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Chapter Text

Hogwarts

Monday, August 24, 2009

“Theo, don’t you have your own classroom to set up?” Hermione huffed, levitating yet another filthy cauldron to the table she’d designated for cleaning–the pile had grown to at least seven cauldrons of various sizes. It seemed that, in his final year of teaching, Horace Slughorn had foregone any semblance of proper lab safety and allowed the Potions classroom to fall into a state that would have outraged Severus Snape–well, as much as Snape would have expressed such outward emotion. There is no way that Snape left this classroom in such a disastrous condition before Slughorn took over, she thought to herself, shaking her head in exasperation.

Her hair, which she'd tied back that morning in anticipation of a hard day's work, was rapidly becoming a frizzy nuisance in the perpetually humid dungeon classroom. She cast a cooling charm over herself, wishing that she'd decided to wear shorts after all; her leggings allowed for easy movement, but weren't exactly breathable, and her worn t-shirt annoyingly clung to her damp stomach. She looked around the classroom and sighed; there was still so much work to be done before term began.

While it was true that she hadn't had much time to prepare, she had prioritized moving into her new living quarters for the first week of August, having moved out of Grimmauld Place for the first time in a decade. Her second week had been spent in meetings and orientations about the expectations for staff members, as well as designing her Potions curriculum to suit her tastes. She deeply regretted the trust she had put in her old professor to have bequeathed a classroom that could have been remedied in a week's time. 

Hermione had taken up the Potions position on rather short notice, having just recently finished her Mastery under the tutelage of Damocles Belby, famed inventor of the Wolfsbane potion. Minerva had Floo-called her in late July in an uncharacteristically flustered state; Slughorn had surreptitiously decided that he had suspended his retirement for long enough, and had purchased a villa in Madeira, for which he intended to depart at once. It had hardly been a surprise that Hermione could not bring herself to disappoint her beloved mentor, and agreed to teach Potions under a three-year contract, after which time they would convene and assess further employment. 

“Nope,” Theo said, poking around in the supply closet. His unbothered appearance seemed to indicate that he was immune to the moisture in the air or the unexpected warmth of the dungeons–in fact, he wore long sleeves and trousers. “You forget that I’m not an ickle Firstie professor, like yourself. My classroom is exactly as I want it.” Theo had held the post of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts for the past three years, now that Voldemort's supposed curse had been broken upon his death. 

Suddenly, he sneezed violently, having opened a thoroughly dusty jar of some mysterious ingredient that had definitely turned ages ago.

Hermione rushed over to the closet, snatching the jar from Theo’s hand. “Honestly, don’t you know better than to sniff at unlabeled containers?” She peered at the faded label, squinting at the smudged ink. “What on earth is this?” she muttered, turning the jar in her hand, then holding it up to a lamp. It could have been anything from desiccated beetles to pickled herring once upon a time, given the indistinct color and texture. 

“Can I have it?” Theo stood over her shoulder, eyeing the whatever-it-was. He reached out his hand to take it from her when Hermione banished it with a swish of her wand. “Hey!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, then pushed past him, not bothering to question what he thought he was going to do with it in the first place. She returned to the disgusting cauldrons and set a scouring spell over the lot of them. “If you’re going to loiter in my classroom, then you’re going to help. I’m not here for your entertainment,” she said, giving him a pointed look. He grinned at her in reply.

Theodore Nott resembled very little of the boy she remembered from school. They had shared classes together, but he had tended to stick to the background of Slytherin interactions; he rarely made a scene or went out of his way to pick fights with the Gryffindors. She had caught herself sneaking looks at him during the staff dinner a few weeks ago–at first in an attempt to place the familiar face before introductions were made, and then just because she wanted to. Where once he had been on the shorter end of average height, he now stood at a decently tall height of around six feet, with wavy dark brown hair and startling aquamarine eyes. Hermione could admit that he was objectively quite striking; his cheekbones were high, his nose well-proportioned and perfectly straight, and his lips were full and balanced on his face. 

They had immediately struck up an easy friendship after Theo (re)introduced himself after the meal and invited her to the Broomsticks for a pint or two. Hermione had thought he might have been hitting on her, but she was a grown witch in a terrible dry spell, so she agreed. Unfortunately for her, it had turned out that Theo, while generally fluid in his sexuality and therefore not opposed to women, had his eye on someone decidedly not Hermione: none other than the Boy Who Lived himself, Harry Potter. It had been a slight blow to her ego, but she’d gotten over it quickly once they started chatting about muggle literature and music. Theo was quite the aficionado of both, and had cultivated his taste in quiet rebellion against his Death Eater father in his teenaged years.

“We’ve still got an entire week until the new term! Let’s go grab lunch and enjoy the sunshine. It’s Scotland, love. There’s not a lot of it to be had,” Theo said, twirling a stirring rod between his fingers and across his knuckles. 

Hermione snatched the utensil from his grasp and pointed to the door. “Out! There is only a week until the new term, and Slughorn left me an absolute disaster to resolve. This isn’t even the worst of my to-do list! I have ingredients to order, textbooks to organize, and do not even get me started on the backlog of past essays crammed into the desk in that office!” She pushed a sweaty tendril of hair off of her face, then wiped her hand on her leggings. 

Theo chuckled as he scanned the classroom. He too well remembered Hermione’s tirades from their school years and found them immensely amusing even now. “Alright, alright. I’ll be your bloody house elf, Granger,” he teased, watching her intently as he spoke. As if on cue, Hermione spun around, her wand aimed directly at his chest.

“Doing any amount of manual labor does not make you a house elf, Theodore Nott! And no one has bound you to my servitude. You are perfectly welcome to find something else to do or someone else to bother!” she spat, her hair falling free from its loose ponytail as she gesticulated angrily, jabbing her wand at the end of each sentence. Theo did not react, but he did unbutton and roll up his sleeves as she unleashed her mounting stress upon him.

Without another word, Theo stepped closer to Hermione, patted her on the head, and walked directly into the office to sort out the desk situation. He ducked a stinging hex before he shut the door behind him, whistling idly to himself. 

“Sodding Theo and his inane bullshit,” she mumbled under her breath, secretly grateful for his help, especially as she knew he was only winding her up for his own amusement. 

After an hour of dedicated effort, the Potions classroom finally resembled something near Hermione’s exacting standards. Between her Potions Mastery and her degree in Chemistry–she had attended muggle uni shortly after her graduation from Hogwarts–Hermione practiced a quite successful blend of magical and mundane laboratory safety. Every component from the stirring rods to the cauldrons was sterilized and held under stasis charms to maintain them as such. All of her ingredient containers were assiduously labeled, ready to be marked with dates purchased. She had even designed a system to detect and eliminate unintended combustible reactions–years of classes with Seamus Finnigan had ensured her attention to that particular detail. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a step toward overcoming some of the more egregious oversights that Hermione had noticed as a student. 

Theo emerged from the office, a smug grin plastered across his handsome face. “I took care of the office, and I had time for a nap on that lovely settee in there,” he said. Hermione gave him an incredulous look, marching over to her office to examine the state of affairs.

The office was immaculate; her quills and biros rested in a neat organizer that also held a notepad, along with sealing wax and a beautiful embosser featuring an ornate ‘HG.’ The copious books that had been piled atop the desk were lined up by title in a rich mahogany bookcase–one that certainly had not been there before. She even noticed a little bar cart in the corner, already fitted with a crystal decanter and matching tumblers.

“Theo, where did all of this come from?” Hermione asked, awestruck by the newly decorated office. It was a far cry from the dank, musty broom closet it had resembled yesterday. 

Theo beamed proudly. “A little of this, a little of that. Some transfigured, some fetched from my vault by Lilypad,” he said, holding up a hand when he saw Hermione’s mouth open to interject. “Ah, don’t worry. Lilypad, while she is my house elf, is paid quite well and receives more benefits than she is willing to use. You know I just like to give you shit, dear.”

Hermione acquiesced. “Fine,” she said, looking around once more. “You did a wonderful job, Theo. But wait, what happened to all the old essays?”

Theo snickered and pointed to the wall behind her. She turned slowly and gasped–the entire wall was plastered with old Potions essays, like wallpaper. Surprisingly, Hermione didn’t hate it; it was kind of fun, in its own way. She shrugged, smiling fondly at Theo. 

“You are something else, Theo. I wouldn’t change a thing,” she said. “Now, get out of here so I can shower for lunch. I’m starving. Meet you in the entrance hall in fifteen?”

***

Hogsmeade

August 24, 2009

“I understand that the school term begins in a week, actually,” Draco drawled from his usual spot around the large, oval table. “A rather curious skill I’ve honed over my 29 years is the ability to read a fucking calendar, Bulstrode.” He stared stoically at the wizard across from him. Millie’s father made up for in size what he lacked in intelligence, it seemed; the man’s breadth gave Hagrid a run for his Galleons. They had been discussing the upcoming school year, and a couple of members of the Board of Governors thought that it was vitally necessary to prevent the implementation of a few changes in the Muggle Studies curriculum: namely that it would be a requisite class for all students for the first time. 

“We cannot stand idly by and allow such liberalism to infect Hogwarts. It is insidious and against our very ideals to promote such deviation from tradition,” Fawley said, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. Draco yawned, then examined his nail beds, recently manicured to a subtle sheen.

Of the twelve members of the Board, a significant majority were in favor of following through with the new requirement. The irate blithering of Bulstrode, Fawley, and Rosier had circled the drain for the last two meetings, gathering no additional support. 

“Can we vote to put ourselves out of our misery and forbid these tossers from bringing their whinging to the table? I don’t fancy changing nappies for grown men who soil themselves at the idea of progress,” Draco said, gesturing to the other governors. The chairman of the Board rolled his eyes at Draco, then rose to address the room.

“Gentlemen–and lady,” Blaise Zabini said, nodding to Andromeda Tonks, “the matter of the Muggle Studies curriculum and course requirement is determined, established, settled. Any further mention of the matter should be presented in writing, and will only be brought to table if new concerns are raised with legitimate points.” The three opposed governors shared a dark look, but none spoke against him.

“I move to adjourn the meeting,” Andromeda motioned. 

“I second the motion,” Adrian Pucey added.

“Thank fucking gods,” Draco muttered as Zabini adjourned and the rest of the group dispersed. He leaned over to speak with his aunt, who had maintained her composure throughout the meeting, but he knew the rhetoric upset her.

“Aunt Andy, are you alright?” Draco asked, touching the top of her hand gently. “I still think we ought to overthrow those arseholes and open their seats to election.” Andromeda gave a hollow laugh and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. 

She gave Draco’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll be fine. I can handle it and them. I just wish Ted, Dora, and Remus could have lived to see Teddy start next week. They’d be so happy to know we’re trying to make it better for him, but they should be seeing him off, too,” she said, her voice hoarse with sadness. 

Draco nodded brusquely, then kissed his aunt on the cheek. “I’ve got to meet Theo for lunch, unless you’d care to join?” he offered. Andromeda shook her head but gave her nephew a small smile.

“No, but thank you, love. I’ve got to get to the Manor for tea with Teddy and Cissy, though I’m sure your mother has already spoiled him with sweets.” 

Draco snorted; he didn’t doubt that his aunt was right. His mother doted on Teddy when he came around. He himself hadn’t spent much time with his little cousin due to his various obligations as head of House Malfoy–and the fact that he had no idea how to talk to an eleven-year-old who worshipped his godfather, Harry Potter. He bore Potter no ill will, but there was only so much ‘Harry this ’ and ‘Harry that ’ that he could handle in an afternoon. 

Draco stopped in the loo to freshen up on his way out of the office building that housed the Boardroom. As he adjusted his waistcoat, checking himself in a full length mirror, Blaise stepped into the men’s room.

“Would it be untoward of me to hex their fucking mouths shut for future meetings?” Blaise sneered, tugging at his tie. “I thought being voted chairman of the Board of Governors would come with more power; all I get is my hands tied by decorum and other such shit.”

Draco grinned and elbowed his old friend. “Why do you think I wanted nothing to do with it? I get to say the things you can’t.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve always been a step ahead, haven’t you?” Blaise said as he turned to leave. “Tell Theo ‘love and kisses’ for me, won’t you? I’ve got a hot wife waiting for me at home for a bit of ‘afternoon delight’ while the kids are at their cousins’ for the week.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose. “I will absolutely not pass on that message to Theo because you know he’ll start on about a threesome with you and Ginny. You can field that yourself,” he said, half-calling the last part as Blaise walked out of the loo, cackling. He shook his head to clear the image and set off to the Broomsticks.

Chapter Text

The Three Broomsticks

August 24, 2009

Hermione and Theo sat at a small table toward the front of the pub, sharing a plate of chips as they laughed, reminiscing about Seamus's worst Potions explosions. There weren’t too many patrons present; once the students returned, though, it would be swarming on weekends and filled on weekdays with the regulars who didn’t want to deal with all of the teenagers milling about.

“Oooh what about the time that his potion dissolved both the bottom of his cauldron and the table underneath it? The clang when it hit the floor nearly had me shitting myself, it was so loud. I thought for sure that Snape was going to bang it like a gong over the top of his head!” Theo howled with laughter. Hermione wiped her eyes with her napkin, watching as Theo drained the last of his pint.

“Would you like another? I can grab them,” she offered, pointing to his empty glass. He peered inside the cup, pretending to consider his options.

“Absolutely not. I invited you to lunch, so drinks are on me!” Theo insisted, reaching for Hermione's glass. She reluctantly handed it over since she knew he'd never relent–a lesson learned after too many attempts to argue. 

From behind her came a smooth baritone, rich with crisp consonants, warm and inviting, a voice she hadn’t heard in years: “Ah, well then, be a lamb and get mine too, won't you?” Her eyes widened; what was Draco Malfoy doing in Hogsmeade? 

Theo grinned and rose from his seat. “Of course, of course, Lord Malfoy. It is my humble duty to serve my liege,” he teased, bowing low in mock deference. Hermione stared in awe as the two old friends embraced, chuckling and elbowing each other about. 

If she had thought that Theo had changed from their school days, then Draco Malfoy was a man utterly transformed in their time apart. He had grown to a rather imposing stature, standing at least six-feet-three inches tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular physique. Whenever she had pictured him in passing, she continued to see the gaunt, haunted boy of eighteen, shackled to his seat in the chambers of the Wizengamot. At no point did her mind's eye register that Draco Malfoy could have become exceedingly fit over the past ten years. 

His hair remained that shockingly pale shade of blond, just bordering on white, and his eyes were bright, glinting like mercury beneath strong, dark brows and lashes. His once ‘pointy’ features were, more accurately, chiseled, from his jawline to the bridge of his nose. A delicate cleft adorned his chin beneath plush lips, with a pronounced cupid's bow–his proportions would have pleased Michelangelo.

As Hermione sat cataloging Draco's features, she missed the shift in conversation between the men, not realizing that they had each spoken to her. 

“Hermione? Are you alright?” Theo asked, his head tilted as he examined her facial expression. 

Hermione startled, sitting up from her formerly slouched posture, lifting her head from the palm of her hand. “Oh, what? Yes, I'm fine, Theo,” she said, smoothing her napkin on the table. 

“Hello, Granger,” Draco greeted, nodding in her direction. “Do you mind if I crash your lunch date?”

“Oh, it's not a date. Theo and I are just fri–” she started to say, when Theo gave her a funny look over Draco's shoulder.

“I didn't mean it literally,” Draco said, about to roll his eyes, but stopping himself midway through. “Though, technically, I'd say you were crashing our plans, given that Theo invited me to lunch last week when I told him I'd be in town.” He smirked.

“Yes, yes, Draco. You're my favorite boy and my bestest friend. Just sit down and stop pissing on my leg. We haven't ordered our meals yet, so we can all enjoy my presence,” Theo said, giving Draco a little shove toward a seat. 

Hermione appeared flustered, but said nothing further. She just nodded absently until Draco gracefully lowered himself into the free chair next to Theo’s. 

Theo strolled off to the bar to get a round of drinks and some menus. The silence between the unexpected tablemates dragged on awkwardly until Draco cleared his throat.

“So, you're the new Slughorn; aren't you, Granger?” he said, folding his hands on the table in front of him. He glanced in her direction, waiting for her to speak.

“Ah, yeah, I am. Rather short notice, though, given his sudden retirement…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

“I know.” 

Hermione furrowed her brow at his self-assured tone. “You know? Well, I suppose Theo must have told you, then?”

“No.”

She blinked at him, then frowned. “Then how? It's not as if staffing is widely known before term starts, if our own experiences at Hogwarts are any indication,” she said. 

Draco scoffed, recalling the annual opening feast announcements. “Not that Dumbledore was ever a forthcoming Headmaster about anything, but that's neither here nor there. I know because I approved your hiring on July 30th, right after you accepted Minerva's offer.”

“You? You approved my hiring? How is that possible? Does the Malfoy family still pull the strings of Wizarding Britain even now?” Hermione said, increasingly irritated by the way he spoke, as if everything were a given and she was too dim to know it.

“Well, I and the rest of the Board of Governors, of course. And, no, not the Malfoys per se, but certainly our Galleons at times,” he added, with a wink. 

“Oh, I see. Gone and picked up Daddy's old seat on the Board, have we?” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at the corruption of the Wizarding world, which regularly masqueraded nepotism under the guise of ‘tradition.’ Lucius Malfoy had maintained a malicious hold over the Board of Governors until his removal after Second Year. 

“Quite,” Draco said, nonplussed by her obvious disdain. “Anyway, you’re welcome.” Hermione studied his face, attempting to figure out whether or not she should allow him to rile her up in public. His eyes glinted with mischief.

“Haven’t killed each other yet?” Theo said, setting three butterbeers on the table along with three tumblers of firewhiskey. He tossed the menus down on the table beside the glasses.

Hermione grabbed the menu closest to her. The sooner they ordered and ate, the sooner she could get back to the castle and end this strange encounter.

“Hardly,” Draco said, pushing a glass each of butterbeer and firewhiskey toward Hermione. “Cheers, Granger.” He raised his tumbler in her direction, then threw the liquor back without a second thought. 

Theo followed suit, locking eyes with Hermione over her menu, indicating she should too. She groaned and halfheartedly tipped her glass in his direction, then took a sip. It was smoother than the firewhiskey she’d had with Harry and Ron–probably cost a significant amount more as well. Her evaluating expression seemed to amuse Draco; he smirked into his butterbeer glass as he watched her. 

Draco had noticed Hermione Granger as soon as he entered the pub. Her voluminous mane stood out in any room, even as it currently hung in silky waves halfway down her back. He had spent enough of his hours in Potions class staring at those chestnut locks to know them anywhere. When he walked up to their table, however, he had not been prepared for the beautiful face on the other side. He’d seen the various photos and articles over the years, touting this and that achievement or rumor about the ‘Golden Girl,’ but none had captured the golden facets of her eyes, or the warmth of her smile. 

The tabloids had also failed to highlight her surprising curves; the lilac sundress she wore at the moment had decidedly not failed in that endeavor. A hint of lightly bronzed décolletage peeked out from the top hem of her dress, showing off subtle cleavage and a trim waist. Draco, minding his manners, made sure not to overtly leer or ogle at the witch, but he absolutely committed his appraisal to memory for further examination later. 

“So, why would the Board meet with just a week to go before the term starts?” Hermione asked, offering an olive branch. Theo had become important to her over these short weeks, and she knew that Draco was more of a brother than anything to him, much like Harry was to her. She could attempt civility.

Draco set his menu on the table, collecting himself before he answered. “It seems that a particular minority of governors needed to air their concerns about some changes to standard curriculum,” he said, not offering any details. Hermione’s eyebrows raised; she wanted to pry further, but hoped he’d elaborate–he did not, to her disappointment.

“Same old twats at it again, eh?” Theo said as he got their server’s attention. “How’d Blaise take it?” A wry grin formed on Draco’s lips; he was curious what Hermione thought of his mate, Zabini, given his marriage to one of the Weasleys. 

He also wondered what had happened between Hermione and the Weasel; he knew they weren’t together–tabloids, etc.–but he hadn’t heard much aside from the joint statement they’d issued years ago. Any Slytherin knew that such press releases never actually told the truth, and that the more polite the rhetoric, the worse the reality behind it–and the Granger-Weasley statement had been almost cloying in its claims of ‘continued friendship and love for one another.’ Draco’s money was on a sordid cheating scandal involving one of the Golden Trio’s hangers-on. 

“Oh, how is Blaise?” Hermione piped up, a carefully constructed smile on her face. Draco found her feigned familiarity quite interesting. Did she not keep up with Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys? The intrigue kept building.

“Frustrated by his diplomacy-mandated impotence, as always. A natural politician, that one,” Draco replied, dusting the rest of his butterbeer. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to visit the loo.”

Hermione tried not to check out his arse as he walked away from the table, but his well-tailored charcoal trousers ensured that she could not resist. Between the way his waistcoat showed off his tapered waist and his trousers hugged his arse… well, she was only human. To her great chagrin, Theo caught her in the act.

“Ah, admiring Draco’s lovely ass ets, I see. The gods blessed that man with the goods to back up that enormous ego, huh?” he said as his foot prodded Hermione under the table. She groaned and let her head fall back over the chair. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” she admitted. “Too bad his personality was the sacrifice to make the rest fit.” Hermione sat up straight, meeting Theo’s eye with a playful grin.

Theo barked out a loud laugh. “Can’t have it all, can we?” he said with a dramatic sigh. Hermione held the back of her hand to her forehead, pretending to swoon.

“Alas, the gods giveth and the gods taketh away,” Hermione said, giggling.

Draco returned to their table just as their meals arrived. They tucked in eagerly, sharing idle small talk as they ate. It had ended up being a decently late lunch for each of them, and they’d had enough to drink on empty bellies that their sandwiches were more necessity than anything. 

***

Hermione returned to the castle to work on her curricula for her OWL and NEWT-level students, while Theo stayed back with Draco in the village. They shared another pint, enjoying some time to catch up one-on-one. 

“So, what’s the deal with you and Granger?” Draco asked, giving Theo a significant look. They had been very friendly over lunch, touching each other and sharing inside jokes. He knew that they had only been reacquainted for a few weeks; therefore, his curiosity was relentless.

Theo smiled fondly. “She’s fantastic, mate. I had no idea she could be so fun, especially when she’s furious,” he said, keeping an eye on his best friend as he answered. Draco had a tell–one of which he had no knowledge, since it had developed post-war: a minute twitch of his lips when he was irritated. It was subtle, little more than a muscle spasm in his cheek. 

Theo continued, “I’m looking forward to getting to know her better in the coming months. In fact, her birthday is coming up–”

“–the 19th,” Draco finished, so intent upon Theo’s explanation that he failed to realize his slip-up. 

“Yes, the 19th. I’d like to do something fun for her,” Theo said as the corner of Draco’s lip gave the smallest flutter. “What do you think? A dinner and invite her friends?”

“Theo, are you with Granger?” Draco finally asked. “Isn’t that kind of a boyfriend thing?” He rolled his eyes, then raised his brows in Theo’s direction, awaiting an answer.

“Nah, not really the one I’m after of the Trio,” Theo said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m hoping Potter will show up and let me teach him how to disarm my wand, if you get my meaning.”

Draco chuckled a bit too loudly. “Oh, so that’s your game? A bit of hide the basilisk with the Boy Wonder?” They both snickered–for a moment, they were teenagers again, trading innuendo and dirty jokes in the common room.

“Oh, I’ll show him my Chamber of Secrets.”

“Can’t be much of a secret, you slag.” They laughed uproariously, catching looks from the remaining patrons in the Broomsticks.

“Care to head back up the castle and have another drink in my quarters? I’ve got another one of those disgustingly expensive old bottles of Scotch my dearly departed father squirreled away,” Theo offered. It took Draco no time at all to accept; he had nowhere to be for the remainder of the day, and it had been too long since he had seen Theo.

“Let’s go! I hear Tiberius’s muggle contraband calling my name!” They left a pile of Galleons on the table and walked out of the pub, joking and teasing as they went.

Chapter Text

When Hermione had been shown to her quarters in the staff wing of the castle, she had been pleasantly surprised by the well-appointed rooms. She had a cozy sitting room with a fireplace–connected to the Floo network for her convenience–with a high-backed sofa and squashy-looking armchairs. The coffee table between them was large enough to hold a tea service and some books, which would be perfect on late nights in winter. There was also a small kitchenette with a serviceable hob and charmed icebox; two stools abutted the raised counter to create a sort of dining space. 

Her favorite feature, though, was the bathroom; she had her own private bath with a deep soaking tub as well as a spacious walk-in shower. There was ample counter space as well as storage for her not insignificant quantity of hair products–beauty charms only went so far. Her bedroom held a larger version of the familiar four-poster bed of her school years, as well as a desk with a comfortable chair. Unlike her Gryffindor tower dormitory, her staff bedroom was fitted in soothing shades of pastel greens and blues, with nary a House crest to be seen. The color palette coordinated well with the greenish tones of the Black Lake, visible through the lone window. The bedroom would be a perfect retreat from the bustle of the school in the weeks to come.

Theo’s quarters were not far from her own; in fact, the magic of the castle allowed the staff quarters, even scattered throughout the building, to open into a shared common space through one particular doorway off of each sitting room. Another door opened out to the hallway closest to the physical location of the quarters. Hermione was sure she would never fully know the extent of the castle’s enchantments.

Hermione sat on the floor in her sitting room, parchments and textbooks spread out on the table in front of her. She had been surprisingly productive since she’d left her lunch with Theo and Draco. It hadn’t hurt that she’d thrown herself into lesson planning as a means of avoiding thinking about how unfairly attractive he had become. 

During lunch, she had found herself examining his muscular arms and elegant fingers as he gripped his glass or gestured while speaking. He had rolled his sleeves before picking up his sandwich, and she had been stunned by the large dragon tattoo wrapped around his left forearm; it was a magical tattoo, which breathed fire directly over his faded Dark Mark. It was mesmerizing, watching the flame engulf the hideous symbol. The beautiful inkwork, paired with the Black and Malfoy signet rings on his index and middle fingers of the same hand, made for quite the appealing image: part bad boy, part nobleman. 

Theo had certainly noticed Hermione noticing Draco, and she knew she’d be in for it once they had a moment alone. She sighed noisily, then eased herself from her spot on the floor. She really needed to remember that she was almost thirty and sitting on the floor was rarely a good idea anymore. 

As she made herself a cup of tea in her little kitchenette, decorated with adorable cat-themed towels courtesy of Harry, she wondered whether Theo had returned to the castle yet. She wanted to pick his brain about pacing for the First Years, and her mind wouldn’t settle until she had a chance to discuss it aloud. 

Teacup in hand, she crossed her sitting room to the door on the left that opened into the staff common room. 

“Theo?” she called, scanning the room for her friend. He usually preferred to work in the common area instead of his own quarters–something about needing more room to think. She sipped her tea slowly as she stood in the doorway. “May as well check his rooms,” she said aloud to no one; the common area was entirely empty.

