him.
“Draco Malfoy did enthrall-foy the Deputy Head Gal-foy! Who’d have thought? Not I, you sot!”
“But we weren’t-!” Granger argued feebly.
“TOO LATE FOR NUMMIES TO PUT IN THEIR TUMMIES, THEY THOUGHT THEY’D EAT THE OTHER’S FACES!”
“Peeves!” Draco warned, though without the use of his wand, there really wasn’t anything for him to do about it.
“Langlock!” Peeve’s taunting ended immediately as his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he floated there, pulling at his hair for a moment before sending them a rude gesture and retreating.
Unfortunately, the voice that had uttered the spell didn’t belong to Granger. But it was a feminine voice, at least, and it was all too familiar, Draco having heard it many times since he was eleven-years-old.
“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, come with me to my office, please,” Professor McGonagall instructed, still scowling after Peeves.
“Professor,” Granger said, “how did you know that jinx? That was one that Professor Snape invented, and….”
“And I’ve witnessed him using it on Peeves in the past. Now, come along!”
They exchanged a worried glance as they followed her. Technically, they hadn’t done anything wrong except perhaps using magic in the halls, and McGonagall wouldn’t even have known about the silencing charm. Maybe she thought they had been snogging, like Peeves had belted.
Draco was almost surprised when they reached the gargoyles that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s old office. He’d nearly forgotten that McGonagall was the Headmistress, what with her teaching still.
“Young Hyson” was apparently the password, and Draco had a feeling she’d be changing it as soon as she’d kicked him out of her office again. Maybe she had a tea fetish the same way Dumbledore had been into sweets.
The spiral stairs carried them upward, Draco getting a good view of the back of Granger’s head before they were deposited at the top.
The office itself had been rearranged. The furniture was now a warm burgundy, and the desk had small sculptures of different Transfigurations. He watched one piece turn from newt to thimble to hairbrush and back to newt again.
“Have a seat,” McGonagall instructed, and she sat down with her palms clasped. “I’ve been meaning to address you both in regard to a set of rumors that have been far too plentiful around the staff table since the start of the school year.”
Granger sat up straighter, and Draco had a notion that he could hold a ruler against her back and she’d be perfectly aligned.
“What rumors, Professor?” she asked.
“Between Professors Trelawney, Amorell, and Candanver there has been a plentiful amount of talk concerning the two of you.”
Candanver? Draco wondered. Since when had his Potions professor been awake long enough to gossip about anything?
“From what I have discerned, it seems they believe that the two of you either are or will be,” McGonagall rolled her eyes, “involved romantically, and I wished to ask you whether or not they have anything on which to found their claims.”
Draco watched as Granger unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth, looking ill-at-ease. “Well,” she began, “you see, Professor Trelawney made one of her predictions at the beginning of the year, and I think she’s been egging Amorell on. I wouldn’t know about Candanver. He, well, he spends most of class asleep, and-”
“And what can you tell me about this so-called prediction?” McGonagall asked, looking slightly disgusted.
“She said that, uh, Malfoy and I would discover what the heart seeks but the mind avoids,” Granger said, her voice getting squeaky toward the end.
McGonagall nodded. “Reverse psychology again,” she muttered. “I thought I put a stop to that in 1987, but I guess not.”
“Excuse me, Professor, reverse psychology?” Draco asked, sitting up straighter.
McGonagall sighed. “Traditionally, reverse psychology is used to convince someone to do the exact opposite of what they are told. Here, however, Sybil is using it differently. She’s planted an idea in your head that you don’t want to happen, but the more you fight it, the more you are forced to think about it, and thus the more likely it is to come true. Of course, I wouldn’t know if it’s been working on the two of you, but I’m afraid Peeves usually does have some grounds for the things he shouts at the top of his lungs.” She adjusted her glasses. “What exactly were you doing in that alcove?”
“Talking,” Draco answered truthfully.
“And what were you speaking of that required so much secrecy?” McGonagall asked.
Draco was about to suggest that it was none of her business, but Granger spoke up first, looking almost frantic. “We were discussing whether or not we were going to start dating,” she confessed, turning an interesting shade of pinkish puce as she said it.
McGonagall blinked. “I see. Well, then, I’ll have to have a word with Sybil.” She said it in such a final manner, that Draco started to stand to exit.
“Sit down, Mr. Malfoy. There is one more thing I wished to discuss with you.”
Draco sat.
