FIC: For Yourself (1/2) (Scorpius Malfoy/Hermione Granger)

Nov 22, 2011 13:19

Title: For Yourself (1/2)
Author: herbeautifullie
Characters: Scorpius Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Prompt number: 232
Word Count: 10,600+
Rating: R
Warnings: Age Disparity (17/44)
Summary: The box was indiscreet and attracted just as much, if not more, attention than she was sure he'd wanted...
Disclaimer: All recongised characters, places and situations are property of J.K. Rowling, etc. No money was made from the writing of this story.
Author’s Notes: This went entirely awry for a great number of reasons. I was 20k deep into something else before I realised it was entirely wrong and started all over. This stuck a little closer to the prompt than the original but I did leave a little room for “interpretation” in there so hopefully it will be to your satisfaction! I'd also like to thank both of my amazing beta readers for fixing this up for me. They were wonderful and anything they didn't catch is only there because I added it after! Thank you, ladies! ♥

For Yourself - Part One

* * *

Hermione prided herself on being above revenge - choosing to ignore Astoria Malfoy when they had lunch in the same restaurant and Pansy Parkinson when she paraded down Diagon Alley exclaiming that the shops in Paris had so much more to offer. She filed letters of appeal promptly after the war, made sure that all complaints of unfair treatment were properly investigated and that it was instilled in those who continued life after the final battle that children could not be judged for their parents' actions. She wrote reports requesting that those who had not been found guilty of any crime be treated the very same as those who hadn't been tried at all.

Her dedication to ensuring fairness was unchallenged - her record for diplomacy pristine - and she had never once felt the desire to take revenge on anyone who'd wronged her.

However, Scorpius Malfoy had proven to be the exception to every rule, every time.

* * *

The box was indiscreet and attracted just as much, if not more, attention than she was sure he'd wanted. Headmistress Vector raised her eyebrows while Madam Desmarais loudly announced her displeasure at seeing such a gift at the breakfast table.

“Professor Granger, you work in a place of education,” she said. “Was there no consideration for what the older students would think of this vagrancy? So soon after the dissolution of your marriage!”

Hermione owed Neville for saving her job - she was certain that if he hadn't interrupted Desmarais, she would have hexed her and been without one before the clock struck eight. Yes, she'd wanted to say, she was quite aware of the looks she received from the students and the thoughts that must be flying through each of their heads. Teenagers hadn't changed much since she'd been one and though she'd never been quite as obsessed with the sexual affairs of others as most of her peers, she could easily imagine what Sirrah Nott was whispering to Aithne Zabini when she caught their intrusive gazes. Never one to attract much attention from boys - least of all those who were young enough to be her children! - she felt what little breakfast she'd eaten churn when she stood, bright blue box tied with silver ribbon in hand, to exit the Great Hall. The bit of courage she had left kept her strides confident and measured despite her desire to just run.

Noting the time, she stopped momentarily at her chambers to tear the folded note on the top of the box free. The closest table's legs quivered from the force she exerted when she slammed the box down, perfect silver bow still tight and royal blue box unblemished despite her furious treatment. He'd expected her force and had charmed against it. It was an intelligent gesture that she did not appreciate it in the slightest. She scanned the note quickly, her frown deepening with each line until she reached the end.

With an indignant scoff, she threw the parchment to the floor and moved to leave her room. The rush of air from the slamming door floated the note towards the bookshelf in the corner where it would lay unfolded until she returned later that evening to put it in its proper place - the fire.

* * *

I wouldn't open this in the Great Hall if I were you. Vector is getting old and I'm sure Desmarais' prudence would leave her too shocked to our Headmistress, should she have a heart attack or worse. How was your week off? I read the article in the Prophet; though I can't say I'm disappointed in the news, I am disappointed you didn't tell me sooner. I thought we were friends, Professor?

I bought these as a welcome back gift. I do hope you'll inform me which colour you prefer most. Better yet, you're more than welcome to show me. I, personally, was quite fond of the blue lace pieces for obvious reasons but I do love Gryffindor red as well. The black pieces were a last-minute purchase for nights when you're feeling particularly naughty. I have a feeling (a hope, to be honest) that you have those quite often so I was sure to pick up two.