When she approached the door to Theo’s quarters, she could hear hearty guffaws of laughter coming from within. Hermione hesitated before knocking–would Draco have come back with him? She could find Theo later, she reasoned to herself, before realizing how silly it was to avoid him just because of the company he kept. She took a steadying breath then knocked firmly three times.

“Hermione, darling!” Theo practically yelled as he threw open the door. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled with mirth; he was definitely sauced. 

She smiled knowingly. “Hi, Theo. Brought the party back to your rooms, have you?” she said. Stretched out on Theo’s sofa, Draco brought a crystal tumbler to his lips without looking her way. His hair was artfully disheveled, falling over his brow loosely. The top two buttons of his Oxford shirt were undone, leaving a sliver of skin visible around his collarbone. Theo’s interjection paused her examination of Draco’s relaxed posture.

“Ha! No one would ever call Draco ‘the party,’” Theo said merrily. “Come in! There’s plenty of Scotch to go around.” Hermione lifted her teacup.

“No thanks. I’m all set,” she said, entering Theo’s sitting room through the charmed doorway. 

“Drinking alone, Granger?” Draco said, raising an eyebrow at her dainty porcelain cup.

She stifled a snort. “It’s tea, only tea. Some of us have jobs, you know. Can’t all get blitzed on a Monday afternoon,” she said as she settled into an armchair. 

“Hey! I have a job!” Theo whined, approaching the other armchair, wobbling a bit as he sat. 

“...not that anyone knows why you want one…” Draco muttered under his breath. Hermione’s eyes darted in his direction; he had not been as quiet as he thought. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” she demanded. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand around in a dismissive gesture.

“Keep your hair on, Granger. It’s not as if you don’t know that Theo inherited all of his father’s ill-gotten gains. He doesn’t need to work. He just likes it, for reasons unknown,” Draco drawled, his tone bored. All of Theo’s friends–Blaise, Pansy, and Draco–had gone through this conversation with him before. They simply didn’t understand the desire to give up so much of his leisure time for set obligations ten months out of the year.

“Do none of your friends work? What do you do all day?” Hermione asked, realizing she had no idea what a pureblood heir did when not sunning themselves in Ibiza or wherever.

Theo seized on the opportunity to defend his career. “Well, Draco just fucks around between financial holdings meetings; Blaise changes diapers or something; and Pansy shops,” he said, clearly unimpressed with his friends’ lifestyles as much as they were with his. 

“I do not ‘fuck around.’ I hold positions on multiple Boards, some charitable and others organizational,” Draco retorted. 

“And how often do you meet with these Boards?” Theo said, his chin lowered and eyebrow raised incredulously. Draco picked at imaginary lint on his trousers.

“...once quarterly,” Draco bit out, his voice low. 

“Quarterly?!” Hermione said, laughing. “You have something to do one day out of every three months and that’s what you call not ‘fucking around’? Oh, how positively arduous.”

Theo chimed in eagerly, “Now, now, Hermione. Don’t forget the meetings with Gringotts and his financial advisors once a week. Why, poor Draco probably has up to five entire days a month spoken for!” Theo reached across the rug to clink his tumbler against Hermione’s teacup, toasting their mutual glee.

As Draco started to defend himself, Hermione cut him off: “You cannot possibly try to refute the idea that your days are utterly idle, given the fact that you’re drunk on a Monday afternoon, in no hurry to go anywhere else.” Draco’s cheekbones took on a pinkish hue as he gaped at her. 

“Theo, have you got a sober-up potion around here? I need to get back to other forms of uselessness,” Draco said, attempting to play off his irritation at the conversation. He rose from the sofa, dusting off his trousers and unrolling his shirtsleeves. Theo summoned a vial from his kitchenette, handing it to Draco with a smirk.

“Well, if you must be off–it’s one of yours, don’t worry,” Theo said, nodding at the potion. Hermione had noticed that the color varied from a typical sobering recipe; she wondered what Draco did differently that it affected the hue. Did it affect efficacy as well? She bit her tongue for the time being and decided she’d ask Theo as soon as Draco departed. 

Draco downed the potion in one swift swallow; his eyes were clearer than they had been moments ago, his complexion bright and even. A standard brew of sobering potion usually just affected the drinker’s intoxication and vertigo–Draco’s version seemed to undo the entirety of alcohol’s physical side effects. 

Unable to hold back her burning curiosity, Hermione blurted out, “What do you do differently? I’ve never seen a sobering potion do that before. Yours even seems to make you look better!” She groaned internally, realizing she’d just complimented him.

Draco grinned fiendishly as he replied, “Why, Granger, I don’t know what you mean. I always look this good.” He turned to Theo, who was obviously extremely entertained. “Might I use your Floo?” Theo gestured with one hand, inviting Draco to help himself.

She watched as Draco stepped into the hearth. “A pleasure, Granger. Later, Theo,” he said, just before calling out for the Manor and vanishing into the flames.

“Not a fucking word, Theo,” she warned, slumping down into her armchair as Theo roared with laughter. 

***

Draco emerged from the Floo to find his mother sitting on the settee with his Aunt Andromeda. They were giggling like schoolgirls over glasses of wine; Narcissa leaned against Andromeda, whispering and smiling. It pleased him greatly to see his mother in such high spirits. Narcissa had struggled after his father’s sentencing: twenty years in Azkaban. 

Without his father’s influence, however, Andromeda reached out, hopeful that her sister would be open to mending the broken hearts of their past. Their relationship healed slowly; there were certainly arguments and harsh words at first. Now, they were hardly apart–Andromeda and Teddy came by at least once a week, and the sisters often had tea together while he was at primary school during the day. 

“Mother, Aunt Andy,” Draco said, grinning as they turned their heads with matching guilty faces. “Having a fun evening?” 

“We absolutely are. Care to have a glass?” Andromeda said, holding out the mostly empty bottle of red wine. “Oh, actually, we might need another one…” Narcissa snorted beside her.

“As much as I would love to find out what in Salazar’s name you two talk about when left alone with a bottle of wine or two,” –he stared pointedly at his mother, whose cheeks were red with merriment– “I’ve got some correspondence and whatnot to attend to. I’ll be in the study if either of you need me,” Draco answered, stopping to kiss each of them affectionately on the cheek. 

Chuckling quietly to himself, he left the sisters to their own devices, strolling across the Manor’s marble floors to his study. Despite what Theo and Hermione had said, he actually had a fair amount of paperwork to manage on a daily basis. The Malfoy holdings were massive; far more expansive and involved than the Notts’, to be sure. 

He settled into the silky leather of his office chair, a lovely piece that his Aunt Andromeda had gifted him. The ergonomic seat cradled him perfectly, while the Italian leather felt buttery soft under his fingertips. He had initially balked at the overtly muggle design–what with the metal accents and swivel feature–but once he sat in it, Draco took back all of his reservations. It was a well-crafted piece of furniture, even if his mother called it an ‘eyesore.’ 

Leaning forward, he extended his palms in front of him and rolled his shoulders, then placed his fingertips upon the keyboard. The screen in front of him lit up brightly as he navigated his e-mail inbox; his solicitor, Miles Higgins–who happened to be muggleborn–had set him up with his first computer and demonstrated how to use it. There had been significant advancements in small-scale electronics functionality in wizarding homes post-war; the Manor could not support much electricity, but Draco was able to use his computer and the internet rather reliably now. He even had a mobile, though he mostly used it to play a fun little game whose objective was to navigate a snake around the screen as it tried not to run into its own tail. 

Draco remembered that, when he was young, his father’s correspondence and financial dealings took hours each day to manage. With technology, communication was nearly instantaneous, and the programs he used to keep track of their holdings spared him from handling dozens of folders of parchment spread out upon his desk. He smirked to himself thinking of Lucius’s reaction if he were to walk into the study and see Draco tapping away on the device. 

Once he had sorted through his necessary tasks for the day, Draco leaned back in his chair, resting his eyes for a bit. The computer afforded him convenience, but he didn’t particularly care for the strain on his eyes; he’d have to ask Miles whether there were any charms that prevented it.

“Draco, darling?” Narcissa’s voice called from the doorway. He had apparently dozed off and it was already time for dinner.

He opened his eyes to find his surroundings darkened, with only a few sconces lit around the walls. “Hmm, yes, mother?” he said, blinking rapidly as his eyes refocused. 

“Won’t you join me for dinner? Andy left hours ago to get Teddy from school. She thanks you for the sobering potions you left on the hall table, by the way,” she said, a playful lilt to her voice. 

“Oh, just Aunt Andy?” Draco teased as he rose from his seat. Narcissa laughed, admitting nothing, as she took Draco’s proffered elbow.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” she said as they walked together to the dining room.

Chapter Text

London, King’s Cross Station

September 1, 2009

“No, Hermione, I don’t think he’s going to be upset that you didn’t come to the station,” Harry said, holding his mobile to his ear as he rushed through the train station. “I think he’ll be thrilled to see you at dinner.”

Harry wove through a group of muggle teenagers standing around in a mass of angst and ripped jeans. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, as he nearly ran headlong into a man hastily pushing his way past the same group. “Hermione, I have to let you go. There’s no way I’m going to be able to talk you down from your guilt while also navigating this madhouse. You know what it’s like at the station. Yes, yes, love you, too.” He pressed the ‘end’ button on his phone and shoved it into his front pocket.

As he approached the barrier for Platform 9 ¾, he looked around briefly, then vanished into the wizarding side of the station. Harry scanned the platform, filled with loud children, overloaded carts, and all manner of dress–where the devil were Andromeda and Teddy? He wished he were taller, not for the first time. 

Suddenly, a mass of turquoise and bony limbs slammed into his stomach. He grunted as weedy arms wrapped around his middle. “Harry!” Teddy cried, squeezing him far harder than was to be expected from an eleven-year-old boy. 

Harry glanced down into the eager face of Teddy Lupin, who stared back with adoration. “Hiya, Teddy,” he said, ruffling Teddy’s hair. He smiled broadly at his godson, then realized he didn’t see Andromeda, his grandmother, anywhere around. “Where’s your Gran?”

Just then, he caught the eye of an unexpected figure, who was leading a small group through the crowd: Draco Malfoy. The mass of young witches and wizards parted as Draco, Narcissa, and Andromeda approached Harry and Teddy. 

“Potter! Ah, you’ve got Teddy, then?” Draco called, waving a ringed hand in the air. 

“Yeah, he’s right here,” Harry replied, pointing at the body still entwined with his own. “Teddy, where’s your trunk?” he asked, lowering his voice to a soothing tone. Teddy didn’t reply but just gestured with a flick of his head. A brand new trunk, completely fitted out with Quidditch decals, sat on a cart a few feet away. Harry’s gaze slid from the luggage to Draco’s high-end suit, now only a foot away from them. 

“Draco!” Teddy squealed, releasing Harry and immediately embracing his cousin. Much to Harry’s surprise, Draco smiled broadly and returned the hug. 

“Big day today, Teddy. Are you ready to show Hogwarts what you’ve got?” Draco said, holding him at arm’s length, hands on his shoulders, pretending to assess his appearance. “Hm, seems you’re missing something…” Draco pulled a pin from his pocket: a Falmouth Falcons emblem. He fixed it to Teddy’s shirt as the boy grinned. 

“Thanks, Draco!” Teddy said, admiring the pin. “Gran! Aunt Cissy! Look what Draco gave me!” he yelled, rushing over to the witches.

Draco watched Teddy’s reaction, smirking. He’d worked hard on making sure his little cousin shared his favorite Quidditch team; it was one area that he found easier than others in terms of bonding with a kid seventeen years his junior. 

“I’ve got to say, Malfoy–I expected it to be a Slytherin pin,” Harry said, shrugging as he turned to Draco. “You know, Black family heritage and all.”

“Potter, you’re related to the Blacks, too,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, yeah. Isn’t everyone? No one loves to marry a Black more than another Black,” Harry quipped, thinking back to the tapestry at Grimmauld. “‘ Toujours Pur ,’ and all that nonsense. Nothing like swimming in your own gene pool to keep things unsullied.” He snickered as Draco shuddered.

“Yes, well, even more reason to break tradition, am I right?” Draco said, slipping his hands into his pockets, hoping to look unaffected. A silence fell between the men.

“How’ve you been? Andromeda said you serve on the Board together,” Harry said, trying to encourage normal conversation. Just as Draco began to answer, the warning whistle sounded from the train, sending everyone into motion–the small talk was utterly abandoned in the hasty goodbyes that followed. 

Harry and Draco joined Andromeda and Narcissa in token reminders to Teddy to stay out of trouble, as he nodded and promised to write to each of them after the Sorting that evening. Harry loaded his trunk onto the train, giving Teddy one last hug and asked him to say hi to Hermione for him. The reminder that Hermione was at the castle seemed to soothe any last minute nerves Teddy might have had, as he stood a bit straighter, promising to relay the message. He blew kisses to his Gran and to Narcissa, and waved goodbye to Draco. 

Teddy vanished into the cabin as the train sounded its last whistle. Harry watched the train leave the station with a pang of melancholy; Grimmauld Place was going to be so empty for the next few months. He said goodbye to Andromeda, squeezing her tightly, then wished Draco and Narcissa well before apparating to the Ministry.

***

It was dusk by the time Hagrid led the boats full of First Years to the main entrance of the castle. Theo held the distinct honor of greeting them at the doors, his affable demeanor and disarming smile a balm for the nervous children. Even those students whose ancestry stretched back to the founding of the school still tittered amongst themselves, twisting the hems of their school robes in sweaty hands. 

“Welcome, welcome, one and all! We’ll be entering the Great Hall shortly, but as I’m sure you’ve all discussed at length on the ride here, we’ve got the Sorting Ceremony before we dig into the feast. When I call your name, pop right over to the stool, and I’ll place the Sorting Hat on your head. Once your House is called out, please join them at your new House table. Remember, each House has its strengths and weaknesses, but all are worthy of you, and you of them. Shall we?” Theo said brightly, the sleeves of his robes swaying with each gesture punctuating his words. 

The gathering of students stared back at him silently; while they generally seemed more at ease than they had been, the idea of the Sorting always created some anxiety, evident in those gnawing on their lips or awkwardly shifting their weight. 

As the doors to the Great Hall opened slowly, the din of reunited classmates broke through the silence on the other side; students were clamoring and shouting across tables to friends dearly missed over the summer holidays. With a broad sweep of his arms, Theo indicated to the First Years to follow him into the Hall, the ruckus dying down as soon as he crossed the threshold. 

The children lined up, clothed in their temporarily neutral school robes, waiting with bated breath for the Ceremony to begin.

As Theo placed the Sorting Hat upon the stool, the seam near the brim parted and began to sing:

A topper without a place to rest

Is surely all you see

But which House for you will be the best

The founders left to me

Through thick and thin and good and bad

I have stood the test of time

Heed my words, young lass or lad

And listen to my rhyme

If loyalty and hard work I see

When I peer inside your heart

Then Hufflepuff is where you’ll be

With those who share their part

As one whose courage knows no bound

And boldness lies in wait

Gryffindor’s where you’ll be found

To bravely face your fate

When ambition guides you to be shrewd

And cunning stays your hand

Slytherin’ll fit your aptitude

As you join that prideful band

For those whose minds are sharp and quick

With reason at the fore

Ravenclaw will be my pick

Since logic’s at their core

Come, put me on, and trust in me

My charms will do the bidding

With one last line of revelry

Let’s see where you’ll be sitting!

With the final line of the Hat’s song concluded–to much applause–the Sorting began in earnest.

“Christopher Adkins!” Theo called out, a parchment levitating before him. A lanky boy with shaggy, dark hair crossed the room and sat upon the stool. He slouched, looking at his feet.

“Chin up, mate. Here we go!” Theo placed the Sorting Hat upon Christopher’s head as the student body awaited the first result.

“RAVENCLAW!” the Hat shouted, to raucous cheers from the Ravenclaw table. Theo ushered him in the direction of his eager Housemates.

Grace Baker and her twin sister, Alice, were sent to Gryffindor. 

Rhys Blackwood, a strapping, tall boy went to Slytherin; polite applause scattered throughout the Hall, while the older students of his House beckoned him over.

As Theo moved down the list of students, Hermione met eyes with Teddy from her spot at the staff table. He gave her a small wave and a shy smile; she returned an encouraging thumbs up, grinning as his hair changed from turquoise to lime green with white streaks. The freckled boy standing behind Teddy gawked and nudged the girl beside him, pointing at Teddy’s sudden change in appearance. 

Joining Christopher in Ravenclaw was Lewis Fletcher, whose spiky purple hair almost didn’t fit under the Hat. He moonwalked to the table, confusing a majority of the wizards in the Great Hall. Theo cheered exuberantly.

“Edward Lupin!”

Teddy’s hair swiftly shifted to sandy blond as he walked up to the stool. Almost as soon as the Hat touched his head, it rang out “HUFFLEPUFF!” Hermione jumped to her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks, as Teddy joined his late mother’s House. He looked up to see Hermione mouthing ‘so proud,’ as she wiped her eyes discreetly. His Housemates clapped him on the back as he sat on the bench, his hair now a vibrant pink.

In short order, the Hat sent Matthew MacDougal to Gryffindor, the freckled boy who had gaped at Teddy’s metamorphagus abilities, followed by Georgia Mason who went to Hufflepuff with Teddy. 

“O’Connell… Pickering…”

“Phoebe Runcorn!” 

A girl with long, black hair and high cheekbones strutted to the stool, sitting primly as the Hat took its time evaluating her, settling on “SLYTHERIN!” She smoothed her robes before strolling up to her House table.

By the time all thirty-five students were sorted into their Houses–nine to Gryffindor, nine to Hufflepuff, eight to Ravenclaw, and nine to Slytherin–everyone in the Great Hall was famished, prompting Professor McGonagall to keep her opening remarks short and to the point. 

“...and with that said, please enjoy the feast!” she said as platters of delicious food appeared on the long House tables. 

Theo plopped down into the empty seat beside Hermione, an exhilarated grin plastered on his face. “I love doing the Sorting. They’re so cute before we have to try to teach them something,” he said, serving himself a heap of potatoes and roasted chicken. 

Hermione stifled a laugh, lest she spray the table with pumpkin juice. She constantly found herself entertained by Theo’s droll delivery. “You and I both know that you love teaching First Years. It’s all you’ve talked about for the last week,” she said, knowingly. 

“Me? Eager to spend time with eleven-year-olds who hardly know which end of their wands to hold? As if I would want to watch them nearly light themselves on fire just trying to send up colored sparks?” Theo said, affecting a bored drawl à la Draco. His impression forced a bark of laughter from Hermione, prompting a raised eyebrow from Headmistress McGonagall. 

“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, as Minerva’s lips quirked with a suppressed smile. “Yes, that is exactly what you look forward to, I’m sure,” she continued, facing Theo with a teasing grin. 

The noise level in the Great Hall steadily grew louder and louder as students became acclimated to their surroundings and got to know one another, until at last, the desserts vanished from the table and the Headmistress stood once more before them.

“I hope that you have all had a filling and enjoyable meal. As tonight marks the first day of a new term, remember that you are here to learn and grow. More than anything, you are here to share in the wisdom of those who came before you, and to trust in those who share these halls with you at present. Take care that you heed both,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice full of warmth and encouragement. “Prefects, you should have received the passwords to your House common rooms from the Head Boy and Head Girl on the train. Please lead your Houses directly to their quarters. We’ll see you tomorrow morning to receive your class schedules. Sleep well!” she said, dismissing them for the night.

Hermione and Theo trailed behind the exiting mass of students, veering off toward the staff quarters. As she settled into bed, Hermione’s mind whirred with all of the possibilities her first day of teaching held, running through her mental checklists and lesson plans, until she finally fell into a deep sleep. 

Chapter Text

September 2, 2009

Hermione awoke to the hazy green light filtering through the lake–it was beautiful in its own way, but it still took some getting used to after years in Gryffindor Tower. She dragged herself out of bed, trudging directly to the bathroom to get herself ready for the long day ahead. She plaited her hair to keep it off of her face, then put on a crisp white blouse and high-waisted navy trousers. After weighing her options, she decided against formal robes–they were impractical for a laboratory class, and she wanted to convey pragmatism in her appearance. Once fully dressed, she prepared coffee in her little French press, pouring it into a sizeable mug before opening the door to the staff common area.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Theo chirped happily from his seat as Hermione entered. His robes were immaculately pressed, and his wavy hair fell dashingly to one side. 

“Good morning, Theo,” Hermione muttered, sipping from her mug of coffee. Unlike her perky friend, Hermione was not much of a morning person before she ingested caffeine. While her parents chided the effect coffee had on enamel, both due to its staining and its acidity, her years at uni cemented the beverage as part of her morning ritual. 

Theo stretched his long legs in front of him across a plush rug as he sat reading the Daily Prophet , nibbling on a piece of toast. “There’s a rack of toast on the counter behind you,” he said, flicking his head toward Hermione. 

She flashed him an appreciative smile as she placed two slices on a plate, slathering each with jam, then settled in near Theo. He peered over his paper at her sticky breakfast, chuckling to himself. “Aren’t your parents teeth Healers, Granger?” he said, pointing at her plate with his pinky finger. Hermione set down the piece she had just taken a bite from, freeing her hands to offer Theo an early-morning double salute, earning further laughter from the jovial wizard.

“ Dentists . And, you’d have an insatiable sweet tooth, too, Theodore, if your parents only ever let you have sugar-free treats your entire childhood. Forbidden fruit, and all that,” Hermione said, polishing off the first slice. 

“Ah, fair point,” he conceded. “Which classes do you teach today?”

“Hm, first and third periods with the First and Second Years, respectively,” she said. “Then fifth period with the Fourth Years and sixth period for NEWT students. How’s yours?”

Theo tilted his head back, thinking. “I’m fairly certain it’s second period with First Years, third period with NEWT students, fifth with Third, and sixth with Fourth?” he said, not sounding as sure as Hermione thought he ought to a half hour before classes started. 

“How can you not be completely sure? Don’t you have it written down somewhere?” Hermione scrutinized Theo, who appeared completely unbothered by his uncertainty. He shrugged.

“I’ll be in the classroom, and they’ll show up. It’ll be fine.”

Hermione decided it wasn’t worth an argument at the early hour. Theo had been one of the best students in their year, so however unconventional his organizational system might have been, it clearly had worked for him. 

When they had about fifteen minutes before classes began for the day, Hermione stood to leave for the dungeons through her own quarters. Theo stopped her before she walked away.

“Um, Granger? Aren’t you forgetting your robes?” he said, scanning her outfit. 

She smiled at him as she replied, “Nope. I’ve decided to demonstrate the improved mobility and reduced fire hazard afforded by muggle attire. It’s ridiculous to be swishing around with balloon sleeves around an open flame.” Theo’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Ah, well. I supposed it’s up to you to decide what’s best for your classroom. Is McGonagall aware of your wardrobe, er, improvements?”

“No, why should she be apprised of my clothing choices? Did you run your outfit by her this morning?” She gave him an imperious look. “I’m dressed professionally; I just also happen to be dressed for function,” Hermione said, opening the door to her quarters. “I do need to get going though. Have a great day of classes! See you at lunch?”

“You too. I’ll see you then,” Theo said, shaking his head as the door closed behind her. “I hope she’s ready for the owls…” he said under his breath as he exited from another door. 

***

Hermione stood at the front of the Potions classroom, hands clasped in front of her on the podium, watching as the newly appointed Gryffindor and Slytherin students filed into the room. 

“Welcome, please have a seat at any table you wish! At your place you’ll find a slip of parchment. Please write your name on the parchment, which has been pre-spelled with a Sticking charm. Just place it on the front of your robes, as you see I have,” she said, gesturing just below her left collarbone to her nametag. She smiled brightly at the cautious eleven-year-olds, knowing hers was the first class of their tenure at Hogwarts. 

The children, despite the freedom to sit wherever, largely divided themselves between the two Houses: Gryffindors on the right, Slytherins on the left. As they shuffled around in their bags for their ink and quills, Hermione stepped from behind her lectern and turned to write on the blackboard. She heard a gasp and whispers behind her.

“... awfully revealing for a professor…”

“ ...where are her robes?”

Slowly returning her gaze to the students, Hermione maintained a stoic facade, scanning the room silently to determine which ones seemed so scandalized. A pair of twin witches sat side-by-side at the front of the room, their faces taking on equal shades of pink as she caught their eyes. 

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I will not be donning robes for our laboratory lessons. I believe strongly in safety, first and foremost, and personally find the long, billowy sleeves of wizarding robes to be a detriment to that goal. When we brew, your robes will also be hung on the pegs at the rear of the classroom,” Hermione said, pointing to the hooks placed evenly along the wall. “Your school ties will either be affixed by Sticking charms once you have mastered them, or will be removed as well. Hair will be held back from your faces to prevent contamination of your potions.”

She braced herself as voices of concern and incredulity filled the dungeon classroom. Students turned to their classmates, their faces varying from shock to indifference to discomfort. 

A primly poised girl in Slytherin robes raised a tentative hand.

“Yes, Miss…?” Hermione said, trying to read the parchment stuck to her robes.

“Phoebe Runcorn, Professor,” the dark-haired witch replied. “Doesn’t the student handbook instruct that we are to wear our school robes for all classes on days that classes are in session?” Hermione bit back a smile, hearing in this young witch a quite familiar tone. 

“Yes, Miss Runcorn, it does. The handbook also specifies that ‘the Hogwarts uniform may be modified to suit the environment of instruction’: in the greenhouses, for example,” she recited to Phoebe in return, whose lips pursed, though she did not inquire further. 

Hermione nodded curtly, then resumed her place at the board. On it, she wrote down the required texts and supplies: One (1) Magical Drafts and Potions ; One (1) Introduction to Chemical Reactions ; One (1) standard sized 2 cauldron, pewter; One (1) set of glass or crystal phials; One (1) set of brass scales. 

A Gryffindor, Matthew ‘Mads’ MacDougal, called out from across the room, “Professor, what is a ‘chemical reaction’?” A couple of students sniggered at his confusion, while many others suddenly straightened in their seats, also confused by the additional textbook. Hermione rolled her eyes at the shouted question, but smiled kindly at the student.

“Ah, Mr. MacDougal. A ‘chemical reaction’ is a process that leads to the chemical transformation from one chemical substance to another,” she responded, to furrowed brows from most of the students. 

“You mean like alchemy?” one of the twins offered.

“Not quite, Miss Baker. Alchemy seeks to transmutate substances into altogether unrelated substances, like lead into gold. Chemical reactions transform substances by rearranging their components into new combinations, more or less.” Hermione began to write on the blackboard once more, realizing she would have to start at square one with her students–wizarding education really needed to catch up to science and technology.

“Alright, so, everything is composed of atoms…”

***

Hogsmeade

September 3, 2009

It was only the second day of classes, and yet Draco sat once more at the enormous oval table of the Boardroom. He had been summoned by Blaise’s owl late last night, asking all of the governors to meet at noon the following day. 