“As you may have heard, there is a need for new staff next year.” Granger leaned in, clasping the arms of her chair. “I have already offered the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to Mr. Potter, though I have not heard back from him.” She sniffed. “My own post as Transfiguration professor is also in need of filling, and as you so aptly noted, Professor Candanver is in need of replacement, though I trust you’ll keep that bit of information to yourselves.”
Granger was leaning in so far, Draco wondered if he shouldn’t prepare to catch her when she inevitably fell out of her seat. “Yes?” she asked.
“And while I, frankly, do not know what I’m thinking in offering posts to those so young, I wondered if you would be interested? Miss Granger, you have always shown an aptitude for Transfiguration, and Mr. Malfoy, if you don’t mind my saying so, I have a hard time imagining you finding employment elsewhere.” Draco scowled.
“I’ll take it!” Granger shouted with so much enthusiasm she nearly sprang from her chair.
“I’ll consider it,” Draco replied, caught between feeling insulted and curious about what it would mean teaching alongside Granger for what might end up being decades on end.
They said their farewells and exited the office, Granger taking a moment to slump against the wall. “Me… a professor! Professor Hermione Granger….” She smiled in a way that could almost be described as drunken.
“I can’t believe you actually told her what we were talking about,” Draco murmured, finding himself shuffling toward her in the darkness of this very different spiral stairwell.
“I want Trelawney reprimanded, obviously,” she said, still looking dreamy. Draco took up one of her hands, and she seemed to snap out of it to stare at him. “What are you…” she began.
He kissed her palm before tucking the white violet behind her ear. He was about to kiss more of her when she interrupted him. “We’ll be late for class! And we’ve missed breakfast! Come on!” She tugged him onto the stairs, still holding his hand.
O
A.N.: Those last 1300 words were written in a single sitting, and I was left thinking, “What? I’m done? Preposterous! No, wait, I am. Update, whoopee!”
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Click the tag for a list of chapters.
Author: Marmalade Fever
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and more.
Genres: Romance, Drama, weird combo of in-Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts, and Humor. I can't write a fanfic without humor leaking its way in.
Spoilers: DH (though no epilogue)
Overall Rating: PG-13
Summary: Up from the ashes of seventh year grow the roses of the eighth. Eight students return for their final year at Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger would never have thought Draco Malfoy would or could be one of those roses.
8 & 8th-Chapter 24-White Violet
“Hermione!” A voice interrupted the sleepy symphony of flowers and thumbs and clumps of poisonous, parasitic yuletide gaiety, which all whirled together in an octagonal maze of crystal balls, each one housing a laughing, bug-eyed Trelawney.
Hermione blinked awake, confused for a moment until Hannah’s face came into focus. “Hmm?”
“I found this tacked to the door. It’s got your name on it.” Hannah took a seat on the end of Hermione’s bed, seeming determined to solve the mystery of her find, which she’d tossed lightly into Hermione’s hands-hands that were being controlled by a sleep-doused mind, which explained why Hermione fumbled with it and nearly dropped it onto the floor.
Sitting up and blinking into the fake morning sun, she looked drearily at the flower. It had a note, the same as always. Her name was on the front, and on the back were the words: “White violet.”
It had been one week since Draco Malfoy asked her to be his girlfriend, and she still hadn’t been able to make her mind up.
“Who’s it from?” Hannah asked, looking excited. “August’s already at breakfast…. Maybe it’s from Ron!”
Hermione gave her a sleepy look that she hoped didn’t insult Hannah’s intelligence too harshly. She didn’t know about all of the hullabaloo in Hermione’s life as of late.
“No. Not his handwriting,” she said honestly.
Hannah looked intrigued. “You don’t think… Harry?” she asked, sounding almost beside herself with shock.
“No, no, no…” Hermione grumbled.
“Dean?” Hannah asked. “That I’d understand. Luna’s, er, nice and all, but… you know.”
“If you must know,” Hermione said, yawning grumpily, slipping out of bed to kneel beside it, and retrieving her herbology text, “it’s from Malfoy.”
Hannah made a peculiar face before bursting out laughing. “Right! Of course.” She sniggered. “You’re a riot.” She clapped Hermione on the shoulder. “See you at breakfast. Let me know if you change your mind and decide to actually tell me.” Hannah slipped from the room, still guffawing, and Hermione turned back to her text.
She found the V’s quickly and slid her finger down to the section on violets, tapping confusedly at the page until she realized that the entry carried over to the top of the next. There was a single sentence for white violets: “Let’s take a chance on happiness.”
“Well,” she mumbled, “he certainly does know how to be persuasive.” She ran her finger up and down the page out of habit.