I hope the box won't embarrass you too much. I never realised how popular Madam Notte's Lingerie boxes were until I'd finished my shopping in Diagon Alley. I requested a weekend away from Hogwarts to purchase those, did you know? I hope no one puts two and two together, though I can't expect the rest of them to be as intelligent as you and I. My father is quite proud; he thinks I've finally found a nice pureblood to settle down with after this year. If only he knew...

Madam Notte personally suggested these. Italian women are quite intriguing - nearly as intriguing as you, though not quite as tempting when flustered.

Be sure to send my sincerest thanks to Mr. Weasley.

-S.

* * *

“Professor Weasley?”

It was hard introducing herself as Professor Granger after nearly seven years of being Professor Weasley. The divorce had been expected but not necessarily welcome on her part. It would be easier to handle now that she had returned to Hogwarts after the week away to finalise the paperwork. She didn't have to wake up to half of their flat missing - walls bare of Chudley Canon's posters and the closet empty without his Auror robes.

“It's Granger,” Scorpius Malfoy corrected for her. He would know all about Granger. He'd seen fit to call her that from the first day and had never rid himself of the habit.

“Professor Granger?”

“It's Professor Weasley, Mr. Malfoy. I am married.”

“Yes, Professor Granger, I realise that. However, my question was in reference to the assignment, not your marital status.”

Sirrah Nott waved her hand at her blond classmate, uninterested in his correction, and muttered, “Whatever, Malfoy. Professor Granger, then.”

Hermione turned from the board, perturbed by the interruption as she set the heavy text she was holding on the desk and rested her hands on her hips. “Is this question relevant to my lecture, Miss Nott? I should hope so, considering this is the third time you've interrupted me.”

“Snappy today, isn't she?” whispered Aithne Zabini, pushing her dark hair off her shoulder before she began sucking on her sugar quill. She winked at Lorcan Scamander as she slowly pulled it from her mouth, letting her tongue slide deviously up the side.

“Actually,” Sirrah continued, ignoring her friend's inappropriate actions, “I was curious about the gift you received yesterday at breakfast. I was under the impression you were divorced.”

Scorpius' smirk was entirely too devious - a dead giveaway to anyone with half a brain, Hermione was sure. His cool grey eyes caught hers as he nodded in agreement. “Yes, Professor, we're all adults now. We'd like to know more. You told us first year that we shouldn't be scared to ask questions. You said honesty was the best policy, didn't you?”

“Within reason,” Hermione argued. “As you are all adults, you should learn to behave as such and refrain from behaving like nosy children. Should any of you fail to receive your Transfiguration N.E.W.T., I will be comforted by the fact that it was because of your inability to focus and not from lacking a proper professor.”

“Professor Granger,” Albus called from his seat, his green eyes warm and understanding, “I, for one, want to know nothing about why you received a gift from such a... notable establishment.”

“Really, Al?” Scorpius asked. His smirk was confident enough to make Hermione sick to her stomach. Draco had practically spit him out, she was certain. She'd never heard of wizard pregnancy, but she would be sure to research into the possibility because Astoria's demeanor was nowhere to be found in the boy. “I'm curious-”

“You shouldn't be,” Al argued, shooting his friend a sharp look. His eyes darkened for a moment and the thought that he knew Scorpius had sent it left Hermione momentarily weak. This was a sick, twisted game from a child who should know better. Scorpius played with her mind, left her worried, ill and cautious, but there was nothing more than that. His suggestions were nothing more than suggestions. She'd never seen the boy alone outside of detention and even then she'd avoided even those after their strange meeting at Christmas.

What made Scorpius dangerous was his perfect mix of Slytherin brutality and Ravenclaw intelligence. He did nothing without it being part of a plan and she knew that this - all of this - was part of something sinister.

Al's friendship with Scorpius hit entirely too close to home, though. She faced Scorpius' pale, aristocratic features at Weasley family dinners while he whispered with Al and helped James perfect the finer details of his newest pranks during the summers. She was forced to sit on the sofa across from him on Boxing Day, listening to him inform her niece and nephews what he'd received for Christmas and how 'dreadfully boring' Morocco had been. It wouldn't be far-fetched for Scorpius to have hinted at his twisted plans and let Albus fill in the blanks.

If one thing could be said of her favourite nephew, his imagination was greater than any other child she'd ever met and she was certain he could have imagined the very worst of her, should Scorpius give him a reason to.