He leaned back in his chair, his legs sprawled beneath the table, swiveling his seat from left to right, much to Andromeda’s annoyance. 

“Draco, please,” she said, placing her hand on the arm of his chair. He nearly continued, until he caught a glimpse of her pinched expression. His aunt was typically easy-going, smiling often; to see her so uptight was unnerving. He stopped moving at once. 

“Sorry, Aunt Andy,” Draco muttered. Just as he was about to ask his aunt whether or not she knew what the meeting was about, Blaise entered the room, to immediate questions and demands. 

“–teaching muggle science instead of Potions!”

“...practically see the shape of her entire arse, my son said…”

“What was McGonagall thinking?”

“...not one of our kind…knew this would happen…”

Blaise placed his wand beneath his chin and cast a wordless Sonorus. “Enough! You will have your chance to speak and be heard, but we will not conduct our session like this! Everyone, sit down and wait!” his amplified voice roared over the din of the irate governors.

“What the actual fuck is going on?” Draco asked, his tone bored as his eyes met Blaise’s. 

Fawley cast his beady, dark eyes on Draco. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. That mud–” The word was no sooner on the tip of his tongue than Andromeda stopped him with a Silencio. 

“You’ll watch your mouth, Grim, or I’ll relieve you of open orifices from which to spew your filth,” she said coolly. Draco shuddered; she reminded him entirely too much of Bellatrix in that moment. Fawley gaped at her, his eyes wide and fearful. 

Rosier spoke up next, “That muggleborn you all voted to hire in Slughorn’s stead is traipsing about in her painted-on muggle trousers, teaching them about nonsense.” 

Draco smirked, his eyes glinting maliciously as he sat up straight, maintaining eye contact with Rosier. “I don’t know. I rather like muggle trousers on a woman. I’d certainly have preferred that to Snape’s batwings at thirteen,” he said, rather pleased with himself until Andromeda pinched him under the table. “Ouch! Damnit, Andy!”

“Mind your mouth, too, Draco. Or I’ll tell Cissy and you’ll never hear the end of it,” she threatened lightly. 

Blaise ran his fingertips over his temples, groaning. “ Porca puttana ,” he mumbled under his breath. “Everyone sit down and shut up. Madonna , I’ve been dealing with owls and Howlers for the past twenty-four hours, and I’ve barely slept. One of the Howlers woke up the baby, right after I’d gotten him down to sleep. If anyone else speaks out of turn, I’ll light this whole bloody place on fire and dance on the ashes.” Blaise stared at the other members of the board with steely eyes. 

He continued, “Now, it seems that there are a number of parents who are upset that Professor Granger has made some curriculum changes or additions to the standard Potions courses, as well as those who find her attire troublesome, as she has determined that robes are a safety hazard in the classroom. I have no interest in debating Professor Granger’s wardrobe, so we will be focusing this meeting on points relevant to the curriculum.”

Draco thought back to the obviously unregulated curriculum of their own school years–he highly doubted anything Hermione was teaching even held a candle to most of the Defense classes they’d experienced. He was irritated that he was out of the loop on the supposedly unacceptable changes that had parents harassing Blaise all night. 

“What exactly is Granger teaching that you lot find so objectionable? Is she teaching the First Years how to distill liquor or something?” he asked flippantly. “I can’t imagine that swotty goody-two-shoes Granger would dare to indoctrinate students with anything dangerous to their well-being.”

Draco heard Adrian Pucey suppress a snort to his left. As he waited for someone to catch him up, an owl started tapping at the Boardroom’s wall of windows. It clutched a distinctive red envelope in its talons.

“ Che cazzo è adesso ?” Blaise said, casting a spell on the plate glass to allow the bird to enter. The owl dropped the Howler and swept out of the room without waiting for a treat. Within seconds, the letter exploded, a shrill voice filling the space:

“HAS HOGWARTS NO STANDARDS OF EDUCATION? IN ALL MY YEARS, I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE GREATER INEPTITUDE THAN WHEN DUMBLEDORE ALLOWED AN ESCAPED DEATH EATER TO MASQUERADE AS A BLOODY FUCKING AUROR FOR THE ENTIRE YEAR…”

They heard no more from the disembodied witch as Draco ended the tirade with a quick Incendio. “Well that was lovely, but I still have no fucking clue what’s going on. Blaise, for the love of Merlin, spare us the politicking and just spit it out!” he said, his hands flat on the table as he tilted his head toward his old friend.

Blaise shut his eyes for a moment, then explained, “Students have been informing their parents that Professor Granger has added a muggle introductory Chemistry book to her Potions requirements. She intends to teach a combination of Potions and Chemistry to the First and Second Year classes as a sort of pedagogical experiment.” 

At Blaise’s carefully worded revelation, Draco burst out laughing. “Is that all? The big, bad, muggleborn witch is explaining atoms and molecules to their precious magical children?” 

Bulstrode shot a venomous glare in Draco’s direction. “It may not seem significant to you, seeing as how you’ve produced no heirs , Malfoy, but something needs to be done! I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it, change is dangerous to our way of life, our traditions. First this, then what?”

“Oh bugger all, why don’t we just have someone actually observe Granger’s fucking classes and make sure it’s above board? It’s not that bloody hard,” Draco said, sneering at Bulstrode. 

Blaise slapped his hand down on the table enthusiastically. “What a great idea, Draco. Since you seem to have familiarity with the subject of Chemistry, we’ll have you do it.”

Draco whipped his head around and gaped at Blaise’s smug expression.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, shoving his hands through his hair as Andromeda patted his knee in reassurance.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts

September 9, 2009

“Still coming, are they?” Theo said, seating himself beside Hermione at the staff table in the Great Hall. The remnants of a smoking Howler fizzled to ash on her plate; she had started Silencing and Incendio-ing them as soon as they arrived, after the first one had caught her off guard. Hermione was no stranger to nasty threats and criticism–unfortunately, she had honed her spell-detection and mail destruction as early as Fourth Year, during the Triwizard Tournament gossip and nonsense. 

“Just another Wednesday as Hermione ‘Ruining Wizardingkind’ Granger,” she said, vanishing the mess before her with a disgusted grimace. “Honestly, you'd think I had done a striptease on the table while shouting filthy swears with the way some people have reacted.” 

Theo bit his lip to prevent himself from making an inappropriate comment. He coughed into his napkin to conceal his laughter. “Ah, well you know they'll ease up sooner or later. I’d offer to do something outrageous in my own classroom to take the attention off of you, but it's all so overdone at Hogwarts. What could I do that's not already been done? Bring in a werewolf? fill the grounds with dementors? have students face their worst trauma in front of each other? cast Unforgiveables?” Theo yawned dramatically. “I mean, Quirrell wore the Dark Lord as a hat; how can I compete?”

Hermione cracked a grateful smile. “Poor dear. You'll really have to dig deep to shock these parents. Perhaps a bit of maths to go for a truly egregious stunt?” 

Theo held his hand over his heart and gasped. “I couldn't! What would our dear founders think if I were to ensure that future generations could measure a circle?” The professors dissolved into giggles as they feigned horror. 

“Thank you, Theo. I needed that. I'll especially need it for my meeting with Minerva during fourth period. She left a note in my quarters this morning before breakfast,” Hermione said, handing him a slip of parchment from her pocket. Today, she wore a cashmere sweater and a skirt with tights; it had been cool in the dungeons this week, but they would be brewing for the first time in her First Year class. 

She had considered giving in and wearing robes just to placate the ‘traditional’ types, but she couldn't bring herself to do it; there was nothing actually wrong with her clothing choices, and nothing would ever move forward if she submitted to people who would have been only too happy to remove her from Wizarding society a decade earlier. Furthermore, Hermione wholly believed that robes were a safety hazard in her classroom, and would lose all credibility with her students if she acquiesced after a week of pressure. 

“Hm, do you think she’s going to tell you to relent on the robes or the Chemistry? What will you do if she does?” Theo mused, his gaze pensive. 

Hermione's answer was immediate. “No, no I don't think she would. Minerva is made of harder stuff than that,” she said, reminding herself that she had good reason to call the brazen witch her mentor and friend. 

“I think you're right. I wonder what the meeting is about then?”

With a frown, Hermione admitted, “I have no idea, but I guess I'll find out, won't I?”

***

“Good morning, class! Please hang your robes at the back of the room before you find your seats today. We will be brewing a Cure for Boils potion today. Before we gather ingredients, I will be going over the process and safety protocols, so have your quills and parchment ready to take notes,” Hermione announced as her students stood near the door, either heeding her instructions to remove their robes, or hesitating near the hooks. 

She watched their movements closely, and was pleasantly surprised to see that most of the Slytherin students had immediately followed her directives and sat down. The Gryffindor twins, Grace and Alice, were whispering to one another, neither adhering to her request. 

“All students must be properly attired for the lab, or will be excluded from the practicum for their safety. We will begin momentarily,” Hermione said, crossing to the blackboard without another glance at the small cluster of defiant students. 

“Professor?” a nervous voice cut through the buzz of chatter in the classroom. Hermione set down the chalk, slowly rotating to seek the student who had just spoken. 

She spotted Rhys Blackwood with his hand in the air. He was hard to miss–he stood a few inches taller than the rest of his classmates. He still wore his school robes.

“Yes, Mr. Blackwood?” Hermione said, her mind instantly offering uncharitable thoughts about the Slytherin boy, which she immediately squashed. Prejudice came in many forms, as she often had reminded Ron. She pasted a kind smile on her face as she waited for him to continue.

Rhys scratched the back of his neck as he lowered his hand. “It’s just that, well, I spilled tea on my shirt this morning…” Hermione’s eyes widened slightly as she realized the boy was embarrassed about a stain–he wasn’t trying to be difficult. 

“Oh, well, just a moment,” she said, stepping briskly to meet him at the rear of the classroom. With a flick of her wand, she thoroughly Scourgified his shirt. “Right as rain, I’d say. Let’s see.” Rhys removed his robes, looking down at his pristine white Oxford.

“Thanks, Professor Granger!” he said, grinning brightly. “Nifty charm!” Rhys hung his robes and sat down at his usual table. Hermione turned to the Baker sisters, who showed no signs of cooperating with her orders. They were the only students who had remained standing, the rest having put their robes away, even if somewhat reluctantly.

“Girls, the lesson is going to start, with or without you. What will it be?” Hermione eyed them calmly, her shoulders set in a confident posture. She channeled her best Minerva McGonagall as she waited for a response. The young witches whispered to one another, then glanced over to their professor.

“Mum said we were not to listen to ‘ridiculous nonsense’ and that we were perfectly fine in robes,” Alice said snottily. 

“Yes, that’s right. Our mum says that muggleborns are always trying to change things for the sake of change, and that we were to keep them on,” Grace added, her nose pointing in the air. Hermione could hear the whispers and snickering behind her.

She took a slow breath, then addressed the Bakers. “Very well. That will be ten points each from Gryffindor for defiance, as well as detention for refusal to participate in lessons,” she said, bracing herself for outrage from her former House. None came. In fact, the other Gryffindors gave the Baker twins disdainful looks, then turned their attention to the front of the room.

Grace and Alice wore matching expressions of fury, but they nonetheless sat down, arms crossed, when they saw no one else would join their protest.

Hermione internally fist pumped as she walked back to the board, resuming her lesson without any further delay.

“The Cure for Boils potion produces pink smoke when brewed properly…”

***

Hermione stood before the stone gargoyle, the slip of parchment held tightly in her grip. It wasn’t as if she could avoid the meeting with the Headmistress, but she was at least five minutes early–so she’d earned a bit of panic time, surely. Taking a deep breath, releasing it slowly from her lips, she raised the crumpled parchment to read off the password.

“ Shepherd’s pie, ” came a calm, masculine voice from behind her. The stairwell opened up in front of her, though she had frozen in place.

“Malfoy?” Hermione said, spinning on her heel to face the stoic countenance of the tall blond wizard. “Can I help you? I have an appointment.”

He examined her with hooded eyes. “Yes, Granger. I rather thought you might. Shall we?” Draco gestured toward the spiral staircase. “After you.” 

A wrinkle formed between her brows as she whipped through dozens of scenarios that might explain what Draco Malfoy and she shared as it pertained to McGonagall. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re doing here,” she finally said, the crease deepening with her frustrated curiosity. 

“Then I suppose we ought to go on and find out, now shouldn’t we? Chop chop, Granger. We’re nearly late.” At his reminder of the time, Hermione pushed aside her annoyance at his rudeness and trekked up the stairwell. When she reached the top, she saw the Headmistress seated at her desk, two guest chairs in front of it–apparently this meeting was for the both of them.

“Professor Granger, Mr. Malfoy, please sit. We have much to discuss and Professor Granger has a class of Fourth Year students in one hour’s time,” Minerva said, nodding at the indicated seats. 

Hermione shuffled around the chair closest to the door, dropping down into it abruptly as Draco nearly brushed up against her as he took his own seat. 

“Minerva, a pleasure to see you, as always,” Draco said, affecting his poshest manners. Git , Hermione thought reflexively. That tone reminded her too much of their younger years, when Draco would kiss Snape’s arse after the professor cut her down with a sneer.

Minerva gave him a nod of acknowledgment, then got right to it. “Professor Granger, I won’t waste time rehashing the events of the last week with you, nor is Mr. Malfoy in need of the same. The Board of Governors has elected to investigate the concerns raised by parents of your students that the inclusion of muggle Chemistry detracts from the Potions curriculum, thereby depriving students of sufficient practice,” she said, pausing to allow Hermione time to process her words.

Hermione stared, flabbergasted. “But–but Headmistress, everything I have taught and intend to teach is supplemental and complementary to the Potions curriculum. A firm grasp of chemical reactions will only lead to better potioneers among my students,” she said, her voice raised an octave from nerves.

“I believe you, Professor, however, the Board maintains the right to observe your lessons and make recommendations based on its own findings,” Minerva said, her lips pursed in disapproval.

“I believe, Headmistress, this is where I come in,” Draco said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “The Board, in its infinite wisdom, has determined that my own education in both Potions and Chemistry best suits the goals of the Board and the parents of Hogwarts.”

“I beg your pardon! Your education? I possess a Mastery in Potions as well as a Bachelor’s degree in Chemistry from Oxford! I’ll grant that you were an adept student in Potions, but what familiarity could you possibly have with Chemistry?” Hermione said, erupting with indignation. Minerva shot her a shocked look at her outburst.

“Professor Granger–” Minerva started.

“No, it’s fine, Minerva,” Draco said, turning in his seat to face Hermione. “Not only do I also possess a Mastery in Potions, having apprenticed under Gethsemane Prickle, but I additionally audited every Chemistry course at Cambridge. Sadly, auditing does not earn one any fancy paper to laud one’s studies, but I attended every lecture and completed all assignments without credit.” Hermione’s mouth hung open, incapable of reconciling what she knew about Draco with this new information. 

“I do not want this observation to become a distraction or imposition to either Professor Granger or her students, Mr. Malfoy. The Board may be able to exert its will in this matter, but it is still my school and I will not stand for any interference that affects learning. I hope that is the last I will need to say on the matter,” Minerva said, roving her stern gaze over Draco’s face. He got a distinct sense of having been read like a book; he felt a bit exposed. Whatever the Headmistress was searching for must have been to her satisfaction, as she cut her eyes to Hermione, who had finally collected her wits.

“Thank you, Headmistress. I will tolerate the Board’s presence in my classroom, and will ensure that my students continue to learn at my personal levels of expectation. Malfoy–er, Mr. Malfoy, please owl me your intended start date so I may prepare,” Hermione said, folding her hands in her lap, trying not to pick at her nails in agitation. 

“Good news, Professor. I’m available to join you for fifth period, just now,” Draco said, smirking at Hermione’s disgruntled reaction. 

“Lovely,” she bit out, clenching her jaw to keep from saying anything else. “Headmistress, if we are done here, I have a class to teach in fifteen minutes.”

Minerva dismissed them both from her office, then poured herself a finger of Scotch. She knocked it back and offered silent prayers to whichever gods might be watching.

Chapter Text

Hermione swiftly swept down the stairs from Minerva’s office, chewing on her cheek as she mentally ran through the meeting again. Draco strolled behind her at a distance. 

She was grateful that it was not yet time for classes to let out, allowing her to navigate the halls without much interference, as she ignored the blond wizard who followed. The look in her eyes must have been furious, however, as Theo froze in his tracks, crossing her path as she barreled toward her classroom. 

“Granger! Gran-Hermione!” he called, snapping her out of her daze. “I was looking for you. How did the meeting–” He paused mid-sentence. “Erm, hello, Draco. What are you doing here?”

Hermione spun to face Theo, her face flushing red with emotional turmoil: a mix of anger, embarrassment, and indignation. “Yes, Draco , why don’t you tell Theo why you’re here, wasting my time and dogging my heels?”

Draco, to his credit, remained calm as he addressed Theo’s inquiry. “Hello, Theo. The Board of Governors has bestowed upon me the most arduous task of observing and reporting back on the nefarious teachings of the Golden Girl herself,” he drawled, his face impassive. “At this very moment, to be specific, I believe I'm about to sit in on a Fourth Year Potions class.”

Theo's head turned slowly to face Hermione, who was visibly seething at the insult to her expertise. “Ah, I understand the–” he said, his palm flat as he gestured in a wide circle in front of her, “–well, the all of this, now. Will you be observing my classroom as well, Draco? Perhaps you'll see fit to take notes on Trelawney's methodology, too?” Theo's head swept from Hermione to Draco once more, his brow raised in challenge. 

Draco cleared his throat. “Mm, no, actually. Just Granger's,” he said, appearing slightly awkward about the subject for the first time.

“Professor Granger,” Hermione said tersely. “You will address me properly while in your official capacity, or I will be rendering my complaints to the Headmistress. Seeing as it is time for me to prepare for the next class, that requirement begins now, Mr. Malfoy.” Without another word, Hermione stalked off to the Potions dungeon.

“You're fucked, mate. You know that right?” Theo said, casually sliding his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Have you ever known Granger to back down from a fight?”

Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose, soothing a long-past phantom ache from a well-placed slap. He remembered all too well what the witch could do when she encountered injustice. “Yes, well, I get to thank Blaise for honoring me with this task. I promise you that I take almost no pleasure in it,” Draco said, nodding his goodbye to Theo as he followed the familiar path to the dungeons.

***

Draco leaned against the wall at the back of the classroom, watching as Hermione bustled about the room, shuffling parchment stacks and inspecting cauldrons. The classroom hadn’t changed much since his school days, but it did feel brighter somehow, more inviting–even as Hermione’s body language screamed that he was not at all welcome. Her eyes flicked in his direction a couple of times, her lips pressed in a tight line. He noticed that her nostrils flared with each huffed exhale and could hear the tapping of her foot as she faced the doorway. On the board was written in large letters: Wit-Sharpening Potion. 

The tension in the air was palpable; Draco affected an air of nonchalance, but his shoulders were in a set line and a small wrinkle interrupted his otherwise smooth forehead. Hermione forced down her ire, taking a few deep breaths. Thankfully, students soon began to appear in the doorway. Each of the Fourth Year Ravenclaws obediently shed their school robes and placed them at the back of the room, before seating themselves at their tables. They chatted quietly amongst themselves, arranging their parchment and writing utensils in preparation for the day's lesson. Draco took an empty seat at the rear of the classroom, his own quill and parchment before him. 

As soon as the bell rang, the noise and conversation ceased simultaneously. Every student began to write down the name of the potion on the board, poised and ready to take notes. 

“Good afternoon, class. Today, as you can see, we will be brewing Wit-Sharpening potions, as part of our focus on antidotes this year. Can anyone tell me what this potion may be an antidote for?” Hermione began. Draco was unsurprised to see multiple hands raised– Ravenclaws , he thought to himself. Hermione called on a stout wizard in the middle of the room. “Yes, Mr. Davies?"

The boy lowered his hand, then answered, “Wit-sharpening potions can serve as an antidote to a Confundus charm, Professor.” His classmates nodded approvingly. 

“Excellent. Five points to Ravenclaw,” Hermione said, turning to the blackboard. She spoke as she wrote, “A Wit-Sharpening potion contains ginger root, armadillo bile, and scarab beetles. The potion itself is not difficult to brew, but relies upon patience. Can anyone tell me why one would need to exercise patience with this potion?” She faced the class, scanning the room for her selection–again, there were several options.

Hermione invited a tall witch to answer. The girl placed her hands on her desk before replying, “The potion requires patience because each stage of ingredient addition requires the potioneer to mix until a particular color is achieved for each step. It cycles through five different colors: lime green, blue, red, yellow, lime green once more, then purple. A correctly brewed potion will maintain a purple hue.”

“Absolutely correct, Miss Perkins,” Hermione said, clapping in delight. “Five more points to Ravenclaw for not only answering the question, but also the elaboration on the specifically desired colors of the brew.” Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes; he never cared for rote memorization. It was one of the reasons he found Hermione so grating as a classmate in Potions, in fact. 

He said nothing and kept his face carefully neutral. His mind wandered as Hermione continued her explanation of the day's task. 

“...color changes are indicative of an interaction between the ingredients, as the organic matter breaks down into…” Draco's eyes snapped to Hermione as she lectured about the components that comprised each ingredient. He listened attentively to her overview of chemical reactions and their implications on potion-brewing. It seemed rather innocuous as far as indoctrination claims went, and, in fact, made perfect sense in the realm of effective potions. He documented the content of her lecture on his parchment, providing quotes as well as context. 

As she wrapped up her lecture, Hermione asked the class if there were any lingering questions before she sent them to fetch supplies and move to their work tables. A petite witch with auburn hair raised a tentative hand.

“Yes, Miss Fletcher?” 

There was an extended silence as the girl reconsidered her query. 

“Miss Fletcher?” Hermione repeated. Chelsea Fletcher and her brother, Lewis, reminded Hermione of Luna Lovegood: a bit off-the-beat, but bright and kind. Both siblings were members of Ravenclaw House.

Chelsea hesitated a moment longer before she spoke, “May I ask who that man is in the back of the classroom? I know it’s not necessarily relevant to the potion, but…”

Draco pursed his lips to avoid a smug grin at the question–Hermione had plainly decided to disregard his presence entirely by not addressing it. He stared at the professor, waiting for an introduction.

“Well-spotted, Miss Fletcher. We have the singular honor of hosting a member of the Board of Governors for Potions classes,” she explained, refraining from a sarcastic intonation on the word ‘honor.’ “Mr. Malfoy will be observing for a short while.”

“The honor is all mine, Professor Granger. It does, however, remain to be seen how long my observations will continue,” Draco added, tipping his chin in acknowledgement. A sly smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

“Wonderful,” Hermione said, ignoring Draco’s veiled–though relatively minor–threat. “To your work stations, please. Gather the ingredients from the store room and begin.”

The eager gathering of students wasted no time, brushing off the intrusion of a school governor, and got right to brewing their potions. Draco recorded that the students appeared to have their routines well-managed as they collected their ingredients and readied their work surfaces. Every student seemed prepared and equipped to brew, without additional input from their professor.

Even so, Hermione made the rounds to each of the work stations, offering insight and praise as needed. Draco made note of her every movement on his parchment; she hardly seemed to stop moving once the students began their process. Students who were struggling a bit more received additional assistance, but also encouragement. Those who had a firm grasp of the steps were questioned about the reasons for each of the potions transitions. Between each interaction, Hermione chatted casually with her students; she seemed to have excellent rapport with all of them.

He was jotting down a remark about the overall successful execution of the entire group’s potions as they added the ground scarab beetles to their brews–nearly every cauldron held potions that were either blue or in the process of turning red–when Hermione stepped in front of his commandeered desk. 

“Don’t forget to include my scandalous workwear in your report, Mr. Malfoy. I’d hate for the governors to receive an incomplete overview of my obscene behavior in the classroom,” she sneered. He looked up from his parchment; her arms were crossed in front of her, her hip cocked to one side as she hovered over his writing. 

“Fear not, Professor. I’ve not missed a single detail; that color is quite fetching on you, by the way,” Draco said, indicating the emerald hue of her sweater. Hermione frowned and made an annoyed sound. 

Draco prodded, “It’s customary to thank someone for a compliment, Professor.” A playful glint flashed in his eyes as he took in her agitation; it was always a worthwhile use of time to needle her, in his opinion. 

“Professor Granger? Could you please check the shade of our potion? We’re not sure if it’s quite ‘lime’ green,” a student called from across the room. Hermione swept from Draco’s perch without another word, glad for the disruption.

***

The last period of the day was NEWT-level Potions. Students comported themselves more or less as well as the Ravenclaw Fourth Years, giving Draco not much more to add to his report than the specific lesson for the day: Elixir to Induce Euphoria. The advanced level students generally produced ideal yellow potions, which they delivered to Hermione at the end of the class. 

As the last NEWT student exited the classroom, Draco gathered his stack of parchment; his notes were detailed and, therefore, substantial in quantity. 

“Granger?” Draco said, standing at the desk, his parchment stowed safely in the pocket of his well-tailored robes. 

Without glancing his way, Hermione responded immediately, “Professor Granger.” He gave half a laugh at her irritation.

“Ah yes. We are still in your domain. My apologies, Professor Granger. Anyway, I intend to see if Theo would like to join me for dinner in Hogsmeade. I was just wondering whether to expect you, seeing as how much you enjoyed my company the last time we shared a meal.”

Hermione scoffed loudly, then met his eyes, amusement evident on his face. “I’ll be in the Great Hall, as will Theo. I guess you’ll just have to eat alone, bereft of my company,” she said, feigning sympathy. 

“Not at all. I find I’ve missed the Hogwarts elves’ cooking after all these years. I’d love to join you; thank you for the invitation,” Draco said, sitting on the surface of a desk with far more grace than seemed possible. 

“I know that your comprehension skills are generally lacking, Mr. Malfoy, but I don’t recall extending any such offer. I’m sure you could beg for something in the kitchens after dinner if you’re so desperate for school meals, though.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed, pleased with herself for suggesting that Draco Malfoy might eat in the kitchens like a scullery maid. She smiled at the mental image of him, hunched over a tiny table and chairs, snarfing down scraps. 

To her surprise, Draco chuckled. “And miss out on this enticing repartee? I could never,” he said, not budging from his spot on the desk. “As titillating as the elves might be, I think I prefer our rejoinders to obsequious bowing and simpering.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Malfoy,” Hermione said, now standing in front of him with her bag draped over one shoulder. “Fine. I’m not going to starve myself trying to convince you to go away, so let’s just go to dinner.”

“Why, Professor Granger, it’s highly inappropriate for you to ask me on a date while I am serving in my role as governor. You mustn’t try to use your feminine wiles to sway my accounting,” Draco said, his hand pressed dramatically over his heart. 

Hermione withheld the urge to shove him off the desk. He was fairly certain he heard her mutter, ‘wanker,’ under her breath as she walked past him, not slowing as she departed for the Great Hall. She could hear him laughing to himself the entire walk from the dungeons.

