It was strange. Not even Umbridge's words at the time had been able to dent Hermione Granger's tenacity. Nor had Voldemort, who had literally launched a man -or witch- hunt specifically against her.
Hermione Granger had never let it get her down.
She had stood up and fought, with the audacity of a gryphon and that bit of cunning that would have made her a great Slytherin had she not been infected by the St. Potter's hero complex.
So now Draco Malfoy couldn't understand why the spearhead of the Golden trio was so broken, let alone explain why she had reacted so passively to the insults of a woman who, by the way, worked under her.
He didn't think he would ever see that fire inside her fade like this, but-
He brought his hands to his temples.
That fire inside her.
Had he really thought this?
He turned the glass over in his hands, looking at that amber liquid and wondering once again if his friends were actually drugging him. It was surely a more than acceptable hypothesis to explain the strange absurdities that flashed through his mind from time to time.
Little did he care what his friends were discussing at the moment. The only thing he could think about was Hermione's absurd reaction last night and the way she had kicked him out of her house in a matter of seconds.
And, most of all, the way he, for some strange and absurd reason, wanted everything but to leave. He wanted to stay there. He wanted to stay with her.
But why?
Curiosity, probably. He was dying to know what could have happened to knock out someone like Hermione Granger, and at the same time he blamed himself for not being able to figure it out even though he had literally read her mind.
And then, of course, there was the fundamental question: why the hell did she care about occlumency? And why did it have to remain such a secret that the only person she had asked for help - more or less - was him?
How was it possible that Hermione Granger had suddenly become so mysterious and full of secrets?
He waited for Pansy and Blaise to leave so he could be alone with Theo and talk to him about the doubts currently plaguing him.
He had to vent to someone, or this obsession would take away what little sleep he managed to get from time to time.
He couldn't resist a good four days before seeing Hermione again.
When they were finally alone, he turned to his friend with a serious expression on his face. "What do you know about Hermione's work?"
The boy barely squinted, caught off guard by that question. "What are you referring to?"
"You told me where I could find her, at the Ministry, so you must know something about her work."
"Well," began Nott, staring thoughtfully at his glass. "I don't know exactly what her work consists of. From what little I know -and don't ask me how I know- she had applied for a position in the creature department, but…"
"But?" pressed Draco, impatient to know more, not caring by now to hide his interest about Hermione's business.
"But, for some strange reason, someone believed it wasn't appropriate to grant the savior of the magical world her dream job," Theo frowned. "And it wasn't a matter of titles, nor skills. Potter wanted to work as an Auror and was immediately hired without having taken his G.U.F.O. And Weasley, well… he's the worst keeper to ever play in the National Quidditch League, yet there he is, warming the Cannon bench."
Draco curled his lips against the rim of his glass. "And why is that?" he asked, unaware of why what he had heard made him feel strangely nervous.
Theo shrugged. "You know how Granger is when she puts her mind to it. House elves, werewolves and all that stuff. If she had been hired in the department, she would have had the last word about what laws would be accepted or not. Where they put her instead…"
"They can reject all of her proposals, basically," Draco finished for him.
Theo nodded.
After a moment of silence, broken only by sighs from both of them, Theo spoke again. "I really thought something would change," he sighed. "That Potter, Granger, even Weasley would make it through to change things. But it's all appearance, a cover," he took a sip from his glass. "Because after all, nothing has changed. Voldemort is dead, and yet who's in the Ministry? The same people as always. The same bigots who helped him rise to power and who wrinkle their noses every time Granger passes through their corridors. And I wonder why they don't get it-" he stood up, and Draco nearly flinched, cowering even more on the couch.
He'd never seen his friend like this.
"This is all bullshit. Voldemort's dead. My father is dead. Parkinson is dead. Your father is in prison, and yet what has changed?"
"Theo," Draco stood up, taking a step towards his friend, who had a red face and heavy breath. "Theo, are you okay?"