Happiness-such an intangible, obscure thing that could be obtained in many ways at many costs. Is this what would finally make him happy? Her?
Even so far back as at Platform 9 ¾, he’d seemed less than what she’d call happy. Back then and in the Great Hall during the Start of Term feast, she’d thought, however subconsciously, that she’d like to see him happy again-she just hadn’t realized what his sole demand would be.
And wasn’t she the one who was, apparently, addicted to his smiles? She half wondered how he’d react if she sent him a yellow tulip, declaring, “There’s sunshine in your smile.” He’d probably turn tail and run from such a wholesome compliment.
Hermione got dressed quickly, feeling suddenly determined. This was the first time he’d attempted to nudge her into making a decision since he’d asked, and so she should probably say something to him, even if she still wasn’t decided. Her best conjecture was that he figured the more he left her alone to think, the less annoying she’d find him. He was spot-on with that one, assuming that was the real reason. Or perhaps he was hoping Ron might go away again before they settled things. She was kind of hoping the same.
She closed the door to the girls’ dorm behind her and stared a moment at the door to the boys’. It wouldn’t hurt to knock, would it? It was just a conversation. Those were innocent enough, right?
Before she could lose her nerve, she rapped smartly on the center of the door, and then she stood there biting her lip. There was the sound of bedsprings and footsteps before the doorknob turned. “Hermione?” Ron asked, pulling the door open. Behind him on the corner bed next to the lavatory sat Malfoy, who looked up curiously and made a face at her from behind Ron’s back. She couldn’t even begin to guess how she was meant to interpret it.
“Oh, hi Ron,” she said.
“Harry’s already gone.” He yawned. “Whatcha got there?” Ron pointed at the white violet that was still in Hermione’s hand, and she blushed faintly.
“Oh, this? I was just… going to put it in my hair,” she fibbed.
Ron half-frowned, half-smiled. “You are?”
“Er, yeah. I thought it might be nice to do something different for a change.” Behind Ron, Malfoy had his right eyebrow raised, a definite smirk on his face.
“That’s nice. Are you… coming to breakfast?” Ron asked awkwardly.
“In a minute.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I… actually wanted to talk to Malfoy.” Well, she did. “About Arithmancy.” That was a lie, but Ron didn’t need to know that.
The thing about Ron was that though he could be as thick as tapioca pudding at times, she tended to underestimate him. He wasn’t completely stupid, and at the moment he had already been made suspicious by the class assignment that had led to his breaking Malfoy’s nose and the appearance of the two of them alone together on the night Ron had been missing his teeth-which had grown back quite nicely, as it happens.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Ron said in a slow tone, and he pushed the door wider. “Talk away.” He made no move to excuse himself from the conversation-and why should he if they were talking about Arithmancy?
Malfoy stood, evidently curious about how she planned to get them around Ron. “I was wondering if I could borrow your book. Mine seems to be missing a page,” she lied smoothly, even if smooth for her tended to have a squeakiness to it.
“Well, I don’t know, Granger. Why should I?” Malfoy asked, and whether he was just trying to keep up appearances or he thought that aggravating her was a good way to convince her to be his girlfriend, she couldn’t say. Or perhaps he meant that he’d loan her the book if she said yes, which was a preposterous proposition, since she obviously was lying and didn’t need his idiotic book.
For one moment, she considered replying, “Because you love me,” and then leave him to be pulverized by Ron. It was tempting. Really it was.
“Why shouldn’t you?” she countered.
Ron was watching them carefully. “Perhaps because I don’t have any incentive?” Malfoy asked. He was just toying with her.
“How about because it would be the right thing to do? It’s nice to be nice.” She accidentally leaned in too far and had to draw back. Her nose had crossed the invisible threshold of the boys’ dorm, the tip of it suddenly itching furiously. She stood there scratching at it, well-aware that she was being far from ladylike.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Forget it, I’ve come up with my own incentive-ending this conversation.” He turned around and dug into his trunk, returning with his book. “Get this back to me in one piece,” he warned. And then he brushed past her out the door.
It occurred to her after she’d said her good-byes to Ron that that had sounded suspiciously like flirting. She really hoped Ron didn’t think the same thing.
Hermione took one step past the statue of Merlin that guarded the entrance to Myrtle’s Toilet only to come face to face with Malfoy once again. “Hello,” he said casually, nearly scaring her enough to jump. He had the good sense to wait for her to get settled. “Unless there really is a page missing from your book-and I must say, as a potential beau, book-lending really is the least I could do-do you mind returning mine? I was hoping to get some studying in during lunch.”