Chapter Text

September 11, 2009

“You can’t let him get to you, Granger. The second you let Draco know that he’s being an irritating little twat, he’ll just dig in deeper. Believe me; I’ve known the arsehole nearly my entire life. Why do you think he liked having a go at you and the Golden Gits when we were in school?” Theo said, pulling a croissant apart as he read essays on the coffee table. He dunked the flaky mess into his cappuccino–he insisted it tasted best that way.

“I assumed it was because of his raging hard-on for blood supremacy and a massive inferiority complex,” Hermione answered, a plate holding a scone perched on her knee. Theo gave a hearty guffaw at her deadpan response. 

“Yes, yes, but also because he loves to argue, and you three never learned to just ignore him. Did you ever notice that he really didn’t fuss with anyone else? You all gave him attention; he’s not the same hateful little fuck that he was, but he is still a spoiled prat.” 

Theo reached across the table for his wand and vanished a splotch of coffee that escaped his cup. “Are you sure I can’t just give them all perfect marks and avoid reading the rest of this poorly written shite?” he said, cocking his head at Hermione. She frowned, wrinkling her nose at the idea of unearned marks. 

“Absolutely not, Theo! It’s going to just keep being rubbish unless you give them a reason to improve.” 

Theo sighed. “I thought you’d say that.” He flipped the top parchment over and began to read the one below it. “I guess my free period is going to be spent bleeding red ink all over these essays. You’d think it was a difficult assignment to ask them to explain why Aqua Eructo and Aguamenti are not interchangeable spells.” He scribbled something onto the parchment that looked like ‘do not try this,' from Hermione’s spot on the sofa. 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes; Theo was probably a very competent teacher, but their teaching philosophies differed significantly. She stood from the sofa, dusting crumbs from her lap. “I’ve got First Years this period, so I should get going. Also, it’s Teddy’s class, so I’m hoping to squeeze in a little chat beforehand. I’ll see you at lunch?” she said. 

Theo waved a hand at her. “Yes, yes. See you then,” he said, squinting at a particularly messy essay. “The fuck does that say?” he muttered under his breath. 

Hermione smiled as he ran a hand through his curls, ruffling them in his frustration. “Good luck, Theo!” she called, opening the door to the hallway. She heard him call back something similar as she let the door close behind her. 

***

Hermione had barely made it three feet outside of the staff common area before she sensed someone looming over her left shoulder. A snap of her eyes in that direction revealed Draco grinning as he caught her looking. 

“Good morning, Professor Granger,” he said, his voice low and silky. “How are you?” Hermione’s eyes widened slightly at his sultry tone; she convinced herself she had imagined it, focusing her eyes in front of her once more.

In an attempt to heed Theo’s advice, Hermione said nothing, merely nodding in acknowledgement of Draco’s greeting. She pulled a carafe of coffee from her bag, sipping carefully without slowing her gait. 

“Not a morning person, Professor?” Draco tried again. She could hear the faint tap of his dragonhide shoes as their soles met the stone flooring. It took some effort for Hermione to maintain her aloofness; she wasn’t accustomed to being so rude when mundane pleasantries were the only offense he had committed. 

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she entered her classroom; she did not hold the door open for Draco, but neither did she slam it shut in his face. It seemed a neutral enough choice to pretend as if he wasn’t right behind her. 

Despite Hermione’s blatant dismissal, Draco found that he was actually entertained by her performance. He’d known Hermione since they were eleven, and he’d hardly been ignorant of her countless squabbles with their classmates. It wasn’t in her nature to treat others with coldness even when she was hurt or livid. He could only assume that her behavior this morning took a great deal of effort to carry out. There was something almost thrilling about pushing her to exert such impertinence. 

As the heavy door to the Potions classroom started to close in front of him, Draco shook himself of his musing and caught the handle. He sauntered into the room, feigning his own air of indifference as he sought his usual seat. Just as he was about to pull out the chair, a thought struck him–what if he sat directly in her line of sight? The desk he had selected two days ago allowed him to blend into her periphery, making it all too simple to pretend he wasn’t there. He could ensure she had to notice him if he picked a spot just behind the students. 

Scanning the room, he mentally ran through yesterday’s classes; this morning’s lessons were with the First Year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. During their afternoon class the day before, the majority of the students had seated themselves toward the front of the room–not a single student had slipped into desks along the back wall, each of them too eager for proximity to Hermione. With that information in mind, Draco settled into a desk halfway between the last row of students and the rear of the classroom. 

Hermione emerged from her office clutching two textbooks, the one on top open as she skimmed a section before class. She was so absorbed in her reading that she failed to realize that he had seated himself in a new location. Draco maintained a passive facade, not wanting to give away how carefully he had selected his new vantage point. He snuck a brief glance at his watch, noting that students would be joining them at any moment. 

Hermione shut the textbook with a thud as her eyes drifted toward the old clock suspended over the door, startling when she saw that Draco was not in his usual spot. There was a split second in which she almost demanded to know why he’d relocated– the audacity of this man , she thought. Instead, she took a deep breath as subtly as she could manage, and schooled her facial expression to appear bored with his antics. 

The door to the classroom opened behind him as students meandered their way from breakfast in the Great Hall. Hermione’s face lit up with a genuine smile as Teddy ran the length from the door to the spot directly in front of her feet. 

“Hermione! Hi!” Teddy greeted, his eyes bright and his hair a light sky blue. Draco couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s exuberance. He adored Teddy–not that Draco was any kind of natural with children, but there was something about the idea of a new generation of family, one so filled with innocence and love, that broke through every barrier he had ever maintained: ones built intentionally, like Occlumency, and unintentionally, like hopelessness.

The aftermath of the war had been so dark and dismal for everyone, and Malfoy Manor had been his family’s prison for years by that point; neither Draco nor Narcissa wanted to return home once they were released from Ministry custody. They had each been sentenced to probation, which ruled out the chateau in Provence as a refuge. The flat in Hogsmeade was entirely too close to the reminders of the final battle, eliminating it as an option as well. They had finally settled into a cottage in the Cotswolds owned by the Blacks until the Manor could undergo a complete renovation and cleansing. It was during their stay in the cottage that Andromeda showed up one day with a chubby infant Teddy. 

It had turned out that, while Andromeda had been burned off the family tapestry and disowned, the blood magic steeped in generations of Black witches and wizards was not so easily dismantled. The property recognized Andromeda as the eldest living member of that branch and had alerted her to their presence. The long-estranged sisters managed to reconcile after many visits, often stretching late into the night. It was during those meetings that Draco started to spend time doting on Teddy, the joyful baby a balm for his broken spirit. 

As he reminisced about his family’s reunion, Draco didn’t notice that Teddy had seated himself directly in front of him. Teddy spun in his seat, a toothy grin on his face, which still held some of the roundness of childhood. 

“Hiya, Draco! I moved seats so I could talk to you!” Teddy announced, clearly pleased with himself. “I owled Gran about getting to see you yesterday. I bet she’ll be so surprised and excited, just like me!” The little boy chattered amiably, hardly allowing Draco a word in edgewise–though Draco was used to it by now. 

“Hi, Teddy,” Draco replied, smiling back at him. “I don’t think Aunt Andy will be as shocked as you’d expect; she’s on the Board, too, remember?” Teddy’s mouth twisted to one side as he considered Draco’s statement, then shrugged.

“I suppose that makes sense that she’d know, then. Anyway, wasn’t it so cool when Georgia’s potion almost blew up yesterday? I kind of wish Hermione hadn’t caught her about to add those porcupine quills…” Teddy sighed. Draco tutted at his cousin’s destructive hopes.

“Teddy, seriously? Also, it wouldn’t have ‘blown up’ if your friend had left the cauldron on the heat–it would have melted her cauldron, smelled horrific, then covered her in pustules. Does that sound pleasant to you?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re lucky that Professor Granger spotted her in time. Not every professor pays as close attention as she does, trust me.”

A throat cleared behind him. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Teddy, please face the front of the classroom, as we’re about to start today’s lesson,” Hermione said. While Draco and Teddy had been absorbed in their conversation, she had walked to the classroom door to shut it before beginning class, allowing her to overhear Draco as he scolded Teddy gently. She hadn’t expected him to finish with a positive remark about her teaching. 

Given the near miss yesterday, Hermione spent the day’s lesson debriefing about the experience, and explained how direct heat would have affected the reaction occurring in the potion. She pointed them to a section in their chemistry textbooks, and set the students to an assignment that followed it.

As the class read quietly, she approached Draco’s desk. He was absorbed in writing his observational notes, his head bowed as his quill flowed over the parchment. “I appreciate the way you handled Teddy’s remarks. I do try to ensure students’ safety above all else,” Hermione said. Draco lifted his head, setting his quill to the side to focus on her face. Her eyes were warm rather than cold and distant; it was a welcome change from their first interaction of the day. 

“I hardly showered you with praise, Professor. Your attentive vigilance is the bare minimum for a Potions professor,” Draco said, brushing off her gratitude as if she were being effusive. 

Hermione snorted, unruffled by Draco’s attempted brush-off. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Someone ought to have told Snape that allowing your students to risk everyone else’s safety just so he could deride children’s failures was actually rather poor classroom management,” she said, rolling her eyes. Draco failed to suppress a laugh at her droll commentary. 

“I agree–we all could have done without experiencing the putrid odor that accompanied Longbottom’s porcupine quill mishap. Severus was brilliant at Potions, but teaching was really not his calling,” Draco admitted. He grinned at Hermione, whose face betrayed her smugness; she hadn’t expected Draco Malfoy to compliment her teaching and criticise Severus Snape’s all in the same class period. 

“All the same, thank you. Carry on,” she said, returning to her post at the front of the classroom. Draco tried and failed to resist checking out her bum as she walked away–it wasn’t his fault that she had an excellent arse, highlighted in today’s choice of trousers. He took a deep breath, then forced the thought from his mind, picking up his quill to resume note-taking. 

***

Hermione met Theo in front of his classroom; they had decided that every other Friday would be their day to take a long lunch in Hogsmeade together, since they both had free periods after lunch. 

“So, how did it go this morning?” Theo promptly inquired. They walked side by side toward the main entrance of the castle, as Theo yanked at his tie and shed his robes. It was a warm day for September and the sun was shining brightly. 

Hermione mentally evaluated her two morning classes. “It was actually okay. Malfoy even complimented my teaching to Teddy, if you can believe it,” she answered. Her hair was wound on top of her head, fixed in place with her wand. The dungeons had been stuffy with the warmth outside, even early in the day. She had eventually shed her cardigan during third period, her arms bare in a sleeveless blouse as she taught. “Though I wonder what his report will say about the fact that I flaunted my naked arms in front of the Second Years. Merlin forbid they see a witch’s shoulders.” 

Theo laughed, picturing the discomfort Draco likely had experienced–though he was less imagining horror due to their puritanical pureblood upbringing and more of a tightness in the trousers situation. He didn’t share that particular thought with Hermione; as much fun as it was to rankle Draco in private, Theo had no interest in creating awkwardness in the classroom. He considered the restraint to be great personal growth on his part.  

Chapter Text

Hogsmeade

September 11, 2009

They reached the village in high spirits, the gorgeous weather a pleasant companion on their stroll. “Do you want to try that new bistro down the way? It has a covered patio, and it’s entirely too nice to sit indoors, don’t you think?” Theo suggested.

“Oh, that would be perfect, Theo. Let’s do that!” Hermione said, leading the way in her enthusiasm. As they reached the restaurant, she noticed a familiar head of messy black hair, seated at a table on the patio. “Harry?!” 

The wizard turned at the mention of his name and Hermione’s voice. “Hermione!” he called, waving her over. “Come and join me! Andromeda is in the loo, but I’m sure she’d love to see you, too. Oh, hello, Nott.”

“Theo, come sit!” Hermione said, pulling him to Harry’s table. She pointed to an open chair across from her as she sat beside Harry. “Now, why didn’t you tell me you’d be here today?” 

Harry was sheepish; old habits died hard, and Hermione’s scolding tone never failed to hit home. It also hadn’t hurt that, while living together, they had had a reckoning of sorts; Hermione finally called him out for all the times he’d stood on the sidelines of Ron’s ill treatment of her, and he had been properly humbled, apologizing profusely and promising to do better. 

“That’s my fault, Hermione,” Andromeda said, picking up her napkin from her chair before sitting down. “It was a bit last minute. I ran into Harry as I was leaving the Ministry on my way here for a Board meeting, and invited him to have lunch. We were hoping to steal Teddy, too, but Minerva insisted that he shouldn’t get special privileges as a First Year.” Andromeda rolled her eyes, though she smiled. “Always was a stickler, that one.”

Theo and Hermione laughed and nodded. Minerva might have allowed him to join his grandmother and godfather for lunch on a weekend, but a school day was out of the question. 

“Hello, Theo, dear,” Andromeda said, leaning over as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “How are you? Classes going well?”

Theo loved Draco’s aunt. She had warmed to him at their first meeting, and he to her. They shared a sense of humor and a loathing for his father. 

“Very well, Andy. How’ve you been? Staying out of trouble?” Theo replied, teasing the older witch. Draco had told him often of Narcissa’s “wine nights” with Andromeda, which Theo found entirely too delightful and hilarious. 

The group settled into easy conversation, enjoying their meals and each other’s company on the bistro’s patio. Hermione noticed that Harry had snuck a few furtive glances at Theo throughout lunch. Smiling to herself, she decided that she’d have to Floo-call him later that night. Theo, of course, had been rather obvious in his attention to Harry, leaning toward him across the table and finding reasons to continue talking to him. 

“So tell me, Potter, given your illustrious Quidditch career at Hogwarts, why didn’t you pursue it professionally?” Theo asked, his chin resting atop his palm so he could look up at Harry through his lashes. Harry’s ears reddened slightly at Theo’s flirtatious posture.

“Erm, well, you know Kingsley offered us, me and Ron, fast-track Auror training after the war, and I really didn’t fancy going back to school…” Harry mumbled, busying himself by taking a deep drink from his water glass. Hermione and Andromeda shared a subtle, knowing look. 

Theo’s lips curled; he hadn’t missed Harry’s reaction either. “Oh yes, I do recall hearing about that. I just always thought that your natural talent would have spurred you to keep playing, that’s all,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Harry.

Harry coughed, as he intentionally bumped Hermione’s foot under the table. It was one of their many codes for ‘help me’ that they’d established over the years. 

“Oh, Andy, I actually had Teddy in class just this morning. He’s doing so well,” Hermione butted in, ignoring Theo’s pout as he sat up straight. 

The change in topic effectively threw cold water on Theo’s efforts to keep making eyes at Harry. The rest of lunch was spent sharing stories about Teddy, and marveling at how difficult it was to believe that he was at Hogwarts now. 

Andromeda made her goodbyes, nearly running late for her Board meeting, which was thankfully across the street. Harry took her departure as an opportunity to head out himself. 

“I’ve got to get back to the DMLE. It was nice seeing you all today. Hermione, can I talk to you for a moment?” Harry said, stepping away from the table with a flick of his head toward the empty tables on the other side of the patio. Hermione stood from the table to follow him.

“I’ll be right back, Theo. Do you mind if we stop by Scrivenshaft’s before we head back to the castle? I need to pick up a couple of new quills. I swear these kids never return them,” Hermione said. Theo nodded, waving her off, then sat back in his chair to wait for her.

As soon as Hermione made her way to Harry, he cast a Muffliato over them. “Hermione. What the fuck was that?” Harry hissed. 

“What do you mean, Harry? Is something wrong?” Hermione teased. She watched as a flush crept up Harry’s neck–he looked so much like his younger self. Harry’s eyes flicked over Hermione’s shoulder to where Theo sat, lounging in his seat.

“Don’t mess with me right now. You know damn well what I mean. Is Theodore Nott hitting on me?” Harry demanded. 

***

Harry and Ginny had reunited after the Battle of Hogwarts, jumping hastily from their short relationship before Seventh Year almost immediately into marriage–they were wed by the end of the year, in fact. They had been so eager to be together, that they’d never considered whether or not they should be together. After a year of struggling to make it work amid Ginny’s hectic training schedule with the Holyhead Harpies and Harry’s fledgling career as an Auror, they’d decided to get a divorce. Neither of them had been particularly happy, and it seemed wiser to end it before they resented one another. 

The dissolution of his marriage had shaken the foundation Harry had expected to rebuild his life on; he had struggled his entire life to find safety and love, and thought that his relationship with Ginny would provide that stability. They had promised to remain friends, but such ease had not come to fruition in the years after their split–they hardly saw one another anymore.

Hermione and Ron had tried dating after the war, but soon realized that they were entirely too different to be compatible. She had chosen to return to Hogwarts for an Eighth Year to finish her education and sit for her NEWTs, a decision that further drove a wedge between them. Ron had neither understood nor respected her need for further education, instead insisting that Hermione spend every weekend in September with him. Hermione, in turn, had no desire to be Ron's therapist amid his–understandable, but overwhelming–grief and drinking. After a few months, they’d decided to end their romantic relationship and had tried to resume their friendship.

Like Harry and Ginny, though, they had found it hard to bridge the distance; their friendship had always revolved too much around Harry to stand alone once they no longer existed solely in his orbit, and the breakup had left bitter tastes in both of their mouths. 

Hermione had restored her parents’ memories after Eighth Year, but they had decided to stay in Australia; the Grangers had reasoned that they would have chosen the location for retirement anyway–their permanent relocation just moved up the timeline. Upon her return from Australia, Hermione had moved into Grimmauld with Harry. 

One night, after a few too many firewhiskeys as they’d sat on the floor of the sitting room together, Harry had blurted out a confession: “I think I’m into men; specifically, I think I’m bisexual, Hermione.”

Hermione snorted, splashing her wine on the rug. “Oops. Where’s my damn wand?” She had searched the area around her for a few minutes before Harry pointed out that it was in her hair. “What was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Harry, I’ve known that for like five years. I’ve just been waiting for you to figure that out.” 

Harry had gaped at Hermione’s blunt statement. “What do you mean, you’ve ‘known for like five years’? How could you possibly know that when I didn’t know that until recently?” he’d demanded.

Hermione had leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Harry, you are my brother and best friend. Do you think I didn’t notice that every time you drank a bit you’d talk about how fit Charlie Weasley is or how you wished you had Blaise Zabini’s good looks?” 

He’d blanched at her examples; he didn’t realize he’d been so obvious. “I think it’s wonderful, honestly. You should embrace this chance to explore who you are,” she had continued, patting his knee.

Since his revelation, Harry had publicly gone on dates with both men and women, and Hermione had had her fair share of partners; however, neither of them had met anyone that kept their interest long-term.

***

Hermione stared at Harry before giving him an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Harry, honestly. You’ve been dating men for nearly a decade and you still can’t tell when one is trying it on with you?” Hermione said jokingly, poking him in the chest with her index finger.

“Ow, your fingers are bony. Christ, Hermione. Just answer the question so I can get on with my day,” Harry said, rubbing a spot on his sternum. She sighed, dropping her hand to her side.

“Yes, of course he’s hitting on you. I swear, you are the least observant person–”

“–you can’t possibly mean that! I can name several people who are worse than me...”

“Fine, fine. Anyway, I can tell him you’re available, if you’d like. I was going to Floo-call you later tonight anyway,” Hermione offered. Harry took off his glasses and began polishing them with his shirt, stalling.

“No, that’s quite alright. I don’t have time to date right now anyway,” Harry replied, replacing his glasses on his face. “I do actually have to get back to work, though.”

Hermione reached out and placed her hand on Harry’s cheek affectionately; he’d grown a rather nice beard in the last year that suited him. “Alright, you big chicken. Let me know next time you’re coming into Hogsmeade, okay? It wouldn’t kill you to send a quick Patronus, you know,” she said, rubbing his hairy cheek before withdrawing her hand.

“Oh, like I’m supposed to have memorized your class schedule. I’m not going to interrupt your lessons. You’d murder me, so yes, it would kill me to do it, and don’t bother denying it,” Harry said. 

Hermione laughed loudly, but didn’t deny his accusation. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, waving goodbye to Theo before he disapparated.

As Theo and Hermione walked the short distance to Scrivenshaft’s, Theo pulled Hermione to a sudden stop. His face was deadly serious as he stared at her.

“So, is he into me?” Theo asked, stone-faced. Hermione chuckled, not answering, as she tugged Theo into the shop. 

***

Hogsmeade Boardroom

September 11, 2009

“Could everyone please sit down? I'd like to keep this meeting short and to the point so we can leave,” Blaise said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his hand to the unoccupied chairs. An array of charcuterie had been laid out on the sideboard before the meeting, which meant most of the governors stood around, eating and chatting with no urgency to tend to the business at hand.

Once the group settled into place, many with unfinished plates in front of them, Blaise turned to Draco. “Please update the Board with your report on Professor Granger's classes,” he said.

Draco rolled his eyes and groaned. “For the love of Merlin, Blaise. I duplicated my entire report and placed one at every spot. I think they know how to read–well, most of them,” he said, pointedly staring at Bulstrode, who had made a significant dent in the meat and cheese offerings on his own; the full plate he had brought back to the table with him was quickly disappearing. “Do I really need to do the ‘here are my findings so you don't have to actually bother to make use of the copious notes I've diligently made’?” Draco held up the thick packet of parchment. Blaise gave him a bored look, waiting for him to stop complaining and to do what he had been asked. 

Draco muttered a few choice swears under his breath, then lifted his chin, affecting his best ‘official business’ voice: “Esteemed governors of the Board of Hogwarts, you will find in front of you a veritable dossier of information, recollecting the lessons and attire of one Professor Hermione Jean Granger, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry–” he started, deciding to draw out the presentation for as long as possible, simply to rankle Blaise and his request for a brief meeting. “–on Wednesday, 9 September, of the year two thousand and nine, I accompanied Professor Hermione Jean Granger–”

“–Draco! For fuck's sake, are you going to use her full name for this entire thing?” Blaise interrupted, his voice louder than usual with frustration.

“I'm only being thorough, Chairman Zabini,” Draco responded, his face stoic despite his pleasure at having already pissed off his friend. Blaise dragged his hand down his face, then motioned for Draco to go on.

Draco’s voice droned on as he continued to recount his classroom observations. “As I was saying, I accompanied Professor Granger–happy now?–to the Potions classroom and observed a Fourth Year class comprised solely of Ravenclaws. During that session, Professor Granger wore a sweater–cashmere, if I'm not mistaken, and I hardly am when it comes to cashmere–and a skirt with tights. Professor Granger did not don wizarding robes over said ensemble. The students immediately hung their own robes at the rear of the classroom on designated hooks without any argument. Professor Granger's lesson on Wit-Sharpening Potion was accurate and detailed, with the addition of muggle Chemistry integrated in the portion of the lesson that focused on the desired color changes for the potion. Professor Granger remarked that the change in color is due to a chemical reaction between the ingredients that affects appearance…” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the glazed expressions of several of the governors; he was hardlly surprised given that it was unlikely that they fully understood even half of what he was saying. He'd included explanations and annotations in his report, but they seemed to be superfluous if he was going to have to deliver a moment-by-moment narration.

After several additional minutes of Draco's monologuing, Blaise finally cut in once more: “Fine, fine, you've made your point. Anything else to highlight? Keep it short, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked. “Now, Mr. Chairman, I hardly wish to omit anything from my presentation; how can I decide which parts might cause umbrage among our esteemed colleagues? I haven't even had the chance to share a description of the constellation of freckles on Professor Granger's shoulders, per this morning's cardigan removal,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he saw Fawley and Rosier's heads perk up at the mention of ‘removal.’

“What do you mean, ‘shoulders’?” Rosier demanded. “As if it wasn't scandalous enough with that woman eschewing wizarding robes, she's baring herself to students now?!” Bulstrode dropped the pile of meat and crackers he was about to stuff in his maw, his attention captured by Rosier's accusations.

“Baring herself?! What kind of indecency are we willing to allow in the name of ‘tolerance’?” Fawley said, pointing his finger at Draco. 

Draco laughed. “Come now, I was hardly stating that we should throw Granger– Professor Granger–in the stocks because it was uncomfortably warm in the dungeons this morning. I assure you that no bra straps dared peek out from her modest silk shell,” he elaborated. He meant it; a bit of upper arm skin hardly warranted their harsh responses. “Not a single student even batted an eye because they were entirely engrossed in their lesson. I must begrudgingly admit that Professor Granger is an engaging and capable instructor, at least from these first couple of days.” 

“And what if those students owl home and share their discomfort with their professor's attire?” Rosier asked. “What then? Will we ignore the rights of parents to limit what their children are exposed to in the classroom?”

“Sounds to me like those parents should educate their children at home if something as innocuous as a temporarily exposed shoulder outstrips the importance of effective teaching,” Draco retorted in a bored drawl.

Blaise stepped in to avoid a blow up with Draco and the ‘traditional’ faction of the Board. “Mr. Rosier, if we receive any such information, I will personally see to it that the Headmistress speaks with Professor Granger,” he assured.

Draco scoffed, sneering at Blaise's willingness to placate the three stodgy wizards. “That hardly seems necessary, but I'm not in charge, am I?” he said. 

With Draco’s report concluded, the meeting wrapped up without much further discussion. Blaise closed the meeting, dismissing the governors until their standing mid-month session in October. Draco approached Blaise, who was packing up his bag to leave.

“Don't,” Blaise warned. Draco ignored him, blocking Blaise's exit of the room.

“I will not be handing Granger on a platter to those fucking muppets. I thought our goal was to improve the school and its curriculum? Isn't that why we took on these seats instead of fucking off to Monaco or something? I was willing to make these reports because I thought it would demonstrate how stupid this hand-wringing is, especially since it seemed Fawley and his ilk were a severe minority on the Board. What are you doing–telling them you'll ‘personally see to it that the Headmistress speaks’ with her? Blaise, come the fuck on,” Draco said, seething as he ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the roots. 

Blaise assessed Draco coolly, his face unreadable. “Draco, dealing with that group is politics. Politics is a long game, and sometimes that means saying what they want to hear. Leave that to me, and just do what I've asked of you. Trust me, okay?” he said, gently placing a hand on Draco's shoulder.

Draco's whole body sagged as he nodded his acceptance. “Fine, but I still fucking hate those twats. Your long game better have us with the Snitch in the end.”

Chapter Text

September 18, 2009

Hermione woke on Friday morning to the sound of frantic tapping at the door to her quarters. Fearing it was a student in distress, she leapt out of bed and threw on her dressing gown. Practically running from her bedroom to the door, she nearly tripped over a pair of her trainers, catching herself on the wall beside the entrance. She took a deep breath, centering herself, and opened her door.

“Good morning, Hermione, love!” Theo crowed, pushing his way into her quarters. He held a bouquet of balloons which bobbed jauntily over his head. “For you, birthday girl!”