"Yeah" mumbled the boy, rearranging himself on the couch. "Yeah, I'm fine…"
There were a few moments of silence, before the blond decided to bring the conversation back to the original topic. "It was all bullshit, wasn't it? The way we grew up, everything they taught us-"
Theo grabbed the bottle directly from the coffee table, lifting it toward him. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who figured that out, cheers," he said, taking a long sip without waiting for a response from his friend.
"She seems different, you know," Draco continued, cursing himself for not being able to stop talking about Hermione.
His friend raised an eyebrow and his expression changed completely. "Hmm- would you like to elaborate?"
Draco sighed. "She seemed… Defeated."
"Uhh," Theo smiled. "After defeating the dark lord, Hermione Granger succumbs under the weight of bureaucracy."
"Uh-huh" the blond shot him back. "I know it sounds crazy, but…"
"If there's one person who can get those old bigots out of their chairs and actually do something for the magical society, mate, it's her" he paused briefly "if she can't do it, I doubt someone brighter will come along."
Draco smiled bitterly at his friend's joke, which contained more truth than he would ever be able to admit. On the other hand, the smile that currently covered Theo's face was anything but bitter. It was a smile Draco hadn't seen in a long time, and at the moment he didn't know whether to feel happy for his friend or worried for himself.
"What's wrong?" he asked, fearful as if he were once again approaching a Hippogriff.
"Oh nothing." The grin on Theo's face only increased, and it was then, perhaps, that Draco understood.
"Oh no," the blond snapped, standing up and pointing a finger at his friend. "You're out of your mind."
"If you like to think so…"
"You're really drinking too much" he grabbed his jacket. "And probably I am too. That explains why we're delirious." He started toward the fireplace "actually, I confess, I had begun to suspect that some of you were drugging me. Now I'm sure it was Blaise" he searched in vain for the bag of floo powder.
"Mmh-mhh." Theo interrupted his brief delirium, flanking him with the small bag in his hand that contained his escape from that ridiculous and unpleasant conversation.
Casually, Nott handed it to him. With much less ease, Draco grabbed it and catapulted himself into the fireplace.
"You're wrong," he muttered. "You're so wrong."
"Definitely."
"See you," Draco finally concluded as he was carried into the Manor Hall.
"Try not to set off any more glasses."
This time when he stepped onto the cold marble floor it wasn't Voldemort's face or his Aunt Bellatrix's that haunted his thoughts, but the obnoxious, smug smirk on his best friend's face.
***
Draco hated the strange tricks his mind was playing on him lately. Not that he could actually complain: tonight's dream was definitely better than the nightmares that had plagued him for the past few months. However, it was definitely unseemly to dream about Hermione Granger.
Not that he had dreamed anything at all: just her walking around her office in her silly knee-length skirts and her strictly buttoned-up blouses, her hair in a perfectly matching bun and her unfailing schoolmarm attitude, giving orders left and right through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic. It wasn't necessary to know her well to understand that she desperately needed to be in control of the situation at all times.
Had she ever let herself go? He brought his hands to his temples, relying on occlumency to avoid making absurd, inappropriate and regrettable images about her.
He'd obsessed too much thinking about her over the last few days, and he really hoped tonight's meeting would help him quell his irrational curiosity and put her out of his mind for good.
He was looking forward to seeing her. He had practically spent the entire day staring at the clock and shuffling from one side of the Manor to the other waiting for 9pm. When it came time to reach into the fireplace and speak Hermione's home address, Draco's nerves were on edge.
Once the flames died down he noticed that Hermione, on the other hand, was seemingly calm.
Cold, calm, and measured: the exact opposite of how she had been the last time he had seen her. The exact opposite of how he had always remembered her. In her living room there was no more paperwork scattered between the small coffee table and the couch, although she was still wearing her work clothes, including those hideous shoes that slung her thin calves. Her hair was tied up in the classic schoolmarm bun, with only a few unruly curls that escaped the hell of bobby pins and fell to the sides of her face.
Her face was… Strange. Tired, he would have dared to say. Her gaze, on the other hand… Empty.
"I've been practicing," Hermione said as soon as Draco stepped out of the fireplace. "I think I'm getting better."