“Of course,” she mumbled, retrieving it from her bag.
“Thank you,” he said primly. His eyes glanced to the violet that was still in her hand, and he smirked.
“What?”
“Nothing… just wondering how best to fix that in your hair.” He smirked wider.
“Prat,” Hermione mumbled, scowling.
“Oh, come now, love. You brought that one on yourself.” He flicked a piece of her hair, probably for no better reason than to watch it bounce. “But if you did want to talk to me, I don’t know if this is the right spot for it, not if you’d like to keep your ex off the rampage.” He glanced over his shoulder, looking pointedly at the door to the commons.
“Any suggestions for relocation?”
O
Draco had to think for a moment. There were plenty of nooks and crannies around the castle, but true privacy was hard to come by. It was getting late, and they didn’t have much time to talk if they both wanted to eat before classes. The Room of Requirement would have been ideal if it hadn’t been burnt to a Fiendfyre-y crisp.
“Round the corner,” he finally suggested, lame as it was. There did happen to be an alcove down there with a tapestry in front of it, and it would do as well as anything.
She nodded, her hair bobbing along with her. They took the few necessary steps, she cast a silencing charm, and they stood there staring at one another, hoping Filch didn’t come along and see their feet sticking out. “Well?” he prompted.
She sighed. “I just wanted to talk. You’re sure this is what would make you happy? You can’t blame me for still finding this… situation odd after all of these years.”
“People are allowed to change their minds, aren’t they? Besides,” he couldn’t believe he was saying this, “isn’t this what that class is all about? How much more unified and tolerant could we get?”
She gritted her teeth. “We could be friends,” she suggested.
He blinked drolly at her. “Really, Granger?”
“Well….” She sighed exasperatedly. “You realize we don’t even use each other’s first names?”
“Is that a condition?” he asked, smiling like a cat with one paw on a bird’s tail feathers.
“I don’t know if I’d call it-”
“Hermione?” Her name felt sort of foreign on his tongue, like saying Gesundheit to someone who actually speaks German and suddenly wondering if you’re pronouncing it right or not.
She took a moment to stare at him, almost in shock, until she shook her head a little. “That could take some getting used to,” she mumbled.
“So it will be a regular occurrence, then?” he asked. “Hermione,” he added.
She bit her lip, looking torn, but before she could say anything, the tapestry was pushed aside, revealing the grinning, devilish face of Peeves. “Danger, danger! I’ve found Granger! Stuck in a cranny with a dandy by the name of DRACO MALFOY! DRACO MALFOY AND HERMIONE GRANGER!”
Granger’s eyes went about as wide as they would go. Peeves was on the outside of the silencing charm, which had been cancelled automatically as soon as the tapestry had been pushed aside, which meant, simply, that anyone within hearing distance would have heard him.
“Draco Malfoy did enthrall-foy the Deputy Head Gal-foy! Who’d have thought? Not I, you sot!”
“But we weren’t-!” Granger argued feebly.
“TOO LATE FOR NUMMIES TO PUT IN THEIR TUMMIES, THEY THOUGHT THEY’D EAT THE OTHER’S FACES!”
“Peeves!” Draco warned, though without the use of his wand, there really wasn’t anything for him to do about it.
“Langlock!” Peeve’s taunting ended immediately as his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he floated there, pulling at his hair for a moment before sending them a rude gesture and retreating.
Unfortunately, the voice that had uttered the spell didn’t belong to Granger. But it was a feminine voice, at least, and it was all too familiar, Draco having heard it many times since he was eleven-years-old.
“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, come with me to my office, please,” Professor McGonagall instructed, still scowling after Peeves.
“Professor,” Granger said, “how did you know that jinx? That was one that Professor Snape invented, and….”
“And I’ve witnessed him using it on Peeves in the past. Now, come along!”
They exchanged a worried glance as they followed her. Technically, they hadn’t done anything wrong except perhaps using magic in the halls, and McGonagall wouldn’t even have known about the silencing charm. Maybe she thought they had been snogging, like Peeves had belted.
Draco was almost surprised when they reached the gargoyles that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s old office. He’d nearly forgotten that McGonagall was the Headmistress, what with her teaching still.
“Young Hyson” was apparently the password, and Draco had a feeling she’d be changing it as soon as she’d kicked him out of her office again. Maybe she had a tea fetish the same way Dumbledore had been into sweets.
The spiral stairs carried them upward, Draco getting a good view of the back of Granger’s head before they were deposited at the top.