Hermione blinked, trying to comprehend what on earth Theo was doing at–she checked the clock–6 am, thrusting decorations at her face. “Theo, what the actual fuck?” she spat, refusing to take his offering. “Why are you here at this godsforsaken hour? And, ” she demanded, pushing the balloons away, “my birthday is tomorrow , not today.” 

“Oh, is it? Well, then we've got time to invite your friends, don't we?” he sang, spinning on his heel and strolling into her kitchen. Hermione followed, utterly perplexed, watching as he tied the ribbons to the back of her breakfast chair. 

“Invite my friends? What? Theo, what are you talking about?” Hermione stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Abruptly, she shot a look down at her chest and realized that her nipples were very noticeable through her thin garments; she raised her arms a bit higher over her breasts. 

Theo smiled widely at her as he pulled her chair out, indicating she should sit. Reluctantly, she gave in and settled into her seat. Theo followed suit, sitting across from her at the small table. He withdrew a few shrunken items from his robes: a pot of coffee, two cups, a paper bag filled with pastries, and a plastic crown that said ‘Birthday Witch.’ He poured her a generous cup of coffee and slid the pastries in front of her. 

“You're turning 30! While for wizarding folk it's not the terrifying symbol of middle age approaching, nor does it carry the creeping existential dread that your best days are behind you–as I've gleaned from muggle pop culture–it is still another decade, and I think we ought to celebrate. Give me a guest list, and I'll take care of the rest. How does a nice dinner sound?” Theo said, hardly giving Hermione a moment to process his words. 

“A birthday dinner? Well, I suppose that's nothing too extreme…” she hedged, taking a bite of the flaky pain au chocolat he'd brought for her. She hummed in appreciation; it was delicious. 

“Fantastic! Write down whomever you'd like to have there,” Theo said, wordlessly summoning a pad of paper and biro from her kitchen counter. He tapped the blank paper. “Quickly, now. We haven't got all day.”

Hermione stuck up her middle finger, then dug around in the bag for another pastry. “I'll take care of it after I've had a moment to wake up. Honestly, Theo. How are you this perky every fucking morning? Is it drugs? It's got to be drugs…” She trailed off, ignoring Theo's amused grin. 

“I adore your grumpiness, Granger. It proves that you might actually be an ordinary mortal after all,” Theo said, rising from his chair. “I've got to be off. Drop off the list before first period, please.” He started to walk away, then paused. Reaching across the table, he picked up the plastic crown. 

“What? Oh, absolutely not, Theo. I'm not wearing that thing,” Hermione said, grimacing at the tacky headwear. She leaned away from him as he extended his arms above her.

“Aw, come on, love. Be a dear and let me have a little fun. I promise not to make you wear the matching sash…” Theo said, pouting at her disgusted expression.

Hermione sighed, then tilted her head in his direction. “You promise? No sash?” Theo nestled the crown into her unruly curls and laughed.

“I promise. The list, if you please!” he said as he left her to prepare for her day. “I'll see you before first period! Ciao!”

She groaned and patted the crown, perched like a bird in a nest on top of her head. “Theodore Nott, you menace,” she mumbled to herself as she dragged herself to her bathroom. 

***

The first class of the day on Fridays was one of Hermione’s favorites: First Year Potions with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw; not only were they an altogether delightful group, but she also loved having Teddy in class. As Harry’s godson, he spent a fair amount of time at Grimmauld Place, which meant Hermione saw him often and had established a special bond with the little boy as the years passed. 

Teddy enjoyed reading muggle comic books–his grandfather, Ted, had had quite a collection–and regularly regaled Hermione with detailed retellings. Hermione encouraged his love of reading by buying him the newest editions of his beloved superhero stories, and also by introducing him to graphic novels as he got older; the genre appeared to be distinctly muggle as she hadn’t found a wizarding equivalent yet. 

As soon as Teddy entered the classroom, he made a beeline for Hermione, shouting, “Happy almost birthday, Hermione!” as he nearly tackled her in his enthusiasm. She squeezed him back tightly, grinning from his contagious joy.

“Thank you, Teddy. Do you like my crown?” Hermione said, releasing him from her embrace and pointing to the gaudy bejeweled adornment. “Professor Nott gave it to me and told me I had no choice but to wear it.”

Teddy stood on his tiptoes to examine the top of her head. “Birthday Witch? But it isn’t your birthday yet,” he said, frowning slightly. Hermione laughed and shrugged.

“I believe you have a pretty good idea of what Professor Nott is like after a few weeks of class. Do you think I could deter him with something as tedious as facts?”

“Unlikely,” Draco butted in. Neither Hermione nor Teddy had noticed his approach during their gleeful greeting. “Professor Nott is as relentless as he is ridiculous.” There was no malice in his tone; he smiled mischievously at Teddy, then winked. 

Hermione couldn’t help but grin; Draco’s description of Theo was entirely accurate from her experience. 

“Good morning, Professor Granger. Nice tiara,” Draco said, giving her a short dip of the chin as he eyeballed her plastic headwear. “If today isn’t your birthday, whyever would Theo insist you wear it? Is it soon?” he said, despite being fully aware of the correct date.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer but Teddy beat her to it. “Draco, it’s tomorrow! Gran said there’s going to be a big party and that I’m invited!” Teddy said, his eyes bright with excitement; they were a lovely shade of silver as he spoke to his favorite–and only–cousin. 

“Oh, she did, did she? That’s interesting, because Professor Nott only informed me this morning that he needed my list of invitees…for a dinner, not a party.” Hermione caught Draco’s eye over Teddy’s head, her message clear: relentless and ridiculous, indeed . 

Draco barked out a loud laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like him, alright. I’d venture a guess that your entire list was already anticipated and invited long before this morning, Professor,” he said. 

Teddy turned to Draco, his eyes wide as a thought occurred to him. “You'll be there, won't you, Draco?” 

Draco made a choked noise, shooting a puzzled look at Hermione. She hesitated for a second–she didn't want to offer a pity invite, but it felt rude not to extend an invitation. 

“If you're free tomorrow, you should join us. I'd give you more details, but Theo is withholding them from me…” Hermione offered, feeling quite awkward. Teddy didn't seem to notice, as he stood there beaming at Hermione and Draco.

“Yeah! Come to the party, Draco!” Teddy said, giving his best puppy eyes–literally. Whenever Hermione started to forget that Teddy inherited his mother's metamorphmagus abilities, he’d surprise her with an animal's snout or ears. His eyes currently resembled the pleading, doleful brown ones of a Basset hound.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Teddy's obvious effort to cajole a yes out of him. “Thank you for the invitation, but I have dinner plans already. You'll just have to celebrate without me,” he said. Teddy's face fell, his eyes reverting to their human form, but in a deep blue. 

“Awww,” Teddy said, his shoulders dropping, “that sucks.”

Instead of silently rejoicing at Draco's politely declined invitation, for some unknown reason, her mouth opened once more as she persisted. “Well, I think we'll probably get drinks after. You should meet up with us!” she said, mentally kicking herself for not accepting his first answer. 

“Um, well, I suppose I could come out for just one,” Draco said slowly. “Theo would probably try to force the issue anyway, wouldn't he?”

Hermione forced a smile despite her mortification– what was she doing? she thought. Draco was probably right about Theo, though. 

“Great! Right, sounds excellent.” Hermione glimpsed the clock and realized it was time for class. Grateful for an end to the interaction, she jumped into professor mode. “Teddy, have a seat. I’ll be getting class started in just a moment,” she said, shooing him gently to his seat. Draco followed, leaning toward Teddy as they conversed. 

Once everyone had situated themselves at their desks, Hermione moved to the front of the room to begin the day’s lesson. Before she could speak a word, Georgia Mason’s hand shot up into the air.

“Yes, Miss Mason?” Hermione said, acknowledging Teddy’s Hufflepuff classmate and friend. Internally, Hermione braced herself; the young witch was very sweet, but had thus far demonstrated a rather poor filter. 

“Is Professor Nott your boyfriend ?” Georgia asked, her eyes dreamy and wistful. Hermione heard a muffled snort come from Draco’s direction.

Taking a steadying breath, Hermione replied slowly, “Georgia. We’ve talked about asking inappropriate questions–”

“–it’s just that he’s always around and talks to you all the time…” Georgia continued, missing Hermione’s point entirely.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingertips and closed her eyes. As she opened them, she brought her hand to her side and tried to carefully explain why students were not entitled to asking personal questions. 

Christopher Adkins beat her to it. He flicked his long black hair out of his eyes and huffed in exasperation. “Georgia, for Christ’s sake. It’s none of your beeswax, and by that description, Mr. Malfoy may as well be Professor Granger’s boyfriend–he’s here all the time and talks to her, too!” Christopher seemed to find Georgia particularly irksome, often calling her out when she started down paths like this one. 

Draco sat at his desk, biting his cheek to avoid bursting out laughing. He didn’t want to encourage the students in their disruptive behavior, but nearly lost it when the Adkins boy suggested that he and Granger could ever… well, it was absurd. She had barely extended a half-hearted invitation to her birthday celebration just now. 

“Alright, alright. Settle down, class,” Hermione said, trying to get the students focused after Christopher’s retort kicked off an argument about which behaviors were considered boyfriend/girlfriend-ish. No one seemed to hear her; even Teddy had turned to his friend, Lewis, and was asking him what he thought about the whole thing. 

“CLASS. THAT IS ENOUGH,” Hermione announced, having pointed her wand at her throat to cast a quick Sonorus before she lost complete control of the room. “Please open your books to page thirty-seven and read the next chapter silently . For Monday, please prepare an essay of ten inches on Forgetfulness Potions.” 

Nearly every student wore an identical sheepish look–even Georgia appeared properly chastened. They diligently opened their books and set to reading.

Draco watched as Hermione retreated to her desk, placed her head in her hands, and stared blankly at the surface. She hardly moved for the next few minutes. He decided to leave today’s incident out of his report as an early birthday present.

***

As soon as Hermione dismissed the First Year students, wishing them a nice weekend, Draco strolled over to her desk with his hands in his trouser pockets. He had left his outer robes on his chair and his sleeves were rolled halfway to his elbows. 

“Granger,” he said, standing in front of her. Hermione looked up at him slowly. She tried not to notice his toned forearms.

“Professor Granger,” she said, correcting him, but with a tiny smirk playing on her lips. 

“ Professor Granger, my apologies. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be absent for the third period Second Year class today. I’ve got business to attend to in London. I expect to be back by the Advanced class this afternoon, but I’m unsure as to whether or not I’ll make the OWL class of Fifth Years.”

Hermione peered up at him, her head tilted to one side. “Oh? Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell them all to throw away their wands and run away to live as muggles? What if I, gasp, teach them about space travel or microwaves? I could do so much damage without your supervision,” she said sarcastically. 

“Ah yes, that is a risk I’m going to have to take. Gods forbid you expose them to the idea of a computer or keys ,” Draco said, placing his hands on her desk and leaning toward her, whispering ‘keys’ like a dirty word.

Hermione threw back her head and cackled. It startled Draco, never having heard her laugh like that before. After a beat, he joined in with a low chuckle. As they mused at the outsized concern some wizards placed on muggle technology, they almost forgot that they didn’t like each other. They almost felt like… allies, if not quite friends .

“And what does Lord Malfoy know about computers anyway?” Hermione asked, a challenge in her eyes. 

Draco scoffed. “I’ll have you know that I not only know about computers, but I have one that I use regularly for financial recordkeeping and management. It’s so much more convenient than parchment and owls,” he said, as Hermione’s eyes grew wide.

“You’re shitting me, Malfoy,” Hermione said, her tone accusatory. “There’s no way. And, what’s more, there’s no way the Manor could even allow for electricity to work!” 

Draco bent closer to her over the desk. “My, my. I didn’t think you were so ignorant of technological advances, Professor! Do you need me to explain the Internet as well? I could teach you, if you’d like,” he said haughtily. 

Hermione stared back at him, their faces mere inches apart. She couldn’t believe his audacity, behaving as if he knew more about the muggle world than she did! Unconsciously, she inclined her body toward him, a scathing retort on the tip of her tongue.

“Whew, could cut that tension with a knife, huh?” came Theo’s voice from somewhere near the doorway. “Am I interrupting?”

Hermione and Draco lurched apart, both of their faces aghast at Theo’s implication. 

“No, what? Theo, come in!” Hermione said, her voice higher than normal. Draco had assumed a relaxed pose, his ankles crossed as he leaned against her desk. 

“Oh, hello, Theo,” he said, looking up as if he’d just noticed the wizard grinning at them. 

“Mm, yes, hello to you both. Anyway…” Theo dropped onto a student desk, his robes fanning around him. “I’ve owled your list, Hermione, and set the reservation for tomorrow evening. Dress to impress, birthday girl. I’ll be picking you up at your quarters to whisk you away at seven.”

Hermione nodded, still gathering her wits after the strange interaction with Draco. “That sounds wonderful, thank you. Will you finally tell me where we're going?”

“Ah, that’s a surprise! Just trust me,” Theo said, hopping off of the desk. He walked up to Hermione’s desk, then patted Draco on the cheek with his left hand. “Darling, don’t look so guilty.” Draco blanched, then wrinkled his nose.

“Fucking batty as always, Theo. Anyway, Professor, I’m off. See you this afternoon,” Draco said, briskly exiting as he snatched up his robes on the way out. 

“What was that about?” Theo said, observing Draco’s hasty exit and Hermione’s embarrassment. 

“Nothing, Theo. Gods, we were just bickering, like usual. It was nothing,” Hermione said, gathering a stack of parchment from her desk and standing. “I’ve got grading to do, so if you’ll excuse me…” She didn’t wait for Theo to respond and ducked into her office without another word, forgetting to tell Theo that she'd invited Draco to join them for drinks tomorrow night.

Chapter Text

September 18, 2009

As soon as Hermione's office door closed, Theo dashed into the hallway, hoping to catch Draco before he left the school grounds. He scanned the hallway, looking for any sign of him in the distance. Like a beacon, Theo caught sight of his distinctive hair as he turned a corner to make for the main entrance of the castle. 

He picked up his pace, his long legs allowing him to easily close the gap. “Hey, Draco,” Theo said, sidling up next to his best friend. “Did you honestly think I’d let you run off without the interrogation?”

Draco refused to look at Theo, maintaining his forward momentum. “I’d hoped you’d target Granger and give me an opportunity to get out of here before you had the chance,” he bit out, ignoring Theo’s sniggering.

“Oh come on, Draco. What did I walk in on? You were closer together than Goyle’s eyebrows,” Theo replied. At the apt comparison, Draco sniffed, unable to completely fight Theo’s humor. 

“Damnit, Theo. I’m trying to have a dramatic exit.”

“I know. And now you’re trying to deflect. What’s the deal?”

Draco stopped in his tracks, turning to face Theo. “There is nothing to say. It was the usual back and forth with Granger where she makes outdated assumptions about me being an unforgivable wanker and I remind her that she’s an uptight Harpy. Oh, and she invited me to birthday drinks tomorrow night,” he said, keeping his voice even and his face unbothered.

Theo clapped his hands together, utterly delighted. “She didn’t! Fucking hell, Draco. And did you accept?” He raised his brows expectantly.

Draco mumbled, “I may have.” They had reached the winged boar statues at the edge of the wards. “Theo, just let it go. There’s nothing going on except maybe an effort to be more collegial after weeks of forced proximity. That’s all.”

Theo started to rebut Draco's insistence that he was imagining significance where none existed, but with a crack! Draco disapparated before he could speak. 

“Granger's right–he is a wanker,” Theo muttered, returning to the castle for his next class. 

****

Draco was absent from Hermione's Fifth Year class, as he had indicated he might be. He arrived to Advanced Potions just as class began, sweeping into the room with his robes whipping behind him. Her eyes snapped to him, following the eyeline of the upper level students, who had all turned to watch his entrance. 

“My apologies, Professor Granger. I had hoped that I wouldn't interrupt your lesson,” Draco said, dropping into his seat without further delay. He sounded a bit out of breath, as if he'd run the distance of the Quidditch pitch. 

Hermione returned to her blackboard without a word. He'd apologized for the disruption, but it hardly warranted wasting more time in dismissing it. 

“The standard curriculum for Advanced Potions includes Amortentia at this point in the term. I brewed it myself as a Sixth Year under Professor Slughorn, as did Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione said, pausing but without looking back at the aforementioned man. “However–we will not be following that expectation in this course.” Students began tittering and whispering in confusion. 

“–but it's a requirement…”

“...is she allowed to do that?”

“What if it's on our NEWTs?”

Hermione cleared her throat, facing her students. The chatter died down immediately. “We will not be brewing Amortentia because I believe that it is wildly irresponsible to provide sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds an extremely powerful and dangerous potion, when your age group is driven by hormones and lack fully developed frontal lobes,” she said, her voice strong and steady with her pronouncement. At the offended expressions on some of the students’ faces, Hermione added, “I don’t say that to insult you–you are all exceedingly bright and capable–but it is a fact of biology that you are too young to fully evaluate the consequences of all of your actions.” Most of the faces relaxed in acceptance of her explanation, but not all appeared comforted or willing to let the matter drop.

A Seventh Year student, a Hufflepuff named Livia Golding, sputtered, “But–but, Professor! I understand that we shouldn't use Amortentia, but surely, we should still include it in our practicum to prepare for our NEWTs!” Livia rarely challenged her professors, but she was a studious young witch who had aspirations of becoming a Potioneer herself. 

“Miss Golding, I assure you that Amortentia is highly unlikely to be part of your NEWTs, and will stand by its omission as my responsibility to student safety,” Hermione replied. “In the hundreds of years that NEWTs have been administered, Amortentia has not appeared in the practical portion even once.”

At the back of the room, Draco remained silent, but made note of Hermione’s declaration and justifications. He agreed with her that the potion was probably ill-advised for teenagers to learn, but he also knew that the Weasley joke shop sold a variation on the love potion, so it wasn’t as if students had no means of obtaining it if they truly had nefarious plans. Despite Draco’s overall unwillingness to give in to ‘tradition,’ he knew that he’d have to report this deviation from curriculum to the rest of the Board, even if it would earn him Hermione’s wrath. So much for holding off on meetings until next month , Draco thought with annoyance. 

While Draco had been mired in his own reluctant reporting, Hermione had moved on to her prefacing lesson for next week’s potion: Draught of Living Death. They had brewed the potion on the first day of their own Sixth Year Advanced Potions class; somehow Harry Potter had bested the both of them that day–a fact that still rankled Draco to recall. 

He tuned back in, listening as Hermione explained the properties of the various ingredients. “The ingredients of this potion generally relate to sleep, death, or sluggishness, which explain the potion’s ability to mimic death. Asphodel is associated with the Underworld in muggle mythology; wormwood is known to cause death in large quantities; valerian root is often used as a homeopathic sleep aid; sopophorous bean is named for the Latin word for ‘sleep;’ sloths are extremely slow-moving animals; and moondew is associated with nighttime,” she said, pausing to allow students to finish writing. “Combined correctly, a properly brewed draught will place the ingester into an extremely deep sleep, one in which the heart and breathing rates slow to almost imperceptible levels.”

Hermione directed the students to their textbooks before she continued. “Your textbook specifies that you should ‘cut’ the sopophorous bean, since your textbook has not been updated in at least several decades. Severus Snape, however, realized that the most effective way to procure its essence was to ‘crush’ it. We will be following his directions rather than that of your textbook.” Draco sat stunned; he wondered how Hermione came to learn his godfather’s variation on the recipe–one that Severus hadn’t taught him, despite extensively tutoring him in his youth. 

The class ended shortly thereafter. Draco had been so wrapped in his pondering and speculation that he failed to notice that Hermione had vanished from the classroom without a word. He packed up his notes, deciding to ask her about the potion tomorrow night when he joined them for drinks. For some unknown reason, the thought of engaging her in conversation about his favorite subject had his face feeling heated. Taking a few deep breaths, he collected himself and left the classroom without a backward glance.

***

September 19, 2009

When Hermione pried her eyes open Saturday morning, the light streaming into her bedroom was brighter than usual. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and groped around under her pillows, searching for her wand. A quick Tempus revealed that it was hardly still morning; she’d slept in until 11. A wide smile broke across her face as she stretched languorously–she never got to have a decent lie-in. It was the best way to start her birthday, in her opinion. 

After a satisfying snuggle in her warm bed, Hermione sat up, about to make her way to her kitchenette for a much-needed cup of coffee, when a tray appeared on her bedside table; it was laden with crepes, fruit, orange juice, a carafe of coffee, and a small vase filled with flowers. She sighed, smiling to herself, knowing it was likely Theo’s doing. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured legs onto the tray and summoned it onto the bed. 

By the time Hermione had finished her breakfast–okay, brunch–showered, dressed, and otherwise prepared for her day, it was 12:30. She was relieved not to have lunch plans with anyone since Theo had invited all of her closest friends to her birthday dinner. Her agenda until that evening consisted of whatever she felt like doing: a birthday gift to herself. 

***

After an excellent afternoon of reading under a tree by the Black Lake and a visit with Hagrid, Hermione returned to her quarters to get ready for dinner. Theo had found her outdoors, keeping her company for a little while, then left her to her novel. 

“I’ll expect you ready at 7, Granger! If you’re late because you fell asleep outdoors like a vagrant, I’ll go without you!” Theo called, as he departed for the castle. 

Laughing, she yelled back, “The term ‘vagrant’ is classist and overlooks the failures and inequities of the system! But, yes, I’ll be ready on time!” 

Theo waved his hand dismissively without turning back. She rolled her eyes and resumed reading her book until it was time to prepare for the festivities.

When she re-entered her sitting room, she found a package from her parents: the recently published sequel to one of her favorite dystopian novels, an assortment of sugar-free candy, and a beautiful pair of earrings featuring Australian green sapphires. She made a mental note to call her parents tomorrow, since it was already the middle of the night for them.

Theo had told her almost nothing about the location for her birthday dinner, and his instructions of ‘dress to impress’ failed to narrow down her choices. She stood in front of her wardrobe, hoping the right outfit would leap off the hanger from sheer force of will. As she scanned the options, her eyes caught on an emerald green silk dress. Hermione had purchased the dress not long after seeing the film Atonement , the thin straps and silhouette reminding her of the gorgeous piece from the movie. She’d worn it to a family friend’s wedding last year, but had otherwise forgotten it existed. 

It was knee length, with a flouncy skirt that swished around her legs when she walked. She paired the delicate dress with a pair of pointy black pumps and a short leather jacket, left unzipped. 

The dress draped over her figure like a dream; she twirled in front of her mirror, giggling and admiring the garment. As an adolescent, she hadn’t spent too much time worrying about her appearance outside of the usual expectations: the Yule ball, weddings, etc. As an adult, she embraced a love of pretty things, having decided that her atypical childhood had earned her some vanity and whimsy. 

With her decision to embrace all of the facets of her femininity, Hermione also found a hair stylist in London who specialized in charms for curly hair; she learned how to smooth and define her ringlets in less time–and without bottles of Sleekeazy’s. She twirled her wand, arranging her hair in an artfully disheveled chignon. A sweep of mascara and a smudged line of dark brown along her lashes completed her look. Appraising her appearance, Hermione nodded in approval at her reflection. 

Theo knocked on the door to her quarters shortly thereafter. She unlocked the door wandlessly, fastening her new earrings as he entered.

“Just a second, Theo! And I have at least 120 to spare!” Hermione said, tilting her head to the right and left to admire the earrings; she silently thanked her parents again for the perfect accessories. 

Theo wolf-whistled as he stepped into the doorway of her bedroom. “Hermione! Good Godric, are you trying to kill me?” He placed a hand over his heart then pretended to wipe away a bead of sweat from his brow. “Excellent job following orders, love.” 

Hermione faced Theo, holding her arms out at her sides. “I thought so. And my parents sent me these beautiful earrings for my birthday,” she said, leaning toward Theo so he could admire her jewelry. 

“Your parents have superb taste. They’re not emeralds…” Theo said, examining the stones with an interested eye.

“Green sapphires, actually. Sapphires are my birthstone, but I’m not much one for the color blue.”

“Hm, is that why you aren’t a Ravenclaw?” he teased. “Green suits you, by the way.” He smirked at her, then held out his elbow.

“How gallant,” she teased, taking his arm. He led them to her fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from the mantel. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to walk all the way to the apparition boundary in those shoes–cushioning charm or not–so we’ll Floo, if that’s alright,” Theo explained. Hermione nodded and stepped into the hearth alongside him.

He threw down the powder and called out for the Leaky Cauldron, spinning them away to London in an instant. They emerged from the Floo, dusting themselves off at once. Hermione once more took Theo’s arm as they exited the noisy pub into Diagon Alley. 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” she asked, peeking at his face for any hint. Theo merely tutted at her and kept walking. They soon arrived in front of a quaint-looking pub. Hermione furrowed her brow, giving Theo an odd look. “Erm, Theo? I feel a bit overdressed for a pub…”

Theo laughed and patted the hand that still held his elbow. “It’s not a pub; it’s a gastropub . Very trendy, I promise. Knowing the chef-owner, she’ll die for your outfit,” he assured her. “Now, come on! We’ve got a private room.”

Hermione started to ask who owned the restaurant, but was yanked inside by Theo, who was practically chomping at the bit to show off his big surprise. 

***

The Wicked Brew: London

September 19, 2009

They were shown to the private dining room by an eager young witch, with wide, awestruck eyes. She walked in front of them, but kept looking behind her as if they’d vanish without warning.

“Do you know her or something?” Hermione whispered under her breath. Theo snorted loudly enough for the hostess to visibly twitch.

“I forget how adorably modest you are. She’s gobsmacked by you ,” he replied, cupping his hand to direct his voice to Hermione’s ear. Her reaction was skeptical at best.

The restaurant was modest in size, but seemingly ran the length of the block it inhabited; they passed numerous spacious booths and tables as they crossed to the rear of the building. The ceilings were high, with dark wooden coffers, and the walls were lined with black and white moving photographs of cities around the world. The furniture was simple, but appeared well-made of quality materials. The carved wooden bar spanned about half of the length of the space, top shelf bottles of liquor–both wizarding and muggle–lined the mirrored shelves behind the bartenders. The entire atmosphere exuded effortless elegance and comfort. 

The hostess paused before a set of double doors, halting Theo and Hermione’s pursuit as she waved a hand in front of a recessed panel in the wall. The doors opened inward, permitting their entry as the witch waved them inside. 

As soon as Hermione crossed the threshold, almost a dozen voices shouted, “Happy birthday, Hermione!” Her face broke into a huge smile as she scanned the faces present: Harry, Andromeda, Teddy, Neville, George and his wife, Angelina; Padma Patil–with whom she’d grown close during Eighth Year–and her girlfriend, Katerina; and, to her great surprise, Viktor Krum and his eight-year-old son, Nikolai. 