Draco sat up, clearing his throat. "Good. I told you last time… You had done it, you had succeeded-"
"About last time…"
"Yes?" Draco lifted his head sharply toward her, hoping he didn't sound too desperate.
"I'd rather not talk about it."
There were a few moments of silence, broken again by the gryphon. "About your father," she resumed, in a dry, pragmatic tone of voice. "I've seen the memory and it seems genuine."
Draco gasped. He should have expected it, yet somehow he was surprised...
***
Hermione felt his gaze on her with such intensity that she feared he was already reading her mind.
He hadn't even pulled out his wand, yet she felt herself becoming more and more bared before him.
It was amazing how with Draco her condition reversed: she was able to read people's minds, but with him it was exactly the opposite.
He read her.
He was reading her in this very moment: Hermione noticed the way his gray eyes slid down her body, as if he was taking in every detail, and then flashed from one corner of her face to the other as she spoke.
She tried to remember what she was talking about and continue her speech, lowering her gaze to her feet to avoid succumbing under the weight of Draco's silver eyes.
This is ridiculous, she thought at one point, as she felt her own heartbeat inexplicably quicken.
But she was actually getting better at occlumency, so it was necessary, wasn't it?
She resumed her speech. "I have examined the case of Sirius Black and I have seen how hastily the trial that condemned him was carried out. I found a lot in common with your father's," she reached up to grab a large tome from the bookcase, showing it to Draco. "And I checked what the magical law provides for in such cases. If the trial were repeated according to the law, you would most likely be acquitted of the murder charge, the only evidence the prosecution has provided is flimsy."
Draco took a while to follow the thread of her speech. "Ah, all right. Good," he coughed. "That's really…" bright.
Hermione lowered her gaze, embarrassed. "That's just the theory. I'm not that familiar with the law, so… And we're not done with occlumency yet," she clarified in a commanding tone.
From the expression that covered Draco's face, she would have dared to say that he appeared genuinely impressed, though she could never tell for sure. Once again, his mind was impenetrable.
"I think another two or three weeks like this," she continued, "might be helpful in getting the level of mastery I desire. And it should be enough to be able to get a trial for your father, I'll arrange to contact a lawyer."
"That's not necessary, Granger. I'll take care of that."
"No, Malfoy. I would appreciate it being someone I know."
He nodded, remaining silent. "All right, so…"
"Yes, let's begin," Hermione resumed, rubbing her sweaty palms against her skirt.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, applying everything she had come to know by now.
As Draco's mind drifted into hers, she welcomed his presence, shrugging off the first memory he landed on, the one regarding her day at the Ministry. It was a technique Malfoy often used, starting with the most recent memories and then running backwards.
She dodged his first attempt with relative ease, rejoicing internally.
She struggled a bit more when Draco lingered on the memory of her research into Sirius Black's case, but eventually managed to pull him away without him seeing much.
He continued backwards through her last few days, until he decided to move from day to night.
She saw herself on her bed.
Outside the window it was dark. Her face was sweaty, her hair stuck to her forehead and neck as her chest rose and fell frantically. Her eyes open, her brow furrowed.
"It's just a dream. It's just a dream. It's over," she whispered to herself in the dark.
Then the memory suddenly froze.
Draco left her mind, and Hermione opened her eyes to find herself in her living room.
Draco's gray irises were focused on her, his lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something.
No words came from his mouth, however.
It had been one of her nightmares.
Hermione shuddered. She hadn't told anyone about it, not even her best friends. And now Draco Malfoy knew about it.
He jerked up from the couch, avoiding eye contact with her. He kept his gaze pointed at his own shoes as he spoke. "I think that's enough for today. Thank you Granger for…"
Salazar, thank you? What am I saying?
He looked for the bag of floo powder on Hermione's mantelpiece.
Why can't I find it lately?
He turned his head towards her, communicating with his gaze what he needed.
Hermione silently pointed to the corner where the bag sat, passively watching as he grabbed it and slipped into the fireplace.
His mouth screamed, "Malfoy Manor," and at the same instant, she heard his voice inside her head.
I'm sorry Granger, for everything