The office itself had been rearranged. The furniture was now a warm burgundy, and the desk had small sculptures of different Transfigurations. He watched one piece turn from newt to thimble to hairbrush and back to newt again.
“Have a seat,” McGonagall instructed, and she sat down with her palms clasped. “I’ve been meaning to address you both in regard to a set of rumors that have been far too plentiful around the staff table since the start of the school year.”
Granger sat up straighter, and Draco had a notion that he could hold a ruler against her back and she’d be perfectly aligned.
“What rumors, Professor?” she asked.
“Between Professors Trelawney, Amorell, and Candanver there has been a plentiful amount of talk concerning the two of you.”
Candanver? Draco wondered. Since when had his Potions professor been awake long enough to gossip about anything?
“From what I have discerned, it seems they believe that the two of you either are or will be,” McGonagall rolled her eyes, “involved romantically, and I wished to ask you whether or not they have anything on which to found their claims.”
Draco watched as Granger unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth, looking ill-at-ease. “Well,” she began, “you see, Professor Trelawney made one of her predictions at the beginning of the year, and I think she’s been egging Amorell on. I wouldn’t know about Candanver. He, well, he spends most of class asleep, and-”
“And what can you tell me about this so-called prediction?” McGonagall asked, looking slightly disgusted.
“She said that, uh, Malfoy and I would discover what the heart seeks but the mind avoids,” Granger said, her voice getting squeaky toward the end.
McGonagall nodded. “Reverse psychology again,” she muttered. “I thought I put a stop to that in 1987, but I guess not.”
“Excuse me, Professor, reverse psychology?” Draco asked, sitting up straighter.
McGonagall sighed. “Traditionally, reverse psychology is used to convince someone to do the exact opposite of what they are told. Here, however, Sybil is using it differently. She’s planted an idea in your head that you don’t want to happen, but the more you fight it, the more you are forced to think about it, and thus the more likely it is to come true. Of course, I wouldn’t know if it’s been working on the two of you, but I’m afraid Peeves usually does have some grounds for the things he shouts at the top of his lungs.” She adjusted her glasses. “What exactly were you doing in that alcove?”
“Talking,” Draco answered truthfully.
“And what were you speaking of that required so much secrecy?” McGonagall asked.
Draco was about to suggest that it was none of her business, but Granger spoke up first, looking almost frantic. “We were discussing whether or not we were going to start dating,” she confessed, turning an interesting shade of pinkish puce as she said it.
McGonagall blinked. “I see. Well, then, I’ll have to have a word with Sybil.” She said it in such a final manner, that Draco started to stand to exit.
“Sit down, Mr. Malfoy. There is one more thing I wished to discuss with you.”
Draco sat.
“As you may have heard, there is a need for new staff next year.” Granger leaned in, clasping the arms of her chair. “I have already offered the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to Mr. Potter, though I have not heard back from him.” She sniffed. “My own post as Transfiguration professor is also in need of filling, and as you so aptly noted, Professor Candanver is in need of replacement, though I trust you’ll keep that bit of information to yourselves.”
Granger was leaning in so far, Draco wondered if he shouldn’t prepare to catch her when she inevitably fell out of her seat. “Yes?” she asked.
“And while I, frankly, do not know what I’m thinking in offering posts to those so young, I wondered if you would be interested? Miss Granger, you have always shown an aptitude for Transfiguration, and Mr. Malfoy, if you don’t mind my saying so, I have a hard time imagining you finding employment elsewhere.” Draco scowled.
“I’ll take it!” Granger shouted with so much enthusiasm she nearly sprang from her chair.
“I’ll consider it,” Draco replied, caught between feeling insulted and curious about what it would mean teaching alongside Granger for what might end up being decades on end.
They said their farewells and exited the office, Granger taking a moment to slump against the wall. “Me… a professor! Professor Hermione Granger….” She smiled in a way that could almost be described as drunken.
“I can’t believe you actually told her what we were talking about,” Draco murmured, finding himself shuffling toward her in the darkness of this very different spiral stairwell.
“I want Trelawney reprimanded, obviously,” she said, still looking dreamy. Draco took up one of her hands, and she seemed to snap out of it to stare at him. “What are you…” she began.
He kissed her palm before tucking the white violet behind her ear. He was about to kiss more of her when she interrupted him. “We’ll be late for class! And we’ve missed breakfast! Come on!” She tugged him onto the stairs, still holding his hand.
O
A.N.: Those last 1300 words were written in a single sitting, and I was left thinking, “What? I’m done? Preposterous! No, wait, I am. Update, whoopee!”
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