“Oh my…hi! Thank you for coming!” Hermione said, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much. Theo took her by the hand and dragged her further into the room. It seemed to be the cue for everyone else to approach her with hugs and well wishes. As she accepted her friends’ embraces and kisses on her cheek, she spotted a wholly unexpected face standing off to the side: Pansy Parkinson. She caught Hermione’s perplexed scowl before she could relax her face, and laughed; it was as pleasant sounding as it was foreign to Hermione’s ears. She hadn’t heard Pansy do more than cackle cruelly or giggle inanely. 

“Granger, love, may I introduce you to the chef and owner of the The Wicked Brew ?” Theo said, leading her to meet Pansy as she stepped closer as well. 

“Theo, I know Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione hissed. She plastered a fake, polite smile onto her face, extending her hand to shake Pansy’s. Pansy grasped Hermione’s hand in a firm, but brief, clasp.

“Actually, it’s not ‘Parkinson’ anymore. It’s ‘DuPont’ now,” Pansy corrected, her tone genial. “My husband is French; we met in culinary school: Le Cordon Bleu.”

Hermione gaped. “But that’s a muggle culinary school–one of the best in the world, actually,” she said, breathless from shock. 

Pansy laughed again. “I know. Henri is muggleborn and went to Beauxbatons. His parents are both chefs actually, though he prefers to tend bar here.” She snapped her fingers abruptly, conjuring a drinks tray. “That reminds me, champagne for the birthday witch?”

Hermione accepted the flute, the delicate stem carefully pinched between her fingers. She sipped slowly as Pansy looked on approvingly. “Oh, that is fantastic!” Hermione said, licking bubbles from her upper lip. 

“It better be! Draco assured me that the Malfoy vineyard was a better investment for stocking the bar than Dom Perignon,” Pansy said, as a very handsome man entered the dining room. “Oh, Henri, over here!” 

Pansy’s husband was at least six feet tall, with a sharp jawline and high cheekbones highlighted by his black horn-rimmed glasses. Hermione couldn’t help but notice his muscular physique as it filled out his black Oxford shirt; his rolled sleeves exposed a sleeve of colorful tattoos on one arm. 

“I know; he’s a damn dream, isn’t he?” Pansy sighed, having caught Hermione’s assessment. Her cheeks warmed as blood rushed to her face.

“I didn’t mean to ogle your husband–” she stammered, her voice failing as Henri stepped beside his wife. Pansy’s arm wrapped an arm around his waist and rolled her eyes.

“Henri DuPont, pleased to meet you,” he said. Hermione shook his extended hand.

“Hermione, please. Nice to meet you, too,” she said, trying not to fixate on his dimples as he smiled kindly. Pansy, to Hermione’s surprise, appeared to be entertained by her awkwardness.

“Granger, you’re hardly the first witch–or wizard–to possess eyeballs. You don’t drive a Ferrari and expect no one to stare.” Pansy gestured to her husband’s overall presence. Henri chuckled at her comparison and kissed the top of her head.

“If anyone’s the sexy, luxurious automobile, it’s you, my love,” Henri said. His eyes locked on his wife with such adoration that Hermione had to look away. 

Thankfully, Theo spotted her from across the room and came to fetch her. “Darling, it’s time to have a seat. Pansy, I told you to behave yourself; how dare you hold the birthday girl hostage!” He leaned over and kissed Pansy on the temple, his eyes betraying his amusement. Theo squeezed Henri’s shoulder before he dragged Hermione to the table. 

Hermione sat between Teddy and Nikolai; Viktor sat to his right, assisting his son while they caught up with one another. 

“Petra will be sad to miss you, but she has a schedule to keep,” Viktor said, referencing his wife’s career as a stunt double in films. Petra was a muggle, but they had met in a nightclub in Prague ten years ago and fell in love–they had married within six months. 

“Oh, please send her my love. I’ve missed all three of you!” She put an arm around Nikolai and hugged him to her; he squeezed back and then resumed talking to Teddy around her back.

Across the table, George and Angelina filled Hermione and Harry in on the goings on with the Weasley family–Hermione had asked to be polite, but George understood well enough to keep it to a minimum for her and Harry’s sakes. She had always experienced a special kinship with the twins, and refused to give up her friendship with George after she and Ron broke up. Thankfully, George agreed and did his part to stay in touch.

Theo had arranged with Pansy to serve a selection of their most popular items, which consisted of elaborate versions of standard pub fare like fish and chips, steak and kidney pie, bangers and mash–except the fish and chips was a panko-breaded sea bass served with crispy purple potato strings, the steak Wagyu beef, the bangers from wild boar. Each was served with a flight of complementary ales brewed by Henri himself. 

Over dinner, Hermione learned that Neville was considering taking an Herbology post at Ilvermorny, and that Padma and Katerina were talking about marriage. She spoke briefly with Andromeda about the Board, but mostly talked about Teddy’s progress in Potions–until Teddy begged them to stop talking about school on the weekend. 

Everything about the celebration was as she would have chosen for herself: intimate, delicious, and fun. The experience filled her with such joy and elation that she failed to notice that Harry and Theo spent most of the evening only talking to each other.

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor

September 19, 2009

“Draco, dear, are you alright?” Narcissa said, as she watched her son mindlessly prod his chocolate souffle with his spoon. 

“Hm? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” Draco pushed the ramekin away, the decadent dessert largely uneaten. “Actually, I should probably get going soon,” he said, meeting his mother’s concerned stare. 

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at Draco, examining him in a way that only a mother really could. Something was off, but what? He’d appeared in the dining room as he regularly did, per their standing Saturday dinner plans, in a finely-tailored muggle suit and Italian dragonhide Oxfords. It was his demeanor, his presence; Draco was physically there but his mind seemed elsewhere.

“Who is she?” Narcissa said, convinced it had to be a woman that had her son so distracted. His head snapped toward her, a flash of surprise in his eyes for only a split second, before cool dispassion replaced it. 

The corner of his mouth twitched as Draco assessed his mother’s inquiry. “I’m not sure I understand the question,” he said, his tone carefully guarded. 

Narcissa smirked–Theo wasn’t the only one aware of Draco’s little tell. “Only a woman could affect you like this, darling. I could describe all of the reasons I’m sure of it, but I think your appetite for something sweet has been usurped by someone else,” she said, mischief twinkling in her pale blue eyes. 

Draco’s complexion mottled as if his blood flow couldn’t decide whether he should blanch or blush. He gaped at his mother’s innuendo, then decided to deflect. “I think you’ve spent too much time with Aunt Andy. She’s got you gossiping and speculating like a schoolgirl, mother.” His mother laughed, giddy at his defensive response–he’d always been so obvious about his emotions, striking out when caught in a vulnerable moment.

She rose from the table, stepping lightly around to the side of Draco’s chair. With a brief press of her lips to his temple, she excused herself to her wing of the manor, her delighted laughter echoing down the hall. 

“Merlin, fuck it all,” Draco muttered, throwing down his napkin as he marched to the nearest Floo. “The Leaky Cauldron!” he barked, whirling away from the Manor in a rush of flames.

***

The Fang and Dagger

Diagon Alley

Hermione wobbled slightly in her heels as she returned from the loo; her stabilizing charm seemed to be wearing off, but she couldn’t be bothered to refresh it. Theo jumped up as he saw her approach, and led her back to their booth, where Harry, Viktor, Padma, and Katerina remained from her birthday dinner guests. Andromeda had taken Nikolai and Teddy back home with her so Viktor could stay out.

“Alright, down you go, love. Maybe you should drink some water for a bit,” Theo said, pushing a full glass toward Hermione. She tried to glare at him, but it came out as more of an angry blink, then she started to giggle. 

“Shit, has she reached ‘Tittering Titmouse’ already?” Harry groaned. “That was her coinage by the way, not mine.” 

“It’s because ‘tit’ is a funny word, Harry,” Hermione said as she grinned. “Tit. Tittering Titmouse. Tittering Titmouse from Titchfield.” 

Theo chuckled. “I like drunk Granger. She’s far less intimidating,” he said, leaning toward Harry as he spoke. The pair had hardly left room between them to breathe all evening. 

“Did you know that a titmouse isn’t even a mouse???” Hermione was almost shouting, her eyes wide with significance. 

Viktor placed his hand over Hermione’s on the table, tapping on it to get her attention. “Not a mouse? What is this ‘titmouse’ with the– kak shte kazhesh –trick name, if not a mouse?” His expression was puzzled, as was Katerina’s. 

Harry, who’d heard it all before, said, at the same time as Hermione: “It’s a bird, actually.” He mimicked her cadence perfectly, earning himself an annoyed huff from his best friend. 

Theo clapped gleefully at their simultaneous response. “Well, if it’s not a mouse, has it at least got tits?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. Harry snorted beside him. 

Hermione started to answer, but she was interrupted once more, this time by the deep baritone she’d become quite familiar with over the past couple of weeks. “‘Tit’ means something small, like your brain, Theodore,” Draco said, as he appeared beside their booth. Hermione scowled at having had her moment stolen again.

As she pouted silently, she missed Draco’s eyes flickering to where Viktor’s hand still rested on top of hers. 

“Drake! You’ve made it after all!” Theo jumped up from his seat and wrapped his arms around Draco’s tense body. 

“I fucking hate when you call me that, you know,” he said to Theo, pushing him away. 

“I know. Why else would I do it? Now, are you going to join us or are you going to stand there like an ivory statue of an oversized knob?”

Draco rolled his eyes at Theo, but pulled up a chair to the end of their table. “Happy birthday, Professor Granger,” he said, not looking directly at her. 

“You don’t have to call me ‘Professor’ at the pub, Malfoy,” Hermione corrected. “And thank you. Have you met everyone?” She’d been sipping at her water before he arrived, and was once again trending toward a pleasant buzz. 

Hermione slipped her hand from beneath Viktor’s, gesturing to each of her friends in turn. “Padma, who I’m sure you remember, and her girlfriend, Katerina. Katerina works at the Ministry with Harry, an auror,” she said, as each of the witches waved. 

She continued, “And I’m sure you remember Viktor?” Draco tipped his chin briefly at each introduction, then scanned the immediate vicinity for a server. 

“And I’m still Harry, in case you’ve forgotten,” Harry added, lifting his glass in Draco’s direction. 

“Noted, Potter,” Draco replied. “And–no matter how many times you tell me–I’m not calling you ‘Harry,’ so don’t even start.” Harry and Draco’s paths had also become closely intertwined through Teddy’s presence. They had shared enough birthday parties and special events in the young boy’s honor that they’d had little choice but to finally reach a detente in their pissing contest. 

Despite the fact that Hermione had also been present on these numerous occasions, she and Draco had not exchanged more than the casual pleasantries of acquaintances. He generally cut their conversations short, or she had been pulled away by whomever demanded her attention at the moment. 

A server placed a tumbler of firewhiskey in front of Draco, which he sipped approvingly. He made polite conversation with Padma and Katerina, glancing toward Hermione and Viktor as they animatedly discussed something with Harry and Theo. 

After his second drink, Draco tilted forward in his seat, addressing Hermione, “Have you been together long? Rekindled the Fourth Year flame?” She cocked her head at Draco, not sure she understood his question. Her brow wrinkled as she processed what he had asked.

“Have who been together long?” Hermione asked, giving up on trying to figure it out in her inebriated state. Draco nodded meaningfully at Viktor sitting across from her. 

“Krum, of course,” Draco said. Viktor’s attention diverted to Draco at the sound of his name; he’d been discussing the nuances of the Wronksi Feint with Harry, and Hermione had tuned out a while ago.

“I am not with Hermione, ne ,” Viktor said. “I am married; my wife, Petra, does stunt double for films. We are just friends.” Hermione smiled brightly at Viktor, who returned it affectionately.

“Ah, well, that’s delightful. I saw that you’ve retired from playing. Coaching now, aren’t you?” Draco asked. 

The conversation once again had shifted to Quidditch. Hermione pretended to pay attention, observing the other people in the pub. She heard Draco ask as he pointed to Viktor’s empty glass, “Would you like another?”

Viktor shook his head. “Thank you, but actually, I should go now. Andromeda invited me to stay with Nikolai–he gets afraid at night–and it’s getting late.”

“Oh, alright, Viktor. I’ll see you all soon?” Hermione said, hugging the large wizard goodbye.

Viktor kissed Hermione on her cheek before he left, promising to make arrangements to see each other again. She excused herself to the bathroom once more, and when she returned, Padma and Katerina were preparing to go, departing with hugs and well wishes for the birthday girl. 

As she sat down in the booth, she then noticed that Harry and Theo were nowhere to be found, and that Draco sat across from her, having relocated from the chair at the end of the table.

“Where’d Harry and Theo go?” she said, scanning the immediate vicinity, then squinting toward the main bar on the other end. “They didn’t leave, did they?”

Draco scoffed. “Hardly. I’m surprised you didn’t collide with them in their haste to sneak off to the loo themselves.” Hermione’s mouth dropped open.

“No! You’re not serious?” 

Draco’s lips curled into a smirk at her shocked expression. “Oh, Granger. Please tell me you aren’t that gullible?”

“What? Are you playing some kind of game? It’s my birthday, you know!” Hermione said, crossing her arms petulantly. She tipped her nose up in the air dramatically. “It’s not nice to pick on someone during their own celebration.”

“Actually, it’s not your birthday…at least, not anymore,” he replied, tapping on the face of his watch as he held it in front of her. “12:32 am.”

Hermione grabbed his wrist and pulled it closer. “Fucking hell, you’re right.”

“Say that again.”

Hermione tossed his arm away from her. “I shan’t. Guess you’ll just have to play it in your pensieve if you ever want to hear it again.” 

Draco hummed. “That’s an excellent idea. I will absolutely have to bottle this moment for future generations of Malfoys.”

“You’d have to get laid for there to be any, Drake,” Theo said, falling elegantly onto the bench beside Draco. 

“Oh fuck off, Theo,” Draco snarled. “Did you see Potter all the way home? You were gone for ages.”

Theo’s eyes softened as he smiled. “No, but we did do a bit of snogging outside. I’m sorry that you missed me so much, darling.”

“Oh! Is it happening already? Why didn’t you go home with Harry, Theo?” Hermione said, her voice giddy as she leaned over the table, her arms folded in front of her. Draco caught a glimpse of the lacy edge of her bra as her upper half tipped in their direction. He swallowed roughly as he sat up straighter.

“I wanted to wish the birthday girl good night before I joined him.” Theo grinned, then stood, slapping both palms flat on the table. “And now I’m doing that–good night, Hermione. I hope you had a fantastic birthday. I know I enjoyed it immensely. ”

“I had such a wonderful evening. Thank you, Theo! Give Harry a hug and kiss for me, won’t you?” Hermione swept out of the booth to squeeze Theo around the middle.

“I will be doing much more than that…Salazar, that wizard’s arse–I’m going to wear it like a ha–” Theo cut off, his mouth still moving as his hands made lewd gestures.

“You’re welcome, Granger,” Draco said, rolling his eyes at Theo’s antics. “He’d go on forever if you let him. It’s better this way.” Theo put his hands on his hips, his eyes shooting daggers at Draco. “Oh for fuck’s sake. I’ll cancel it if you promise not to talk anymore about your depraved fantasies–or plans.” 

Theo nodded, his face painted with resigned irritation. With a flick of his wrist, Draco cast the Finite. “Jealousy is a terrible look on you, Drake. Anyway, can you get Granger back to the castle in one piece?”

Hermione tried to argue that she was a grown witch who could take care of herself, but Draco had already agreed to mind her. 

“I promise that the just-past-birthday witch will return safely to her quarters,” Draco said, waving Theo off. “Go on; I’ve got it under control.” Theo blew a kiss to Draco, and then another to Hermione, as he practically bounced out of the pub.

***

There was an awkward silence after Theo departed. “Um, Malfoy, you don’t have to babysit me, you know. I–” Hermione said, trying to let Draco off the hook. He sat across from her, fiddling with his rings, but met her eyes as she spoke.

“–I don’t mind sticking around, and, um, I’ve actually got something for you,” he said. She nearly choked on a sip of water when he mentioned a gift. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything!” she sputtered, as he dug around in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He withdrew his hand, revealing an immaculately wrapped box.

“It would be terribly rude of you not to accept it, so you have no choice now,” Draco said, holding out the box. “I’m also pretty certain that you’ll want what’s in it.” Hermione’s curiosity was transparently piqued, as she bit her lower lip and reluctantly took hold of the present.

“Fine, but I’ll remember this come June,” she said as she lifted the lid. Draco found himself uncharacteristically pleased at her offhand mention that she knew his birthday, too. The box hit the top of the table with a loud thud –she’d dropped it and gasped upon revealing the contents. “Malfoy–Draco, you didn’t! Is it actually…?” 

Inside the box were a pair of leather-bound books, their bindings stamped in gold leaf:   Traité élémentaire de chimie by Antoine Lavoisier. Hermione brought the box closer to her body, peering down with undisguised excitement. 

“Can I pick them up?” she breathed, looking up at Draco with wonder. He snorted indelicately.

“They’re yours. Do whatever you want with them,” he said. “I wouldn’t burn them or anything, since they’re First Editions, but I relinquish them into your care.”

“ First Editions ?!? Do you know how–can you imagine–I mean, Lavoisier is the godsdamned father of chemistry…” she rambled, flabbergasted by the significance of his gift. 

Draco chuckled at her speechlessness. “I know, Granger. I took Chemistry classes as well, remember?” He watched as she carefully lifted the first volume from the box. “Don’t worry. They’re imbued with all of the same protection and preservation charms we use in the Manor library. They’re nearly indestructible, all joking aside.”

Her reverence was obvious as she ran her hands over the leather surface, examining it from all angles before she slowly opened the front cover. “ Thank you ,” she whispered. “I don’t even know what else to say.” 

A warmth spread throughout Draco’s body as Hermione perused the textbook, her expression rapt and adoring. He’d explored a rare books shop in London the day before, since he had arrived a bit early for his meeting, and bought the book on a whim after he saw it. 

“You’re welcome, Granger,” Draco said, surprising himself at the huskiness in his voice. He cleared his throat, then added, “I do hope you can read French, or else I fear this may be wasted on you.”

Hermione snapped out of her reverie and leveled a sneer in his direction. “ Oui, je lis le français, idiot . That means ‘Yes, I read French, idiot,’ in case you don’t speak French, Malfoy.”

“ Je parle français , Granger. Je parle français impeccablement ,” Draco replied, his accent perfect, much to Hermione’s annoyance. “Anyway, I saw it and thought you’d appreciate it more than most.”

Hermione blushed as she thanked Draco again. Thankfully, Draco spared her any further embarrassment or teasing by delving into a conversation about Lavoisier and his significance to the field of chemistry.

“...I mean, can you imagine if Lavoisier had never recognized the function of oxygen in combustion? All of these scientists, just blowing things up without any idea why!” Hermione said, her hands thrown up in the air in her excitement. 

“Finnigan owes him so much,” Draco said, snorting. 

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. “You and Theo are the worst. Seamus would have had far fewer explosions if anyone bothered to teach wizards about chemical reactions in the first place–which brings me back to Lavoisier! He published Traité élémentaire de chimie in 1789, just a hundred years after the Statue of Secrecy was put in place. For the past 220 years, muggles have had access to this knowledge, while I’m fighting the idiots on the Board–no offense–to teach the basics!”

Draco suppressed a grin as Hermione went on a tirade against the stagnancy of wizarding education. He absolutely agreed with her, but had to bite back most of his opinions. Maybe one day I’ll get to tell her how I really feel about it all , he thought. Instead, he nodded along and chimed in every so often to challenge her.

“Yes, but do you think there is adequate foundational knowledge of science in general to implement the concepts of Chemistry? I hate to admit it, but the overall wizarding populace comes into Hogwarts with some glaring deficiencies in education, unless they had tutors and governesses like I did,” Draco said, between sips of firewhiskey.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the mention of Draco’s private education–even though she agreed with him. They were engaged in a spirited debate about the best solutions for wizarding primary schooling, when their server let them know that the pub was closing in five minutes.

Neither had realized that it had gotten quite late. Draco stood, extending a hand to Hermione to help her stand. She accepted, and immediately wobbled on her heels–the stabilizing and cushioning charms had worn off entirely. As she reached for her wand to refresh them, she felt magic wrap around her ankles. Draco had beaten her to it and was already tucking his wand back in his pocket. 

“Shall we?” They walked side by side to the Leaky Cauldron, with Draco insistent upon seeing Hermione all the way back to her quarters at Hogwarts. “Theo would murder me if he found out I just sent you off on your own, and I’m rather fond of living. Besides, I’ve got a flat in Hogsmeade, so it’s no trouble at all.”

“Ugh, fine. But don’t you dare try to do anything else nice for me, Malfoy, or I’ll have to re-evaluate everything I know,” she said, smiling at him. 

“Deal, Granger.”

Chapter Text

Hogsmeade

September 20, 2009

They exited the Floo into The Three Broomsticks, finding the tavern entirely devoid of others. It was common knowledge that the Floos in Hogwarts were warded against direct travel from the Leaky Cauldron for security, but neither Draco nor Hermione realized that the Floo in the Broomsticks barred outgoing transport after 1:30 am, when the tavern closed for the night. 

“...even the Tube runs all night on the weekend…” Hermione muttered to herself.

“My flat is just up the street. You can use my Floo to your quarters, Granger,” Draco said as she stared at the sign above the mantel. She almost hadn’t heard his offer due to her grumbling about the inefficiency of wizarding travel options. 

“Hm? I suppose–if you insist–that would be fine,” she said, hesitating to accept the suggestion. 

“I mean, unless you’d rather walk back? It’s actually a gorgeous night for September,” Draco said, unsure of what he was trying to do–he was exhausted, and the castle was a long walk, even in well-made shoes like his. It made perfect sense to extend his Floo for her use so they could both get to sleep sooner. He watched her face as she considered his new proposal. When she didn’t reply immediately, he started to backtrack: “...but your shoes are probably bothering you or…” –as Hermione simultaneously spoke over him.

“I would love a walk, Malfoy. Just let me take these heels off first,” she said, leaning down to slip off her shoes. She stood barefoot in The Three Broomsticks, wearing her flowy emerald green dress, clutching her shoes in one hand. Without waiting for him to lead the way, Hermione picked a path around the tables and chairs to the door. “Are you coming? Or shall I tell Theo you shirked your duties?”

Draco had been staring after her, admiring her shapely calves and noticing the vibrant pink polish on her toes. He snapped to attention when she called out to him, the tavern door’s bell tinkling as she opened it. He met her at the door in just a few long strides.

“I wouldn’t dare give Theo an opportunity to curse me, and I’m fairly certain he’d do that for you, Granger,” he said, as he peered down at the pumps in her hand. “Are you sure you want to walk the whole way without shoes?”

Hermione laughed, placing her hand on her hip as she waved her hand near his chest. “Oh, have you got a pair of trainers in your extended suit pocket? In my size, I hope?” she replied. Without waiting for him to respond in the negative, she stepped out of the door and onto the street, with Draco hastening to follow her. 

***

“I understand your reasoning, but I just can’t fathom why you think it’s necessary in the first place, Granger,” Draco said, walking beside her with his hands in his pockets. They seemed to be in no hurry as they maintained a leisurely pace back to the castle.

“It is necessary because such practices are foundational to our humanity!” Hermione insisted, her hands thrust out to her sides as she emphasized her point. “What argument could you possibly have against it?”

“Firstly, ‘foundational to our humanity’? A bit hyperbolic, don’t you think? Secondly, it’s not so much an argument against the usage as much as it is a statement of the irrelevance of said usage,” he said, shrugging despite her vehement reaction.

“In what universe does it make sense to omit a comma when listing something in a series?” Hermione glared out of the corner of her eye at Draco. “The Oxford comma is more than a stylistic choice; it is the embodiment of clarity. This is what happens when your first exposure to muggle education is Cambridge rather than Oxford.” 

Draco burst out laughing at the wholehearted disdain dripping from her every syllable: ‘Cambridge rather than Oxford.’ 

“My, my, Granger. Such intolerance from an educated witch,” he teased. She suddenly reached over and shoved him, hard. He stumbled from the force. “Hey! That’s uncalled for!” Hermione cackled, taking off at a sprint as they approached Hagrid’s hut. Her dress swished around her thighs as she ran. Draco was surprised by her speed; he hadn’t taken her for an athlete–though perhaps that explained her calves…

Draco debated whether he should give chase, or if it would be too undignified in his fine suit. “Fuck it,” he muttered, slipping off his jacket as he launched himself after her. 

Hermione peeked at him over her shoulder, giving a small squeal when she saw Draco closing in on her. “Do you need to get a broom so you can save face?” she called to him.

“Fuck…you…Granger,” he panted, a smile spreading from ear to ear. He nearly slipped on a rock as they closed in on the Whomping Willow. 

“You wish!” she screamed, catching herself off guard at the brazen taunt. The unexpected flirtation in her voice caused her to falter; Draco rushed up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. 

“Got you!” he laughed, spinning her around to face him. A brilliant grin lit up his face even in the dim light that emanated from the visible sliver of moon. 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she looked back at him. She could feel the warmth of Draco’s body as it permeated the thin fabric of her dress, his fingertips pressing into the softness of her hips.

His expression softened as their eyes met. Hermione flicked her eyes away–and Draco realized that he was fully embracing Hermione and pulling her against his body. He abruptly released her. “Sorry. Bit competitive,” Draco mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he avoided eye contact.

Hermione straightened her dress, her face burning. “No, it’s fine, um, well, okay then. I can walk the rest of the way if you’d like to head back. Well, actually, you should probably use the Floo since it’s so late and you’ve come all this way…” 

Draco recovered himself first. “Granger, I promised I’d see you to your quarters, and I intend to follow through on that. Okay, I’ll just, um, follow you?” he said, flicking his head toward the castle. Hermione held her arms tightly to her sides as she swept past him.

They walked the rest of the way in relative silence, saying little more than, ‘no, after you’ and ‘thanks.’ When they finally stopped in front of Hermione’s quarters, Draco hung back from the door by at least five feet. Once the door opened, she had to practically drag him inside to use the Floo.

“It’s just here. Well, it’s laid out similarly to Theo’s, so I’m sure you know where the Floo is. The powder is–ah, yeah,” Hermione said, still holding her shoes in her hand, as Draco crossed the sitting room and closed his fist around some Floo powder. 

“Good night, Granger. And happy birthday, again,” he said, just before he vanished from sight. Hermione groaned, collapsing in a heap on the sofa. 

“What the fuck, Hermione?” she asked herself in a whisper. All she could think about was the warmth of his arms around her waist and the exhilaration of running with him. “There is no fucking way.”

***

The Great Hall

September 21, 2009

Hermione sat at the staff table, eating a hearty and delicious Full English breakfast alongside Theo, who was tormenting her with thinly veiled allusions to his weekend with Harry. He thankfully kept his voice down so the rest of the professors couldn’t hear his antics.

“I don’t know why you never told me about Harry’s Parseltongue, Granger. Quite rude of you, really,” Theo whispered. “Changed my life, I think.” 