“All I was saying,” Sirrah interrupted, returning Scorpius' glare ten-fold, “was that I didn't realise that people her age still had sex, much less got dressed up for it.”

There were snorts of laughter, giggles and eye-rolls before students started discussing stories of witnessing their parents in compromising situations. Albus buried his face in his hands after placing a well-aimed punch at Scorpius' shoulder and muttered, “Look what you've started, you arse.”

“Enough,” Hermione said, drawing their attention back to her. She sat herself on the corner of her desk and scanned the crowd. She passed over Scorpius and instead skipped straight to Albus, who smiled at her sweetly.

“The box and its contents,” she started, effectively snatching Lorcan's attention away from Aithne's tongue and sugar quill, “has absolutely nothing to do with my class and we will not be discussing it any longer.”

There were quiet groans of displeasure. Clearly, they had expected more than being told off for their curiosity. Lorcan's eyes reverted back to Aithne's quill-sucking, Albus' unamused face turned to the window and Abel McLaggen resumed sketching in the folds of his book.

She knew that avoiding the topic was out of the question then. Hermione thought that perhaps giving them a few answers - just enough to quell their curiosity, but not nearly enough to give herself away - would ease them back into the state of mind she needed them in.

“However,” she started, “what I did to that box does pertain to this class. Now, if you'd like to discuss that, I'm willing to participate in a short question and answer.”

Sirrah Nott jumped right in, drowning out the minor celebration as she yelled, “What did you do with the box?”

Hermione scoffed a little, as though asking was a complete waste of a question. “I transfigured it into an organizer to hold all of your ghastly essays until I find time to grade them. It has greatly minimized my clutter.”

Lorcan grinned at Lysander before they turned to look at her.

“Is it a lacy organizer?” Lorcan asked.

“A silky organizer, perhaps?” Lysander added.

“Very lacy,” Hermione said offhandedly, hoping she'd given them enough answers to move on, “and silky. A complete waste of two very fine materials.”

Scorpius frowned and for a moment Hermione thought a child so handsome should never look that displeased. His knuckles turned white and his fingers clenched when Abel asked, “Well, who sent them to you?”

“Someone who clearly doesn't understand how to spend galleons and what the word 'no' means,” Hermione responded.

“Can this be over?” Albus begged from his seat as he shifted uncomfortably. He'd told her that he'd only taken Transfiguration so that he could spend one more year with her despite not caring for the subject as much as his siblings had. Hermione was certain he had never - ever - expected to be seated in her class while his peers asked sex-related questions.

“No.”

Hermione had avoided looking at Scorpius directly until he spoke. Curious eyes turned from their professor to their classmate, clearly unsettled by his sudden declaration. Silence enveloped Hermione's classroom for the first time since she'd taken the position. Never - not once - had it been so quiet with a room full of boisterous children before her.

“No,” he repeated, eyes rising to meet hers and filled with fury like nothing she'd seen before. He seemed unaware of the attention - of everyone's attention - and remained completely dedicated to focusing on her. “I want to know why you didn't give it a chance.”

“I hardly think they understand what they were insinuating by sending such a gift,” Hermione answered honestly.

“Seems like you passed up a perfectly expensive pair of knickers and the time of your life to me.”

“Stop it,” Albus muttered, shoving his shoulder against Scorpius' and shaking his head at his friend's argumentative tone. “This is stupid. She's my aunt-”

“Not anymore,” Aithne called from her seat, clearly delighted at catching Al's mistake.

“Sod off, Zabini,” Al snapped, throwing his balled-up notes at her head and smiling when they hit their target. “She'll always be my-”

“It's really none of your concern, Mister Malfoy,” Hermione said, agitated with where he'd taken the conversation. She should have known better than to have offered it at all, but she had made a pact to be as honest as possible when she'd taken this job and she'd thought that giving in a little would be enough to dissolve their strange fascination. “The gift has been dealt with appropriately and I've given you all more than enough time to ask questions. Now, let's return to our review of the last week. I hope Teddy - Professor Lupin, my apologies - went over everything he and I-”

“Are you sure you don't want to give him a chance, Professor Granger? You've seemed very... tense since your divorce.”

“Enough, Mister Malfoy,” Hermione replied, not lifting her eyes from her book.

“I'm just curious, Professor,” Scorpius continued brazenly. “If you've no husband and you're refusing to take up your mysterious gift-giver, how do you occupy yourself?”

“That is disgusting. How can you even stomach asking that?” Al said, nearly in tears from revulsion.

“Mister Malfoy,” Hermione started slowly, hoping that if she kept it simple he would realise from her tone - and her tone alone - that the conversation he was so determined to create would not blossom in her classroom or anywhere else. “It is nearly the end of your time here and it is my goal not to take any further points this term. You are in your final year and your house, as I remember it, has placed second for the House Cup in the last three years. You would do well and be wise to remember your housemates and consider them and their feelings before you speak in my class again. Perhaps your voluntary silence will earn them enough points to take the Cup.”

“I accept your offer of detention, then,” he replied, “but I still expect an answer to my question. I was sorted Ravenclaw for a reason.” He paused here, pulling at his blue and silver tie and raising a pale brow as though he wasn't quite sure she understood what he was referring to, though she knew all about his sorting. After all, she'd been there. She'd watched as he'd glared upward, lips moving furiously and his blond hair shaking with the vigorous movements of his head. She'd stepped forward at one point and heard him whisper a heated, “No, you don't understand!” but stepped back before she heard anything more. Finally, the brim of the hat opened to yell, “RAVENCLAW!” across the hall and she'd been shocked at her disappointment that he was not the Slytherin she assumed he would be.

He'd shattered all of her preconceived notions over the years. His sorting had been unexpected but his kindness to others had been shocking above all else. He'd not once gloated more than any other teenage boy she knew. His robes were fashionable and of high quality though he'd never insulted other students' hand-me-down robes and Hermione had even seen him share his extra pair of gloves with a Hufflepuff last winter. Scorpius made Ravenclaw's Quidditch team at the start of fourth year and was an excellent Chaser rather than fighting tooth and nail to be their Seeker. He had even made friends with Albus during his first year when they'd both been left without partners in her class. She'd expected they would hate each other, that Albus would manage a solid punch to Scorpius' pompous face and then she'd split them up and have a reason to switch partners around. However, they'd smiled through her entire lecture, made jokes and poked fun at each other. That summer, Scorpius became a nearly permanent fixture in the Potter house and she'd been forced to spend nearly a whole year in his presence.

She couldn't deny the pieces of Draco that shone through Scorpius' personality. They walked the very same - proud and aloof as though they were the finest people to grace the halls. His pointed features, eyes and hair were very much like the Draco she remembered at seventeen, though Scorpius had faced a life without war and Voldemort and thus had no frown lines marring the skin around his lips or a cursed mark on his arm. When he called Albus 'Potter', her skin crawled and her eyes always moved quickly to search them out. She worried on the nights he fought with Albus over Quidditch or summer essays and waited for the day that Draco's insistence on blood purity and old grudges would show up in Scorpius' conversations between classes.

All differences aside, she couldn't look into Scorpius' face and see past everything that made him Draco's son. Hermione couldn't forget the same pointed chin and grey eyes sneering at her in the halls, watching her writhe on the floor of a drawing room while Bellatrix carved 'mudblood' into her arm and scowling at her years later when they passed in the Ministry. Draco and Scorpius - in Hermione's head - were one and the same, both terrible reminders of the war they'd won and the loved ones they'd lost.

“I'm holding you to your Gryffindor integrity,” Scorpius continued, “when you told us there would be no secrets in this classroom.”

Albus seemed frozen from shock though the rest of the class was focused solely on Hermion
e. She was momentarily self-conscious of her loosely knotted hair, the few streaks of grey that had began to decorate her crown and the ill-fitting robes she'd chosen that morning. Pressure from facing Voldemort had never felt anything like the queasy feeling Scorpius Malfoy's gaze gave her.

“20 points from Ravenclaw,” she announced, the shaking in her voice noticeable, “for your inappropriate assumption. Anything more will result in your immediate dismissal from my class.”

“Yeah,” Al whispered furiously. “That means shut the fuck up.”

And for the rest of the class, he did. But Hermione knew just as well as Scorpius that a single look could relay a message just as clearly as words - and he was a professional at telling her exactly what he thought of her with just his eyes.

* * *

Part Two

.het, a: herbeautifullie, *fic, p: scorpius/hermione, *2011 fest

Previous post Next post
Up