Hermione struck him with a mild stinging hex to the thigh from under the table. “I warned you already, Theo. Harry is, for all intents and purposes, my little brother. I don’t want to hear about it!” she said with distaste. 

She was spared any more of Theo’s commentary when a large Tawny owl dropped a scroll of parchment beside her plate, then flew off without stopping for a treat. 

“Whose bird was that?” Theo mused aloud. “I don’t know that I’ve seen it before. Not a school owl, that’s for sure.” She grabbed the bound missive and opened it at once. Theo watched as her eyes scanned rapidly over the parchment, growing wider by the second. 

“...why didn’t he tell me…?” Hermione muttered under her breath as she read the letter. When she reached the end, her jaw dropped open, her troubled expression transforming into rage. 

“That fucking duplicitous, nasty flobberworm of a wizard,” she hissed angrily. She snatched up the scroll, rising from her seat and ignoring Theo as he tried to ask her what the letter contained. 

He scrambled to chase after her as she marched out of the Great Hall, a terrifying scowl fixed on her face. Students craned their necks to observe the mysterious spectacle as Theo’s robes floated behind him like a cape. 

“Hermione! Where are you going?” Theo called after her as she exited the castle through the main doors. “Classes start in thirty minutes!” He briefly debated whether or not to keep following her, then jogged out the front door.

Theo caught up to Hermione, whose hair seemed to spark with every step she took. She was still grumbling angrily under her breath, but he caught ‘wanker,’ and ‘arsehole,’ then, finally–revealing at least part of what was going on–‘ferret.’ 

“What did Draco do? Come on, love; you’ve got to give me some kind of clue here,” Theo said, trying to coax some information out of her. Hermione skidded to a halt, rounding on Theo with blazing eyes.

“That fucking snake informed the Board that I refuse to teach teenagers how to brew roofies, and now I’ve been summoned to appear before them in Hogsmeade at 10 am,” Hermione said, throwing her hands up in the air. “So, if you don’t mind, Theodore, I have to be on my way. Please be so kind as to put a notice on the Potions door that classes are cancelled for the morning.” 

Theo snatched her arm before she could take off without any further explanation. “Okay, I don’t know what a roofie is, but I do know that there is no way this meeting will go well if you don’t take a second to breathe first. It’s just past 8:30, so you have plenty of time to get there. Hermione, talk to me, love,” Theo begged her. 

She made an angry noise of exasperation, before her glower was replaced with tear-filled eyes and a frown. “A roofie is a muggle drug typically used to lace someone’s drink, specifically to facilitate sexual assault,” –Theo gasped in horror– “which is essentially what Amortentia does for magical people. Your darling Draco sent in a report last week detailing my curriculum change, then turned around on my birthday and acted so–never mind–the fact is, he is a two-faced, overgrown rodent who set the Board of Governors on me so they can bully me into abandoning my morals in favor of their antiquated bullshit.” Tears streamed down her face during her frustrated tirade. Theo gathered her into his arms and hugged her close.

“Oh, darling, please don’t cry.” He stroked her hair as she sniffled into his shirt. “Can I see the letter?” Hermione pulled the crumpled parchment from her trouser pocket and handed it to him.

He read the letter carefully, then said, “Hermione, the meeting isn’t until Monday the 5th of October at 10 am.” She lifted her face from where she had buried it in his chest.

“What?” Her voice was thick from crying. “Are you sure?” 

Theo chuckled, then pointed to the line indicating the meeting time. “Yes, I’m sure. You’d be a little bit early if you went now.” 

Hermione snatched the parchment out of his hand, holding it close to her face as she re-read it. Theo was correct; the meeting was two weeks away–she must have been so enraged that she skimmed right over the date. He wiped her face with his sleeve before hugging Hermione again. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we? Do you want me to cancel your first class so you can rest a bit?” Theo offered, gently leading her back toward the castle entrance. 

She shook her head, mumbling, “No, I’ll just wash my face then get to class. I’m fine.” They walked back to her quarters, with Theo promising to check up on her before he departed for his own classroom.

***

Hermione stalled on the other side of the door to her classroom; she had splashed her face with cold water–and applied a few glamors to cover any residual puffiness–but she could still detect tendrils of fury lingering beneath her skin. With a few deep breaths, she settled her mind and opened the door. 

The class was abuzz with the usual chatter as the First Year Gryffindors and Slytherins lingered near their seats, robes all neatly hung along the back wall. The Baker twins thankfully no longer refused to hang their robes up on brewing days, though they continued to make faces as if she’d asked them to butcher a murtlap with their bare hands when they did it. Hermione had accepted minimal progress as progress, and tried not to let it bother her too much anymore. 

“Good morning, class!” Hermione called out, redirecting their attention. “Please make sure your essays are turned in on my desk, then find your seats so we can begin today’s lesson. We will be brewing Forgetfulness Potion today.” She eyed the stack of parchment already on her desk as a couple of students hurried to submit their essays.

As she waited for the students to return to their seats, she saw Draco slip in through the door. He smiled at her and gave a friendly wave as he situated himself at his usual desk. Hermione did not return either gesture, but maintained a stolid facade. Draco raised an inquiring eyebrow at her coldness, but had no opportunity for further examination as she began to lecture.

“There are only four ingredients in a Forgetfulness Potion. Can anyone tell me one of them?” A few hands shot up into the air; Hermione called on Phoebe to start. “Miss Runcorn?”

“A Forgetfulness Potion requires water from the River Lethe, which incites oblivion to those who consume its waters in the Underworld,” Phoebe said, projecting her voice across the room. 

Hermione nodded along with her explanation, pleased at the Slytherin witch’s thoroughness, as always. “Excellent! And you stole my follow-up question right out of my mouth! Five points to Slytherin, Miss Runcorn!” Phoebe allowed herself a momentary satisfied smirk, then resumed her neutral demeanor; she reminded Hermione of Pansy Parkinson, actually.

Hermione prompted the class for the other three ingredients. She was delighted to note that the group appeared to have prepared well for today’s lesson, as she hadn’t needed to nudge anyone for the rest of the list: valerian sprigs, standard ingredient, and mistletoe berries. 

“You all have impressed me thus far this term! Ten points each to Gryffindor and Slytherin,” she said with a grin. “Shall we get to work?” The classroom resumed its earlier volume level as students paired up with their partners and divvied up their tasks. 

As her class began brewing their potions, Hermione wove through the aisles, checking in with each set of partners. She attempted to ignore Draco’s presence, but his hand shot out and snagged her wrist as she passed him. 

“Granger–” he started, but was interrupted as Hermione yanked her arm from his hold.

“Professor Granger, Mr. Malfoy. I realize that consistency and respect are a challenge for you to maintain, but I will not tolerate a lack of decorum on your part,” she said, her tone scathing as she sneered at him. 

“Whoa, what’s going on? Did I do something to upset you?” Draco whispered, not wanting to draw attention from the students nearby. Hermione derided his attempt to pacify her. 

“Spare me your feigned ignorance. I received Chairman Zabini’s owl this morning at breakfast,” she hissed, crossing her arms in an effort to resist the urge to slap him–again . His eyes grew wide as her reference registered.

“Professor Granger, can we speak in your office? I can explain,” he said, his intonation so earnest that she almost believed him. 

“I have a class to teach, Mr. Malfoy. I’m sure you’ll have a chance to say your piece during the hearing,” she bit out, then immediately walked away, responding to a student across the room. Draco dropped his head into his hands, suppressing a groan as he pressed his fingers to his temple. 

When he raised his head, he caught Rhys Blackwood and Mads MacDougal alternately whispering to one another and glancing in his direction; clearly, not every student had missed the interaction. They looked away when they realized Draco had spotted them. He sighed, picking up his quill to resume his notes on the class period. 

***

“Professor Granger?” Rhys said, shifting his weight awkwardly as he stood in front of Hermione’s desk. She had dismissed class, then settled in at her desk to mark some essays before Theo stopped by. Draco remained in his spot at the rear of the classroom, but hadn’t dared to initiate another conversation with her.

Hermione looked up at Rhys, who was frowning with obvious discomfort. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood? Is everything alright?” 

“Um, yeah. I mean, with me, yeah. But–are you alright, Professor? You seemed angry earlier. Did, uh, Mr. Malfoy say something to upset you? Mads told me not to bug you, but you’re my favorite teacher and I appreciate when someone checks up on me when I’m bothered, so…” he trailed off. Hermione could see Draco’s furrowed brow as he observed them from his seat.

She smiled softly at Rhys, caught off-guard by his worried expression. “Thank you for your concern, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. I apologize that I caused you any distress.” Rhys visibly relaxed when he heard her reply. 

“Okay, Professor. I hope you have a really nice day. I’m going to find Mads and tell him it’s fine. See you later!” he said, then strolled out of the classroom.  

Returning to the stack of parchment, Hermione resumed reading the generally decent essays her First Years had submitted. As she wrote a couple of clarifying remarks, a shadow crept over her desk, reminding her of Draco’s lingering presence. She conjured a ball of light to serve as a lamp but said nothing to acknowledge the wizard hovering over her.

He cleared his throat. “Professor–Hermione, please listen to me. You know that I am required to submit my reports as part of my observations…” Draco said, causing her to finally peer up at him. 

“Yes, Draco, you are required to document and inform the Board about all of my scandalous and controversial changes; I have accepted that. What I refuse to accept is that you are shocked that they would result in my professional expertise as a Potions Master and educator being called into question. What I refuse to accept is that you couldn’t be arsed to give me any forewarning. But what I truly find baffling is that you did all this and then acted so…” –her voice caught in her throat– “...on my birthday, as if nothing were amiss,” Hermione said, her sense of betrayal evident in every word. 

Draco’s expression was pained as he absorbed her anger. When she mentioned her birthday, guilt flashed in his eyes. She was right–he knew that his report would stoke the Board’s centrist and conservative members, but he didn’t want to ruin her birthday celebration by bringing it up. And then, after he’d walked her back to the castle, enjoying each other’s company until that moment when he got caught up in playfully chasing her–well, he didn’t know how to tell her without making things between them more strained. 

“I’m sorry for not alerting you. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble for you, but I couldn’t omit it from my report; you know that.” Draco implored her to understand. 

“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a defense to prepare now, on top of doing my job–not that you’d understand. Please see yourself out, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione said, essays gathered in her arms as she crossed the room to her office. She shut the door behind her without another word.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts

October 5, 2009

Two weeks elapsed without fanfare; Hermione kept her conversations with Draco to only strictly necessary and professional interactions, and begged off anytime Theo tried to get her in the same room with Draco outside of classes. To his credit, Draco had tried more than once to broach the topic of his report and the subsequent fallout, but Hermione became an expert at dodging his attempts. 

Now, on the morning of her appointed appearance before the Board of Governors, she sat at her kitchen table, picking apart a scone as Theo tsked at her for failing to eat any of it. 

“Hermione, you have to actually eat the scone in order for it to pass on any calories,” Theo said, tapping his index finger beside her plate. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his, giving him a blank look before dropping the rest of the scone onto her plate. 

She sighed, her shoulders slumping with her exhale. “I can’t bring myself to eat with these nerves. I’d take a calming draught, but I want to be sharp when I show up in Hogsmeade.” Theo started to reassure her that she was well-prepared, but she merely held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. I know logically that I am not only ready, but also that I’m in the right; however, if logic served any purpose in this situation, I wouldn’t be meeting with them at all,” she said, pushing up from the table as she stood.

Theo rolled his eyes–they’d gone through this several times in the last fourteen days. He would try to remind her that most of the Board favored progress, and that she had solid rationale for her classroom decisions, and she would shut it down with pessimism and doubt, stating that the wizarding world only gave lip service to change even after the war ended. Hermione had every intention of defending herself with well-researched facts along with her own expertise, but the nearly twenty years of her life since she’d found out she was a witch offered little comfort when it came to pitting ‘tradition’ against progress.

“Fine, little Miss I’m-Not-A-Pessimist-I’m-A-Realist, go on and march off to the gallows instead of battle. That’s an excellent attitude that I’m sure will do you so many favors,” Theo said, sending the dishes on her table to the sink to wash themselves. 

Hermione scowled at Theo’s sardonic comment. “I don’t have time to get wound up and launch into every facet of my strategy for the meeting. I appreciate your effort to have me prove to myself that I’m prepared, but it’s not going to work this time,” she replied, her lips twitching with a restrained smile. 

“You love me and you know it. I just wanted to remind you that you can and will come out ahead today,” Theo said, winking and blowing her a kiss. Her nose crinkled as she gave into a full smile; it was impossible to deny Theo. 

He continued, “Are you still adamant that I can’t at least accompany you on the walk?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, but I’ll expect you to be waiting for me at the Broomsticks with an alcoholic beverage when I’m done.”

“Deal. Now, go get ready to show those outdated bastards who they’re messing with!” He waved his hands, shooing her toward her bedroom. She narrowed her eyes at him, then blew out a hard breath before stomping off to shower.

She paused as she started to close her door. “Theo, thank you. I’ll see you for lunch, okay?” Her voice was softer as she gave him a half smile. 

“Of course, Hermione. See you soon.”

***

Hogsmeade

October 5, 2009

She was early. Too early. Hermione sat at the bistro, debating whether she should enter the office building just across the street and linger in the foyer for the next fifteen minutes, or if she should walk back to the high street and pretend to window-shop so she didn’t feel so pathetic. She would have preferred to stay seated at the bistro, but the ill-advised double espresso ten minutes ago was coursing through her veins and making her too jittery to sit still. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” Hermione’s head snapped up at the sound of Andromeda’s warm voice. The older witch gazed upon her with such kind eyes that Hermione felt her shoulders relax from their prior position near her ears. 

Hermione sat up straighter in her seat, extending a hand to invite her to sit down.  “Erm, yeah. I mean, please do. How are you?” she said clumsily, as Andromeda settled into the chair across from her. 

“I’d imagine I’m a sight better than you are right now, given the fact that you didn’t hear me the first two times,” Andromeda said, chuckling softly. “It’s going to be fine, Hermione. No matter the outcome, you’re doing an excellent job and you’ll figure it out.”

“I want to believe you, but I know that there are people on the Board who aren’t pleased with me to begin with, and would probably love an opportunity to put me in my place.” She chewed on the corner of her lip and smoothed her hands down her thighs. 

She wore robes–no need to antagonize anyone with her scandalous wardrobe, ha –but ensured they were well-tailored and of a more modern design. Her hair was pulled up in an elegant twist that contained but did not tame her curls, and her makeup was minimal; Hermione wanted to convey professionalism without completely cowtowing to pureblood standards for witches. 

Sipping from the teacup the server had placed before her, Andromeda merely hummed in acknowledgement of Hermione’s astute observation. She set her cup onto the saucer soundlessly, then folded her hands in front of her.

“Hermione, I have known you for nearly half your life, and I have never known you to walk into any situation having already made up your mind to lose. Why would you start now?” 

“I know, I know. I’ve already heard it from Theo and Harry. I don’t know why this is so hard for me to approach like I usually would,” she said, looking back at Andromeda, who was smiling encouragingly. 

“Because you give a shit about teaching, and about your students, and it makes you feel vulnerable. Believe me, as a mother and grandmother, I completely understand, but you need to use that love to make you fiercer, not smaller.” 

Hermione exhaled slowly, then nodded. “You’re right. I can’t defeat myself for them; I have to give it my best effort and show up for what matters to me.” She looked at her watch, her eyes widening as she saw the time. “Shit. I need to use the loo and then head across the street. I’ll see you there. Thanks, Andromeda. I needed that pep talk.”

Gathering up her bag, she placed a few coins on the table, then dashed off with a quick wave. 

***

“Could you stop ?” Blaise hissed under his breath, eyeing the quill in Draco’s hand. He had been tapping it on the table incessantly as he waited for the meeting to start, his eyes darting to the door every fifteen seconds or so. 

Draco dropped the quill, clasping his hands in front of him at the edge of the table. He fought the urge to bounce his leg as he clenched his jaw. They were due to start in three minutes, and Hermione was nowhere in sight. He knew she wouldn’t skip out on something so important, but he had hoped to catch her in the foyer beforehand–to no avail. 

The boardroom door opened as Draco willed himself not to turn to look at the most recent entrant. He knew it had to be Hermione because everyone else was already present and seated, but some part of him desperately wanted the visual confirmation. He was just about to peek over his shoulder when he heard her voice.

“Should I sit here?” she said, her voice tight but polite. Draco caught a whiff of her perfume over his right shoulder.

“Yes, that will be perfect. Please have a seat, Professor Granger,” Blaise said, wandlessly pulling out the chair next to Draco. As she eased into the seat, he stared at a whorl in the woodgrain two feet in front of him. In his periphery, he noticed that she had placed several stacks of parchment on the table, with colorful flags sticking out from the sides at varied intervals. 

“Mr. Malfoy, good morning,” Hermione said stiffly. Draco finally allowed himself to acknowledge her arrival, twisting in his chair to face her.

“Good morning, Professor,” he said softly, not trusting his voice to remain steady if he spoke any louder. He had spent the past two weeks in discomfort anytime he was in her presence; all of the progress they had made toward friendship seemed lost. 

If he were being quite honest with himself, it bothered the bloody hell out of him even when Hermione wasn’t nearby. Her recent interactions with him had resembled the superficial civility of Teddy’s birthday parties in the years after they graduated–like they were no more than polite strangers. 

“I’d like to call this meeting to order. Today’s meeting is a special session to address a curriculum change in the NEWTs Potions class led by Professor Granger, specifically the removal of Amortentia from the lesson plans. We will allow Professor Granger to speak on behalf of herself, and we will hear from several of the governors of the Board,” Blaise said, effectively silencing the room as well as Draco’s distracted mind. “Professor, you may speak first.”

“Thank you, Chairman Zabini. I would assume that the governors are aware of my educational credentials, since the Board approved my hiring, but I believe it would be helpful to start from the foundation of my educational philosophy. I hold a Mastery in Potions–typical for a school Potions Master, of course–but also a degree in Chemistry from Oxford University. I apprenticed under Damocles Belby and have published numerous papers and articles in both wizarding and muggle scholarly journals,” Hermione began. 

Draco noticed that many of the governors nodded along with her recitation, but that a few eyes widened at the mention of the famed potioneer, Damocles Belby–honestly, did none of them actually read the résumé Minerva McGonagall included in her approval request? 

“I firmly believe in a well-rounded education for my students that is rooted in a desire to practice potion-brewing with an attention to safety and efficiency,” she continued. “In that quest, I have utilized my knowledge of Chemistry to improve my students’ understanding of how potion ingredients interact and transform with the addition of each ingredient to the brew–”

“We’re not here to receive instruction on your muggle science, Miss Granger. We’re here to find out why you think you can change up the standard curriculum with impunity,” sneered Grim Fawley from the other end of the table. Hermione leveled a stern look at the wizard upon his interruption.

“That’s Professor Granger, Fawley,” Draco said, interjecting as Hermione opened her mouth to reply. 

“Erm, yes. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, glancing at Draco briefly. “Mr. Fawley, I understand the purpose of the Board’s summons. I merely intended to provide some background as to the purposes behind my changes, but I will proceed to the matter at hand, since the Board is already well aware of my classroom practices and procedures.” Draco withheld a smirk at the subtle jab–Hermione had gotten in her dig at the Board’s current meddling that had led to this point. 

“Now, as to the complaint that I have unduly modified the NEWTs-level Potions curriculum, I will first state that, as the Potions Master and professor for the course, all matters of curriculum are left up to my professional expertise, as per Headmistress McGonagall. I have a copy of my contract here, if anyone would like to verify my authority.”

There was some muttered grumbling, but no one requested to view the referenced document.

“Secondly, I do not take lightly my responsibility to my students and their safety. I chose to omit Amortentia from the curriculum because it is an extremely powerful potion whose applications can be disastrous. Amortentia, when consumed, creates an obsessive infatuation with the one who brewed it, overpowering all rationality or loyalties that may have existed prior to ingestion. Those under its effects are known to become desperate for the attentions and approval of the brewer. There is no purpose for Amortentia beyond fostering a slavish dedication and obeisance to the one who brewed it. Its effects are hardly much different from that of an Imperius cur–”

“That is ridiculous! How can you compare a potion to an Unforgiveable!?” Rosier shouted. Draco’s stomach clenched; Madam Rosmerta had forgiven him when he showed up to apologize after the war, but guilt still coursed through him whenever the Imperius curse was mentioned.

Hermione slammed her hands on the table, her composure momentarily lapsing as it jolted Draco from his self-pity. “Because, Mr. Rosier, that potion, like the Imperius curse, removes free will from its victim! Both allow the perpetrator to control the actions and desires–”

A loud scoff erupted from Bulstrode, who sat across from Draco. “Amortentia won’t make you jump up and down or whatever…”

Hermione rounded on him. “Oh? If the one you are absolutely, utterly infatuated with wanted you to dance a jig for a kiss, you don’t think you’d do it just the same as if your mind were overtaken?”

“–that’s not the same–” Bulstrode tried to say, but Hermione refused to allow him to continue.

“It is the same thing! And you want me to give teenagers not only the access to such a potion but to teach them how to make it for themselves??? It should be criminal!” she countered, her hair falling loose from its confines as she leaned over the table toward Bulstrode. 

“Order, order! We will not devolve to shouting,” Blaise said over the growing argument in front of him. “Professor Granger, while I understand your reservations, do you not intend to teach Confusing Concoction, Weedosoros, or Befuddlement Draught?”

Hermione hesitated, then sighed. “Yes, but–”

“And are those potions not potentially harmful as well?” 

“Yes, but if you’d let me finish: my particular concern with Amortentia is that these students are adolescents, driven by their hormones and desires, unable to fully comprehend the possible consequences of their actions,” she replied. “The human brain does not fully mature until age twenty-five, and this potion has been taught to sixteen and seventeen-year-olds.”

Draco watched as she gave Blaise a plaintive look, clearly hoping he’d agree with her. To his dismay, Blaise caught his eye and spoke directly to him.

“Mr. Malfoy, given that Professor Snape was your godfather, I feel you may have some insight on this matter. Can you think of any mention, in the thirty years since he first taught Potions, of a student misappropriating or using Amortentia that was brewed in class?” Blaise asked with a raised brow. 

Draco sat back, considering his late godfather’s comments; Severus was not shy about voicing his opinions about student behavior, so if there had been an incident, Draco would have heard about it. He avoided catching Hermione’s eye as he felt her staring at the side of his face.

“No, Chairman, I cannot think of any such mention,” he said, his voice as calm and measured as he could manage. 

“That is hardly proof! Snape– Professor Snape–could have failed to realize that a student nicked some of the potion or omitted mention in Malfoy’s– Mister Malfoy’s presence. This is hearsay at best!” Hermione argued. 

Draco couldn’t help but snort, immediately regretting his reaction. “When can you recall Severus ever not taking an opportunity to complain about students?” he drawled. “Do you  honestly think he wouldn’t have groused about ‘ absolute imbeciles thinking they knew better ’ than him?” Draco said, mimicking Severus’s bored cadence. His impression of Severus was quite good, in his opinion.

Before Hermione could reply to Draco, Adrian Pucey spoke from his left. “Draco, you are present in each of Professor Granger’s classes, are you not?” Draco tilted his head toward him, nodding.

“I am.”

Adrian continued, “If the issue lies in the security of the brewed product, and not in its execution, then shouldn’t it be particularly safe under the observation of two capable adult Potions Masters?”

No one spoke at first; everyone seemed to be considering Adrian’s observations in their silence. 

“I think that’s an excellent point, Mr. Pucey. Professor Granger, do you have a counter-argument to this suggestion?” Blaise said, gesturing to Hermione with his upturned palm. 

“I don’t believe there is anything I can say to change your minds, so, no, I don’t,” she conceded. Draco heard the defeat in her tone and fought the urge to console her, knowing his whispered reassurances would not be welcome.

“Then I believe the matter is settled. Professor Granger will teach Amortentia to her NEWTs class, and Mr. Malfoy will assist in supervision. I think that should satisfy all present concerns. Shall we conclude this meeting?” Blaise pronounced as he scanned the members for their assent. 

“I motion to adjourn,” Rosier said with a smug grin, then was immediately seconded. Blaise dismissed the meeting, and Draco watched as Hermione gathered up her things and immediately vacated the Boardroom without another word.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts

October 5, 2009

“Theo, I’m going to need you to talk me down–” Draco exclaimed as he burst out of the Floo into Theo’s quarters, his plea cut off as his eyes caught on his best friend. “Fucking hell…” he muttered, covering his face with his hands. “Can you put some clothes on?”

Theo’s back was toward Draco, as he straddled Harry’s lap, both of them shirtless. A startled yelp escaped Harry’s mouth, his hands dropping from where they’d been pulling Theo’s hips against his own. “Fuck off, Draco. I’m busy,” Theo said calmly, leaning down to press his lips back onto Harry’s. 

“Erm, Theo, perhaps we ought to–” Harry started.

“No, I disagree. Draco didn’t owl ahead like a good boy, so he can turn around and go back home. You’re mine for another hour, Potter,” Theo continued, as if Draco weren’t standing six feet away from the sofa.

“Look, ordinarily, I’d be fucking thrilled to fuck right off and try to obliviate myself, but desperate times and all,” Draco bit out. Theo must have heard something in his tone because he released Harry immediately and turned around. His frustrated scowl dropped from his face into a sympathetic expression when he saw Draco.

“...I’ll just head on out…” said Harry, blindly reaching to his left to grab his shirt. 

“Not so fast. If this is about what I think it’s about, you’re going to need to stick around, Harry,” Theo replied, handing Harry his shirt. He raised onto his knees, then flopped inelegantly onto the cushion beside him, not bothering to put on a shirt himself. “Come, sit, Draco. I was going to wait until I had lunch with Hermione to get the details, but it seems to have adjourned more quickly than expected…”

Draco dragged his left hand down his face, then reluctantly crossed the room to sit in an armchair across from Theo and Harry. His elbows rested on his knees as his chin dropped into his palms.

“Well, to put it simply, that meeting did not go well,” he said. When he heard Harry’s rough snort, he fixed him with narrowed eyes. “Amused, are you, Potter? Your best friend just had to endure the nasty comments and looks from the dumbest fuckers on the Board, but sure, go ahead.”

“–Draco…” Theo started to say, but paused when Draco raised his palm to stop him. 

“...sorry, Potter. Anyway, I barely got to say anything because it was immediately clear that the Board had its mind made up before Granger even got there. They were quite quick to ignore her explanations and jumped right to dismissing her concerns. Now, instead of simply observing and reporting, I’m to assist in teaching during the Amortentia lessons,” Draco continued. Theo’s brows climbed up his forehead at the news that Draco would have an active role in Hermione’s classroom. 

“Oh, she is not going to like that,” Harry muttered, but clammed up when Draco shot him another look. 

“Do you think that I don’t know that? She’s been completely aloof around me for weeks, hardly deigned to look at me during the meeting, and now has to cede control of her deserved role as Potions Master to me? I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t poison me before the first lesson, Potter.” Draco slumped back into his seat, resting his head against the back as he stared up at the ceiling. 

Theo made a thoughtful sound as he watched Draco melt into his furniture, but said nothing. As the silence persisted, Draco peered out of the corner of his eye at the wizards on the sofa. They were giving each other significant looks but not speaking, which annoyed him. 

“Are either of you going to say anything useful? What am I supposed to do now?” Draco said, sneering. 

“Erm, Malfoy, what exactly is the problem for you in this situation? It seems like Hermione is the one who is having her expertise questioned and undermined. You’ve got your knickers in quite a twist for someone without a stake in the outcome,” Harry finally said. 

Draco opened his mouth, his expression indignant, but Theo interrupted him before he could speak.

“Well, Harry, dear, that would mean Draco has to spend enough time around our Hermione that he won’t be able to keep pretending he isn’t attracted to her,” Theo said, locking eyes with Draco as the words left his mouth, grinning broadly. 

“That has nothing to do–I mean, attracted to her? What? Who–no one said–how could you…godsdamnit, Theo,” Draco sputtered. Harry started sniggering, delighting in the rare sight of Draco’s ruffled state. 

“Oh my gods, Theo, you’re right! How have I missed it?” Harry crowed, laughing harder at Draco’s reddening face.

“There’s nothing to have missed! I just don’t want Granger to hex my balls off because I’m being forced to encroach on her space!” Draco tried to interject, as Theo joined Harry in teasing him.

“Oh poor darling, he’ll have to do lesson planning, teaching, and debriefing on those lessons with her…showing off all of his Potions and Chemistry knowledge, which we know he hates to do,” Theo said, ducking as Draco tried to hit him with a throw pillow. 

“Why did I think you would be of any help, Theo? Can’t take a damn thing seriously for even a minute.” Draco pushed up from the armchair and stalked towards the Floo.

Theo wiped his eyes and called out to Draco, “Okay, okay, no, don’t go! Fine, we’ll behave; won’t we, Harry?” He patted Harry’s knee, prompting him to agree.

“Oh, well, yeah, I suppose,” Harry said, taking Theo’s hand in his. Theo gazed affectionately at him, then leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, causing Harry to blush. He coughed, then added, “Come back, Malfoy. We’re all ears.”

Draco glared at them both, but accepted their offer and returned to his seat. “I just need the two of you to help me avoid aggravating her since the rest of this is out of my hands. I don’t actually like that she’s furious with me over this whole thing, and I need advice if I’m going to get her to work with me,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I prefer it when Granger isn’t plotting my demise, actually– not because I fancy her, so don’t even start up again.”

Theo, still sans shirt, popped up to fix a pot of tea for the three of them. Once they each had a cup in hand, they settled in to talk. Harry started the discussion: “Hermione is no stranger to using the silent treatment as punishment. She’s not as prone to its use anymore, but having been on the receiving end of it, I get why you’re nervous–”

“–I’m not nervous–”

“–yes, you are, and I’m saying that you’re not the first one to go through it. If you want my help, just listen, yeah?” Draco pouted, but was silent. “The upside is that she starts to feel its effects herself if it goes on too long, so you’re unlikely to endure much more. I give it maybe another day, and then she’ll begrudgingly speak to you.”

Draco scoffed at Harry’s optimistic prognosis. “I doubt she’ll approach me, even if she’s over the silence. What am I supposed to do here? If I bring it up to her, she’s going to think I’m gloating over this new imposition. If I ignore it…”

“–she’ll think you’re being avoidant, which will piss her off all over again because she’s the affronted party in all of this,” Theo supplied. Draco nodded at his insight, having had the words stolen out of his mouth. 

Harry cocked his head and examined Draco with more intensity than Draco found comfortable. Just as he was about to demand the reason for Harry’s staring, Harry turned to Theo and said, “You know, I think he actually gets Hermione somehow. It took me ages to understand how she thinks when she’s angry.”

“Well, if we’re using your level of comprehension as the bar, Potter–” Draco started.

“Draco!” Theo admonished, fixing him with a steely glare. Draco bit back the rest of his comment, not wanting to have Theo added to the list of people who wanted to castrate him. 

Harry waved a dismissive hand in Draco’s direction. “Anyway, I’m just saying that, surprisingly, you might actually be able to navigate this on your own if you already understand that much about Hermione.” He punctuated his observation with a shrug.

Draco took a moment to consider Harry’s words. He had witnessed–and delighted in–the many spats between the Golden Trio when they were students. From his seat across the Great Hall, he had smugly pointed out the awkward posturing and weak overtures anytime the overly-emotional Gryffindors were at odds. It never seemed to persist for too long, and always seemed to resolve itself without lasting effects. 

As he processed his observations, an idea struck. “Hey, Theo?” he said, still lost in thought.

“Mm, yes, Draco?” Theo rasped. Draco’s attention snapped toward Theo, which he immediately regretted–Harry’s hand had crept up Theo’s thigh while he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Merlin’s saggy balls, can’t you two keep it in your pants for a godsdamned minute…” he muttered under his breath. Draco fixed his glare pointedly over Theo’s shoulder as he continued, “You said you’re supposed to have lunch with Granger in a bit, right?” 

“Yes, why?” He reached over and snatched Harry’s hand, which he had jerked back when Draco started speaking. “Not so fast, Mr. Potter…” he whispered. 

“Perfect. I’m going to meet her there instead so we can talk, and you two can go back to fondling each other,” Draco said, standing and smoothing his trousers. “Don’t bother denying it, Potter. You’re welcome.” Without another word, he strolled to Theo’s door and exited.

“What do you think he’s–” Harry pondered aloud, until Theo cut him off with a searing kiss. 

“Don’t know, don’t much care. Now, where were we?” Theo said as he climbed back onto Harry’s lap and shoved his hands into his hair. Harry let out a low groan and pulled Theo’s face down to his lips. “Looks like my lunch hour just opened up.”

***

The Three Broomsticks

October 5, 2009

“Just a sec, Theo. I can’t decide whether I want butterbeer or–” Hermione looked up as a shadow passed over the menu in her hand. “What the actual fuck, Malfoy? Where’s Theo? Why are you here?” Her right hand dropped to her wand pocket as Draco quickly responded to her agitated line of questioning.

“Whoa, easy, Granger,” Draco said, his hands held in front of him defensively. “I wanted to talk.”

Hermione stared him down, her face a mask of pure fury. She had spent the last half hour walking around Hogsmeade in an attempt to cool down after that ridiculous farce of a meeting, but found her ire immediately stoked once more by Draco’s presence. 

“What could you have to say to me that would actually improve my disposition toward you? If you’re here to gloat, don’t bother; you win. I can’t even make decisions for my students in the name of rational precautions because it’s not tradition,” Hermione sneered. 

Draco placed a hand on the chair across from her, then glanced down at it with a questioning brow. After Hermione let out an irritated huff, she nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. He lowered himself into the seat gracefully, then looked to her with his palms flat on the table. 

“You have no choice but to teach the brewing of Amortentia–”

“–I know–” she started to interrupt.

“Just allow me five minutes, then I’ll leave you alone, please,” Draco said calmly. Hermione remained silent, so he continued, “But–I have an idea of how to mitigate the possible harm that caused you to remove it from the curriculum. It’s not a perfect solution, but I think it could at least help.” Draco watched Hermione’s face cycle from skepticism to intrigue as he waited for her to prompt his explanation.

She made a rolling ‘go on’ gesture with her right hand, though her lips were still tightly pressed together.

Draco gave a small nod of appreciation. “I think we should teach the Love Potion Antidote as part of the Amortentia unit,” he said. 

Hermione started to speak, but froze as she carefully considered Draco’s idea. A crease appeared between her brows as she pursed her lips, deep in thought. Draco found himself analyzing the nuances of her facial expressions as she searched for flaws in his contribution. 

“...that’s brilliant, actually,” Hermione admitted, her arms unfolding and dropping to her sides. 

Draco scoffed. “You say ‘actually’ as if you’re surprised that I’d have a feasible and rational suggestion. It’s hardly worth noting that I alone kept pace with your marks throughout our school years, Granger.” 

She surprised him by laughing out loud. “That’s the closest thing to humility I think I’ve ever heard from you, Malfoy. I figured you’d be bragging about besting me in Potions to make your point,” Hermione said, her tone a bit teasing. 

“That point stands on its own, without my needing to state it, actually,” Draco replied with a shrug. “Anyway, I’m not against you or your intentions, Granger. I agree with you on many points, but your typical Gryffindor approach of ‘torch first, ask questions later’ doesn’t work with the Board. Nearly every sitting governor was a Slytherin, which means you need finesse.”

Hermione grumbled but did not argue with his assessment. “Fine, you’re right–”

“–I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to repeat that? I’ve decided to curate a collection for my pensieve entitled ‘Draco Malfoy is always right: the Hermione Granger edition.’ Say it again for me so I can really capture it.” Draco grinned at her, which she reluctantly returned with a soft smile of her own.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I have to work with you now,” she muttered. 

“Mm, yes, seems a burden we shall have to share. Speaking of sharing, mind if I go ahead and place orders and we can make this our first working lunch?” Draco said, indicating the menu she’d been perusing earlier. 

They flagged down a server and ordered their meals. Neither spoke once the server walked away; the joking banter they’d indulged just moments before seemed out of reach now. 

Draco took it upon himself to attempt an offering of peace, but was cut off as he opened his mouth.

“Why didn’t you say that during the meeting?” Hermione asked in a small voice. Draco quirked a brow in her direction.

“Why didn’t I say what exactly?” he asked.

Hermione balled her hands into fists in her lap, then let out a rough exhale. “Why didn’t you tell the Board that you agreed with me? You just let them harass me and belittle my concerns.” 

Draco winced, hearing the disappointment as she spoke. “Granger, I’m trying to balance my role on the Board with my efforts to make change and improvements, too. Like I said, they’re a bunch of Slytherins. There’s a better way to do it, and it doesn’t involve declarations of allegiance,” he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms once more. “I’m not asking why you didn’t leap into action to swear fealty to me and my causes. I want to know why you just sat there and then waited to offer support in private. If you’d have mentioned your idea an hour ago, it would have spared me a lot of humiliation and anger.” 

“I didn’t have this plan an hour ago. It didn’t occur to me until I was talking to Theo and Potter–trying to figure out how to get you to talk to me–that I even came up with it!” Hermione’s eyes were locked on his as Draco’s cheekbones turned pink with emotion. 

“You went to Harry and Theo because you wanted me to talk to you?” 

Draco caught something different in her voice, though he couldn’t pinpoint it. It was almost…affection? He dismissed it and continued to explain himself.

“Yes, though I was looking for Theo and instead got an eyeful of the two of them frotting about on the sofa” –he shuddered theatrically– “but Potter mentioned how things typically went between you three, and I remembered–well, I remembered Sixth Year and the extended freeze between you and Weasley…” Draco trailed off, his face increasing in redness as he recalled Ron’s accidental poisoning.

Hermione caught his train of thought and waited patiently for Draco to finish.

He cleared his throat and swallowed roughly. “And I remembered that you only started speaking again after I poisoned him.”

“Draco–” Hermione started, but he stopped her.

“I may not have poured the drink, but it’s my fault that it happened. I accept the mistakes I’ve made and can take responsiblity for my part in harming others. I don’t need you to assuage my guilt or absolve me or something. But, I recalled that the reason he was in Slughorn’s office was because of a love potion, and got to thinking that it would have saved a lot of trouble if Potter would have had an antidote on hand instead of seeking out help; hence, the idea to brew the antidote,” Draco said. 

Before Hermione could respond, their food arrived at the table and they busied themselves with tucking into their meals.

“I appreciate you coming to find me and for having a plan in mind to navigate my concerns,” Hermione said after they’d eaten a few bites. “I guess that’s the difference between you and Ron or Harry–they just waited for me to come around or for something else to matter more than my anger. Thank you.”

Draco choked back the urge to say something about her friends, not looking to pick a new fight with Hermione. 

“Thanks for letting me explain myself to you. I wasn’t sure that you would,” Draco said. They each avoided direct eye contact as they ate the rest of their food, and awkwardly discussed meeting that evening to plan their lessons for the unit. 

Hermione needed to get back for her afternoon classes, so she took her leave first, rushing off with a small wave goodbye.

Draco tried not to watch her as she left, but his eyes lingered on her arse all the same.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts

October 6, 2009

Hermione joined Theo on the sofa in the staff common area, her carafe of strong coffee clutched tightly to her chest–her second of the morning. She and Draco had spent two hours lesson planning the previous night and had made significant progress toward a shared vision for their approach. Though Draco had left by 10 pm, her exhaustion stemmed more from the hours after his departure, when she had lain awake, her mind buzzing with uncomfortable thoughts. 

Their meeting had been surprisingly productive as they discovered that they had similar habits when it came to research and preparation. When he arrived at her quarters, Draco already had an outline drafted as well as a general timeframe for the entire unit. Hermione, likewise, had sketched out a rough timetable for their meetings and had jotted down an assortment of texts, both muggle and magical, to supplement their lessons. 

By the end of the two hours, though they had argued plenty, the ideas they had for responsibly teaching students to brew Amortentia complemented both of their commitments to Potions as a valuable subject and the importance of mitigating risk factors. 

Hermione had initially expected Draco’s supportive stance to have been merely lip service, meant to placate her enough to work together without friction, but it turned out that he understood, respected, and acknowledged her reservations as valid and reasonable. It had been altogether shocking to hear his opinions without artifice or political hedging.

“I agree with you that there’s no practical reason to teach Amortentia. You’d think the stories about Voldemort’s conception–” Draco shuddered, then continued, “–would be enough to put ‘bad idea’ in bold and underlined font…”

Hermione made a face. “Well, I’m fairly certain that the Ministry-mandated Potions textbooks were printed long enough ago that Voldemort probably used the same edition,” she said, hardly joking. 

“You’re probably not wrong. How many different battles are you willing to fight at once though? Shall we start with modernizing curriculum? Bringing textbooks into the current century? Better linens in the dormitories?” Draco said, shrugging as he listed items off on his fingers. “I keep trying to tell you that the approach requires more nuance. You’ll never win with complete overhauls; you’re best off adding to existing infrastructure, then slowly phasing out the outdated aspects. People don’t want the discomfort of wholesale change; they want to be coddled and told what they want to hear while those who actually improve lives work behind the scenes.”

She hadn’t admitted it to him as they sat across from one another at her kitchen table, but he was most likely correct in his evaluations of human nature. It was the same in the muggle world–politicians who said what people wanted to hear were more likely to make headway than those who confronted difficult truths. 

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Theo said, nudging Hermione’s foot with his own. 

“Isn’t it usually a knut?” she answered. 

He laughed. “Yes, but your thoughts are worth more than most people’s, darling. So, tell me, how did it go last night?” Theo silently observed Hermione as a flush crept up her neck. She cleared her throat and looked at her hands.

“Stop staring at me, Theo,” she hissed. “I can feel your eyes on me.”

He sniggered, but feigned great interest in the threads along the arm of the sofa for her benefit. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating Draco’s–”

“Nope. Stop that at once, Theodore Nott. Lesson planning went quite well and we were able to establish a workable timeline for the Amortentia unit. That’s all. Nothing happened,” Hermione rushed out.

“Well, of course, nothing happened. What could possibly have occurred beyond a fortifying discussion of the merits of pro forma instruction versus experimentation in the classroom? Just a meeting of the minds for two skilled Potions Masters–Mistress and Master? No, Master is the gender-neutral, right? Anyway, I didn’t really say anything, love,” Theo said innocently, though Hermione could hear his mischievous smile. 

Hermione lightly elbowed him in the ribs, to which Theo offered a dramatic whine, rubbing the spot as he pouted. She glanced around the room; they were alone for now since it was rather early, but she cast a quick Muffliato anyway.

“Ugh, it’s just–well, it was easier to accept ‘yeah, he’s fit, but he’s a prat’ since it would only ever be a superficial attraction…” Hermione admitted, whispering despite the privacy charm. Theo reached over and squeezed her knee.

“But now he’s fit, a prat, and as clever as you are?” Theo offered, with mock sympathy. He patted her knee consolingly, then added, “It’s always a shame when they turn out to be more than just a pretty face, isn’t it?” Hermione let out a little snort as Theo grinned back at her. 

 “I mean, that’s part of it, certainly. The fact that he’s your best friend should have clued me in, but I guess it was still a surprise that he’s…good?” 

She winced at her weak explanation–it wasn’t as if she thought that Draco Malfoy was some kind of evil, Dark wizard. She’d spent enough time around him over the years to recognize at least that much; it was just a bit jarring to realize he cared about more than the status quo, about more than his privilege. 

Theo continued to listen patiently; he could tell from Hermione’s facial expressions that she had more to say than a mere statement of Draco’s ‘not badness.’ 

Hermione pursed her lips as she thought about what she meant by ‘good.’ She took in a fortifying breath as she picked up the thread of their conversation: “I never thought he was bad, of course, but the way he talked about change made it quite evident that he wants progress in our world, and that he’s willing to give up his metaphorical seat at the table to do it. I guess I always pictured Draco Malfoy as the boy who would sit back idly, collecting on the social investments of his ancestors, not concerning himself with any kind of evolution, if that makes any sense.”

She searched Theo’s face for any indication of comprehension or smug ‘I-told-you-so’ vindication. He merely offered her a knowing half-smile. Then, saying nothing, Theo pressed a light peck to her cheek, tugged on a springy curl, and stood from his seat beside her. Hermione stared after him as he crossed to the door that exited out into the castle.

Just before Theo pulled the door open, he spun on his heel, blew Hermione a kiss, and said, “I’m glad you had a productive meeting, darling. See you at lunch.” He winked and walked off without another word. 

Hermione shook her head, smiling to herself. Damn these Slytherins. She gathered up her bag then followed suit as she headed off to teach her first class of the day. 

***

“Good morning, class! Today, we will be brewing Invigoration Draughts. Your essays last week on the preparation and uses for this potion were thorough and precise, even addressing the drawbacks and limitations of its applications. I think I’d be safe in saying that, if those essays are a preview of your OWLs, you’ll all be receiving at least ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Potions!” Hermione beamed proudly at her Fifth Year students as they exchanged pleased grins of their own. 

At the rear of the classroom, she caught Draco smirking behind his fist. Their eyes met and he offered her a nod of approval. Hermione turned around to her chalkboard to prevent anyone from seeing that her cheeks had gone pink.

She wrote out the list of ingredients on the board, narrating each addition as she went. The classroom was silent and attentive, the only sound emanating from the scratching of quills across parchment. 

When Hermione faced the class once more, she was relieved to see that Draco’s head was tilted down toward his own parchment. She set the class to gather ingredients and begin their potion-brewing just as he finished writing. 

“Professor Granger?” said a voice from her left. Hermione turned to see that a student held a nearly empty jar of billywig stings. 

“Oh! Thank you, Mr. Cattermole. I’ll get some more from the extra supply room and refill this jar,” she said, taking the container. “It’ll just be a moment. Would you let the others know to just hold on?”

“Sure thing, Professor,” Alfred Cattermole said. He walked back to the supply room to relay the message as Hermione strode toward the rear of the classroom. 

With a flick of her wand, Hermione dismissed the wards securing the extra Potions ingredients and opened the door. As she peered around searching for the billywig stings, Draco stepped into the room behind her. He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Professor Granger, might I be of assistance?” Hermione startled and dropped the jar, but Draco reached out and caught it before it could shatter on the ground. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. I just remembered you mentioning last night that the supply room was still in need of organization…” Draco trailed off.

“Ah, yes, I did say that. Accio doesn’t work very well when things are in piles like this…dreadful mess if I did…” Hermione replied, caught off guard that he had made note of her offhand remark. Suddenly, Draco stepped closer to her. She could smell his cologne and tried not to let her eyes close as she caught notes of citrus and bergamot–he smelled fantastic. 

Before she could react to his proximity, Draco reached over her head and grabbed a large container labeled ‘Billywig Stings’ from the shelf behind her. 

“This what you’re looking for?” Draco asked, holding it out to her. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the way she swallowed hard when his arm grazed her shoulder as he’d lowered it. 

“Yes, exactly. Thank you, Draco.” Hermione shifted her grip on the smaller jar to try to take the fully-stocked jar, but Draco stopped her. 

“Just a second–I’ll show you the spell Severus taught me for easy refilling…” Draco said, then traced a curved line in the air between the two containers as he muttered ‘ollam repleo.’ Hermione gasped as the nearly empty jar in her hand filled at once.

She immediately forgot her nerves as she marveled at the spell. “You have to teach me that one after class! I spilled an entire bottle of Flobberworm mucus last week trying to fill a tiny vial; it got everywhere: floor, hands, my hair…” 

Draco laughed heartily as he pictured the mess she described. He returned the mostly-full larger jar to its shelf as he replied, “I promise I will. Here, let me take that jar over to the student supply room,” before lifting the refilled jar from her hand. He held the door while Hermione mimed the wand motion for the spell with her finger as she followed him.

As Draco started to walk away from her, Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, again, Dra–Mr. Malfoy,” she said with genuine gratitude as she smiled.

He grinned back at her as he accepted her thanks, then strolled over to the line of waiting students. Hermione tried not to think about the lingering scent of his cologne as she returned to the front of the classroom.

***

“So you sniffed him?” 

“I did not sniff him, Harry,” Hermione retorted. “We were in close proximity and I happened to catch the scent of his cologne. I’m not an animal.”

Harry laughed as Hermione stabbed her salad aggressively. They were waiting in Hermione’s quarters for Theo to join them for lunch, but he was running late. 

“And why again were you within not-sniffing distance of Malfoy?” Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“You spend too much time with Theo, you know,” Hermione said, pointing at his face with the tines of her fork. “I already told you that Draco was helping me restock the billywig stings; stop trying to make it something scandalous.”

Harry held his hand over his heart, his eyes wide. “My, my, Hermione. How could anyone think that two fit, single adults with years of repressed attraction could get up to anything inappropriate in a supply room?” A soggy lettuce leaf sailed past his ear and landed with a splat on the kitchen floor. “You missed.”

“Yes, well, you need to stop reading so many torrid romance novels now that you’re living alone, Harry.”

Harry scoffed. “They’re your books, Hermione!”

“Aha! So, Harry James Potter, you admit that you’ve been reading them!” Hermione spat back. Harry gaped at her, annoyed that he’d been caught. 

Before Harry could respond, Theo opened the door to Hermione’s quarters, his voice meeting them first as he aired his grievances to the room. “Why do I teach teenagers again? If it’s not the body odor, it’s the blank stares; if it’s not the blank stares, it’s the hormones. If I have to break up another pair of horny teenagers escalating a classroom duel…” Theo grumbled as he walked into the kitchen. “Oh, hello, loves.”

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing at Theo’s sudden shift in tone. “Bad day in class, Professor?” Harry teased. Theo leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, then dropped into the empty chair beside him. 

“I have a pair of students in my Seventh Year class who are clearly into each other, but they just snipe and bicker all the time. Then, today, they took an ordinary demonstration duel and turned it into some kind of…foreplay–hexing each other beyond what the lesson called for, even as I called for them to stop, until they ended up wrestling on the floor–”

“Hold on, some poor witch got manhandled during Defense?” Hermione interrupted.

Theo waved her off as he continued, “No, no. Both wizards. I had to immobilize them, dismiss class, and then pry them apart before I released them. Now I’ll have to deal with them in detention on top of their classroom nonsense.” 

Harry loaded Theo’s plate with sandwiches and fruit while he explained, nodding along attentively. Theo’s annoyed expression faded as he smiled up at Harry. Hermione noticed the exchange but said nothing about it, focusing on the issue at hand.

“Are you doing their detentions together? You might be better off separating them if you’re concerned about their behavior, Theo,” Hermione advised.

Theo took a sip from Harry’s glass of butterbeer. “I just wanted a taste. Hope you don’t mind,” he said as Harry shrugged. “Honestly, I’m hoping they’ll finally get over their shit and start dating, so together it is. Maybe a bit of forced proximity will tip the scales.” Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“Theo, I’m not sure if you should be playing matchmaker…” she began, but Harry cut her off as he started speaking at the same time.

“Hermione sniffed Malfoy today.”

Theo’s head snapped to lock eyes with Hermione. “You did what? I know we talked this morning about you wanting to jump him, but that seems abrupt.” Hermione’s mouth fell open as Harry gawked at her.

“You told Theo you want to have sex with him!? Why wouldn’t you tell me???” Harry finally said in a petulant voice. Theo gave Harry a smug look.

“Stop it, both of you! I never said I wanted to have sex with Draco, and I did not sniff him! I merely noticed his cologne when we were in the supply room–”

“THE SUPPLY ROOM? You minx!” Theo shouted gleefully. “Did you at least snog?”

Hermione groaned, then dropped her forehead to the table in front of her. “I cannot deal with either of you.”

She was grateful when someone knocked at the door to her quarters, sparing her from further interrogation and ridiculous assumptions. She vanished the lettuce from the kitchen floor as she left Harry and Theo to their sniggering.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to find Draco standing on the other side.

“Oh, hello. Were you looking for Theo?” Hermione asked. “He’s in the kitchen with Harry if you want to come in.”

Draco hesitated. “Ah, actually, I wasn’t–erm, if you’re busy, I’ll owl you about your availability…” He was about to make a hasty retreat when Theo’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Who is it? Tell them to bugger off; I want to hear about you sniffing–”

Hermione stepped out of her door into the hallway with Draco, pulling it shut behind her.

“Nope, I’m free right now. What did you want to see me about?” she blurted out, hoping that Draco hadn’t heard much of what Theo had said.

“Oh, it’s nothing important. Just didn’t get a chance to teach you that spell: Severus’s refilling one? I thought it might drive you mad not to know so I wanted to spare you the agony of trying to figure it out for yourself,” Draco replied.

Hermione couldn’t help her impatient, enthusiastic response: “Yes, please! There’s a bench in that alcove across the hall–yes, that one.” Draco pointed to a cozy nook in confirmation before they crossed the hallway outside of her quarters. 

“Not that I mind sitting here, but why can’t we go back in your quarters?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Theo is being extra Theo right now and Harry is egging him on,” she explained.

“Ah, yeah, I’m familiar. Say no more, Granger,” he said, nodding sagely. “Anyway, the spell–” He fought a smile as Hermione adjusted her posture and waited for him to proceed. “The spell is ‘ollam repleo,’ or ‘I refill the jar’–very creative, I know–and the wand motion is more of a parabola than an arc… with a sort of flourish at the end like this.” He flicked the end of his wand in a tight loop. “You try and I’ll help you adjust–”

He hadn’t finished his sentence when Hermione executed the wand movement to perfection. 

“How’d I do?” she asked, her eyes bright and eager. He merely shook his head and grinned back at her. 

His expression was tender as he answered: “Perfect, Granger. Of course, just perfect.”